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"If he forgot, then you just have to remind him again."
Those were the words that Rikka had spoken to him when Tsubaki was brought up. At the time Mikado hadn't really thought very deeply onto the subject — after all, there were more than enough things that he and Tsubaki had done together as children that were now memories stored into the treasure chests of his heart. Some of these things were foreign to the ears of his new companions and seen as surprising, others, less so. Swimming, for example, was one of those activities, that did not bring such a furrow onto his unit mate's brows, but when he had mentioned traditional Japanese dance as one of these past few hobbies he had performed alongside Tsubaki, he distinctly remembered the look of surprise that painted Sora's single visible eye.
It had been difficult to return to some of these things. Not only were some of them vague to his memory, things done only once or twice, saved for a precious, individual moment to recall upon, but many of those things he had done with solely Tsubaki. As age ripened their personalities, it had only become more and more difficult to get along with his cousin just as swiftly and carelessly as they did in their youth. Indeed, Tsubaki's personality became haughtier, quicker to reject — an outsider looking in may have perceived it as unwilling, mayhaps even unloving upon first glance. Mikado knew better than that, though. Certainly, Tsubaki still cared for him — even when his eyebrows were knitted in a tight lace, or his cheeks burned red at the affection that Mikado would shower upon him — Mikado knew still that Tsubaki cared for him, deep in his heart. He was the only one that still cared of him from their loose concept which was "family," he was also sure.
Rikka's words certainly had him thinking. He was correct, really — if Tsubaki had lost the memories of the past, then Mikado was there to resurface them. Simply, it was difficult for him to before. Whenever his fingers event graced the presence of a piano key, he'd hold back, hesitant to play, as if it were a forbidden taboo upon his own person. Nobody was stopping him but himself. He knew that. He knew that. And yet ...
That was before the events with the rest of RE:Fly. Before he returned to it with the help of Rikka, whom he played alongside with again, and returned to the piano just as he had with Tsubaki those many years ago. With it all over, his previous self-consciousness (mostly) conquered, here he was, again, at a piano, observing the keys. It was the middle of winter now, and the music room seemed incredibly cold, but here he was anyways, returning to a battle, abstract and bloodless, that he had lost many times over before. He inhaled, exhaled, fixed his glasses, rolled his shoulders, remembered the words of his unitmates, and formed a faux image of Tsubaki there beside him, playing the parts he wasn't as skilled at quite yet.
There were two keys, and then a step.
"Mikado." His name pierced through the coldness of the room. Mikado turned his head, even though he could recognize the voice, willingly or not. There was Tsubaki, huddled in a winter scarf — one hand on the doorknob, another on the doorframe, looking in, as if he had been observing for a long time already (and yet, Mikado did not hear that door open. Maybe he was too engulfed in his own personal battle, or maybe the cold was getting to him. He didn't care very much.) "What are you doing?"
Mikado blinked in surprise, but not before he was filled with a euphoria seeing his cousin, "Tsubaki! Hello~! Came to see Big Bro Mika?"
Tsubaki shook his head, and Mikado could already recognize the vague presence of annoyed embarrassment on his face, "No... I was just passing by and saw you in here alone. You're not even playing it, so what are you doing?"
"Oh, I was just preparing to play it. You shouldn't jump to such a hasty conclusion, Tsubaki~" He gestured for his little cousin to sit beside him. "Come here, watch me play. It's been too long, you know~!"
Tsubaki opened his mouth, as if he was about to interject — Mikado could recognize the formation of his face. He anticipated a "No, I'm seriously just passing by!" or a "That's embarrassing, I'm busy right now anyways," but to his surprise, Tsubaki hesitated. His eyes flicked down momentarily before returning to look at Mikado, and then making a slow, soft nod, opting for a small "Alright, fine" instead of a rain check for an event that he had probably cultivated in those two seconds of hesitation. Tsubaki sauntered over to Mikado and the piano. Mikado scooted over, making room on the seat for the both of them.
"That's right, huh. You recently played with Yarai-senpai," Tsubaki mused, looking at the piano and feeling the keys for himself. "You're better than I remember. Then again, you tagged along often to my lessons. You were always really easy to pick up on the things we did together."
"I really thought I only remembered the basics... but Rikka pointed out that I actually remember much more than I thought I did. I'm sure the same could be said with a lot of other things we've done together... ahaha, maybe except for traditional dance~! After all, I can't even remember how to properly fold a kimono," Mikado nodded. Tsubaki only rolled his eyes, a small smile painting his face in the process.
"I don't think folding a kimono affects how you'll dance. If anything, I'll just help you put it on, and we can see how much you actually remember." Tsubaki pressed the same key on the piano several times before shaking his head. "Now, are you going to play, or did you just want to have an idle conversation with me?"
"Both, if I'm being honest! Idle conversations aren't bad, you know~ as for traditional dance, is that your way of saying you want to do things with me again?" Mikado cheekily smiled, and Tsubaki groaned softly under his breath, shaking his head once again.
"That's not what I...!" Tsubaki started, until he instead opted for a sigh. "Whatever. Whether I want to do those things again or not isn't the point of this. Now c'mon, play like you said you were going to play for me." Mikado smiled, amused. It wasn't outright denial. That was enough for Mikado to hold onto a hope they would be able to do things just as they had done in the past before.
Mikado pressed the first keys of a song that Shiro had mentioned Tsubaki had been playing earlier — Minute Waltz, a Chopin song. The first keys embraced his knowledgeable fingers, experienced now by the recent events with RE:Fly, with more confidence. The battle had suddenly became a breeze — the thoughts still lingered in his head, but with the single audience of Tsubaki, no longer was he plagued by the thoughts.
Two knowledgeable hands then became four knowledgeable hands of the past.