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The Pianist

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            He was a regular. He came in once a week, sat at the same spot, downed a glass of amber liquor and waited till the crowd thinned to near empty. Then, he strolled over to the upright piano at the side near the restroom, half in the dark because the light was broken and needed fixing, and played. The man was on the small side, probably way too thin for his own good and the music! Kon had never heard such music. It was entrancing. For three months, Kon made sure to be there just for the man’s playing. And today Kon was going to fuck it all. His silent admiration and possibly a chance with the man if he screwed up. He had to.

            When the man was on his last song, Kon knew because he always played the same one to finish the night off, Kon sidled up to the piano and leaned against it. The pianist was pale skinned and dressed smartly. And the man’s eyes were…closed? With a slight flourish, the last note ended, ringing out to fade, and he opened his eyes slowly. They were blue, so blue Kon was stunned, momentarily forgetting why he was there. The pianist looked at him curiously but didn’t say a word. He rose gracefully, looking as if he stepped out of some knight-prince film. Oh shit, he was leaving, Kon thought.

            “You—what song was that?” He asked lamely. The man looked at him, startled, faint blush rising on his cheeks.

            “What?” his voice was soft, low and Kon thought it suited him very well.

            “Uh, the last one,” Kon said awkwardly. He hoped he hadn’t ruined his chances by sounding stupid.

            “It…doesn’t have a name.”

            Kon’s eyebrows shot up at that. “You wrote this?”

            “Composed,” the pianist corrected and shrugged.

            “It’s beautiful,” Kon said. It really was.

            “Thanks.” The man smiled, and Kon felt so dazed by it he almost didn’t register the man leaving. Kon hurried after him. “Wait! What’s your name?”

            The man paused mid-step and glanced back at him.

            “Tim,” he said smoothly. He turned back to the exit.

            “My name’s—“

            “Kon,” Tim interrupted, still walking to the door. “I know. I’ll see you next week.”

            Kon was left staring. Then, he grinned to himself. He didn’t get to ask the man on a date, but he had another shot at it. Awesome.

Chapter Text

          He watched as Tim played, eyes closed. The notes rang out gently, softly before increasing in a beautiful crescendo. And Kon watched as the sternness in the line of those thin lips smoothed out, relaxing. And he watched as those eyes shut so tightly soften till they were merely curtains hiding those wonderful blue eyes. And he watched as the tightness, the tenseness in Tim's body drifted away till all there was left was a sereneness of the most divine kind. Achieved only through a release of emotions. When Tim finished, Kon clapped.

         "That was beautiful."

          Tim's eyes opened slowly, and he looked at Kon, a laughing lilt to his voice.

          "Those were only scales. It wasn't actually anything."

          "But it's beautiful all the same," Kon disagreed. "You like to play them?"

          "What?" And Tim was startled, hands hovering over the keys.

         "You like to play scales," Kon clarified. "You look so very relaxed when you play them. More than any piece of music I've ever heard you played at the club."

         Tim blushed, head tilted down. "I love it for the repetition and simplicity."

         "Yes, and I love you for it. Have dinner with me?" Kon asked.

         "Yes."

Chapter Text

          Tim’s fingers froze above the white keys of the piano. He couldn’t remember. Swiftly, Tim’s hands darted across the rows of black and white, anxious. He paused. No. He didn’t remember. Again. He closed his eyes, trying not to think and just play. And…no. Tim still stopped short at the section despite how he skimmed the ivory so smoothly through the intro. It wasn’t right. Again.

            Tim ran his fingers, nimble and shaking across the keys over and over. When he reached the snag and still couldn’t remember, he rushed straight back to the beginning, starting over. Again. Again. Finally, Tim crashed open palms onto the keys in frustration. The discordant noise was deafening and, it seemed to Tim, marked his failure. He curled his fingers, squeezing his eyes shut. He tried once more.

            Then, he was playing the entire piece. Tears streamed down his face in relief. He remembered. Tim thought he had forgotten the song he created on the spot. Just for Kon. The song he never transcribed because he swore he’d never forget it. He didn’t know what he’ll do. If pieces of Kon were fading from his memory. Because it wasn’t that long ago since Kon died.

            Tim continued to press the keys in defiance, in a soundless repeat (because he really couldn’t hear the notes, not anymore but he knew the movement). Again. He won’t forget. He won’t.