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#classical piano
hearta54 · 11 months
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He's A Distraction (Central Cee x Reader)
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Summary: You're a dedicated student and going to Cambridge and become a doctor is your stars and heavens. To make that happen you have to move schools, a boy was never meant to be part of the picture. But Cench looks so good in it...
Word Count: 2 472
Notes: Sorry this is a bit long, I would love if you guys would send requests.
You scroll fixatedly on your laptop, scanning the screen in intense concentration and stopping each time something caught your attention. Reading the Cambridge Medicine webpage was an addiction; in the past you had tried to dissuade yourself from accepting this, but how could you not when it always stared blankly back at you? Addictive but productive, each time you re-read the sentences you had engraved into your memory you grew closer to your dream. And when you closed your eyes at night, you saw yourself in lavender scrubs and a pearly white lab coat; living your dream of being a Cambridge Alumni doctor.
Three A*s needed for entry motivated you to be an excellent student. You didn't mean to behave exaltedly but your current school was inadequate in innumerable ways. Today in biology, there hadn't been enough dissection kits, so the class had taken notes robotically and brushed over the practical. Defeated, you remembered how you had trudged home dubious; how could a school implore success in its students and not have the right resources? A memory of sitting in an examination room at Queen Victoria's Sixth Form Academy unnerved you, yes, you had sat the scholarship examination. It had been strenuous and the competition in the room had been palpable, even so, you didn't feel as if you could compete successfully. Falling asleep, you were plagued by these worrisome thoughts even in your dreams.
Obnoxiously the sound of your alarm erupted immersing the room and awakening you. Each morning when you woke up, a void would open gaping at you, existing ostentatiously: It was a persisting sense of loneliness at first; an innocuous reminder to cherish time with your parents. But this was difficult when they both left for work as the sun just began to emerge teasingly over the horizon. Your mother worked as a university professor, such a nominal salary for an intelligent woman, and your dad worked as a nurse; anyone could tell you nurses were underappreciated, numbers didn't have to. A smart knock was being emitted from the hallway, who was at the door?
A postman adorned in fluorescents held a letter for you to take, when you hesitated a second too delayed, he dropped it, walking swiftly to his flagged motorbike and zooming down the road. A Queen Victoria's Academy insignia? You felt so inauspicious as you leaned on the door prying the seal delicately open. Covering your face with your hand you peaked at the verdict through the intricate gaps between your fingers. "We would like to congratulate your success on the recent Academic Scholarship examination and invite you to accept a scholarship place with us." No words can grasp your joy it's transcending.
Yawning tiredly, you stretched placing your feet into your fluffy slippers, the night had gone and went without a wink of reprieve - you were consumed with nerves for the day ahead: Your first day at Queen Victoria's Sixth Form Academy. Opening the door, you walked across the creaking timber to make breakfast alone as you did every morning. You were befuddled to see your mother occupied in the kitchen handling an assortment of kitchenware ,readying a breakfast spread; usually you would just eat cereal; before you were pancakes, fresh fruit niftily cut, orange juice and array of salivating dishes.
"Mum why are you not at work?"
"I wanted to drive you for your first day, I can't begin to express how proud dad and I are," she said beaming excitedly.
You sat at the kitchen visualizing your mother's small, slightly dated and mediocre car driving alongside the avant-garde and luxurious cars of your new peers. Your stomach knotted half ominously and half guiltily. She seemed so happy to drive you and had sacrificed work to drive you, your inner monologue whispered insisting to take the bus would leave your mother forlorn.
"I'm glad you're taking me; I didn't really want to take the bus on my first day anyways."
Lies.
The academy's tree-lined boulevard was now in sight, driving alongside it now; planting your face against the misty window, eager to catch a glimpse. Your mother's car was now aligned with the curb which signaled a convenient space to leave; grudgingly you opened the door slowly as if peeking into a foreign world - in a way you were. You breathed in a long breath of courage as you slung your bag across your shoulders.
"Bye mum, thanks for the ride," you said, genuinely grateful.
"My pleasure darling, I love you, see you after school." Your mother grinned, pride cascading her face and carved smile lines. Guilt ebbed slowly as you watched your mother drive away. As her car dissipated to a speck in the distance a humble maroon car pulled to the curb, your mother had dropped you off with a car of a similar stature. You felt an unspoken sense of camaraderie. I'm glad I have someone to share the embarrassment with.
A boy emerged who appeared to be in the upper-sixth form - your year. He didn't seem ashamed of his car or even the slightest bit alienated; instead, he was confident, you could read if from his aura: it preceded him. Staring now, you saw his dark hair which was styled into jaw length box braids. His cutting cheek bones were iridescent, catching the sunlight, and you marveled at the softness of his plum bottom lip...
"I love you mum, thanks for the ride," he spoke to his mother with a genuine smile.
"I couldn't say no after you begged for a ride, could I? Have a good first day, Oakley."
What! He had asked for a ride. The guilt came gushing back, you weren't like him, yes you could relate about your car which was vain and face level. But he appreciated his mother wholly and wasn't attempting a façade to fit in with the elitism around. You felt a searing pang of shame. Frozen in thought you only broke out of this state when you felt dark coffee eyes meeting your gaze. The dwindling blare of the lesson bell dismissed you from the intense, awkward situation. Walking towards the office to meet the enrollment officer you chastised yourself sternly: This was the year of academic success entailing A*s, boys could tear down everything you had worked so hard for in a painful heartbeat.
The enrollment officer had distributed timetables to the small group of scholarship students; some of them gave a condescending air: Almost as if the fact testing had terminated slipped their minds, but most were nice and proffered kind but shy smiles, clipped at the edges with perceptible nerves. You navigated the halls wearily searching for your chemistry lab, the school was grandiose but tastefully understated. The look of old money attracted your gaze, it was a world away from where you had come. Walking the winding stairs, you see your chemistry class meters away from the landing 'room 299.'
Having arrived ahead of time allowed you to peruse the chemistry lab, it was a spectacle. Advanced modern equipment, granite bench tops, the most powerful microscopes... It left you speechless. You were broken from your trance by your classmates trickling in slowly and the booming voice of your new chemistry teacher.
"I am Dr. Olsen, I have a doctorate of chemistry from Oxford itself, trust you are in more than good hands," he paused to chuckle at his own joke but carried on when the students unreciprocated his mirth.
"This is the only chemistry class in the upper sixth form, that should allude to the arduous nature of the course. Therefore, to maximise your concentration I have taken it upon myself to devise a seating plan."
Dr. Olsen trailed off when the class began to groan resentfully.
"You can thank me when you receive your A-level results at the end of sixth form. Right then, in the back row, Y/N and Oakley Caesar-Su, Veronica Windward and Yasser Malik ..."
Oakley, You had been seated next to the boy from earlier this morning. You knew you shouldn't be smiling to yourself, chemistry was an imperative A-level. You weaved yourself to the back row and sat next to him.
"Hi Oakley," your voice had manifested much more timidly than you had expected.
" Yeah hey y/n, call me Cench, only my mum and tired old teachers like this one call me Oakley."
You giggled unexpectedly, he grinned back his gaze lingering. As Dr. Olsen droned on about Titration you took down notes studiously, beside you Cench was doing the same; writing down notes swiftly. You couldn't help but notice his handwriting was neat and prettily round, looking at his notes you dropped your pen. From your stool you reached down to retrieve it, on the way back up you bumped heads with Cench who had thoughtfully wanted to help.
"Oh my days, I'm sorry y/n, you good?" He was asking searching your eyes for signs of hurt.
You went to assure him you were okay when you got cut off by no other than Dr. Olsen...
"You two in the back Oakley and y/n quiet please."
"I am sorry Dr. Olsen I was just _"
"I don't want a justification take notes like everyone else, or get out," he said belittlingly.
Your cheeks got hotter as the class snapped their necks rubbernecking to witness your embarrassment, you looked at your notes mortified.
"Look, Dr. Olsen, You don't have to chat to her that way, she bumped her head and I was seeing if she was okay, yeah." Cench's jaw was locked making his cheek bones even more enunciated.
" Don't talk back Mr. Caesar-Su, detention after school." With an angered demeanor he resumed his lesson. You fought away guilt as you continued taking notes, if only I had gripped my pen tighter.
Trailing the halls advancing towards the exit, you're clouded with gratitude tinged with empathy for Cench, you hadn't meant to get him in trouble. Nor had you meant to tarnish his reputation in front of the strictest teacher. In your periphery you see Cench and your heart soars.
"Hi, Cench, I'm so sorry about earlier, I didn't think you'd get in trouble for trying to help."
"Don't worry about it y/n, that prick shouldn't have -"
"Right, students before we go into the room, these are the rules of after-school detention..." A teacher drawled these words with an expression of boredom.
You gave Cench an apologetic look over your shoulder before you opened the door, you were met by a smile and a shrug of the shoulders from Cench. The whole way home your mind is scattered with intrusive thoughts of him, you don't want them there but you don't want to fight them away either.
Cench's POV:
Detention dragged on just as I thought, thoughts of y/n appeased this listlessness because thinking of her had made it bearable. As we had worked on our assignments in silence I had chosen to continue my English literature essay. I could say I had not made much progress because the silence which filled the room was unsettling, but really it was because it was y/n who occupied my mind. Y/n with her guileless smile, her sharp and dazzling intellect, the clocked tick some more and I spent the time like this: Thinking up an interminable list of why I like y/n. Really and truly I had only met her today, but something about her...
Wrapping a towel around my waist and drying my wet braids, I hear a ping from my phone. 'You have received an email from..." It's a notification from the enrollments officer. Is this about today, I know I went overboard but I wasn't gonna let that prick talk to y/n like that.
I check what she has to say and she's saying I have to pick an extra-curricular to fulfil my scholarship expectations. That's calm, I'll join the Charitable Cause Club, I heard y/n is in it.
Y/N's POV:
At your desk you're riddled with inconsolable worry. In two days will be the chemistry exam which will make thirty percent of your semester grade. Staring at the notes in front of you which feel insurmountable you begin studying. It is well after midnight when you finally turn off your lamp and resign to sleep.
Cench's POV:
Standing around the classroom I see y/n, her eyebrows are nearly touching in what looks like worry while she reads her chemistry notes. I never thought she would panic during exam season, I think she's the smartest in our whole class. Watching her worry like eats away at me I really don't like it.
Lying awake on top of my covers despite the cold. My mind turns to y/n for the infinite time and I stop randomly at the Starbucks order she has in the morning sometimes. A regular matcha latte with two pumps of vanilla syrup and a strawberry icing doughnut embedded with fresh pieces of strawberry. Trust man's not simping... it's deeper than that.
Y/N's POV:
At 7am on a Friday morning, the library is empty. The comforting silence interrupted sporadically by the tinkering of the librarian. Today, is the day of the chemistry exam and no matter how much you study you don't feel ready for the exam. You feel warmth on your head, the feeling of someone watching you so you glance up straight into coffee eyes. It's Cench leaning on a bookcase your favourite Starbucks order in hand. Your heart skips several beats.
"Hi y/n, your such a neek you know, studying at this time." Cench says this as his eyes flick across your face, enthralled.
"I don't know, you can never be prepared enough," you retort, trying to fight a smile from showing on your lips but failing.
"I don't know about that, you'll do great, your as smart as you are cute. Which makes you very smart."
You feel your cheeks getting hotter and you stare blankly at your notebook.
Never taking his eyes off you Cench puts the drink and a paper bag down on the table.
"I got you a little something, good luck, yeah."
You watch him as he walks away, with his bag slung over one shoulder. Suddenly you are filled with the confidence he has in you.
Taking a few sips of your matcha leaves you refreshed, reaching into the paper bag your heart squeezes when you see a strawberry covered doughnut. How did he know. Looking inside the bag for napkins you see a strip of paper, unfolding the paper you read the message.
It says: You should go out with man. Scrolled on the bottom is a phone number.
You gasp earning a reprimanding look from the librarian. Your mind wanders visualising what your date with him will be like.
...
THE END
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jmatt22 · 6 months
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Can I play piano for you?
Clair de lune - Claude Debussy
(Needs a lot of work lol)
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hannahsbackroom · 3 months
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Merry Christmas 2023 from Wolfie, Ludwig and Thomas
I hope you find someone just as cute under your mistletoe this year 😘🥰
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bernie-rosa-music · 1 year
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One last Rainy Saturday for 2022 🌧
Wishing everyone a wonderful NYE and 2023 🎶🎉
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sapphire-staccato · 9 months
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musicians will understand:
that FEELING of practicing this one specific passage over and over. and then coming back to it the next day. and it's so smooth. and you love your instrument and music and everything is great.
i've finally gotten back into practicing piano for an hour a day (which i really struggled with doing during the school year) and i'm already noticing progress and it's absolutely crazy!!!!?!? it's incredible how fast you can ACTUALLY LEARN when you practice multiple times a day and also sleep. sleep helps. sleep helps form those neural pathways.
so PSA: if you've been neglecting to practice. go play something that you've been struggling with for like 15 minutes. come back later, and do it again. try again tomorrow and you'll be that much better already
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eirxair · 1 year
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The Musical Urge.
The musical urge to sit at my instrument and practice dusk through to dawn again and again until I pass out, just to wake hours later with blood stained, raw-skinned fingers, played to the bone, an aching back posed straighter than the lines of the stave i'm supposed to be reading and a pounding headache from the sheets in front of me; only to continue playing until I merge with the dynamics of it all and become my own unique modern day symphony.
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life-spire · 5 months
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@ vm.ports
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pianistbynight · 3 months
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i love ornate sheet music cover pages 💗
gotta be serious with my practice like i am on @studentbyday if i want to improve enough to take lessons again 😤 sight-reading starts tmr... 🙈 i'm tired (note to self to practice first thing when i'm most awake next time).
🎹 technique (30 mins):
f#m scales (natural/harmonic/melodic) (16ths at quarter note = 60-76 bpm, but at 76 it sometimes gets sloppy)
f#m triads (broken/blocked) (triplets/quarter notes at quarter note = 80 bpm)
🎶 repertoire:
played around w the beginning of chopin's andante spianato bc i couldn't get it out of my head all day (just the very beginning...which i can barely manage to play passably well 🙃). also barely practiced the next line of nocturne op. 55 no. 2 (i didn't even read the whole line).
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opheliaswife · 6 months
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“I always had a repulsive need to be something more than human” - David Bowie
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pretty-piano-boy · 8 months
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Hello. Yes. I play the piano. And since I want attention, here's one of my original pieces titled "Displaced" off of my latest album "The Last Hour". You can listen to it on Spotify which is linked.
All money being made off this album is being donated to refugees from Ukraine.
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hearta54 · 1 year
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𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐏𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐂𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐡 (𝐂𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐂𝐞𝐞 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)
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Summary: You have a long-lived crush on Cench, the boy across the road, piano is one thing you share. At a piano examination, you find out if your persistent feelings are reciprocated.
Notes: Originally was going to write about Tae-Moo from Business Proposal; thought this suits Central Cee better. Plus he's hot as f!ck.
Warnings: alcoholism, abusive father, a little swearing
Word Count: 2 453
When you played the piano it was like the notes were emitted from your finger tips, rather than from the instrument you love. You closed your eyes and let memory lead into the crescendo of Fur Elise. Playing the piano was a form of ecstatic escapism; it allowed you to transcend reality and exist in a void untouchable by what drained you.
Dad could drain a pungent bottle fast, even faster than he could drain you. Drifting into the decrescendo the melodic keys helped you block the intrusive thoughts you had about him. He used to be better, a memory which was slowly fading from memory. But if you were to be honest … those days when he embodied something other than an absent and sorrowful father were lost in a network of messy incidents, spurred by the violent man he became under the influence.
Sometimes dad was cordial and added to a pleasant ambience but this didn't overshadow his bad days. On these days, you would crawl within yourself, barricaded in your room playing until your fingertips felt numb and your hands lost their supple dexterity. Feeling a need to escape as your parents argued downstairs, mother was made timid by him; so she tread carefully, but even then he was so volatile. So temperamental.
So mother lived in crippling fear: That a chair would be thrown too hard, or that dad would drink too much alcohol. Extra shifts at the hospital was how she coped, running and adamantly refusing to confront - this tainted you with disappointment. Piano was the way you fought. But in rare instances when your favourite composers didn't ease your worried mind you turned to Oakley, the boy across the road.
Placing your sheet music atop of your keyboard you allowed yourself to sink into an inviting daze. Oakley Neil H.T Caesar-Su is it weird that I know his whole name, his friends call him Cench, Cench was an anomaly he made rap music and dressed in tech fleece but under the guise of his demeanor he was one of the best pianist you had witnessed … Grade seven.
When Cench played it was riveting, unconsciously tilting his head to the side and getting lost in the keys he looked like a worthy muse. You digressed, thinking about the way his plump lips upturned when he smiled. The way his dark curls caught the sun when she watched from afar. Afar... because Cench barely registered your existence.
Last week in music class, late as always; he bumped into you. As he retrieved your folder you thought you had glimpsed a twinkle in his eye. But it must have been the glare of the sun because your eyes lingered and his were unbothered; turning away. Changed into your satin PJs you switched the lamp off - some dreams were best left for sleep.
...
Morning had arrived, but as the sun rose smoothly you were ruminating. Casting your memory back to last night, you revisited the way your hands had glided over the keys. Each note seamless and crisp melting into the songs you had beautifully played. You hoped you would play as effortlessly today. Today was a pinnacle and would hopefully affirm the hours of practice and offer a haven which floated more away from what was happening at home and into your future at The Royal College of Music.
Doing your therapeutic morning skincare, you thought listlessly of life there and the endless respite it unlidded. Today you had chosen a white turtleneck layered by a wooly grey cardigan and cute pleated skirt, with opaque tights - for the glacial London winter - and legwarmers. Leaving your room you slipped on your Doc Marten's - a complementary staple in your closet.
They had not been cheap, but with the aid of your part-time job which was not overly lucrative; you were able to secure the shoes and cover the significant costs of piano tuition. Walking down, you treaded softly on the worn carpet, you could hear the wretched sound of beer bottles clinking in the kitchen. Clinging to the bannister you steadied yourself; Cench would be at the piano exam. So you put on a façade of bravery and nonchalance even though you knew it was erosive.
"Hi y/n slept well," his words weren't slurred yet. You were flummoxed, dad was usually rooted in self-interest. When did he start looking beyond himself?
" Dad..." Your words caught in the static air, it sounded so raw.
"Mmm."
"Do you think you can drop me to my piano exam it's a bit far by bus, mum is working and -" Glass smashing to smithereens startled you; you covered your head instinctually.
"Who do you think I am. A fucking taxi, take the bus. You and your God damn piano," he was seething, as he turned around you took in his bloodshot eyes. So temperamental. He wouldn't have been good to drive anyways. Rigid and shaking you rushed up the stairs hurriedly and stuffed your bag blindly with your sheet music. Your eyes were too watery. You shut the door behind you with trepidation, not wanting to spark another polarizing outburst.
Tears streaming endlessly down your face you breath caught as you saw Cench leaving his house across the road. Seeing you he seemed perturbed like he'd seen something he shouldn't have. You watched aghast as he put his earbuds in and pulled his quintessential Trapstar hoodie to shroud his possessing curls. Walking down the street with your eyes downcast, you felt mortified, you felt Cench had seen a part of your life you worked so hard to hide.
You bumped into something unmoving, "ugh," you scoffed exasperatedly. Could my day get any worse? Glancing upwards you were dumbfounded by who stood in front of you.
"Hi y/n, you alright, everything calm yeah?" Cench was looking directly into your eyes, his earbuds out.
You nodded, clutching at fading conviction. How could you tell Cench your problems when he barely knew you? So dishonestly you made it seem like everything was fine; insecurity hoodwinked you into believing he would think you were 'too much.'
Almost smirking, he rolled his eyes tilting his head to one side like he was lost in demanding piano piece.
"Why do girls always move shady? I can tell your not fine, you were tearing up and that _ " he sighed seeing the resolve you had in being stoic.
"Alright then y/n, your fine I guess. The piano exams are time away, taking the bus is mad _" he was stopped short by a honk from a car blaring rap music.
"Anyways good luck, don't stress too tough, your piano skills are hard," Cench said this as the car drove away erratically.
Piano skills? Cench knows about my piano skills? Maybe you're not so self-deluded.
...
Raveled in the chaos of the morning, walking into the revered and coveted Royal College of Music was an exhale. The school was the cornerstone of all your dreams, you could always visualize it vividly. And now here you were for a piano exam, it was a reminder that it was real and not just a conjuring of your escapist imagination.
Walking through the hall you took in the surreal architecture and basked in its splendor. I could get used to this. Peeking at your crumpled pamphlet you realised the auditorium was on your left: 'Auditorium 9B.'
You sat down in a velvety plush seat and felt yourself inflate with hope, a place hear would be a gateway to magic. A piano piece began softly, enthralling the dozens of other pianists scattered in the vast, gilded auditorium. Flicking your eyes heavenwards you saw him, playing as gracefully as ever. Sometimes you thought to yourself Cench was born solely for this very thing.
Cench's POV:
I have played this piece a thousand times before now; I perfected it and made it radiate real talent even. Just so that when I got on this stage, I could stare at y/n and absorb her beauty. I committed every detail of her face to memory before the eighth bar - What can I say I'm a quick learner innit. The truth is I am worried about y/n, I know her dad is an alcoholic, I just don't want her to know I know. She'll get embarrassed and hurt, and I don't want to see her like that, ever. This piano exam is important, grade eight is what I need to come here; so why is all I can think about how to tell y/n I like her? I shake these feelings off as the keys fade for the end. These man are tapped if they say I didn't make Grade 8.
...
Y/n's POV:
Speechless and hypnotised is what you are. Making your way up to the mahogany stage, butterflies battle for dominance in your stomach. This mix of nervousness for the performance and the fact Cench will be watching is both nauseating and intoxicating. You inhale filling your squeezing lungs. The conductor motions for you to begin, the sheet music you have on the ledge... It's not Fur Elise, like you were assigned it's the one you've been experimentally writing. Horrified you close your eyes. Lost. You begin to play anyways. Confront don't run. You play until the amounting crowd is rendered delirious with applause and Cench is peering funnily at you in the audience, you brush it off. That's probably the look of disinterest.
As the curtains closed you saw your future becoming narrower... and narrower. There was an office which you were meant to report to promptly, to hear results. Practically tiptoeing in anticipation you felt yourself drown in dread. Not commencing to Grade seven meant bidding this school a sorrowful goodbye, before you even had a chance to enroll! It wasn't just the prestige, or the vigor which made this school shine in a pearly light, it was the love for music and adorned opportunities it created. For some a school like this was a pretty ornament on a promising resume, but for you, this was your youthful life's work.
Now standing outside the tastefully decorated office, you heard two adults discussing tersely, the conductor and examiner. Knocking lightly on the door, you were further unsettled at how swiftly it swung open. For the millionth time that day, you sat in a seat powerless; while others dictated your fate.
"Ms. y/n last name, we were shocked when you played the piece that was not assigned to you, but it appears you wrote it, yes?" The conductor drawled.
You cleared your throat hurriedly, looking intently at the poker-faced men.
"Yes sir, I did," it came out a near whisper.
"Excellent, welcome to grade seven, I look forward to seeing you at the Royal College of Music in the very near future."
...
You were beyond ecstatic. You honestly had no words to describe this feeling it was bliss and euphoria intertwined. The rain sprinkled predictably as you walked to your bus stop: You couldn't help but romanticise life at times, but this moment was a smidgen of actual romance in your life. Your gentle musings of how much you loved the piano led way to someone you might adore just as equally.
You could hear fast steps behind you through your beige XM4s, thinking it was just another jogger it didn't faze you.
"y/n..." your name caught in Cench's throat. Hearing his voice made you rip your headphones off. Ugh So unsubtle. You stopped to see what he had to say, Cench was only a few inches away. But you wished he was closer... Closer still. As close as possible.
"Hey y/n I saw you walking, can man walk with you," he said this confidently but his eyes were slightly down cast.
"Yes, of course," you replied, letting your heart soar with the possibility of this being the day you would turn a new leaf together.
You walked together to the bus stop talking about piano and your shared dream school, until you could see the tall, red bus blinking at you in the distance.
"There's my bus, see you in music class, Cench," you tried to mask your disappointment as you reluctantly climbed the steps.
"Where do you think I'm going, we live on the same street still," he chuckled rolling his eyes; exciting the butterflied entrapped in your stomach.
"Oh okay," you smiled awkwardly.
Cench's POV:
I am sitting so close to y/n in the bus right now. What if I just leaned in and... Truthfully I am overwhelmed with nervousness right now. This never happens ever. I don't want to talk to her about what happened this morning; she doesn't seem ready and the way she's smiling right now and just looking around the bus. Man she's so cute. Bu there are things to discuss..
"Y/n.."
"mmhmm," she was looking into my eyes and I thought my mind would go blank.
" I - I actually like you a lot... I have for time, I can't lie." Holding my breath. I'm hoping... I hope she responds the way she does in my head.
Y/N's POV
The air left your brain, the moment felt ethereal. You had pictured and edited this moment innumerable times in your imagination. And you always thought it was just remain a figment. Looking into Cench's dark, enamoring eyes you could see he was waiting for your answer.
"I like you too Cench... I have since forever." Your smile turned impossibly large and you faced the front, excited for what's yet to come and beaming.
"Since forever huh, babe don't be silly," Cench's smile was a reflection of a sunny day.
"It's true - " you mumbled realising what he has said. Babe.
Cench placed a warm hand on your cheek. His lips were soft like you had always envisioned; grazing over yours slightly - searching for reciprocation. You opened your eyes wide in awe and surprise, pressing your lips against his. You could feel Cench smiling into the kiss; his lips were sweet and fit yours perfectly. Slowly his hand trailed to grip your waist while the other stayed on your face. Moving your lips together he pushed his tongue in your mouth and roamed everywhere he could; you saw a different galaxy.
Gasping quietly you both pulled away grinning stupidly.
"You're so beautiful y/n you don't understand," whispering for only you to hear, he wrapped his arm around you moving closer. You put your head in the soft spot between his neck and the edge of his shoulder closing your eyes. You thought about love. Love for piano and Love for Cench.
....
THE END
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picaturavietii · 4 months
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hannahsbackroom · 7 months
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These boys - their love, their fights
Their chemistry
Totally addicted!
Wolfie, Thomas and Ludwig - the perpetual love triangle
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uglylaugher · 7 months
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Fanfic idea !!! 🌹
Yennaia ofc.
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The novices at Aretuza often gossip about the 'ghost' that haunts the halls with melodies.A piano had recently been placed at the school.🎹(decoration purposes)It was never used, according to Tissaia.She never really believed the rumors;never heard the songs for herself during the course of the nights until this particular night.So naturally she investigates this so called 'ghost'.
Only to find the last person she'd ever expect to see behind an instrument of such tranquility:Yennefer of Vengerberg.
~>>
Yes yes,pianos were only invented in the 1300's but who cares;in my mind it was introduced in the mid 1200's.It can in yours too.
NB!! you dont need to create a story exactly like this one, change it up however you want to.
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Chopin Prelude in Db Major “Raindrop” Op. 28, No. 15
reblogs greatly appreciated :>
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stripeysoccs · 6 months
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Welcome!
I'm Eryn, a 18 year-old who has way to many interests. I read books, draw, play the piano and the violin, write poetry, do theatre and am learning how to code. 🍂
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