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Once, Ryouta saw a golden bird with burning feathers fly across the night sky, through the window of his room. As if an egret had caught on fire, and was plummeting into its death like a shooting star.
But the bird was alive, and the bird was dancing. It pranced and twirled amidst the stars, its long tails leaving trails of flames with every movement. Its dance was bewitching, and Ryouta was sure that the creature had placed him under a spell. A most peculiar enchantment that compelled him to stand up, and dance.
So Ryouta did. For as long as he kept his gaze on the bird, he danced, and danced.
But his eyes glanced at the mirror, and his reflection. The spell was broken in an instant. Ryouta stopped, snapped his windows shut, and went to bed.
And Ryouta never saw the bird again.
“The hunters have been talking about the firebird again, lately,” Kensuke said, lifting a fresh hare carcass onto the table.
“What’s that?” Ryouta asked, not looking up from his textbook.
“It’s just a live bird that’s on fire. But it’s big, and shiny, and pretty, at least according to the illustrations, and there’s only one of it in the world. ‘The Brightest Light in the World!’, they all say.”
“Hmm.”
“There’s been sightings of it around here recently, so people have been trying to catch it. It’s notoriously difficult to capture, what with it being on fire and all, so it’s become a desirable target for hunters. They think any hunter who catches it, surely would be the best hunter there is in the world.”
Ryouta finally looked at Kensuke, who was skinning the pelt off the hare. “You’re not going to go find it?”
“Hmm? No, why would I?”
“Wouldn’t you like to be the best hunter in the world?”
“Well, Ryou,” Kensuke said, a little teasingly, “I wouldn’t mind having that title, but unfortunately I am a hunter who has ethical standards. There’s only one of this firebird, which probably makes it the most endangered creature ever. And I hate to think of a one-of-a-kind wonder of the world being locked up in some cage.”
“I understand,” Ryouta said.
“I think everyone should leave it alone. Let it spread its light and beauty wherever it flies.”
“You’re a good guy like that.”
“And that’s what you like about me, right?” Kensuke laughed. “Would you have tried to take up the challenge, if you were a hunter yourself?”
“I’d try to catch it just to prove that I can,” Ryouta said, “and then release it after.”
Kensuke raised his eyebrows and nodded approvingly. “That’s actually quite smart. You get the fame and recognition, but none of the hassle, since it’s immortal and all.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah, have I mentioned that? It doesn’t die. Any wounds inflicted on it would heal in minutes, or so they say. So even if someone does capture it, and tries to keep it for themselves, they’ll just be bringing the hunt to them. And it’s never going to end.”
“It’ll just be a mess for anyone who has it. I don’t know why people don’t think about these consequences,” Kensuke shrugged, retrieving a butcher’s knife. “Just leave it alone,” he started chopping away at the hare.
“Anyway, Ryou. What’s up?”
“There’s a progress review tomorrow. I don’t feel too good about it.”
“You’ll do great. You’ve been practicing a lot.”
“Thanks, Ken.”
“Help me with the vegetables? It’ll take your mind off things.”
Ryouta closed his book. “Sure.”
The setting sun dyed the academy a bright orange. Ryouta sighed as he pushed the front doors open. Kensuke was waiting for him outside.
“Hey, Ryou. How’d it go?”
“Not good enough,” Ryouta huffed. “I’m sorry, Ken, I’m going to stay behind and get some extra practice. Don’t wait for me.”
Kensuke looked at him sympathetically. “Alright, Ryou. Don’t come back too late.”
Ryouta went back inside the building and made his way into an empty studio. The familiar and detested sight of the wooden floor and mirror-lined walls.
It always came down to this. Dance had never been Ryouta’s best field, and Ryouta had to admit that his own frustrations towards it are likely hindering his growth. He’s accepted long ago that it was all naturally part of pursuing the performing arts, but it seemed that his dancing skill was destined to always lag behind.
Ryouta turned on the soundtrack. The familiar orchestral score set into place in his mind, images of the step-by-step movements fell into every beat. He hummed to the melody and started to move.
But he saw his stiff body in the mirror, and his limbs were placed all wrong, and his angles were all wrong, and his posture was all wrong, and found that he couldn’t. His mind was too loud.
Ryouta turned off the music and the lights, and angrily stomped outside, all the way until he exited the academy premises altogether, where the sun had fully set. Everyone had left, leaving a dark, cold, scene for Ryouta all alone.
Ryouta decided to take a quick walk in the nearby forest trail. It had always been a reliable place for whenever he needed a nice change of environment.
But even the forest had failed him that day, because there was a strange voice coming from the trees, from off the beaten path, singing what seemed to be plain gibberish.
Strange, but undoubtedly human, in a colour that Ryouta has never heard before, even in passing. Unlikely to be from another student from the academy, and no one in their right mind would do vocal practice in the middle of the forest, Ryouta thought, as the acoustics are not ideal, and there are likely beasts lurking about…
But it was a nice voice. Ryouta couldn’t resist appreciating a fellow singer, and so he felt the urge to step off the trail and follow the sound. And a little deeper into the forest, there was a clearing that Ryouta wasn’t sure was there before, and a man was singing.
And dancing.
Maybe it was the light of the moon, but the strange youth was bathed in an ethereal glow, and as Ryouta drew closer, he saw a head of bright golden hair, gracefully fluttering in the air as the singer continued to move in small, unorganized, careless steps, with no fixed tempo. His voice rang out loud and clear, with a tone that was strong yet delicate. Each long note faded into the air with an effortless vibrato, and the soothing timbre of his voice almost made Ryouta overlook the occasional off-key notes.
That sort of performance that would have him be called ‘gifted’ if he were a child.
The singing was cut short, and Ryouta knew he had been spotted. Ryouta was half-expecting some feral child, or a lone fae, but as he got a look at the man’s deep-blue eyes, and his perfectly regular, albeit a little worn-out shirt and trousers, the stranger was a young human man just like him. His near-glowing hair being a distinguishing feature, the only thing that could possibly suggest any oddity.
The two stood still, locked in eye contact, until the awkwardness became too much for Ryouta to bear, and he broke the silence with a hesitant, “it’s a very nice song.”
The golden-haired man didn’t reply immediately, and Ryouta was starting to consider if he spoke a different language, but the man replied before that thought could go anywhere. “Thank you,” and his voice was as gentle and pleasant as his singing had been.
Ryouta felt ire rise in his chest, and he asked the man, “Are you an artist?”
“No,” the man glanced at his surroundings, and then looked back at Ryouta. “But I think I would like to be.”
“Then you have your work cut out for you,” Ryouta said.
“You are naturally gifted and have a lot of potential, but your execution is flawed. It doesn’t do the well-composed song justice,” Ryouta continued, and immediately stopped himself.
“Is, is that so,” the man looked like he was in serious thought. He didn’t deserve this.
“No, never mind,” Ryouta took a step back.
And he ran away, all the way until he saw Kensuke again at their house. He wished to never see the man again.
“Ken.”
“Yeah?” Came Kensuke’s reply from the bottom bunk.
“What would you do if you accidentally offended a stranger?”
“I’d apologize if I see them again,” Kensuke said easily.
“What if you never see them again?”
“Then they’ll remember what you said to them forever… just kidding. What happened, Ryou?”
Ryouta shifted in his bed. He didn’t reply.
“Well, if you see them again, there’s no harm in apologizing. It’s going to lift that weight off your back.”
“They might not accept it.”
“That happens. But like I said, no harm in trying.”
“…Good night, Ken.”
“Good night, Ryou.”
Ryouta returned to the forest the next day, right after sunset, and heard the same voice. He didn’t know whether to feel reassured or disappointed. He saw the man in the distance, in the same clearing, still dancing and singing, so undeterred and earnest that Ryouta couldn’t help but feel a little angry.
This time, the golden-haired man heard Ryouta approaching, and turned around to save Ryouta the embarrassment of calling out to him.
“Good evening,” he said with a slight smile.
“Good evening,” Ryouta returned, and decided to get right into it, “Look, what I said yesterday was out of line,” he said stiffly, “I was being unpleasant. I apologize, you didn’t deserve to be talked to like that.”
“It’s alright,” the man said. “I haven’t met many people, so I appreciate the new point of view.” He said it with such a cool, controlled voice, that Ryouta couldn’t get a read on his intentions.
“What are you doing here? Surely there’s better places to practice in.”
“Oh, I, live near here, so I supposed I just went with somewhere close…”
The man didn’t elaborate any further, as if that didn’t just raise more questions.
“What’s your name?” Ryouta finally asked.
“Kouki,” he answered.
No last name provided, so Ryouta returned the sentiment. “I’m Ryouta.”
“Ryouta,” Kouki repeated. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Empty pleasantries. Ryouta only nodded in return.
“Are you an artist, Ryouta?” Kouki asked.
“I am. I study in the performing arts academy a little further away from here.”
“It’s a very prestigious academy, isn’t it? That’s impressive,” Kouki said. “You must be really talented.”
Apparently prestigious enough that even a strange forest-dwelling man knew of its reputation, Ryouta thought.
“Do you work?”
“No, I am… unemployed.”
Ryouta hadn’t intended to turn the conversation into some sort of interview.
“Do you live alone?” Ryouta asked.
“I live together with my frie—I mean, my brother. He is… a musician.”
Kouki was a terrible liar. A least that was one thing Ryouta could be certain of. “You can say you live with a friend. I’m not going to assume things,” Ryouta raised an eyebrow, “I live together with a childhood friend myself.”
“Oh.”
Ryouta kept his guard up. Kouki’s background was suspiciously sparse, and he only ever gave short answers, but he’s not going to risk pushing it any further after what he had done the day before.
“He’s actually why I’m doing this,” Kouki said, “my friend, I mean. He taught me music, and how to sing.”
‘How to sing’, Ryouta noted mentally, when it should be something that came naturally to everyone, regardless if they are skilled in it on a technical level or not. Perhaps Kouki was just awkward. “Are you looking to perform on a stage?” He asked. “Sing and dance for a crowd?”
“Nothing like that. I just wanted to express how his music makes me feel.”
“Then your expression is unrefined.” Ryouta said. “But I understand what drives you. Your love for song comes through, despite how rough your performance is.”
Kouki cast his gaze downward.
“If I were to love something so much,” Ryouta continued, “it would be my ideal. It would be the light that I follow. I would give it my all, and I would never stop refining myself for it. And my skills would be the proof of my love and respect.”
Ryouta stepped closer towards Kouki, who was now looking at him thoughtfully. “And what about you? Have you ever thought of doing the same for your composer friend?”
“To be honest, I’ve never really thought about these things,” Kouki admitted. “I’ve lived a rather uneventful life before I met him.”
“And when did you meet him exactly?”
“About a few months ago.”
That recontextualizes things. Kouki’s performance became slightly more impressive in hindsight, then, as that would imply that Kouki had no musical training at all before he met this musician friend. A complete fledgling in the arts, but with great potential, which Ryouta had sensed from the beginning. And suddenly all his previous irritation had transformed into just a sliver of excitement.
“Would you like to join the academy?” Ryouta asked Kouki. “I can recommend you, and you’ll be able to polish your skills there, with the proper facilities.”
Kouki’s eyes widened. “I don’t think I could possibly ever afford that.”
“They’ll let you in for free if you do well enough in the audition,” Ryouta insisted. “The academy believes that talent comes from all places, and is always on the lookout for potential students. They already scout regularly, and they’ll take in anyone who shows a promising career in performing arts. I’m sure you fit the bill.”
“I suppose there’s no harm in trying,” Kouki said. “I’ll have to talk about this with my friend, first.”
“Go ahead,” Ryouta waved his hand. “Let me know of your decision tomorrow.”
Kouki nodded. “I’ll be right here.”
When Kouki waved Ryouta goodbye, his eyes were twinkling, and his golden hair seemed to shine brighter than yesterday.
“Kou-kun! I’m home!”
“Welcome back, Mamoru. Dinner is on the table.”
“Ah! Thank you, Kou-kun!”
The auburn-haired mage put away his lute, took off his cloak and his large hat, and sat down across Kouki at their table. “How goes the practice today? Did you meet that mysterious silver-haired boy again?”
“I did,” Kouki said. “We talked a lot, today, and he told me some things about himself.”
“Ooh, tell me more!”
“While we eat,” Kouki laughed.
“Well, Kou-kun, I think I feel your love for me just fine, in the delicious food you serve me every day,” Mamoru patted his stomach. “But I understand where he’s coming from… it’s just how his perspective is, and that’s fine. Everyone has a different way of seeing the world.”
“He offered to recommend me to the academy,” Kouki said. “And I think I want to try to enroll in it.”
Mamoru paused. He straightened in his seat, looking at his empty bowl. “That is… are you sure about that? You know that you’re not obligated to prove yourself to him, right?”
“I know you’re worried,” Kouki reassured him, “but I’ve really been thinking about what he said. I really do love your music, Mamoru. It’s my favourite in the world.”
“Aww, Kou-kun…”
“And if a proper education would help me sing your songs better, dance to them better, and performing on a stage, in front of a crowd, would allow me to spread the beauty of your songs to the world, then that is what I want to do.”
“Oh!” A small fish made out of light suddenly manifested on the table, splashing and flopping. Mamoru held up a hand to his chest. “Kou-kun, you’re really making your big brother emotional.”
Kouki smiled as Mamoru waved his hand to dispel the accidentally-summoned creature. “If that’s really what you think,” Mamoru said, “then of course I’ll support you in every step of the way! I’ll walk you to the academy every day—”
“N-no, it’s alright,” Kouki stopped him. “I don’t want too much attention on me. I think being accompanied by a mage is sure to turn a few heads. But I appreciate it, Mamoru. Really.”
“Ah, that’s right,” Mamoru nodded. “I know you don’t want to be associated too much with magic.”
“That makes it sound like I don’t want to be associated with you, which surely isn’t the case, but…”
“It’s okay, Kou-kun! I didn’t really word that properly, but I understand!” Mamoru waved his hands. “Just remember what I taught you, okay?”
“Of course,” Kouki said. “I think I’ve become quite good at it, haven’t I?”
Mamoru laughed. “That’s true. I trust that you’ll be able to handle yourself.”
“Thank you, Mamoru. Then I’ll tell Ryouta the news tomorrow,” Kouki was about to get up, but seated himself back down. “Mamoru, may I ask for a song, for good luck?”
Mamoru snapped his fingers, and the lute appeared in his hands with a flash. He gave it a few strums. “You don’t even need to ask, Kou-kun! Here it is, a special ‘Good Luck’ song, just for you…”
“So? What did they say?”
When Kouki exited the audition room, Ryouta was already waiting in front of the door.
“You were right,” Kouki said, with a dazed expression, “they accepted me, and I can study here for free.”
Ryouta made a small smirk. “Never doubt me again.”
“They did, um, compliment my face,” Kouki said, “a lot. I can’t help but think it influenced their decision-making…”
“I’m sure it’s because they can see your potential.”
“I think they thought I had a marketable face…”
“They’re wise enough to know a pretty face isn’t all that matters. Chin up,” Ryouta held Kouki’s shoulders firmly. “From now on, you are an artist.”
Ryouta couldn’t stop watching Kouki.
It seemed so natural for him, being in the studios, being on stage. Just as Ryouta thought, with proper instruction, he was steadily improving. He had gained a better sense of rhythm, his voice was more stable, he was starting to read sheet music. He was a serious learner, and Ryouta was glad that he wasn’t someone who would back away from challenge. His growth had been impressive, and Ryouta guessed that Kouki would have no trouble catching up to him soon. And yet much of Kouki was still a mystery to Ryouta, and as far as he knew, he was still the same strange youth from the forest. Ryouta would provide him useful critique whenever he could, and they would often practice together until the sun set.
Perhaps it was because he had somewhat slipped into the role of a mentor, and possibly feeling responsible for Kouki, but Ryouta found himself looking forward to practice, even looking forward to dancing, a little. And he was looking forward to observe Kouki, as if merely looking at him would answer even one of his many questions about the golden-haired man.
“There are a lot of rules,” Kouki said, one day, when the both of them sat slumped against the wall after practice, exhausted. Coming from him, it didn’t sound like a complaint, even though it should be. “I didn’t expect the arts to be so difficult.”
“They are fundamentals,” Ryouta said, “and it’s important to know the rules, before you can break them to your liking.”
“I know. I want to learn.”
“It will only get more difficult from here. If you can’t tough it out, you should quit.”
Kouki didn’t reply.
“…that’s the new guy, isn’t he?”
“Yeah, I think he got scouted.”
“With a pretty face like that? I’m not surprised.”
“Some people are just born lucky.”
Kouki overheard the two students’ conversation from inside the classroom, almost immediately after he and Ryouta left, and sighed. It seemed that he couldn’t escape the unwanted attention, after all.
But Ryouta heard them as well. “Don’t listen to people of that sort,” he hissed. “They’re just being bitter, because they’re not good enough.”
“If you say so,” Kouki said.
“Ryou, you seem to be in good spirits lately!” Kensuke remarked, skinning the hunt of the day without even looking at the carcass. “Like there’s something you look forward to. You practically rush out to school these days.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ryouta continued writing.
“Does it, perhaps, mayhaps, perchance, have anything to do with this Kouki guy?”
“No.”
“Oooh, Ryou, you’re smiling.”
“Ken, shut up.”
“Aww, in all seriousness, though, I’m glad you’ve made a friend.”
“I don’t think I’d call us that,” Ryouta said. “It’s more like I’m doing an observation, strictly on my end. He doesn’t really know what’s going on.”
“And what are you observing?”
“How far he can go. How much he can take.”
“Oh, sure,” Kensuke grinned. “That’s what you’re doing, of course. The whole… unrequited observation thing is kind of sad, though. Are you sure he’s not ‘observing’ you back?”
“Ken, I’m trying to study here.”
“Ryou, you’ve been drawing on that book since I started skinning this deer.”
Ryouta looked down at his music theory textbook, where he found that he had absent-mindedly doodled some flowers on the blank corners of the pages.
“Hmph.” He turned the page.
“Be sure to tell Kouki how you feel about him sometime. I’m sure he’d like to know. And some praise wouldn’t hurt once in a while.”
“He hasn’t done anything worth praising. He’s just doing what he should as a student.”
“Well, if it were me, I’d praise him for managing to capture your attention so consistently,” Kensuke smoothed out the fully removed deer pelt.
“It always amazes me that you’re able to hold a conversation this well while skinning and dismembering an animal.”
“I’m just a really good multi-tasker!” Kensuke said. “If I had more hands, I could do even more things.”
“That’s a terrible mental image,” Ryouta said flatly.
“Yeah, I agree. I like myself just the way I am.”
“…I like you just the way you are, too.”
Ryouta slammed the medical bay door open.
“Kou?!”
“Ryouta?” Kouki turned to look at him. He was lying on bed, with a cast on his left ankle.
Ryouta rushed to the bedside. “What happened?!”
“I tripped over nothing and fell during a lesson. It’s just a sprained ankle, Ryou, I’m in no great danger.”
Ryouta threw up his arms. “Just a sprained ankle! This is going to take several months to heal! Any worse and you might never dance again!”
“Um, it’s not a severe sprain, and people have told me I heal unusually quick, so I’m sure it’s fine.”
Ryouta groaned. “No more dancing until you heal completely. Understand?”
“I can do that,” Kouki made a wry smile.
“I’m walking you home until you heal.”
“Well, that’s not really necessary. The nurse lent me some crutches…”
“If you walk home alone, no one will be there to help if you fell, or if any other sort of emergency happened. I’m walking you home, Kou, and that’s final.” Ryouta punctuated it with a firm grip on Kouki’s hand.
“Alright,” Kouki sighed fondly. “Thank you for your help, Ryou.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Kouki knocked on the door of his and Mamoru’s cottage, with crutches, and Ryouta by his side.
“Mamoru, I’m home. Sorry I’m late, I had a bit of an accident.”
“I’ll get the door, Kou-kun!” came Mamoru’s voice from inside.
“Mamoru, Ryouta is with me.” Kouki said, a little louder.
“Oh! Okay, wait, wait a second.” There were a couple of dubious noises from inside the cottage, and then at last, Mamoru swung open the door, dressed like a perfectly regular man.
“Welcome back, Kou-kun! And you are Ryouta, aren’t you? Pleasure to meet you!” Mamoru bowed deeply.
“Good evening, Mamoru, the pleasure is all mine,” Ryouta said, polite as can be. “Kouki sprained his ankle today, so I’ll be accompanying him home until he can walk properly again.”
“That’s very kind of you!” Mamoru smiled. “Thank you for bringing Kouki home. I’m really happy to know that he has such nice friends.”
“Please take good care of him,” Ryouta said, as he waved goodbye, and left.
Mamoru helped Kouki come inside, closed the door, and sat him down on a chair. They were both silent, for a while.
“Long day? I bought dinner, so you don’t have to cook. Just relax.” Mamoru reassured him. “Ryouta seems really worried about you.”
Kouki put away his crutches against the wall. “He is really worried. He practically crashed the medical bay when he found out. Insisted on walking me home every day.”
“The way he’s doting on me is actually a little overwhelming,” Kouki sighed, as he bent to remove the cast from his ankle, “but I’ve never seen this side of him before, and I admit I find it to be cute.” Kouki put away the cast, and moved his left ankle freely. “See, it’s fully healed.”
“Ah, Kou-kun, you have to remember that we humans are a fragile bunch. It’s reasonable for Ryouta to be worried. Especially for people like him, who rely a lot on exerting their body, their limbs, for a living. I think he was just scared that you might have experienced a career-ending injury.”
“Yeah, I know,” Kouki said. “I didn’t expect him to… accommodate me this much, though.”
“Just goes to show that even if his words can be harsh sometimes, he really wants to see you succeed, right?” Mamoru chuckled, and moved to sit down in front of Kouki. “Unfortunately, you probably need to put that cast back on later. Give it a week or two? I think that’s convincing enough.”
“Fair enough,” Kouki nodded.
“Think of it as a cheat week. A free pass for getting out of dance practice,” Mamoru grinned.
Another bout of silence.
“Mamoru, I’m sorry if this is inappropriate, but I’ve been thinking, and I wanted to ask you something,” Kouki averted his eyes.
“You can ask your big brother anything, I promise!”
“Do you—” Kouki swallowed, “do you fear mortality?”
“That is…” Mamoru furrowed his brows, “Well, I think it’s in human nature, to fear death in one way or another, whether for yourself or for someone you love. I think it’s something that I’ve accepted a long time ago, when my parents died when I was young. I’ve gotten acquainted with it, so to speak.”
Kouki looked at Mamoru apologetically. It was something he already knew, but he couldn’t help wishing that Mamoru’s childhood had been a more joyful one.
“But the fragility of humans, made me vow to be kind, and hopeful, and help anyone whenever I could, even just a little. It made me realize the limited time we all have with each other, and so I cherish my relationships, and I want to spend my life spreading joy and wonder to others, through my magic and my songs. And by doing these things, it… puts me a bit more at peace, with mortality, because I don’t regret the way things turned out, the way I turned out. I think I’m quite fulfilled.”
“It’s also why,” Mamoru moved closer towards Kouki, and held both his hands in his own, gently, “I took in that great fiery bird, on that fateful night. Exhausted and fearful from being hunted for days on end, arrows embedded in his body. And taught him how to take on a human form, so that he may be able to experience the joys of life, and relationships, without having to constantly be on the run. So that he has a place to rest, where he can rest assured, that he would be safe.”
Kouki recalled the events, fond memories of his first transformation and his early navigation of the human world flashing through his mind. “But I was never in any real danger,” Kouki said, “you know the firebird lives forever.”
“Even an immortal being deserves a break, no? An eternity of being hunted and pursued sounds horrible. Why constantly heal your wounds when you can avoid getting wounded at all? I thought you deserve have a better life, Kou-kun, even just a little bit.”
“And I am grateful for it, Mamoru. You didn’t just improve my life a little, you changed my entire world.” Kouki returned Mamoru’s grip on his hands. “I used to think that being able to fly was the best thing the world could offer me. But then I realized using legs to run and dance, and hands to feel trees and flowers, to be able to cook, to hold one another, was just as wonderful as any flight.”
“You are extremely kind, with an equally kind outlook on the world, despite how it has treated you, and it makes me want to do the same. You taught me about the beauty of being human even when I thought they were only ever selfish. You’re the first person I ever had any meaningful connections with. I love you, I love your magic, I love your music. And…”
Kouki took a deep breath, “and I’m scared of losing you. I don’t want to watch you grow older, and leave me, and I fear that I’ll have to go through it all over again, for the rest of eternity.”
Kouki’s voice grew quieter, and Mamoru could see the hint of tears forming in his eyes. “And I… I’m scared of losing Ryou. I really do like him, there are a lot of things I want to know more about him, and I want to spend more time with him. I haven’t expressed my feelings well enough, and I feel like there’s still a lot of things I can do for him.”
“Kou-kun…” Mamoru pulled Kouki into a hug. “It’s alright. It’s alright to be scared.” One of Mamoru’s hands moved up to stroke and pat his back. “You can hold on to me as long as you’d like. Let it all out.”
Kouki let go, after a while, sighing. “I feel a little better. Thanks, Mamoru.”
“We can just try to use our time the best we can, okay?” Mamoru smiled. “And you can start telling Ryouta how much you really appreciate him. Let him know! Before it’s too late.” He summoned his lute. “Would you like a song to end the day, Kou-kun?”
“I’d love one,” Kouki said. “I’d also like to sing.”
“Ah, I’ll sing as well. The more the merrier!”
The two fell into old, comforting habits. Singing Mamoru’s song together, Kouki enjoying the sound of the lute and Mamoru’s voice, and how their voices harmonized, coming together into the beautiful music he had always loved. And Kouki felt the same joy he would feel when he flew through skies, riding winds, leaving fire trails amidst stars.
“Kou-kun, your singing is becoming more beautiful every day.”
“I’ve had help.”
It was highly suspect that Kouki returned to full physical capabilities in merely a week. Another one of Kouki’s many mysteries, but Ryouta decided to let it go, for now. Partially because he was just glad to see him in dance classes again, not that he’d ever say that out loud.
That day, they did dance practice until nightfall.
Ryouta had become increasingly frustrated as time went on. Kouki noticed that he was sweating heavily, his movements had become clumsier, and he wasn’t giving Kouki any of his usual criticisms. He was glaring at his own reflection in the mirror.
“Ryou, I think we should call it a day.”
“No, just a bit more,” Ryouta sulked. “I need to get this move right.”
“You’re tired. The practice isn’t going to be productive in your current state.”
“Don’t tell me what to do just because you’ve already got the hang of it and I haven’t,” Ryouta snapped. He attempted the movement again, and groaned when he realized the exhaustion rendered him unable to focus.
“Ryou, stop.” Kouki raised his voice. “Let’s sit down and take a break.”
“This sequence has been a thorn on my side for long enough,” Ryouta said, near-growling. “If I don’t perfect it now, it’s going to hold me back.”
“You’ve already got the fundamentals down, and you’re only missing extremely minor details. There’s still tomorrow—”
“There will be new lessons tomorrow. And new dances, new sequences, new steps, and—”
“Ryou,” Kouki returned the interruption. “Why are you so hard on yourself?”
And Ryouta finally stopped, standing completely still. He took a deep breath. “Because I’m not good enough yet.” The fatigue caught up to him, and he slumped down to the floor, stretched out his legs and leaned against the wall. Kouki sat down next to him, and looked at him intently.
“I can’t do the music, the art, justice yet. But I can’t do anything else. I don’t have anything else,” Ryouta gestured helplessly. “Singing, performing, this is all I have, this is all I am remotely gifted at, and I feel like if I don’t dedicate my life to it, I will never be able to forgive myself.”
“And I,” Ryouta swallowed, “I can put on a polite face and a sweet voice for strangers, for connections. But when you really get to know me—I’m unpleasant. Cold, unforgiving. You experienced it yourself, when you first met me. The real me is, difficult to be around, and I know that, so I never get too close to people. Only Ken was ever able to get past that part of me, and I still don’t know how he does it.” He hung is head. “The only way I can ever prove myself and my love for music, is through song. This is my one calling in life.”
Kouki was silent for a while. Then he spoke softly, “I’m glad that when I first met you in that forest, you were showing me your true self.”
“And what good is that, when my true self is so irritating?”
“I don’t think you’re unpleasant, or irritating,” Kouki said firmly. “I think that, you’re just extremely harsh on yourself, and you’re frustrated because you can’t live up to your own standards, and that frustration naturally spills out to others sometimes. But the way you work so hard to achieve your ideals, is… admirable. The way you are looking ahead, always intent on improving yourself, never sitting still. Even though… the results speak for themselves, you had always been one of the best students in this school. But it’s never enough, because your vision for yourself is higher still.”
“I don’t like that you’re reading me like that,” Ryouta huffed, and turned his head away from Kouki.
“I admit that I’ve been silently watching you,” Kouki looked away, a little embarrassed.
“But it’s not good to work too hard,” Kouki continued. “And it’s good, from time to time, to remember what drives you in the first place.”
“And what would that be?”
“Love, isn’t it?” Kouki smiled. “Your love for music, your love for song. People have always been singing and creating music since the beginning of time, for its own sake, regardless of their skill, because it’s fun, and because they love music.”
Kouki closed his eyes. “I find that there is music everywhere. In the trees, the wind, the grass. In this academy building, even when no one is here. The sound of footsteps when you walk, the idle tapping of your foot when you’re deep in thought.”
Kouki got up and outstretched a hand. “Come, Ryou, let’s dance together. You can follow my lead.”
Ryouta frowned, but took Kouki’s hand and let Kouki help him stand up. “What are we practicing?”
“It’s not practice,” Kouki replied, “we’re going to dance for dance’s sake. Think of it as improvisation, if you’d like. I’m going to sing.”
Ryouta stood there, his hand in Kouki’s hand, still looking unconvinced.
“And this is going to be a song you’ve never heard before,” Kouki smiled mischievously, “so there’s no choice but to improvise. There’s no set sequence, no rules, no right or wrong.”
Ryouta’s expression softened. “A new song of Mamoru’s?”
Kouki nodded. “Composed last night.”
“Alright,” Ryouta said. “I do like Mamoru’s songs.”
Kouki began to sing, a merry, uplifting tune that Mamoru would sing to the people he helped, to raise their spirits. Both of Ryouta’s hands are in his own, and they both began to move to the rhythm. Ryouta let Kouki take the lead, letting himself flow with no direction.
Ryouta’s eyes glanced to the mirrors on the walls, and Kouki could see his face starting to harden. Kouki stopped singing, and gave one of Ryou’s hands a squeeze to grab his attention.
“Ryou, look at me,” Kouki told him. “Keep your eyes on me, okay?”
Ryouta’s eyes flicked back to Kouki’s face. “Alright.”
So the dance continued, and what Ryouta had initially thought to be disorganized and haphazard movements had somehow settled into place. Each step followed Kouki’s voice, and Ryouta found himself moving in sync with each syllable, leaping to every lift in the melody, and effortlessly following wherever Kouki was leading him, whatever movement he was eased into.
And, as Ryouta kept his gaze on Kouki’s brilliant deep-blue eyes, Ryouta found that he was enjoying himself.
Kouki’s smile as he sang was blinding, his golden hair seemed to emit a glow like sunlight, and Ryouta felt as if he were going to lose himself in that light. He was overcome with visions of the actors and singers and dancers on the stage, memories of every performance he had ever watched since he was a child, of the wonder and delight and enchantment that he had always felt.
Truly, he loved music, he loved singing, and even dancing, and right there and then, Kouki had reminded him, distilled dance into its very core as an expression of the heart.
His heart was light. It’s good to forget about the metrics, the expectations, once in a while. His heartbeat raced, but not because he was nervous. Ryouta kept his eyes on Kouki the entire time, and all he could hear was that lovely singing voice, more honed and polished than it has ever been.
Kouki was shining.
“How are studies, Ryou?”
“Very good,” Ryouta replied, as Kensuke passed him another dish to wash.
“I think that’s the happiest you’ve ever sounded when talking about school!”
“I am in a good mood,” Ryouta smirked. “I might even break into song.”
“No way,” Kensuke chuckled. “A performance from Sakuraba Ryouta himself, right in my own home?”
Ryouta broke into unrestrained song, loud enough to drown out the sound of water and cutlery. He sang a song he had vaguely heard Kouki singing to himself a few times. He didn’t quite remember all the lyrics, but he simply replaced the words he’d forgotten with vocables.
“Ryou, you’ve got a really beautiful voice, you know that? I feel the need to remind you every time.”
“My pride and joy,” Ryouta said, and broke into another song.
“Mamoru, about what you told me the other day,” Kouki said, “I’d like to go through with it.”
“Oh,” Mamoru frowned. “I’m glad it turned out to be useful after all, but… are you sure?”
“I am.”
“It’s a big decision. Have you really considered the consequences?”
“I have. I’ll be careful from now on.”
Mamoru scratched his head. “Kou-kun, I’m always going to support you in whatever you do. I know you can take care of yourself just fine. And I know this might be a little hypocritical of me, especially after all I said, but…” he sighed. “I’m really worried.”
“I understand, Mamoru. Feeling scared and worried, isn’t that what humans do?” Kouki took Mamoru’s hand, “I’ve decided to live as a human. But I promise that if I ever miss flying, I’d tell you, so you can look out for me.”
“…Alright. Then let’s go.”
Kouki had been absent, without any notice, for three days.
Ryouta was already worried from the first day, but thought, and on the third day, he couldn’t take it anymore, and marched straight to his house.
Ryouta knocked at the door, and from inside he heard Mamoru’s voice.
“Who’s there?”
“It’s Ryouta. I’ve come here to check on Kouki. Is he here?”
“Ah! That’s right, he hasn’t been attending class.”
“Yes, he hasn’t. May I come in?”
There was a brief silence from the other end, and then Mamoru spoke up again. “Alright.”
The door opened, and to Ryouta’s surprise, Mamoru was seated on a chair next to a bed, far away from where the door was.
“Come on in.”
Ryouta stepped inside in disbelief, and the door swung itself shut behind him.
He took a cautious step forward. “Where’s Kou?”
“Over here,” Mamoru gestured towards the bed. And when Ryouta walked closer, he finally could make out what Mamoru was looking over.
A giant fire-gold bird, curled up, its long-crested head buried in its own feathers, much like a sleeping crane. On a human bed, in which its great size took up the entire width and length. From it, Ryouta could feel an emanating heat.
“He’s asleep. Had to recover from something,” Mamoru said simply.
Ryouta stood silent, dumbfounded, as he took in the sight of the legendary creature that was larger than he imagined it would be. Its plumage evoked every shade of fire, with a golden gleam to it. Its large, fanning, multiple tails flared out and spilled at the edges of the bed, reaching the floor.
Mamoru magically summoned another chair next to him, making Ryouta jump, and motioned for Ryouta to sit down.
“Well, the truth has to come out eventually,” he sighed, “I wish the circumstances could’ve been better, but out of all people, you deserve to know, anyway.”
“The truth?” Ryouta said loudly, “What do you mean?”
“How do I say this,” Mamoru said sheepishly, “Ryouta, have you ever heard of the firebird?”
“The immortal firebird… is Kouki?”
“Yes,” Mamoru nodded. “Ex-immortal, now.”
“And you’re a mage,” Ryouta stated.
“Uh, yeah.”
“Kou said you were a musician.”
“Well, I am, also a musician,” Mamoru summoned the lute in his hands and gave it a strum, “I’m some sort of bard-mage.”
Ryouta stared at the lute. Then stared at the large avian asleep on the bed, again.
“So Kouki is… the firebird.”
“Yes.”
“And so he’s not even ‘Kouki’ to begin with, he’s the firebird, but you taught him how to transform into a human with your mage abilities, and ‘Kouki’ was just a name you gave to his human form.”
“Also yes.”
“And he used to be immortal, but he just gave it up?”
“…Yes, I know it’s difficult to process,” Mamoru said sympathetically. “I’m really sorry that you have to find out so abruptly.”
“I, I’m going to leave,” Ryouta’s head was hurting suddenly, “when will Kou be… back?”
“He should be able to go to classes again tomorrow. He’s on the last stretch of recovery.”
“Then… I’ll talk to him at the academy tomorrow.”
“Of course. Have a safe trip home, Ryouta.”
On the sunset of the next day, Ryouta confronted Kouki privately, in an empty studio.
Kouki knew that Mamoru had told Ryouta the truth, and he couldn’t blame him, as Ryouta had to know, sooner or later. He just wished that he had been more prepared.
“What Mamoru told you is all true,” Kouki said. “I was—am, the firebird, and I made the decision to willingly give up my immortality. Mamoru recovered an ancient spell that allowed me to do so.”
Ryouta swallowed, and when he spoke, his voice was cold, like their first encounter in the forest. “Why did you do it?”
“Do…?”
“Your immortality. Why did you give it up?”
“I…” Kouki hesitated.
Was it because of me? But Ryouta left the question unsaid.
Did Kou give up eternal life for me?
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m sorry,” Kouki said, quietly. “I was afraid.”
“You’re a bird! You were immortal! You—”
Ryouta felt as if he were about to combust. He could say a great many things to Kouki in that moment. Kouki had been hiding from him, Kouki had betrayed him, Kouki hadn’t trusted him—
Ryouta stopped himself.
And Ryouta ran away. He ignored Kouki’s voice when he called out his name, and ran all the way home.
He stared at the house that he shared with his dear childhood friend, trying to calm down his breathing, to make sure that he wouldn’t take out his jumbled emotions on Kensuke. Ryouta always felt like he didn’t deserve to have Kensuke by his side.
When he had regained some semblance of composure at last, Ryouta opened the door, and found Kensuke preparing for their dinner, as usual.
“Ken,” Ryouta said gravely. “I need to tell you something.”
Kensuke sensed what was coming, and stopped everything he was doing. “Sure. Come in and get cleaned up first.”
“Like how it goes for a lot of things,” Kensuke said, “I think you should look for him and talk to him, and just tell him how you feel.”
Ryouta leaned back on his chair and placed an arm over his eyes to block out the lights. “It’s… so much. If I talk to him, I feel like I wouldn’t be able to hold back,” Ryouta sighed loudly, “I’m going to be so utterly pathetic.”
“You don’t have to hold back, really. Ryou, showing someone else your ugly side is how you make real friends, and I don’t mean that as a joke.”
“I’ve got ugly sides in spades.” Ryouta mumbled. “How are you so put-together? I never see you being a mess.”
“Perhaps I make up for it by being so perfectly average,” Kensuke shrugged. “I’m not one to be so dedicated to a single craft like you are, Ryou. Sometimes I wish I could be that relentlessly passionate about something. To chase the brightest light, as you always put it. And yet, I’m just a perfectly average hunter who hunts just well enough to get by, and I’ve grown to be fine with that, honestly.”
“Don’t ever call yourself average,” Ryouta reprimanded him. “You have the largest heart in the world.”
“That’s my light, I suppose,” that cracked a smile out of Kensuke. “And you have your own light.”
Ryouta didn’t answer.
“Kouki’s right, you know.” Kensuke said. “You’re way too hard on yourself. That observation thing wasn’t so one-sided after all, huh?”
Ryouta thought of their private dance.
“I’ve made up my mind.” Ryouta slid out of the chair and stood up. “I’m going to tell Kou how I feel.”
“That’s the spirit.”
When he stood in front of the cottage door, Ryouta realized that the path to Kouki’s home had been unconsciously engraved in his mind, ever since that first time he walked Kouki home.
Ryouta knocked on the door. “Kou? Mamoru?” he called out. “It’s Ryouta.”
Kouki was the one who greeted him at the door. And he looked like how he’d always ever looked as a human, the same youth from the forest that day.
“Good evening, Ryou.” His expression was apologetic.
“Good evening.” Ryouta returned. “Kou, I… I want to talk.”
“Of course,” Kouki said. “Would you like to go to the forest?”
The two stood at the forest clearing where it all started. They stared at the star-studded sky, and Ryouta began to speak.
“I’ve got a lot of questions.”
“You can go ahead,” Kouki said.
“Why did you give up your immortality?”
“I want to live as a human.”
“You already can,” Ryouta countered. “You can take on a human form. You don’t have to be mortal.”
“But if I lived forever, I don’t think I could preserve my humanity. And I want to have my humanity.”
Ryouta knew that. Kensuke had accidentally led them down this conversational rabbit hole once. They had concluded that had they hypothetically gained immortality from that day on, they would likely spiral into… terrible things.
It must’ve been easy to live forever, when Kouki was a bird, but when Mamoru gave him a taste of humanity, it complicated things.
“If you lived for an eternity,” Ryouta argued, without particularly knowing why, “you’ll have all the time in the world to work on yourself, to improve yourself. You’ll shine brighter in a hundred years, and even more so in a thousand.”
“But I find that humans shine all the brighter because of their impermanence,” Kouki said, more determined in his expression than Ryouta has ever seen him. “They are able to love so fiercely because their time is so limited. The firebird’s eternal flame couldn’t possibly live up to the spirit of humanity. Isn’t your undying passion for music, and your continuous desire to shine brighter, a proof of your humanity?”
When Ryouta didn’t answer, Kouki continued. “Before Mamoru took me in, I didn’t have relationships, and I didn’t love. I had no anchor to keep me from floating aimlessly through the world. Stagnant, never-changing. I realized that I wanted that desire to love so strongly as humans do.”
“Kou, look at me,” Ryouta commanded.
Both of them turned to meet each other’s eyes.
Ryouta asked him, at last. “Did you do it because of me?”
“Yes,” Kouki said earnestly. “Of course, it was born from my own selfish desire to be human. But I would be lying, Ryou, if I said that you weren’t the one that solidified my decision. I… I also don’t want to lose you, Ryou,” his eyes looked away briefly, “I wanted to match your life’s rhythm.”
“I thought that, I wanted to hear you say that,” Ryouta said, as tears fell from his eyes. “I thought I wanted to hear how you’re willing to do such a thing for me. And I do! But at the same time, I don’t. I…”
Ryouta held up his hands to cover his face. “I can’t help but feel like I’m not worth it, Kou. I’m not worth sacrificing eternal life for. And I don’t think I ever will,” came his muffled voice. “I’m not good enough.” He revealed a tearful face.
Kouki gently held Ryouta’s tear-stained hands.
“It’s alright. I won't try to change your mind,” Kouki smiled. “But I want to tell you, that you're always good enough for me.”
At that moment, his smile alone was enough to illuminate the entire forest.
“Kou,” Ryouta sniffled, “I don’t know when it happened. But gradually, you embodied my ideals, and I felt foolish for ever wanting to test you. You became that light I was looking towards. The brightest light in the world.”
“What a coincidence,” Kouki laughed, and Ryouta felt his heartbeat accelerating. “Maybe you didn’t notice it, but I was always looking at you, and you became my light, as well. The way you sing, and dance, your constant hard work. You were the guiding light that woke me up from stagnation, and being with you makes me want to give my best. In return, please let yourself be spoiled sometimes...”
Ryouta’s hands moved to grasp Kouki’s tightly. The night breeze had cooled down their skin.
Kouki started to glow, in a truly supernatural manner, this time. Fire sprung out of his back, sending sparks flying, lighting up the clearing. Ryouta kept his hand firmly where they are. A great pair of wings, each feather burning brightly, emerged from behind Kouki, and slowly moved to envelop the pair. Bright as day.
“So warm,” Ryouta whispered. He takes a step forward and pulls Kouki into his embrace. "I wish I could stay like this forever. With you."
"I'd like that," Kouki replied. “The rest of my mortal life, with you. Let’s shine brighter together, from now on.”
The touch from Kouki's fingers, his skin, his body, burned hotter than any of the firebird's feathers.
Once upon a time, there lived a man who had the brightest light in his world.
“Congratulations on getting the leading role,” Ryouta said to Kouki as they walked home. Kouki’s home, that is, but it had become practically Ryouta’s second home. “You deserved it. I was confident that you’d get it.”
“Thank you, Ryou,” Kouki smiled. “You worked hard today too.”
“I did,” Ryouta agreed, “It made me quite hungry.”
When they approached the cottage, music could faintly be heard from the inside.
Kouki knocked on the door. “Mamoru?”
“The lovebirds are here!” Came Kensuke’s voice.
The door unlocked and opened itself, and the two were greeted by merry music on the lute. Mamoru and Kensuke were seated together on the floor, huddled over some scattered manuscripts. There were a few magically-summoned glowing critters rolling around in the papers. “Welcome home, Kou-kun, Ryou-kun!” Mamoru grinned.
“Ken? What are you doing here?” Ryouta lightly reprimanded him.
“Mamoru’s teaching me music. Just you wait, Ryou, I’ll sing just as well as you in no time,” Kensuke laughed.
“This is great,” Mamoru strummed a chord, and scrawled something on the manuscript. “With Kensuke by our side, now we can do four-part harmonies!”
“Slow down!” Kensuke yelped.
The ruckus kept going, but Kouki and Ryouta were already in the kitchen.
“Any special requests today, Ryou?” Kouki asked, as he tied the apron string around his waist.
“I’d like to have something sweet.”
“Sweet and sour?” Kouki retrieved a pan.
“That sounds wonderful.”
“Would you like to wait in the living room?” With a wave of his hand, Kouki lit up the stove.
Ryouta shook his head. “That’s alright. I’d like… to observe you today.”
“Be my guest,” Kouki smiled.
And they lived happily ever after.