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sweetsweetjellybean · 2 years

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In The Cold November Rain Part 9 *18+ MDNI*

Eddie Munson/FemReader Steve Harrington/FemReader

TW: Story runs congruent to events in the show. If you know what happens in season 4, then you'll know how this will end *Be warned.* 18+ Eventually Smut, Angst, High School Fuckery, Drinking, Drugs Let me know if I miss any. NSFW Lots-o-smut

Can you have two great loves in a lifetime?

You've had the ideal childhood in Hawkins with your best friend & protector Steve Harrington. When it's ripped away, can you pick up the pieces? Eddie Munson may be able to help.

A story about the pain of growing up, unrequited love, and loss.

Part 9/13 Masterlist Ao3

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AN: This is a short one but my favorite part. I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I am beyond grateful to everyone who has read. Your comments, reblogs, and likes mean more than I could express in writing.

Sincerest Thanks To @loveshotzz who can be found most evenings & weekends in Eddie's bed.

Inspired by @loveshotzz & notes by @eddieandbird

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A letter of early acceptance to Purdue arrived one cold afternoon in January. Your mother cried, and your dad gave you one of his big bear hugs. All you could do is stare at the words in shock. You were leaving Hawkins. The Purdue campus was in West Lafayette. Roughly a hundred and eighty-six miles from Eddie. The undefined and easy relationship you shared suddenly became vastly complex. Before you got the courage to tell him, the guidance counselor posted a list of Purdue attendees on the bulletin board outside the office. Eddie was standing in front of it, his fingers skimming the names when you came out of American history. His head turned, and his eyes caught yours as other students passed between you on their way to the next class. His face remained neutral before he turned and walked in the opposite direction. He wasn't at lunch, and no one at your table knew where he was.

The snow makes a crunching sound under your boots as you tromp through the woods behind the school. It's pretty here. Quiet. A fresh coat from the storm last night makes everything sparkle like it's covered in glitter. A short gust of cold air blows through trees as you approach the clearing. Eddie is sitting at the picnic table alone, smoking, wearing a green beanie that matches his plaid scarf. His leather jacket zipped up tight, trapping his body heat inside.

"What are you doing out here, Princess? It's too cold out for you. Be a good girl and go back inside."

"It's too cold out here for you, too," you say, enclosing his red fingers between your mittened hands. "Come inside with me, and I'll give you half my turkey sandwich. I think my mom might have packed some of those pretzels you like so much."

"I can't," he says, standing. "I have somewhere to be."

"Where are you going?" You ask, following him through the woods towards the student parking.

"Since when do I answer to you, Your Highness?"

His black boots leave behind deep footprints, and you try stepping where he walked.

"Are you fucking skipping class again?" He stops suddenly, and you run into his back.

Careful, Princess. You're starting to sound like a sailor." He says over his shoulder before he starts walking again.

"So, where are you going?" You ask again, resuming your game, hoping in and out of the holes in the snow.

"Rick got some new product. I need to stock up before the weekend."

"And that's more important than school?"

"Yeah, it is. That's how I make money. Not all of us have Daddy's credit card."

"If you need money I-"

He cuts you off and spins around so quickly you almost lose your balance.

"Don't even fucking finish that sentence, Sweetheart. I don't want a fucking thing from you. You got it! Not a fucking thing!" He yells.

"If you keep missing class, you're not going to graduate." He looks at you incredulously and steps closer, crowding into your space.

"What do you care? You're gonna be out here so fast that your graduation cap will spin. Off to Purdue. Hawkins will be dust in the rearview, just like everyone in it. Good for you. God knows you are too good for this town."

"I thought…maybe…Can you come with me?" You look at your feet when you ask and push the snow around with the toe of your boot. He laughs in your face. "What the hell am I going to do in Lafayette?"

"People move all the time, Eddie. It's not that big of a deal."

"What reason would I have for moving?"

"I thought being with me might be enough." He starts moving again, and his van becomes visible through the trees.

"Don't worry. I'm sure you won't have any trouble finding a roommate."

"That's not what I'm asking for, Eddie."

"Then what do you want? What the fuck do you want, Princess? I'm so fucking tired of guessing." The white puffs of his breath float in the air, and his loud voice bounces off the snow-covered trees. A few birds squawk in complaint and fly off. You stay silent. "Look, you don't need me to hold your hand, and I got shit going on here."

"Why are you pushing me away?"

"I can't push you away if you already have one foot out the door. You're not my mother, and you're clearly not my girlfriend. The last thing I need is fucking nag." You've reached his van, and he opens his door and climbs in the driver's seat.

"I hate you right now." And you mean it. He said he wouldn't hurt you, and you're torn to pieces.

"I hate you too. You're acting like a bitch." He spits out as he slams the door and drives off.

The rest of the day feels like you're underwater, your body fighting against the current. The voices of the people around you are muted and far away. When the last bell rings, you drive straight home. Crawling fully clothed into your bed, hiding under the covers. Oblivion is your comfort. When you don't come out for meals, your mother gets concerned. She yanks the bottom of your shade, and it springs up, flooding your room with light. Peeking out from under the comforter, you lie and say you're sick. Sleep is what you need. After she leaves, you pull the shade closed. Monday morning, you don't recognize yourself in the mirror. Matted hair and dull red-rimmed eyes reflect back at you. Eddie wasn't at school, it should have been a relief not to see him, but it just made you feel worse. After second period, you find a note in your locker.

I know I fucked up. Please come over after school.

You don't wait that long. Grabbing your keys, you run to the parking lot. Through your half-frosted windshield, you can see Eddie sitting on the steps of his trailer like he planned to wait in the cold for you all afternoon. He rips open your door and drags you out before you can take the key out of the ignition. He pulls you to his chest, holding you tightly like he's afraid you'll float away. Clinging to him, you keep your eyes closed, absorbing his warmth, breathing him in. No words are spoken. There are no apologies, and there are none needed. You're telling each other everything you need to. It could have been ten minutes, but it felt like hours, standing together, your breaths turning to ice in the winter air. Finally, your deprived lips meet after being apart for too long. They seal in a kiss that nothing could have broken. He picks you up by the back of your thighs, and your legs wrap around his waist. Still kissing, he carries you inside.

You're on your back with your knees pushed to your ribs. He's inside you moving imperceptibly slow. Chests pressed together, hearts aligned, their rhythm changing to sync. The feel of his soft skin is hot under your fingertips, his muscles flexing and releasing while your arms hold him tight. It's impossible to be closer. Mouths open, just a fraction apart, trading kisses and swallowing each other's exhales. His gaze tethering you. Everything is heightened. The head of his cock dragging against your inner walls. Every place your slick skin touches, you're set ablaze. This feels different. He feels different, like he's cherishing you. You wonder if you're making love to him.

"Tell me what it would be like in Lafayette," he says, kissing a slow path up your jaw. Wet and open-mouthed tasting your skin. "Daydream for the both of us." Your hand moves to his ass, trying to press him in deeper on the upstrokes.

"We'll find a tiny apartment that we can barely afford. Maybe it will be over the bar where your band plays. I'll waitress there after class, and on weekends so I can listen. We'll be tripping over each other. We'll fight and yell. It will be hard to be together but so much worse to be apart. And at night. You can spend the night inside me."

"That sounds beautiful, Princess." He moves from your jaw to your temple.

"What's your dream?" you ask, pushing the hair from his face.

"You already know it. My dream was to be with you." He retakes your mouth, and you don't discuss it again.

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Part 10

Tag List @boomhauer @onlyangel-444 @breehumbles @myobmaya @arsenicred @kiki17483 @stolen-in-moonlight @sometimesamysometimesjo @ladybug0095 @sammararaven

I'm happy to add you to the list!

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #steve harrington fanfic #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #joe kerry #joeseph quinn #stranger things fanfic

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mettamorphoses · 1 month

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Character Synopsis #01:

Harvey Redwood.

Born in December 21st, 1975 to an englishman and a frenchwoman and orphaned in 1979; Harvey was Raised in an orphanage in " Shepherd's Woods " . A fictional small region in Yukon, Canada. Growing up in the orphanage, Harvey was curious, playful. Although a bit on the quiet side .

The Orphanage was made in the 50s, so it's a little aged and deshevelled. But it was vast. Beautiful european architecture. Its never ending halls were iconic. It had a courtyard in the middle with a fountain. There were accommodations for the children. A cafeteria and individual rooms reminiscent of a boarding school. The food was a little on the 'meh' side. The children often ate canned goods. Canned meats, purified water, veggies, pasta, peanut butter, fruits, crackers , muffins, brownies etc etc...

At a young age Harvey would meet another kid in the orphanage named Mary. ( She'll Have Her own Synopsis Soon Enough ) So, a friendship bloomed. He and Mary grew up together, were loyal to eachother, they shared the same interests and they even shared the same room.

Also at a young age Harvey was doing alot of the laborious chores the orphanage had. Choppin' firewood in the cold snow, lugging around heavy objects and such. He'd do it because he'd get a little money afterwards. And it benefited the orphanage.

One time when Harvey was out playing he had a little incident. But that's a story for another time.

When Harvey was a young adult He grew to be very tall. 7' 2'' to be exact. He had light/tan-ish skin, dark brown eyes and brown Hair. He also had a few scars going over his right eye. Even with his height, he was perfectly healthy. Everything worked as it should. It's as if he was just a sized up human. His voice is deep and a bit soothing.

Harvey was also muscular and fit. Because of the Laborious things he had to do whilst out in the wilderness aswell. ( Since he enjoys spending time outside. Mostly in the short summers ) With all this, and being in bulky winter coats 85% of the year makes him look massive and Imposing.

Mary eventually gathered enough money for a place in the living area of Shepherd's Woods. Opposite a small town integrated into the forest aswell. She invited Harvey to stay with her awhile. Maybe help out with certain chores, writing articles for the local newspaper etc etc.

That is until Harvey would move out. At age 21. To his own place. A little far away , nearby a stream. Anything from then on is what shapes him to be his current self.

#He looks angry here. but trust me he's a softie. totally. probably.#Also the incident I'm reffering to is him being mauled by a wolf as a child. ouch.#In the summer he usually just wears a fitted T-Shirt. baggy pants and sneakers.#In the winter he wears Winter Coats with wool on the inside. Shirts. Scarves. Pants and boots.#And no. he isn't blind in his right eye.

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loominggaia · 3 months

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The everyday life of a folkvarian family man

You are an average Folkvaran family man. You wake up before sunrise and see your breath in the air. Horrified, you realize that you slept in for way too long. So, you jump out of bed and scramble to throw more wood in the fireplace before the fire goes out. Whew! Crisis averted. Now your children will not freeze to death or fall sick with plague.

This kingdom is too damn cold to rest!

Speaking of your children, you wake them up and help them get ready for school. There is "only" 6ft of snow outside, so off they go to the bus stop, where they board a covered wagon drawn by yaks. Normally they walk to school, but not in these temperatures.

It's -40f, so you don many layers of your thickest snow gear and head to work at the wood mill. You spend the next 10 hours cutting planks, and then you return home, cold and exhausted with lungs full of wood dust. Your chronic cough is getting worse and you suspect you might have lung disease, but you know your kingdom has signed the Nymph Pact, and so its primitive medical science can do little for you. You sip herbal tea and hope for the best.

One of your kids caught a rabbit on the way home from school. You cook it and eat together as a family. You burn a little piece of the meat to send it up to the stars, because you are a proud Sylvanist.

Right after you put the kids to bed, there is a knock on the door. You see a Folkvaran military officer, who solemnly informs you that your wife died honorably defending her kingdom from the Evangelite menace. Your stomach twists, but you show no emotion. You shed only a single tear, because it isn't proper for Folkvaran men to cry. You must stay strong for your children. They will need you now more than ever.

Your wife was once an Evangelite slave, who escaped her shackles and fled to Folkvar Kingdom to be free. But in order to gain citizenship, she had to either marry a soldier or become one herself for at least 5 years. You offered to quit your job at the mill and take up the sword so she wouldn't have to, but she insisted that she be the one to fight. She wasn't just fighting for Folkvar, she said...she was fighting for herself and everyone in Evangeline's shackles. She had bravely died for what she believed in, and though your heart swells with pride, it also breaks with grief, for she was just a few months shy of earning her citizenship. All your future plans have come crashing down.

You break the news to the children the next day. The little ones cry, but like you, your oldest son refuses to shed tears in front of others. He instead channels his grief into courage, grabs one of his mother's swords, and tells you he will slay a thousand Evangelites in her honor.

You know you cannot stop him, and you don't wish to. Years later he signs up for the military, and you watch him march away towards the setting sun. You cough into your hand. There is blood on your glove.

This kingdom is too damn cold to rest.

Questions/Comments?

Lore Masterpost

Read the Series

#ask #askfolkvar #askculture #literature

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vileviale · 5 months

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The first paragraph of my novel! (Rough draft of course)

It was the second sleepless night for Anise, and she was desperately trying trying not to look out the window.

She had forced her eyes to stare up at the boards that held her sister’s top bunk for quite some time, but the nagging feeling in the back of her mind wouldn’t leave. It had come with the insomnia, and every day it grew louder and louder, though it wasn’t exactly a voice. It was a purely instinctual urge, an urge to throw open the window, jump out onto the fresh-fallen snow, and walk away from everything until she collapsed. She knew what this feeling was- every Tullox did- though here at school they could only whisper it in hushed tones while the teacher wasn’t looking. It was called the Ismatiel: a transformation singular to the Tullox and that came just at the beginning of adolescence. It was a highly celebrated point in life- at least Anise heard that it used to be. Now it was the greatest difference that kept her from at least pretending to be Angian. Maybe, if she kept her eyes on the boards above her, maybe if she counted the knots in the wood for the hundredth time- she’d wake up feeling perfectly fine.

#Lemme know what y’all think and if you want to read more later on!

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rothjuje · 10 months

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George starts summer school tomorrow and I’m nervous. He actually loves to go “bye byes” so he’ll be fine once there and probably won’t want to leave, and he’ll be happy once I come and get him, but if he doesn’t have fun tomorrow he will panic at drop off Thursday. I hate that they do summer school at the elementary school instead of the preschool. It will be an entirely new campus and teacher and therapists. I know he’ll be fine but I hate that I can’t really prepare him and he won’t be able to tell me how it goes.

He is starting to talk in little chunks though. He calls me mommy and refers to himself as Georgie, has learned the word no and uses it often, is starting to request snacks by name. The other night he handed me his toothbrush and said “brush your teeth!” Scripting because that’s what I say to him but still meaningful speech because he had tooth brush in hand and was making a request. It was very cute.

It’s rained constantly and everything is soaked. Instead of keeping the whiney kids inside yet another day, I had a brilliant idea. I would put sensory kid that cannot handle wet clothes in a snow bib. Worked like a charm. They stayed dry, had a blast playing in the mud, and looked like a cute little farmer. I’m sure they make waterproof overalls, I need to look into that.

Speaking of the rain, I slide down the front steps a few days ago and broke my tailbone. I have bruising on both sides and it hurts to sit. Such bad timing with the intense amount of yard work that needs to get done. Falling down stairs is pretty unsettling, my fault for wearing shoes with no tread in a downpour, but also our stairs are much too steep and this is my 4th fall down them, first fall that resulted in injury though. Ouch.

We moved the 400 pound chicken coop with no help yesterday. It was quite the project. First Justin used a car jack with extensions to lift coop enough to slide a wood board under, then he repeated on the other side. Then he tied a winch to a tree and shoved then tightened, then shoved then tightened etc. It is now in its final place. You can still see it from the street but it looks much better. He put rebar at the corners of where the run will be and I’m pretty dang excited. Run will be built Saturday, roof will go on Sunday.

Our yard is trashed from the excavation. We are so confused by how rocky the soil is here. It’s more rocks than dirt! Is this a New England thing? In northern CA the dirt was hard with little pebbles but still mainly dirt. In TX the dirt was more sand than dirt, very soft and the kids loved to play with it. Here the dirt is very hard, almost like clay with tons of small rocks and bigger rocks and occasionally a boulder. It makes for a very strenuous and tedious cleanup. Also, I have to dig out the bottom of the chicken run to put down hardware cloth and I dug for an hour today and barely made a dent. At least it’s a good work out.

We didn’t do much today, other than Justin cooking a lot which is pretty much our tradition for any holiday. Fourth of July is weird. Feels icky to celebrate usually, but it’s a big thing out here. I always get kind of sad on July 4th because that was the last day I saw my sister alive. 15 years ago today. It doesn’t feel like it’s been 15 years, but I guess it has. I once had a friend tell me it’s too much to get sad on the 4th of July, and then again on the 23rd of July (her accident), and then again on October 26th (her birthday) but they are big days to me and I can’t help but feel sad. Trauma sticks in your head in a different way. The memories much more vivid, reverberating.

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sweetandsourfics · 2 years

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Show Stopper

Eddie Munson x Theatre Kid Reader | SFW | 1 of ?

Summary: The Freak and a Theatre kid. Who knew that Eddie would find his Princess behind some poorly constructed props?

Warnings: Explicit language, fluff, Eddie being a sweetie as usual.

Author's Notes: This is part one of 2 (maybe more, idk) of Eddie and his little Theater kid lover. Yes, you heard me! Lover. Feedback would be very much appreciated. I love hearing everyone's thoughts and opinions. PS. Eddie would 1000% call you his princess.

The Hellfire Club conducts their sessions in the auditorium hidden amongst the props.

Often they are entering just as you and the other theatre nerds are leaving.

Polite smiles and shy waves are exchanged between you and the Hellfire members.

Tonight was a night where the Hellfire members crawled into the shadows and tested their warriors. Unknown to the members, a lowly drama club member stays behind from her pack.

With the school's production of 'The Snow Queen.' Only a month away. You had volunteered to stay behind and try and finish painting the Ice Queen's castle with a few others. Who all left an hour ago.

The Hellfire Club chattered away. Their voices bouncing off the high ceilings. Hearing them made you feel less lonely as you painted another layer of blue onto the plie wood.

That was until they went silent. It was eerie how quiet they all went. You swear you could hear a pin drop.

The silence was cut down by Eddie's booming voice. He narrated passionately of where the players last left their campaign.

Eddie's voice pulled you into the scene. It didn't matter that you have joined the story many hours deep.

The stoke of your paint brush began to slow. No longer dipping from water, to paint to board.

You winced has players were injured and cheered to yourself as a few Nat 20s were rolled. You'll have to ask what it means but you have picked up from their victorious cries that it was a good thing.

You got so lost in Eddie's words that you didn't realses time slipping you by. It wasn't until Eddie announced that they should stop for the night you looked at your watch.

10:08 pm

Shit. You curse under your breath. Collecting brushes. In your haist you didn't see the tin of Fresh Ice Blue.

With a deafening clang the tin tumbles spilling it's contents painting your sneaker and the stage floor.

"Shit! Fuck! Shit!" You string out a line of curses discarding the brushes to quickly stop the spill from pooling.

You didn't hear Eddie leave the Hellfire's sanctrume until his voice comes comes from behind you. "You okay?"

"Yes-no." You panic, "I've knocked over some paint."

Eddie pears around you, cringing at the splattered paint.

Without being asked Eddie peels off some pages from a pile of news papers and starts to clean the mess.

With Eddie's help you manged to sort of clean the paint from the wooden stage.

"It's...not bad?" Eddie winces through his teeth.

Rubbing your eyes, you let out a defeated sigh. "It's questionable."

"Very questionable but I didn't see anything. I was the only one here." He says moving dramatically. "No theatre nerds in sight."

You couldn't help but smile. He always manged to put a smile on your lips. Even if he or you didn't realise it.

Tossing the balled up paper in the bin you look up at the leader of the Hellfire club. "Thank you- for the help."

Eddie flashes you a toothy grin. "It was not a problem."

A silence falls between the two of you. It wasn't awkward but it was heavy with unspoken thoughts.

Eddie clears his throat, kicking his scuff shoe against the stage. "I've got a game to pack up so, I better get started with that."

"I'll help. You helped me with my mess it's the least I can do."

You follow Eddie as he disappears behind the false brick wall. Moving through the maze of probs he leads you to his throne.

You're jaw drops as you see the remance of the Hellfire's game.

"This is some set up."

"Nah, it's not that impressive."

"Yes! Very King Eddie and his knights of the....rectangle table."

He laughs proudly, flopping onto his throne. "A king? The princess of the drama club has growend me king!"

You play along with his dramatics, "and may I say your majesty you can spin a good tale."

"You heard?"

Shyly you pick at the miniatures. "I didn't mean too." You gesture to the ceiling, "acoustics."

"Blame it on the acoustics." He teases.

You can feel your cheeks grow warm with a blush. You hope Eddie doesn't notice.

Once the Hellfire's mess has been tidy the two of you leave side by side. The night's air nips at your skin.

"Do you need a lift?" Eddie asks.

You try to sputter out a polite decline. You don't want to be an inconvenience but he swoops in with his kind words before you find your voice.

"I wouldn't rest not knowing if the princess has or hasn't made it to her castel."

You stutter out. "I would really appreciate it if you could."

"Then follow me, princess."

Again with pet name. If any other boy called you Princess you would have destroyed them verbally but when Eddie says it. It sends the butterflies in your stomach wild.

"That's my ride." Eddie gestures towards a beaten van. "I know that it isn't the type of steed that is worthy of a Princess but-"

"A trusty steed is better then a shiny one."

Eddie's van spuuters to life. The head lights eating the shadows and a drum solo shaking the quietness.

You look down at your shoes faking interest in the new paint splatters. Squeezing your fingers, you scold yourself for being so awkward.

You can sing and dance in front of hundreds of people with unbreakable confidence, yet an audience of one Eddie Munson has your confidence eating itself.

You are grateful for Eddie's music as it makes the silence less tense, and Eddie's fun facts about the song or band does force you to squeak out a few words.

Eddie turns down the radio as he pulls into your driveway.

"Thank you again, Eddie." You like the way his name feels on your tongue.

He smiles softly. Those dark eyes observing you. "It was my pleasure. "Til next time, Princess."

Climbing out of his van, you wave goodbye as you close the door. You took two steps before the glow of the headlights started to recede. Spinning on your heel, "Eddie!"

You shouting his name forces him to slam on the break. Eddie pokes his head out of the driver's window, "what?"

"Come to the play, yeah?" You squeeze the strap of your backpack.

"I'd love to!" A smile breaks out on his face.

You can't see them, but you know his dimples are on display.

#stranger things one shot #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #reader insert #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #billy hargrove reader insert #eddie stranger things #eddie munson #eddie the freak munson #eddie x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader

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the12thnightproject · 1 year

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Chapter 39: Unwanted Advice. Shingen's POV of last chapter, and new scenes, in which Yuki, Kenshin, and Yoshimoto all attempt to convince him to seek immediate treatment.

Shingen x OC; Kenshin x MC (Mai)

Previous Chapter (posted earlier today): Here

Logline - Disguised as a boy, Katsuko finds herself working for Shingen, but her dangerous masquerade becomes difficult to sustain when she falls for the man with a fatal secret.

As a student of tactics Katsuko proved to be as bright and eager in front of a desk as she was when she joined him in bed. Sometimes, Shingen would set a problem to her simply to hear what solutions she came up with. “Oftentimes, your initial first instinctive plan will be the best one – never discount that – but it’s always worth working out what could happen if you enacted your second, third, or fourth plans.” Her first and second plans were generally solid. Her third alternated between awfully brilliant or brilliantly awful… her fourth… unworkable, inelegant, but highly entertaining.

“I wish my instructors in school had been more like you.” They’d been strategizing solutions to hostage scenarios, and she had just rescued the pastry that was standing in as the ‘hostage.’ “I might have skipped school less often.”

“Is this a prelude to a teacher – student fantasy? If so, let me get through a couple more reports and we can explore that.” Shingen wondered what she would say if he told her how he’d once considered bending “Katsu” over the desk and-

“It wasn’t.”

Too bad. She’d wiped her face clean of any expression, but he thought he’d caught a gleam of interest. Another time, perhaps. He stole the pastry back, knowing that she wouldn’t eat it anyway, and popped it in his mouth. It still tasted delicious, none the worse for wear from its stint as a war hostage… although Katsuko did look a bit traumatized that the hostage she had worked so hard to rescue had met such a violent end.

“I’m learning so much more from you than I ever did in school. You make it all interesting, even things I never would have been interested in before, like the flood management.” There was a considering tone in her voice… of course after her experience in the river, he imagined she had incentive to be interested in flood prevention.

He wondered what she had been like in her own time… or for that matter what education was like in the future. It sounded like it might be formalized. “What were you interested in, Devil… also, what does skipped school mean?”

“Um, well, it means instead of being in school like I was supposed to be, I was out doing something else.” Ah… so she had been a naughty teenager – and still could be. Such as when she had stolen his clothes and dumped them in the dry garden… leaving him to negotiate with Mitsuhide to get them back. “What I was interested in, and what I skipped school to do, is go snowboarding.”

Snowboarding? Before he could ask, she filled him in.

“Um, when you were a child, did you ever use a large piece of wood and slide down a snowy hill on it?” She gestured with her hands to mimic the action of sliding down a hill.

“No, although it sounds like something I might have enjoyed.” However, not an activity that would be worth the risk of getting caught in misbehavior.

“Snowboarding is something like that, except you stand on the board, it goes a lot faster, and there are snow parks that build courses you can ride. It’s the closest thing to flying without an airplane.” Once again, she mimed sliding down a hill…and up a hill… and upside down?

And there was that look she got on her face when she was climbing trees. Where were her parents during these escapades? He’d noticed that she avoided discussing any family aside from her brother. “I’m not completely picturing it, but I believe I have the general concept… it sounds dangerous, and therefore something you did every moment you could, Devil.”

Damn, he’d sounded like an old man there. Hopefully she hadn’t noticed any disapproval in his voice.

“I wore a helmet.”

She noticed.

Katsuko picked up the report she’d been looking at before and asked something about the Kamanashi river. But her voice faded into a swirl of vertigo as he felt a familiar tightness in his throat and lungs. Not now! He tried to order his body to function normally, but already the breathlessness was taking over. Damn it, normally this happened when there was no one about – the last thing he wanted to do was alert Katsuko to the-

“What is it? Bad news?” She peered over his shoulder.

Get her out of here before it’s too late.

“No.” His voice sounded rough even to his own ears. He cleared his throat. “Thinking… time for a break.”

“Alright.” She got up and turned toward the hearth. “Tea?”

He seized upon that as an excuse to send her out of the room. “I’m… out. Run to the kitchens… and beg for more leaves?” Again, the spasm in his chest as his lungs struggled to find air.

“Of course,” Katusko smiled at him and headed out the door.

Fingers gripping the side of the desk, Shingen managed to hold on until he could no longer hear her footsteps. Only then did he allow the coughing to overtake him.

Would it not stop?

Feeling the telltale metallic taste in the back of his throat, he grabbed for his hand towel, knocking the puzzle off the desk in the process. An instant later, Katsuko was at the door. She locked eyes with him, then rushed back outside for a moment. He thought he heard her accost someone, but the words were inaudible over the sound of his own coughing.

Then Katsuko returned, and carefully put her arms around him. He could feel her hand hesitantly rubbing his back. Which didn’t help… but didn’t hurt either. “Sounds worse … than it is, Devil,” he said as he tried to get control of the spasms radiating through his chest.

Then Yuki rushed into the room and took in the situation in a glance. “I knew it.”

“What should I do for him?” Katsuko asked. He imagined she was worried, but at least that didn’t come through her voice.

“Let’s get him to the futon,” Yuki said as he ducked under Shingen’s arm, using his body to prop up Shingen’s weight.

“No,” Shingen said. That was the last thing he wanted. Ashamed of his weakness in front of them, he tried to straighten, but another spasm jolted his ribs, and for a moment the vertigo returned and there were two Yukis and two Katsukos.

All four of them were frowning. “Stop pretending you’re ok!” Yuki practically snarled the words.

“I’m not… Breathing is…. easier… when I sit up,” Shingen explained. At least the spasm seemed to be easing up. He closed his eyes and concentrated on getting air in. For a while, no one spoke, but he felt their warmth on either side of him. He would have preferred that no one learn of these… episodes… but since that horse was out of the stables, he admitted to himself that there was something comforting about have the two of them with him.

“How often does this happen?” Katsuko asked a question he’d been dreading. “This can’t have been the first one if you knew sitting up is better for you.”

“Not very often.” He edged the blood-flecked towel under the desk.

“We both saw it … My lord.” That aggrieved edge was still in Yuki’s voice.

“I’m aware of that. It doesn’t mean I want to continue looking at it.” Then, because he knew Katsuko would be even more suspicious if she had to ask again, he turned to her and said. “Not very often at all.”

“Specifically, how many days a week, and do you have more than one a day?” She sounded impatient, and, clearly suspicious anyway. If he hadn’t been the object of her questioning, he might have admired it more – someday, she might be good at interrogating prisoners – she didn’t miss a trick. Rarely had, in fact.

Still, he downplayed it. “Two maybe three times a week. It’s usually when I overexert myself.” He looked up in time to see Yuki and Katsuko exchanging a meaningful glance. “Both of you, stop that. These spells are intense but brief.”

“We’re allowed to care about you,” Yuki said. He leaned over and put the burr puzzle back on the desk. “You scared the hell out of Katsu. She was shaking when I got here.”

Shingen filed that away to think about later. Not much scared his Devil.

And, already she was defending herself against Yuki’s comment. “I was startled, that’s all. Now that I have a better idea what to expect and what to do, I’ll handle it better next time.”

“God. The two of you deserve each other,” Yuki muttered. “This incident proves you need to be treated sooner, not later.”

Again with this? Days like today aside, he could manage to hang on until they could go through the time doorway at Togakushi. The future could wait until Katsuko could be there with him. “I do know what my body can and cannot handle. In the greater scheme of things, three months is not very long.” He put his arms around their shoulders. “And I’d prefer to spend that time with the people who are closest in my heart.”

Katsuko got to her feet. “I’m going to see if there is any willow bark tea in the kitchen.” She gave him a long, firm look. “When I get back, you will drink it.”

“What will you give me if I do?” Though he tried to ease the mood back to playful, Katsuko wasn’t having it - she simply whirled around and zipped out of the room.

“Now there are two of you treating me like a child,” he muttered once he was sure this time that she had gone and wasn’t going to return immediately.

“Don’t act like one.” Yuki stood up and put the kettle back on the brazier – likely so the tea water would be hot by the time Katsuko got back.

“I’ve lived with this curse longer than either of you have been aware of it.” Neither of them had been with him when he’d realized that the lump pressing into chest, rather than disappearing, was growing bigger. Neither of them had to wake up every morning and try to determine whether it would be a good breathing day. “I’ve gotten used to knowing what I can or cannot do.”

“Or maybe you’ve gotten used to the daily worsening of your health to the point where you no longer notice it,” Yuki pointed out. “I remember how you used to be – how long has it been since you trained on a daily basis?”

A… while. He ignored the implications of that. He’d been busy. As a response, he gestured to the pile of reports on his desk. “You can’t have it both ways, Yuki. Either you think I am pushing myself, or I’m not training?” Yes, he knew full well that that wasn’t Yukimura’s point – but he also knew that he could out-argue his young friend any day.

Yuki sighed and scrubbed his hands through his hair. He looked like he was gritting his teeth. “I don’t understand why you don’t want to go for treatment immediately – look, I know you are concerned about Katsu, but there are people here who will look out for her. Mai’s all but adopted her as an honorary sister, which means that Kenshin thinks of her that way too.”

“Katsuko can be impulsive. It’s entirely possible that she’ll ride off to see her brother as soon as she can.” Yuki started to say something, but Shingen cut him off. “Ikuno is a mining town – she might think she can handle herself, but her overconfidence could get her into trouble.” Even here, she had gotten into trouble with the Shogun’s men. If Kennyo’s ninja hadn’t been on hand to help, the result could have been far worse than the black eye she had received.

“That’s possible, but… those silver mines are now under Oda control, and Toyotomi Hideyoshi recently took charge. Say what you like about the man – and I’ve said plenty – but he’s about as law and order as they come. Katsuko might be safer there than you would be,” Yuki said.

“Unless they find out she’s… mine.” At which point she would be a valuable hostage. But not wanting to dwell too deeply on his own claim to her meant to him, he added, “I want to be the one to take her to her brother. She’s met those whom I consider to be family,” he nodded at Yuki. “I’d like to meet hers.”

“Tell her that, then. If you phrase it like that, I bet she’d be happy to wait. ‘Meet your family’ seems to be one those things women get all giggly over.” In his typical Yukimura fashion, he rolled his eyes.

What if I don’t come back?

Katsuko and Sasuke’s world might boast better medicine, but neither of them claimed that Shingen would be cured. Only that he might be. But… this wasn’t a conversation he was willing to have with Yuki. Or even Katsuko. “If, as you say, and I agree, that Katsuko is a strong and competent woman, then you should trust her to help me get to the future via the time door that will open for her.”

“I do trust her… but she shouldn’t have to do that.” Apparently feeling like he had capped the argument, Yuki bowed to Shingen and left.

The best thing to do would be to go back to work as if nothing had happened. That should prove to his persistent daredevil that he could recover quickly from these attacks. By the time Katsuko returned, Shingen was calmly sitting at his desk, working away.

She quietly prepared the tea with the hot water Yuki had started for her and set it next to him. Was she trying not to disturb him or… he got a look at her face. “You’re angry with me because I don’t want to go with Sasuke.”

“I’m angry with you because you’ve been hiding how bad it is.” She settled down across the desk from him.

He could point out that deception, hiding, and lying were things that she was familiar with and regularly practiced herself. But… if he did that, there would be no returning from there. He was trying to avoid an argument, not make the one that was brewing worse. “I thought to spare you exactly that kind of scene,” he replied. He patted the cushion next to him. Come over here and let me help you forget what you just saw.

“You can’t shield me from everything. There’s no need to. I’ve been crisscrossing this country by myself for years – I can handle things – if I know to prepare for them.” She crossed her arms and gave him a steady look. “Drink the tea. I know you don’t have a fever, but it should help with the pain.”

Ugh. Must he? But to prove that he would do what was necessary to keep himself well for another three months, he sipped the tea. It… wasn’t terrible. He thought maybe she’d put some honey in there to cover the taste? “At least it’s not as awful as chewing on bark.”

Katsuko watched him finish off the tea. “Am I understanding correctly that you don’t have an objection to going to the future for treatment, but only to the timing of the journey?”

Once again, she showed an ability to see clear to the heart of a dilemma. “Yes, that’s it exactly.” Although he didn’t want to get into the why that was, any more than he had wanted to with Yukimura. “I drank it all. Where’s my reward?” Maybe he could get her to tell him another one of those folk – fairy tales.

Instead, Katsuko shook her head. “I’m sorry… I need to be by myself for a little while.” She gave him a quick kiss, then hurried out.

That was not supposed to happen.

An hour later, she had not returned. The next person through the door was Kenshin, who, rather than take a seat, stood in front of the desk and looked down at him. “What is this I hear about you turning down a method of treatment for your illness?”

Shingen wondered if it had been Yukimura or Sasuke who had tattled. Katsuko, at least, knew how to keep a secret. “I haven’t turned it down. I’ve simply postponed it.”

“You’re a fool.” Kenshin rattled his sword in his scabbard, and Shingen started the mental countdown to the moment he unsheathed it.

“I disagree with that assessment, but even if it were accurate, I don’t recall giving you a say in the matter.” Damn it, he felt another cough starting. He cleared his throat, hoping to force it back.

“I don’t recall being given a say in the matter when you started stirring up trouble in Echigo when I locked myself away after Isehime… died.” And there went the sword. Kenshin swept it through the air a few times, before bringing it close to Shingen’s throat. “If you die before I am able to kill you, I will kill you.”

Apparently, he felt like he had said his piece, and he turned and marched out.

Shingen barely had a moment to grab another cup of tea – Katsuko had been correct that the willow bark tea made him feel a bit better – before he was cursed with another visitor – Yoshimoto, who, like Kenshin, walked in without announcing himself. “Katsuko’s not with you?” his cousin asked. “I expected to find the two of you cuddled up in an overt display of domestic bliss.”

“We’ve had… a slight difference of opinion.” More than slight, but Yoshimoto was the last person he wanted to discuss his personal life with. Or perhaps second to last – Kenshin was low on that list as well. “What brings you here?”

Yoshimoto’s acquisitive eyes lit upon the puzzle box that Katsuko had given him. He picked it up and ran his fingers over the inlay wood. “I ordered one of these for myself. Tokuro is an exquisite craftsman.” At Shingen’s impatient sigh, he added, “Do I need to have a reason, other than to visit?”

“You generally have a reason.” Shingen resigned himself to spending the next chunk of the evening dancing around whatever topic Yoshimoto wanted to discuss.

“I may have had one when I left my room, but it has flitted out of my head like a butterfly now.” Yoshimoto folded himself onto the cushion that Katsuko had recently abandoned. “Which opinion do you have and which does she have, and how different are they?”

“What are the odds that this particular line of questioning will flit out of your head as well, if I decline to respond?” Shingen replied. Aside from not particularly wanting to discuss this with Yoshimoto, there was the fact that his cousin wasn’t aware of the time travel issue.

Yoshimoto again fondled the puzzle box, and Shingen’s fingers itched to snatch it out of his hands. “It has taken root.”

“Like a weed?”

Yoshimoto inclined his head. “If you say so.”

Weeds could be yanked out of the ground forcefully, but Shingen didn’t feel like making the effort. “There is a possibility that the healers in Katsuko’s home … village… will be able to treat my illness. However, there are only two possible ways to make the, er, voyage, and the first one, for various reasons, is too dangerous for Katsuko. I could make that journey with Sasuke. But I prefer to wait for the second -.”

“You’re talking about the time travel?” Yoshimoto spoke as if time travel was as common as travel by palanquin.

“She told you?” Not that he minded her sharing the information, but considering how difficult she apparently found telling him, Shingen was annoyed that Yoshimoto had been so easily brought into the secret.

Yoshimoto smiled. “She did not. It was something I suspected of Sasuke and Mai. Recently Mai said that Katsuko was from the same ‘village’ as she was, so it was not difficult to put that together.” He shrugged. “I might, possibly, in my wanderings in search of art and antiquities, encountered a person not of this time… and as they say, ‘there are more things on heaven and earth, than are dreamt of in your philosophy…. Er, that last bit is from a stage play, that… might not yet be written, but the person I encountered, enjoyed quoting from it.” He fluttered his fan. “That’s neither here nor there. You were saying?”

There were several comments and questions Shingen considered posing to Yoshimoto, but it was too much effort. Discussing anything with his cousin felt like chasing after a piece of paper that had been caught in the wind. It would flap about, changing direction without warning, and then suddenly blow back and hit you in the face. “If I were to go to the future for medical treatment, I must either leave Katsuko behind to travel with Sasuke in a few weeks from a Honno-ji, or wait for another three months and travel with Katusuko from the Togokushi Shrine. I prefer to wait. Katsuko and Yukimura believe I should go with Sasuke.”

“Ah.” Yoshimoto nodded. “What does Sasuke say?”

“Aside from mentioning that the earlier trip would be optimal, he has declined to press an opinion on me forcefully.” Although for Sasuke, that probably was his way of being forceful. “And you?”

“Are you asking for my opinion?” Yoshimoto seemed flattered.

“Rather I am bowing to the inevitability that you plan to share it whether or not I ask.” Not that he intended to put any more stock in it than anyone else’s.

“It seems to me that when it comes to illness, treatment should be sought sooner, rather than later,” Yoshimoto said. “If your concern is being parted from Katsuko, waiting too long might result in a more permanent separation… although I expect she might not be alone for terribly long in the latter scenario.”

Well.

Shingen sat up straighter and fixed a glare on Yoshimoto. There was that piece of paper, changing direction and slapping him in the face. He realized that Yoshimoto had only chosen those words for effect, but that didn’t stop him from asking, “You?”

“Oh, no. I was speaking in generalities not specifics. While I like Katsuko very much, she is not a restful person. I wouldn’t have the energy.” Yoshimoto punctuated that statement with a theatrical yawn. “But as I’m sure you are aware, there are many who will find that spiritedness very attractive.”

Apparently deciding that was enough conversation for the time being, Yoshimoto got up and flitted away like the butterfly he had recently compared his memory to.

So… that was four people in a row who had claimed the last word in a discussion and taken themselves off before he could respond. Not wanting to suffer a fifth instance, Shingen gave up and went to bed. It didn’t look like Katsuko was planning to return anyway.

He’d been deeply asleep at the time, but at some point in the middle of the night, Katsuko had decided to come back. Rather than try to determine when, he was simply grateful that she was there, curled into him like a kitten. He supposed his body had recognized her coming home, because his arm was around her, hand resting on her stomach. He felt her deep even breathing against him.

Some lingering tension from the previous afternoon and evening slowly drained from his body. He closed his eyes again, floated back into the soft fog bank of sleep, until the sunrise tugged him into awareness.

Katsuko muttered something about a … half… pipe? Which made little sense, but fairly typical of her. Though he’d once teased her with a made-up story about sleep-narrating an intense session of lovemaking, it was true that she could carry on long, nonsensical conversations in her sleep. Once of these days, he would break that news to her, but for the time being, he was having too much fun knowing something she didn’t.

She continued to chatter for a while, until he sensed that she was moving into wakefulness. “Are you sleeping?”

“Half,” was her adorably sleepy mumble.

Hm. He wasn’t much more awake than that either, except for... “Do you want to be sleeping?” Her eyelashes were fanned out on her cheeks. Shingen lightly tickled her eyelids.

She lazily batted away his hand. “That depends on the other options.”

He decided to give her a hint and moved his hand back to her stomach. With intent, stroked her belly, dipping lower and lower with each circle. “I do have another option,” he said.

Her answer was to turn toward him and tug him closer. Her tranquil acceptance of his overture was a balm to him, and he whispered his joy and thankfulness into her ear. He eased into her, or maybe more accurately they eased into each other, a long, extended, intimate hug. This was not an explosion of passion, but something quieter, something… essential.

@bestbryn

#TBT12Lies #throwback thursday #twelve lies i told shingen takeda #ikemen sengoku #shingen takeda #ikesen shingen #fanfic #ikesen yukimura #ikesen kenshin #ikesen yoshimoto #tw serious illness

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idyllcy · 2 years

Text

the door to the soul

Inspiration: This art piece

Word count: 6.8k

Summary: In a school where music dictates one's life, Komaeda finds himself forced to cooperate with the student who seems to hate their own instrument.

Music can not be played by a soulless person. Music by robots sound dead, dense, emotionless. There's nothing packed behind it. There are no weeks, months of hard work behind it, emotions that are channeled through the craft. Komaeda hates it. He despises everyone who plays without emotion. Music has long been a universal language of mankind. How dare they think such a meticulous trade could be taken over by technology.

In music room 428, Komaeda meets a peculiar student.

A student whose eyes are emotionless, yet music flowed so passionately. So freely. It felt like listening to a fresh take on music. Whose hair is brushed to perfection; whose fingers are better kept than professionals. But he despises you. You, who slammed fingers and jabbed them into a piano as if you were punching it, yet produced such melodious sounds from it; you, who cursed and hated the instrument. Your fingers fly over the keys like a composer, harmonies fueled by passion; stemming from anger. He hates how you treat your counterpart like that. The instrument was the door to a person's soul, how dare you treat yours like that.

You meet eyes with him, soulless, dead eyes that dug deep into him. It made his skin crawl. "What are you staring at?"

"Ah," He breaks from his discomfort, and smiles gently. "Shouldn't you treat the piano more gently? After all, it is-"

"Oh," You had grabbed your bag and started out the door. "I don't need another lecture on how to treat an instrument. They're nothing more than pieces of wood and ivory after all."

Komaeda feels something snap in him as you disappear from view.

Anger? No. This wasn't an emotion he had felt before. Conflicted? perhaps. You created such marvelous pieces with emotionless eyes that he despised. They reminded him of the synthesized sounds from a laptop. Your fingers put emotions behind an emotionless board. Why would you treat the piano like that? It hadn't done anything to you. Even if you had emotions related to the piano, there was no need to take it out on an object as perfect as an instrument.

"I'm just another student," You bow at the class. "There's no need to know my name. I'll be seeing you guys. Thank you."

Rumors start about you.

The student with soulless eyes.

Don't approach them, or else you'll end up just like them.

No one says anything about your music, because though your eyes are dull, your music is alive. Listeners can smell the morning dew when you play cheerful pieces; they feel the sun burn into their skin when your music resembles summer; the adagio of fall is a slow ballroom dance to them; and the allegro of winter, contrasting the ritardando of the falling snow out the window. Your music was alive, though you very much weren't.

Komaeda still doesn't know what to feel about it.

He does, however, know that you practice in room 428 every single day starting from 4 pm to around 6 when you stop playing briefly, usually to put on gloves to eat something. However, it is never something you touch with your hands. It's always chopsticks, a fork, or a spoon. Your hands never touch it, and only when you eat, do you have the slightest trace of emotion on your face. It scrunched up in disgust, or your brows raise in delight. On the one hand, it's creepy, yet he wanted to figure out what it is that you were.

You don't talk to him, but you do nod in acknowledgment when he walks in.

He speaks up one day.

"Are you performing at the annual ceremony?"

"I don't have a choice."

"The piano solo?"

"No," You had stared at him. "A piano duo."

"With another pianist?"

"I requested a violinist," You don't speak beyond that, even when he asks.

The same week, Komaeda receives a letter from the headmaster, requesting that he plays with you for the performance. He's unnerved, but he doesn't turn down an opportunity to understand you. Your eyes haven't changed over the year. It's been over six months into the year, and your music is still heavy with heart, voices dancing, and singing. Komaeda assumed that you just hid your emotions behind that facade of yours.

"We're playing Concerto in D Major Op. 35 by Tchaikovsky," you stare at him and hand him the sheet music. "It's fine if we mess up at first. we have four months ahead of us."

"A-ah, we're centering it with me?"

"I have no need to shine."

Komaeda struggles with the piece skill-wise while you sit on the floor pondering the emotion behind it. You digest the song; break it down piece by piece, overanalyze why he chose this sign instead of the other. You turn into Tchaikovsky, fingers dancing over the keyboard to accompany him. You make edits to speed; changing an allegro to a vivo for more life; changing a vivace to an allegretto to force the part after to get emphasized. You rewrite the piece into something Komaeda could work with, a skill he had to acknowledge.

"Again." You furrow your brows when he messes up.

"Again." When he misses a beat.

"Again." When he counts wrong.

"again." When the string on his violin snaps from overuse.

Komaeda doesn't start again.

"What are you waiting fo-" You turn around, and you stare at the way he struggles with the violin string. "Hurry up. Do you not know how to fix it?"

"Ah..." He mumbles. "I've never practiced until a string snapped before... so I never-"

You take the instrument from his hands, and he panics and worries maybe you'll snap the string with how hard you're pressing on it, but instead, you storm out the room, and Komaeda panics, grabbing his case to hurry after you. You step foot into the violin room, and the violinists practicing stare at your intrusion, but you pay them no mind. You stride over to the closet, and you pull a violin string out.

"Where are the animal guts?" You frown at the strings given.

"Ah, those aren't accessible unless the violin is-"

"I have one of the last remaining Stradivarius violins in my hand," You turn to look at the teacher, the lie spilling out easily. "It deserves the best. Now, once again, where are the animal guts."

"Top shelf, on the very left. They're wrapped in wax paper."

"Komaeda," You have him reach for it, and he hands you a string. "Do you need anything else? Grab another three."

"Ah, my bow is fraying," He scratches his cheek as he hands you another three. "And I need rosin."

"Is that it?" You hand the violin back to him with a gentleness he didn't know you could, and you grab two rosins and a new bow. "Nice wood. Let's go."

"A-ah," The teacher stumbles over his words. "You can't do that unless-"

"We're the main players at this year's classical concert," You glare at the professor. "Would you like to have a word with the director? I'm sure he'd be more than pleased to hear that his most prized students are being held back by something as petty as a violin string and some rosin."

The teacher lets the two of you go without further objection.

"Thank... you," Komaeda smiles at you, and you look away, speeding up.

"Make sure not to mess up at the concert itself."

"Yes, my pianist."

"That sounds weird." You raise a brow at him. "Oh, and. Your violin sucks ass. I thought you were rich."

"But I'm an orphan."

"We can go bow shopping tomorrow," You blink at him. "I'll drag someone who knows the violin well along."

"Someone...?"

"It's not hard to get acquainted with violinists as a pianist," You close the piano, placing the cloth on top of it first. "Someone with the same boredom of me. You'll hate him, but he's one of the best, unfortunately. He might bring some friends."

"Someone... I'll hate?"

Komaeda notices you're a bit more gentle with the piano this time.

You stare at the street and sigh. "Where is he? He's more punctual than I am."

"Is it that man staring at you through the store window?" Komaeda points at the male.

"Ah," You hum, opening the door. "I said to meet outside."

"The violin on display looked nice." He shrugs. "You needed a violin?"

"Piano violin duo," Komaeda follows in after you. The man holds red eyes that could rival yours. They're emotionless. Komaeda wonders if you had dull eyes because you surrounded yourself with people like that. But he supposed not when two other students wandered in, both smiling.

"It's been a while," The girl smiles. "How's practice?"

"Dull," You hum. "Are you here for a reed?"

"He is," Chiaki hums, pointing at Hinata. "I'm here to accompany him. His brother dragged him out anyways."

"Ah," You stare at Izuru, and nudge Komaeda to him. "He knows the violin items. Kamakura, can you lead him to the best violin? He's rich enough to afford a Stradivarius so don't worry about cost. Get him a good kit while we're at it."

"And what am I getting paid for this?"

You stare at him. "I'll play with you for the next concert."

"Alright," He walks off, Komaeda trailing behind him. When the two of them are gone, you speak up again. "Komaeda's going to hate him."

"You stopped hanging out with us for practice, but ended up with a boy?" Hinata raises a brow, and grimaces at the cost.

"Want me to cover it?" You fish out your wallet.

"This much won't kill me," He grimaces. "I just better win the talent show money."

"You two always do," You allow the smallest of smiles onto your face.

The next two and a half months are spent hammering the music into Komaeda's brain until he could play it asleep. He wanted to learn the emotional aspect of it first. You shot him down, reminding him that until he acquired the pigment for the piece, he could not paint the emotions on the canvas. Komaeda worked tirelessly to please you. His eyes are closed when he plays it for the final time, memorized completely down to the rest.

"Music is interpreted differently," You sit onto the piano bench. "I want to see yours."

Komaeda pours his heart into the piece. He wants to pull you along with his melody, play you like the strings, forcing you to dance along to the allegro. The lake Geneva rests under your feet, the water swaying with each tap on the floor from you. The flowers bloom in full sight, and the grass is wet between your toes. Komaeda forces you to dance along, to spin, waltz, dip, play along to his rhythm. You let yourself be swayed. There's a stumble, and then a revival. The wind blows on your hair, and the mountains in the distance are covered in white.

When Komaeda finishes the awful 30 minutes of music, he's exhausted. Sweat dribbles down the side of his head from his playing, and the ends of his hair are slightly wet. He poured his heart out, and though he was frail, he still finished it. You weren't expecting him to.

"Wonderful!" You gasp, and your eyes sparkle. "That's it! That's the emotion we're looking for! That was amazing, Komaeda!"

Komaeda's visibly taken aback at the glee on your face. "A-ah, is that so?"

"It is!" You beam. "But you messed up on a couple of parts. We can dust up on that, and then I'll play you my part."

"Wouldn't you just be an accompaniment?"

"Tchaikovsky wrote the duo for his best friend and crush," You hum. "It is a piece meant for the other to shine, but the piano is not overshadowed. Hm? Are you tired? Shall I-"

"It's really weird seeing you so expressive," Komaeda sets his violin down, and you hand him a towel.

"Expression is channeled through music," You hum gently, a smile on your face. "I reserve it for the few who understand that."

"Huh," Komaeda wipes the sweat off his forehead, and takes the water from you. "Through music... huh? May I ask you a question?"

"Sure," Your face softens, and your expression falls back to your resting one.

"Without experiencing the emotion, how do you play a piece?"

"You can't."

"Then how do you play your pieces?" Komaeda blurts out, and his eyes calculate how you'll react.

"Just because emotion isn't expressed, doesn't mean that you don't experience them" You hum, letting the piano cover drop down. "You struggled on one part with emotion. You were uncertain what that part was trying to convey."

"What was that part conveying?"

"I don't know," You shrug. "but you can find out. We are in one of the best music schools in the world, after all."

"How?"

"You can ask someone who's played before," You shrug. "Or, you can experience the emotion that Tchaikovsky did when he wrote the piece."

"Experience?"

"Falling in love," You shrug. "A friend pestering you for a violin concerto. Or on your end, someone who wanted a piece of music from the greatest composer at the time. Someone who fell in love with their professor, but left him in the end. The piece is an escape from reality. It's in your imagination. The song ends with a bang. Play that song like you mean it. You're serenading your lover."

"I don't have one," Komaeda smirks.

"Have you ever fallen in love?"

"Once."

"Gotten your heart broken?" You sling your bag over your shoulder.

"No."

"I see," You tap your chin. "The song is about recovery from heartache, from a pain that plagues you. It's an escape and requires heart. I'm not too sure either, but I've gotten my heart broken before. The violin is an extravagant decoration. If you can't experience it, then it'll be hard to convey. Everything else flows fine. You just need to focus on that one part. It's a vivace, not a vivo."

"It's an escape?" He thinks. "An escape..."

"And a lot of folk music," You hum. "You have a week."

"A week?"

"Mull over the emotions, and when I come back, play it to me again." You walk out the door. "Make this piece yours."

"A-ah?"

During the time you're gone, Komaeda dives into information about the piece. About what he felt, about why he wrote it. The song is embedded into his mind, and the papers lie on every corner of the music room. He didn't get it. What was he missing? He had played it so well other than the stumble. Why did he stumble? It wasn't an actual issue with his playing. He grows more stressed by the day, and he finds himself lying down in the music room, worn out from it. How did you do it? You had sat there every single day he played the pieces, analyzing, chewing, digesting the music. Yet, even then, not an ounce of emotion on your face as you did so.

"Still practicing?" Chiaki peers into the room one evening.

"You know, you need to eat." Hinata places the tray away from the papers on the table. "They'll kill us if you don't eat enough. The last months matter a lot."

"You guys are done?" He sits up from the papers and tucks his violin into the case.

"For the night," The two hum, and Komaeda walks over to have dinner.

"You know," Chiaki sits down next to him on the floor. "If you really have questions, you can ask Kamakura."

"The black-haired male?"

"Yeah," Hinata nods. "My brother."

"Why him?"

"He was supposed to play with them this time around. They made a last-minute request to change partners." Chiaki reveals. "Something about how they were bored of Kamakura's style."

"Do you two not share a last name?"

"He took our mother's, I took our father's." Hinata explains. "We changed them to carry on the legacy. My dad played the saxophone, and my mother played the violin. They were a weird duo."

"I see," Komaeda furrows his brows. "Why me?"

"You need to ask them yourself." Hinata shrugs.

The two share a knowing look, and Komaeda bites down on his food. "I'm going to go back to the music."

"Finish the food first," Chiaki yawns, pulling out her GameBoy. "They'll kill us if they find out you're skipping meals for the piece."

"Would they?"

"They once put Kamakura on probation because he wasn't eating properly." Hinata grumbles. "Away from the violin and everything."

"Where are they right now?" Komaeda looks up, stabbing a broccoli with the fork.

"Switzerland."

"Huh?"

"They're going to experience what Geneva is like and why the piece was written that way." Chiaki hums. "They always do that. It comes with being rich and successful for them."

"For the emotion?"

"They usually take their partner," Chiaki mumbles. "I wonder why they didn't take you..."

"They told us," Hinata reminds. "Remember?"

"You're right." Chiaki hums, finishing the game. "Though I still don't get it."

Komaeda furrows his brows. Is that why you were such a sought-after accompaniment? He had just assumed that it was because your music flowed like honey to everyone's ears. Unappreciative of your craft, that's what he considered the rest of them to be. Everyone here was rich, no one appreciated the music. The select few in the course were all world-class musicians, yet he had been chosen from one of the lower classes to play with you. Was it because he had always listened in the room? Or had you seen something in him? Questions fill his mind as he finishes his dinner.

"We'll bring the tray out, so take your time with the analysis," Hinata lifts the tray, and Chiaki shuts off her GameBoy. "Make sure to get enough sleep."

"Mm," Komaeda trails back to the papers, and lies down in the papers. "Lively... lively..."

He racks his mind for happy moments. Some time when he was genuinely excited for something other than the violin. There's nothing. The memory of him and his dog wouldn't fit it. Neither would the family vacation where he lost his parents. All his bright ones are followed by dim ones, none of his memories lasted long. He grumbles.

"It only works for the first part..." He grumbles. "How do I transition from something dull to something bright... and then a walk..."

What forces a person to take a step back and reassess himself? What makes you pause in your love to reassess yourself? A toxic relationship? No, the last part wasn't in minor; it was in major. What makes you pause in your relationship to look at people, and then keep walking alongside them? He furrows his brows in disdain and stares at the section. He slams his palm onto his forehead, the sound echoing off the walls.

"That's not good when you need to tie your hair back at the performance, you know," A voice comes from the window, and Komaeda nearly snaps his neck to turn to the voice. "Ah, you're back?"

"Not yet," You hold a hand out to him. "I'm here to bring you along for the last two days."

"And how will you do that?"

"By taking you to the place he finished it." The moon shines behind you, and Komaeda takes a moment to breathe. You're pretty. Antagonizlingly so. Komaeda finds himself holding onto your hand, lured in by your voice. His hand clings onto yours as you pull him out the window, tossing him off into the bushes below. He shields the violin he pulled along as you hope into the bush next to his. It's ethereal. That's what it is.

Switzerland is breathtaking. Geneva lake is spellbinding. Komaeda understands why Tchaikovsky wrote the piece here. The place the two of you stay offers a grand view of the lake, and he wakes up to the call of birds every day, contrary to how the bell wakes him up at school. Life moves at his pace. He wakes up early, never having to move at the pace where the bell drags him. He understands the andante of the final part in the mornings. Everything moves at the pace of the river, gently; slowly, nothing rushes or spurs him on.

"We're performing in two weeks," You sit next to him for breakfast one morning. Komaeda finds you aren't a morning person, and you look much more alive in the Airbnb compared to school. Your hair is never well kept, and you don't filter anything you say. It's like you're at your rawest at the lake. "Any progress?"

"I'd like to run through it by myself once today," He hums, biting into his oatmeal. "And then we can try it together. Will you have enough time to adjust to me in two weeks?"

"More than enough," You hum, pushing your chair back to go to the piano room. "I'll be in the piano room."

"Which one?"

You turn to him. "Haven't decided yet."

You're in the sunroom's music room. A cheap piano resides there instead of the countless expensive ones the building has. The sunroom is only meant for aesthetic purposes, not for anything else. The piano is dusty, old. Komaeda thinks you might not even clean it considering how you treated the piano at school. But when he walks into the room to show you his progress, he finds the piano is clean and polished. Something he didn't know you could do.

Your fingers bounce around on the keys, the flight of the bumblebee spinning around the room. Komaeda can hear the bee buzzing next to his ear, and he pauses to stare at the way your hands fly across the black and white tiles. It's funny. You're playing a piece meant for the violin, almost as if you're threatening to take his spotlight on the night of the performance. Komaeda takes it as a threat. He pulls his violin out of the case, and he smiles at you. "Again."

You comply, tilting your head to start again. "Last chance. My hands are going to strain from this."

Komaeda smirks. "Loser cooks dinner."

"Don't burn the kitchen down," you smile, and start again. The two of you don't tango; you brawl. It's a war; who can play faster. Your eyes harden in determination as Komaeda speeds up teasingly. You glance at him, a harsh grin on your face. Komaeda likes this look on you, he decides. You look full of life, living out the piece as if your life depended on it. You're filled to the brim with something. Determination? Hope? Maybe it was pure spite. It didn't matter. He liked it. The sound of your playing whirls around the room, and his violin leads closely, trying desperately to keep ahead of you.

Distracted by your emotions, Komaeda unintentionally slows down. There's sweat running down your forehead when your hands fly off, and you beam. "I win! Did you get distracted?"

"I was admiring something rare," He smiles. Placing his violin down, he reaches for his handkerchief, and hands it to you.

"Something worth betting dinner over?"

"Something worth betting dinner over," He affirms, and you wipe the sweat off your head. "Something I wasn't expecting to see."

"Running and then slowing?" You fold the handkerchief and tuck it into your pants. "I'll clean it first."

"Slowing?"

"Like the piece." You smile. "Is it not a chase and then slowing down when you have it?"

"When I have it..." He pauses.

"The spinning dance, a joyous celebration," You stand up and bow dramatically. "You dance, in love, happy, with the love of your life. A Russian folk melody."

"I suppose." Komaeda taps his chin twice. "Like dancing in the center after a wedding almost."

"You could put it that way," You sit down again, stretching your fingers. "But only what you experience can come alive; unless your imagination spirals."

"Shall we go dancing in the square?"

"They still do that?"

"The castles have events," Komaeda hums, holding up a magazine. "Today at four."

"Alright," You hum. "Like dancing in the center after a festive event."

"Then let us experience it for connection."

Komaeda holds his hand out to you, and you smile.

Dancing is not your strong suit, though Komaeda has a much easier time learning.

"You have two left feet," He spins you around. You following his steps to not trip over yourself. "I thought you knew how to dance?"

"Only something like ballroom dancing," You mumble. "My parents never taught me folk dances."

"Luckily for you, I only know folk dances," Komaeda chuckles, twirling you in his arms, forcing you to the middle with him. The two of you spin around graciously with the rest of the dancers, and Komaeda smiles when you make it out alive. You hold onto Komaeda's forearms for support, and whine at the exhaustion from dancing. Komaeda chuckles at you.

"Well, I'm never doing that again." You gasp. "That wasn't even Russian folk dancing!"

"But you get the spirit behind it, no?" His hair is damp with sweat, and he grins at you. He's just as tired as you are, if not worse.

"Those are my lines!"

"I do," He smiles. "It's a pleasing dance, one that spins your partner around and around. Russian folk dances are dancing in a circle as one. You understand, yes?"

"Asshole," You sigh, and he leads you back to the airbnb.

"That's not very nice of you," He raises a brow playfully. "Not to someone who went out of their way to help you understand the passion behind the piece."

You stare up at him, grimacing.

"Shall we try the piece tomorrow?"

"Today," You let go of his arms, and run ahead. "You still need to cook dinner!"

"No fair," He chases after you, and the second you make it back into the airbnb, you collapse into one of the piano rooms. Komaeda joins closely after, and sprawls himself on the ground. "Is this the grand ending?"

"Up to you," You hum. "We're leaving in two days. Hammer that emotion into your mind for the piece."

Komaeda spends the last days before leaving, channeling every ounce of emotion he could through the piece. He doesn't know how you do it, eyes dead as ever. Dare he say it; it almost felt like he could never match up to the emotion you put in your piece. Komaeda is lead by your melody, which frustrates him. He's the lead in this piece, not you.

"Komaeda?"

"I'm lacking something," He grumbles.

"Arrogance," You continue playing the part he rests. "You lack the arrogance to play it out. You're playing one of the hardest violin concertos out there. You're allowed to feel better than everyone else."

"Huh..."

"Think of the crowd as synthesizers." You press the final key gently, and Komaeda starts playing again. This time, his music carries a superiority complex. It looks down on you, and you keep playing to match his emotions. If he wanted to look down on you, then so would you. The piece turns into a tango, the violin advancing, spinning to spite the piano. The notes from the piano fights him back, pushing and spinning the melody. The tension in the room is suffocating, and the two of you poke at each other. Komaeda plays the final chord, and pants.

"That's what we want," You hum. "Congrats. You have officially become the best violinist in the school."

"I... what?"

You chuckle. "That was a joke. There's always room for improvement."

Komaeda brightens at your praise. "Thank you."

"Pack up. We're going back tomorrow." You close the piano gently. "Come on."

"Yes!" Komaeda follows after you immediately.

The next week of practice is done in the performance outfits. It runs relatively smooth, but just a minor issue on Komaeda's end.

"WHEN DID YOUR HAIR GROW SO LONG?!" You hiss. "Do we have time for you to cut it?"

"I could," He sighs. "But I have a thing where every time I cut it, I lose touch with emotion for a bit."

"What are these; nerve conductor cells?" You flick at them, making sure to not touch his neck.

"Not quite," He chuckles. "I cut my hair every time I finish a piece. It's a habit."

"Then," You pull a hairtie from your wrist. "At least tie it. May I?"

"Mhm," Komaeda smiles. "You may."

Your hand weaves through his hair, and he fights the urge to lean back into it. Your fingers are soft in his hair, and he exhales when you pull a little too hard.

"Did you just moan?"

"Huh?"

"Sure..." You tie it in his hair, and he grins. "How do I look?"

"See for yourself," You step to the side, and you pull him to the piano to stare at his reflection. His face glistens with sweat from the practice before, and you press a handkerchief to his forehead.

"Ah..." He stares. "It's pink?"

"It matches your hair," You shrug. "It's also the one I usually wear in case Kamakura or Chiaki need one."

"Both...?"

"Both." You affirm. "Shall we start again? Or do you need a water break?"

"Let's go again," He picks up the violin, and the two of you string each other along once more. The rooms provided soundproof walls to prevent overhearing; and anything else along the lines. Around concert time, it was best since everyone was practicing hard to deliver their pieces to their utmost potential. Komaeda finds it convenient, and you find it amusing. The piece strays further and further from the initially intended emotion to something new. It becomes something the two of you own.

Rehearsal day is nerve-racking for everyone. Chiaki forgets a hairtie, and you hand her one from your wrist. Hinata forgets a reed. Kamakura snaps a string on accident. Plenty of little errors are made during rehearsals. You stay backstage to help everyone get through it.

"I forgot my hairtie," Komaeda chuckles when it's your turn. "Help me?"

You tie his hair with the last band on your wrist, and he escorts you to the stage. He helps you sit down and nods at you when you're ready. Rehearsals run smoothly for both of you. It's a blessing. Komaeda thanks his luck for once, and the two of you head off the stage after. Chiaki is first to greet you, her and Hinata going next.

"That was wonderful!"

"Ah, thank you," You grin.

Komaeda notices you're much more animated when on stage and behind it. Rehearsals day makes you come alive, and the others students realize it as well. Your voice is laced with emotion, and your eyes have a little sparkle to them. It's cute. you're cute . Komaeda pauses. You're cute? When did he start having thoughts like that? Oh. He shouldn't do that. You don't see him that way. You deserve someone who-

"Komaeda," You wave your hand in front of his face. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," He smiles. "Just thinking."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," He nods.

"I thought Chiaki and Hinata's playing froze you up," You smile. "They have that effect."

"I can barely hear them from here."

"I know," She shrugs. "you're going to have the time of your life when you hear them next week. There's a reason why a flute and sax combo always wins."

"A flute and what?"

"Saxophone," You grin. "But don't you think we could win this time around?"

"To be fair, yes," he hums. "Though I don't think the judges will like ours."

"The crowd votes," You twirl around with a smile. "And we're going to win."

Komaeda gawks at Chiaki and Hinata's performance on recital day. You weren't wrong. The music instruments were such a nightmare when thought of, yet they seemed so well mixed. Komaeda isn't sure whether to find it surprising or exciting. It was untraditional of them. He turns to ask you, but you tap your foot on the ground along with the beat, the ghost of a grin on your face. You find it exhilarating. The jazz taps around you, spinning, shaking, frolicking in a way that enamors you. You never listened to them practice since they seldom did at school, but it was breathtaking.

"I..." Komaeda swallows. "I understand why they always win."

"The jazz is lovely, isn't it?" You're fully beaming now. "They never fail to surprise me."

"Can... we win?"

"We will," You tilt your head, a teasing smirk on your face as your eyes meet his. "Hm?"

"We will."

Izuru's schön rosmarin waltzes the people around the hall. It keeps the crowd on their feet, a twirl, and then a tug. The music lulls the listener in, telling them of the simple joys in life. You watch as he turns the ballroom into a french café, pulling and tugging students back and forth with the strings of his violin. His music lacked nothing, though Komaeda still didn't understand why you didn't choose to play with him.

"He lacks something," You pipe up, almost as if you read his mind.

"He... does?"

"He does," You hum. "He lacks intensity."

"In... tensity?"

"You'll see what I mean when we finish our piece." The crowd claps for Izuru, and he steps off the stage.

"Still think I'm lacking?"

"You are," You hum. "You'll see what you lack in our performance."

Komaeda holds your hand as he escorts you onto the stage, and the two of you bow at the crowd before preparing your instruments. Komaeda looks at the judges, a cold stare on his face. There's a period of silence, before Komaeda turns to look at you. He nods, and you start the piano. The piano sounds first, and Komaeda lifts his bow to the violin and joins you. His eyes are cold, and he's still looking at one of the judges. You can't speak on stage, so you follow whatever emotion he leads with. He's dull in emotions; his intensity is too much. You grimace. Did he want a duel? Maybe he did.

You quirk your eyebrow in amusement and hum gently. If he was going to be lifeless, then you would steal the spotlight. A few in the crowd gasp when the piano overtakes the violin, and Komaeda barely notices. He's too busy glaring at the woman in the crowd. A girl. Someone he never wanted to see in his life. The woman who had driven him near insanity to play an instrument. The woman who had started this.

The piano spins around, twirling in circles to dance. It slows into an eerie night, and Komaeda is still busy with glaring. You decide to ignore him and continue on, destroying the hearts of the crowd with the sound. The accompaniment could not make up for the lead. You're tempted to just use one hand to play and throw the nearest object at Komaeda to knock him out of whatever awful thought process he was having. He was glaring at Junko. The lead of the school's pop music department. You didn't bother prying into something he didn't share.

The piano pauses for the section, and you stand up from the seat. The two of you are might get disqualified because of you, but you don't care. You weren't about to let a muddled past interfere with a piece you worked your ass off for. Komaeda hears the scraping of the chair against the floor, and you bow. The crowd is unsure what to do, but you grin and step in front of the male. He doesn't stop playing, but you mouth at him. Shall we dance?.

Komaeda takes a reluctant step back, and you spin around with him on the stage. Just like the dancing at the square. Komaeda finds a sense of rest when you beam at him like that. His fingers press on the strings, pouring emotion back into the music. You take a step back, and when he lifts his bow, it seems as though he's leading you. The smile on your face softens, and Komaeda leads you back to the bench in time for you to continue. He smiles at you, forgetting about the judge.

"Let's dance," He takes a step back, a smirk on his face. "My pianist."

You scoff.

The music changes after that. There's no visible fighting, and the pushing and pulling lulls the audience to listen closer. It's enamoring. The audience are on their toes, trying to figure out the winner of this piece. It's a ballroom dance of love, hatred, passion that suffocates the onlookers. Yet, none of them can bear to look away. You have them caught up in the brawl, watchers in a colosseum. The notes swing at each other, yet they dance together under the spotlight. Even the judges in charge of the other sections are drawn in. The Tchaikovsky part is no longer there, and it has become something the two of you create.

Komaeda pulls the final note, and your hands bounce off the keyboard in sync.

"A lovers fight..." Chiaki gasps gently. "I got it."

"Two people pushing and pulling to get ahead, only to realize they were going at the same pace the whole time," Hinata smiles. "It'll be hard to win this year if they weigh storytelling over creativity."

You bow with Komaeda, and he holds his hand out to you. You place your hand onto his, and he lifts it to his lips, pressing a chaste kiss onto it. His eyes meet yours, his other hand holding his violin. He eyes you teasingly. Someone in the crowd screams. Your cheeks flare up immediately as he walks you backstage.

Chiaki hugs you, and you beam.

"I approve of him," She whispers gently. "He makes you smile more."

"Chiaki..."

"I'm just saying," She hums.

"Are we going for post-recital dinner?" Hinata shakes the phone in his hand.

"Sounds good," You hum. "I need to change."

"I do too," Komaeda loosens the buttons around his neck. "I'm sweaty."

"Wait until results come in," Izuru speaks up from the corner.

"Right," You step up to Komaeda and button one of them back. "We need to see who won."

"I don't really care," Komaeda hums, cheeks flushed pink. "Trash like me couldn't possibly win. Though-"

You tug harshly on his shirt, and he yelps as he leans forward. Your lips rest next to his ear, and you exhale on his ear. "You think that little of me?"

"Of course not," Komaeda laughs awkwardly as he leans back. "I just fear I've dragged you down from that little feat of mine."

"Think of it as part of the story," You shrug, finishing with his shirt. Patting his chest twice, you slouch onto the couch in the room. "I hope they hurry up."

"You guys were the middle to liven everyone up," Hinata sighs. "I doubt they judges will change how they usually judge."

"It doesn't matter. I suppose," You shrug. "We had fun, no?"

"Stop speaking in rhetoric."

You grin cheekily.

The rest of the night passes in a blur until they call everyone up for the winners.

"Place your bets!" One of the seniors call.

"Seventeen," You place a dollar bill into the box and place the sticker under your name.

"Arrogant, aren't we?"

"It's just a dollar," You grin.

Komaeda hands him a dollar bill, and sticks a sticker under your name as well. "For luck."

"Your luck," You hum, amused.

"My luck got me pretty far while in Switzerland, did it not?" Komaeda hums mischievously. You elbow him, and he chuckles.

"Shall we make a bet?"

"We win, and I get to top," Komaeda lowers his voice, still staring at the announcer.

You elbow him again. "Not happening."

"You said to make a bet."

You grumble. "bet."

The judges announce winners by section, and Chiaki starts playing rock paper scissors with you.

"The winners for best duo are..."

Chiaki speeds up to get the final round in the game.

"L/n, Y/n and Komaeda Nagito of Class 14!"

"Had no idea we had that many classes." Komaeda mumbles as the two of you head on stage.

"Neither did I," You mumble back.

The woman hands the two of you a statue and then a plaque. The two of you pose for a photo, and then join the rest of the winners.

"I won the bet."

You grimace. "Got it."

Komaeda stares at you one last time on stage as the camera clicks.

The next time you close a piano, your fingers lead the cover down, and there's no sound. Instead, someone chuckles, and the sound of something hitting someone ghosts out the room.

#I keep forgetting how long my ao3 fics are #komaeda x reader #nagito x reader #nagito komaeda x reader #sdr2 x reader #danganronpa 2 x reader #danganronpa 2 #nagito komaeda #komaeda nagito #☾.scheduled #☾.fics

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