Work Text:
The bow is his arm.
String, slide, sound.
Too sharp. Again.
Rhythmic, split, dance, dance.
Beat tap.
Faster, faster.
Step back, slow.
Arms are near, let go.
Not now, Hitomi. Not yet.
Keep playing, slide, slide, flicker.
People?
What about them?
They lose the pattern, not there.
They don't follow the notes.
Quarter. Rest beat.
Slow, fast. Piano is... where?
Sayaka did once.
She had the harmony.
She's gone now.
It wasn't his fault.
The music said so.
It would always be the truth.
Just keep playing.