Hello, and thank you for reading! This fic will be primarily Seiaki, Uihai, and Mutsurie, but there is some Akiramon, and also some background ships like Touken, Ayahina, Tsukikana, Shiraiko, Saiko/Hsiao, and of course, Arieto. Additionally, some chapters will contain triggers as the story will deal with darker themes like abuse and trauma recovery, but I will put warnings before chapters that might be triggering.

Also thanks to my friend linkzeldi for the title.

If music be the food of love, play on.

Twelfth Night

Brainless undergrads are the worst.

Ui Koori rolls his eyes as he listens to a group of them chatter about how they're taking the least challenging classes in order to be able to drink until they black out every night. He bites his lip to keep from asking how old they are. Grow up. He pushes his way through the clot of students clogging the path, heading into the large brick building named for Washuu Tsuneyoshi, the president of the university. His son, Yoshitoki, is head of the music department. Ui was never a partier. Not during his undergrad or his masters.

A golden chandelier glitters in the entryway, and large glass windows open up onto a lake behind the building. "Hey," calls a familiar voice. Ui turns to see Hirako Take, his friend from his days of getting his masters, getting to his feet. Hirako's black trombone case rests in the chair next to him. "Good to see you, Ui."

Ui nods. "You too." Now they're both starting their Doctorate of Musical Arts program under Arima Kishou, one of the most renowned musicians in the country. He even plays violin, just like Ui. "I didn't think we were supposed to bring our instruments."

Hirako shrugs. "We're not. I just want to practice after the meeting."

"Oh." Ui runs his hands through his bowl cut. Both he and Hirako did their masters here at Washuu University, and they're the only two students who stuck around to do their doctorates at the same school. He hasn't worked directly for Arima before, though, instead working under Aura Kiyoko.

Ui heads up the marble stairs and heads down a corridor, Hirako next to him. Arima said in his email there would be one second-year masters student and two first-year masters students who would also be working as his Teaching Assistants for the semester, plus a post-doc. Thanks to Arima's renown, his introductory musicology course always has multiple sections and a wait list.

Ui knocks on the door. "Come in," says Arima.

He pushes it open to see the inscrutable professor adjusting his glasses. Arima's draped in the same coat he always wears regardless of weather, sitting at his desk, drapes drawn behind him and casting the room in a dim light. Five chairs are arranged in a semi-circle, and three are unoccupied.

"Hey," says Mado Akira, a cellist he knows is a second-year masters student. Her father used to teach here, too. She sips a mug of coffee, the warm scent filtering through the air.

Next to her sits a boy Ui doesn't recognize, hair shaggy and looking as if he tried to bleach it and failed. He gives Ui a huge smile. "Hi! I'm Sasaki. Sasaki Haise."

"Hello," says Ui. Hirako nods at him.

The clock ticks. Ui checks his watch. Arima glances at the clock and frowns. "Takizawa's late."

Akira stiffens. Her eyes widen.

"It's not a good look to be late on the first day," Ui comments. Hirako presses his lips together in a grim line.

"He's on his way," Akira cuts in. "He's coming. He texted me."

Arima cocks his head. "I didn't realize you and Takizawa kept in touch."

"Just recently," Akira says, bouncing her leg.

Arima nods. "Well—"

The door bursts open, and a boy with wild white hair, wearing ripped jeans and a sweatshirt, stumbles in. Ui's lips curl. This is a grad student? He'd expect one of the science students, the ones who usually look like zombies, to look like this, not a music student.

Takizawa raises his hand and stumbles towards the one open chair. He slouches in it. Ui's appalled. Akira looks as if she's contemplating kicking this man with her heels.

"Well," says Arima. "Welcome, all of you. My post doc, Amon Koutarou, won't be arriving until this afternoon, but he'll be taking the second section of musicology that meets Tuesdays and Thursdays. Mado, Takizawa, I'm assigning you to work with him, since that section is slightly smaller than my own. Ui, Hirako, Sasaki: you'll be assigned to the larger section. You'll have to hold review sessions once a week, and as needed before exams."

"A review session for each section or all together?" asks Hirako.

"All together. The material is the same." Arima details his grading policies next, and Ui nods, taking notes. He's honored to be able to work so closely with Arima. It's been his dream since he first heard of Washuu University way back in middle school, but he chose not to attend for undergrad because he knew, he knew, he would get in for graduate school. He won't let the man down.

Takizawa looks as if he's half-asleep. His eyes droop, and he stifles a yawn.

Could you be more disrespectful?

The door slams open again. Takizawa jumps.

"If music be the food of love, play on!" crows a high-pitched voice. "Oh." A tiny woman with wild mint hair stares at them. Ui's seen her around campus before. "It looks as if I'm interrupting."

"Yes," Arima says, leaning back against his desk and crossing his arms. "You are."

"Have any of them said anything so far?" asks the woman, strolling across the room and propping her elbow against the window. "Or are they just lapping up your words? Drink up, young'uns. You might never get another chance to absorb the incredible, life-changing wisdom of what differentiates an A from a B."

"Who are you?" ekes out Sasaki. He looks terrified.

"Yoshimura Eto," she says. "Literature head of department. I come here to spice up Arima's days because, well, he'd never interact with a human otherwise. You're students. You don't count."

Ui's eyes pop. He glances at Arima, who sets his papers down with a sigh. "Eto, I'm busy."

"You quoted Twelfth Night," Sasaki says.

A sly smile spreads across Eto's face. "That I did. Literature fan?" She eyes Sasaki.

He nods.

"Well," Eto purrs. Her hand lands on Sasaki's shoulder. Arima scowls. "Feel free to stop by my office to discuss literature any time. My door's always open to those who seek to learn." She waves as she exits. "Toodles."

Ui feels as if his head's spinning. Arima continues on as if nothing happened. Focus, Ui chastises himself.

Arima dismisses them, telling Hirako, Ui, and Sasaki he'll see them in class tomorrow. Sasaki nods and leaves quickly. Akira gestures for Takizawa to talk, Hirako heads to a practice room, and Ui steps outside and smiles. The sun shines down, warm, and across the quad he sees students lounging and enjoying their last day before classes start.

"Hello!" chirps a voice next to him.

Ui jumps. He whirls around to see a girl with pink-hair beaming up at him. She hops up and down. "I was wondering if I could get into the music building?"

The girl's green eyes sparkle. His stomach twists. "It's closed today," Ui says. "Except to TAs and graduate students."

"Damn!"

You're swearing in front of me? Ui frowns. "The are other rooms on campus where you can practice if—"

"I know," the girl cuts in, glancing up at the windows glinting in the sun. "I play violin. Or I've started taking lessons. I'm not very good though."

"Me too," Ui says. "I mean, I play violin. Not that I'm not—I mean—well—I've got a lot to learn. I'm a DMA student, so." Why is he rambling? Why is his stomach clenching as he listens to himself ramble?

The girl clasps her hands together. "Just like Arima!"

Ui nods. "I'm his TA." His eyes catch her coat. It looks suspiciously like Arima's. "Are you a big fan?" Fangirl.

"You are?" She grasps his arm. "That's so cool!"

Her hands are warm. Her grip is firm. Ui nods. His mouth feels dry.

"I'm taking his musicology course this semester. I'm so excited." She chortles.

Oh. Ui gulps. "Are you a freshman or a sophomore then?"

"Nope!" she chirps. "Senior. I've just been forced into biology. Kanou's my advisor."

Was this appropriate information to drop when she doesn't even know his name? "By your parents?"

"Not exactly." She peers up at the building again, squinting as the sun's reflection on the windows strikes her eyes. "Are you sure you can't let me in? I wanted to get the syllabus to start early. I'm going to work so hard. I'm going to get the best grades in the class and impress Arima."

She sounds the opposite of arrogant when she says it though. It's like a child making a wish. A smile breaks through Ui's face. "That's a lofty goal."

She adjusts a pink strand of her hair and shrugs. "Can I?" Her voice adopts a pleading tone.

Ui hesitates. "I can't let you in, but I can give you a copy of the syllabus."

Her eyes widen. "Ooh! Would you really?"

Is he allowed? Probably. Ui nods.

"Hooray!" she cheers. "I'm Ihei Hairu."

"Ui Koori." He digs through his bag. His binder almost falls out. Dammit! "Uh. Here." He thrusts a copy of the syllabus at her.

"You're the best, Koori!" Ihei sings.

Ui laughs. And then it hits him that she called him by his familiar name.

Ihei clamps a hand over her mouth. "Oh no. Don't fail me, please."

"It's okay," Ui insists. She's too cute for him to let her feel badly. "You can call me Koori if you want. Just don't let other people know or your classmates will lose all respect for me."

She grins. "Then you can call me Hairu."

He nods. His mouth is back to feeling like someone stuffed cotton in it. He probably looks like a fool.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then!" Hairu says. She waves, moonwalking backwards and holding the syllabus above her head like it's a trophy. "Bye, Koori!" She turns, literally skipping along the path. Some other undergrads point to her and scoff. Ui wants to kick a rock at them. At least Ihei Hairu isn't obsessed with being cool.

"Koori?" asks a dry voice.

Ui jumps. Hirako stands on the steps of the music building, case in hand. "I thought you were going to practice."

"I'm not feeling it today." Hirako glances after Hairu. "Want to go to karaoke tonight?"

Ui agrees, heading away from the music building. "Not too late. I want to get a good night's sleep. Class tomorrow, you know. Early." His heart picks up pace when he thinks of tomorrow's class. At least he knows one student will be enthusiastic and therefore unlikely to fall asleep in the lecture. Even if they should all be hanging onto Arima's every word, he does not trust undergrads to do the right thing.

"Hey!" Akira calls, marching after Takizawa the moment the meeting ends. He looks as if he just rolled out of bed, sweatshirt wrinkled and hair askew. "Wait!"

Takizawa stalls, leaning back against the white wall decorated with photos of Arima and Yoshitoki and their achievements. He jams his hands in his jean pockets. "Hey yourself."

She stops in front of him. Words desert her. "You bleached your hair." The Takizawa she remembers kept his brown hair immaculately combed and wore suits to exams. He was one of the best cellists in their high school, second only to her. He was bitter when they were attending the same college.

But that was so many years ago, and she hasn't seen him since the end of their freshman year. So many people left after that year, after the tragedy. The explosion.

Takizawa's eyes flicker over her face. "Yours is longer."

Akira's eyebrows arch. The weight of her elaborately braided bun sits on her head. "Yeah." The sun shines through the window behind her, too warm. "Why were you late?"

He shrugs. "I overslept."

So you don't care? Akira's not sure it's worth the effort arguing if he's just going to be this apathetic. But the Takizawa she remembers was the opposite of apathetic. Akira grits her teeth. "I lied for you," she blurts out. "I told Arima you'd texted me when really the first time I even knew you were back in town was when he sent us all an email saying we'd be working together!" And she contemplated emailing him back, asking him how he was, congratulating him on finishing school—somewhere. She didn't even know where.

But she couldn't press send.

"I didn't ask you to do that," Takizawa points out. He pulls his hair back from his face and grimaces.

Fine. She could kick him. There are so many things she wants to say, black thoughts and red and orange, and she can't unravel them to speak a single word of what she wants to say. "Don't be late again," Akira warns.

"I won't be." He pries himself off of the wall, strolling down the hallway.

"When did you get back?" Akira calls after him. Her heart pounds. I thought you were gone for good.

I thought I'd never see you again. Either of you.

"Yesterday." Takizawa snorts. "If you have something else to say, you should just say it, Mado. You were never one for wasting words. I remember you lecturing Amon on that exact concept like you were a robot."

Akira's eyes pop. "Where were you? You never answered my emails or—" Damn, she doesn't like how this sounds. It sounds lost.

"You had a lot of shit going on with your dad and Amon," says Takizawa. "I found a new school. It was better for me. I also took a gap year before finishing undergrad."

She frowns. Mr. Tunnel Vision took a gap year in the middle of undergrad? "Why?"

Takizawa shrugs. He pushes open the door and exits the building. Akira hesitates, and then follows after him. "When Amon gets into town, the three of us should get dinner or something. Like old days."

Takizawa squints, shading his eyes from the sun. "You and Amon should go."

Oh, for fuck's sake. "It's amazing," Akira remarks, sidestepping a puddle. "Your personality hasn't improved at all in four years. It's actually gotten worse."

Takizawa laughs, and he almost sounds like the boy she met at fifteen in homeroom, who glared at her when she did better than him on every test. "Is Houji still around?"

Takizawa's old advisor, the main cello teacher now that her father's... gone. Akira nods. "I don't see him much, though."

"Hmph." Takizawa blows his breath out.

"If you wanted to stop by his office—"

"Nah," Takizawa says quickly. "If this is your reaction to me, I can already hear his reaction, and it sounds better in my own voice than his."

Akira scowls. A breeze ruffles her hair.

"I'm surprised you stuck around," Takizawa remarks, nodding at the sprawling campus: the brick library, the ivy climbing the walls, the lake in the background. "Didn't you always talk about going to a different school for grad school?"

"I'll still go," Akira says quickly. "Get my doctorate elsewhere. I'm in the final year of my masters, so."

He nods. "Following Amon's path?"

Akira's chest tightens. Amon, too, did his undergrad and masters at Washuu, and then went elsewhere for his DMA. "We haven't talked in almost as long as you and I haven't talked."

Takizawa cocks his head. He backs up towards the parking lot. "I'll see you later, Mado."

Okay then. She turns and heads to the library to get some work done.

Their freshman year, Takizawa practically lived in the library with her, and Amon Koutarou, the handsome TA of her father's, the then-masters student, would join them and help them study.

She finds the same nook she used to use with them and sets her bag down. Akira digs out her laptop with its cat decal and brushes away a few strands of Maris Stella's fur. She logs on with her password—her father's name and birthday—and checks her email.

A message from Amon. Professor Amon, now. A postdoc. Maybe he'll have advice for her on how to get into her top universities for her DMA. Akira taps her chin. She'll need to ask Arima for a recommendation. Or will Amon have to write it?

Looking forward to working with you two, the message begins. I assume Arima gave you all the materials. I'll meet you both (again) during our first class, and we should probably meet every Thursday just for fifteen minutes or so to see how you're doing.

All business. Akira chews on the cap of her pen. She's not really surprised. Amon's always been all business. It's what her father liked about him.

Amon survived the car accident that took her father's life. Akira remembers being at home alone when she got the call with the news. She clung to Maris Stella. No one was around to hear her scream, so she didn't even bother to try.

The pen cap clacks as her teeth bite through it. Akira curses internally.

She survived one more semester with Amon and Takizawa, and then they both left her. At least Amon had the decency to say goodbye. He drove her to the graveyard to visit her father, little nubs of grass starting to sprout from gray dirt at last. And he was going to leave her, and she didn't want him to go and she was sick of being looked at like she was a high school girlfriend who flaked on him when they went to separate colleges, and she kissed him. Or, she kissed his hand, because he stopped her.

Her face burns. She doubts Arima has any idea. But it won't be a problem. He told her he was putting her with Amon and Takizawa because he knew Amon's connection to her father. And it is what her father would want. Amon's a cellist. Like her. Like Dad was. And Mom.

Akira stares at her screen. She slams her laptop shut. After jamming it into her backpack, she stalks out of the library and heads towards grad student housing. Maris Stella yowls in greeting. Pictures line the walls, framed in golden flower frames. Dad smiling next to her after her valedictorian speech. Her posing with him after her cellist concert at sixteen. And her as a baby with her mom and dad.

She doesn't remember her mother.

Akira crouches and picks up Maris Stella. The cat protests, writhing and shrieking. Akira rolls her eyes and sets the animal free.

She grabs her laptop and flips it open again, deciding to order curry for dinner. She needs the spices to burn out these thoughts churning inside of her, sticky and thick and confusing.

It's strange having someone come back.

An email pops up right after Akira hits order. She jumps and scrambles to it. Well, speak of the devil.

Hey Akira. I just wanted to say that I'm looking forward to working with you again, (& Takizawa too!) and that your father would be proud of you. I'm glad you're still around; I wasn't certain you would be. Amon.

A lump grows in Akira's throat. She swallows it. She doesn't know what to feel. It's like there's something gnawing at her.

She drops onto her couch and closes her eyes. The year before her father died was rough—he fired another professor, Fueguchi Whoever, and he took some flack for it because his firing left his family in dire straits. But he died a month before she was supposed to start at Washuu, and by the time she arrived on campus, his name was emblazoned on a campus memorial bench. Akira doesn't like to visit that bench. It's near the lake. But she often visits anyways.

She shakes her head. She'll see both Amon and Takizawa again in two days. They'll teach a class together.

Though if Amon expects her respect this time, he has to damn well earn it.

She can only imagine what Takizawa will say. I don't feel like respect or something, probably.

Akira smiles to herself. She flips her laptop open again and types out a message. Looking forward to seeing you too. Akira.

Next chapter: Mutsuki tries to escape rumors and Akira deals with a problem student.