love may be the end of us
but why should we fear?
because with all the wondering
i'm weightless here in my dream
..suddenly it all goes dark
[weightless by courtney jones]
—
He's never been second best in his life. Never. His ambition and talent was enough for his grandmother to force him back, never to overshadow his older brothers. It was quite unfortunate, but still, outside of his family's influence, outside of actually not wanting to outdo them—never second best.
This is not a competition, but if it were, he knows he can't compare, not by the way the golden eyes linger in the corners and the sadness that echoes in each gesture when the violin prodigy is mentioned. He's not her first choice—he's just the second, a friend who was conveniently standing there, and who had always made it clear he would welcome her with open arms.
There is no similitude between them; in fact, Azuma knows he's as diametrically opposed to Tsukimori Len as it's humanely possible, but he finds comfort in this, at least. That way, he knows he's been chosen—still second, always second—for himself, not for a faint resemblance that would inevitably drive him insane after a while.
She sleeps next to him (his wife, his wife!), tired and mourning, always mourning. Some days, Azuma tries to remember a time when Kahoko hadn't been mourning, when her laughter was real and infectious and the touch of affection was genuine. But those days seem so long ago, starting the night Tsukimori left her for Vienna, and then continuing through that strange chain of situations that slowly left her broken and hollow.
He wonders, sometimes, how everything could have been without him. Would her violin sing the way it does, with its cutting voice that slashes its way into his heart? Would her music still possess him, the most haunting and rawest of sounds known to the human soul? It's selfish to want it, to wish so fervently for something so mean—but Azuma is just human, despite it all, and no matter how many sparkles he has around his head, he can see clearly: he's just second best.
One day, when the mourning has come to pass and there's real emotion behind her eyes again, he's going to ask her the questions he never dared to voice; wonder out loud about the what-ifs and see with pride that he's the only one. One day he won't be second best, but until then, he'll keep his temper and his own sorrows to himself, being the unending source of patience and strength to keep Kahoko going on another day.
—