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“How is it that the muse of lyrical music—which, mind you, you’re good at writing for the school club—can possibly be so dense?”
Long gone is the extravagant aquamarine display of her dress, as well as the ornate mask—the assemble now replaced with strawberry-printed pajamas. Miku Hatsune (or, to those who are familiar with her double life, Moûsa Euterpe) sits alone in her bedroom, sheer curtains rendering the glittering display of city nightlife outside her window blurry. Her seafoam hair falls loose down her shoulders, lavender pillow squeezed tightly to her chest. But though it has been a long day of fighting to keep this shining city safe alongside her fellow muses, her mentor is not ready to let her rest just yet.
Miku sets her pillow down with a slight frown. She tosses a quizzical look to the little pixie hovering at her bedside. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Rin.”
Rin scowls in an effort to look as intimidating as she possibly can. Granted, the short and fluffy blonde hair framing her face as well as her tiny stature do little to aid her intent. If anything, Miku thinks to herself, the stance is more than a little reminiscent of those pouty-looking, crusty dogs tucked into oversized purses that she sees every so often.
“I’m talking about Earl Endymion, Euterpe. You know—your occasional ally who works in the shadows, wears a mask in the shape of a crescent moon?”
“I know who Earl Endymion is, Rin. Would I really like him as much as I do if I didn’t?”
It could have been superficial, she thinks to herself: a dashing man with hair the color of forget-me-nots, cool and quiet every time his light footsteps echoed across their city’s rooftops. He carried himself with grace and poise, motions in combats less brutal and far more akin to the dreamy movements one practices upon a ballroom dance floor. And Earl Endymion’s enticing smile had been the shallow root of her attraction at first—He’s really handsome, isn’t he? she had commented to Lily on more than one occasion. But after all those times they had fought back-to-back under the canopy of star-spattered sky, all those nights patrolling the city through the clouds, each time he had carefully skimmed over her in search of bruises and asked with a fraught tone to his gentle voice, Oh my goodness, Euterpe, are you okay? before offering her a cup of hot chocolate and gentle company—
“He’s very kind,” Miku says at last. “I… well, I’ve liked him for months now. I know the other muses think he’s kind of a loner and that he’s stuck up because of it, but he’s so nice! Really!”
“You’ve been crushing on him for so long and yet—and yet!—you still haven’t picked up on anything? Anything at all?”
“He left a kiss on my hand earlier tonight,” Miku says, squeezing her pillow again.
“Yes, he did. Have you thought about why he kissed you on the hand?”
The gesture had been naught but tender, the way his lips were warm on her palm through the soft white fabric of her glove. He had thanked her for her help, her radiance in every interaction of theirs. How sophisticated of him, Miku thought, I know that’s a common thing in a lot of western countries, a kiss on the hands—kind of strange for him to be so straightforward with these sorts of gestures, though—
“Wait. Hold up—” She claps a hand to her mouth. All those hours spent pouring over all the glittering metaphors for song lyrics down in the music club, yet a gesture as simple as this took so much longer to decipher.
But there will be nights afterwards for her to tell him, under those same stars. There is still enough time, with no end to space’s vastness in sight.