"I hope you will find the show to your enjoyment, Hatake-sama." The attendant smiled nervously at the masked, gray-haired young man in the midnight-colored suit.
"I hope I shall as well, considering I had no plans to previously attend." Kakashi said irritably, straightening his suit as he spoke. "I simply have to provide money to the place as a patron, as per my father's will. Attendance was never in the contract."
The attendant laughed, the first genuine expression he'd shown the entire night, leaving Kakashi so stunned he himself began to chuckle underneath his ever-present mask of black cloth, his one good eye narrowing in surprise mirth.
"Oh, well." He wheezed after the sudden attack of laughter, feeling the inside of his mask dotting with traces of saliva. "I did study music for some time. Who knows? Maybe I'll recognize a song or something."
After a raucous but pleasant greeting by the two managers, one of which had forced into his hands a ludicrously small stack of paper labeled "Icha Icha First Draft" for his appraisal, Hatake Kakashi sat in Box Six, awaiting the beginnings of Hannibal with a sort of bemused, nostalgic smile beneath the mask.
How long had it been since then? Seven, six years, since he'd studied music theory and technique under Namikaze-san? An unorthodox teacher, to be sure….Kakashi had traveled to several different lands under his tutelage. While Namikaze-san had claimed it was in order to study other musical styles, Kakashi felt the man simply enjoyed presenting his pieces in front of new crowds in order to recapture the first sense of awe.
For the Yellow Flash's music was awe and glory made real.
His own father, the White Fang, a member of Konoha's aristocracy, had been a great admirer of the Yellow Flash. That was, the father he remembered, not the one whose death had called him back from those musical excursions of Namikaze-san's.
Yes. It was the seven year anniversary of his father's suicide.
They all believed in his failure, the people. He had taken the money from the peasants, a tyrannical despot. This didn't correlate to Kakashi's view of the stern but caring man who had raised a son single-handedly, even attempting to instill some degree of musical appreciation and skill in the boy.
Well, he'd never been very talented. But then, neither were the ragtag group of students the Yellow Flash assembled for himself.
There had been a girl, he remembered that. Brown-haired, doe-eyed skinny one. He remembered her glances at him as a child of twelve and smiled in the mask.
The other one….he was best left unmentioned, and as the curtain sprang up joyously, red giving way to painted scenery, Kakashi was free to forget the nameless boy and watch the beginnings of the show.
The first act was largely uneventful, and he took to reading the stack of papers, which seemed to dribble with sensual descriptions of impossibly idealistic women with heaving breasts and luscious complexions. Kakashi liked it, though secretly he was glad to be the only one in Box Five reading the drivel.
Suddenly, the first strands of the opening second act began to ring, and sighing, Kakashi placed the stack of papers onto the red velvet seat next to him, finally condescending to watch the second act.
Think of me…
The voice, alien yet familiar, stirred uneasiness in him. Had he heard this song before? No. He'd never heard of the production before tonight, so it wasn't the strains of melody that brought back such an awkward feeling of de ja vu.
Think of me fondly when we've said goodbye…
He is twelve years old again and still has both eyes.
He packs his bags for leaving systematically, barely pausing until he reaches the violin on the edge of his bed.
Rubbing the bow against the taunt strings, he plays a requiem, soft and silently, night music in the heat of the day.
Final strains still echoing, he drops the bow and violin into the items that he will discard.
What need was there for this?
What need was there for anything but necessity and pain?
It was a distraction, colored lights spinning, fireworks, blazing bright, but over in an instant.
"Kakashi-kun?"
That girl in the doorway, petite and brown-haired.
Rin…..
And there she was again, up on the stage, in front of them all, singing with the fierce beauty of a wounded bird, injured yet strong. He recalled that she'd never been that wonderful a singer even under Namikaze-san, though the man, to his credit, had never lost patience with her tinny soprano, even praising her at the smallest of accomplishments.
Oh, if only he could see her now.
He stared at her, noticing how she had changed and yet stayed the same, her figure lengthening and developing on its own into something new, something not exactly beautiful, but strong.
A sudden thought occurred to him that he might go see her after the performance….just as an old friend, of course. After all…
"If you're really going to leave…."she smiles hesitantly, and then presses a letter into his hands. "Father asked me to give you this."
"Thank you." He takes hold of the sliver of white paper, feeling the bare texture between the interior and exterior, knowing that it is the barrier from a farewell.
Suddenly, he feels spidery arms around his frame, and her face looks up at him.
"Goodbye Kakashi-kun."
And the arms disengage.
He is finally left floating in his own confusion.
She crescendoed as the orchestra loudened, her mouth open in a perfect O as she sang the final fierce note. Applause broke out and Kakashi found himself standing, his hands clapping of their own accord, shouting "Bravo" at the top of his voice.
Suddenly, he wondered if she'd even remember him. It had been long ago, after all.
"She may not remember me," he thought simply "But I remember…"
He decided to awaken her memory the only way he knew how.
…
The powder-white dressing room felt fragile to Rin, almost as if it was about to collapse under the weight of dainty snow-white curtains and strands of pearls hanging from the ceiling. She shuddered with excitement and not dread, however, when she thought of her new promotion.
Laundry-girl to singer! A thrill, a wondrous thrill! Father would be so proud….
If he'd been alive to see her, she thought as her throat tightened.
"So here's where you've been hiding….You were perfect!" Anko shrieked girlishly, winding her arms around Rin's neck with glee, nearly choking her until she loosened her grip suddenly.
With a quizzical look on her pointed, elfin features, Anko stated" I only wish I knew your secret…. Who is your great tutor?"
Rin smiled, and staring into those deep dark eyes of Anko, sang, pitch-perfect:
"Father once spoke of an angel…
I used to dream he'd appear,
Now as I sing I can sense him…
And I know he's here!"
Anko, puzzled, looked to Rin for signs of calling off the joke, but Rin's face was as childishly believing as an infant reciting a well-known poem or story. Patting the white velvet seat she rested on, Rin went on, sweetly:
"Here in this room, he calls me softly,
Somewhere inside, hiding…
Somehow I know he's always with me.
He the unseen genius…."
"Rin, you must have been dreaming, stories like this can't come true. Rin, you're talking in riddles….And it's not like you!"Anko harmonized, playing along to please Rin, yet at the same time looking for an exit. She reasoned to leave and inform Madame Kurenai: Rin had obviously gone mad and needed a reality check from someone more sensitive than Anko.
Suddenly, the door pushed open, and in stepped a tall, gray-haired man with a mask covering his features.
"Kakashi?" Rin's mind raced attempting to fill the gap of her knowledge, she stared at the single dark eye left uncovered.
"Rin-chan."The familiar voice, albeit deeper and more masculine. She distinctly felt a subtle change in her heartbeat as she looked over the old acquaintance.
"I guess I'll leave you both to it then!" Smiling cheekily, Anko darted back into the door. Maybe Rin would at least forget her delusions for the mysterious admirer, she secretly hoped.
"So…."His voice ended the brief silence. "I see your dreams have come to fruition. I always thought they would." Through his mask, he smiled, knowing that his narrowing eye would tell her of the smile she couldn't see.
Her own face burst into a wide grin, and Kakashi realized finally how pretty she'd become in seven years. Not seductive and curvaceous like Tsunade, with narrowed eyes and red lips, but a sort of genuine, truthful prettiness, a sweet smile and natural features.
"Surely I wasn't that marvelous…."
"You were." The solemnity in his own voice surprised even him, and as her features turned shocked, he added awkwardly "Your voice…was very beautiful."
They both reddened, though Kakashi silently thanked Kami-sama for the mask covering his lower face and right eye to cover his own ruby cheeks.
"So…."He again had to continue the awkward yet strangely pleasant conversation, but this time he would add a twist of his own. "Perhaps…I could take you out sometime? To catch up?" He hoped, stupidly that she would reply immediately, but instead they found themselves in another spiral of blushing until she hesitantly grinned and said shyly:
"I'd like that."
He turned to leave, sure that he'd missed the cab to take him back to Hatake Manor, when he felt slender arms around him, longer but mostly unchanged from his past, still clinging gently and yet effectively stopping him in his tracks.
"I missed you, Kakashi-kun."
The mouth under the mask curves upward.
"I missed you too, Rin-chan."
…..
As soon as the door closed behind Kakashi, the familiar voice boomed out, omnipresent, from no source, magnificent and towering. Almost as it began its fierce song, the lights went out in the dressing room, with only a bare candle left to illuminate the room with a subtle, threatening glow.
"Insolent boy, this slave of fashion!
Basking in your glory!
Ignorant fool, this brave young suitor,
Sharing in MY triumph!"
Stupefied, Rin looked around her to find only the powder-white room. Hesitantly, she carried on the melody, her heart pounding with an excited sort of fear at his presence and his tone.
"Angel I hear you,
Speak, I listen,
Stay by my side,
Guide me….
Angel my soul was weak,
Forgive me,
Enter at last…Master."
The voice took on a new, cajoling, tender tone as her angel and teacher carried on the melody.
"Flattering child you shall know me…
See why in shadow I hide…
Look at your face in the mirror…
I am there inside!"
Tentatively the maiden steps forth into the mirror that is no more a solid object,
But a simple veil over a fog, a simple covering, a mask on the truth behind itself,
The fog reaches for her with swirling white arms, grasping but never reaching her,
And in the whiteness, a black cloak decked with faded scarlet clouds pulls her closer.
An orange mask, spiraling and swirling the misty haze claims her, a gloved hand grasping her own,
Surprisingly tender, surprisingly gentle big hands.
She walks past shaking candles giving off spasms of light,
Steps onto a gondola over lake glossed in mist and candlelight,
And sings with her angel.
Those who have seen your face draw back in fear,
I am the mask you wear
It's me they hear….
Your spirit and my voice, in one combine…the Phantom of the Opera is here, inside your mind….
Sing my angel of music!
SING FOR ME!