He hides behind music because he knows that without it, he'll be left bare to the world. And the thought terrifies him. The soft chords tell a story that only he understands. Each note is a cry sent out into the world, each break an endless eternity spent in wait for a reply.

When the first string snaps, he stands surprised. Not from the sting of the hit, but from the shock of watching as a crack forms in the shield. A new string fixes the violin, but it cannot fix the crack.

His family had let him be. His quietness was an asset. It won them partners, mergers, projects. It left opponents fearful and scrambling. It had helped make him into one of the most wanted heirs. Only Shizuka had seen what it was doing to him and had struggled to keep him from crossing the ever blurring line. She had been the only thing he had let behind the shield and she created the second crack, from the inside, when she left for Paris.

When he met Tsukushi, he was shocked to see how easily she crossed from one side to the other. She had come through the cracks before he could stop her and he was helpless as he watched her slowly take apart his shield bit by bit. She was the one who understood the stories he played, something even Shizuka had failed to do. She was the one who replied by always being there for him and knowing what to say, even if she herself didn't realize it.

When he plays music now, it tells a different story. It's still as bitter as before, but now, there's a hint of sweetness mixed in, as he remembers how important Tsukushi is, and how she's not his. The chords are now an attempt to fix the cracks and holes that Shizuka and Tsukushi had put into his shield. And each break a reminder of just how fragile his fixes are, how Shizuka's image can make it all shake, and how Tsukushi's smile can shatter all his work as easily as if it was never there.

As he withdraws further inward, the company flourishes under his sharp eyed guidance, in a ruse to save himself. He's beginning to slowly stop playing, and the company is starting to replace what music was. He had never cared before, not truly at least. But now, it's become his lifeline, his only method of coping. Because he's still as terrified of the world. One day, he tells himself, it will all change and the world will be what trembles under him. But he wonders if that day will ever come, as he stares at his violin, slowly collecting dust in a corner.

When he meets her again, he hasn't played in years. But something forces him to pick up the violin, to clean off the years of dust and memories, and to try it again. When a string breaks, he can feel the crack form, and he, again, stands surprised. But not because of the crack, but because he finds himself not minding. A string fixes his violin as always, but the crack remains, a glaring reminder of what he's risking facing. And he continues to play, ignoring breaking string after breaking string. Ignoring as the shield starts to fall around him, because she's there, because she's always been there, and she always will be.

He no longer hides behind music, because he knows that without it, he can still face the world. And the thought no longer terrifies him. The soft chords tell a story that only they understand. Each note a cry to each other, each break a soothing reply.