#I really don't want to have to block the tags for the junior drivers | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

oikaw-ugh · 4 years

Text

Pianist. (Oikawa fic)

pianist!Oikawa, aged up characters, slowburn (?), Oikawa x reader

Mainly inspired by the piano shop I always pass by whenever i went home back when I was still in junior high. They always had this high school pianist playing one of their displayed piano every 4-5 in the afternoon. I never saw his face which disappoints me :(

He once played the piano with someone, too! And he played it with a kid too

When the familiar bakery that you used to drop by every time you walk home after school announced the shutting down of their operations, you didn't mind.

And when you learned that a piano shop would replace the bakery, you didn't mind either.

But when you saw a young boy, with his back facing yours, gliding their fingers along the keys of the black piano of the piano shop, you kind of got curious.

It was a warm afternoon. The sky is painted with an orange hue and the streets were not as busy as they usually are. A perfect afternoon, you hummed as you walk along the streets towards the bus terminal.

It was quiet not until faint piano keys kissed your ears.

Your steps went into a halt and looking to your right, you see a young boy, with his back facing yours, gliding their fingers along the keys of the black piano of the newly opened piano shop.

The music was faint and so, this made you crave for more. Tiny steps were made and before you knew it, your hands are pressed at the glass that separated you from the peculiar pianist.

His head wobbled every time his fingers reached for the keys, his brunette hair bouncing along. You were able to glimpse with the outline of his lashes and the tip of his nose whenever he looked from side to side.

His fingers are notable, too. They look long and soft from your view. And the way they danced along the surface of the piano made your jaw drop in awe. It's as if the piano was a part of him and his hands expertly rummaged along the keys.

"Are you interested to play?"

You look to your left and is startled to see a woman standing in front of you. With the color of her shirt mimicking the color of the piano shop's exterior, you knew she worked there.

You look at the glass wall again and gasped as the mysterious pianist is now looking at you. His upper body facing towards you, his eyes gleaming with the strikes of the glass wall. His skin had a soft orange glow with the sunset light. His brows were lifted as he stared at you in the eye.

You were embarrassed. You bashfully ran away.

It was an experience you wish both parties forgot. And it took you long to recover from the shy.

Your hands clutched tight on the strap of your bag as you stopped at the familiar piano shop.

You turn to the glass wall, breathing hitched and heart raising. The thought of him remembering how embarrassing you were that day made your stomach upset but nonetheless, you took your shot.

You looked at the glass wall and there he was.

His back, once again, facing yours. His body slightly dancing as his hands expertly pressed the right keys to press. You were allowed to see a glimpse of his smirk from time to time whenever his head tilted sideways.

And just with that, the nervousness vanished. Replaced by a warm fuzzy feeling as you stare at the mysterious brunette playing on the black instrument.

The doors are closed so you weren't given a taste of his music. You pouted as the tip of your finger pressed the glass wall. What could he be playing? A question you'd probably never get the answer.

I guess that's enough for now. With a smile, you looked away and proceeded to walking.

This happened the next few weeks after. Walking towards the terminal, you'd stop by at the shop. A five minute glance on his back swaying as he played, you'd proceed to walking with a satisfied grin.

This was more than enough. Or so you thought.

Hailing a cab could've been easier but you refuse to skip your daily afternoon ritual. You must stop by at the shop.

So, despite the heavy rain and with your school uniform as the only thing that is keeping you from getting entirely wet, you went towards the shop.

You cursed along the way as you've suffered from the puddles of water and the splashes of collected rain from reckless drivers as you walked. Curse this rain.

A sense of relief washed your body as you sought refuge at the roof of the piano shop. You gripped the ends of your cold skirt tight, your lips shivering as droplets of water fell from your crumpled skirt.

You combed through your wet hair in the attempts of fixing yourself. Feeling satisfied, you look towards the glass wall.

Though the rain was hard and the air was cold, you had the warmest smile on your face as your expectant eye scanned the interior of the shop, your wet hand wiping the fog of the wall.

And when you spotted him, the smile on your face surprisingly disappeared as you realized he isn't alone like the usual. He is with someone.

The fog isn't enough to conceal how the mysterious pianist is now warm from the cold. His neck hugged by a warm-looking scarf. And his hands, surprisingly, are not attending the keys as his left held a mug and his other held the hands of the person beside him.

The ray of hope vanished as you see them in front of you. The way his hands fondled the fingers of those beside him made you scowl. But when he lifted their head, kissing their knuckles as his eyes never left their face, the scowl faded.

It turned to a frown. Then the frown went blank.

Your hands slowly dropped from being glued to the glass wall. You blinked as droplets of rain are threatening to intrude in your eyes. You turned your back, now facing the almost floody street.

God. You just want to go home.

The next day, you fell sick. And no words can express how grateful you were that you had an excuse to not drop by at the shop.

The next week, you avoided the shop still. But it wasn't because you still had the fever. It was because your heart felt sick.

The next-next week, you received a confession from an admirer. You were skeptical.

"Are you seeing someone?" They asked.

The pianist. The back of your mind screamed. But you are no delusional so you shook your head.

"Then let's go out together," your admirer concluded.

Days spent together with your admirer was like eating an affordable cake. It was unsurprisingly dry. But still, you want more of it just to satiate your hunger at least.

When your lover asked to walk you home, you hesitated. But nonetheless, you let them tag along with you.

Your heart ramming wild as you see the familiar signage of the shop. Block of unknown forces at your throat as your stomach churned.

You flinched when your lover held you at your waist. You looked to your left.

The mysterious pianist was alone. Unlike when you last saw him, his body rocked back and forth slowly. His fingers were dragging along the keys and you don't get to see the wobbling of his head.

His shoulders were slouched. He looks sad and this made you worry. Is he okay?

You wanted to step closer and to reach for him but before you could even lift your foot, the force of your lover dragged you away from the outside of the shop.

You cursed your lover. No. It wasn't just because of that incident.

Like an affordable cake, it eventually dried your throat, making you feel suffocated and sick. The affordability could not compensate with the disgust that you are now feeling.

You want out but your lover begs to disagree so you walked away.

Your heart heavy, ears hot, and with your tears threatening to fall with every stomp, you marched the route towards your terminal. Exhaling from time to time with the overwhelming disappointment and anger.

None could uplift your anger. Not even the mysterious pianist.

Without even noticing, you are now in front of the piano shop. Looking to your right, you see the brunette seating at the stool. But what is weird is that the piano case is closed and his hands are attending to papers rather than the keys.

You exhaled through your nose before walking again.

You grew.

You'd like to think you did.

You grew wiser after that horrible experience of 'love'. You didn't try entering into one again. Not when you're feeling half-assed.

Today, you walked towards the terminal. And today, you decided to drop by at the piano shop.

There he was at the spot where you always see him before.

He wore something casual today. Wearing only a simple black shirt, for the very first time, you are given the chance to see his bare arms. They weren't muscular but they weren't skinny either. Slightly honed but not too much that they'd look odd.

You lift your gaze and you see his nape, making you blush as it felt like watching him naked.

A smile creeps into your lips as your hands run through the glass wall.

And just like how you were when you were younger, you proceeded to walking. Feeling satisfied with this less than a minute interaction.

Change is inevitable.

You zipped your case as you stood from kneeling on the floor. You dragged the suitcase along with you as walked out from the house you've considered as home for the past decade and a couple of years.

It was inside of the hailed cab when it dawned to you. You're leaving and you're never coming back. The gentle touch of your mother nor the hearty chortle of your father could not console your weeping heart.

You will never see your friends again. Or the familiar streets you have been walking. Or the familiar faces of your neighbors.

You will never see the pianist again on your way home.

You closed your eyes tight. You never had the chance to know his name. It's...the end. It's gone.

You open your eyes wide this time.

A funny grin at your lips as you winced with the embarrassment of such memory.

Seasoned by trials and struggles in life, you're the wisest version of yourself. A chuckle escaping your lips as you remember how you felt so hopeless when you had to move away.

Well, if you really missed it then I guess we're back.

Your hands embraced your arms, wary of the surroundings. Funny how you whined about these streets as your home and here you are now, feeling foreign and unfamiliar as you revisit it after years have passed.

It doesn't feel nostalgic. At all.

Well, maybe a little.

Your feet unconsciously lead you towards a familiar shop. A particular shop you loved to drop by whenever you were on your way home.

With the years that passed by, the shop grew old. No longer was the pasted tarpaulins vibrant in color. The little plants that served as tiny barricades in front are now gone. Even the grand piano displays are now different in brand and color. You don't even see the same lady who asked you the very first time you went here.

This isn't the shop you used to love.

You run your fingers on the glass wall, creating a screeching sound as friction stood in the middle of your skin and the glass. Your eyes darting at the grandest piano at the center, unattended.

If this was before, the familiar pianist could've been sitting there, his back facing yours as his body rocked lightly with the dance of his hands. Instead, you see an 8-year old boy and his poor attempts of sitting at the high stool, finding the task difficult as his hands are attending his thick music notes.

You furrowed your brows. An 8-year old what?

Your face went near the glass, blinking as you try to recheck if your eyes were playing tricks. But they aren't. You indeed are seeing an 8-year old boy now comfortably sitting at the stool.

And just when your brain is starting to formulate questions, you feel a presence beside you. This made you stand straight as you look at the direction where the presence is from.

You froze. And he did, too. The pianist did, too.

It has been so long when you last saw him. Not to mention, the only time you were able to see his face was when you were flustered from the lady's question. It has been so long you actually forgot how he looks like. It's just you chose to linger with the memory blindly.

But now, here he is. The mysterious pianist. His air of mystery finally stripping away as you have finally, after all these years, see his bare face. And this time, clearer.

His brunette hair is not as long as they did back then. It is still fluffy-looking but it is shorter in length. His eyes are round and they are the same color with his hair. You exhaled in awe as your eyes traveled to his pointy nose and thin lips, then to his other noteable features like his sunburned cheeks and the faint stubble on his jaw.

You blinked. He looks beautiful.

"I'm sorry, I startled you," he spoke and your heart beated violently. His voice is deep, something you expected. What you didn't expect is how it made your heart flutter and your ears craving.

You couldn't respond. Your mind is a mess. Your thoughts tangled like a kitten's yarn. Your mouth freezing in place as your tongue poorly tried to roll out words.

"Are you...interested to play?" He asked when he received no respond from you.

You closed your mouth, eyes glued at his but this time, you are calmer. Though it contrasts how your hands are pathetically clinging to one another as your toes curled inside your shoes, you are calm. Yes, you are.

Slowly, your shock faltered, a small smile plastering at your lips as you did a small nod.

"Sure," you finally said the word you've been meaning to respond to the lady from the past.

And, "What's your name?" you finally asked the question you've been meaning to ask the mysterious pianist ever since you heard him play.

86 notes · View notes