Atsumu Miya was the guitarist in a hard-rock band. You played piano for jazz and classical pieces. He wore sweatpants and graphic t-shirts while you wore suits and concert black.

The first time Atsumu had seen you play was during your private music lessons in the school music room, fingers dancing quickly around the piano keys as you played Chopins ‘Winter Wind’ in A minor. He stands behind the closed door, watching from the window as the intensity of the music fills the room as your teacher nods and claps her hands to help you with rhythm. Your back is straight and eyes are fixated heavily on the keys, darting back to the notes every now and then.

As the piece finishes, the teacher nods and dismisses you, gathering her own things before walking over to the door. The clack of her heels makes Atsumu step away and lean against the wall, watching as the women walks off without a spearing glance at the blonde, her stance tall and powerful. As he watches her leave, he peaks his head in to see you preparing to leave, neatly placing your music in a folder. The odd feeling of someone staring makes you turn your head to the door, face flat and deadpanned which makes Atsumu jump slightly.

“Yer .. yer a good player.” He speaks suddenly, standing tall and trying to make use of the thick atmosphere, digging his hands in his uniform pockets.

Then, a thought pops in his head.

“Do you wanna play keys for a band i’m in?”

Shit, that came out too suddenly, didn’t it?