Chapter Text
Shit. Late. Shit shit shit shit.
You run as fast as you can through the halls, panting but frantic. Class duties had taken far longer than usual today, and your teacher had called you in for a meeting about your last exam once you had finished. The extra cleaning time plus the surprise meeting were both downward steps spiraling into a reputation of unreliability. If you're going to land the piano solo in the concert this year, you have to have a rock solid reputation. Takeno-sensei won't take anything less than that, and there are a lot of third years in music club.
You clench your jaw and go a little faster. You may be just a second year, but you've been playing piano since you were a kid and you are confident in your skill and work ethic enough to believe that landing a role that usually goes to third years is within your grasp. You won't let your age hold you back.
You take the stairs two at a time down to the ground level. Your chest is burning but you push yourself out the door. The music building is behind several gyms. There's a shortcut through an extra gym that would save time, but sometimes sports teams use it for practice games. You decide to take the chance and pray to whatever god that is patron of lateness that the gym is empty.
You swing around the corner, jump through the door and stop dead in your tracks. The gym is full of boys in official game uniforms. They all stop what they were doing and stare blankly at you. A stray volleyball bumps gently against your foot. Your stomach drops to your knees, making them wobble slightly and you try to swallow down the lump forming in your throat. You have a fleeting thought of turning back and running- but you're already here and that would make you even later. You've already interrupted their practice. You set your jaw and force your feet forward, heading for the door at the opposite end of the gym.
You bow mechanically as you pass their captain; a tall, salt-and-pepper haired boy with an underlined number 4 on his jersey. You try to say something- "sorry," "sorry for interrupting," -anything, but your tongue seems to have turned to lead in your mouth. You make it to the door. As soon as you cross the threshold you spring forward and run full tilt the rest of the way to the music room.
You make it to the music building and head for the main room. It's a large space with chairs arranged in semicircles and instrument cubbies crammed onto every wall. There's a door leading to the secondary stage in the corner. The carpeting extends nearly to the ceiling in a small attempt to soundproof. "Hello, I'm sorry!" You yell between breaths as you lean against the entrance doors for support.
The students are huddled in groups, talking quietly and poring over the same sheet music. Some look up briefly but most of them are too preoccupied to notice your arrival. Good.
"Y/n, you're late," says a woman as she walks over. She’s dressed in a short sleeved button up shirt and a pencil skirt that reaches down past her knees. Her ID badge identifying her as a teacher is hanging from a lanyard around her neck. She frowns, causing slight wrinkles to form between her eyebrows as she folds her arms.
"Sensei," you say, bowing low, "I'm sorry, cleaning duties took longer than usual today and my teacher called me in for a meeting about a school project. I came as quickly as I could."
She hums disapprovingly. "Alright. Get to it. Here is the music for the summer concert and your solo that you requested. Are you sure you want to do something this complicated? It’s quite difficult for a high school student," she says as she hands you a folder.
“I’m confident that I can master it.” You say, standing a little straighter and hoping you sound confident.
“Alright then, you can go to your usual room, I’ll check on you later to see how you’re doing.” She turns and walks away.
"Thank you," you say quietly to her back. You hurry down the hall to the last door on the right. It opens to a tiny closet with a window, and a couple of old music stands, and an old piano shoved up against a wall. You set your bag down and take out your music. The sounds of different instruments practicing in the orchestra room and other practice rooms float distantly in and out of your ears.
You sit down and take a breath, trying to bring your heart back down to a normal rate. You sniff, and your thoughts turn back to the boys back in the gym. Hopefully you won't see them tomorrow at school. Hopefully they won't recognize you. The basketball boys get pretty rowdy but you've never heard any crazy stories about the volleyball boys, except their Captain. Apparently he's kind of a goof, but one of the top 5 spikers in Japan. Maybe he'll just forget about it... or maybe they'll just pretend it never happened? You shake your head. Only in a perfect world.
It’s kind of dusty in here. And stuffy. You open the window, letting a cool breeze blow in. You run through your warmups, sinking easily into the familiarity of the notes and sounds of hammers hitting strings. You let yourself get caught up in the music, letting it wash away the embarrassment and frenzy of the afternoon.
Maybe you'll get in trouble for interrupting the volleyball team's pregame. They'll probably tease you about it. But you can worry about that tomorrow. Right now, all you have to worry about is your music.
---
After club ends you walk with Nishiki, a violinist in your class, planning to study for an exam the next day. You banter casually, laughing at a group of first year percussionists ahead of you who are trying to beatbox.
You have to pass by the gym again and you grimace, looking the other way.
“What’s with the face?” asks Nishiki.
“I may or may not have walked right through the volleyball team’s warmup earlier.”
“You didn’t.”
“Yup. And the other team was there and everything. It was like everything went into slow-mo. They all turned and stared at me. But I was already like three steps into the gym so I just walked the rest of the way.”
Nishiki bursts out laughing. “Oh my god, Y/n you’ve got some serious cahones.”
You grin in spite of yourself. “Onaga-san is seriously going to roast me to pieces tomorrow.”
Your train of thought is derailed by a sudden pain in the back of your head. You cry out in shock, the force of the blow jerking you forward. Your feet pedal to catch you before you fall face first onto the ground. You stand there a moment, stunned, feeling suspended between two worlds, waiting for the pain to catch up. Sure enough, the moment passes and your head explodes. You groan pitifully, crouching down to the ground, hands holding the back of your head.