Your first morning at Otowakan was so beautiful, you felt yourself lost for words. After a day of travel, you woke much earlier than usual, just in time to see the sunrise from your window as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes. As you scanned the darkened room, behind one still mostly packed traveling bag you saw it stand out, an idea suddenly forming in your head. Before you knew it, your feet had carried you out of the building and into the beautiful garden, violin case in hand as you looked for an area far enough from the likely still-sleeping residential hallways. Finally deciding on a place, your hands almost flew to take the instrument from the case, acting on instinct as you let in a breath of fresh air. The first piece to come to mind was a Mozart concerto, one you had played as a student, and you felt your fingers familiarize themselves with the positioning as you played the slow adagio, the sounds of the violin mingling with the rustle of leaves and birdsong.
You were so engrossed with the music you hardly heard the sound of wheels approaching.
“Ahah, I didn’t know you played that one!” The bright voice broke your attention from the notes, and you opened your eyes quickly to see your pink-clad housemate smiling at you, light blue eyes sparkling with excitement. At the sudden audience, you felt your face growing red, and lowered the instrument from your chin with an embarrassed glance to the side.
“Well…. I did learn it a while…. it’s very beautiful,” you mutter, fully aware that it’s the very composer of such piece who is complimenting you now. Daring to glance back at him, you notice Motsu’s stare resting on the violin, and you hold it up for him to get a better look. “D-do you play?” You realized just how silly the question must sound, and fumbled over an explanation. “I mean… now…?” You still were pretty confused at the whole situation, but spending even a few days with the odd residents of Otowakan had you convinced that maybe, these eccentrics were actually the composers whose music had engrossed you in your childhood.
Motsu gives a cheerful nod, sliding on the heelys back behind you. “Mhh, that’s right! Want me to play you something?” You turned over your shoulder to follow him, sure your face must be very flustered at this point as you make a slight sound of surprise.
“Ah-?” It would be an honor to have him even look at your violin, you think first, but there’s something in the sound of his wheeled shoes on the ground that can’t help putting you a little on edge.
“Well… that is…” You try to find the right words, as Motsu gives you a curious and expecting look. “I mean… I would love to…. but…” You glance down at the pink shoes, lost for words. Luckily, he seems to understand.
“Oh! You’re worried about me dropping it!” Motsu’s laugh is so bright sounding, like the early morning sun beams, and he gives a confident smile to you. “Don’t worry, I’ll be very careful! But just in case-” His smile turns to a bit of a smirk, and he skates in front of you, almost closer than you expected, “you can hold it as well, to make sure!”
Before you know it, the violin is in Motsu’s hands, and you stand behind the slightly taller man, hands wrapped around his waist. You remember gripping the rails tightly on the roller coasters you went on as a child, and somewhere in your mind is asking why this should be any different. But in this moment, you can feel his warmth, hands right at the man’s torso, as he holds up the violin. And it isn’t just any person, but someone who could just as easily be the 200-year-dead composer whose works you’d played and heard for practically your whole life. You feel your heart speed up, almost instinctively gripping Motsu tighter, and you hear him give a bubbly laugh.
“Ahahah, that tickles~” You’re almost glad to be standing behind him, at least he can’t see your flushed face.
You suddenly feel a shift, and to your horror it looks like Motsu has slipped a bit, falling forward despite your hugging grip on his waist. Almost too scared to look, you find your eyes following the unfortunate form of the bow fly through the air before shutting them tightly, your heart pounding in your throat as the panicked chills rush through your body.
“Got it!” Slowly opening one tightly shut eye, you hesitantly glance up to see Motsu holding the bow aloft, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. You feel a wave of relief rush through your body, and loosen the grip on Motsu’s waist. Though a new surge of nervousness grips you as he notices as well, you hadn’t realized you were holding him so tightly.
“Though I kinda like this position we’re in” you hear him say, with a slightly teasing laugh. Hesitantly you peek around his shoulder to meet his blue eyes, and find he’s actually smiling, not seeming to mind it too much. With some relief, you let out the breath you must have been holding since you’d seen the bow nearly fall, and a shaky laugh from you mixes with Motsu’s bright one.
Soon, the sound of crisp, clear violin playing fills the morning air as well, and you feel the mix of emotions subside, replaced by a feeling of wonder and calmness. It’s not a piece you instantly recognize, not even something you would think of as being specifically Mozart had you heard it on a recording, but something in it sounds so at ease. You can’t help but lean into Motsu’s back, a relaxed smile on your face, hands still wrapped around the classicaloid.
After the piece is finished, you enjoy the few moments of silence before Motsu speaks. “Well, did you like it?”
“Mhh”, you reply in affirmation, still resting your head to his back.
“That’s good.” His tone is calmer than usual, and more reflective than you’ve heard it before. “I used to play this to my parents, when I was first learning. At least, from what I can remember.” You straighten up, not sure exactly what to say. The side of you that has taken music classes and is filled with questions and hypotheses about the nature of your housemates would surely hurry to analyze this piece, and research its relation to the Mozarts historically, but now it is oddly silent. Instead, you feel a kind of empathy for the person in front of you. Right now, Mozart isn’t just a name in a history book, or a cd, or even sheet music, but a person, a living, breathing person with memories, and dreams, and regrets. You stare a moment in silence, before Motsu turns, holding the violin and bow out to you. You had nearly forgotten about it for a second.
“Do you know anything else?” Motsu meets your confused gaze with a playful smile. “I’d love to hear you play something, if you were still practicing!” After a second of confusion, you give a hasty nod, a smile starting on your face as you take the violin. You play what comes to mind, some music by Mozart, and some other pieces you remember. Some of it is more difficult, and some more familiar, but you play until the sounds of the other residents waking up urges you to put the violin down. The whole time, Motsu listens, giving advice after some pieces, or sharing thoughts, but the more you see his bright smile, the more your heart soars in your chest.