Con Amore

'Cloe really likes this piece,'

It didn't show, but he was forcing his will to let him perform. His form was stiff, but it was invisible to the crowd before him.

'Cloe really likes Michel's performance!'

He was sure that his audience did so as well; he can feel that in the back of his mind, a subconscious thought. It wasn't the same- it didn't give him the same odd sense of satisfaction, and it didn't make his heart swell with pride and relief. Al he could feel from his crowd was the critical fulfillment that made him feel as if he had just passed a periodical exam.

'Cloe has always, always wanted to hear this,'

He lets his eyes flutter open for a tiny bit, and he found that his concentrated frown was still on his face, and his brother's stare was piercing through him. Pierre was concerned, duly noted, but he doesn't need to be.

He doesn't need to be concerned over nothing.

'Ah ha, Ever since Michel's performance, Cloe feels fuzzy on the inside- a warm kind of feeling!'

Was she really nothing, though?

His frown deepens, and he furiously answers- no, she was not 'nothing'!

Cloe was everything.

He heard his notes grow a tiny bit forced, but he was quick to catch himself.

'La la la la, la la, la la la la, la la…'

The piece ends with one final, solemn note, and he lets his eyes close as he hears the crowd applaud his performance. He takes a bow, letting his pursed lips hide behind his golden bangs. These weren't the claps that he had wanted to hear- he wanted to hear her claps, and her heartfelt words, and to see her sweet smile.

It was childish, he thought. She won't come back and smile at him, and compliment him for a job well done, but the hopeless 'maybe' inside of him tried to tell him otherwise. He can't let go, and he doesn't want to. That was the simple truth that he had held inside of him since that day.

As the curtain fell, he tried to remind himself that she was gone, but to no avail.

~Con*Amore~

Within the walls of their humble home, Michel felt at ease. In here, there was no work, no pesky fans would come from where they were located, and best of all, there was no father there to make him and Pierre feel used.

Ever since Michel had returned to his house, his father had been furious- more so than Michel could have expected from such a laid-back person. But he hadn't expected to be disowned either- when the older man had thrown the papers in front of his and his brother's faces, they were honestly surprised. To this day, Michel had still felt remorseful, for he had dragged his brother into this mess that he had created. Pierre assures him that it was fine, but he doesn't buy it.

Although- if he had thought about it- both him and Pierre were better off without that man, because they no longer have the need to feel used, and the man would no longer have any means of making money. Serves him right, Michel had remarked that day. Pierre had found out about his father's ulterior motives, and (albeit he hadn't taken it well) he found it just to move on and forget.

The first years had been rough- for they were but 12-year old children on the streets of Paris. They could not be employed as of yet, and so they have resorted to performing on the streets, and passerby's would give them content looks and if they were lucky, a few Francs. The next year had finally come, and they settled for working at the local market. It was at this point that Michel understood the difficulty of hard work, as well as the rewards that came with it.

Soon enough they had both afforded an apartment, and from there Pierre had started arranging concerts for Michel. Michel, although frustrated that now he has to hone his skills, did so every day with vigor. He still loathed the idea of practicing, but he also understands that both he and his brother needed it to be able to stay alive, pay the rent, and have food set on their table.

As he walks inside their humble apartment, he finds Pierre on the table, arranging papers. His brother perks up, and turns to greet him.

"Welcome back," he says with a smile. Michel gave him a small smile of his own.

"Good to be back," He said, taking off his coat and placing it on a rack. He lays down his violin case on the table next to the door, and he sighs. "Today was tiring…"

Pierre chuckles, and turns back to his papers. "Some things never change for you huh?"

Michel laughs dryly. "I'll just be a moment. I need to practice soon." He said, and was about to turn around to go into his room when he heard his brother speak again.

"…Michel."

His brother's voice was tender, but behind it was the long-held concern that Michel had long since recognized. Michel didn't let himself be fazed by his brother's tone, but he turned around to face him.

"What do you need, Pierre?" Looking at Pierre felt like looking into a mirror- for they were each other's spitting image, save for a few minor differences. But Pierre was pure and his hands were not stained with the ugly blood that Michel had on his own. Michel's were soaked in them- the blood of his curse, like a dark cloud looming over him every day as if to remind him of what he has done long ago.

The look in Pierre's eyes was soft, he noticed; as if he knew what Michel was going through.

(But he didn't. You had to be there to know how he truly felt.)

"Is there something bothering you?"

'Yes. Every single day of the damn year, she's not there to lift my spirits.'

This attachment of his was getting bothersome- sweet, but bothersome. Under normal circumstances, he figured that he would have forgotten about her- just a simple meeting from one of his concerts, a simple wallflower amongst the many other people that had come to see him perform.

She hadn't been with him for a night, but in that place, it felt like he had been trapped there for months. She was like a spark that went as fast as she came, and was put out when they finally got to see the dawn once again.

Michel shook his head, and snorted. No use in telling his brother. "No, of course not, why would you think that, Pierre?"

With that, his younger twin shrugged. "You've been gloomier than usual. You're actually making me worried…"

Michel couldn't say he was surprised- it's already been years, but try as he might he couldn't help but feel sorrowful. It was because every day, he picks up his violin, and every note that he played on that thing reminded him of her.

He wants to be in peace, but he can't. How can he, when he was a man with a curse placed upon him?

But he doesn't let his stoic façade fall, and refuses to do so in front of Pierre. They were on their own, and he had to show his own brand of strength so they could survive in this accursed world.

He turns away from his brother's stare. "Don't you have some paperwork that you need to do?"

Pierre sheepishly scratches the back of his head. "Well, about that, I finished all of them a while ago so…"

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Michel places his hands on his hips."You're sixteen years old, Pierre. You shouldn't be overworking yourself at this age."

It was now Pierre's turn to let out a sigh. "You're the same. Besides, I can't imagine you doing paperwork." He said, the papers left on the table forgotten.

"I already told you that I can help. You just never let me."

Pierre shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and tears his eyes away from his brother. "Oh come on Michel, we've been through this already…"

After all these years, Pierre had still rejected any sort of help that Michel would offer him, as there was just more to Michel's actions than meets the eye. Growing up, he learned to be wary of his older twin- a trait which Michel had despised but understood as well. He had done one too many unforgivable things- from maiming his father to accidentally killing two of his maids. Careful was one of Pierre's best defining traits, and Michel was almost grateful for it.

(Because he was a loose cannon, and both of them knew it.)

Giving out, Michel pinched the bridge of his nose. "Oh fine. You can do the paperwork alone then, as you wish."

Pierre nods solemnly. "That I will…"

Forgetting his earlier fatigue, Michel picks up his discarded coat and violin case. "I'm going to practice now." And with no more words to say to his younger twin, Michel walked out of the door before Pierre could ask him where he would do so.

~Con*Amore~

It's been too long since he's set foot in that place.

Yet somehow, he managed to find his way through the chambers, the doors, and into the back gardens- it was like the structure of the old mansion was etched into his mind. Did it know that he was going to come back here one day? It was a silly notion, he knew, because he knew better than to force himself into more hurt.

For some reason though, today (tonight), his mind had told him to go back into the secluded mansion in the middle of the forest. Whether it was a subconscious desire for a twisted comfort, or just plain longing, his feet had guided him towards the one place he did not want to go to.

Clutching the violin case close to his chest, he sighed. Truly, he had intended to practice, but the usual back rooms and quiet clearings didn't seem enough for him. Today (and he swore that it was only for today), he found solace in the walled garden of the Ardennes mansion.

Maybe it was just the hopeless desire of wanting to see her. He still wishes that she would be there when he steps out of the basement, waiting for him by the grand piano and smiling. He knows that the pain would hit all too hard, but for once he allows himself to dream.

He felt the cold evening air hit his lanky frame when he arrived at the enclosed garden, along with an emptiness he hoped he would not find. The grand piano still stood in the middle, intact and resting among the overgrown rose bushes, and he tries his hardest not to break down and cry.

The flower beds were full with the scent of lilies, and he can't help but be reminded of how pleasing she had smelled when she kissed him.

Breathing deeply, he sets his violin case down on the worn mahogany table. The piano sheets were still there, yellowed with age and covered in dust. Carefully, he picks them up, and studied the faded notes. Moonlight sonata stood proudly amongst them, with Träumerei softly following behind it. Caprice no. 24 was next, with its notes high-pitched and energetic, and finally the sentimental Nocturne no. 20.

He lets a smile grace his lips, recalling the last performance that he had with her. It was there, fresh in his mind and memory.

Was she happy up there, he wondered. Is she resting peacefully? Is she watching him right now, or has she always been watching? Does she miss him?

Does she still love him?

He breathed a sigh, and directed his attention to the endless sky above him. He was greeted by the goodbye of the twilight, and the sky was painted with a palette of lilac and lavender. Soon enough, the stars would dance joyously, gracing the night sky with their ancient ensemble.

Somewhere up there, he knew, was Cloe.

Suddenly, he heard the soft twinkling of a bell. Startled, he turns around, and he saw a familiar black cat. His blue eyes widened with shock.

"…Noir…?"

The cat gave him a happy meow of greeting, and immediately started rubbing itself against Michel's legs. Michel allowed his smile to grow as he leaned down to the cat's level, and started petting it. Noir purred in content.

"I missed you as well, Noir."

He then notices that the black cat had grown significantly since he had last seen it. Noir's hair was longer, and unkempt from years of being alone.

(But was she really alone here, or was she not?)

Noir's violet eyes remained vibrant and lively, however. Full of emotion, they shone with a happy resolve. The bell around its neck was still polished as if it had just been bought.

The tears almost reached his eyes. Noir reminded him too much of her owner- sweet, timid Cloe. He blinks, and scolds himself for thinking such a thing, because Cloe was her own person; not a cat, or any other sort of thing. Cloe was Cloe, and he vowed to see her as such.

"Cloe…" he muttered, letting go of Noir's head for a moment and running a hand through his hair.

For a moment, he swore that he heard her, singing to the evening sky. And in an instant his mind was filled with thoughts of her. He remembers her long, raven-black hair and how soft it felt when he pats her head. Her empty violet eyes that he's imagined to have shone so brightly once upon a time and the way they twinkled when she bid him goodbye. Her hands and how they seemed to fly across the piano when they performed, and how perfectly they fit in his.

And her smile, it wasn't the kind of contented smile that would show up on the crowd's faces when he performs for the masses. And it wasn't the kind of smile that Pierre would give him, would give everyone. No- it was a smile that was reserved just for him, a smile that he misses so dearly.

He felt a nudge on his side, and he saw Noir holding a stack of music sheets on her mouth. He hadn't noticed that Noir had gone on her own- confused, he took the music sheets, and Noir gave an encouraging meow.

He glanced at the title, and he felt a tear roll down his cheek.

Nodding to Noir, he stood up and took out his violin. Noir climbed up to the piano and laid herself down on the sleek instrument to watch the teenager start the performance.

'Cloe's Requiem' was printed onto the top of the yellow faded papers. Noir's tail swayed quietly from right to left as she listened to Michel play the melancholy tune.

The curse of the mansion was long gone, and now Cloe rests in peace. A bittersweet ending to Michel's midnight tale, it had seemed. But it wasn't so for Michel himself, because she had left him with questions unanswered and his heart heavy with hurt every time she came into his mind.

Today, he lets himself go. Here, in this very mansion where she was laid to rest. Michel was not one to forget, despite wanting to force himself to. It was desperation, so he always stops himself before he could do so. Tonight, where the only witnesses to his painful resolve were a black cat and the deity in the heavens above him, he would be free to mourn.

(And briefly he wonders if she would be listening to this hopeless plight.)

The notes flew from the strings of his instrument, and he lets them disappear into the night sky in hopes that she could hear him. All of his sorrows, his pain, and his hurting would be made known.

Soon enough he can only feel the emotions that within the sonata- he paid no mind to the tears cascading down his pale cheeks, or the soft purring of the black cat watching him, or even the wind that carried the song.

It was a prayer- a prayer for the one he hoped was listening. A prayer, one that hoped that she was happy and free, because her smile was the most beautiful thing he had seen and he hopes that she is smiling down on him right now. He'll never see it again, and so he wishes that she never has to make a sad-looking face ever again.

The piece ends with one last stroke of the strings, and he sighs. Gently, he wipes the tears from his ice-blue eyes, a sad frown upon his face. At that moment, Michel was grateful that he could not see himself, for he was sure that he had looked pitiful.

"…Why is Michel making a sad face?"

His eyes snap open. It couldn't be...

He feels a soft tap on his shoulder. When he turned around, he almost bursts into tears when he saw a smile he had wanted to see for the longest time.

"C-Cloe…!" Michel couldn't contain himself, and he quickly wraps his arms around her. His tears couldn't stop flowing, and he can feel her whispering soothing words into his ear.

"H-how did you…" Michel manages to choke out. Cloe simply tilts her head.

"Cloe heard Michel's wonderful performance! And so Cloe couldn't help but listen…" She trails off, and gently wipes away Michel's tears with her hands. They had felt so real, so solid, that Michel almost thought that Cloe was alive once again.

"Please don't cry Michel. Cloe doesn't like it when Michel is sad, because Cloe will feel sad too. A smile suits you better!" Cloe tells him, with her hands still on the sides of his face. Michel gently places his own hands on hers.

"You're right, I'm sorry…" He said, looking into her eyes. They were full of life, something that he never thought he'd see again so soon. He can feel the joy and the love that she was radiating, and he feels so happy that he is able to bask in it once more.

'Can't it just stay like this forever?' Was what he wanted to say, but he knew better. It was a sad truth, and he felt it wrong to be so selfish as to keep her when she has finally found solace.

"Michel?" Her timid voice snaps him out of his brief reverie.

"Yes?" She leans her head onto his chest, and hugs him tighter. Carefully, he rests his head on top of hers, as if she would disappear if he makes the wrong move. He feels her tears soaking his jacket, but he doesn't care, because through this he knows that this is real and he is not in a mere dream.

"Cloe missed you so much."

Michel, despite feeling the need to break down and cry again, smiled.

"I missed you as well."

~Con*Amore~

The first light of the morning kisses the land it touches, greeting it warmly through the cloudy sky. The sun could still barely be seen from the distance, hiding from the rest of France from behind the hilltops, but still its rays escaped it and the cold morning wind accompanied it.

From deep within the forest, you could see a mansion, and from within that mansion, a garden in all of its unkempt beauty. The faint purring of a cat echoes throughout the empty building.

On a table surrounded by rosemary bushes and Gourdon flowers, were a stack of music sheets. Written at the top in black ink and a bold cursive, were the words 'Con Amore'. Beside that was a short, almost unnoticeable message.

'Nous nous reverrons, Cloe.'

~End~

Author's Note: Holy geez. I'm sorry that I didn't finish this earlier. I'm not satisfied with the ending though! I mean, it was really hard trying to come up with an ending at all, like, should I make them kiss or…?

Well, maybe I'll try with Mad Father next. I'm not too proud with this… I'm just really glad that I finished. I wish I knew about the actual Con Amore sequel though… I don't think it has an English translation yet. If it does I'd really like to know…

Thanks you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed.

Disclaimer: I do not own Cloe's Amore, or anything in it.