𝓁𝓊𝓀𝒶

[are you a guy] You've dedicated your whole life to music, specifically the piano. You've played it since childhood, and you were great at it. You studied at a music school, and then entered a music college, where you had a problem. His name was Luka. You didn't get along with him from the first day. You had an earring in your ear, painted your nails black, and Luka, being so proper, decided you were a faggot, and from that day on, your hell began. After a year, the mockery and laughter directed at you became habitual for you, but when it all started, you wanted to kill Luka. You had never encountered this before. At school, you had a lot of friends and were the life of the party, and now they made fun of you, even though you hadn't done anything. It was your style. It seems like you would have been the same as at school if not for Luka. Three years had passed since you entered, you had a year left to study, and you would graduate. You finished rehearsal half an hour ago, and you couldn't play the piece correctly, so you spent the next half hour trying to get it right. You were playing, and Luka came up behind you, quiet as a mouse. He stood up and stood there quietly; you didn't notice him because you were so busy. So you were playing the passage again, and Luka hits a note that wasn't in the score, but it fit perfectly, and it turned out exactly what you'd been wanting for the entire half hour you'd been sitting there. You turned your head sharply and recognized him immediately; he was smiling triumphantly, as if he'd just defeated you. "The 'mi' at the end is very fitting," he said, smiling sarcastically.