Chapter Text
Rubato: a technical music term from the Italian language meaning "to play with freedom"
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People always spoke of how narratives were tucked away in songs— even those without lyrics. Composers created grand tales through the meticulous construction of notes and sounds, meaningless on their own, but full of life once arranged in a certain pattern. Harmonies build into chords build into a feeling build into a story. It was an instrumentalist’s job to convey that story, pour their energy into telling a tale without words, instead breathing it to life through brass and winds, or thuds of a mallet, or strokes of a well-rosined bow.
One would think after ten years of mastering an instrument, such a feat would come as naturally as strolling— yet Kaoru Sakurayashiki was always met with mediocrity when he pulled his bow across the strings of the violin.
It frustrated the young perfectionist. Theoretically, he did everything correctly: notes were played in tempo with terrifying precision, dynamics were followed as marked, and not a single sound that came from his instrument was out of tune. By all accounts he was quite skilled, and all his peers and his orchestra director even said so. Yet, when the time came to assign solos within their pieces, he was never chosen. Other musicians were flawed where he was not, but perhaps there was something beautiful in that brokenness.
His (now ex) boyfriend always teased him for being robotic and overcalculating, explaining that what he lacked was passion— a love for the art.
Kaoru quit playing violin before his first semester of college.