a/n: I'd just like to take a second before we begin and thank all my wonderful readers, from those who have been patient enough to stay with me from the very beginning of this fic to those of you who may have accidentally stumbled upon it just now. Your lovely reviews and messages have kept me going, and I really am very thankful for each and every one of you.

As you probably know, this is the final movement of harmonious, and without further ado, I hope you enjoy!

vii. movement seven; sforzando
january, 2014

It is another seven months later when Sasuke stands behind a tall, scarlet curtain, patiently waiting—listening—for his cue to push past the velvet cloth and enter the stage. He is silent as he drums his fingers against the wall, the only sound filling the atmosphere being their steady rhythm, but there are anxious flames igniting within him—and Sakura notices. She always does.

She approaches him cautiously, like a light drizzle rather than rain; and when she reaches for his arm, her touch is gentle and kind. A smile comes alive on her lips as she speaks, "Are you ready, Sasuke-kun?"

Sasuke lifts his shoulders in response, a low exhale escaping his mouth. "I don't know, Sakura," he says, his voice shaky instead of even and stable like it usually is. He swallows, and his Adam's apple bobs. "I don't know."

"Of course you are," Sakura assures him, and she takes his hands in hers, lacing their fingers together. "I know you can do this—we all know you can do this." She smiles again, and Sasuke nods, although he is a little unsure of whom she is referring to.

His name bursts from the speakers overhead before he can ask her, followed by the echoes of thousands of hands being put together for his upcoming performance, and his almost-words are lost to their ears. His arms return to his sides before reaching upwards to adjust his cobalt necktie.

"Good luck," Sakura says, and stardust twinkles in her seaglass eyes. Quickly, she stands on tiptoe and presses a brief kiss to his jawline before ushering him to the stage.

And despite the combination of tension and adrenaline surging through his veins, Sasuke wonders if she notices how she always leaves him breathless.

The roar of the audience when he steps out from behind the cherry curtain is loud enough to shake the highest of the heavens, and he is taken aback by the crowd's thunderous support. Their cheering lasts for several breaths but gradually fades as seconds tick by, and Sasuke makes his way to the majestic grand piano awaiting him in the center of the spotlight, bringing his legs over the bench and setting his fingers atop the monochrome keys.

The lights dim; and he takes a breath, the way Sakura had always advised him to do before beginning a song, and starts to play.

His eyelids flutter close, and even so, his hands dance across the keyboard with utmost fluidity and motion. Like a shooting star, a smile streaks his face—his smiles come more easily these days—and he sinks deeper into the song, drowning in the invisible melodies. In sync with the beat of the music, Sasuke steps against the pedal and moves throughout the next passages, his wrist rising and falling gently, much like how seas kiss the beaches.

He almost falters once, in the very heart of the piece but continues on without flaw, his movements seamless and music smooth and clear. 'Keep going,' he imagines Sakura saying, like she had all those times. 'You can do it.'

For a fleeting moment, he just barely turns his head to face the crowd, sweeping the numerous faces with dark irises. In the front row sits Sakura with her legs crossed at the ankles, listening to his song with rapt and undivided attention. His gaze locks with hers ephemerally, and she smiles like she had minutes ago, nodding for him to go on.

Sasuke's gaze trails the rest of the audience before returning to the keyboard, and little does he know that the tourists, young couple, and college professor who had been in the café the day he met her are among them as well.

All he is aware of is the music and the memories of Sakura that are a constant, unwavering presence in the archives of his mind.

Had he not met Sakura, the woman with the faded pink hair and pretty smiles, he wouldn't have been there experiencing that moment, fingers nimbly pirouetting across the black and white of eighty-eight piano keys.

Had he not met her, he would not have known that such things were feasible for people like him, for people who were always told they wouldn't ever, ever reach any of their dreams because they were different.

If he hadn't met her, he would not have ever learned that he could prove all those people wrong, and he would not have tried to become someone, anyone.

The awestruck audience wouldn't have clapped and cheered and whistled for him when he reached the last bar of his song, and he wouldn't have rose to his feet to bow at the edge of the wide stage, feeling as if he is on the top of the world.

He wouldn't have ever believed in himself, but today he does, and perhaps a small part of him always has, and he just had yet to uncover it.

And lastly, he wouldn't have ever fallen in love, but thanks to Haruno Sakura and everything she is, he has experienced that, too.

When Sasuke returns backstage, four figures wait for him behind the tall curtain he easily pushes aside. He recognizes Sakura and her proud, beaming features first, but before he can return her bright smile with one of his own, his eyes flit to the trio behind her, and the flames in his stomach quickly turn to frost and ice.

He is speechless, wordlessly outlining their faces again and again, torn between wanting to believe in what stood before him and wanting to turn them away.

The woman behind Sakura wears an expression similar to hers, though a softer, more refined version, and her hands are pressed against her chest as if she is trying to make sure her heart is still there. Her dark irises—the same ones he inherited from her—are sparkling with crystal-tears, but somehow, Sasuke senses that she is happy.

At her right side is a tall, squarely-statured man, and although his face is calm and guarded as Sasuke remembers it to be, there is something flickering behind his eyes that he cannot distinguish clearly, something swirling behind the dense shadows, and for a moment, the word that resonates in his mind is pride.

On the woman's other side stands a male older than him, but not by a staggering amount. There is an overwhelming aura of similarity in their faces, from the crease of their brows to their angular noses and thin lips, and to Sasuke, it is like peering into a mirror; but the other male's face is marked by a lingering tired expression he does not have, as well as a contrasting little smile.

Silence possesses the atmosphere, everyone seeming at a loss for words, so when Sasuke's eyes finally lead back to Sakura, his voice is clear and tangible. "How?" is all he can manage, and the question sounds as lost as he feels.

Sakura's lips lift at the corners, but she remains silent and steps aside, removing herself from between the family. Go on, she seems to say.

"We've missed you so, so much, Sasuke," says the woman in the middle, his mother; and it is at those words that the ice inside of him shatters like glass. His mind goes blank, but he numbly feels himself being pulled into a tight hug by his parents and brother, Itachi, who ruffles his hair fondly and murmurs, "You were pretty good, brother, I'll give you that."

When his mother releases him, his father places sturdy hands on his son's shoulders and gives him a rough squeeze. "I'm proud of you, Sasuke," he enunciates the sentence as if it is difficult to speak, but his voice is steady. "I'm proud of you, son."

Never in Sasuke's life has he ever heard his father utter those words, and at the sound of them, new flames kindle within him. He pulls his family back into his arms, an incredible warmth vibrating at the back of his mind. It is then when he realizes he has missed them and he has been missing them all this time—but there was someone who was able to fill the void inside of him and make his broken shards whole again.

Turning, he extends his right hand towards Sakura and takes her to his chest by the bend of her wrist. Encasing her in his arms, he holds her petite form securely against his body, fingers travelling from the crown of her head and down her petal hair.

Her voice is muffled by his shoulder when she speaks, but Sasuke does not miss the slight catch in Sakura's voice. "I realized you must really miss your family, Sasuke-kun, so I called them with your phone and asked them to come for your first p-performance," her tone hitches at the dip of her sentence, and tears escape her eyes, but they are dewdrops instead of rain. "And they did."

Sasuke pulls away just enough to cup Sakura's face in his hands and wipe her tears, and although there are a million and one things he wants to tell her, he is silent as he lowers his head and gently presses his lips to hers.

.

.

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fin.

a/n: Hi guys, I know it's been such a long time since I updated this fic, but since this week alone I've had four off-days from school because of snow and ice and it's Valentine's Day, I finally pulled out my laptop to work on the final chapter. I'm pretty happy with where it went; what do you all think?

Also, I uploaded an audio of me playing the song I mentioned in the last chapter (Arabesque in E Major), and I've placed a link to it on my profile if any of you are interested. Just click "music box" and it'll take you there!

Thank you again for reading, and please, do review!