Of Cherry Blossoms and Other Things (LCDO, Len/Kahoko)
Title: Of Cherry Blossoms and Other Things
Pairing: Tsukimori Len and Hino Kahoko.
Rating: PG
Summary: A 10-drabble collection for Tsukimori Len and Hino Kahoko.
Author's Notes: Well, it's a drabble collection written with prompts given by my readers over at ff.net. Written over a year, too, and I thought it was high time to end it in hopes of starting a new, more meaningful story. :D
i. Cherry Blossoms
His German classmate once asked curiously about cherry blossoms.
He vaguely remembered the last time he'd gone to view them-sometime during the concours, when she compelled him to come along.
Its petals scattered like snow in the breeze. Some found their way upon her hair, but she had laughed, attempting instead to catch them in her hands.
It was a beautiful storm, he'd thought later on; he couldn't understand how he could have forgotten.
Are they really that beautiful?
He thought of her and cherry petals in her hair.
Yes. Yes, they were.
ii. Breeze
Ave Maria filled the garden that evening, and he had played to her music in a most intimate manner he'd neither expected nor imagined.
When the last notes melded into the night, she looked up at where he stood and smiled.
The evening breeze was caught in her hair; his heart was caught in her hands. And there was nothing, nothing at all that he could do but disappear.
iii. Moon
The moon hung low over them that evening. Her eyes were glassy, and a frozen smile hatched upon her lips.
We may not see each other for a very long time.
There was nothing else he could remember but the way she'd stood in the light, and the feeling that they were already worlds apart.
iv. Fantasy
When he stood upon the stage after his second European recital, everyone had given him applause.
In between bows and awkward smiles, he'd allowed himself a look at the front row where a single seat was unoccupied-always unoccupied, because it was for the performer's special guest.
On his first concert, it had been his mother.
Tonight, he'd pictured the only girl who'd ever mattered-beaming at him from that special seat, the way things, he thought, should one day be.
v. Turn
Life always had a way of making you miss things. Like when Tsuchiura was dancing with her, and she didn't see him somewhere in the crowd, watching her throughout the waltz.
Sooner or later, he'd leave the ballroom feeling rather defeated.
Had he turned, though, the moment the song ended, he would have seen a pair of pretty eyes searching for him, the way his searched for her all evening.
vi. Destiny
He was meant to leave. Everyone knew that. The violin was everything he'd lived for, and his life had been set the moment he won his first competition.
But there were those times with her that he'd forget that.
Tonight, they were dancing, in pretty shoes and dark suits, in a room full of people, to a waltz whose name he couldn't remember. There were the pair of them, he and this girl, and just for tonight, just for tonight-
He was meant to stay, with her, always.
vii. Fire
It was just right there, an inch south of his lips, a fingertip's width to the right.
If only he'd turned at that moment.
Her almost-kiss had lingered unwanted, unwilling to leave.
And it burned and it burned and it burned.
viii. Supernova
It hits him the moment the remnants of Ave Maria disappear into the evening. Her smile is bright; his heart is racing.
Painted lightly upon rain scenes and walks home, carefully laced through each measure they'd played, together-
Love.
He finally understands.
ix. Secret (His and Hers)
There's a picture of her hidden in his violin case. Its corners are creased, and the color is fading, but there she is, her bright smile still untarnished and sweet. (Nobody knows he'd stolen it from Amou's files the day before their graduation.)
*
She visited his favorite music room the day after he left. Kanayan saw her sleeping by the open window, her violin next to her. (Nobody knows how he kissed her right in that room, once, twice, and told her to please, please do her best and, if she could, wait for him.)
x. Sadness
It isn't so much of dwelling in the present as it is in looking into the future. They know that, both-and yet her eyes are tear-filled, and she feels rather foolish for standing in front of a boy who doesn't know exactly what to do with a crying girl.
She has seen this coming, and she has planned to tell him many, many things, and yet-her lips are still and she feels so much like a coward. Instead, she hands him her parting gift-a handkerchief with his initials she'd stitched on the night before-and she sees his eyes grow wide. He has not expected this.
He doesn't open it, however, and she says a proper goodbye, smiling through her tears, and turns to go.
He doesn't allow her to leave.
Instead, his arms are fast around her from behind-the first time he has held her, and perhaps, she muses, the last time for a few more years. The gift has been set aside; his chin rests upon the crook of her neck and his lips touch her cheek. A kiss. A thank you.
A statement that he will miss her.
She must do her best, he says, and she nods against his cheek. Of course, she says, of course she will.
Another kiss, and this time, he turns her face to meet his, and his lips touch hers, and she knows, she knows, that this is goodbye.
His face is red when he pulls away; still, he is brave enough to meet her eyes. Uncertainty is there in his-and quietly, he asks her to wait. Wait for him, if she could. Please, if she would.
Her fingers find his, and she rests her forehead against his. Of course, she says.
Of course she will.
Pairing: Tsukimori Len and Hino Kahoko.
Rating: PG
Summary: A 10-drabble collection for Tsukimori Len and Hino Kahoko.
Author's Notes: Well, it's a drabble collection written with prompts given by my readers over at ff.net. Written over a year, too, and I thought it was high time to end it in hopes of starting a new, more meaningful story. :D
i. Cherry Blossoms
His German classmate once asked curiously about cherry blossoms.
He vaguely remembered the last time he'd gone to view them-sometime during the concours, when she compelled him to come along.
Its petals scattered like snow in the breeze. Some found their way upon her hair, but she had laughed, attempting instead to catch them in her hands.
It was a beautiful storm, he'd thought later on; he couldn't understand how he could have forgotten.
Are they really that beautiful?
He thought of her and cherry petals in her hair.
Yes. Yes, they were.
ii. Breeze
Ave Maria filled the garden that evening, and he had played to her music in a most intimate manner he'd neither expected nor imagined.
When the last notes melded into the night, she looked up at where he stood and smiled.
The evening breeze was caught in her hair; his heart was caught in her hands. And there was nothing, nothing at all that he could do but disappear.
iii. Moon
The moon hung low over them that evening. Her eyes were glassy, and a frozen smile hatched upon her lips.
We may not see each other for a very long time.
There was nothing else he could remember but the way she'd stood in the light, and the feeling that they were already worlds apart.
iv. Fantasy
When he stood upon the stage after his second European recital, everyone had given him applause.
In between bows and awkward smiles, he'd allowed himself a look at the front row where a single seat was unoccupied-always unoccupied, because it was for the performer's special guest.
On his first concert, it had been his mother.
Tonight, he'd pictured the only girl who'd ever mattered-beaming at him from that special seat, the way things, he thought, should one day be.
v. Turn
Life always had a way of making you miss things. Like when Tsuchiura was dancing with her, and she didn't see him somewhere in the crowd, watching her throughout the waltz.
Sooner or later, he'd leave the ballroom feeling rather defeated.
Had he turned, though, the moment the song ended, he would have seen a pair of pretty eyes searching for him, the way his searched for her all evening.
vi. Destiny
He was meant to leave. Everyone knew that. The violin was everything he'd lived for, and his life had been set the moment he won his first competition.
But there were those times with her that he'd forget that.
Tonight, they were dancing, in pretty shoes and dark suits, in a room full of people, to a waltz whose name he couldn't remember. There were the pair of them, he and this girl, and just for tonight, just for tonight-
He was meant to stay, with her, always.
vii. Fire
It was just right there, an inch south of his lips, a fingertip's width to the right.
If only he'd turned at that moment.
Her almost-kiss had lingered unwanted, unwilling to leave.
And it burned and it burned and it burned.
viii. Supernova
It hits him the moment the remnants of Ave Maria disappear into the evening. Her smile is bright; his heart is racing.
Painted lightly upon rain scenes and walks home, carefully laced through each measure they'd played, together-
Love.
He finally understands.
ix. Secret (His and Hers)
There's a picture of her hidden in his violin case. Its corners are creased, and the color is fading, but there she is, her bright smile still untarnished and sweet. (Nobody knows he'd stolen it from Amou's files the day before their graduation.)
*
She visited his favorite music room the day after he left. Kanayan saw her sleeping by the open window, her violin next to her. (Nobody knows how he kissed her right in that room, once, twice, and told her to please, please do her best and, if she could, wait for him.)
x. Sadness
It isn't so much of dwelling in the present as it is in looking into the future. They know that, both-and yet her eyes are tear-filled, and she feels rather foolish for standing in front of a boy who doesn't know exactly what to do with a crying girl.
She has seen this coming, and she has planned to tell him many, many things, and yet-her lips are still and she feels so much like a coward. Instead, she hands him her parting gift-a handkerchief with his initials she'd stitched on the night before-and she sees his eyes grow wide. He has not expected this.
He doesn't open it, however, and she says a proper goodbye, smiling through her tears, and turns to go.
He doesn't allow her to leave.
Instead, his arms are fast around her from behind-the first time he has held her, and perhaps, she muses, the last time for a few more years. The gift has been set aside; his chin rests upon the crook of her neck and his lips touch her cheek. A kiss. A thank you.
A statement that he will miss her.
She must do her best, he says, and she nods against his cheek. Of course, she says, of course she will.
Another kiss, and this time, he turns her face to meet his, and his lips touch hers, and she knows, she knows, that this is goodbye.
His face is red when he pulls away; still, he is brave enough to meet her eyes. Uncertainty is there in his-and quietly, he asks her to wait. Wait for him, if she could. Please, if she would.
Her fingers find his, and she rests her forehead against his. Of course, she says.
Of course she will.