Word Count: 12,470


M stands before her dorm room door, contemplating whether or not she should enter or not. It's not as though there's crying coming from the other side. By all means, she should absolutely walk through the door and crash on her bed by the window.

But something stops her from doing so.

So while her brain begs her to go to sleep— she has a meeting first thing tomorrow for goodness' sake!— her heart sings its thanks for turning heel, and she closes her eyes to allow her soul to guide her through the dark.

She winds up before the same slightly ajar door of the coffee buzz night, and, lo and behold, it's yet again slightly ajar. Holding her breath (in case whatever played the discordant music was playing again and didn't want her there) and hoping to hear something beautiful again, she tiptoes into the building.

There is only silence. She plods softly through the hall, creeping carefully towards the stairwell at the end of the hall, listening intently for any little noise.

She reaches the stairs, and there is still nothing. Carefully, she smooths out her skirt and sits down on one of the bottom stairs, waiting, waiting for the music to come.

The hall is dark, and she can hardly see her own hand centimeters away from her face at first. But time creeps by, and her eyes gradually adjust. She can nearly make out what the sign above the door next to her says. Nearly.

Moonbeams creep through the window, setting the floor alight. She blinks, squinting at the sudden brightness, but her eyes soon adjust. She looks back at the sign above the neighboring door and, unsurprisingly, finds she can read it.

Practice Room #6

Is she in the music building? She's surprised she hadn't yet realized such a thing. It was piano music she heard that night. Rather hard to tote a piano from building to building to practice.

It's now that she finally begins to hear music again, but it's a far cry from what played the last time she had been here. It's soft, gentle, so delicate it seems if she even breathes too hard, it would be destroyed. It tugs at her eyelids, making them grow heavy with sleep. Her brain fights it valiantly, knowing if she falls asleep now she shan't be able to make it back to her dorm before morning, and, oh, how on earth would she be able to explain this late night tryst to Tsubaki? But without her heart, already fast asleep, it's all for naught.

Her soul merely takes it in. It doesn't fill the same hole she realizes aches to be filled, nor does it spark the yearning the music from the other night had. It's pretty music, but not what she needs.

Still fighting sleep, she asks her soul what it wants, how it can be complete again.

There is no reply. She finds herself leaning against the stairwell wall, her eyes shutting of their own accord. Again, she feels the ache in her soul that longs to be filled, and again, she begs her soul to tell her what it is.

Soft the drowsy hours are creeping; hill and vale are slumber sleeping. All the world is asleep. So should she. The melody washes over her, soft, gentle, and familiar in a way that is not the same as the original piece she heard. Her soul does not speak, refusing to give voice to the longing for the longing for the mystery.

She gives in to her heart's desires, and there on the stairwell she falls asleep, listening to the lullaby of the discordant pianist.


He allows the final note of the piece to dissipate into the air, not wanting to cut it short by lifting the damper pedal and rob it of its youth. He stares at the blank wall beyond the piano. It's as immaculate as ever, and something terrible within him wishes to mar the perfect blankness that is the wall. He's tired of staring down an ideal he'll never achieve.

He sighs and puts the lid over the keys again, lazily propping his chin up on his elbow when it's down. He remembers so much of a life gone by, more than anyone in this simple afterlife would had they not found their partners, yet all of them are still but fleeting fragments, disconnected from one another yet still all very much parts of himself.

The piano, for example. He hates it. He hates it, he hates it, he hates it.

Yet still, he plays on.

Muscle memory? Perhaps.

But perhaps more because it fills a hole in his soul just a little. A hole he feels has no bottom, out of which loneliness crawls from its depths, eating him alive, swallowing him whole.

He scowls, pushing thoughts of his soul being long gone. They remain in the back of his mind, of course, but when there's an entire battalion of people insisting it to be gone, or corrupted, or even flat-out evil, such a thing remains inevitable.

He rises from the piano bench and noiselessly steps out of the practice room. He knows there's someone outside, listening to him. Waiting for him to play for her. That's why he didn't work on the piece that his soul truly sang. She has no right to be looking for or listening to such a part of himself. No one can bear to hear the rawness of that piece and continue on without hating or fearing him.

He bares his teeth slightly. Perhaps he'll scare her away with just a glance, and then she'll leave him in peaceful solitude for the rest of the night. But his gaze softens when he actually sees her, sound asleep on the stairs.

He scoffs aloud (but not too loudly). What an idiot.


She swears she fell asleep on the stairs the night before. She knows she did. But the soft blankets nested around her as she lies on the bed beg to differ.

M blinks the sleep slowly out of her eyes. The early morning sun greets her quiet dorm, devoid of all noise but her roommate's soft snores.

The door abruptly opens, and, stifling a shriek of surprise, M sees a rather sullen looking Anya poking her head in.

"Wake-up call," she tells M, completely deadpan. "Just for you, though. Liz says if Tsu's not feeling up to attending the meeting she doesn't have to go."

"Right," M replies, jumping out of bed. "Thank you." Anya politely closes the door so that she may change in privacy, and it's not two minutes later before M is out the door, on her way to HQ and pulling her unkempt hair into her regular twin tails. Anya has already left her behind, but she doesn't really care.

She rubs her temples. She had a dream the night before. Not a nightmare, as she notes many of the other Battalion members are prone to. A dream. But already, the details have escaped; its plot, if any, long since fled from her head.

Ah, well. No matter.

The lights dim the instant she walks into the office. "Good, you're here," Kid grunts as the projector screen comes down behind him. "Now we can begin the briefing."


In the end, she's not even picked for the operation. By all means, it should have made her fume, (She's more than competent enough to go out on an operation that didn't involve stealing lunch tickets!) but it was more of a relief than anything. She didn't listen one bit during the briefing, so she had no idea how to perform her part had she been chosen. Her thoughts are too preoccupied with the music of the dream she had the night prior, the only bit that stayed with her through it all and she therefore clings to.

She gazes out a classroom window. Why did she even bother to come to class when it was never even in her plan to even pay attention? The same brooding, daydreamy effect can be achieved just by leaning against a balcony rail or whatever. The classroom is ornamental, really.

The flash of white outside catches her attention, however. Her dreamy expression falls away for just a second, replaced by one of surprise. Yet, she sees it again. Knowing it can only belong to the Demon Scythe, she books it, regardless of the teacher yelling after her.

No one ever chases after the Battalion members, and this time is no exception. She's out of the building and on the track in a heartbeat, scanning the area for the Scythe when her heart skips a beat.

What am I doing?

What the Demon Scythe did in his own time is none of any of their concerns, as long as it didn't involve them. So dashing around campus? None of her business.

She looks down at her feet and notices a corner of something that must have been white at some point beneath her shoe. She shifts her feet and picks up the slip of paper.

The back is blank, but the front practically gives her a heart attack.

Coffee, black. ¥350.

And, in a nearly illegible scrawl in a bit of free space—

Enjoy your jitters.

Her mind can't formulate words at the moment, but it sure can rattle off punctuation: ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?

She looks around, desperate for an explanation. Was the blur of white she saw through the classroom simply the lunch ticket blowing through on a particularly strong gust of wind? It had to be; she had to have come up with the idea the Demon Scythe was running around on the whim that no one had seen him lately. She's becoming paranoid, because the only other explanation she can currently think of aside from that is that it's a g—

She shakes her head. She'd seen him in action plenty of times during their weekly Operation Kishins. He is firmly and decidedly against the Battalion. Which is good because they're not called the Anti-Demon Scythe Battalion for nothing. The idea that he's—

M slaps her own cheek, hard, to stop herself from entertaining such ridiculous thoughts. Where are they even coming from? Hah, if she didn't know herself she'd think she's—

"No," she says aloud. She looks at the now-crumpled ticket in her hand. She doesn't even like coffee this black. Not that he'd know. Not that it matters if he knows or not.

She slaps herself again, harder. Practically growling, she pockets the ticket anyway and storms off to the building she had previously only visited at night, hoping the discordant pianist could distract her, if they were there.

But she finds the door that is usually ajar to be closed and locked up tight. But why? If anything, it should be locked in the dead of night when no one is supposed to be on campus aside from the dorms, not on a regular school day during class hours!

She stares balefully up at one of the second-story windows, all of them closed. She doesn't know what she wants from them. (She actually does know.) It's not like one of them will open up to let the fresh air in and some piano music out. (Though she does rather hope.)

Nothing happens, and try as she might, the thoughts keep creeping into her mind, thoughts unbidden, thoughts forbidden to the owner.

With a scowl, she turns heel and practically storms away from the building.


She's not sure who she can talk to at the moment. Tsu has yet to even leave their room for the day, Liz is out with the Operation squad, and she doesn't trust any of the boys any farther than she can throw them.

She knocks on the door to Kim and Jackie's room.

"Coming~" Kim sings, and sure enough, the door opens.

"Kim, I need someone to talk to." As much as M hates admitting it, as much as she hates seeking out help, hates talking about her problems with other people, she swallows her pride and asks for help.

Kim raises an eyebrow. "What sort of lunch tickets have you got?"

M blinks in surprise. "What?"

The pink-haired girl crosses her arms and shrugs. "Well, you know what they say: if you can do something, never do it for free. You're asking me for a service; I'm asking for a charge. And since money's useless here, lunch tickets will suffice."

This isn't a roadblock M anticipated. She thought that since Kim had shared her previous life with her, nearly cried in front of her, that they're sort of like brethren now.

She must notice the shock in M's face because she drops her arms down to her sides and sighs. "Look, just because I told you about my sob story doesn't mean we're like sisters now. Even then, this is a pretty sister-y thing to do, charge for advice. You either pay me a couple lunch tickets for things I want and spill your guts, or you find someone else to listen to you."

M pokes her head into the room. "Jackie?"

"Sorry, we're a package deal," the guitarist replies indifferently replies as she lies on a bed, lazily flipping through a magazine.

A little reluctantly, M pulls the black coffee ticket out of her pocket and tries to hand the crumpled slip over to Kim. She doesn't like coffee this dark, she reminds herself, it was absolutely terrible the one time she had it. But to her surprise, the witch doesn't even make an effort to take it.

"Black coffee? M, are you insane? No one drinks the school's black coffee! It's infamous for its horribly bitter taste and ability to keep you awake for hours after dark. I need my sweet, sweet beauty sleep. Plus, it's all crumpled and scribbled on. I don't think the machines will be able to read it even if I did like coffee like this."

M pockets her ticket, feeling dejected that her only means of payment failed. She ignores the twinge of relief hidden beneath. "That's all I've got right now."

"Sorry, but I can't help you without some returns."

"I understand."

The door shut in front of her, leaving M to stare at the wood grain in silence.

Silence, that is, until a loud crash! and thump! and perhaps even a cat's mrowl of surprise shocks her out of her daze with a yelp.

It is no cat that's standing before her when she turns around, but rather the same god-complexed boy with the spiky blue hair she last saw comforting a bawling Tsubaki. He absently brushes the wall dust off, hardly noticing her until the dust finally gets to her lungs and she begins to hack and cough.

"Are you okay?" he asks when she's done.

"Yes, I'm just fine and dandy. Almost coughed up a lung there, but it's no big deal," she replies, her voice dry in both the literal and sarcastic sense. She clears her throat and fights the urge to burst into another fit of coughing but still manages to give Black Star a piercing, green glare.

He shrugs, either oblivious to her sarcasm or not caring at all. "Cool; can you help me find Tsubaki? She—"

"She's in our room still. She doesn't seem ready to come out yet, so I'd respect that." She's feeling rather daring now, folding her arms across her chest and looking him in the eye as she speaks as though she were daring him to look down upon her.

"But she said we'd talk." His expression, already a soft neutral, falls. "After it got too late yesterday, she said we'd talk tomorrow. She said that the good partnerships she's seen start with knowing what the other's been through to break down any barriers left between souls."

"Communication is also an important part of any relationship," M reluctantly adds, the fact that Tsu and Star are partners only just now dawning on her. (It slipped her mind that memories return upon proper resonance, okay?)

She is partnerless now, but living without knowing who she used to be doesn't sound bad. Not when it seems like everyone and their mother has a tragic backstory.

She sighs. She still needs someone to talk to, but a distraction is a distraction.

"So… can you take me to her?"

Huh. Maybe there's more to this kid than a loud mouth and a god complex.

She wordlessly gestures for him to follow her and walks him to the dorm she shares with Tsubaki. She even opens the door for him and everything.

"M? Is that you?" Tsu asks, and it actually breaks M's heart a little to hear it. It's muffled by a pillow and raspy, too. The toll of her new memories must be heavy.

Star weasels passed her and steps inside. "It's me."

M pokes her head in just to make sure they're okay.

Tsu's finally sitting up in bed, looking a little worn and ragged, but she gives M a tired smile. "You can come in, too, if you want," she says. "You're looking like you need some chicken soup for the soul."

She swallows. "I—" She's put on the spot; she needs someone to talk to, but this is their time. They're partners now, having time to sort themselves out. She's not part of that.

"If you need to talk, your god is always here to listen."

Both Tsu and M turn their gazes to Black Star, sitting cross-legged on the carpet with his arms crossed and staring a little impatiently at M.

"Followers who don't interact with you are no good, but a god who doesn't listen to his people is no better."

The anger she could have felt at being pulled into this following of his without her consent is overtaken by the relief that she has someone, someone even as new and ridiculous as Black Star, to talk to. Beggars can't be choosers, and this never would have been her first choice to talk about her growing… something for the Demon Scythe that seems to be growing in her lately, but a distraction is a distraction.

She closes the door behind her, plops down on her bed, and snuggles up with her blanket and pillow.


It seems the fleeting fragments of memories Tsubaki had before resonating with Star hold true with the bigger picture. The most prominent memory that she received was, of course, killing her brother. She absorbed his soul, and after a night and morning of organizing her thoughts and memories, she sees why. But seeing why doesn't make it any more justified.

A tsubaki, a camellia, is the scentless flower for which she was named. It's as though she had no willpower of her own in life; she drifted along the stream of life without resistance, always envious of those who tried to fight.

Killing him had been just another job, assigned to her and her partner by Shinigami-sama. She was given the command, she followed through. Then, when it was done, she shut the memory out and compartmentalized like her meister taught her to do, as if he had been just another job. Which he was.

She wishes she hadn't seen things like that.

Black Star tells his tale with a sense of detachment, as if he's severing his current self from the one he was when alive. Perhaps it's because he's already done that by giving himself a new name the second he arrived in the afterlife, refusing to even give what his name in life had been, but it's still disturbing how he so casually describes all the brutal crimes he committed when alive, from petty thieving to flat-out murder.

He was still but an April child, dreaming of June in the spring of his youth, when they came for him and all his clan.

The meisters and weapons of Shinigami-sama himself, that year's graduating class of Shibusen, out doing their final practical exam.

If Tsubaki was a scentless flower in life, he was but a tender young bud, awaiting summer's bloom.

Nipped in the bud, this one, a meister commented when he was left completely at their mercy.

And what a shame, too, their weapon replied. He looks like he could have been one of the greats.

His soul was reaped, and the Hoshizoku were no more.

Shibusen.

Thinking about it, M notices that that school is a single thread weaving all the stories she's heard together. The one thing that unites them, aside from the Demon Scythe, is Shibusen.

She can't say it's unfamiliar on her tongue. Hell, it feels downright familiar, as if she said it a thousand times before.

She wonders if it's the reason they're all here, in this high school purgatory, trapped together fighting a boy who is also a scythe. She frowns. Are they all victims of Shibusen's system? And the Demon Scythe, too; is he but another casualty of the school system?

It's quiet between the three teenagers holed up in a dorm room. Black Star fidgets on the ground, picking at the plastic casing of a mechanical pencil he found underneath a bed; Tsubaki runs her fingers through her hair, brushing, brushing, brushing it despite its lack of tangles; and M is simply curled up on her bed, hugging her knees to her chest as she rocks back and forth.

It's gone on for a while now, much longer than the time between Tsu and Black Star's stories.

"So, M. Do you have anything to say?" Tsu quietly asks at long last. "It really looked like you did when we were settling in."

She stops rocking for a moment and looks up, her expression no longer glassy. She blinks a few times, for it was as though she had forgotten how to think at all in an attempt to process their stories.

She reaches into her pocket, but freezes when she feels the lunch ticket brush up against her fingers, her heart lurching in her chest as she remembers, and the thoughts that plagued her for that short span of time on the field fill her mind once more.

She leaves the ticket in her pocket but sits properly again. Spinning her legs in tiny circles as they hang off the edge of the bed, she says, "I've been having strange thoughts lately."

"…Yes, about?"

"Homicide?"

"The Demon Scythe."

"Black Star!"

"No, Black Star, not homicide," M replies. She takes on a faraway look. "I know Kid always tells us he's our opposition, and I see that, we're against each other, but sometimes… sometimes it doesn't really seem like he's really all that interested in fighting us. I don't know, I just—"

"Woah there," Black Star interrupts. "Please don't tell me you're going to pull a romance novel cliché and tell us he's not a monster, just misunderstood, because that's— that's just eugh." He even shudders in disgust for emphasis.

Her face reddens. (She tells herself it's because she's offended, not embarrassed.) "No!" she yells. "I just think there's more to him than meets the eye."

When she's dished up two servings of blank stares, she heaves an exasperated sigh, wondering, wondering if she trusts them enough to be more specific with her thoughts.

Black Star sticks the pencil up his nose after a moment, and she decides no, she does not.


It's evening, and the coffee's as terrible and bitter as the first cup she had, but damn if it didn't lift her mood. It's long past dusk, or sunset; she's in the twilight zone now.

She holds her coffee close to her chest (as if it'll warm her heart the same way as—) and gazes up at the deep purple sky. The first faint, silver stars are already showing their faces, twinkling and winking down at her from above. It's a very lovely sight, but it also makes her frown. Her city, her city. What happened to her city lights?

She knows it's just a hazy memory nagging at the back of her mind, the only one she really has aside from M, that it has nothing to do with who or where she is now, but it sticks. Especially so since she hasn't yet recovered a single memory since her arrival. Even the song that had been in her mind this morning, even its melody has escapes her now, just a few hours later.

Already, she feels the buzzing energy of caffeine coursing through her veins. Perhaps she would enjoy her jitters, just as he'd wi— Anyway. She wonders if the discordant pianist would return tonight? It's unlikely, she decides, since it was locked earlier. But if she's going to be up all night on a coffee buzz, she might as well check… later. For now, she wants nothing more than to wander campus in the dark, alone with her thoughts.

Despite the later hours, there are still a few classroom lights on, not to mention a great quantity of the dorms do, too. All is quiet, too; it's a Thursday night, after all. Despite it being the afterlife, those NPCs have to get their homework done somehow, and just like real, souled humans, tend to procrastinate until the last minute.

Well, she can hear the distant strums, drums, and hums coming from one of the empty classrooms. Kim and her girls are practicing, as they do every Thursday for their weekly Operation Kishin performances.

M stands under their particular window during a pause. Their music is as wonderful as ever, in her opinion; they've even been talking of performing a new piece tomorrow. But though she can't make out the snippets of conversation that drift down from the open window, she sure can read the tones. They're discordant, bickering, but it's not serious. She takes a tiny sip of coffee, watching their silhouettes move back into position, and they play again.

Had she not already swallowed, she thinks she would have accidentally snorted her coffee because the tone of this new piece is so very different from most of their usual pieces. Their usuals are either high-energy and fast paced with a strong beat, or their opening number, which begins slow and casual, but the beat drops pretty soon into the song.

This piece doesn't even start with the guitar, or the drums, or even some unaccompanied vocals. No, it starts with piano (too simple and delicate to be her discordant piano pl— when had they become her piano player?), there's no percussion bit at all, and the guitar sounds all out of place; really, a more refined string instrument would fit a lot better with the piece's tone.

M can't make out what Kim is singing, but it's definitely been composed by her: rather than being ridiculously low for her range (and therefore requiring those voice filters) or a little bit too high, it's just right. She can sing softly without her voice sounding weak, as often happens when she uses her head voice. (It was either devoid of all power, or far too projecting for the sound team to amplify safely), and she can hit every note without straining, as often happens when they hit the fuzzy line between her head and chest voices. Everything else the girl band plays are mere covers of songs of bands who left their sheet music behind a long time ago.

It could be a new opening piece; perhaps they've grown tired of using the same one over and over again? But won't Hiro throw a hissy fit when he discovers the one useful thing he's contributed on record has become obsolete? M makes it a point to interact with the pansy as little as she can, but he seems like the kind of guy who would do that.

It's nothing like their climax music, the stuff that gets the audience all riled up and ready to offer up their meal passes. It's too quiet, too demure; if anything it's closer to a lullaby than to a rock piece. Well, not a lullaby, she knows how those sound, but a ballad of sorts. Ish. (She never was best with musical genres, okay?)

By all means, it doesn't seem like anything their band would ever play in a million years. She doubts there's even a keyboard to be found in the cafeteria, let alone an actual piano of any sort. So why would the band decide to play something like this? The Battalion has Operation Kishin practically down to a science; the entire process is streamlined for efficiency, made such by its sheer frequency. No other mission they've ever done has been done as many times as Operation Kishin; the band should have its repertoire down to the last sixteenth note. Why bother potentially botching a mission with a risk like this?

Her coffee is half-finished and growing cold by the time they take another break. It's likely past midnight now. TGIF, she muses. Not really wanting to make her horrible coffee (even though its bitterness is rapidly growing on her. Man, maybe that scy—) taste even worse by letting it become stone cold, she chugs the rest of it in a gulp and a half, tossing the empty paper cup into a waste basket.

She has all night. Lots of time before she'll want to visit the music wing, if it's even open.

She chooses to wander campus as the Demon Scythe frequently does. She's never seen him do it, aside from that first night when Liz pointed him out to her, but she wonders if she might cross paths with him tonight? Her thoughts have been more than a little preoccupied by him as of late (damn coffee), so perhaps he's deserving of a little ass-whooping (she wants to thank him for the coffee), nevermind the fact she doesn't have a partner to even properly fight him with (she doesn't need one if all she wants to do is thank him fo—).


The thought that she's slipped into a routine in this afterlife hits M like shit on the fan.

Yet she can't deny that it's true. She knows the casual rhythm of the school during the day, knows when Liz gets her coffee fixes, knows the regular patrol routes of all the partner pairs, knows how an Operation Kishin can run like a well-oiled machine, even when parts are rearranged to make room for a new Battalion member.

The only wild card among all she knows is the Demon Scythe. What classes he shows up to (if any at all), when he arrives, scowling, at their Friday concerts, why he's even an obstacle (why he's called the Demon Scythe). He is the variable that shakes up the monotony, that throws everyone off and keeps them on their toes. She's not sure if she should be grateful or not for his intervention, but someone used to always tell her, "variety is the spice of life!"

For some reason, the phrase pissed her off, but perhaps it had been the person saying it and not the phrase.

She lies on the concrete facing the sky, not unlike how she was when she first woke up. It's relaxing to watch the stars slowly drift across the horizon, to allow herself to simply exist.

She bolts upright the second she hears the footsteps. In a blind panic, she jumps to her feet, sprints at whoever it is, and positively decks them in the face. She's pretty sure she hears a horrible, sickening crunch when it happens and, as she runs from the scene, hopes she didn't break a finger or something awful like that.

Whoever they are, they're spewing obscenities at her now, but they don't take the effort to run after her. She briefly turns to see who it is— ah, Ox, wielding Harvar. Well, her conscience can be clear now; he really deserves an actual ass-whooping for how rude and obnoxious he is at times. She thanks her lucky stars it hadn't been the Demon Scythe; she has no method of defense without a partner. (She's not sure if she'd be able to live with the guilt if she hurt him like that.)

((She's even less sure why her thoughts have been going in the direction the have been lately, or why she's even gone off and begun letting them happen now.))

She stands before the music building, out of breath, almost out of adrenaline. But the caffeine is still coursing strong, if making her jittery and buzzed. Still panting, she throws her gaze up to the upper floors. None of the lights are on.

But her eyes adjust, and when she looks down, the door is once again slightly ajar, the shadows seeping out from within the building inviting her in. Wanting to hear the discordant pianist again, her face splits into a grin, and she runs inside. (She doesn't even think about why it would be open now, at night, when it was locked during the day.)

Her footsteps slow to a stop as she reaches the stairwell at the end of the hall, and suddenly, she's embarrassed. Embarrassed to be so desperate to hear the piano playing again, embarrassed that she didn't even bother to be stealthy this time. Whoever the discordant pianist is, they surely know she's here today.

M sinks down on the stairs. As luck has it, she's not prone to blushing, so she doesn't have to worry about burning her hands when she uses them to hide her face. She'll leave soon— there's no point in staying for long if all she can do is sit and mope— but first she needs to collect herself.

And then, she hears it. It's still not the same piece she heard that first night, but it's a far cry from a lullaby. Bright, clashing, (though not as much as the original one) and very distinctly yellow, it plays, rather muffled, through what should in all honesty be mostly soundproof rooms. And sure, she'd been able to hear through the walls before, but it had always been muted. This, while muffled, is most definitely not muted.

She has to hold in a gasp. Perhaps they are deaf to have not heard her footsteps echo through the empty hall, yet despite the possibility, they still play.

She falls with a sigh against the wall adjacent to the practice room. She needn't worry about being secretive now, unless a Battalion member happens to notice her whereabouts, if the discordant pianist can't hear her come in. Buzzed from a pile of all sorts of things, she closes her eyes and listens to the music.


Oh, he hears her all right. Her tiptoes from last night carried all the grace of a drunken ass to his refined ears; the sound of her heavy footsteps when she crashes through the door tonight are like rolls of thunder booming right above him: loud and tempestuous with emotion.

For a moment he can't even play, not that he can't hear himself, but because he has to hold in his laughter, disallowing himself from even sniggering for fear that her ears are as keen as his own and the subsequent possibility that she can hear him.

He settles down soon enough, adjusts his posture, and contemplates a piece to play for her tonight. He's quite amused that she comes to listen to him, though he knows it's not really him she's looking for, (But he is, deep down, beginning to realize he enjoys her disembodied company.) even if the other night he wanted to chase her away for good.

But her face is like an angel when she sleeps, and upon seeing it, his soft heart begged his unfeeling brain not to leave her on the steps, to leave her to a crick in the neck and one hell of a stiff back when she woke up in the morning. Rather reluctantly, he had complied, but the moment he hefted her slight frame into his arms, he felt something stir deep within, a part of himself he hadn't felt for a long, long time.

His soul, of which he is usually unaware of when not playing the song it sings on the piano, is set aflame within him. It's a shock for sure; he nearly drops the sandy-haired girl right then and there, but, adjusting to the feeling of it (again? He dares not try to remember), he wonders why it came to life again so suddenly, and why it sits differently than when he plays its song.

(It fills a hole in his soul that has been empty for far, far too long)

He drums his fingers on his thigh, still contemplating what he should play for her. As much as he would like to see her sleeping face again, the lullaby he played for her the night before was far too simple and boring for his tastes.

Playing the song of his soul is also out of the question. He only played it for her on the first night, when he heard her footsteps plodding through the hall, because perhaps its dark, emotional, cacophony would scare her off. Which it did; he heard her run off and not return. (For a few weeks anyway.) It's a piece he doesn't care to show the world, let alone some nosy girl who, by all accounts, must most certainly hate him (even if she doesn't realize it). That first night had been just one exception, for one good reason.

He realizes he hasn't practiced a sonatina in a while, so with a little, smug smile, he straightens out his normally terribly slouched posture, places his graceful fingers on the keys, and begins the clashing, colorful piece.


How is it that she continually finds herself back in her bed in the mornings? M swears on her soul she was in the music building, listening to the discordant pianist, last night. She has almost no recollection whatsoever of ever getting her butt off the stairs, and what little she can remember aren't concepts she likes to entertain, (although she had been entertaining similar thoughts as of late) so she dismisses them as nothing but a dream.

She frowns. Considering the coffee she drank, how did she even manage to fall asleep before dawn? Now that's a real mystery.

It's only a moment later that her scowl falls away for a more gaping expression, and it's not because she notices something stirring in Tsubaki's bed that is very much not Tsu. (In all honesty, she has yet to even notice the blue nestled neatly with the white sheets.) No, it's because for once she remembers something of her past life.

"Shibusen." The word falls from her lips as though it had a thousand times in the past, and in all likelihood, it did. It was a school, her alma mater, for which she has mixed feelings. Mixed feelings she can't pinpoint the source for yet.

She wants to bury her face in her pillow and scream, but she's snapped out of her thoughts when the sheets of her roommate rustle and her mattress creaks audible. "It's, like, noon-thirty. Some of us are trying to sleep, peasant."

M has no idea what Black Star is doing sleeping in Tsu's bed (Doesn't he have a dorm of his own? Why isn't he sleeping there? What?!), and it's not one she wants to contemplate, so she jumps out of bed and leaves.


"Hey, M?"

"Hmm?"

"Why don't you ever hang out with any of the boys in the Battalion? I mean, I can see that you're reserved and all, and that you've attached yourself to me, Tsu, and sort-of Kim and Patty, but you're ignoring a pretty big chunk of potential friends. Half your prospects, in fact."

It's not noon-thirty, as Black Star said just a half hour earlier, but almost eight in the morning, around the time when Liz craves her morning canned coffee the most.

M hesitates, a little unsure of the answer herself. To her, it just seems like common sense to stay away from boys as if they all had the plague. Eventually, she merely shrugs in reply and asks a question of her own. "Does Kid have a history with Shibusen, too?"

"That was quite the subject change. But the only answer I can give you is the usual: I don't know."

M's eyes widen in surprise. "But I thought good partners told each other their backstories. How do you trust him if you know he's keeping things from you guys?"

"Trust, M'darling," Liz easily replies. "We trust he'll tell us on his own time, whenever that may be, and that by keeping it to himself, it's not harming anyone."

"But Liz, you're his girlfriend and one of his partners. With the way things go around here, I wouldn't be surprised if you've known each other for years. Shouldn't you know him better than anyone else, barring Kid himself?"

"Well, I do know him better than anyone else, aside from himself. He's just… terribly secretive, that's all. My guess is that he's just not ready, even after the few years the Battalion has been around. Besides," she says, "if you've picked up on the Shibusen thread, you've heard enough backstories to know none of our lives were pretty. Kid is, in all likelihoods, no different. We can't just push and pry our way into people's pasts like that, M. All that does is raise tension between people. People will talk when they're ready, and if they're never ready, well, then." Liz shrugs. "Then that's okay too."

M peers curiously at the taller blonde as she takes a long drink. "You're so mature, Liz."

Said mature girl chokes on her coffee and spits her current mouthful out over the balcony, raining cold, tainted coffee down on the disgusted NPCs below. Alarmed, M pats her back as she coughs nastily for a few seconds.

"Me, mature? M, I'm just a teenage girl, just like you. You don't have to act like I'm some wise, old grandma parceling out life advice," she says when she recovers her breath.

"But you just…" M struggles to find words. "You're just so mature. There's no other way to put it. You raised your own sister, you've been living in the afterlife for years; the way you talk about things is just so… mature."

Liz leans over the rail, deflated. "Don't say thaaat, you're making me feel oooold. I want to feel young and pretty foreverrr."

"We age here?" She's suddenly worried about all the information she'd been previously given about the age of the Battalion because Liz doesn't look a day older than eighteen.

"No, we don't, actually." Liz doesn't bother straightening herself up or standing properly. "We're teenagers… foreverrr. Heh, everyone's worst nightmare." She offers what's left of her coffee to M. "Want the rest?"

She takes the can, still about a quarter full, but can't seem to enjoy it when she drinks it. Too sweet, too milky. The true, proper flavor of the coffee can't come through all the milk and sugar that dilutes it. She wants it stronger. She wants to be able to taste coffee, not cream.

It's then she realizes that once you get a taste of something, regardless of whether you like it or not, you'll inevitably want more.


Operation Kishin feels so different with Black Star joining in. Sure, M still has her same post on the right side of the cafeteria roof, but all of a sudden, it feels so much less low-key with Black Star almost jumping off the roof with a "Yahoo!" every other minute. Sure, all Tsu has to do is catch his arm to keep him from doing anything stupid (and eventually settles for just holding his hand all the time, like she's his mother or something…), but M's temper, especially around boys, has never been slow.

It's even stranger now that she's the odd one out. She won't be in on any of the fighting, won't be able to get close to the Demon Scythe.

She sighs. After doing all those Friday operations with Tsu, not being able to fight makes her feel like nothing more than a glorified canary. Which, if she really wanted to be honest, really is true.

She listens to the girls down below her feet, tuning their guitars as the sound manager adjusts the AMP power for each of them. She surveys the ground almost lazily. It's only ever NPCs out at this point every time, but it's still her job.

They're already crowding in, ready for the concert to begin and relieve them of some of the boredom of their daily lives. M rather wishes she could scoff at their simple mindedness, but since she has yet to go on any other operation, these weekly concerts are her only entertainment as well. (If only because she knows she'll see the Demon Scythe)

Well, except for the discordant pianist, but that's something she enjoys alone.

The girls begin to play their opening number, the same one every week. M tunes it out, having heard it so many times she's grown numb to the thought of Hiro recording the ridiculous lyrics. Now is when she really gets down to business with her job as a lookout. It's during this song that the Demon Scythe always shows up without fail, though it's not of any particular surprise. He hears the music, he comes, just like any old NPC.

He comes from right, too, and that's something that no one has any explanation for. According to Patty, it used to be random. Now, they're considering relocating the left guard and lookout to the other side if the trend continues.

The opener finishes, yet there's still no sign of him. M is equal parts baffled and nervous. From down below, Kilik squints at her, and she throws him a glare in return. I don't know why he isn't here yet.

The crowd down below is restless, and she can hear it. Low murmurs reach her from the ground as there's a distinctly longer pause after the final note fades away. There's something up with this week's operation, and everyone can sense it.

The sudden start of the band's signature cover rips through the air. Resonance already? M thinks, knitting her brows. They can't be ending the concert so soon; the audience isn't engaged enough to give up their lunch tickets. Worried, M scans her area with wild fervor; where is the Demon Scythe? She's starting to panic at everything about the operation going differently than planned because dammit just because it's named after the god of insanity of their past lives doesn't mean it can't be controlled and planned chaos.

"He's coming from the left!"

"What?"

"Yeah, pretty weird considering lately, but we don't have time to think about it now! Soul resonance!"

M spins around, nearly falling off the roof, to run to Tsu and resonate with her as well, but she stops dead. She has Black Star now, and he's already jumped off the roof with her in the form of a chain and scythe. Now, she can only watch as the chaos goes down.

The audience beneath her feet is getting riled up at least. She glances over at Hiro perched at the peak of the glass dome. He makes no effort to join the battle, and frankly, his lack of interest makes M want to retch. She's never seen him resonate with anyone, but deep down, she knows she doesn't care enough to find out why. She turns away with disgust and delicately treads over the glass to the other side of the roof to watch the battle.

She blinks in surprise. The Demon Scythe is bloodied already; there's a gash on his face running from the corner of his left eye and across his cheek, stopping just shy of his lips. But if that isn't strange enough (In all the Operation Kishins she's participated in, she's seen him injured from their attacks but once or twice (Or perhaps they've all healed too quickly to notice)), his normally aloof expression isn't there, either; he's frowning slightly, his brow is furrowed as he dodges the attacks of three people at once.

Back, side, together. Back, side, together. His footwork pattern is always the same, she notices, and there's a certain rhythm to it too. (Almost as if he's dancing (She'd like to dance with him.))

Her brain wants to yell at them all for not seeing the pattern of evasion so obvious to herself, a bystander, but her heart thinks they deserve to not land many, if any, hits if they can't see it for themselves. Her soul cries out, though not a sound escapes her throat.

The Demon Scythe looks up. Red eyes meet green ones for all of a second,

"The reasons why we met don't matter; we are drawn together."

making M's heart skip a beat before they break gaze just as quickly. Her heart is pounding against her chest, and she tells herself she's scared. It's hard to look into eyes whose coloration is so unnatural, so typically violent, without being scared. (But she could also stare at them all day)

"The more we hurt in the moments we touch…"

He breaks the pattern, and the rhythm he's accomplished with the Battalion members (she frankly wonders how even Black Star fell into a rhythm of attacks, but she supposes when your attacker yells their move out two seconds before doing it, it's not that hard to adjust) falls to pieces as he pushes passed them all and makes a break for the cafeteria.

"The clearer things become."

He's shockingly fast, not to mention the shock still holding the Battalion members back, and when Kid turns his wrathful gaze to M, she realizes it's up to her to stop him now, weapon or no.

She shatters the glass and the chatter beneath her feet and falls through the roof, the audience in turn falling silent. It's a terrifying few seconds in which time seems to crawl to a stop as she plunges down the dozens of meters, surrounded by glittering shards of glass that are, for some strange reason, dissipating into dust as she goes, and into the sea of NPCs below.

The girls, trained to play even when the world is ending and the sky is falling, don't even bat an eye. Kim switches out her electric guitar for an acoustic one in a heartbeat and is already strumming on it for the next song when M is caught by the NPCs.

Inner guard, inner guard. There's only one pair in charge of keeping control inside the cafeteria, and she has to find them. Who were they again? She scowls when she remembers, but if it's to participate in the fight…

(She still would rather face him herself, see those eyes again.)

"Ox!" she shouts over the music. She's fighting her way through the crowd now that she's been put down; pushing, shoving, she can't see very far because of her tiny stature, so it's imperative that she makes it to where the NPCs aren't. "Ox, you freaking bastard; where are you?"

She makes it to the end of the NPC sea and sees who she's looking for gazing almost sappily up at Kim on stage. Seeing red, she marches forth (how she wishes she had a book!) and slaps him right upside his shiny-ass bald head, making sure to muss his ever-so-carefully waxed hair pillars while she's at it. "OX!" she yells while he's still mid-jump, causing him to flinch again and fall on his bum rather than his feet. Harvar, in his spear form, clatters to the ground.

The crowds are parting as she speaks, making way for the very distinct white-haired, red-eyed boy they call the Demon Scythe to walk through. The rest of the Battalion is hot on his trail, crashing into the room after him but not getting the luxury of a parted sea.

Still, the band plays on.

Fortunately, M doesn't have to say anything to Ox to make him spring into action. He grabs his spear as he stumbles to his feet and sprints off to catch the Demon Scythe. M is once again just another background face.

Her brain assures her it's okay to be in the background; she hasn't a partner yet, nor is there anyone available to be her partner, so it's okay that she's not out there with the rest of the Battalion, contributing to the success of the operation.

However, her heart kicks and screams and yells. It wants to plunge into the action, to face the Demon Scythe with nothing but her bare fists and fight him. It so fiercely wants to be there, in front of him and be the only two people in the world, crowd and Battalion be damned.

Her soul cries out.


She's got to stop doing that, crying out for him with the very wavelength of her soul. It's distracting, it pulls him towards her, makes him really look at her. And she's distracting too, he's drawn to her; his very soul longs for what it cannot have.

He's a little too busy now to be paying any attention to her, but he can't help himself when he hears it. The look on her face will forever be emblazoned into his brain, from her wide, green eyes that he nearly loses himself in in the split second that they meet his own, to her mouth, fallen open just a little bit to show her shock, but he breaks their gaze. (He wonders why she doesn't look at him with disgust.) He has to focus. (He wonders what it would be like to kiss those lips of hers.) He can't be staring at her now. (She's not even his type. (But the heart wants what the heart wants.)) He has stuff to be doing. Like complain about all the garbage music the Battalion plays during their insanity concerts. (Seriously, would it kill them to play decent music for once? He stopped caring a long time ago about what they do, but it was seriously that bad.)

It's that split second of distraction that costs him, however. The guy with the glasses (and the stupidest haircut he's ever seen in either this or his past life) catches him, trapping him with his spear shaft, and forcefully dragging him away. He curses internally. He swears if the girl had been just a distraction, he'd remind them of the reason they call him a Demon Scythe.

(He can't see her face; she's turned away. (He takes it as a sign of her innocence.))

He still struggles against the boy and his spear, and decides it's now or never. He can sense they're going to turn the fans on and blow all the NPCs' lunch tickets into the air to gather for later soon, so he may as well say what he's been wanting to for a while now.

"Hey!" he yells. (He doesn't see the girl turn to face him again, surprise on her face. He doesn't realize the spear boy has stopped dragging him away for a second, nor does he realize it's the first time he's talked in front of a Battalion member in ages.)

The girls ignore him. He senses the crowd growing rowdier and rowdier, so he pulls forward with all his strength. "Hey!"

They look at him but don't miss a beat. Even a few nearby NPCs turn to glare at him, but he doesn't care. All he wants to do is get these words off his chest.

"Your taste in music is trash!"

That feels so good to say.

The lead singer falters and dies off. Her bandmates look at her with concern, petering out themselves, but it's none of his concern anymore. He goes quietly.


The night is full of surprises. Never before has M seen any of the girls think anything of any happenstance, but as they say, there's a first time for everything. The hurt in Kim's face makes her look as if she's just been shot through the heart, and it pains M to see.

All the Battalion members are silent as the Demon Scythe, saying nary a word after his outburst, turns heel and walks out the door as if it is the most normal thing in the world. The crowd parts before him, whispering among themselves, just as they had when he entered, and no one makes an effort to stop him, not even Ox, who allows him to slip away. Everyone watches him go. Even in the silence, they can't hear sounds of battle once he leaves. It's as if for just a moment, he's not a threat, he's not their enemy, he's just a regular boy.

M eyes the stage, still uncharacteristically silent. Kim looks like she's truly about to cry. It's more than the almost-tears she had when talking about her life; there's one rolling down a cheek already. Her heart breaks for the other girl, even if they don't know each other as well as others.

But the girl with the bubblegum hair and tears in her eyes takes the mic into her own hands. She faces the audience clearly holding back tears and holds the mic up to her lips, her expression twisted from one of hurt shock into one of angry vengeance. "I don't want to sing covers anymore," she says, her voice warbled and unsteady. "I know you all love them, but it's time that we move on and make something of ourselves." She sniffles, rather ruining the angry look she has going on, but the audience doesn't appear to care.

They're murmuring amongst themselves now. M can't make out any of it until a random NPC in the crowd, a short girl with long, black hair jumps up and down, cupping her hands around her mouth like a megaphone and yelling, "WE LOVE YOU, KIMMIE!" Nevermind the fact that no one has ever called Kim, Kimmie, in the history of ever; the one girl's bravery (It's rather unusual for an NPC to act so independently of the crowd, but there are always exceptions, M supposes.) sparks a few whoops and "yeah!"s from others, which grows into full-blown applause and cheering.

Having recovered her composure, Kim's expression is now unreadable. She shares a look with Meme, their drummer, who, after shaking her head to clear mind of its dreamy thoughts, bites her lip in concern.

But whatever look Kim shoots her must be more concerning because she starts to play that song M heard them practice the night before. The crowd falls silent.

Kim takes a breath, just loud enough to be picked up by the microphone she holds just centimeters away from her lips, and begins to sing.

"Raining and raining— it could be a happy thing for you."

The performance is far from brilliant. It teeters just on the edge between good and so-so.

"Raindrops of wishes,"

It's easy to tell that no one is used to Kim singing something of this genre,

"for you, my dear, so look up"

or how her voice sounds this time around,

"in the sky."

or how despite the unpolished performance, it's clear to see her soul is bared to everyone present with just this one piece.

"See, you'll find your star signs."

There's something different about her when she's singing this song. Not just her demeanor, or her voice, or even the way she's acting.

"See how much your life shines."

No, it's far more obvious than all those things. So obvious M can see it happen right before her eyes.

"So close your umbrella."

She's letting off a faint glow, her normally chin-length hair is now creeping passed her shoulders, and M swears her headband is growing cat ears.

"See, a love letter from the heavens."

The audience sways back and forth to the beat; out of the corner of her eye, M catches Ox weaving his way out of the crowd with Harvar towards the fans.

"Millions of bell rings,"

Kim's still glowing, her hair's still growing, and the cat ears turn out to be tanuki ears.

"The sound of the bell rings for you, dreamer."

She's resonating, all on her own, M realizes. She hadn't realized before because it's unheard of to do it without a partner.

"Sometimes we forget the precious thing"

The fans quietly switch on, and NPC lunch tickets begin to drift through the air. It's not wild and chaotic like it usually is, but they're still given up.

"which we have lost."

Kim's smiling. If not with her mouth, then with her eyes.

"Rain for you."

Her guitar hits the floor at the same time as her final tear. Jackie lunges forward to catch the mic before hit hits the ground. M can hardly believe the events that have just transpired before her eyes.

Kim has been obliterated.


It's hard to remember how the rest of the night went. There's the audience's uproar at the sudden vanishing of their favorite band's lead singer and the subsequent struggle to keep them from lashing out against the rest of the Battalion. There's the silently peeved Kid unleashing his full abilities on all the NPCs, threatening to destroy them all using Liz and Patty. There's the stoic Harar and Jackie keeping a bawling Ox company as they return to headquarters and the not-so-dramatic reveal that he had been head-over-heels in love with the former witch. (Literally everyone who had been around him for more than two seconds could have figured it out.)

M wakes up hunched over the coffee table in the middle of Anti-Demon Scythe Headquarters. Still drowsy, she looks about to see Black Star passed out (and snoring like heeell) on Kid's desk, Patty doodling on his face, Jackie staring into space with dark circles under her eyes from the corner, and everyone else still fast asleep in various positions and locations of the room. (Well, everyone but Kid and Liz, both of whom are nowhere in sight)

Actually, scratch that last bit. M hears the doorknob turn and turns to see Liz walk into the room, looking a little more disheveled than usual, but then again, M supposes, they're all a little more out of it than usual. She doesn't have to be nagged for it.

"Patty," she says, very slowly. "What have I told you about drawing on people?"

Patty somewhat reluctantly caps her marker and assumes a guilty, dog-eyed look directed at her sister. "I need to ask permission before doing anything, and if they say no, they mean no, and if they're sleeping, no matter how funny it would be, they cannot give consent and I'm not allowed to draw," she recites.

"Good girl. Now wash off Black Star's face and apologize when he wakes up."

Patty obediently leaves the room to acquire a wet rag, leaving Liz and M the only conscious beings in the room (Jackie's state of mind is questionable considering she hasn't blinked or twitched or even moved at all in the last few minutes, and M suspects she's been like this for hours). The older Thompson gives M a weary smile and sits down on the floor by the coffee table. "How are ya, M'darling?"

M shrugs and rests her chin on her palm. "Fine, I guess. Seeing obliteration first hand last night is still a pretty surreal feeling. Seeing her resonate on her own was also pretty weird. Did you guys know that was possible?"

"Well, yes. Actually, no. Sort of. They were a special case who also happens to have been obliterated a long time ago."

"A special case?"

"Well, you have to see, Crona resonated by themself, and an ugly, black weapon named Ragnarök would burst out of their back and transform into a sword. Meister and weapon possessed the same body, and it was just as terribly gritty and nasty as it sounds. They had some real issues, but in the end they were obliterated. It wasn't neat and clean like how Kim was obliterated, either. We don't see obliterations often, but Kim's was definitely the cleanest I've ever seen. I'd even say she looked happy to be obliterated."

"…So Kim was just a special case all around, huh?"

"It really seems so."

M breaks eye contact with Liz, choosing instead to stare at the wood grain of the coffee table. She takes a glance up at Ox's snoring face just a meter or so away and notices the dried salt is still crusted on his cheeks from last night. As much as she hates the guy, she feels a little bad for him. To have loved and to have lost, what a terrible, terrible thing to experience in a place where people are supposed to last forever with care.

"Liz, why do we fall in love?"

Liz shoots her a confused look. "Why do we fall in love?"

"Here, I mean. I get why it happens in the real life, but here… here, we're dead. There's really no point to falling in love here, especially if there's always the looming threat of being obliterated hanging over our heads."

"Why do we fall in love in the real life, then? Especially in a world that is filled with dangerous witches looming around every corner and kishins to be fighting."

"…To find a suitable mate to reproduce with."

"Honestly, M, that's the most utilitarian explanation of love I've ever heard in this life or previous."

"Well, what's wrong with it?"

"M, haven't you ever fallen in love?"

"No!" (Yes.) "All men are obnoxious pigs, but a species still needs to survive. Love just makes them more bearable."

Liz laughs. "Is that why you avoid all the boys in the Battalion like the plague?"

M pauses. The line had simply fallen out of her mouth without her giving it all that much thought, but thinking about it more closely makes other memories stir in the back of her mind. Unfortunately, the details are still locked up tight in the back of her mind until she resonates with someone. "I suppose."

"Still, maybe you were a lesbian? No one here cares if you were or not; not everyone here is straight."

M gives it some thought. "Love in general seems kind of futile. It's not really something I'd like to subject myself to. But you…?"

"Romantic relationships aren't a necessity to me. Like I told you before, I'd choose Patty over Kid any day of the week. But they're nice to have. Your partner— in the romantic sense, not the resonance sense— can be a good source of stability, trust, and comfort. Of course, this all isn't to say that there's anything wrong with the relationship you forge with your partner, the one you resonate with. Those are important too. But it's nice to be able to kiss your best friend sometimes."

She shrugs. "A pretty crap explanation, I know. Your heart does all the talking at first, and it makes everything that has to do with who it wants sound like a good idea. But even when all the nonsensical heart-flutters and eye-making is over, and the feeling of love fades away, it's the choice to continue on together that makes it all worthwhile. It's just—" Words are failing her. "Becoming a thing here in this afterlife is kind of similar to getting married in the real life: you promise you'll support one another no matter what, and that while you don't really complete one another because that idea's stupid, it's important that you cover for one another's flaws and bring what you already excel at to even greater heights."

M blinks. All this sounds familiar, just in a different context. "That sounds like partnership."

"Partners do have a higher chance of ending up in a romantic relationship than with an NPC or someone outside their partnership, yes."

She shakes her head. "No, that reminds me of that soul resonance of your lives gone by. With soul wavelengths and the purpose of the weapon being equivalent to that of a guitar AMP and the whole 'bringing each other to even greater heights than what you could have achieved alone'."

"Well, romances aren't really an upgrade to a partnership or friendship. It's just… an added label, really. Relationships should be able to function like a regular friendship most of the time. If you're not friends, then… what's the point?"

M had never thought of it that way.


She's shocked when she returns to her dorm.

He figures that, hey, if they're throwing one of those insanity-inducing concerts, he might as well take advantage of the fact that a) all the dorms will be empty and b) he'll be able to restock on his own lunch tickets once all of that stupid Battalion has sifted through for what they want.

All she wanted was to crash on her bed and spend a few hours staring at the ceiling, alone with her thoughts to properly digest the conversation she had with Liz, maybe put the few lunch tickets she bothered to pick up the night prior in with her leftovers.

She seems to like the coffee he's been subtly giving her as of late, which is nice. He doubts there's anyone else in the afterlife that likes their coffee quite so dark and bitter (just like him on the inside), so might as well give her a little bit of that sort of joy in her life, right? Especially since he has so many black coffee tickets stashed away because no one likes it and therefore, its tickets are very common among the Battalion's leftovers.

But what she sees when she opens the door is so much more.

He slips into the room she shares with that one tall girl, just as he does with the practice rooms on the nights she comes to listen to him play, right as the concert begins in the cafeteria. For a moment, he pauses and simply admires the distinct cleanliness of the room, so different from the pig sty he crashes in a building over, then digs his hand into his pants pocket, fishing out all the lunch tickets he brought with him and dumping them on her pillow. They're not all for the black coffee they both seem to enjoy so much, eitherthere are a few in there for ramen, pizza, rice and vegetable bowls, whatever.

Why is her pillow covered in dozens upon dozens of lunch tickets?

The last one is, to be expected, one for coffee, and it's here that he hesitates.

She picks up one. Coffee, black. ¥350.

Another. Coffee, black. ¥350.

Another. Coffee, black. ¥350.

Not wanting to linger, lest one of the girls come back for something and find him, he makes up his mind swiftly and leaves the ticket with the rest. (Though this one is folded neatly, unlike the rest.)

There's one on the very top of the pile that she's rather afraid to touch. It's folded into the shape of a heart, and it lies separate from all the others. Her hands shaking, she gingerly takes it and unfolds it.

Coffee, black. ¥350.

She feels sick.

Why, why, why?

(She knows why.)

Who?

(She knows who.)

There's a tiny arrow in the corner of the ticket, and it's just as they always say: curiosity kills the cat.

Cafeteria for coffee at 8:00 Sunday?


author's note ii. sooo I was going to be like, "*CRASHES THROUGH WALL, THE OTHER SIDE OF WHICH IS VERY CLEARLY ON FIRE* WHAT'S UP SOUL EATER FANDOM I'M HERE TO KICK ASS AND WRITE FANTASY AUS, AND I'M ALL OUT OF ASSES TO KICK" buuuut I'm not cool enough to be able to kick ass. Aaaaand this is an angel beats au. Sort of.

also I was actually going to name the band present in this fic lunar resonance, but then i found out that's the name of a popular fic writer in the fandom, and since I'm too shy to address them or even think of naming the band the same name as a popular fic writer because SHY (even though it was just a coincidence), I just ended up not giving the band a name bc I couldn't think of any that I liked and were catchy. So, lunar resonance, if you're reading this (unlikely but still), hi. I almost named the band after you on accident. Also I love your tumblr blog. Ye.