Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She opens her eyes.

In front of her are various evergreens woven into a grand arch. Despite the use of robust foliage, the arch itself appears delicate. Partly due to the snow, she assumes. Speaking of snow, the very garden beyond the arch is completely blanketed in it. She notes the unique and artful placement of everything from the dormant flower beds, to the prim hedges, to carefully pruned topiaries. This was to be expected of the host, Duke Pollock—a well-liked moodmaker and art dealer within the upper circles. 

The scent of pine surrounds her, welcoming her into the quiet labyrinth. The young empress candidate stares as its emptiness beckons her. 

This empress candidate, Mafuyu Asahina, follows it.

She breathes into her palms so her fingers, stiff as ice, can move easily again. The world is so quiet she can feel its stillness on her skin. There was no sound. Save for the crumbling of fresh snow beneath her feet, the only other sign of the world turning was the light snowfall.. Were it not for the small puffs of fog that trailed beside her, perhaps she would have forgotten she was here as well. Breathing.

Still, Mafuyu welcomes this rare instance of silence, wading aimlessly through it as snow dusts the silent statues and now-frosted lamp posts. She removes her glove. She is unable to feel most things but holds her palm skyward to perceive its transient chill; not the chill of the wind or the air around her but—there it is—the minute sting of ice as it stings then melts on her skin. 

It was almost comforting.

A memory comes to her. It is that of a child from the day she offered to assist with an orphange's fundraiser fair. The child mouths, ‘...when it rains, it means the sky is crying!’ 

The snow is different, she thinks. She wonders then, what would snow be?

It is nonsensical, but a familiarity settles within her chest nonetheless. Snow simply disappears once the winter is over. After bringing smiles to the children playing in it or frustrations to the carriages getting stuck in it, it does not stay. Spring comes melting it into blissful non-existence. Just like the garden. This effortless existence here and now, with no one to monitor or judge her every move, fills her chest with a bittersweet comfort, if it could be called as such. 

She wonders if in another universe, she exists without the weight of glorified titles like the ‘ Daughter of the well-respected Duchess Asahina’ or ‘ Empress Candidate’ , or one where she breathes easily, without being choked by standards even royalty could never hope to surpass.

If only for a little while, she holds onto the lie that she does.

. . . . . . . . .

Anything that strengthened her clandestine persona—from training and lectures, to assemblies and meetings—was to be done perfectly and all for the sake of Mafuyu Asahina's existence. Life was composed of accomplishing order after order. Yet despite all this purpose and all the praises she receives from her efforts, there was always something within the piercing glamor of it all that stole her attention. It was a kind of doubt, a distraction, useless to an Empress candidate. She willed herself to ignore it.

It wasn’t hard at first. Whatever that S omething was, it was weak and often fell to the wayside. She dedicated every waking moment to her studies and public relations. Even so, for something even lesser than a speck of dust, this… Thing… never went away. 

It should have been easy to ignore. It was outside of the order therefore, irrelevant, but it was always in the distance silently hovering over her and observing her every move. It was neither threatening nor aggressive. It was quiet and did not judge. Even so, its tiniest whispers, the smallest of nonsensical machinations, crept and pulled at her chest unlike anything she’d ever felt:

She wondered what it would be like never having to play favors for the elites during a ballroom dance.  

She quickly silenced the thought that she could wake up to go wherever she wanted, instead of to the lecture hall like clockwork.

Once, she found herself almost wishing another candidate would become Empress instead of her. This one seemed to hurt the most so she refused to think about it further.

Another, was a dream. There was no one; no wind, no light, no gravity. Suspended in nothingness she was finally able to rest, freed from the obligations and hopes that tied themselves to her. 

Unbeknownst to her, she desperately denies the split-second weightlessness in her chest the dream grants her. This weightlessness—if she even realizes it to be Relief—Mafuyu will deny.

If fear is born of the unknown, perhaps this inner voice is what Mafuyu recognizes and fears to be a threat to her Existence. Because of this, she vowed to ignore this part of her or any of its imaginary scenarios. Even if she did as she pleased, she still wouldn't know what she would do and end up following the choices she had been trained to make. Everything was to be done perfectly and according to the will of her mother, a well-respected Duchess. For Mafuyu to throw away everything that she had been trained to do, meant that she would throw away her very existence.

At times like these, frozen in a prison of one's own making, that same small and deceptively weak thought always offered the salvation it could never give— that she could disappear altogether .

. . . . . . . . .

She feels ice slicing at the side of her neck and her chest fills from the sudden gasp. A panicked Mafuyu grabs at her throat, then taps and touches her left cheek. She looks around trying to even her breaths and make sense of herself. 

A pile of fresh snow sits on her lap. Her hands shake as she dusts it off. She glances upwards and unlike the snow-covered branches around it, a barren branch undulates in the wind. Mafuyu begins to connect the dots.

She inhales deeply, realizing she must have drifted off while sitting on a bench; then exhales slowly, relieved and comforted by her solitude. 

Solitude, Mafuyu supposes, really is a double-edged sword. 

Just when she thought the universe had finally granted her solace, it decides dropping a pile of snow would remind her it was never an option. She suppresses a scoff and bites back a bitter smile so her lips may curve into a more delicate one. It did not matter who her mask was for, she must continue to dance from these invisible strings. But before she is able to laugh in resignation, there is a sound.

It is dull, but it flickers faintly like a star on a cloudy night. Eventually, more stars begin to light the sky. It grows into a small chorus, singing one after the other as if in conversation. Her ears perk to the strange resonance and the sound becomes a melody. A line of notes along F major dances past her. A complimentary few in C major respond accordingly. Then a short string of notes in A minor plays just before the melody returns to the root again. It was an uncomplicated sequence. Unremarkable.

. . . . . . . . .

Music is nothing but numbers after all. Her first music instructor was an accomplished violinist. He was strict but was always impressed by Mafuyu's ability to replicate the score with the precision of an automaton. He suddenly decided to retire to another country one day and was then replaced by a girl no older than Mafuyu herself. 

Her name was Kanade Yoisaki. A quiet and somewhat strange young lady, in terms of background and methodology. Even though she was the daughter of a Baron, Mafuyu’s mother hired her because she was the daughter of a renowned composer who recently went on hiatus. 

Kanade’s lessons were, to say the least, hard to grasp. Compared to the systematic framework posed by her first instructor, most of the theory Kanade presented followed things other than sequences. It was hard to understand or learn the things Mafuyu couldn’t genuinely replicate. 

For example, to Mafuyu, ‘Joy’ meant bars of crescendoing legatos or high pitched, swinging staccato. To Kanade, it meant the swelling warmth in her heart when her parents made her birthday breakfasts. Even when Kanade played it out on the piano, Mafuyu only felt more lost and eventually, her persona fell from the frustration. Since then, Kanade had been trying to help Mafuyu though music, not only as a tutor but, as her personal tailor, Mizuki Akiyama, would say—a friend.

. . . . . . . . .

Mafuyu guides her hair past her ear out of instinct. It is a very specific sound, similar to a gently struck wire. Judging from the clunk preceding these off-key notes, the source must be an old instrument or more specifically, its hammers. Yes. An old piano, most likely. She stands awaiting another clue and is rewarded with another note, then two. Her theories are proven likely with each note but not yet. A part of her is drawn to this outlier and wants to see its existence for herself. She remains neutral. The snow crunches at an increasing pace.

A song, no longer a short and simple melody, builds from lackadaisical nonsense. Her mother would have reprimanded whoever was playing for creating something so childish and ‘uninspired’ but…

  “It starts with a Warmth.” Kanade once whispered, before playing an unembellished tune.

Beneath the moonlight surrounded by ice and empty vines, the melody buzzes warmly about her and infuses the air with the nostalgy of a golden afternoon. The melody leaps to ‘ G’  then each note is played twice before moving to the next as the melody descends. The last note is played only once.

…like a
    diamond
        in the
              sky…  

The snow had long since stopped. She waits again, but all she can hear is the soft rustle of the snowy hedge she rests her hand on. 

In front of Mafuyu is a beautiful little garden. No. It was too beautiful and small compared to the rest of the garden. Now that she thought about it, the landscaping and columns were so thoughtfully managed to quietly section off this picturesque hideaway. She cut further through a narrow space hidden between fences and trees and found herself standing amongst tall evergreens. In the middle of the clearing they outlined, was a large hexagonal pavilion and a well-worn path, lined with little garden lamps, leading to its steps. If she had to guess based on the stems and leaves from her biology tutor’s sessions, a dormant bouquet of aromatic plants decorated this path. Such an intimate setting, closed-off and away from the main walkways could only solidify its purpose. It was probably the Duke's personal hideaway.

     “ Haaah… ” 

A low and unfamiliar sigh reaches her from the center of the structure. 

Beneath the pavilion’s roof and white wooden columns wrapped in sleeping ivy, was a boy sitting at a piano. His back is towards her. Mafuyu observes silently as he hums and haws before eventually getting up and pacing about the piano in a thin coat. Eventually, the boy fishes out a tuning fork from his pocket and gets to work. Mafuyu questions why a piano technician would be fixing a piano at this time and place. Such a temperamental instrument was not suited to stand outdoors amidst constant fluxes in weather. 

     “And… There! Now then.” 

He huffs proudly before announcing to the stars.

     “From the top!”

Just as the boy spins and glides to the chair, a grandiose flourish sweeps across the keys startling Mafuyu, not only from the sheer contrast in volume but from the sudden change in tonality. It was as if the world burst into light. He really must be a technician if he was able to bring such life to a weathered piano, she supposes. Mafuyu expects him to start playing but the boy remains still. His arms are poised high above the piano letting the lingering notes trail into silence. He waits as they settle into nothingness, then—

Gently.

His hand is placed upon the upper keys while the other sits patiently. Like a sigh, pairs of notes slowly ripple along curtains of moonlight, breathing life into the piano and the space around them. The notes float into the air like steps then after a soft pause, is a beautiful dyad. There is a moment of serenity as he guides the moon down towards them.

Mafuyu's breathing slows.

It is a well-known piece and what many describe to be an unmistakably beautiful nocturne. As the boy continues to play, she knows his arrangement is simpler from the actual piece and far from perfect, but she cannot bring herself to pick apart his performance as she was trained to do. Instead, she finds his retelling… Curious.

Instead of hearing notes in C# minor, she sees the moon. She listens as the melodies, swaying like silken threads, weave themselves into moonlight. At first, the song nods along slowly as the boy tries to remember it. Then finally, when familiarity returns, wisps of light billow delicately across the ivory keys. She recalls this part of the piece but his sound makes it feel foreign to her. His crescendos and tempos begin to swell with a ‘joy’ she can only vaguely recognize. It pulls—or rather whisks—her into an unrecognizable waltz. 

For a piece that was supposedly composed to capture the delicate wistfulness and beauty of the moon, this was not what she had expected. His recital was short of everything she had been taught, yet this clumsy rendition, at times too slow or too fast, was peculiar. The music soars and swirls beyond the clouds and into the stars. Perhaps somewhere more dazzling than the stars, Mafuyu corrects, or more brilliant than that, a sea of galaxies. It brims with an honesty bright as the stars with a spark of something unrestrained and confident; far more dynamic than what the sheet music dictates. She finds herself stunned by this foreign rubato, almost wanting to be swept away in his sound. His bold little recital was nothing like the quiet repose of emptiness she knew, yet it tugged at her heart the same way. She wants to be free. She closes her eyes and listens closer. She never thought the gentle rays of moonlight could be so magical when unbound by notation.

All too soon, she hears him guiding them back to the garden. 

The boy takes his time with this denouement, walking alongside the scene he paints as it fades away, slowly leading them through the last few lines of song piece by piece, then slower. He waits until they’ve returned safely upon the steps of the snowy pavilion before he releases the last chord.

Chapter Text

Like the snow, a special kind of magic touches the corners of the small garden. 

A boy sits upon this dazzling stage as if having just performed his magnum opus. He looks up and notices his audience—a clear sky full of twinkling stars glittering in applause. He looks down in awe with a slight tinge of disbelief. It has been so long since he last played the piano yet adrenaline still courses through his shaking hands. Unable to contain the happiness bubbling in his chest, he turns his nose up to the sky and a proud, radiant laugh bursts from his chest. 

The refined, sophisticated air surrounding him shatters gloriously into smithereens no different from fireworks, and all that remains is Tsukasa Tenma—the shining, hard-working, and very-under-dressed-for-the-weather understudy of the Phoenix Grand Theatre Hall.

He never felt so reinvigorated!

As turns out, sneaking into the gala his parents were invited to really was a good idea. In js one night, he had already learned so much. He not only obtained good reference material on high society mannerisms and etiquette, but as a bonus just now, also confirmed that his piano skills had far from dulled. He was still quite the performer if he could say so himself!

Tsukasa gives himself a good pat on the back for all the jobs well done until he is reminded of his predicament:

If he snuck into the gala, he would eventually have to sneak out…without his parents noticing.

Tsukasa groans internally behind his proud smile. Anyone passing by the budding actor would never guess he had such a dilemma wracking his brain. 

. . . . . . . . .

In the guise of an attendant of some sort, he'd snuck a ride with an unknowing noble posing as their supposedly-hired luggage boy. The Master of the house, Lord Moreaux, nearly turned him away thinking a crafty street urchin snuck in. At first glance, Tsukasa’s disguise was unremarkably ordinary even with the quaint little hat and long coat. However, for those with a keen eye like the Lord Moreaux’s Partner, a sir Takizawa, the materials were actually quite finely made; especially the coat with a lining whose shimmer could rival the lustrous rings of saturn. The nobles did a double-take on that one.

    “An expensive outfit could also mean he was trained in a high-class academy.” Sir Takazaki deliberated. “I see no reason to worry, Moreaux. I trust the boy! With an introduction like that, he probably holds enough stamina to attend to you, me, and the coachman! …Apologies, I only jest, Wilhelm.”

Lord Moreaux could not argue with his partner’s logic. Stoic as the Lord Moreaux seemed, he was surprisingly calm about this unexpected predicament and his partner was more than happy to add their dazzling little attendant to their invitation at the last minute. Other than his excessively theatrical introduction and cover story—which earned a chuckle from the coachman, a laugh from the Lord’s partner, and an ever so tiny smirk on the Master of the house, himself—Tsukasa did make it a point to mention that he was only a temporary recruit, hired solely for this lengthy journey. To this, the partner hummed dejectedly while Lord Moreaux smiled quietly behind a thoughtful glove.

Once Tsukasa arrived at Duke Pollock's estate and sorted the lords’ belongings in their guest room, he wasted no time in exploring the mansion and people-watching with a notepad dancing around his parents as they mingled with important people he’ll never see again.

Unfortunately, the aspiring actor found himself dizzy from all the perfumes, the stuffy atmosphere, and minor ‘tactless’ treatments a simple attendant would have to put up with. Tsukasa definitely bit off more than he could chew thanks to his overzealousness and so, in hopes that the world would finally stop spinning, he escaped to the garden. The nausea eventually died down, and with a clearer head, he was finally able to appreciate the beautiful scenery around him. It was during this little moment to himself that he stumbled upon the hidden pavilion and its solitary grand piano.

Tsukasa entertained the idea of keeping it company for a while and poked a few keys. 

They didn't sound right. As he paced about, his fallen tuning fork caught his attention. He brought it in case he had time to do some vocal warm-ups, but he was more than happy to use it for the chilly piano. Tsukasa was only going to tune it and leave at first but the next thing he knew, memories of Clair De Lune spilled from his fingertips and away from his original goal. Cold as his fingertips were by the end of the piece, he didn’t regret a second of his impulsive performance.

. . . . . . . . .

Tsukasa smiles a little wistfully to himself. 

He quietly wishes for another chance to play again for Saki sometime, or anyone for that matter. He wasn’t picky. With a groan, Tsukasa loudly stretches his arms towards the sky then spins around to stretch his legs. Or so he planned. Tsukasa’s heart nearly flies out of his chest as his rear bangs against the pavilion floor with a resonant thunk. His wish had been granted far sooner than he'd expected.

     “How–!? Who are you?!”

Just outside the pavilion steps, is a girl. She stands still as a statue, seemingly unphased by his performance. Tsukasa swears he should’ve been able to hear her approach judging from her footprints trailing from the hedges but he digresses. There is a more pressing matter at hand.

This noble lady is an important guest of Lord Moreaux. 

He should have kept a cool head and been far more respectful. He normally is! He studied formal etiquette for one of his understudy roles for a year! But should someone appear out of nowhere, anyone would have the decorum scared right out of them; especially given that he was alone this whole time. He then realizes… he wasn’t alone. Someone had been listening to his impromptu improvisation this whole time.

Tsukasa's heart raced. His emotions were now a jumble of excitement—from having a surprise audience; and the tiniest hint of embarrassment—also from having an audience. 

But! He played quite well, all things considered. Even if he performed terribly, playing piano isn’t the only thing he can do! He was more than happy to entertain and impress his unexpected guest with the countless skills he’d obtained from studying with the Phoenix Hall’s various troupes. 

Before he could introduce himself, he catches a glimmer in her eye. 

The girl blinks it away so quickly, he almost questions if it was even there. 

He couldn’t imagine his playing to be so bad it makes someone cry. Then again, he technically did yell at her just now. Tsukasa rubs the back of his neck to distract himself from the sheepishness and guilt poking at his stomach. With as much finesse as he could muster, he walks up to her and bows.

     “I sincerely apologize! A lady of your peerage deserves far more than such an obtuse greeting from a lowly attendant!”

There went the decorum. Tsukasa clears his throat to save himself from his hasty rambling just now. The girl flinches when he motions the handkerchief in front of her, as if woken from a daze.

     “For you. My– Your…ladyship.” He smiles, partly to recover from his uncharacteristic clumsiness (what is going on with him?), but mostly to show that he bears no ill-feelings nor does he mind the serendipity of having an audience.

     “You have my thanks.” The girl smiles in return.

She sniffles into the fabric, silently reprimanding herself for underestimating how much her eyes watered. One little puff into the tissue was all it took to open the sinus floodgates. She blows once more before returning the handkerchief to the boy. He shakes his head and encourages her to continue. 

     “I am fine.” She states. “My eyes were simply misted from the cold.”

    “The cold? Then even moreso!” He takes her outstretched hands and places the handkerchief back in them. “Don’t worry about how noisy it’ll be. It’s a handkerchief. It’s supposed to catch things like this! Not to mention, it’s important to get everything out of your system rather than worry about appearances. Besides, I doubt the other nobles would want to be outside, away from the warm estate and its fancy drinks!” He laughs.

The girl hesitates. She brings the handkerchief to her nose and blows a harsh puff into it. Tsukasa nods encouragingly. Eventually, she is able to trumpet all of the source of her sniffles into the tissue. He waits as she neatly folds the wet parts of the handkerchief within itself to prevent its spread. The neatness and consideration earns a silent chuckle from Tsukasa.

     “Excellent! How do you feel?”

     “How do I ‘feel’?”

     “Ah.” He stops himself. “I mean, are you feeling better? Because peoples’ noses run when it’s cold and it’s winter and all so if you were cold—!” 

He continues rambling confidently. Having misty eyes doesn’t necessarily mean that someone is crying and sad but with an expression like that, subtle as it was, he finds he can’t ignore it for some reason. At the very least, he does know not to pry too deeply.

     “Ah, yes. Thank you for graciously offering your handkerchief. I am quite used to the cold but perhaps, I failed to notice because I was listening to you play.” She concludes with a tiny sniffle. “That was quite the rendition, I must say. I have never heard…anything like it.”

     “Ah, ha! Is that so? It is my honor then, to have provided such a unique experience! I owe it all to my mom– M other! for teaching me the piece in the first place.”

     “Your mother? How lovely.”

There is no curiosity in her eyes but it lifts his spirits all the same. He is glad to see her a little less shaken compared to their first greeting. 

     “Is she a pianist, perhaps?”

     “Yes! Duke Pollock personally invited her to this gala because of her reputation, actually! She used to be a famous concert pianist. She’s retired now, but still teaches piano on the side.”

     “I see. A concert pianist… I would not have expected it. Although, perhaps I should have, considering you were able to play this piece by heart.” 

She states this as-a-matter-of-factly with no hint of malice. Should she grade the recital, not even the kindest judge at a competition would bat an eye. It was, in the realm of professional pianists, mediocre. Still, the boy humors it a little and replies with another hearty laugh.

     “Ha! Ha! Harsh. But not unfounded!”

     “My apologies if I have offended you, sir. I merely speak from experience. That is to say, I have heard many accomplished pianists perform this piece, but…”

If it was so mediocre, how should she explain what happened earlier?

     No. Yours was…

To narrow down the possibilities, the girl begins to list everything he strayed from, from original expressions to the printed notations. She pinpoints every bar that he played too fast or too slow or too clumsily, yet she doesn't seem disappointed.

Tsukasa wonders if she is critiquing his performance in such detail because she knows he can do better, or if it’s because she prefers the piece played a certain way? Unable to glean anything else from the girl, Tsukasa sets the question aside.

At one point she pauses. Her silence creates a suspense in his stomach that admittedly challenges his cheery exterior. But since he is a future star, he is not phased—

     “Given these observations, most instructors would have reprimanded your performance for being too disorderly and for showing a lack of respect to the composer’s original score."

—at least for the most part.

    “However,” and strangely enough , she thinks to herself, “I feel… it is fine the way it is. There is not much need… for concern.”

     “Then…!” Tsukasa blurts the moment her gaze softens the smallest bit. “What did you think of the extra arpeggios around the climax?? Was it brilliant? I thought it would help capture the beauty of the moon but I also wanted it to feel ephemeral! Did it feel ephemeral? Like you were floating, for example?”

When the girl knits her brows, Tsukasa facepalms himself internally. He just couldn't help being curious. Other than his mother and Saki, neighborhood friends and their parents also said that his performances cheered them up. As long as his feelings reached the person in front of him or even lifted a little bit of weight off her shoulders, it would be enough. Would a short stroll help her take her mind off of things? Tsukasa even considered sneaking into the Duke's kitchen to cook something up for her, or anything as long as—

     “Yes.” 

Her palm settles above her chest as she ruminates the answer. Tsukasa looks at her, hanging on to every second of silence she consumes. Had he heard correctly? Did his playing actually make her feel better??

     “I suppose it could have.” She concludes. 

     “O…oh…!” is all an intrigued and slightly flustered Tsukasa could manage after the unexpected reply.

     “It felt like…”

It was not the same as drowning; being suspended in deep dark waters which were equal parts comforting and terrifying. It was as if the abyss disappeared and he gave her the moon. Countless stars swirled or flowed about them ever so slowly as she took in the blinding lights made only brighter by a different kind of darkness. Here, in boundless space, she could move freely. So freely that his piano seemed to lead her somewhere she would have never expected to be, let alone feel what she wouldn’t expect to be able to. It was truly unlike her place beneath the sea—a dark yet shimmering world beyond the skies.

Her expression changes a bit. 

She seemed to be even deeper in thought than Tsukasa had expected. He must have played so uniquely that she is unable to find the words to describe his performance! Still, she seems genuinely confused, though. The girl shakes her head and strides towards the piano. She repeats the measures mentioned in her long critique. Despite her broken and disorganized recital of the piece, Tsukasa still gasps in awe at how accurately she manages to imitate his Clair de Lune and the original. He gets excited in the same way a student would if they saw their music instructor performing with a professional symphony. In reality, she was simply comparing his rendition to the piece ingrained into her memory. On many levels, they were not the same.

     “...like it was your own…” 

She trails off, lost in her thoughts. A short moment passes as he waits then smiles. Tsukasa lifts his hat from his head and places it on his chest as he grins from ear to ear.

     “That’s compliment enough for me!”

     “Is that so?” She tilts her head at the very rosy luggage boy. “Even if you were unable to play the piece as it was written?”

     “As it was written…? You mean exactly as the sheet music tells you? Oh no, I don’t think I could ever play it as masterfully as these professionals you mentioned! Perhaps, if a budding extraordinaire such as I practiced enough, I might be able to, but…” 

Tsukasa’s gaze moves towards the weathered keys, his smile softening. 

     “This arrangement is a bit special to me. I only decided to play because I suddenly felt like it; that’s all... Besides!” the luggage boy puffs his chest, smiling proudly for some reason. “It’s just us! No judges or anything to tell me I got a low grade for being too loud here or adding extra notes there.”

True enough. The girl thought.

“Also! Have you ever seen anything so picturesque?? Tsukasa points a finger high up towards the skylight sitting above them. Framed perfectly within its white hexagonal borders, was the moon. It wasn’t until he motioned to it that the girl noticed that everything beneath the pavilion's central skylight, everything near the piano, the two of them, were bathed in its light. Although it had less glamor than the usual industrial spotlight, this one suited him perfectly…she thought.

     “To perform on a stage as perfect as this—The perfect spotlight, the perfect stage, an ever gentle muse…!! Such a scene would make anyone’s heart swell from its sheer beauty!”

     “I… see…”

He freezes in his pose. The reaction was a tad lukewarm.

     “Of course, one is welcome to feel other things as well!”

     “Then, if I may ask, what about you? When you were playing Clair de Lune just now, what did it feel like?.”

     “Oho! What was I feeling? Hmmmmm, where to start…” Tsukasa makes his way to the piano bench. “I remember the first time my sister heard this song. We were a lot smaller back then. She couldn’t sleep that night because she was sad. Being very ill at the time, she couldn’t play with her friends, let alone go out. The hospital couldn’t promise us anything either. All they gave us was a list of symptoms and possible diagnoses they were looking into. No one knew when she’d get better or if she’d get better.” 

He shakes his head. It wasn’t an unwelcome memory. His sister is running around happier than ever, reconnected with her friends and living life to the fullest. There was no need to dwell. Tsukasa takes a breath. He thought he'd be able to retell the story with a straight face but it is understandable. It was a tough time, after all. He chuckles apologetically and finds his pace again.

“I always tried my best to make her feel better when she was down: singing, playing pretend with our stuffed animals, building pillow forts. Playing duets on the piano was our favorite! But… a kid can only do so much, right?”

He recalls the times he couldn’t take away her coughs or her pains and offers a smile. The girl empathizes with his powerlessness a bit. She wills her hands to stay by her side, as she sees his expression. A quiet thought comes to mind but the girl remains silent, only opting to join him on the bench and let him continue.

“One night after we got back from the hospital, my mother heard Saki and I crying from her room. All I could do was pat Saki’s head while desperately holding back my own tears.” 

He laughs, genuinely amused, wondering how scrunched up his little face must have been when he was trying not to cry but failed spectacularly. The girl tilts her head very curiously but it doesn’t show. She becomes aware of the fist on her lap and relaxes its grip. 

It was a sad story and yet… 

The boy continues.

     “Long story short! Our mother came in saying she had the perfect song to help us go to sleep. Once she started playing it on the piano, we went so quiet it was like magic! We were captivated from start to finish…! Saki stopped crying and peeked over my mother’s shoulder with the biggest stars in her eyes the whole time! So I begged my mother to teach me the song, practiced every day, and over, and over, and a month later, I could play it for Saki whenever she asked!”

      “It was very kind of you to learn it for your sister. I can tell you must care for her dearly considering it must have been a tough piece for a child.”

     “Haha, why thank you! Though I must mention, my mother didn’t teach me the original. She just made a simpler arrangement for me and Saki.” He answers fondly. “It did get frustrating at times because I didn’t want to change anything about the original piece. I almost wanted to give up some days because it was ‘too easy’, but when I'd think about why I was playing or who I wanted to play for, all of those fancy expressions and techniques didn’t matter. I was far more happy just being able to play this song with or for Saki.”

     ‘Didn’t… matter…?”

    “Hm?”

     “My apologies. I was saying those are very lovely words to live by. Your sister is very lucky to have a caring sibling like you.” She feigns.

     “Ahaha…! Ahum, I just wanted to cheer her up. Being too weak to leave her room took a toll on her and our parents were already busy with work and keeping all of Saki's care team and documents together. They're my family. They're all important to me. I couldn't just sit around and let everyone get burnt out. A star only shines because they're able to reach out and share their light with the people around them. They're more than just dependable. They're like heroes in a fairytale!”

     She opts to laugh. “Still, that is a very unique retelling of Clair de Lune. ”

He laughs into his cold palms for warmth.

     “I’m no concert pianist or anything. I stopped playing the piano a few years ago so this was new to me too, in a way. Come to think of it, that’s probably why it sounds different every time.”

     “...?”

     “You know… whenever you play a song the way you just…feel like playing it? On different days? It would probably sound different every time because you’re not always in the exact same moment as the last time you played it. Another story to tell, you know?”

     “…”

Tsukasa tilts his head as he rubs his arms for warmth and watches the girl mulling over his words. With all her silences, a thought comes to mind: what if he hasn’t been making sense this entire time? 

The gap between their statuses must be too large after all.

     “Mhm. I see.” 

Her lips curve. This might be the furthest that her smile has fallen from her eyes… Worry hits him out of instinct but he knows better than to assume.

     “I-it seems you play as well, no?” He quickly adds in hopes that he could lighten the mood a little. “You sounded amazing when you played a while ago!”

     “I have played since I was young.” 

The girl all but explains that her mother debated taking piano lessons away to make room for ‘important’ subjects like studying about life or government in other countries. It was a miracle her mother only decreased the hours instead thanks to a respected acquaintance mentioning music was culturally respected in high society. If not for said acquaintance, this one moment of escape would have been erased from her life altogether. 

     “It is a shame this piano is not well-maintained.” she adds, “Otherwise, I would be more than happy to play a proper Clair de Lune for you.”

     “It’s alright, I think its condition lends the piece an old-timey sort of charm!”

     "Does it now? Then, I am glad I was able to meet your expectations, good sir."

     "Good sir, is a bit much…" He laughs nervously, reminded of the vastly different worlds they belong to. “Once again! My apologies for greeting you so callously earlier, my Lady. Allow me to re-introduce myself. My name is T–” 

Not Tsukasa!

Tsukasa isn't supposed to be here at all! And if anyone found out, it would probably look bad on the family. Saki was sleeping over at a friend’s place and as far as she’s concerned, Tsukasa is home alone. His escapade would stay perfectly planned so long as he remained ‘The Luggage Boy'. Who also had a name that started with T. Now, if only he could remember the name he gave himself earlier this morning—

     “ T-Tor- pe! Ahem . Simply Torpe. What’s yours?”

 Tsukasa rubs his arms and prays she is not suspicious of him or of his voice cracking at the end of his question. Her lips press lightly as if to hum.

     “You may call me, Yuki. Simply that.” She curtsies lightly. “A pleasure to meet you, Torpe.” 

     “Yuki… The perfect name for our first meeting! Ha-ha h a–tchoo ! N-no, don’t worry, I’m fine! Really!” he hurriedly tacks on, realizing she’s about to offer her own coat.

Luggage boy or not, he couldn’t accept a noble’s coat. For one thing, she’d be cold without it. Another, was that the coat was far too nice, even nicer than his. Not only would he feel bad if he sneezed or got mud on it or something, it would be a pain to deal with whatever stories the guests would come up with. That, and having to explain to his lords about irresponsibly wandering outside in the cold instead of watching their stuff...

Tsukasa tugs at his long coat and showcases it with an enthusiastic twirl. Akin to iridescent galaxies, the lining of the coat catches the moon above causing its glow to scatter about them.

     “See? Nice and wa-arm.”

    “It is getting late. A bit colder as well. Would you happen to have a scarf, at least?”

     “B-back at the attendants’ quarters, yes. Which reminds me I was already planning on heading back! This is enough to get me through the doors and it's surprisingly good at keeping the wind out!”

     “There is no wind out.” Thankfully.

     “See? Even the weather is quite nice! Temperate enough for a nighttime stroll. Why, I think even children would be running around without coats throwing snowballs at each other in this cold!”

Tsukasa had more than enough excuses to walk away on his own, but his constant sniffling and shaking since his earlier introduction doesn’t convince Mafuyu. Her eyes fall to his reddened fingertips. It is no surprise that his hands are concerningly cold. Without the adrenaline from earlier, it would have only been a matter of time until the chill catches up to him and renders him too cold to make it back. There was also no staff nearby.

     “All guests are encouraged to stay the night due to the long ride to the estate. Should your body have weakened due to the current conditions making you more than susceptible to any further symptoms or ailments, it is my responsibility as the…”

Yuki is not an Empress Candidate, Mafuyu is. 

Mafuyu was so used to taking it upon herself to show unfailing selflessness and responsibility wherever she went. It would be too abrupt to change her tune and fabricate a fool-proof story, so she finishes what she started. She pretends to have been distracted by the cold as well and clears her throat.

     “It is my responsibility, as one of Duke Pollock's special guests, to ensure everyone is well taken care of.”

     “Wha—?”

     “It is simply precaution, no more. Rest assured, once your name is in the monitoring log, I will be able to request a separate room for you away from other attendants if you feel a little unwell.”

Her smile feels colder than the garden. If Tsukasa was going to catch a cold from anything, it would probably be that. And the ones before it.

     “No, no. It’s alright, Lady Yuki, I actually have quite the roomy bunk in the gue – ” He barely stifles an oncoming sneeze. “ Hghm —Guest house!” 

Very smooth, Tsukasa. Very smooth.  

     “Anyway. This is no more than a harmless little sniffle and we really should be heading back, no? Here, I shall accompany you to the entrance so please— AHHHH?! ”

The shift in gravity startles the life out of him before he realizes he’s being carried in her arms. Now that he's huddled closer against himself, his drop in body temperature is more noticeable and his body is sapped of whatever willpower kept him from showing he wasn’t cold. Besides the slight shivering, he already feels the judgment in Mafuyu's eyes as she looks at his shoes. He begins to grow painfully aware of the Lady’s proper winter wear: a thick dark-navy coat with white fur trim and lined ribbons, a fluffy white fur shawl that sits upon her shoulders, her warm matching gloves, an admittedly cute white hat with a matching set of white earmuffs.

     “Do you have another pair of shoes to change into?”

     “Well, you see, I…” 

can’t tell her I was hit by the nausea of strong perfumes so I ran towards the garden. 

     “...was in a rush.” He settles proudly.

Mafuyu does nothing to hide her sigh.