Disclaimer: I don't own DNAngel.

AN: Wow! I actually got a response on this! And it was positive! Well, to tell the truth, I wasn't going to write anymore like this, but since it wasn't as bad as I thought it was, I'll continue doing my exercises with the DNAngel characters and such. At least until I think of something better.

The melodramatic music only deepened his mood. He was here for her. She was playing her parts perfectly, like an angel to be reckoned, and he wouldn't miss a moment of it. He knew she had worked hard at this - harder than he had ever worked at anything­ - and this was her big pay off. It was her time to show what she had worked so hard to do; to become.

She loved the violin. He didn't know what she loved about it so dearly, but he knew that she loved it with all her heart, like he loved her. It was perhaps being able to create magic with her fingertips, for what is more real magic than music? Surely maybe love, but what was the difference to her between love and music?

He was seated quite near the stage, right in front of her, so as to have as clear a view of her as possible, and could see her every placid detail gleaming under the bright lights. She was stunning. She sat among the entire orchestra, but none of the others could capture his attention as she had and as she held it. She had pulled up her long hair into a tight bun, giving her an air of confidence and intelligence, like she knew what she was doing. She knew exactly what she was doing.

Beside her was another violinist, a man he recognized to be her tutor of sorts. His pale blonde hair and pale lavender eyes made him unmistakable. He would come to the house every so often to help her keep up with her playing and to move ahead of the rest. He was, imaginably, a very fine player, even if they were only students.

But for now, the boy would be disregarded, as the defining moment, her melody solo, was reached, and she began to play in the silence of the others, she stood to take her credit; all eyes in the house upon her. The music seemed to pour from every stand and fiber of her, and she closed her eyes and smiled in the light and the moment. The melodies could not have been intended ever to be more beautiful, as the magic she created flowed silkily and smoothly to every corner and dark doorway of the hall. The high voice of the instrument was humming as if it was alive, and she was its master, stroking its voice to sing. Like she was entreating the instrument to sing. That was her magic.

He couldn't stand to look at her any longer. His eyes burned with the bright glow that surrounded her, and with the tears at the very corner of his eyes. His angel. She stung his eyes with all her beauty. He closed his eyes and lowered his chin just a hair. He could still imagine her standing up tall in front of all of her peers, and putting them to shame with her brilliance. He could feel his purple locks brushing lightly against his forehead, but he was lost too deep in her music for it to register. When the sounds grew light, and softly the rest of the orchestra slowly joined back in, he could practically see her open her eyes and sit back down.

He opened his eyes, and the entire string section went silent as the melody shifted elsewhere and she took her seat. The stage was alight with melody and beauty and lightly tapping feet. But he could see every placid detail of her gleaming under the bright lights, and he didn't miss what she hid. Her face turned away from him, to the boy next to her. In their semi-circle of players, he was slightly to in front of her. And to him she looked with a gaze that was all too familiar to all of them.

Deep violet eyes widened in shock. Her eyes…that wasn't right, he was in love with her, he was her beloved! Wasn't that…That was the look that he knew he gave her too often. The look that spoke too many words ever to be expressed, all said in mere moments left to the eyes. Wasn't that…the way he had been watching from the audience all night? As if she was his sole raison d'etre? As if she was his entire purpose in life? In existing?

His head was racing.

'No, she…that was a mistake. I saw her wrong…it was the fault of the lighting. There was never any "look" there on her face; she was smiling the whole time. Why, she didn't even have her eyes open, did she?'

He looked back at her face, hoping for a sign that he had been wrong. She was playing again, and her eyes were still open, and still facing away from the audience, and towards the sandy-haired boy next to her. But…why? How could she? Was she not his Rose of Jericho? Was he not the one that made her open up, made her love, and made her smile? What was there to love about that other? She only loved music, magic and him, didn't she? Where was there room for another?

He could hear the pocket watch of the man next to him. It was louder than the music. The violins were shrill. Screeching. The watch. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Only it was more of a 'click' than a 'tick.' Click. Clock. Click. Clock. And the flutes trilled. Higher and Higher. Sharper and sharper. And he could see the maestro's hands waving and flailing, and he was fast. The man moved to fast. Her smile was growing brighter. She was enjoying herself. Click. Clock. Why didn't she love him! It wasn't fair! That boy was just a mere child in comparison. Clock. And he could feel it now. The trilling, the screeching, the clicking, the tapping, the smiling; he felt it beating inside of him. Like his adrenaline was screaming it. And he could feel a sharp pain in him and something break as every thing got louder and louder and crescendoed. There was a crashing of symbols, and things started to spin.

"Raison d'etre. And when all moisture is gone, the rose will curl back up…" He started to soliloquize. Click. Clock. It was in his chest. It was pounding in his head.

Suddenly, everything stopped hurting. It all faded back to not being felt. The maestro still motioned, but on so violently. The melodies continued, but not so fast. The music was fading; growing faint in the distance. He could hear it, playing on like a soundtrack to a phone conversation. Getting farther and farther away…

"Who are you?"

"I have no name, I have simply a duty."

"I need to watch the recital."

"You did. And that, unfortunately, became the problem."

"Why doesn't she love me?"

"Because she loves music more."

"Why him?"

"Because he is the closest thing she can have to music as a lover."

"Can I fix it?"

"No, it's much too late for that. Please, if you would be so kind, I can hardly have you be sitting around here for a time much longer, you're in a place you don't belong."

"But…I love her…"

"Yes, too much, from the cynic's point. You must leave now, we ought to be going."

"Who are you?"

"Call me the Psycho Pomp."

"I can't even hear the music anymore. How can I watch her recital if you won't let me hear the music. Do turn the volume back up."

"You'll hear music in the Firmament, that I can promise. But please, you have idled enough time with these questions, everything will be answered if you ask when we get there, but you must come now."

"Where are we going?"

"The Firmament."

"Oh."

He got out of his seat and walked towards the door. The man next to him didn't seem to notice, and his companion didn't seem surprised. He just stood in the aisle and shook his head, gold tresses dropping from behind his shoulders. He looked like any angel should, and his wings were the whitest color of pure.

"Come along."

"I think…I'll miss her, though…"

"Don't worry. You'll have time enough to forget."

AN: This one is different. I tried somthing new in this one, but that's one of the things these exercises are for, so if you didn't like what you got, it's probably because it's practically developmental. Oh, and all the characters are from DNAngel, if you don't recognize the blonde/purple eyed character, I'll just say it's a coming attraction to manga readers, and leave it at that.