apotelesma - o. tooru

neuf.

"Ah...if you could play at a slower tempo during that last section, that would be great," Mitsuha instructs, looking up from the piano. The cellist gives her a small nod in response, and Mitsuha signals for them to take it from the top again.

This is their sixth run-through of the entire set list in the last five hours. And in the past five hours Mitsuha's had to revise and rework the pieces she had earlier thought she had perfected, but it only had backfired when she had played along to the band. A part of her does blame Oikawa Tooru for coming in and disrupting her practice, but she'd be lying if she said she didn't enjoy that kiss.

"We are not going to get distracted now," she murmurs under her breath, as her fingers dance on the keys. Luckily for her, no one can hear her due to the rise and fall of the cello, so in some ways she's glad for that.

It's Saturday, and there are less than twenty four hours left before the festival on Sunday. She just wants to get this all over with and have one peaceful good night's sleep.

As if.

They still have to set up their stall, as well as finalize their roles and do a run through of their planned jazz cafe, and she's hoping it goes smoothly and they wouldn't need to have to change anything.

Another section, and onward they move to the next. It's the smoothest they've been so far; she's glad the transitions she's added to the music is helping with the band's passage throughout the set list.

They've been practicing since eight that morning; she was behind their backs the entire week to get up to speed with the music, sharing her own frustrations with them as well and sympathizing with their pain. Thankfully this will be all over soon.

It's nearly two o'clock now, and they've completed their first (out of seven) successful run through. She dismisses them for a break, before they meet up at four to set up their stall.

"And don't forget to bring your clothes with you!" she calls out as they file out, bowing their heads respectfully. "We'll need to have a small dress rehearsal and make sure everyone's ready for tomorrow." There's a collective sound of agreement in response.

Mitsuha waits until the last few stragglers have left, before getting up from the piano bench and heading out as well. She closes the band room door behind her and sighs tiredly, resting her head against the wooden surface. She's so incredibly tired from the countless practices during the day and nights she's stayed up to perfect piece after piece. Sometimes she hates the little perfectionist within her, but she wouldn't have made it this far if not for it.

She needs a change of scenery and a breath of fresh air, so she decides to head for the gym where the volleyball club would be setting up their own stall. Yuki's been so tight-lipped about their stall, so she figures to sneak a peek before the big day.

She walks down the corridor, stepping aside occasionally for students who are carrying boxes in their hands, some too full for her to even consider what was in them. Third year students are in a frenzied panic trying to sort out last-minute events and decorations, and Mitsuha's glad that almost everyone in her class was part of a club of some sort so they had their own stalls to manage. She doesn't know how she would've dealt with two different stalls, that would be on opposite ends of the spectrum.

She spots Yuki, who's hanging around the second year students and trying to sort out whatever problems they have. She calls out her name, waving her hand in the little, and her friend looks up and in her direction, her previously frazzled face turning into one of pure joy.

"Finally someone with sense!" Yuki exclaims loudly, pushing past the students around her to envelop Mitsuha in a hug. The latter is squished in Yuki's over-friendly hug, and she struggles to breathe in her embrace. "My savior, Mitsuha!"