Tsukimori Len liked to keep to himself; his thoughts, his feelings, most of his opinions and criticism were rarely openly shared with others. When he was occasionally asked to give critiques, he had hurt or upset his peers because he hadn't sandwiched the truth between compliments. Tsuchiura once told him that being talented didn't give him an excuse to be rude; Len had replied that by being truthful, he'd been trying to be kind. Tsuchiura had also said that most people (or at least the ones they'd met) were generous.

Len had raised an eyebrow at that. Tsuchiura had said: "Len Tsukimori is always forgiven, even at his worst."

Len didn't need to analyze why people couldn't take criticism or why he was always pardoned for 'his faults'. He'd been labeled a mystery. People made excuses for him. So be it.

As a musician, he wouldn't be judged based on the inner-workings of his mind but on what this machinery produced. He would play as he wanted (the proper way) and people could only speculate on what he was thinking while he was performing. They could project whatever feelings they wanted onto him. It was part of his job as a soloist, anyway.

They, the audience, the listeners, could only guess at his feelings while imagining theirs were the same thoughts and feelings he had. It was fortunate that he didn't have to explain; an audience didn't demand context from a piece of music- they knew intuitively what was happy or hopeful or passionate because the performance had awakened these emotions in them. To be able to be true to a composer's intent and to convey 'feelings' per demand required technical skill. He'd taken this truth to heart, had always aimed to give the desired result and be so consistently good that the expectations were always high. He was capable and was praised for it, but he surmised that most listeners, though awed by virtuosity, were more apt to appreciate music which mirrored their experiences.

"The listeners want to feel certain things, remember special people, relive treasured memories," he'd heard one conductor gush.

In his own (less effusive) interpretation, he believed people wanted to hear the soundtrack to their lives and were always sensitive to any piece of music that could be the next song or score. If you could listen to a person's OST– it was as good as a mirror into their soul.

He had a soundtrack, too. But, in his case, no one who knew what he enjoyed playing had any real insight into his character. Yes, the more demanding pieces played to his strengths – he loved the satisfaction of completing a challenge– but not many people knew enough about him or his taste in music to be able to say – ah, I've seen him.

He hadn't been open. He hadn't consciously thought about revealing himself – his vulnerabilities and insecurities – through music or more direct means. It was like that for him. To be known or understood seemed to be the be-all-end-all goal for many (and the ideal goal of romantic relationships, he'd been told); but he was a challenge for most people.

And, unfortunately, many were only interested in seeing the side of him that failed.

If he could describe himself as sunny and cheerful, he would also have called himself "optimistic"; he focused on his strengths and was used to dismissing those feelings which he believed wouldn't make his music better or would cause him to flounder and, yes, fail like so many wanted to witness. His doubts and insecurities existed – they intertwined with his confidence and hopes for improvement – but they were fashioned so thin that they were almost invisible to others; he had always been held in check by a tight braid of good habits and well-honed technique.

He was praised for his instinct and for his "good genes" (he resented reviews that brought excessive focus on the latter), but truthfully, he was a product of choices and not mere intuition or heredity. He'd made music that moved an audience; it had been because he knew what he had to do and knew when to hold back. Holding back –this was a good thing. His restraint made him an excellent soloist.

He also exercised restraint when interacting with other people; when he was unsure, it had been a rule of thumb to keep his distance. Although no one seemed to notice.

That it's a general principle?

Or...

No one notices when I'm unsure? Or holding back?

He had been labeled rude and unfriendly, and he hadn't much cared. But...

There's always an exception...

There'd been a time when the decision to hold back had led to disappointment: He knew he had disappointed her. But he'd also disappointed himself.

He hadn't consciously thought of opening up...not until...

Hino Kahoko

Hino Kahoko, who was sitting right in front of him.

He hadn't gone back in time to their last encounter, and no soundtrack was playing in the background when he and Kahoko had locked eyes for the first time in nine years; but he had felt apprehension, excitement, and other unnamed feelings rush to meet him the moment he saw her.

His chest constricted and he was slightly out of breath.

Here you are...

And here I am.

It was enough. In any other time or place, Len knew it would be the same, just the sight of her would be enough to agitate his emotions.

Did I make you nervous? Is my presence here unwanted? Will we be speaking to each other?

Do you still play the violin?

These were questions that he carried with him when Kaji had invited everyone to spend the evening together at karaoke. It was dark and noisy, and though they were in a private room meant for twice their number, there wasn't enough space for him to breathe. He sat next to Tsuchiura in their corner of the long leather sofa, while Kaho was stuck between Yunoki's sister and Kaji.

Tsuchiura had laughed at a joke from Kaji or Miyabi. Len hadn't bothered to listen. "Oi, Tsukimori," Tsuchiura said, raising an eyebrow. "Are you with us?"

He had been watching Kaho. "I'm just tired; that's all."

Years of friendship meant Tsuchiura was comfortable with Len's reticence and Len had gotten used to Ryo's bouts of temper and sarcasm. They'd spent a lot of time working together after Len had gone back to Japan and had become close friends as a result (a surprise to them both). But despite their unexpected friendship, they still preferred calling each other by their last names.

"Hey, Miyabi!" Kaji shouted. "Do you know whose song this is?"

"Of course, I do," she said. "It's the song that made you famous."

"It's as recognizable as the national anthem," Kaji told them. He smiled and did a quick demo of one of the steps from the choreography. "Even the North Koreans know about it," he bragged.

Kaji and Miyabi did most of the singing. They banged their glasses and hit all the right notes until the Soju knocked their competency down by a few skill levels.

At least they're passable even when drunk...

He didn't mind their singing, but Len had felt crowded. He was itching to leave, but loyal Kaho and indulgent Tsuchiura had tambourines which they played dutifully while Kaji or Miyabi held their mikes like baton twirlers who slowly but surely were leading their small group into Karaoke hell.

Yes, even he, Len Tsukimori, knew what that sounded like. He stood up and excused himself to get some fresh air.

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"How are you, Hino?" said a voice next to her.

Kahoko jerked. Tsuchiura looked amused by her distraction; he'd taken Miyabi's seat and was still holding the red tambourine Kaji and Miyabi had assigned him to play. Len had gotten the maracas and had held it like a businessman would wield a harpoon if he was suddenly transported to the coast and ordered to hunt whales.

It's not that I want to think about him, she told herself. It's just that I can't help it.

He was in Seoul. And until a few minutes ago, he was also in the same room in Seoul.

"Are you Ok?" Tsuchiura asked.

"I'm sorry Tsuchiura," Kaho apologized. She knew she was a little tipsy. But actually...

"I'm just tired, that's all," she said to Tsuchiura.

Tsuchiura smirked at this. "Right, everyone's tired today," he said. "Except, of course, those two."

He motioned his head toward Miyabi and Kaji who were singing an off-key duet.

"What are you up to these days, Tsuchiura?" Kaho asked. She already knew he had projects in Japan and the United States but – what else was he busy with? Was there another movie score in his immediate future?

He smiled at this while preparing two shot glasses for them. "I'm getting married," he said.

"Married! You?"

They downed the liquor. Kaho ignored Tsuchiura's reaction to her disbelief and poured two more glasses.

Kaho's rapid-fire questions followed: "Who is she? Where did you meet? When did you propose?"

Tsuchiura laughed and shook his head. "We met at Seisou," he said, a mischievous gleam in his eye. "You'd remember that she was an accompanist during the Concours."

He winked at Kaho who blurted: "Mori? You're marrying Manami Mori?"

"Yeah," he winked. "Amazing, isn't it?"

"Who marries someone they met in high-school," she said without thinking. Realizing her mistake, she shut her eyes briefly and apologized to Tsuchiura.

"You no longer believe in first love?" he asked.

She scoffed and took another shot of liquor. "Ha. If I recall correctly, you confessed to me first."

Oh, God. She covered her face with her hands, peeked behind them and faced Tsuchiura who, thankfully, didn't look upset. "I'm so sorry Tsuchiura. I would never have said that out loud. This is the alcohol talking."

Tsuchiura was amused. "But you would have thought the words regardless," he said. A corner of his mouth lifted before he flashed a full grin, "So this is what you sound like when you're less inhibited. I mean, you were already honest before but –"

He chuckled, "I'm sorry I wasn't there for the wild college parties."

Like Len, Tsuchiura had been offered the opportunity to go abroad. They had communicated while they were both studying, but they hadn't talked since Kaho moved to Korea.

"Eh?"

I've never been to a single wild college party. Parties, yes. But they'd never been wild. When she was a sophomore at University, she'd done a gig which had involved her dressing up as Hatsune Miku; the guests had wanted to hear Miku's songs in violin. She actually preferred Luka but...

"Maybe I should have convinced Tsukimori to drink some more," Tsuchiura said, interrupting Kaho's thoughts. He eyed the door where Len had exited minutes ago. "Have I mentioned that he's going to be my best man?"

"Len? I mean, Tsukimori-kun, errr... Tsukimori?"

What was she thinking about before this? Luka Megurine? Right. She liked the Pink hair.

"Yeah," Tsuchiura said. "Of course I mean, Tsukimori."

"Wow. How did you get him to do it? Did he have a choice?"

Tsuchiura shot Kaho a puzzled look, "Is it really so strange?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know," she answered, idly tracing the rim of her empty shot glass with her finger. There were bottles of Soju and Tequila Rose on the table. She reached for the Tequila Rose.

Last time she checked, Tsukimori and Tsuchiura didn't get along.

"This is probably the biggest surprise I've experienced since high school. You didn't like him when we were in Seisou."

Tsuchiura pulled the liquor away from Kaho, "And why do you think that is?"

She shrugged again. "Anyway," she said, tossing her hair. "I think that it's great that you're finally on good terms."

"Weren't you expecting for us to be?"

"I was only hoping you would be," she said. "I wasn't sure Tsukimori-kun wanted to be anyone's friend."

Stupid Alcohol. Tsuchiura was right; her filter was gone.

Frown lines appeared on Tsuchiura's forehead. "Wasn't he a friend to you?" he asked.

She could hear the sympathy in his voice; she didn't know how to interpret it. "He was good to me. But I'm not sure he meant to be so..." she hesitated. "Nice."

Tsuchiura sighed. "You can trust Tsukimori Hino. He's serious about everything he does."

"If he's serious about giving his time and energy, then I'm sure he's also serious when he takes it away."

She'd wanted something he couldn't give.

And yes, she hated it, but sometimes all it took was seeing the person and all the complicated things you kept in the dark clambered out to greet you. Or, wave at you from their hiding places. She couldn't identify all of the bothersome things at first glance, but she still had the general impression she'd been treated to an unwelcome surprise party. Hello, Kaho. We're still here.

"Don't listen to me Tsuchiura," she said with a forced smile. "I embarrassed myself too often in Seisou. If you want to know how I felt back then –well, I'll only say this: I'm glad Tsukimori-kun hardly noticed my feelings."

"I'm sorry Hino," Tsuchiura murmured.

Was he pitying her?

"You shouldn't be. You couldn't have changed him. Or me," Kaho said. "We were both young, and I admired him more than anyone. I acted the way I did because of who I was back then. But it's been nine years, Tsuchiura. I'll respond to him as the person I am now."

She hadn't realized the wisdom of her alcohol-laden words until she'd finished saying them. That's right...She was a better version of herself. She had clear aspirations; she had goals, and none of them were connected to being with Len.

Being with him...

Music meant being connected to him...

"No matter where we are, we'll always meet. You and I. We'll always go back to each other."

He'd said that to her in a dream once. Because, yes, she still dreamt of Len Tsukimori.

But what if she'd been wrong? What if she'd said the words to the dream version of him?

There seemed to be a lump in her throat. I don't want to think about it.

Before the shots, she'd had a cocktail at the bar. Was the cocktail stronger than she'd been led to believe or was it the shots? She'd lost her train of thought. She reminded herself that she didn't like to drink.

Tsuchiura poured her a glass of water. She accepted it gratefully.

"Have I said things I shouldn't have?" she asked in a small voice.

"Hey Kaho!" Miyabi called, slurring her words. "Come sing this next one with me!"

Kaji flung himself next to Kaho and leaned his head on her shoulder. "Ah, my goddess," he said dreamily, "you are a picture of heaven on earth; your beloved face more beautiful than a rose in bloom..."

"Yuck," Tsuchiura grimaced. "He's even worse when he's drunk."

"I should take you all home," Tsuchiura decided. "Tsukimori," he called Len on his cellphone. "Yeah, we're going," Tsuchiura confirmed. "I'll take Kaji back to his dorm. You drive Miyabi and Kahoko," he ordered.

Wait! No!

"No, Tsuchiura," Kaho said, "that won't be necessary." When she stood, her legs wobbled underneath her. Kaji's head had slipped from her shoulders, and she landed on her butt on the floor next to Kaji who hadn't noticed he'd slid off the couch.

Ryotaro raised an eyebrow, "Any more protests?"

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Pretty please review?

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For those who've read the previous chapters:

"I Want Love" by Kassy is the song I had in mind for the piece Kaho had written for KZ. I don't have plans to make KZ into Kassy (I just wanted to sorta "keep" the artist's real name...though I realize I didn't have to...).

XM is a stand-in for the real company, SM Entertainment, which is one of the actual "big three" (along with JYP and YG) in Korea. Studio Hil, the company that did the animation for Saiki and Ayane's story, is a stand-in for Studio Ghibli.

I considered using the names of real Korean artists and companies in this fic, but I eventually decided against it.