Izuna:

I pulled my brush through my long, black hair, detangling it after this morning's wash. I took my mascara and applied it slightly to my eyelashes, extending them. It's not like he'll see it from stage... 

I blushed a little when considering it. What if he looked up... Just this once, he looked up, just a little bit. And when he looked up, he would catch my eyes, and then he wouldn't be able to look down. He would keep playing, but he would have to work hard to focus because his eyes would be on mine. Then, when the concert was over, and I was leaving, a guard would come to the luxurious, red velvet seat where I was seated. "He wants you backstage." "What?" I would say, surprised. "Come with me", the guard would say. Backstage, he would sit on a couch. "Hi", he would say. "Umm, hi", I would say shyly, looking away, blushing. Then, he would say-

Stop it! I scolded myself. Stop this nonsense!

I put on a grey, silky, feminine shirt over white trousers, put on my best black coat and put my keys in my shoulder-bag. I topped it all with a pair of velvety heels. 

Then, I left.

The rain was pouring down, and I had no umbrella, nor a hood on my coat. Fuck me... No way he was going to like me with my hair a wet mess... But still, my giddiness remained. 

Getting hold of the concert ticket had been agony. I had stood by my laptop at exactly midnight, refreshing the page over and over. After a lot of panic, I got my hands on one front-row ticket. With shaky hands, I had paid and received the confirmation ticket on my e-mail. Legs wobbly, I had walked through the mess on my living room floor, sat down next to my couch, put my arms on the seat, put my head on them... And cried. I am going to see him... I am going to see him live.

That had been one year ago, and the tickets had sold out in five minutes. And no wonder. Tobirama Senju was not only the world's best and most famous concert pianist, playing large theatres and arenas, for royal houses and on TV. He was also incredibly handsome. He had an odd look to him that was absolutely mesmerising, and I was not the only one to think so... Many, many girls fancied him, and I envied them. Because, let's be honest, using simple statistics meant he was highly likely straight. But I couldn't help but have the most insane fantasies about him.

His looks were quirky, to say the least. He was tall and slender, with skin so white it was as if he'd been rolled in flour. His eyes lacked pigmentation altogether, making them an eerie pink, almost red. He wore some black around his eyes for concerts, and red stripes on his chin and cheek. He always donned the same black suit, or maybe different variations of exactly the same one, which looked incredible with his messy, longish short white hair.

He looked like the sculpture of a God made by an incredibly skilled sculptor who wanted to depict the perfect being.

And I was going to see him.

I was going to see him live.

"Isn't that Izuna?"

"Oh my God, it is him!"

"I want to ask for an autograph!"

"Do it!"

"Shhh, no, I can't!"

I smiled and looked away shyly. I sometimes forgot that I wasn't that unknown myself.

I wasn't anywhere close to Tobirama's calibre, but I had a name to myself, and had just started to play in venues that were a bit bigger than the pubs and lobbies where I'd started out. The first time my song played on radio, I was over the moon.

I knew I would never become world-famous like a Korean boy band or a curvaceous girl who rapped about sex; my style was far too niched for that. In interviews, when I was asked to describe my style, I always chose "sweetly biting" as my way of portraying my music. My main inspiration was Pluralone, a small one-man band to begin with, and just like Josh Klinghoffer of the band, my piano at home was filled with post-it notes, my floor a mess of notebooks, papers and pens, and my kitchen full of even more post-its. I mainly used the guitar or piano to accompany me when I created my songs, sometimes the bass, but on stage, I often chose to play the piano while singing, having others playing the other instruments. Critiques had only had positive things to say, describing my voice as one-of-a-kind, a rollercoaster between femininity and masculinity, and my music bittersweet and subtle while yet leaving a mark. I was very, very happy and proud of everything I had so far created, which was only one album that I'd named ''Mesmeriser'.

But I knew I was nothing, not even a drop in the ocean, compared to the man I would now watch. I leaned forwards in my plush chair, clasped my hands together, bounced my leg in anticipation. I looked at the heavy violet curtains covering the stage. He's behind there, my mind went. He's behind there somewhere...

I felt the nerves surge through my body, wrap around my heart, tickle my soul.

And the curtains moved.

This is it... I thought. It begins here.

Oh, it would. It would well and truly begin.

Tobirama:

"Two minutes, Mr. Senju."

I loved it.

It was nauseating, but I loved it.

I loved the adrenaline when I heard the whirl of anticipation from the audience behind the thick curtains.

I loved the icy fist grabbing my heart.

The sensation when it let go, freeing my heart when I turned that nervousness into something delicious on my wing.

I loved how the audience fell dead silent.

I loved how they stood up and applauded when I had finished.

I loved how I, when I looked out over the audience after I had played, which was the only time I looked out during a concert, saw that people were crying, they were so touched.

I loved each and every aspect of performing.

Which was strange, I suppose, seeing as I was extremely introverted and shy, and was so nervous before going up on stage I almost vomited. Every time.

I can't explain it, but being on stage with hundreds, sometimes thousands, sometimes even millions if big TV was involved, of people watching was such a great contrast from who I truly was that I absorbed everything and indulged.

It didn't take away my shyness, though. My hair was short but grown out so that it could hide my face when playing, creating the illusion that I was alone. I never looked out during the concert, but allowed myself only the briefest glimpse when taking a bow afterwards, just to be able to think "Look at that. Look at all of those people. They heard you. They heard you playing that. And you were GOOD tonight."

Tonight was no different, nothing special really. But afterwards, I would come to realise that tonight, everything was different. Everything was special.

Because he was there.

He was in the audience.

Izuna:

I cried the whole time.

I sat leaned forwards, my elbows on my knees, stars in my eyes, probably making a fool out of myself but not caring. The concert was three hours long, and I loved every second. Everything that man did with his fingers was perfect. The tones melted into each other in a delicious way, everything was clear and some parts were so complicated that critiques had said there was nobody alive today but Tobirama that could play them. Somewhere halfway through, my makeup was completely ruined because I had cried so much, matching my bird's nest of a hair that had happened after the rain.

When Tobirama stood and took a bow, he looked out over the audience ever so slightly.

But he didn't catch my eyes.

Not yet.