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sunkxss · 3 years

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Pianoforte

a matsuhana fic

Matsukawa Issei learned how to play the piano and compose music when he was still in elementary school. At the time he had thought it was fascinating and hard, but not something that really interested him too much.

It took up a lot of time and his parents wouldn't let him go play with his friends until his daily practice was done, and only if it were done right. So he diligently practiced the scales and sheet music that his teacher gave him without much emotion or heart.

The music was played well, but one could tell that it was lacking something. It was lacking passion.

Matsukawa could easily read, write, and play music, but the emotion just wasn't there. Try as he might to fake it - it just wouldn't appear. It frustrated him. His parents finally let him discontinue his lessons in middle school after weeks of expressing his wishes to do so, but made sure to see to it that he practiced occasionally, so that his hard earned skill wouldn't be lost.

So he took it upon himself to practice twice a week. An hour every Monday and Friday right after dinner.

That is until he found volleyball. Twice a week became twice a month, twice a month became one, and so on until he only played when he was procrastinating on his school work (which was often but he didn't really practice - it was more of a tapping of some random melody he made up on the spot.)

Volleyball and school became the forefront of his mind and eventually playing the piano just became a distraction that only held his attention for only a couple of minutes. Volleyball was something that he was actually interested in. Something he was able to become passionate about.

Along the way he made friends, played against crazy strong opponents, won a lot of games and lost some, but most importantly, he fell in love. He fell in love and it ignited a small flame in chest where the grave of his musical ability laid untouched; burning the cobwebs away and shedding a small, warm glow on the sheet music of his heart.

Hanamaki Takahiro and Matsukawa Issei quicky became friends when they met during their first practice at Seijoh in their first year. They had immediately saw something of themselves in each other and clicked like a lock and key and were practically attached at the hip since. They were able to sit silently and enjoy each other's company while also being able to joke around and play pranks, always knowing what mood the other was in and how to respond accordingly.

They fit together like missing puzzles pieces that were finally connected.

It wasn't until their second year that Hanamaki had found out that Matsukawa played piano despite him being over at his house almost every weekend. The door to the piano room had always been locked and closed until the day Mattsun had left it slightly ajar when he had gone in to clean the baby grand prior to him arriving unannounced.

Hanamaki had found out when he had gotten bored of studying for his upcoming test and went to grab a snack from the kitchen when he noticed that the door was open. Being the curious person he was, he toed it to fully open and stepped in. He was greeted with an airy room that had a piano right smack in the center, and the faint smell of cleaning products.

The glossy black polish of it reflected the evening light that was filtering in through the window in distorted waves, music displayed on the small rack that was ready to be brought to life, and a small spread of booklets he could only assume were music were neatly stacked next to it.

A large grin had taken over his once neutral expression.

Soft, almost silent footsteps had alerted him that a second person had joined him to stand in the doorway. He didn't have to turn to know who it was, he knew it was his friend.

Makki turned to him, "Do you know how to play it?"

Matsukawa looked at his best friend for a moment and slid his gaze to the instrument he had cleaned earlier. He shrugged and went over to take a seat on the bench. He stared at the glistening, ivory keys wondering how Hanamaki was going to react. Of course he didn't really care but he just didn't see how him being able to play would be something anyone would want to know.

"Kind of."

He took in a deep breath and lifted his hands to the keys, feeling that small flame in his chest grow just a little bit brighter. He played a couple of scales to warm up, after all, he hadn't played in a while and needed to jog his memory, and figure out what he was going to play. Matsukawa looked over at his friend and saw him waiting excitedly. He rolled his eyes and tapped out a few experimental sounds.

Then, without any warning, music erupted from his fingertips.

Hanamaki watched as Matsukawa's eyebrows furrowed in concentration, lips set into a tight pout, and how his hands roamed the length of the keyboard, barely able to keep track of which keys had been pressed before they had moved to another another.

The music that came from his friend was. . .explosive. It was loud and fast but also exciting. It was fun and colorful. Hanamaki could have sworn he could see the story behind the notes his friend played, but not quite either. Like it was moments that followed a timeline that he could uniquely imagine and it would be different from how anyone else perceived it.

Melodies swirled and flowed together perfectly, swells and decrescendos carried the dramatics of the playful piece. It told a story of an instant connection; of exciting adventures that had already come to pass and more sure to be made. And just as suddenly as it had started the song came to an abrupt end with the last note ringing in the air. The final note had seemed to express that it was not the end–that the story didn't end there.

He waited with a baited breath to see if any more of the story were to fly out of the instrument. He let out a breath in slight disappointment when there wasn't.

Matsukawa lifted his hands from the keys and dropped them in his lap, fidgeting with his fingers as he expectantly looking at his friend for his thoughts about what he just created. The flame in his chest flickered, growing and shrinking in nervous anticipation.

The other boy blinked at him, trying to wrap his mind around what he had just heard and witnessed. He blinked once, twice, three times before letting out an impressed whistle.

"I thought you said that you could kind of play."

"I haven't played in a long time. I rarely come in here now."

"Didn't sound like it."

Mattsun's lips twitched up in the corners into a tiny grin. Maybe it was because it was the first time that he felt that spark. Something so profound that only Hanamaki was able to create it and force him into actually wanting to play and enjoy it. It was the story of their friendship, tinged with hope of becoming something more.

Maybe it was because he fell in love with his best friend, and maybe it was precisely because of that he started to understand what it meant to play with passion; to express himself in a way that words and playing a sport couldn't. Falling in love with his best friend made him want to create movements after movements just for him, to tell him what words cannot.

So Matsukawa just looked at Hanamaki and motioned for him to next to him on the bench with a soft smile and a promise to teach him how to play. And when his best friend, the person be loved, sat impossibly yet familiarly close with an excited expression directed at him, watching him with his attention soley on him, that flame called passion filled his entire heart and warmed the rest of his being.

#haikyuu!!#haikuu #fanfic #matsuhana #music #pining #storytelling #prompts #cute #haikyuu fluff #help #ao3 #ao3fic #seijoh #hanamaki takahiro #matsukawa issei

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