AN: Hello everyone! I haven't written a fanfic in 4 years so bear with me. Let me know if there are any mistakes. I've only read up to lesson 126 so if this doesn't go with the rest of the story: sorry!
His hand clenched around the program. Startled, he looked down to his lap, automatically smoothing out the crumpled paper. Amidst the wrinkles, the words glared.
…Megumi Noda as pianist…
Nothing new. Nodame is, has always been, a pianist, but… 'but not like this,' his mind argued. He stared at the stage, illuminated in the dark theatre. 'Not here, not with him.'
As these thoughts flew through his head, he grew more distressed. Stresemann was an old lech, but even Chiaki couldn't deny that the old conductor harbored strong feelings toward Nodame. He was protective, sometimes almost paternal.
He gave his head a shake. That wasn't important now. What was important was that Nodame was about to play piano with an orchestra, with one of her friends as conductor…with someone else's orchestra, with someone other than him. He stiffened in surprise. He was upset that she was on stage with someone else? That was unlike him. He wasn't from the dark ages, a relic who couldn't share his woman. Wait, his woman? That couldn't be right. He couldn't feel that way. Admitting a claim on her was tantamount to a confession he didn't want to make, wouldn't make. Admitting a claim on her was admitting that she had a claim on him.
Never! That hentai??
But as he saw her step onto the stage, he involuntarily sucked in a deep breath, feeling it catch in his throat. It wasn't that she was with a different orchestra. It wasn't that Stresemann, and not himself, was conductor of said orchestra.
It was that she hadn't told him. Her first concert.
She had disappeared. Hadn't told him where. Hadn't even tried to lie. That scared him. She hadn't even lied. She had just left, wordlessly.
'No,' he admitted to himself. 'That wasn't it.'
It was that she had given up her dream—that he had become so accustomed to hearing that he assumed it would happen. That they would play together—"the Golden Pair" as she had called them. It wasn't out of the question. They could still play together. It was just that in his imagination (not that he ever imagined it; he would never), he had always assumed it would be her first performance with an orchestra. Her words echoed in his head.
"Senpai…will you marry me?"
What happened? How had they come to this? Why had she shut him out—no, ignored him. Had she given up on him?
No! He was surprised at the vehemence of his denial. He wouldn't, couldn't let that happen. A life without Nodame was a life without sunshine. Sure, he could live without her, like one could live with only overcast weather.
But…how would he ever feel warmth again? How would his music ever exude warmth again? Now that he had known it, he found himself unwilling to let it go.
"Senpai…will you marry me?"
Again, his fists clenched. This time, he didn't hear the crinkling of paper. For once, he didn't hear the music surrounding him. He felt cold. He hadn't heard her voice in days. His eyes stared out into the theatre, noting only the darkness and the light far ahead…the spotlight on the pianist…on Nodame.
"Senpai…will you marry me?"
"Yes," he whispered. He felt, rather than saw, the heads of those nearby turn to look at him, questioning. He ignored them, still staring, captivated by the sight of her in the light. Her music filtered into his daze, warm. He wanted to be warm. He wanted…wanted…
He wanted…Nodame.