There is always something one will never forget, be it a dream, a feeling, a taste or even a sound; there are endless possibilities to that answer and each is specific to every person. Simultaneously, there are countless things that will escape one's memory throughout their full life. Unfortunately, one doesn't get to choose which memories fall under which categories. The conclusions are made in a split moment by your subconscious until an event unlocks those feelings, tastes, sounds and dreams buried in the depths of your mind...and sometimes, it's the hidden memories that make the most impact, not those engraved in one's head.
For you, something that's never stopped replaying in your head is a soft melody; the song of a cello far away which you've tried to replicate on other instruments so to keep the memory closer and more vivid, but nothing has ever matched. Not even close. So you hum to yourself this melody every afternoon, reliving the sweet feelings attached to this song even if where it came from exactly is a bit foggy in your memories, and even when other's look at you oddly for it.
They won't understand.
The melody is all I have left of the trace of peace I've wanted to achieve.
Sitting behind the light, wooden check-out desk at the back of the bookstore you work in all built of the same oak, your eyes unfocus themselves as you watch the warm autumn sun rays leak through the large, glass windows at the front of the store, the dancing dust on the top shelves blurred, the sound of one or two customers walking in and out without real purpose of being there faint, your hum the only thing distracting you from your dull reality as usual. You block out anything else, trying to find even the smallest bit of bliss in your day.
I've spent too much time being naive and troubled in my past.
It isn't until a new customer walks in and reaches your desk that you are pulled back into reality, your hazed out eyes focusing on the one that had interrupted your drift into daydreams, sitting up straight and lifting a brow with empty curiosity at him; his next words to you being some you expected to hear the least.
"The song you sing. It's lovely." The young man comments softly, his voice like the smoothest silk matching his dark purple eyes which seem to glow intelligently even without the sun rays, everything about him growing in charm the longer you study his face with new interest. Dark, straight hair contrasting his porcelain skin reaching just above his shoulders, a part of it falling over his face, the young man is quite handsome to your eyes; the only thing off putting being the old, dark coat very typical of darker Russian days. Not many wore such styles anymore, and he seemed almost out of place.
Though, I guess you can always find the oddest people at a bookstore.
"It's just something I heard a long time ago." You shrug, standing up from your seat and tilting your head to meet his gaze properly, a skip of your heart giving you a flash of familiarity you couldn't yet place.
"Did you need something? This is a bookstore after all, not a music lesson." You try to change the subject, ignoring the fleeting feelings aching in the back of your mind by acting a bit snappy with the man, a sigh escaping you as you force yourself to look away for a moment, something about him much too tempting in ways you can't recognize.
What is this? He is just another stranger. Another set of eyes that watches the world go by unlike me, isn't he?
My mind must be playing tricks on me again.
He is just another customer as naive as the rest, searching for escape in these books around me.
"...Of course. It was only a small compliment. After all, it's my favourite song you hum." He smiles at you knowingly, as if he had already read your thoughts and found your petty avoidance to your own questions burning inside because of him amusing, the purple in his eyes sparkling as if he had heard your doubts sending a shiver down your spine. Turning his head to the side in a way that looked like he had suddenly remembered something, his smile fades, a serious look on his face now as he turns back to you.
YOU ARE READING
Just a Dream ♙ Fyodor x Reader
FanfictionONGOING ♙ "Cry for me; I'm the only one that can understand your tears." ♙ In the city of St. Petersburg, Russia, you've made an ordinary life for yourself after moving and burying your childhood misery in Moscow. Every day is the same, every though...