His abrasive, calloused hands glided across the ivory keys with such an elegance that can only be compared to fine wine. The hindmost placement of keys made his body toss, elongate to the point of panic that his deliberate memorization of those very keys would fail him. Yet, at the conclusion, plaudits would never cease. He bowed, those feelings of lachrymose kindling in his stomach.

He'd never envision that him, a blunderbuss, would end up lavishing in optimism as a virtuoso.

☁︎

"Envision the opportunity, not the failure."

"The adversity seems esoteric and obviate. I want the facile way."

Brice's mind hadn't functioned in the same ways as others his age did. Rather been being obtuse, his thoughts were more acute. He was the affable type of guy, yet unapproachable at the same time. Complex, yet compelling. He was dusk; the melting legion colors that trampled through the sky one final time.

"You're not bound to the disease of yours," Seto repeated to him. "Your pessimism is a hindrance to you."

"What do you expect me to be?" Brice snapped, cocking his head away. "I'm going to be blind, Seto. I'm losing my fucking vision. I know you're not lukewarm to the idea, but it's happening."

"Then what are you going to do," Seto murmured, "remain overwrought with this information? It's not too late, Brice. Art takes many forms, and it does not discriminate against the—"

"A penguin attempts to fly, and a blind kid wanting to play piano? It's a waste of everyone's time," Brice finally stood up, the heel of his shoe burrowing deep into soot. "Don't waste your precious breath on me."

☁︎

Brice's world was a maelstrom of a growing darkness.

"Brice, sweetheart, can I come in?"

"When penguins fly, then yes."

He heard his bedroom door creak open. His mother, a lanky blond with a pallid skin tone, stepped in. She didn't approach Brice, knowing he had adored his own personal space. She instead stood at the doorframe, leaning against it as if it was her brawny husband.

"I heard you had an argument with your friend, Seto," she took the initiative in the conversation.

"It's inconsequential," Brice spat. "You don't need to scrutinize over my friendship with him. It's fine. Totally fine."

"Is this about—"

"Choroideremia. An x-linked recessive hereditary trait that mostly impacts men. Retinal loss; detrimental to one's own sight."

"You won't fully lose your sight until you reach your fifties—"

"It's progressing faster than anticipated. I'm going to be blind by the time I get into college," Brice croaked helplessly. "It's a malediction to me and my whole life."

"I just want you to be happy, Brice. That's all a mother can ask for. Is there anything I can do to make this all easier for you?"

"Let me see again, and maybe then my serrated personality will fix itself."

His bedroom door shut.

☁︎

Art took the pain away.

It was non-viable to take a jab at painting, but there was something serene about the unforeseen results of the paints coalescing. At least the canvas was manipulatable, unlike Brice's fate. He couldn't see the painting, but he could feel it.

And that's what gave him euphoria.

"What happened to the defeatist that desisted from any form of art?"

Brice dropped his paintbrush.

"It's quite unorthodox to sneak up on a blind person," the blond chucked meekly.

"Your painting is quite picturesque, despite the fact that you don't know what you're doing with that brush," he could feel the dusky haired male taking a peak over his shoulder; his odd quirk of shallow breathing evidently heard.

"What does it look like?" Brice inquired. "I'm attempting to draw an ocean scene."

"Looks more of—" Seto took an elongated pause, "—you're not using that cerulean blue. You're painting a grassland with a sunset that has a plethora of pink."

"So, it's horrid," Brice concluded.

"No, no," Seto defended the painting, "it's prepossessing."

"Correction, it's horrid."

Seto placed himself next to him as if a puzzle piece in an empty space, "Please, just take the compliment. How'd you get here, anyway?"

"I've memorized the path," Brice explained, reaching for his paintbrush. Seto passed it to him. "I'm not dense, and plus, the path isn't that virulent. I'm quite dexterous, after all."

"No wonder your hands are always so calloused," Seto's nimble fingers wrapped around Brice's. The blond's heartbeat hastened. "You're blushing."

"You're always so droll," Brice rolled his eyes, yanking his hand away.

Indulging back into the silence, Brice applied those careful, yet uncoordinated, strokes. Though he could barely see, let alone dictate, whether his painting was done, it was definite to him that there could be no alternative technique to simply "add more to it."

"Does it look complete to you?" Brice inquired.

"I shouldn't be domineering that delineation on a canvas. Do you think it's done?"

"I guess," Brice mumbled.

"It's either a yes or a no."

"What are you, my conscience?"

Seto released an exasperated sigh, "As Tony Robbins once said: 'a real decision is measured by the fact that you've taken a new action. If there's no action, you haven't truly decided.'"

"I'm assuming that's some kind of adage by some guy who's summing up millions, yet by the next era he's brushed aside."

"Helen Keller wasn't brushed aside."

"She was deaf and blind, and I'm only half of those things. Never got scarlet fever too, unlike her I was born with it."

Seto stood up, "You've always been intrigued by piano. You're just dubious to the fact that you could play it."

"What kind of pianist would have the patience to teach the blind?"

Under muffled breath he spoke so hopefully, "I would."

☁︎

The blond furrowed his eyebrows while his lips curved into a frown. The night was glacial as it should be. The curtains billowed, slapping themselves against the glass with a loud clank. He proceeded to swaddle himself up back into the comforts of his blanket.

Piano this, piano that.

"Piano my ass," Brice muttered to himself as he shoved a pillow onto his face.

Yet, the reminiscence of Seto's words had never left his mind. He recalled a time in which he had the fallacy that everyone saw the world in darkness with only a tunnel of light. Those innocent, blissful days were memories he'd never let go of. If only his optimism was as comparable to his mindset as a child.

He could never solve the dispute in his instinct, however. Seto's expressions were never a petty remark; the brunet had rarely lied to him. Truly, if he did believe Brice could play the piano, then surely he could manage it. Blind or not, music did not discriminate, and it leaves no one behind.

Seto himself was a wonderful pianist, talented at best but overlooked his own potential. It was him, with the addition of some other folk, who sparked the blond's interest in piano. The rhythm and the unpredictability of notes was alluring; yet, it still had elegance.

"Maybe I should learn," Brice murmured, voice raw and sore.

Regardless if he had the drive to, where would he start? To begin with, he doesn't even own a piano. Secondly, who would teach him? He couldn't go pleading to Seto to give him lessons—that would be irrational since he made a humongous deal about not wanting to learn it in the first place. How atrocious could Brice be at this point?

☁︎

"What's the purpose of going out today quite early, Brice? Why, you haven't eaten breakfast yet! Poor Xi-Xi hasn't either!"

Brice paused at the door, disgruntled at the fact that his mother had stopped him. He was adorned in a wrinkly black leather jacket that was zipped all the way up, along with some black slacks he picked up that didn't go well with the outfit. Oh, and did he mention the black, goofy Ray-Ban aviators? Yeah, he was dorky enough to wear those. To finish it off, he couldn't discern if he had black converse shoes on, or red ones.

"I'm just going to the library to pick up some Braille books," Brice lied, rolling his eyes. He whistled—his service dog, Xi-Xi, came running with his collar. It was purple. Brice somehow managed to attach the collar onto him. "And I fed Xi-Xi earlier. He can survive."

The lie was half true.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you? What if something happens to you? The library is far from our house and—"

"Mother," Brice cooed, "I'll be fine. I'm perfectly capable of walking, touching, heading, and smelling. Seeing, however is not my best attribute."

Without another word, Brice exited the house, slamming the door behind him.

The air blew at his face, quite harshly he must add, like the night prior. Strolling down the sidewalk, he put his fate in Xi-Xi to allow himself to not die on this short trip. He's mastered the feat many times before, and he could do it if there weren't so many distractions around.

Seriously, how many incompetent humans are out there who cannot process the fact that Xi-Xi is a service dog? He's wearing a vest that annunciates that very notion! (The fact that he's a Labrador Retriever makes him extremely likable, and people really, really want to pet him).

So, he continued down the street, eventually reaching the end of the block and towards the direction of the nearest library. He's memorized the path by now, due to the fact that he had borrowed a multitude of Braille books. The librarian knows Brice and is quite kind to him.

So he continued down the sidewalk grasping onto the leash with his dear life. Xi-Xi stopped. Brice stopped. He heard cars zooming by and the wind gusts picking up. How he longed to drive a car, but that too would be an impossible feat for him. God, he'll need someone to baby him for the rest of his life at this point!

He heard Xi-Xi whimper, followed by a muffled bark. That did cheer Brice up a bit. He forced a smile and went to pet his head, "I'm upset too. I know you don't want to be out here, but we have to do this together, okay?"

Xi-Xi licked his hand. It was slobbery and pretty gross, but the blond just shook his head.

☁︎

"Ah, Brice!" Mrs. Morningale shouted. "What brings you here on this benevolent morning!"

The Australian paused for a moment, attempting to construct some sort of explanation for his actions.

Why did he come here again? Oh, right.

Piano. Blind. Braille.

Xi-Xi barked loudly as his tail swung from side to side, smacking against Brice's right leg. Though he was a trained dog, it didn't stop him from getting excited with meeting people he liked. Xi-Xi yanked his collar, running towards Mrs. Morningale. The librarian laughed as she went onto her knees and vigorously petted the Labrador Retriever. The blond shuffled behind.

"I have a—" Brice annunciated, "—a really dumb question."

He could tell Mrs. Moringale was frowning (though he couldn't physically see it). She despised his pessimism since he had so much potential dwindling within him. Out of all those odds, she still chose to not mention it and reply hastily with, "No questions are dumb regarding you. Go ahead, ask."

"Do you have any Braille books that teach the blind how to play piano?"

The library went silent. The air was thickening and he could feel the whole world collapsing around him. Despite it not doing anything, he squeezed his eyes shut and scolded himself. God, what a bad idea it was in the first place!

"Let me go check," Mrs. Moringale said as she scurried away to the computer that sat on her desk. Brice could hear her wrinkly fingers tapping harshly on the keyboard.