#the your lie in april brainrot is being ruthless

[huntiingdogs]

moonlight

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summary and here you are, fingers flitting across the monochrome keys as the scenery changes. he's by your side, meeting in the middle of two vastly different worlds. and as he's crying for whatever unknown reason; the moon is beautiful tonight, isn't it? is the one thing you want to ask him.

will your music reach him?

warnings. unedited, self indulgent, and impulsive one shot. that's it.

pairings. benny watts x gn! reader

words. 1911

notes. I have a couple of notes, so please read through them.

1. This is a literal word for word rewrite of the one scene in Your Lie in April where Kousei comforts Tsubaki while playing Clair de Lune on the piano and Tsubaki is crying.

2. Interpret this little one shot the way you want - romance, platonic, unrequited love, romantic love that hasn't been established, denied feelings, anything - I literally just whipped this up to get back into writing since I've been out of it, and I just finished watching The Queen's Gambit, so I spewed this piece within an hour (+ I am also in my ylia brainrot rn lol, leave me ALONE/nsrs lh).

I don't favour X Reader's to be honest, and when I do write them, it tends to be open to interpretation like this and/or is just pure self indulgent shit. But that's just me.

3. I don't know if I portrayed Benny's character correctly, and this is just how I see how he would act in terms of emotions and especially with this dynamic I have pictured between him and [Y/N]. Once again, this is purely self indulgent shit, I don't expect this being others preferable piece of work to read when it comes to this character.

4. And of course, enjoy [:

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There is a piano on the ground floor of the hotel.

That's the first distinctive feature you took notice of when you first took your first stroll across the hotel, passing by the clean grand piano in the foyer. Cushioned couches and seats surround it like a mini audience awaiting to gather whenever a player comes by and leisurely toys with its many keys.

But the reason why you are here isn't because of the piano; it's to support your long-time childhood friend, pretentious, egotistical yet kind renowned US Champion of chess, Benny Watts. Being close childhood friends with a practical prodigy is a one out of six chance by the chance roll of a die, the usual five out of six possibilities clustered with want-to-be stars and ordinary, regular people. People like you. Ordinary people like you weren't born with talent but stuffed with worthless pride and passion, and there's a distinct difference between the two. And that's the cruelness of the world. Not everyone is a Morphy, and not everyone is a Chopin. Not everyone is a genius. But even genuineness work hard, and it'd be an insult to disregard that hard work as simply and futile as "talent". But what do you know? You've been born in the concrete, and as much as you tried, no matter what hobby you pick up, nothing will ever satisfy you.

You had met Benny when you were his next-door neighbour, the typical humble American beginnings when people would interact with their environment because that's all children your age had: toys, your self-entertainment, if you were lucky enough a field and a park, but if not, then it's just you and the people around you. And of all the one out of six chances, one of those people around you would end up being a genius, or well, was already a genius at that age.

Now edging at nine at night, the hotel subdues into this tranquil, idle silence. Chipped chatters flutter the large foyer, and you approached the piano out of curiosity. You couldn't ignore it forever; the instrument that ate you up and chewed you up a thousand times. It's the life and death of you, as you've traded your soul and heart to music as much as the geniuses dedicated their life to their little area of expertise. But it wasn't enough. Your notes will never reach people the way you want them to, except maybe one person.

You sat on the piano with no eyes are staring yet, too coped into their separate conversations. And as you touched the first keys, no eyes bore on you. Maybe for a flit second, but other than that, none are merely interested. After all, the foyer is mainly empty, only consisting of the bars people and a couple of others who don't seem too interested in such riches of classical music.

'Clair de Lune, huh?'

The voice rang through the space, and you continued to play, the soft keys ringing, ringing, ringing. Will it reach them? Who are you playing for? Perhaps you're only playing for yourself.

'Thought you'd be up in your room preparing for tomorrow's matches,' you dully state, not satisfying Benny with your full attention.

From the corner of your eye, you spot him resting his hand on the side of the piano. He's like wet tissue underneath a shoe; you can't seem to shake him off. And upon figuring that he won't leave, you sigh. 'Sit down if you're not going to leave.' You pause your playing, shuffling to the edge of the cushioned leather seat.

Without uttering a response, Benny takes your offer without hesitation, but he doesn't face the piano instead, sitting the opposite way. Perhaps it's better that way, so his face isn't such vanity of a distraction. Then, you restart, gliding your fingers across the keys, like pressing a restart button. And when you play, it sounds like the full moon, tender, soft. A part of you feels like it sounds different from when you first played not a second ago, not so half-hearted. Wonder what could have caused that.

Benny isn't saying anything, and you figured it's because something is in his mind.

You were never good at reading the situation, but when it came to him, a chatterbox, a person who is like a light for moths, moments like these are rare but a motif you picked up from the many years you've known each other. The first time he silently sat next to you like this was when he had just got dumped, entering your home while you were idly playing the piano, and sitting next to you is Benny like a younger brother sulking in deep despair, ugly tears streaming his face. Crying doesn't suit him. He looked ugly and sad when he had a frown on his face, and it never fit him. So you always hoped that your playing always brings back the Benny you knew. The one that's light and enlightened by his regular smile, the one you knew that probably loved himself more than he loves those around him, ironically enough.

To you, Benny has always been like a kid brother. The genius brother. The one that always took the attention of your parents away from you, their kid. It infuriated you, of course, but then it's a netiquette reminder that you were supposed to be the opposite sex. And even if you did prove your parents wrong by picking up a passion and striving for the top of the world, your sex seemed to cut short of it, and nothing would ever satisfy them.

Despite that, you took Benny under your wing. He started as a quiet boy when your parents had introduced the two of you to each other. You were a little taller, more mature looking, and despite him being only a year younger than you, he looked like a four-year-old up against a six-year-old. But that shy persona washed away within a week of you two knowing each other.

'Something on your mind?' You ask as you slip across the keys, each note deep and rich.

Benny doesn't respond, and you have a feeling that he's scrunching his nose. He always does that when he lies or is anxious.

'Scrunching your nose isn't an answer, stupid,' you retort light-heartedly.

'Yeah,' Benny is quick to claim. 'Something's on my mind.' He doesn't elaborate, and you figure it's for the best. The two of you were never good at emotions.

No shadow passed your face when he responded with an agreement, but instead, you just continued playing. That's the only way you know how to express anything. If you were to ask him if he wanted to talk about it, he'd only shrug it off, no matter how much you would pry him.

But Benny let out a frustrated grumble, and he rashly swung towards you, so sharply that your fingers sprung from the keys as though they had burnt.

You stare at him as his face is still scrunched and creased. 'What is wrong with you. You're just sitting there and playing the piano, you music nerd. At least try to comfort me, you good-for-nothing-jerk - Shithead!'

Stunned blank, you stare at him, none of his words stinging or being like a slap in your face. Just a funny occurrence. It was always bantering between you two, and you're just glad that he can express his emotions like this.

Benny continues ranting to you, face tense with vigour. 'If you're going to be like that, it doesn't make any difference if you're here or not.' He almost whimpers.

A beat passes, and you can hear the clanging of the bartenders collecting glasses, clicking and shuffling. The world doesn't revolve around you two. You're merely the supporting side character beside a genius human, despite intelligence sewn in his blood, emotions and conflicts whirling inside him just like everyone else.

'Well...' You stare at him, watching as tears nearly gloss over his eyes, but you can't tell. 'Then I'll stay here.' You smile warmly. 'I'll be right here by your side.'

There's a strange moment when the two of you bore into each other's eyes. You stare at Benny elated, but concerned. But you knew more than to conflict him, so a calm persona veiled your features, not an ounce of shadows apart from the light of the silver moon passing the crevices of your face. And when you look at Benny, his eyes are like wet glass, eyebrows furrowed, and his lips are quivering. He's sniffling. You bet his head hurt based on how much he's attempting to hold back his tears.

You glance back down and pick up from where you left off, the keys holding every ounce of your heart and troubled soul in it. You knew Benny never liked it when people look at him when he cries, so you claim your place before he can go into a fit about how to "look away" from him. It happened when you had found him in the local playground tucked away from the rest of the world. And underneath that playset, he sobbed like the child he was over some business of a girl rejecting him.

You wonder what had happened that caused him to end up like this, especially before a fucking chess tournament. But what would you know that goes through that vast mind of his? While there is a genius, there is a human underneath that thicket of skills, passion, ego, and talent.

'Look at that, Benny,' you pause to acknowledge enthusiastically, glancing out the window and into the dark blue sky, illuminated with thousands of twinkling stars. 'The moon's out,' you say as you touch the keys tenderly. The chords are as intense as the deep black night outside. But the trail of those notes is as if the twinkling stars and the moon has a sound. It's a beautiful sound.

Benny furrows his brows, attempting to hold back tears. He's on the verge, and you knew it. Benny hated that you knew it. He hated how you had seen him at his worst, so there isn't any point to keep his calloused persona when around you. Still, there's that humanity in him, the overgrown roots of pride thorning him from being something as humiliating as being human.

'What the heck? What's that got to do with anything?' He sardonically says, more of a cryptic retaliation than a question.

You subtly beam, not poisoned by his sharp words, as you regard him a sincere glance. 'But, it's pretty,' you state, and you return to the comfort of the piano keys.

And beside you, you hear those pained tears beginning to seep through his eyes, probably slobbering through his face by now. People aren't watching. You knew this because by now, the foyer is mainly a voyeur, silver moonlight casting through the wide pained window. And the moonlight is unshifting, kind.

You don't know what is going through Benny's mind, and you don't think you ever will. Your dynamic is a meeting in the middle of two entirely different worlds. You've never been a part of his world made up of strategies and complexities. And he's never been part of yours built of pink stained wrists and monochrome notes and keys. But if you stay by his side, if your music can reach him, maybe he'll pick himself up. And that's all you can ever ask.