...Heyyy, guys.
This is a strange sort-of Christmas story I wrote for a friend. Sorry for the lateness of it? xD It's not that hard to tell if you know me that I'm late about almost everything. *coughlikeupdatingRhapsody,youbitchcough*
Which will happen, I swear. Cough.
Enjoy, plz.
xxx
It did not surprise anyone in the old building when Tsukimori-san tramped down the stairs on Christmas morning in a very, very foul mood.
He was clutching a violin in his hands like a deadly weapon, his spidery fingers trembling slightly in the effort it took to hold the instrument; his mouth was fixed in a scowl that darkened the rest of his features so intensely his gloom seemed to follow him in a dismal wake. In his other hand was a crooked wooden cane, scouring the ground in front of him for wayward vibrations that would interrupt his very intent mission, and after a few unsteady but very deliberate steps, he reached the front desk of the retirement home.
The young woman sighed almost inaudibly, shrinking back as he approached and worrying her bottom lip anxiously. "What can I do for you, Tsukimori-sa--"
"These morons," he growled, pointing with his violin hand a very shaky finger towards the large Christmas tree set up in the corner of the lobby that was crowded with a combination of eager children and smiling grandparents, "woke me up at five A.M."
The woman at the front desk closed her eyes briefly, gathering herself, before answering. "Tsukimori-san," she said wearily, "it's Christmas. I'm sorry, but the volunteers that slept over couldn't wait to open presents, and frankly, neither could any of the other guests."
Tsukimori huffed in annoyance. "There was no need to get up that early," he snapped, his voice quavering slightly, and though he could see only black under his eyelids, he was sure she had flinched. "Nor was there any need to wake other people up."
"Please don't take this the wrong way, Tsukimori-san," the young woman managed feebly, hesitation in every syllable, "but you could have opened presents with them. We would have been happy to include--"
"Bah." Tsukimori rolled his eyes, milky and unseeing with age, and began to turn slowly, his violin hand at his back for support. "Should've known you'd be no help," he muttered, half to the woman and half to himself. "Should've known..." And he hobbled away, leaving the woman, weary and downcast, behind him.
Still muttering darkly, he made his way to the other corner of the room, feeling in front of him with the cane in case any wayward ankle-biters got in his way. Blindness was a bitch. He'd never realized how much he'd relied on his eyes until the one day when he suddenly couldn't see his fingerboard without turning his head. It was only him and his brain and his ears, now; the world couldn't even spare him his vision in this pathetic old age.
Vienna, that was where he wished he could be; Vienna in the winter, with its store-lined streets and silver skies and houses that looked like they had been spread with frosting like sugar cookies, whose every whisper rang with the music of the generations before. The Vienna of his young adulthood, just after leaving everything; yes, Vienna was far, far away.
His cane tapped something in front of him; he felt forward with his violin hand and traced the outline of a cushiony armchair, and with a grunt and a sigh, he lowered himself into it slowly, wincing every once in a while at this pain, that ache, that came with the simple, basic action of sitting down.
God, he felt so helpless.
In a fluid, practiced movement that would put the most skilled dancer to utter shame, he raised the instrument to eye level, letting it rest just under his chin in what was almost a caress. His other hand cradled the bow between his fingers and raised it, drew it across the strings in a motion so familiar he didn't need eyes to get it right. The sound carried, and God, he was so glad he'd gone blind instead of deaf; losing this would be losing everything.
"Excuse me, sir?"
Tsukimori started for a moment, his note quivering along with his hand; soon, though, his surprise melted into a glower. What did this punk want? He rolled his eyes sparingly before letting them close once more, continuing his piece without acknowledging his new audience; it wasn't as though he cared anyway.
He didn't care about anything much anymore.
"Sir?" the kid prompted, slightly louder than before, and Tsukimori huffed in annoyance, his volume rising a few notches. It was a little girl, he could tell; and this, he figured, was what kept him from shouting her down for interrupting him in his practice time--no matter how annoying, it was a lot harder to yell at a girl.
Unwillingly, his mind flashed on an image he'd tried for years to forget, amber eyes and crimson hair and tears carving paths down her cheeks as he watched her face shrink into the distance, boarded the plane with his violin case--
His note quavered again and almost lapsed into an off-key shriek; and the girl in front of him, who apparently hadn't gone away yet, saw her chance, and blurted out, "Is that Debussy?!"
His bow creaked to a very sudden stop, and his eyes went wide.
There was a small pause, and finally, he began tentatively, "You...know that piece?"
The girl made a small sound of assent. "It's like...'Girl with the...Something Hair, right?"
"Flaxen," he answered automatically, then frowned. She seemed to notice. "What?" she asked, and he shook his head quickly.
"Nothing," he answered with a noncommittal grunt, shrugging. "Just not many kids your age know their classical music nowadays, that's all. I was just surprised."
"Well, you're really good," she informed him casually, and he blinked, taken aback, an unwilling smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Plus my grandma plays violin, and she likes this song. Grandpa does too."
"Are you...here to see them?" he asked hesitantly, surprised with his ability to converse with the child--was this almost too easy? He heard a light rustle of hair in front of him, and visualized her shaking her head.
"Not really." He could hear the smile in her voice. "I'm here to volunteer! Daddy said I should, and my grandparents are gonna come hang out, too."
"That's honorable of you," Tsukimori said quietly, finally allowing himself to smile. "There's one honorable kid in this world,"he added in an undertone, and she giggled.
"You're a little weird, sir, not to be rude," she hiccuped, and Tsukimori blinked again, once more surprised by the child's ability to say what was on her mind. "But I like you."
Warmth bubbled inside him from somewhere around his chest and shot in waves to his fingertips. "You're not so bad yourself."
"Chie!"
Len froze.
"Grandpa!" the girl sang, and he heard a voice--presumably her grandfather's--chuckle lightly.
"Have you finished opening your presents already?" he asked gently, and in the armchair, Tsukimori flinched and shifted, turning his face to the window he could not see. Yes, the voice had aged--but somehow, underneath the wear and tear of so many years, it was still recognizable.
The girl's tone grew guilty. "Sorry, Grandpa, I just heard the most amazing music," she giggled, and Tsukimori fought the blush spreading across his face. "It was Debussy, just like Grandma plays! It was beautiful, too..." Her grandfather fell silent; Tsukimori simply waited.
There was a pause; then, "Chie-chan, why don't you go finish your presents? I'll be right with you."
The girl's face fell--Len figured, anyway--but brightened almost immediately. "All right!" she chirped, bounding forward and giving Tsukimori's hand a squeeze. "Merry Christmas, Mister Man!" And she flounced away.
There were a few moments of silence. Then, the grandfather spoke, his voice wry.
"You look like shit, old man."
"I wish I could return the compliment," Tsukimori replied sourly. "Rest assured, however, that my mental image of you is just as shitty as it ever was."
Tsuchiura laughed. "Should've known you'd turn out to be one of those crabby old geezers who spreads their misery like the swine flu. What happened to your fantastic career in Vienna? Weren't you a star or something?"
"I went blind," Tsukimori snapped. Tsuchiura went quiet; he went on. "So, what? Here to say 'I told you so'?"
Tsuchiura 'hmm'ed, a frown in his voice. "What?"
"You married Hino, right." It wasn't a question.
There was a long silence; Len slumped a little in his chair, and sighed before looking out the window again.
After a few more moments of pause, he asked softly, "Do you love her?"
"Yes." There was no hesitation.
Len rested his forehead in his palm, massaged his temples. "And she loves you."
"Yeah." Tsuchiura, sighed, running a hand through his hair, though Tsukimori couldn't see. "To be fair, though," he added after a moment's hesitation, and Tsukimori perked up against his will, "she loved you, too."
Silence.
"Me?" Len asked softly, hesitantly, so quietly that Tsuchiura had to strain to hear; the sigh he heard confirmed it.
Len leaned back against the seat, exhaling for a long time, before his lips turned upwards into a smile, the first real smile since he'd begun to lose his eyesight. "Thanks, Tsuchiura."
Tsuchiura laid a hand briefly on his shoulder. "Whatever." There was definitely a smile there, though. "Merry Christmas, old man."
A few hours later, the young woman at the desk noticed a flash of blue in the corner of her eye; turning, she saw Tsukimori-san, nodding off in the cushioned armchair by the window, his violin cradled in his lap like a treasured child, and despite herself, she smiled. She was still smiling as she made her way over with a tray of cookies, tapped him on the shoulder, and asked softly, "You know, there are still some cookies left over, if you want some, Tsukimori-san."
.
"...Tsukimori-san?"
.
Winters in Vienna were even more beautiful knowing someone loved you.
xxx
Make of the ending what you will? :D
Happy belated holidays from Talbot-Stark, and a happy belated new year at that.
My new years' resolution is to review more. What's yours? *winkwink*