Ship: Akashi Seijuurou/Midorima Shintarou Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke Major Tags: character death Other Tags: none Word Count: 444 8^))))
well 8^)))))
***
It's easy to pretend he's forgotten, in the hectic rush of life. When his days are filled with meetings and work, time flies by him so fast that it's dark before he leaves the office. He has no time to remember, to think about it.
It's harder to forget at night, when he has loneliness and absence to remind him. Sometimes it’s just the silence and the stillness. Sometimes it’s an ache, a longing for Midorima to just be here, be where he was.
The lack of it is what strikes at him most, in late hours when he cannot sleep, where he wanders through the rooms like a ghost. The piano is reproachful in its corner, aching for touch, the way his chest aches for love lost too soon. He's afraid to open it, because it has always been more Midorima's than his. But tonight, tonight it sits there, silent and alone, and Akashi cannot help but run his fingers over the lid, finding solace in commiseration.
He misses hearing the sound of it, the sound of the apartment filled with music. The silence presses down and Akashi cannot bear it, cannot bear the way it reminds him of all his losses. Fire cannot burn without fuel, and love dies a slow death in absence.
His fingers are hesitant on the keys, but it's not hard to remember how to play it, scales and arpeggios drilled into muscle memory, even if he hasn't played the piano in a long time now. It doesn't take long before he starts playing simpler pieces he vaguely remembers, improvised from what he can remember of them. He used to accompany Midorima on the violin, they'd played through an entire repertoire of composers, from Tchaikovsky to Liszt, to more modern pieces they’d improvised for duets.
Midorima had always loved the nocturnes most though.
His fingers are halting, hesitant with each note, but he remembers it, from watching Midorima play, from learning it himself, years ago.
Memory is a ghost that lives in his mind, in the empty spaces of their apartment, now taken up by the absence of which Akashi had to live with. It aches, and Akashi sometimes cannot remember how to breathe.
So he plays, and he plays until his fingers are trembling and tired, until he feels like he has exhausted all his emotions and all that’s left is a quiet acceptance and resignation that sinks into his bones.
Letting go is not forgetting. But letting go comes slowly, and he thinks that in this, he is slow to learn. He will remember Midorima in other ways, but not in the spaces he left behind.
FILL: TEAM Kominato Ryousuke/Kuramochi Youichi, T
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: character death
Other Tags: none
Word Count: 444 8^))))
well 8^)))))
***
It's easy to pretend he's forgotten, in the hectic rush of life. When his days are filled with meetings and work, time flies by him so fast that it's dark before he leaves the office. He has no time to remember, to think about it.
It's harder to forget at night, when he has loneliness and absence to remind him. Sometimes it’s just the silence and the stillness. Sometimes it’s an ache, a longing for Midorima to just be here, be where he was.
The lack of it is what strikes at him most, in late hours when he cannot sleep, where he wanders through the rooms like a ghost. The piano is reproachful in its corner, aching for touch, the way his chest aches for love lost too soon. He's afraid to open it, because it has always been more Midorima's than his. But tonight, tonight it sits there, silent and alone, and Akashi cannot help but run his fingers over the lid, finding solace in commiseration.
He misses hearing the sound of it, the sound of the apartment filled with music. The silence presses down and Akashi cannot bear it, cannot bear the way it reminds him of all his losses. Fire cannot burn without fuel, and love dies a slow death in absence.
His fingers are hesitant on the keys, but it's not hard to remember how to play it, scales and arpeggios drilled into muscle memory, even if he hasn't played the piano in a long time now. It doesn't take long before he starts playing simpler pieces he vaguely remembers, improvised from what he can remember of them. He used to accompany Midorima on the violin, they'd played through an entire repertoire of composers, from Tchaikovsky to Liszt, to more modern pieces they’d improvised for duets.
Midorima had always loved the nocturnes most though.
His fingers are halting, hesitant with each note, but he remembers it, from watching Midorima play, from learning it himself, years ago.
Memory is a ghost that lives in his mind, in the empty spaces of their apartment, now taken up by the absence of which Akashi had to live with. It aches, and Akashi sometimes cannot remember how to breathe.
So he plays, and he plays until his fingers are trembling and tired, until he feels like he has exhausted all his emotions and all that’s left is a quiet acceptance and resignation that sinks into his bones.
Letting go is not forgetting. But letting go comes slowly, and he thinks that in this, he is slow to learn. He will remember Midorima in other ways, but not in the spaces he left behind.