The morning sun streamed through the tall windows of Aoshima Academy, painting the polished floors of the music department in golden light. Yuki tugged at the straps of his bag, excitement humming through his veins. Today was the day. They were going to meet Shun Takahashi, the pianist who had to be the one from the studio. He'd felt it in his bones since Kenji had confirmed Shun's schedule.
Kenji walked beside him, notebook in hand, calm and precise as always. The contrast between them was sharp—Yuki bouncing with enthusiasm, barely able to keep his bag from sliding off his shoulder, while Kenji's steps were measured, almost meditative. Yet together, they made a team. Yuki trusted Kenji implicitly to navigate the labyrinth of practice rooms and student schedules.
They reached Room C, the legendary practice space. The door was closed, but faint scales floated through the cracks, warm and disciplined. Yuki's heartbeat accelerated. That had to be him. That had to be the pianist from yesterday.
Kenji knocked softly. "Shun? It's Kenji. He… uh, we were hoping to talk for a minute."
There was a pause. Then the door cracked open. Shun's face appeared—hair slightly messy, fingers smudged with chalk from marking a sheet of music, and eyes that had the same intense focus Yuki remembered from rumors around the school.
"Oh," Shun said, voice quiet but polite. "Kenji. And…?"
"Yuki," Yuki said quickly, stepping forward with a grin. "I'm from dance. Uh… we wanted to talk about… well, your practice."
Shun raised an eyebrow, curious but reserved. "My practice?"
Kenji coughed politely. "He… thinks someone's playing for him when he dances. And you were suggested as… possibly the one?"
Shun blinked once, a faint blush rising in his cheeks. "Oh… I see." He gave a small, awkward smile. "I—um. I play a lot. But I wouldn't… follow anyone in a studio without asking. I'm usually just practicing for myself."
Yuki's heart sank a little. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe it wasn't Shun.
But there was something intriguing about him—something shy and careful that still carried the faint aura of… potential. Yuki could feel it. He stepped closer, trying not to stumble over his words.
"That's fine," he said, voice lighter than he felt. "I didn't mean to… I just—your style. I'd love to know more about it. Could you maybe… show me a few pieces? Just, like… casually?"
Shun hesitated, glancing at Kenji. Kenji nodded almost imperceptibly, a subtle signal that this was fine. With a small sigh, Shun stepped aside and gestured inside the room. "I guess… sure. I don't usually perform for people, though. Not outside class."
Yuki's chest lifted with a tiny flutter of hope. "That's fine! I just… like watching. And maybe learning a little?"
Shun chuckled softly, the sound light and almost nervous. "Alright, then. Pick a spot. Don't step on my metronome."
They moved in, Yuki leaning against the wall, careful not to invade Shun's space, Kenji taking a respectful corner with notebook ready. Shun began playing—scales at first, slow, methodical, almost hesitant—but each note had an energy Yuki could feel, subtle yet alive.
Yuki's eyes widened slightly. Even though it wasn't exactly what he remembered from the studio, there was a warmth, a care in every chord. It was like Shun was speaking quietly in a language only the trained ear could notice.
As the minutes passed, Yuki felt a connection forming, tentative but bright, like the flicker of sunlight through a new leaf. He clapped softly at the end of a small improvisation.
"That… was really good," he said. "I like how it feels… happy but careful, you know?"
Shun's faint blush deepened, and he glanced at Kenji. "Thank you. Most people don't really… notice that."
Yuki grinned. "I do. I notice. And I think you're… kind of amazing."
Kenji cleared his throat softly, pretending to adjust his notebook. "He means it," he said lightly. His eyes were calm, watching, making sure Yuki didn't get too carried away.
Shun looked momentarily surprised, then gave a small smile. "Thanks… I guess. I don't usually talk about my music with people I don't know well. But… you're genuinely interested."
Yuki felt his chest warm. "Yeah. I am. Music is… it's kind of magical, isn't it?"
Shun nodded. "Yeah. I guess it is."
There was a pause. Yuki wanted to ask more—ask him to play for him while dancing, to see if the magic could happen again—but something stopped him. It wasn't right yet. Not the first meeting. He just had to let this be… a small beginning.
Instead, he smiled softly. "Well… maybe another time?"
Shun's eyes lit up faintly. "Yeah… maybe."
And that was enough. A spark, tiny but real, like the start of a hopeful friendship. A "maybe" that Yuki could carry with him through the rest of the day.
Over the next week, Yuki and Shun occasionally crossed paths in the halls or practice rooms. Each meeting was brief—small greetings, light conversation, a shared laugh over spilled sheet music or someone hitting the wrong note. Nothing deep, nothing intense. But Yuki noticed himself hoping each time that they might sit together or talk for a few minutes longer.
Kenji remained by his side the entire time. Walking to class, sharing lunch, quietly giving practical suggestions for approaching Shun, and keeping Yuki grounded when his excitement got too high. Yuki didn't think about it consciously, but Kenji's presence was comforting. Solid. Easy. Safe.
Shun, meanwhile, remained a tiny bright spot on the periphery. Cute, shy, approachable—but always just a bit out of reach. The hope of a connection with Shun was sweet, but subtle. Puppy-love level gentle. A flicker of what could be, if the timing and courage aligned someday.
And for Yuki, that small flicker was enough to feel alive in a way he hadn't expected.
By the end of the week, Yuki sat on the steps outside the school, notebook open, sketching small movement ideas inspired by Shun's piano playing. Kenji sat beside him, quietly reviewing some theory notes, occasionally glancing at Yuki with a small, friendly smile.
"Do you really think Shun could be the one?" Yuki asked suddenly, half to himself.
Kenji looked thoughtful. "If by 'the one' you mean your mysterious pianist… maybe. Could be someone else entirely. We won't know until we see him play for you again."
Yuki nodded, a soft smile curling on his lips. "Yeah… maybe. But even if it's just Shun, it feels nice to have someone to chase."
Kenji's smile remained steady. "It's fun to have a mystery."
Yuki leaned back, letting the sun warm his face. Somewhere beyond the walls of the academy, the world hummed with piano notes and dancing shadows. And though he didn't know it, the person he had been searching for all along—the one who had matched his every step in the studio—was still quietly walking beside him, unnoticed, waiting for the right time.
For now, he had Shun, small hope and tiny spark. And he had Kenji, reliable and constant.It was enough.
For now.