Len Tsukimori, I'm going to be honest, is positively addicting. I know I've been writing him a bit OOC lately, so I tried to change that here.
I've never written anything about Fuyuumi-chan yet. And I love her madly. So, here. Enjoy.
:D
xxx
Len Tsukimori was no genius, but it didn't take Einstein to notice the change in Hino Kahoko.
Subtle at first; he would catch her staring dreamily out the window during class, sighing longingly for no apparent reason, blushing furiously and averting questions with nervous giggles and subject changes every time someone asked her what was wrong. A puzzle, he'd thought, rubbing his temples and trying to make sense of it all--or some type of female mood swing, perhaps?
Then he'd caught her skipping out the door of a practice room, giggling and swinging her violin case, with Tsuchiura's hand in hers.
Suddenly nauseous, he'd stumbled out of the hallway and into the closest bathroom he could find, ducking into a stall and praying to God--if there was one--that she hadn't seen him.
No, of course she hadn't seen him, he realized with an overwhelming jolt. Judging from her behavior, and from the glowing smile that had lit up her face as she'd gazed up at the pianist, she never had.
His head fell with a dull thud against the icy tile behind him, and his exhale was shallow.
When he was sure the lovebirds had gone, Len took refuge in Kanazawa's room. It was empty; the music teacher was nowhere to be seen--just like Kanayan to leave with his room wide open, a cynical voice in the back of his head muttered, though it was muffled slightly by his mind's general liquefaction.
So Tsuchiura had gotten to her first. A fist clenched painfully around Len's chest as the thought entered his mind, and he shook his head distractedly, trying to clear his vision as he moved to a desk in the corner of the room near the window, collapsed in the seat, and slouched limply forward, resting his cheek against the cool desk and letting cerulean hair splay over topaz eyes. So Tsuchiura had beaten him where it counted.
He shouldn't have been too surprised--Tsuchiura was much more sociable than he was--but what hurt was that she'd actually chosen him. Him, Tsuchiura, that arrogant, lazy--
No, a new voice told him sternly--hearing voices, never a good sign, he thought bitterly--if you care about Kahoko, at least respect her decision. She can't help who she likes.
A low moan escaped his lips, muffled by his arms. It wasn't really--it was just the thought of losing, and to that--that thing--
When he arrived home, Len thought miserably to himself, he would play. Play until everything was irrelevant, insignificant; until every coherent thought was lost in mahogany and strings.
Behind him, the door creaked open, and he heard a soft padding of footsteps, which paused almost immediately--most likely at the sight of him. Len vaguely wondered who had walked in before there was a soft, tentative, "T-Tsukimori-senpai?"
Shoko Fuyuumi. Not at all who he'd wanted to see at that precise moment.
He didn't respond; he could clearly visualize her tiny blush as she stammered, "Oh, I-I'm sorry, Tsukimori-s-senpai, I didn't mean t-to..."
"Forget it." The words were harsh, but it didn't matter that much, really...apparently forgetting people was the new pink, everyone was doing it...
She cleared her throat awkwardly, and after a moment's hesitation, there was a soft scraping of metal chair legs against linoleum floor next to him. His eyelid cracked open.
She was sitting with her hands clasped in her lap, crouched inward as though guarding something soft and vulnerable, her expression nervous and timid as she watched him, biting her lip. His eye met both of hers, and she recoiled slightly and averted her faze, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink against porcelain. "Sorry," she whispered again, her eyes fixed on her shoes. "I mean--I know you liked her. K-Kaho-senpai."
A twist of pain in his gut. It must have showed; she blushed again. He closed his eye once more, shut it tight until he could feel dampness on his eyelashes, and there was a long pause. Finally,
"Tsukimori-senpai?"
On the desk, he felt his motionless fingers brush against something soft; then, they were entwined in hers. Now he looked up, alarmed; she was a fiery crimson now, but in her eyes--determination? And...empathy.
It was...really, really nice.
She squeezed his hand and smiled, shyly. He blinked, lips parted in an 'o' of surprise, and for the first time in a while, smiled back, brushed her fingers lightly with the tip of his thumb.
When they left the room later, they were still holding hands.
xxx
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