"Two Birds on a Wire"
Helios Kaikaris' forte was not time. Not once in his life had he cared to count the seconds in one moment in his life. But when he needed it, time sided with him, healed his wounds, had been his ally since his birth and into his childhood days. It never worked against him.
Not like life had.
It isn't as Helios hasn't contemplated his life. After all, that is his gift: to make it last for as long as possible. But in that sense, life also reminds him of the constant distance he must keep between himself and those he cares for; it reminds him of his constant struggles between the things he wants to happen and the things that do; it keeps still the emptiness he feels when he realizes that what he has isn't what he longs for, and there is nothing he can do to take it back and return things back to the way they are.
Time forces him to move on.
Such as the case with his music box.
It was one of those calm, quite December days in which the idea sprung inside his mind that he create a music box for his crush. It was ambitious, really. Perhaps too ambitious? That thought did not occur to him at all as he surfed the internet and researched the topic. Neither does any other idea come to mind as he realized it would take tremendous work on his part. It's single-minded. But the idea, to him, is perfect. Why think of any other?
He worked, and so came those moments. They were nothing new to him. They occurred during the slow moments, when time felt endless, when his hands would slow to a halt as a thought came to him. A sudden doom and gloom that maybe, just... Maybe he was wasting what time provided. Maybe it would be a futile effort, and the music box would not work. Maybe, Yukina would not like her gift. These were his doubts. And for as long as he could remember, not even the most comforting hugs or the most sentimental words could ever simmer the anxieties that plagued him.
Somedays, he could shake it off and continue his work, cheered on by the rewards, by some idle daydreams and fantasies of how well it would go over. Yet each time it happened the pause was a little longer, the fear clawing in a little deeper, and the return to the reality that faced him a little less successful.
Inevitably, it became too much. The slowing of progress reflected the loss of drive, and eventually the music box would be left untouched. Life would ensure he would not forget; for a while, it was a failure. It was his failure.
Time would heal his self-inflicted wounds, and he would start again. And again. And yes, again. Off and on for four years, each halt more painful, each time taking just a little bit longer to recover. But time sided with him, and eventually his will was done. Life was an obstacle, a hurdle he overcame.
When he needed it, time was on his side.
(He failed to see the wounds time accumulated. The scars it could not heal dug deeper into his mind. He failed to see the worst in it, the worst it showed.
He failed to see how time made him endure the pain just a little longer, how time made him progress not enough in a day, how time drew out such an important heartfelt thing into four years, and made a fool of him.
Time sides with no one.)