I own nothing.

Symphony of Sound: Nine

Sora was well aware of the inevitability of all good things coming to an end, but she hadn't thought that her life could take such a turn for a supposed worse. Thinking back to the better days only made her feel depressed, even though her life at that moment was anything but unsatisfactory.

She stretched languidly, lifting her arms above her head and curling her toes, and sighed, flipping over on her stomach. For all of her overachieving in high school, graduating third in her class (Koushiro had been valedictorian, and Sora couldn't have been prouder), and getting perfect scores on all of her standardized tests, she had gone to Columbia to find that most people were on her level and that her brand of dispassionate learning wouldn't help her at all in college. She'd changed, to accommodate her new surroundings and probably simply because it was for the better: she was majoring in something she was actually interested in (she had decided halfway through senior year journalism was her calling), she was doing research and taking classes and, tritely enough, finding herself.

She threw her textbook aside and winced when she heard two dull thumps and unpleasant sort of crash reverberate through the small room.

"Sora?" One of her suitemates, a pretty Korean girl named Hyori, poked her head into the room and looked at her questioningly. "Are you okay?"

"Mmpf," Sora replied, burying her head into her pillow. "I'm fine," she said, lifting her head and smiling.

Hyori grinned, toying with the headphones looped around her neck. "We're going out tonight; Aimee promised she'd get us into the club. A Japanese band is playing."

"I don't like Dir en Grey," Sora replied, getting up reluctantly and rubbing her face. She skimmed her hands over the comforter beneath her and grabbed a hair tie.

"No, not them," Hyori said, laughing. "New band. Something to do with Bibles, but Aimee wasn't very clear. They're touring the country; they're in New York for a week."

"I don't know, Hyori-chan," Sora said, sliding her feet into a pair of thickly padded slippers and standing up, stretching again. "I have to start that ethics paper, and there's that problem set that's due in a week."

"Sora-yah, you're nineteen. You're in your second year in college. You're supposed to be procrastinating, having fun, living it up…"

"Fine, fine, stop nagging." Sora tossed her hair back into a haphazard bun, blew her bangs out of her face, and padded to the bathroom with her towel slung over her shoulder. "I'm washing my face, not drowning myself. Don't worry."

Sora shut the bathroom door on Hyori's cheerful laugh and hung the towel over the rack to her right, glancing at her reflection in the mirror and sighing. She looked more or less the same as she had in junior year, though she didn't know why she was reminiscing so much. Her hair was still almost unmanageably thick and hung past her shoulders in shaggy layers; her bangs still tangled with her eyelashes and brushed against her cheekbones. She'd realized that the bags under her eyes were perpetual, that she would always be slender to the point that her ribs swam under her skin like fish did underwater, and that she would always be short.

She washed her face, applied foundation to the dark skin under her eyes, and blinked rapidly, opening her eyes widely in the end to examine her reflection. She'd also changed, though that was to be expected. During the summer before college her optometrist had informed her that she needed glasses, her doctor had told her that she would probably collapse from exhaustion if they didn't get her sleeping pills for her insomnia, and her mother had told her that she wouldn't be going to college if she didn't start smiling more.

Sora lifted her glasses from the counter, examining the slim, black wire-rimmed frames before putting them on and pushing them up the bridge of her nose. She undid her hair, shook it out, and brushed it, and tied it into a neater, lower ponytail, puffing her bangs out of her eyes and examining her reflection before shrugging and turning the light off.

The need for glasses was a result of Sora's insomnia: she stayed up late, read books with small print in insufficient light, and watched TV at three in the morning. Her insomnia was a result of her inability to smile, which was a result of small-scale depression that stemmed from the fact that she and Yamato had broken up and Yamato had moved back to Japan.

Their break had been clean, if not unsuspected and uncalled for, in Sora's opinion. After graduation and the subsequent two weeks of parties, Yamato had called her one night and asked him to meet her in the park. He'd been sitting on a park bench with his legs crossed and his eyes closed, and she'd woken him up with a kiss and a palm pressed to his stomach. He had smiled, pulled her closer, and they had sat there as fireflies blinked in the dusk.

He broke up with her around midnight, after he walked her home and told her that he was moving back to Japan; a record company had agreed to sign him after he sent in some demo tapes. He hadn't told Sora in case nothing came from it, but he was leaving, and she needed to know. Besides, he had reasoned, she was going to college and she didn't want a long-distance relationship tying her down.

Sora had cried and hit him and told him not to act like some sort of savior, like he was doing her a favor by breaking up with her. He had shrugged helplessly and kissed her forehead, told her that she was going to do great things that he couldn't measure up to, and he didn't want to bring her down. She didn't understand and he didn't expound; all she knew was that she was going to college, Yamato was going back to the motherland, and the glass of her world was shattering just when she thought she had everything taped in place.

Yamato left without calling her, and she hadn't been in touch with him since that night. There was a picture of him on her desk in her dorm room; when Hyori first saw it, she had let out some sort of low wolf-whistle and asked Sora what she had been thinking in letting him go. Sora had shrugged and smiled sadly, and Hyori had patted her on the shoulder sympathetically and offered to get ice cream.

"Mimi called," Aimee called from the living room, tossing Sora's cell phone to her. Sora caught it on reflex and looked at her other suitemate dumbly.

"What?"

"She's on break for the next three weeks and wants to know if you're free," Aimee said patiently, concentrating on the toenail she was meticulously painting. "You're coming to the club with us tonight, yeah?"

"Yeah," Sora replied.

"Call Mimi. I haven't seen her in a while," Aimee said.

"Yeah," Sora said. "Neither have I." She walked into her room and shut the door, twisting the lock into place and picking up clothes that littered the floor. Her cell phone rang again, buzzing cheerfully as the display glowed erratically. She ignored it and continued picking up clothing and tossing it into her hamper, adding laundry to her mental to-do list.

Mimi had gone off to Los Angeles to study fashion and design, and she called every so often to report that she was thriving and flourishing and couldn't wait to get back to New York to see Sora. Koushiro had gone off to Harvard to study law; Jyou was at Johns Hopkins, studying to become a doctor, and Taichi was studying business at Northwestern. He had been shocked and ecstatic when he found the thick envelope in the mail. Hikari had gone to NYU last year to study photography, and Takeru had gotten an athletic scholarship to Duke. Nothing had become of Mimi's short-lived relationship with Kyo, but nothing had happened with Mimi and Taichi either. They had drifted, just as all the other Digidestined had. Mimi calling Sora would be the first time in two months, and they would be seeing each other after almost six months.

"Tell her to come clubbing with us," Hyori said, stepping into Sora's room.

"Didn't I lock it?" Sora asked, pushing her hair out of her eyes and looking up.

Hyori shrugged and showed Sora an unbent bobby pin.

"I could have been changing."

"Oh, darling, it's nothing I haven't seen before." Hyori wiggled her eyebrows and laughed, and Sora shook her head, grinning to herself.

She had met Hyori at their freshman orientation; Sora had been stunned by the activity and sheer size of the campus and Hyori had whirlwinded over to her, sucked her in, and kept her close. She had been born in Korea, moved to the city when she was three, and still spoke fluent Korean, if with something of an accent. She was cute, with wide brown eyes and thick, highlighted chestnut-brown hair cut in long, sophisticated layers. She and Sora majored in the same thing and shared two classes, and were best friends on campus; extremely close friends off-campus. Aimee she had met in class on the second day of school; they'd sat next to each other, and Aimee, who was loud, outgoing, and just the migraine-in-a-bottle that Sora needed to stay awake, had extended her hand, introduced herself, and suggested that they be best friends. Aimee was pretty in the more-than-skin-deep sort of way; she had big, bottle-blue eyes and long, spiraled white-blond hair and she did good things on impulse. Sora had introduced her to Hyori, the three had hit it off fantastically, and the rest, as they say, was history. Or, they decided to share a suite together.

"Wear this," Hyori demanded, extending an arm from Sora's wardrobe, a skimpy silver tank top dangling from her fingers.

"With the black hot pants," Aimee said enthusiastically, entering the room.

"The tank top is yours, and I hope neither of you own hot pants," Sora replied, wrinkling her nose. "Jeans and a T-shirt, okay? I don't feel like dressing up."

Hyori raked her fingers through her choppy hair and huffed out a sigh, putting her hands on her hips. "Only you, Sora-chan."

"Only me," Sora agreed genially, reaching past Hyori and grabbing jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. Hyori wrinkled her nose, threw the clothing back into the wardrobe, and rummaged around a bit.

"Here."

A satiny black babydoll dress that would slouch off her shoulders, with long, flowing black sleeves and an impossibly brief hem. Sora wrinkled her nose. She didn't remember ever owning anything like that.

"Wear these shoes"—Hyori pulled a pair of standard black heels from the depths of the closet—"do something cute with your hair, and you'll be set."

"This isn't dressing up?"

"Please," Aimee drawled. "You're going to look like Japanese trailer park trash when you stand next to us."

"Aimee, there's no such thing as Japanese trailer park trash."

Aimee laughed. "There will be when you stand next to us."

Sora threw a sock at her friend, and Hyori and Aimee disappeared, giggling madly.

X

Sora still had dreams about Yamato. She thought it was vaguely pathetic that she chose to dwell a relationship (her only serious relationship) that had ended so abruptly and so one-sidedly, but she figured that Yamato knew her too well to consider her seriously, and she was too jaded to think of it from any other perspective. Despite this, there were still times where she woke up at two or three in the morning, sweaty and hot and hating herself for dreaming about the times he had pushed her back against walls and kissed her like she mattered.

Mimi told her once, before she moved away to Los Angeles, that best friends weren't meant to be lovers. She had also told Sora that the person who stole your first kiss was the person you were meant to be with, but Sora chose to take the former piece of advice to heart. You knew each other too well, Mimi reasoned, to be intrigued by each other. There was no initial mystery or excitement; it was like getting married. The description wasn't very appealing to Sora, and though it didn't exactly ring true, it made more sense to her than Yamato's seemingly-weak excuse of not wanting to hold her down.

She looked over at her desk and at her picture of Yamato. He was smiling one of his half-smiles, his eyes guarded and his shoulders slightly hunched and his hands tucked in his pocket and his hair a windy mess. Sora didn't remember when it was taken or where, but she thought it captured his personality almost perfectly and she'd kept it.

She turned the frame down and examined her reflection in the mirror once more. She lined her eyes with grey, dusted her cheeks back to normalcy, and strung a necklace around her throat, hoping that it matched somewhat. One thing that hadn't changed for sure was her fashion sense, which was as lacking as ever. At least Mimi would recognize her for that.

She sighed, pulled the rubber band from her hair, and watched the auburn mass settle heavily on her neck and shoulders through the curtain of her fringe. Her hair had darkened a bit, become a little more orange and red and fall leaves, and, for the first time in her life, she had split ends. She examined a strand of hair critically, picking at the end, and then gave up, running a brush through her hair again to get out any new tangles, brushing her fringe down over her eyes, and slipping a hair tie around her wrist for later.

"You look good," Hyori said, standing behind her and putting her hands on Sora's shoulders. She tugged at the precarious neckline of Sora's dress and smiled at her in the mirror. "Really."

Sora shrugged, watching her collarbones jump under her skin in her reflection. "My feet will hurt tomorrow."

"At least it's Friday," Hyori reasoned, absentmindedly fingering the silver chain around Sora's neck. "You'll have fun."

Sora leaned back against Hyori's stomach and sighed heavily. "I feel pathetic."

"Don't."

"I still miss—"

"Come on, let's go! It's already eleven!"

Hyori smiled. "Aimee calls. C'mon, Sora-chan. I promise I'll buy you a drink there."

She extended her hand and Sora took it, pulling herself up and following Hyori out of the room. She shut the door on the way out.

X

The club was hot, overflowing with the silhouettes of writhing, dancing people as strobe lights flashed and bartenders mixed and poured drinks. Sora pushed up her sleeves and fanned herself with her hand, sipping her drink and wondering why she always let her roommates talk her into doing stupid things, like wandering the streets at eleven-thirty, staying up until three in the morning the day of a midterm, and flagrantly breaking rules, whoring around, and generally being…stupid.

Neither Aimee nor Hyori had any qualms about being promiscuous. Aimee was appeared to be the more conservative of the two, but at the same time she was proud of the fact that she lost her virginity at fifteen, that boys kissed her to forget things, and that she had tried almost every kind of drug she had access to. Hyori oozed sensuality and raw sex appeal, and yet she only gave the time of day of good-looking Korean boys. She preferred drunken sex to sober sex, didn't do drugs, and liked teasing more than anything else.

"Sora!"

A drunken Mimi looped her thin arms around Sora's neck and planted a sloppy kiss to Sora's cheek, giggling. "You look fabulous in that dress, darling. The lead singer of the band has been checking you out all night."

California had changed her best friend, of course. Sora was tired of change. She turned around to face Mimi and smiled widely, hoping that it was convincing. Mimi's hair was loose, board-straight, and gleamed pink in the precarious lighting. Her face was done up masterfully, as usual, and her cotton candy lips were stretched into a wide, happy, alcohol-tinged smile. She was dressed up in a barely-there shirt and an even less-existent skirt, and she moved fluidly to the music.

"I've missed you so much," Mimi gushed, setting her drink down and shimmying onto a barstool. "Tell me how you've been!"

"If you checked your email, you'd know." Sora downed her drink and signaled the bartender for a shot.

"You can't be mad at me, Sora-chan," Mimi wheedled, taking Sora's hand in hers. "You don't understand how fast life in Los Angeles goes. I've got classes and then my internship and friends to hang out with and parties. And it's not like I haven't called you."

"Once in the past two months."

Mimi pressed her lips together. "Well, since we're seeing each other after such a long time, why don't we make the best of it? I'm in town for—"

"—Three weeks, I know." Sora traced the rim of her glass idly.

"Are you going to give me the silent treatment the whole time?"

"Mimi…" Sora paused, and then threw her arms around her friend's shoulders. "I missed you so much. I don't know how I stayed sane."

"You've lost weight, Sora-chan," Mimi chided, laughing softly. "Your arms feel too thin."

"Your hair is pink," Sora shot back, crossing her arms over her stomach defensively.

"I know." Mimi twirled a strand of it around her index finger and smiled a bit more soberly. "Where's Aimee?"

"Dancing."

"With?"

"Some boy." Sora shrugged indifferently and downed her second shot.

"The band is playing soon."

"What's so special about the band? Hyori was talking about it before we left, and the only reason we came in the first place was—"

"You'll see," Mimi said, smiling slyly. "In the meantime, let's dance."

"Mimi, you know I don't dance."

"I've seen you move when you're drunk; don't give me any of that. You have the hips for it."

"I don't have hips."

"Well, your non-hips are dancing hips! Come on!" Mimi whisked the shot glass from Sora's hand and pulled her out on the dance floor, automatically swaying to the music and lifting her arms over her head.

"Your dress is a lot shorter than anything I remember you wearing before," Mimi said into Sora's ear as she moved to the beat. She bumped hips with Sora and looped an arm around Sora's waist. "Come on, Sora-chan. Work with me."

"Hyori chose it," Sora said, grudgingly swaying her hips and lifting her arms over her head.

"I like her taste. Do you know where she bought it? We should go shopping while I'm here. Your wardrobe probably looks the same as the last time I was here."

"Why would it change?" Sora raised an eyebrow, and Mimi sighed.

"Oh, darling, you only tease the ones you love."

Sora smiled a genuine smile.

"Have you talked to Yamato lately?" The music was steadily getting louder and faster and more frenetic, and Mimi was yelling into her ear to make herself heard. Sora winced and shook her head.

"I haven't talked to him since he left."

Mimi stopped moving, her arms falling to her sides and her expression incredulous. "What are you talking about? You told me last time I was here that you guys were talking regularly."

"I lied," Sora shrugged. She crossed her arms over her stomach and made her way back to the bar, signaling for another shot.

"That's an enormous lie, Takenouchi Sora. I can't believe this; we used to tell each other everything!"

"Did I tell you that we broke up—or rather, he broke up with me—before he left? I don't have any of his contact information, and I'm not going to beg around for it to initiate something that he's obviously not interested in having." Sora downed her shot and set the glass down on the bar.

"You've got too much ego."

"You told me once that I was jaded," Sora replied, with a wry twist to her half-smile.

"That too," Mimi said. She took Sora's hand once more and dragged her into the mob of people dancing, pulling her closer and closer to the stage. "Come on, the band is good; it's the only reason I told Aimee about it."

Sora followed her less-than-willingly, pushing her flapping skirt down as she tripped inelegantly over her heels behind Mimi.

A crowd was gathering in front of the dimly lit stage; a spiky-haired Japanese boy sat behind a set of drums, jiggling his leg and tapping his drumsticks together in a rather ADD-manner; the bassist was spinning on the spot in slow, steady circles; the guitarist (and presumably the lead singer) was brushing his fingers over the worn strings of his instrument and moving his lips soundlessly. Sora liked that they looked committed. She finger-combed her bangs out of her eyes and looked up at the guitarist's face, and froze.

"Mimi."

Mimi looked at her guiltily and closed her fingers around Sora's wrist in a sharp, vice-like grip as she gestured to the guitarist frantically. The club was suddenly swimming before Sora's eyes, green sparks played at the corners of her eyes, and she could hear Hyori calling her name.

"Mimi," Sora said, shaking the arm that her friend had in her grasp and trying to step away. "Mimi, let go."

"Sora?" Hyori peered at her over the heads of a couple that was dancing too close. "Sora, are you okay?"

Sora closed her eyes and cast her mind back to a time during her senior year, when Mimi, who had been stressed and ready to throw it all down, had dragged her to a club with Ayumi, the girl they had both previously hated until Mimi discovered her softer, less bitchy side. In that situation, Ayumi had taken the role Mimi had now: dragging Sora to meet a boy she didn't to and had no incentive to meet; Mimi had taken the role Hyori played now: the concerned friend who knew what was best for Sora.

"Sora, come on." Mimi tugged insistently at her wrist.

"Sora?" Hyori was only two steps away.

"Sora?"

Sora opened her eyes, and Ishida Yamato gazed back at her, his face impassive and stiff and his blue, blue eyes telling a completely different story.

"Yamato," she replied, shaking free from Mimi and rubbing her temples.

His features softened slightly as his lips strung up into a slightly rueful half-smile. "Did you know I was going to be here?"

Sora shook her head and looked at his face, the lights, his lips, Hyori's worried brown eyes, Mimi's expectant grin, and her aching feet, and she turned around and walked away from him, from her drunk, supposed best friend, and from her genuinely concerned new best friend.

"Sora!"

Sora walked faster, ruminating at the clicking noise her heels might have been making as she walked across the dance floor and to the red exit sign glowing over a pair of heavy doors. She heard Hyori swear loudly and warn Yamato off, Mimi bluster drunkenly, and when she chanced a look back, Yamato was back on stage, looking after her, Hyori was following her, and Mimi was tripping clumsily after Hyori.

She pushed through the doors, and the wintry night air cut through her skin and seeped straight to her bones. Old snow drifted around her feet as a cold breeze wound around her bare legs, and Sora fell into a crouch, hugging herself and folding defensively.

"Sora!"

Something heavy was draped over her shoulders, and Sora shivered against the warmth of her pea coat as Hyori smoothed her hair and murmured consoling nothings into her ear. She could hear sirens in the distance, the click-clack of Mimi's stilettos against the cold pavement, and she could feel Hyori's arm around her shoulders as she coaxed her up and into a cab.

Everything had changed, and his eyes were still so blue.

A/N: I think it's been…more than six months? I owe all of you a huge apology, especially since I don't have a good excuse for not updating. I was just…lazy. And of course, I had that writer's block. I think a month back an idea leapt into my head, and I wrote seven pages of this chapter in maybe two hours. And then I had to wait for three weeks before the last three pages came to me. (is shot)

:D! So! Tell me what you think, eh? Is this transition too abrupt? Does the story not make sense at all? Should I just go climb a tree and stay up there?

Review, por favor! I'll love you all forever (not that I already don't). :)

Shizzle, it's been a long time.