![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
softpunksoriginal piece // ~2.5k
> piece for Fatality & Flora, a Hades & Persephone-themed zine.
Not once would Haden ever admit to missing his brothers when they would inevitably go, from the moment they told him they were leaving the country up until they had to part ways at the airport. The closest thing to a confession he ever gave was: “Are you sure I can’t come with you?”
He asked it enough times, and he knew the answer would stay the same, and it was why Zee and Don only exchanged looks, ruffled Haden’s hair and pinched his cheeks like he was still ten and not seventeen, and did not respond. Of course Haden couldn’t come with them. They shared the same dreams for most of their lives, but these dreams were coming to life in different ways, and not everything existed to be shared. Music called to them in different forms. Zee was off to take the conductor gig in another continent while Don’s goal was close behind, aiming to get his masters degree before joining music companies that will produce his compositions. Haden, the youngest of the three, was still in his last year of high school and had more time to think about what he wanted to do with his bird-like hands and sharp gaze.
Maybe the distance will help, Don once said. That way, you can figure out what you really want to do, and not just keep doing it because of us.
As if Haden was only doing it for the sake of his brothers. He was far from selfless, and Zee and Don’s egos were always notoriously inflated, overestimating their importance, but there was probably a reason to why Don said what he said, something to do with the way Haden’s shoulders always found themselves hunching when he walked up the stage and preferred to do so trailing after someone else in pair or group performances, hands trailing over the smooth surface of the piano and the roughness of the sheets that only asked him to make the star shine brighter, not take the spotlight for himself.
Haden ended up contemplating it during the bus ride back home, but only because it was easier than dwelling on the empty feeling in his chest as he boarded the public transportation and suddenly caught the sight of an airplane zipping past the sky as he chose a seat by the window. He thought, back then, of the chances of his brothers being on that very plane, but it was unlikely since it was too early, and it didn’t change the fact that even if it wasn’t, it would be soon.
Thinking of the growing distance between them was unnerving, something Haden knew would shift from physical to emotional. It was sort of like losing baby teeth, losing things that weren’t meant to stay but still missing them because they were parts of you that you believed you needed. Haden would never admit it, partly for his own pride and mostly because he knew Zee and Don would never let him live it down if he ever did utter the words aloud, but they were his older brothers, and he needed them, and he lost them.
But trying to keep them by his side wasn’t something he let himself consider. He was far from selfless, but he wasn’t that selfish either, and besides, Zee and Don would never let that stop them. It would be a futile attempt if he ever did try it, and he grew up spending his hours listening to the ticking of the metronome, staying stiff straight as he sat in front of the piano, the joints of his fingers straining from never ending movement to create music loud enough to echo in the room and lovely enough to make people sigh.
The auditorium he entered was empty of people to make room for the overwhelming silence. Haden intended to head home, but at the last minute, he changed his drop off point to somewhere closer to the destination he had the sudden urge to visit. He liked going here best when it was nearing winter season, the air turning on the verge of turning frigid even indoors and how the aesthetic of the room tried to reflect it. The drapes and cushions were darker and the lights were tinted blue. The stage had props for the annual winter play of their town, a free-to-view production hosted by the first years of the local high school, the one Haden was studying at for his last year. They had yet to remove the grand piano at the center of the stage, which was there because two weeks ago there had been a small competition.
Haden walked up to the stage and brushed his hand against the fallboard, grateful that it hadn't been left unattended long enough that specks of dust would cling to his fingertips. When he let out a breath, it came out as a sigh, more forlorn than he realized.
“I take it you came back from the airport then,” a familiar voice chirped, and Haden startled before turning to the sound of the voice. He didn’t realize anyone was inside with him, but it wasn’t hard to figure out why: by the front row, feet dangle in the air, Percy sitting upside down with his head hanging off the edge of the seat dangerously. The only reason Haden wasn’t concerned by the strange position was because Percy always did this.
Instead, Haden squinted at his friend against the dim blue lights of the auditorium. “How long have you been there?”
Gracefully, Percy lifted himself up and jumped out of his seat, landing on the walking space of the second row before swinging a leg over the front to hop to the other side. He snagged his violin case, which was in the seat right beside the one he was previously at, and then abruptly tossed it to Haden, who almost fumbled before catching it. He made a face at Percy and his carelessness for something he should be delicate with, but Percy only laughed and the amusement spread across his entire face. Stray strands of strawberry blonde hair fell across the front of Percy’s face, and Haden resisted the urge to move closer to him to brush it away.
“Long enough to think about what I wanted to do,” Percy said, joining him onstage. Haden handed him back his violin case, but the distance between them wasn’t short enough for Haden to really touch him. That was always how Percy was though, carrying this air of flightiness, movements always light and loose like he was two seconds away from taking off somewhere no one could follow. Haden never thought twice of it before, past it being a possible result of growing up with an overbearing mother and that it was what made Percy interesting, because he acted like he could never be tied down to anything and therefore it made him free. But the sting of Don and Zee’s absence, one that would grow over time into a gaping hole in Haden’s heart that he would always deny but would still exist, just made the thought of Percy’s attitude mildly terrifying, maybe almost nauseating.
But he didn’t leave—there was something in the way Percy took out his violin and tuned it that kept Haden’s feet rooted in place. Despite the nonchalance he always carried with him, the movements he made as he twisted the knobs on his violin or took out the rosin to brush against his bow were gentle, mindful. It was mundane, Percy’s done this countless times before, but Haden had never actually seen him pre-performance, and he ended up being so distracted watching Percy work that it didn’t hit him why he was doing it until—
“So you’re here to practice?”
“Impromptu performance,” corrected Percy. “Did you know I’ve never done a duet before?”
“It’s because no one can keep up with you,” Haden pointed out. He watched almost all of Percy’s performances, ranging from standard recitals to sweat-breaking competitions. He topped them all with ease, an unexpected force to be reckoned with. Haden always saw him from a distance, both with quiet admiration and a drive to be that charismatic when he stepped onstage, even if he was always playing in the background, meant to support whoever his partner would be in performances. Because that was what he did best, what he grew up with as the youngest and always knew: following after others. He never minded this secondary role, because that meant he wouldn’t be alone, but he always played the most with Zee or Don, he realized, his brothers who were no longer here, and it made him feel lost as to what he could do next. He made his notes to fill in the gaps of already existing sound, so what could he do when there were only holes he had to fill all by himself?
“Do you wanna try?” asked Percy, as if reading Haden’s mind.
“What?”
Instead of answering, Percy fished out sheet music, folded to fit in the pocket of his violin case. “Let’s play together.”
Haden frowned but took the paper Percy gave him. “You’ve never done a piece with someone else before though.”
“And you’ve never done a piece with me,” Percy pointed out. “So we’ll both be stepping into new waters here, won’t we?”
Haden couldn’t help it. The way Percy said it made him smirk in amusement. “Are you sure this is a duet and not a competition?”
“If you can keep up with me,” Percy challenged, confirming nothing but saying everything.
Haden recognized the piece, had placed it once with Don at the helm, violin sitting at the crook of his neck and back arched in a smooth curve. Zee had sat with them in practices, sensitive ears able to pick up the slightest change in tempo or falter in their playing. These were the hardest times for Haden, trying to prove himself, to his brothers, that he could keep up with them, that just because he was the youngest it didn’t mean he wasn’t as capable as they were, that he could fulfill the role he’d been given and be the only stepping stones his brothers needed to reach success, to produce a beautiful sound.
Playing with Percy now was sort of the same just as it was completely different. There was weight to playing with Don and listening to Zee, power and intensity in their pieces that they always chose because they were extremities and they never did anything in halves. They wanted to be remembered, etched into the minds of their audience, and they did it with such a force that it made people afraid just as it left them with awe. It was the moment you found yourself suspended in the air, realizing you were on top of the entire world, or down in the deep blue sea, finding out that there was something more to discover. It was a rich sound, haunting when it reverberated around the walls and rang in everyone’s ears, always demanding for the attention of the whole world because they deserved nothing less.
Percy never did anything half-assed either, and he was just as overwhelming as Zee and Don played, but Haden was used to this, so he didn’t mind it, but it also didn’t change the fact that Percy was still different too. He was all grace and weightlessness, flower petals being carried away by the wind and the faint scent of earth lingering around. His violin strings were taut, but his movements were fluid, like he couldn’t be held down by anything. His music did not demand to be heard, because it didn’t mean to—people actively sought it, wanting more of their own volition because they were terrified to miss out on something so wondrous.
Despite the sheet music they were both tasked to follow, Percy still played like he was all alone, leaving nearly no room for Haden to fill in the gaps. But Haden wormed his way through anyway, fingers dancing across the keys to create an accompaniment that amplified the power of this piece, creating a fuller sound that was nothing short of brilliant.
It was both a competition and a duet, Haden realized. Percy didn’t flinch when Haden would rise to challenge every time he pulled off a complicated section, one that would normally be too hard to adapt to from its eccentricity, and they weren’t seeking to overpower one another in their song, just race each other. Haden felt breathless, but it wasn’t like watching airplanes take off or placating words of comfort that told him he had to find himself and what he really wanted, because he did know what he wanted, and Percy reminded him of it.
Are you sure I can’t come with you? The steadiness of the piano keys asked, playing in legato beats.
If you can keep up, the violin, with its sharp trill and feather-like grace, replied.
When they played, it felt whole.
> piece for Fatality & Flora, a Hades & Persephone-themed zine.
Not once would Haden ever admit to missing his brothers when they would inevitably go, from the moment they told him they were leaving the country up until they had to part ways at the airport. The closest thing to a confession he ever gave was: “Are you sure I can’t come with you?”
He asked it enough times, and he knew the answer would stay the same, and it was why Zee and Don only exchanged looks, ruffled Haden’s hair and pinched his cheeks like he was still ten and not seventeen, and did not respond. Of course Haden couldn’t come with them. They shared the same dreams for most of their lives, but these dreams were coming to life in different ways, and not everything existed to be shared. Music called to them in different forms. Zee was off to take the conductor gig in another continent while Don’s goal was close behind, aiming to get his masters degree before joining music companies that will produce his compositions. Haden, the youngest of the three, was still in his last year of high school and had more time to think about what he wanted to do with his bird-like hands and sharp gaze.
Maybe the distance will help, Don once said. That way, you can figure out what you really want to do, and not just keep doing it because of us.
As if Haden was only doing it for the sake of his brothers. He was far from selfless, and Zee and Don’s egos were always notoriously inflated, overestimating their importance, but there was probably a reason to why Don said what he said, something to do with the way Haden’s shoulders always found themselves hunching when he walked up the stage and preferred to do so trailing after someone else in pair or group performances, hands trailing over the smooth surface of the piano and the roughness of the sheets that only asked him to make the star shine brighter, not take the spotlight for himself.
Haden ended up contemplating it during the bus ride back home, but only because it was easier than dwelling on the empty feeling in his chest as he boarded the public transportation and suddenly caught the sight of an airplane zipping past the sky as he chose a seat by the window. He thought, back then, of the chances of his brothers being on that very plane, but it was unlikely since it was too early, and it didn’t change the fact that even if it wasn’t, it would be soon.
Thinking of the growing distance between them was unnerving, something Haden knew would shift from physical to emotional. It was sort of like losing baby teeth, losing things that weren’t meant to stay but still missing them because they were parts of you that you believed you needed. Haden would never admit it, partly for his own pride and mostly because he knew Zee and Don would never let him live it down if he ever did utter the words aloud, but they were his older brothers, and he needed them, and he lost them.
But trying to keep them by his side wasn’t something he let himself consider. He was far from selfless, but he wasn’t that selfish either, and besides, Zee and Don would never let that stop them. It would be a futile attempt if he ever did try it, and he grew up spending his hours listening to the ticking of the metronome, staying stiff straight as he sat in front of the piano, the joints of his fingers straining from never ending movement to create music loud enough to echo in the room and lovely enough to make people sigh.
The auditorium he entered was empty of people to make room for the overwhelming silence. Haden intended to head home, but at the last minute, he changed his drop off point to somewhere closer to the destination he had the sudden urge to visit. He liked going here best when it was nearing winter season, the air turning on the verge of turning frigid even indoors and how the aesthetic of the room tried to reflect it. The drapes and cushions were darker and the lights were tinted blue. The stage had props for the annual winter play of their town, a free-to-view production hosted by the first years of the local high school, the one Haden was studying at for his last year. They had yet to remove the grand piano at the center of the stage, which was there because two weeks ago there had been a small competition.
Haden walked up to the stage and brushed his hand against the fallboard, grateful that it hadn't been left unattended long enough that specks of dust would cling to his fingertips. When he let out a breath, it came out as a sigh, more forlorn than he realized.
“I take it you came back from the airport then,” a familiar voice chirped, and Haden startled before turning to the sound of the voice. He didn’t realize anyone was inside with him, but it wasn’t hard to figure out why: by the front row, feet dangle in the air, Percy sitting upside down with his head hanging off the edge of the seat dangerously. The only reason Haden wasn’t concerned by the strange position was because Percy always did this.
Instead, Haden squinted at his friend against the dim blue lights of the auditorium. “How long have you been there?”
Gracefully, Percy lifted himself up and jumped out of his seat, landing on the walking space of the second row before swinging a leg over the front to hop to the other side. He snagged his violin case, which was in the seat right beside the one he was previously at, and then abruptly tossed it to Haden, who almost fumbled before catching it. He made a face at Percy and his carelessness for something he should be delicate with, but Percy only laughed and the amusement spread across his entire face. Stray strands of strawberry blonde hair fell across the front of Percy’s face, and Haden resisted the urge to move closer to him to brush it away.
“Long enough to think about what I wanted to do,” Percy said, joining him onstage. Haden handed him back his violin case, but the distance between them wasn’t short enough for Haden to really touch him. That was always how Percy was though, carrying this air of flightiness, movements always light and loose like he was two seconds away from taking off somewhere no one could follow. Haden never thought twice of it before, past it being a possible result of growing up with an overbearing mother and that it was what made Percy interesting, because he acted like he could never be tied down to anything and therefore it made him free. But the sting of Don and Zee’s absence, one that would grow over time into a gaping hole in Haden’s heart that he would always deny but would still exist, just made the thought of Percy’s attitude mildly terrifying, maybe almost nauseating.
But he didn’t leave—there was something in the way Percy took out his violin and tuned it that kept Haden’s feet rooted in place. Despite the nonchalance he always carried with him, the movements he made as he twisted the knobs on his violin or took out the rosin to brush against his bow were gentle, mindful. It was mundane, Percy’s done this countless times before, but Haden had never actually seen him pre-performance, and he ended up being so distracted watching Percy work that it didn’t hit him why he was doing it until—
“So you’re here to practice?”
“Impromptu performance,” corrected Percy. “Did you know I’ve never done a duet before?”
“It’s because no one can keep up with you,” Haden pointed out. He watched almost all of Percy’s performances, ranging from standard recitals to sweat-breaking competitions. He topped them all with ease, an unexpected force to be reckoned with. Haden always saw him from a distance, both with quiet admiration and a drive to be that charismatic when he stepped onstage, even if he was always playing in the background, meant to support whoever his partner would be in performances. Because that was what he did best, what he grew up with as the youngest and always knew: following after others. He never minded this secondary role, because that meant he wouldn’t be alone, but he always played the most with Zee or Don, he realized, his brothers who were no longer here, and it made him feel lost as to what he could do next. He made his notes to fill in the gaps of already existing sound, so what could he do when there were only holes he had to fill all by himself?
“Do you wanna try?” asked Percy, as if reading Haden’s mind.
“What?”
Instead of answering, Percy fished out sheet music, folded to fit in the pocket of his violin case. “Let’s play together.”
Haden frowned but took the paper Percy gave him. “You’ve never done a piece with someone else before though.”
“And you’ve never done a piece with me,” Percy pointed out. “So we’ll both be stepping into new waters here, won’t we?”
Haden couldn’t help it. The way Percy said it made him smirk in amusement. “Are you sure this is a duet and not a competition?”
“If you can keep up with me,” Percy challenged, confirming nothing but saying everything.
Haden recognized the piece, had placed it once with Don at the helm, violin sitting at the crook of his neck and back arched in a smooth curve. Zee had sat with them in practices, sensitive ears able to pick up the slightest change in tempo or falter in their playing. These were the hardest times for Haden, trying to prove himself, to his brothers, that he could keep up with them, that just because he was the youngest it didn’t mean he wasn’t as capable as they were, that he could fulfill the role he’d been given and be the only stepping stones his brothers needed to reach success, to produce a beautiful sound.
Playing with Percy now was sort of the same just as it was completely different. There was weight to playing with Don and listening to Zee, power and intensity in their pieces that they always chose because they were extremities and they never did anything in halves. They wanted to be remembered, etched into the minds of their audience, and they did it with such a force that it made people afraid just as it left them with awe. It was the moment you found yourself suspended in the air, realizing you were on top of the entire world, or down in the deep blue sea, finding out that there was something more to discover. It was a rich sound, haunting when it reverberated around the walls and rang in everyone’s ears, always demanding for the attention of the whole world because they deserved nothing less.
Percy never did anything half-assed either, and he was just as overwhelming as Zee and Don played, but Haden was used to this, so he didn’t mind it, but it also didn’t change the fact that Percy was still different too. He was all grace and weightlessness, flower petals being carried away by the wind and the faint scent of earth lingering around. His violin strings were taut, but his movements were fluid, like he couldn’t be held down by anything. His music did not demand to be heard, because it didn’t mean to—people actively sought it, wanting more of their own volition because they were terrified to miss out on something so wondrous.
Despite the sheet music they were both tasked to follow, Percy still played like he was all alone, leaving nearly no room for Haden to fill in the gaps. But Haden wormed his way through anyway, fingers dancing across the keys to create an accompaniment that amplified the power of this piece, creating a fuller sound that was nothing short of brilliant.
It was both a competition and a duet, Haden realized. Percy didn’t flinch when Haden would rise to challenge every time he pulled off a complicated section, one that would normally be too hard to adapt to from its eccentricity, and they weren’t seeking to overpower one another in their song, just race each other. Haden felt breathless, but it wasn’t like watching airplanes take off or placating words of comfort that told him he had to find himself and what he really wanted, because he did know what he wanted, and Percy reminded him of it.
Are you sure I can’t come with you? The steadiness of the piano keys asked, playing in legato beats.
If you can keep up, the violin, with its sharp trill and feather-like grace, replied.
When they played, it felt whole.