[June] 늘 그랬듯이 늘 같은 노래처럼 함께하면 돼

The three days J has to wait are very long indeed. He's thankful he didn't end up deciding they should try to play the piano next week, because he might have gone insane again if he'd had to wait that long. As it is, he keeps thinking.

It feels ridiculous, if he thinks about it closely. He's played the piano since he arrived in Darrow. Granted, it was much easier when the lodge up at Kagura remained open, because he could go there and use their piano. It was a bit of a trek and it gave him room to feel the anxiety in the pit of his stomach all the way up the mountain, but he could do it, and he did so often enough that he began to feel more at ease again. The trouble isn't, anymore, actually sitting and playing. There was a time when that was part of it, because he'd sit and be so focused on what he wasn't doing — the music he wasn't writing, the pieces he wasn't talented enough to compose or even play — that he'd be too worked up to play much of anything. It's a state of mind that doesn't lend itself well to playing anything. Too tense and overcome, the simplest of songs would trip him up, fingers turned clumsy by distress. Now that he doesn't write, now that there's no one to impress, now that his sole aim is to win back what once was his by sheer dint of determination, that isn't much of an issue. If he plays so much as a scale, he's won. And so playing became easier.

No, it's the anticipation that's the real battle. The days leading up to a chance to play, the moment he walks through the door, the slow journey to the bench, those trembling seconds he lifts his hands but hasn't yet begun to play — every moment of it has become a fight. Every time he wins that fight, he makes another memory of a time he played and didn't hurt anyone, not even himself. It's no less a fight for that. And all those memories aren't yet enough of a shield to keep him from fretting. What if next time is the time? What if the process is as slow now as it was before, a long silent trek from everything being as it should to everything falling apart? And it's absurd when he knows he's doing better. The things that made everything worse before... well, they're not all gone. If they were, he wouldn't worry so much. He was always a bit anxious, but nothing like he is now. But everything else is either gone or faded. There's no one to impress, no prize to win, no one pushing him or scolding him. It's unlikely that simply sitting down and playing a bit of Schubert is going to cause any trouble beyond making him a little homesick.

Still, three days is more than enough time to make himself nearly sick with worry. He wants this, too stubborn to back down, but he can't stop the tiny, insidious voice in his head murmuring that perhaps he wants this too much.

It's not just for him, though. He wants it for both of them. He wants one more thing opened between him and S again, one thing that should be theirs restored. He wants to watch the man he loves make music and he wants to weave melodies together. Making a new life, he thinks, shouldn't have to mean giving up everything that came before. They've just had to learn which parts to let go of. This doesn't have to be one of them.

He's shaking a bit as he approaches the shop, glancing at his phone to check the time. They should have closed just a few minutes ago. By the time he gets down the block, S will probably be the only one left. Swiping the screen, he pulls up their messages and sends a new one. Almost there.