Between the Notes

Hyacinth's fingers ached. The tips of them, pressed firmly against the piano keys, trembled slightly with exhaustion, but he kept going. Again and again, he played the same passage, stumbling over the same section that had tripped him up for the past hour. Every mistake was met with a sharp correction from Yukimura.

"Slower."

Hyacinth adjusted.

"You're off-beat."

He tried again.

"Your left hand's too stiff. Relax."

Hyacinth exhaled sharply, biting the inside of his cheek. His body was screaming for a break, but he didn't stop. He couldn't. Not when Yukimura was watching him so closely, arms crossed, eyes narrowed like he was waiting for Hyacinth to crack under the pressure.

And maybe he was. Maybe this was some kind of test.

He forced himself to push through the fatigue, but his hands betrayed him. He fumbled on a transition, his fingers slipping, and the melody shattered into discordant notes. The sound made him flinch.

Yukimura clicked his tongue. "You're distracted."

Hyacinth straightened his posture and shook his head. Again. He needed to get this right.

But Yukimura wasn't having it. "Stop."

Hyacinth barely had time to react before Yukimura reached forward and slammed the piano lid shut, the sudden sound making Hyacinth jolt.

"You're not getting anywhere like this." Yukimura's voice was cold, but Hyacinth caught something beneath it—something tight, restrained, like he was holding something back.

"Your playing's sloppy. If you can't keep up, then don't waste my time."

Hyacinth stiffened. Frustration and exhaustion warred inside him. He clenched his fists, his breathing uneven. I'm trying my best. He wanted to scream it, but instead, he grabbed his whiteboard, marker shaking slightly in his grip, and scrawled out:

I know I'm not good enough yet. But I will be.

Yukimura's gaze flickered over the words. For a second, he didn't respond. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and left the room, the door shutting behind him with a soft but decisive click.

Hyacinth let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The tension in the room lingered even after Yukimura was gone, pressing against his chest like a weight. He flexed his aching fingers before sighing, gathering his things, and heading out for a much-needed break.

Break hours couldn't have come at a better time.

Hyacinth sat outside on one of the academy's stone benches, rubbing his sore hands. He had barely taken a moment to breathe before a familiar presence plopped down beside him.

"You look like you just survived a war," Gabby remarked, dramatically fanning himself. "Let me guess—Yukimura being a slave driver again?"

Hyacinth let out a tired huff, reaching for his whiteboard.

I just don't get him. One second he's helping me improve, the next he's tearing me down.

Gabby hummed in thought, resting his chin on his hand. "Sounds like him. He's intense, but it's not like he's trying to sabotage you."

Hyacinth frowned slightly, skeptical.

"Think about it," Gabby continued. "He doesn't waste time on things he doesn't care about. If he thought you were hopeless, he wouldn't even bother teaching you."

Hyacinth blinked, his grip on his marker loosening slightly. Care about? The thought sat uneasily in his chest.

Gabby tilted his head, observing him for a moment before continuing. "You know, Yukimura's studying engineering, right? One of the hardest programs in the academy. He doesn't have to take this music class. He doesn't have to spend time practicing with you either. But he does."

Hyacinth froze, processing the words. He had known that, of course. But hearing it like this… It made him see things differently.

Gabby stretched his arms behind his head and grinned. "Besides, you'll get there. Just don't forget to actually sleep."

Hyacinth rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless. Gabby always had a way of lifting his spirits.

By the time Hyacinth returned to the music room, the space was eerily quiet.

He half-expected to be alone, but there, sitting at a desk in the corner, was Yukimura—head down, sketching something on a large sheet of paper. His usual sharp focus was there, but instead of music sheets, it was blueprints and measurements.

Hyacinth paused. Engineering.

He had been so caught up in trying to keep up with Yukimura musically that he had overlooked something important—Yukimura had a whole other life outside of this.

Yet despite his demanding course, despite the expectations he carried, he still chose to study music. He still chose to play.

And if Yukimura, with all that weight on his shoulders, could do that—then what excuse did Hyacinth have?

His grip tightened around the edge of the piano as resolve settled in his chest. He stepped forward, placed his fingers on the keys, and, quietly, started to play again.

This time, he wasn't trying to prove himself. He just played.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed Yukimura's pen slow slightly, pausing mid-stroke. His expression remained unreadable, but the moment wasn't lost on Hyacinth.

But then, just as quickly, Yukimura resumed his work, as if nothing had happened.

Hyacinth bit his lip, his fingers moving over the keys with newfound ease. He wasn't sure if Yukimura was actually listening or if it was just his imagination, but somehow, the thought that he might be was enough.

And for now, that was enough.