Chapter Text
The most important thing was not to rush.
You needed time. Patience. To let yourself move — slowly, carefully — as if rocking on waves, until...
Sakura struck a low, sonorous chord and froze. Everything inside her — and, it seemed, in the entire concert hall — paused for a breath.
...until the moment came to let the melody carry itself forward.
As the sound grew more insistent, more tense, she felt her shoulders tighten slightly. The upcoming section required only precision and technique — the easiest kind of playing, but she still had to be careful.
Her fingers slid over the cool, polished keys with practiced ease. The instrument itself, however, was unfamiliar. The festival performers hadn’t been allowed a warm-up, and she’d had to figure out mid-performance that the lower register sounded a bit muffled*.
That’s why, toward the climax, when the left hand’s part swelled with power, she had to really lean into the keys.
In those moments, she tried not to let her mind get distracted by stray sensations or sounds. But tonight, it was harder than usual. The lights in the hall were far too bright. Odd, really — what had the festival organizers been thinking?
And the smell… She didn’t want to believe the Austrians had actually lit real candles in a concert venue, but something was burning. A bitter, smoky scent clung stubbornly to the air, irritating her nose.
She shifted her shoulder, feeling how the strap of her black gown — embroidered with tiny beads — was digging into her skin.
She really shouldn’t have listened to Ino. A normal dress would’ve been so much more comfortable.
Finally, the ending.
A completely different mood.
Sakura was always struck by how unlike the rest of the piece it was. As if someone else had written it entirely.
Too cheerful, really, after all that melancholy.
Her fingers caught the trill** with a light touch. The notes shimmered — bright and delicate.
Maybe this piano wasn’t so bad after all.
The euphoria of a full, resonant sound pulled a small smile from her. Riding that high, she struck the final chords — grand, clear, satisfying.
There. That was it.
Exactly how it's supposed to be.
A burst of applause broke out — sudden and loud. Sakura flinched. In Japan, audiences at this kind of festival were more reserved. She still hadn’t gotten used to Europeans.
Sakura stood, walked confidently to the edge of the stage, and bowed.
She didn’t want to look at the audience — the lights were too bright, the air heavy with the scent of candles.
She just wanted to leave.
Her fingers were still tingling with pleasure — the last few bars had felt so good in her hands. She wondered if they'd let her play this piano again once the concert was over.
As she opened the door into the hallway, Sakura squinted — the daylight outside hit her with unexpected brightness. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, spilling in golden slants across the pale wooden floor, all the way down to the base of the wall. The floor gave softly under her steps, and the air smelled of fresh varnish, with a faint trace of someone’s sweet perfume.
She didn’t notice right away that she’d stopped walking. Something had shifted — the space felt denser, like the air had thickened around her.
Then she felt it: a gaze, direct and steady, catching her in place. Brown eyes — insistent, focused — locked with hers.
And just like that, Sakura knew: she was no longer alone.
A few meters away, half-sitting on the windowsill with his hands braced behind him, a man was watching her.
His hair was blood-red — so vividly red it felt unreal. And he was beautiful. So much so that it didn’t quite make sense.
He wore a black shirt and black trousers. He seemed completely alien, a contrasting spot in this bright, almost sterile hallway.
And to her surprise, he was Japanese too.
His gaze drifted down her body, but Sakura didn’t feel tense. It didn’t seem like the dress Ino had picked out made any impression on him at all. And yet, he was still looking.
Then he lifted one hand in a casual, almost lazy wave.
What the hell?
Heat rushed to Sakura’s cheeks — sudden and unwelcome.
Since when do adults meet like this?
Sakura froze, not knowing what she was supposed to do. He hadn’t addressed her directly, hadn’t come over.
Instead, he looked at her as if a silent invitation to join him were the most natural thing in the world. As if there were nothing weird about a stranger waving at her without even smiling — and her already walking toward him, weaving past the few people crossing the corridor.
For a second, it felt like invisible strings were pulling her straight to him — the pull so sudden and strong it caught her off guard.
“We...” She cleared her throat as she stopped in front of the red-haired man. “Do we know each other?”
Something like amusement flickered in his stunningly beautiful eyes. He shook his head with a crooked smile.
“I would’ve remembered.”
“Um...” Sakura was completely thrown off.
Had she misunderstood? Was that wave not meant for her?
But no. Even now — or maybe especially now — she could clearly see how intently he was looking at her. His gaze moved over her pink hair (apparently, she wasn’t the only one fond of unusual colors), paused on the small scar on her cheek, and then stopped at the same strap that had been bothering her during the performance.
The stranger pressed his lips together and looked at her, puzzled.
“Was the strap bothering you while you played?”
“What?” Sakura raised her eyebrows in surprise.
She couldn’t shake the thought of how ridiculous she must look — unable to form a single coherent sentence.
“It seemed like something was distracting you,” he said, with quiet conviction.
“Me?” Sakura felt her cheeks warm, the blush creeping down her neck like a traitor. “I’m sorry — I really don’t understand,” she admitted, before she could embarrass herself any further.
“Japanese is your native language, isn’t it?” he asked, narrowing his eyes slightly.
“Well, yes,” she nodded, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “The problem’s more with the content of the question.”
The stranger let out a short, amused huff — then offered her his hand. In that moment, the air around them seemed to stir, and Sakura caught a trace of his scent — something surprisingly pleasant, like essential oils and medicinal herbs.
“Akasuna no Sasori. Pianist. Mozarteum*** graduate. I've been playing on my own terms ever since. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
He smiled — suddenly, for the first time during their awkward conversation — and a chill ran down Sakura’s spine. The shift in emotion was so abrupt, it startled her.
“Sakura Haruno. I’m a pianist too,” she said, reaching out her hand.
Amusement flickered in his eyes again, and Sakura immediately wanted to slap herself.
Of course he knew she was a pianist. He’d just seen her on stage!
“I play in a chamber ensemble in Munich,” she added quickly, trying to salvage a shred of dignity.
Sasori didn’t seem to judge her at all. On the contrary — he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself.
The handshake was unexpectedly gentle. His warm hand caressed hers rather than shook it, and suddenly, Sakura felt a flush of heat rise within her.
“I liked the final chords,” Sasori said, almost conspiratorially. “The piano in this hall is terrible, but it worked perfectly for those last few bars.”
He still hadn’t let go of her hand, and Sakura swallowed.
What was he saying? The final bars? Oh — right, the final bars!
“Really? You noticed that too?” she asked, brightening. “I thought the sound came out clear and full, almost ceremonial.”
“I agree,” Sasori said, gently brushing his thumb across her palm in a calming gesture. “You hadn’t played this piano before, had you?”
“No! They didn’t let us try it. The—”
“—the lower register’s muffled,” he finished for her.
"Yes," she replied, once again feeling awkward.
"If you’d like, I can arrange for you to try those chords again tonight — after everyone’s gone."
"Really?"
Sakura’s heart picked up its pace. Her hand, still caught in Sasori’s, felt strangely at home. She glanced down at their joined hands — and suddenly feared her own palm might betray her.
"Of course I can," Sasori nodded, pulling her back from the edge of those uneasy thoughts.
He smiled, just a little. Sakura noted that it still looked just a touch unnatural.
"And will you... come with me?"
"No," he said simply. "I wouldn’t come between a performer and their study of the instrument. But we could meet later this week, if you’d like."
A warm wave of gratitude spread through her chest.
"Yes, that would be nice. Coffee?"
"Anything you want, Sakura," he sang sweetly — and finally let go of her hand.
He took her number, and just as she was about to leave, he asked:
"So was it the strap or the light?"
This time, she knew exactly what he meant.
"Both," she said honestly.
That smile almost passed for real.