Summary: Neptune and Sun play music together and enjoy each other's company. My submission for the /r/RWBY Monthly Fanfiction contest.
Musica in Bagno
RWBY
Once again Neptune Vasilias awakes to the morning bell, shirtless with a hardened bugle in hand, beside his best friend Sun Wukong after a sweaty night playing symphony's that reached heaven's ear.
The bathroom stall is a tight fit.
Nothing strange. Simply music.
Between the tedious classes and strenuous trainings and arduous missions, there is little rest in between for those who follow a hunter's life. The path is not meant for the meek and narrow - Beacon culls such frivolous romantics who lack either the skill or insanity to undertake such harshness and mete out in return. Brutality is not uncommon and apathy is the norm.
Obedience to your King. Submission to His laws. Death to the Grimm.
So simple… and yet…
Yet…
It lacks a certain elegance found in a trumpet.
Wukong had been playing since he was six. Neptune had his bugle since thirteen. They were both bad. Their first time playing together is in an abandoned restroom in another forgotten wing of Beacon.
Intense. Passionate. Wild.
They say the first time one plays music with another, the world becomes smaller. Everything becomes brighter. Lights, sounds… every sensation is magnified - as if your eyes are binoculars and your nose covers the whole of a room.
Pounding on the stall walls. Flesh wildly slapping against metal. Grinding grit and tense sinew grips the elongated shafts. Neptune pumps. Sun reaches around and pulls.
Life ends that night when they exit the stall.
Messy.
Flushed red cheeks.
Awkward glances and a reassuring smile.
"Hey," Neptune initiates. Words form in his thoughts. They never leave his lips.
He realizes he has Sun's trumpet in his hand. He hands it back quickly. Sun accepts and returns Neptune's bugle. The bugle is quickly tucked away into Neptune's pants. Their scent lingers on each other. The cramped stall had caused their bodies to grind and form rashes.
Nobody will notice.
Hopefully.
And so they leave the stall. They return to their life as Huntsmen.
Huntsmen live in the greatest irony of them all: trained to achieve a victory for a peace they know they will never be part of.
That's madness, Neptune and Sun think as they walk through the deserted night halls. They never admit it to each other, but they know it's madness.
Compassion and creativity are things worth living for. They are things worth dying for.
Music is a thing worth passing from one friend to another.
Love is the gift, music is the bow.
Death is undone the next night in the restroom stall.
The first night they play a cheesy rendition of Sicilienne.
The second night is blues.
Then they play rock, then heavy metal, and even dub-step.
Good or bad, they play. Huntsmen in body, but musicians in heart - perhaps these two fated companions are born in the wrong era? Perfect souls out of place, out of dimension.
Maybe they seek a freedom Remnant could never offer.
Time passes.
It's the little things.
Touches on the thigh.
Slaps on the rear.
A wink. A smile. A grin so wide it drives men wild.
Their little signals. Their little secret. The message is all the same:
See you tonight.
"I think I have an itch," Sun says one day, scratching his nethers. He has half the stool, and Neptune the other. "I might have caught something."
"Caught something? Like… what? From who? Wait- are you saying it's from me?"
Neptune becomes defensive. His tone quivers. Accusations are not taken lightly.
"I'm not saying it's from you," Sun says. "But… you haven't been close to anyone else, have you?"
"No."
"What about you and Weiss? You two seem to be hitting it off well."
Neptune stands up. The stall opens. Light shines on the two sinners.
"What she and I are… it's none of your business."
Sun is left alone, holding his trumpet. The golden shaft is tenderly stroked - it's not the same playing the fiddle alone.
Sun sighs.
He needs his release. He needs that euphoria. He spits in his hand and plays over his porcelain throne, thinking of Vacuo.
It's just not the same alone.
Sun is depressed.
Days pass. He's alone now. Neptune is around here and there. Always with Weiss.
The trumpet goes unkissed for a week.
"Whatever! I can do it by myself!" Sun curses and grits his teeth. "I mean, I used to play with myself all the time before! Man, who needs Neptune… jeez."
Opening the room to his dorm, the grip on his trumpet loosens.
Neptune and Weiss are on Neptune's bed.
Neptune has unleashed the greatness of his girth-bugle. Golden-bronze for heaven and earth to see. Splendorous, large and erect. Neptune's soul courses through it, like heated blood rushing to the peripherals of one's body. It poises for Weiss.
Weiss has a metal triangle and a metal beater.
Diiing.
"Hey Neptune, am I doing this right? It's my first time and I have no idea what I'm doing."
Sun's mouth moves. Thoughts form in his head. They explode.
"You bastard!" Tears form in Sun's eyes. The grip on his trumpet hardens. He's angry. He's caught an affair. Madness. All madness. Huntsmen do not know peace. Huntsmen will never know peace.
Neptune's eyes widen.
"Sun! Wait, I can explain!"
Too late. Far too late.
Sun runs.
Sun's hurt.
Neptune follows.
"Okay…"
Weiss is alone.
Ding.
Weiss is alone with a metal triangle and a metal beater.
"Hehe. This is kind of fun."
Weiss is alone with a metal triangle and a metal beater and continues to play by herself.
Ding. Ding. Ding.
Sun runs.
He continues to run.
Faunus blood, faunus speed - Sun continues to run. He runs to the only place he can go. The place where he and Neptune coupled for the first time.
The smelly stall in a forgotten wing of Beacon.
Sun sits on the toilet. He weeps.
Neptune arrives.
"I knew you'd be here."
"Figures," Sun mutters. "You know everything about me don't you?"
"Hey… look, Sun…"
"You're tired of me, aren't you? Anybody else will be good enough for you, right? Right? RIGHT!?"
Sun shouts. Nobody hears.
Nobody but Neptune.
"I…" Neptune begins.
"Play with me."
"What?"
Sun's face stiffens. "Play with me one last time…"
"Sun…"
"Play with me one last time… the absolute last time…" It's a quiet resolution. Sun picks his trumpet. He strokes it gently and waits for Neptune to approach.
Neptune's frozen.
"Look," Sun pleads. "Are you going to leave me hanging or what?"
They both need the euphoria. They need it like a drug.
They need each other like sanity needs a dash of madness.
Destructive.
Catastrophic.
Explosive.
And it's over. Their instruments are limp and quiet.
Sun buttons up his shirt.
"Let's never play again," he says. He walks out. He doesn't look back.
It's a terrible day for rain.
Compassion and creativity are things worth living for. They are things worth dying for.
Music is a thing worth passing from one friend to another.
Neptune sits on the toilet.
He's alone.
All the symphonies and the orchestras in Remnant couldn't replace his Sun.
Musica in Bagno Fin
Author's Notes: Please vote for me.
Editor's Notes: Aaaaaaaand we're back. Kinda. A little. Maybe?