Barcelona Rain #AStormOfFanFiction

4: Lost and Found

The music carried him forwards. He moved without thinking; like a puppet on a string. He was dazed and overwhelmed as he listened, desperate for more and yet longing to flee, torn between choosing the child he had been or the man he had become.

It felt like coming home.

It was as if he had at long last arrived to the scene he had dreamed of, the prodigal son returned from his foolish squandering abroad. He was falling into the open arms of the pianoforte, the welcoming tones of the song he had loved wrapping around him in a hug that he had never known he needed.

The logical part of his brain seemed to flash and fire warning after warning, the past memories of a single night evidence of the pain he had lived through in his young life. There was a reason he had given up on this song; had slammed the door on its tune and never looked back.

He had been broken that night.

Broken, and never been put back together again. No one had ever bothered reaching out to him to try. 

The music he had once placed on a pedestal, a shining trophy he had desired above all else, had then stood as a symbol for something he could not stand--a happiness he would never experience; a love he would never receive, an understanding he would never achieve with anyone ever again.

Ice had replaced his once hopeful heart, stone had become his once lively face. Hatred formed the hard planes of his body, cynicism lacing his every word.

He had rebuilt himself from the dying embers of his old life and transformed his character until he was unrecognizable. There would be no more lying in the dust, kicked down by his father, subjected to orders and rules and expectations.

He would be his own person, a force to be reckoned with, and he would prove to the whole world just how powerful he could be.

And he had done just that.

So how was it that now, with this music clouding his senses and revitalizing his mind, that he wanted nothing more than to be his old self?

The dreamer born in a house of chaos, with a longing for peace and a life of sincerity?

Could he ever return to that state of mind? He didn't think so. Not with all the things he'd done, all that he'd seen since then.

The song lifted him, enraptured him, begging him to let go. Listen, it whispered. Stay.

And he wanted to stay. But Lilly...Lilly was still out there somewhere--

Listen. See. Stay.

He had to move on, had to get out of here--

See.

No, he thought. Lilly needs me.

Stay.

His feet wouldn't move, wouldn't budge; and he was such a goddamn idiot for almost forgetting about his secretary--

Stay stay stay stay stay

A pounding sensation in his head. A roaring in his brain. The music grabbed him, shook him, spun him around, took him by the hand and shoved him forwards until--