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The ceiling of the music room came into focus slowly. High beams arching over Touya’s head; swimming in and out, blurring, staring down at him. He blinked slowly, a high-pitched buzzing ringing in his ears. His body wouldn’t respond to him, and he felt like he was miles away. He had… he had come to play the piano that afternoon… and now he…?
The tiles were cold beneath him. Where his body touched it. Everywhere. Freezing him where he lay on the ground. That would explain why the ceiling was even further away than usual. He was lying on the ground. He blinked again, trying to force something to come into clarity. His head hurt. Enough that he couldn’t think, but dulled by the fact that his body didn’t feel real. No, he had to figure out why he was on the ground, why everything was blurred.
Why he was so cold.
He tried to shake his head, but the spike of pain it brought had him gasping. Had he been attacked? He wouldn’t be alive if he had been. The ceiling was so white. His fingers twitched, but they were numb.
Why was he so cold?
Touya took a deep breath, wincing at the way it made his whole body shudder, and squinted at the ceiling. The arches ran parallel to him. He’d entered the room and stared at the imposing black piano for several minutes, feet dragging with every forced step towards it.
He’d never really felt the cold.
A majority of his sixteen years had been spent at this seat. In this room. Day in and day out. Until he got it right, as he dragged himself through the pieces until his father was satisfied. The floor was unforgiving beneath his head. The music room had always been cold. Not in temperature, but from the frigid stares of his father over his shoulder.
But it was freezing now.
He blinked, and his vision cleared. Enough to remind him he was still lying on the floor. Ever so slowly he tilted his head to the left, whining at the movement. Everything went dark again for a moment, and as he saw it, he wished it had stayed that way.
The piano was a mess of wood and ice. Splintered and broken. Suspended over the floor, held up by spikes of ice, piercing it through. Thoroughly destroyed, the stool thrown to the side. He blinked. Again. And again. Before the glinting of the floor caught his fractured attention. His breath caught in his throat and out of instinct, he recoiled, shooting upright to stare at it. He immediately regretted it, arms too shaky to even hold his weight for a second before he crashed back to the floor, head smacking into the freezing tiles. The world shuttered for a moment, but that second had been enough to see the floor around him.
The floor covered in frost.
Icicles dripped from those arches, spiral patterns across the floor all the way to the walls, creeping over the piano and everything in the room.
Except him.
His eyes flew open again. It was so bright. It was so cold. He stared at the shattered piano. It would never be played again. The ceiling watched him as it did every day. His fingers twitched. The strings would be broken, and the keys and hammers would need to be replaced. His breath fogged in the air. Which was a little weird, it was the middle of summer. The ice wasn’t melting. A pedal had fallen off, gleaming dully on the floor, covered in frost.
He bit down a sob, squeezing his eyes shut. This was a dream, a strange dream brought on by the stories Tsukasa and Saki told him. There was no ice. He was just. Sick and tired of the piano. Of his father. Of this life. And he was just… dreaming of destroying it. His breath, visible in the frigid air, quickened. Condensation dripped down the windows.
But.
He could see it. The proof. The frost, the ice. Right in front of him, staring and staring as if it would go away if he looked long enough, blinked enough. But it didn’t, and it wouldn’t. Because—
It was right there. But his mind refused to accept it. That he could have ma—
That he. He was.
His father would kill him.
He sobbed.
With a desperation he’d never felt, he sat up, tilting dangerously to the side but catching himself. He lifted one arm to his face, staring at numb fingers. His hand wouldn’t respond, so he dropped it, staring at the near-perfect ring of ice that surrounded him as if that was any better. Better than the hand that could cast magic. He felt like he was drowning in honey. Every movement, every thought, a thousand miles behind his head. He had to— had to—
How? He could barely sit up, still feeling like he could collapse at any moment. Head pounding and ears ringing. No one would come in here, he told himself. He’d be fine. He just had to get rid of this magic. He bit his lip to stop another sob from ripping itself from his throat. He couldn’t. He had no idea what was happening. Everything hurt. His chest was so heavy. Nothing made sense. How could he have magic? How could he get so angry he’d destroy his piano? How could he fix this? Undo this? Survive this?
He wanted his brother.
Tsukasa would know what to do. Tsukasa always— Tsukasa always said magic was okay. He wouldn’t… tell his father. Right?
It was the only coherent thought he had. Everything else was so far away that he could focus on nothing else but Tsukasa’s name. But standing felt like an impossible task. Walking even more so.
He was so tired. Like he could sleep for a week.
But he couldn’t stay here. He could so easily just lie down and sleep the afternoon away, until his father walked in and found him like this. It was almost tempting.
But he had to— Tsukasa. He had to leave. He’d never forgive himself. But worse, Tsukasa and Saki would never forgive him.
With a shuddering breath, he gathered his unwilling legs beneath him and stood. He wobbled and stumbled, but he managed it, legs shakier than a newborn deer’s. The space between him and the door stretched. An impossible gap. But one step at a time, eyes locked to the handle, he moved towards it.
He was gasping for breath by the time he reached the door, black spots dancing in his vision. This was so stupid. Saki told him magic allegedly felt freeing. But right now he just felt like he was dying.
He shot one last look at the mangled piano, feeling like he might throw up just looking at it, and turned back to the door, pressing his forehead against it and struggling to even his breathing. He could do this. It was only a few halls away. No one talked to him. No one would take one look at him and know what he’d done.
He checked his clothes for frost just to make sure.
Schooling his face had never been harder as he grasped the handle and pulled. He was just the prince of Nocturne, going to find his knight. It was brighter in the hall, and he winced. No one was around, but he knew he wouldn’t be that lucky the whole way. He stumbled down the hall, only barely keeping himself upright as the world swam. His breath still fogged, so he made sure to hold it whenever someone passed. He could feel people looking at him, as they always did before glancing away. But the stares lingered this time. He couldn’t tell if they were in concern or suspicion.
He walked numbly, led only by memory and desperation. He was so cold. But he couldn’t tell if he was shivering from that, or fear, or pain. The entire journey was a blur, but he knew he was lucky no one more perceptive stopped him.
He dragged himself the last couple of steps, leaning heavily against Tsukasa’s door and gasping for breath. He was so close. But the ringing had grown louder, and the blackness threatening his vision grew ever larger. He knocked, held upright only by the door frame and praying that Tsukasa was actually in his room.
It took ten agonising seconds before it creaked open and Tsukasa’s blinding smile met him.
“Touya! What’s wrong?”
He pushed off the wall and managed one step into the room before he could move no more. He didn’t know what he was supposed to say now that he was here, the seconds crawling by as Tsukasa’s face morphed from joy to concern to fear. He hadn’t thought about anything beyond the urge—the need—to find Tsukasa.
He knew he must have looked bad because Tsukasa’s expression was something worse than the times he’d protected him from assassins, or his father.
Touya swallowed, forcing himself to look him in the eyes, which was hard when he could barely see him.
“I have magic,” he whispered, and he knew that was as far as his body could go as a rush of noise filled his ears and Tsukasa’s eyes widened.
Then his eyes rolled back and he was falling into Tsukasa’s arms.