A/N: Dear Readers,

As I am writing this, I am supposed to be studying my History lesson of the day. My heart and mind, however, say otherwise. At the very moment, I am blinking, and listening to Chopin's Tristesse, typing into my computer. It's Tuesday evening right now, with a beautiful full moon to my left, right out the window, above our garden of now-dead flowers. The moon is… beautiful; so round, smooth, and picturesque. Cloaked in a soft layer of fog and framed with the branches of dark, timeless trees, it really is something to behold; tugging at my heart, soothingly and eerily beautiful.

Friday, Upload time: Great, I'm risking my Father's wrath, but, oh well! I just couldn't wait for 24 more hours.

The Maastricht Salon Orchestra's version of Tristesse is performing on my computer yet another time, and now, my friends, I shall get on with my story.

"Hyuuga was there, you know."

"You mean the bloody, crimson-eyed, perverted, conceited, moron prince of a stupid actor and the big underwear-peeker? Where?"

"No, Hyuuga is Marilyn Monroe's fraternal twin with amazing curly hair. He lives in the world of Narnia and is married to a unicorn, or maybe an alicorn. His children are named Eenie, Meenie, Miney, and Mo. Hyuuga also has a dog's tail, in case you were wondering. But then later his unicorn wife died at the paws, or perhaps five-toed, three-legged chinchillas. At the end, Prince Hyuuga was abducted by aliens that wore Beethoven's pants."

There was a long silence on the other side of the line. "H-H-Hotaru…" she trailed off.

"What is it?" a bored voice asked.

"Y-You, You were spying on me!" the brunette shrieked into the phone, "How could you!" Balling the piece of paper in front of her, Mikan threw it to the floor, stomping and tearing at it in her annoyance and embarrassment.

"Now, let's not go throwing temper tantrums, shall we? But it's a shame really. That drawing of yours could have fetched me quite a bit of money. No one would expect their beloved musician to have such a flawed side."

Mikan's nostrils flared, "Hey, it was my drawing, so some of the money would be mine! And besides," she said with a huff, "How do you know what I'm doing anyway?"

"Well, if you really want to know. Look out your right window."

Turning her head slightly, she squeaked, falling to the floor in surprise. Standing behind an overgrown hedge was

"You know, it's cold out here."

"Hotaru, you're so cruel! Cold people and cold weather ought to match!" Pouting to herself, Mikan flung her studio window open. "You could have used the door like any other normal being, you know," she complained.

Climbing in, Hotaru shrugged. "You're not normal, and you use the door." Shaking off her jacket, Hotaru looked at Mikan, "It's late, what are you still doing here?"

"It's only nine! Besides, I was supposed to be reading this textbook, but I drew some weirdo instead," With her phone in hand, Mikan gestured at the music history textbook lying open on the glass table, scowling in annoyance.

Settling comfortably into a cream-colored couch, Hotaru maintained an uninterested gaze, "Need some help?"

Mikan's gaze lit up like a Christmas tree, "Really, Hotaru?" Bouncing on her feet, she beamed, "Thank you!"

Hotaru shook her head at Mikan's childishness. "What are you, twelve years old?"

"Nuh-uh! I'm sixteen, thank you very much!"

Hotaru rolled her eyes, "I know that, dummy. It was sarcasm."

"Eh? Sarcasm?"

Fondling with Mikan's textbook, Hotaru just shook her head, "We're starting with the Modern era of music."

Mikan made a face, "Taylor Swift? Justin Bieber? Yuck. Thanks, but no thanks, Hotaru. I'm even proud to say that I've never even heard Beaver sing before. I never even knew you were into that sort of thing."

Hotaru heaved an exasperated sigh. This is going to be a long evening.

.

The brunette sighed, "I'm so tired, Hotaru! Make it end," she whined.

"It's only been two hours, stupid."

"I know! But memorizing lines of black words is not the same as actually sitting at my beloved piano! Besides, I also want to sleep," Mikan flopped onto the piano bench, staring glumly at the black Steinway in front of her.

"You're itching to play, aren't you?"

Mikan nodded miserably. "History is fascinating… and Giuseppe whatever-his-name-is Verdi and Richy-Oh-Amazing Wagner are nice, but…"

The dark-haired girl nodded at the grand, "Then by all means, play something. I can't stand to hear your endless whining or see you moping." Inputting something into her phone, Hotaru leaned back against her leather seat, "We're touching base with Richard Wagner after this. Go with Tempest tonight."

Mikan's beam faltered, "B-But Hotaru," she whispered, "Don't you—"

Hotaru gazed at her friend, "Just go with it Mikan," she said softly. Shrugging, she closed her eyes.

Come on Mikan, you got this, she told herself, it's nothing to be afraid of. I got this. Taking a deep breath, Mikan closed her eyes, placing her hands on the keyboard. Tempest. We're brewing up a storm tonight.

.

Mikan

Eye closed, I tore through Beethoven's sonata, feeling a sense of letting go, a sense of confrontation of the feelings I have tried for so long to evade. The feeling of a storm let loose. I felt… despondent. Unleashing my carefully bottled-up emotions into the music, my heart ached, searching. Wandering. In the midst of the second movement, I thought I heard a soft shuffle and another person's presence. Dismissing it as the adrenaline rush and my running heart, I continued on, commanding my music with dignity, with honor, with touches of longing. I dove into the last movement, my soul beating with yearning. I was brimming with agitation, searching… searching, to no avail… I was lost; confused; wondering… Bringing the last minor arpeggio to a close, I finished Beethoven's Tempest.

I bowed my head, letting my hands go limp on my lap as I closed my eyes, a tear trickling down my cheek, "Mom… Dad…" Rising from the bench slowly, my head still bent, I ran blindly towards the studio door, pushing past a figure leaning against the doorframe.

Arriving outside, I gulped greedily for air, inhaling the evening's fresh, mysterious air. Leaning against the wall, I turned my eyes upwards, gazing at the thin moon. Stars adorned the late-night sky, sprinkled about like white sugar. "M-Mom…? D-Daddy?" I whispered hoarsely, closing my eyes once again.

Then I lost it.

Throwing myself at a nearby tree, I punched it a dozen times with all my might, biting the insides of my mouth heatedly. Mom, Dad, you just had to die! You just had to! Why, why, why?! Disregarding the stabbing pain shooting up my arms, I ignored the peeled skin and blood welling up at my knuckles, thankful for the dark. My arms stinging, I kicked the tree trunk before leaning against the branches, sliding to my feet. I looked at my hands under the moonlight. What have I done? What… What am I thinking…?

.

"If you keep doing this, I'm going to have to think twice before letting you touch the piano again in the future."

"Hotaru." The brunette smiled lovingly at her friend, "N-no. You know me, I'm such an idiot," she laughed, "It happened, what, six years ago? It's just; I'm still not over it. I-I know I have Uncle K-Kazu, but sometimes… it's just not enough. I really do miss Mom and Dad…"

Hotaru walked up to her friend, allowing her eyes to soften, "I know… I know… I understand, Mikan. I do. Your performance today? It… It was beautiful," Turning her gaze away from Mikan, Hotaru smiled faintly, "It was real."

"You liked it?" the girl asked hopefully.

Shrugging, Hotaru turned to go inside. "If you decide to get sick or effected, dummy, I won't be the one taking care of you."

Reverting to her cheerful self, Mikan scampered after Hotaru, "Hotaru, you meanie! Wait for me!" Forgetting about her early mishap, she dashed through the door after her best friend.

.

"Gesamtkunstwerk… German for total art work, an ideal idea used by Wagner, which was achieved through the perfect union of text, scenery, music, costumes, and lighting," Mikan recited, yawning, as she stared down crossly at her bandaged hands.

Hotaru nodded at Mikan's answer, "Heldentenor?"

The brunette bit her lip, brows furrowed, "Oh I got it! It's also German…! For 'heroic tenor', right? It's like, umm, a male voice with a high range that possesses incredible strength and stamina. Oh and erm, it is associated specifically with Wagner's operas."

"Don't stutter. Think before you speak. You sound like an idiot."

Mikan just pouted, "You meanie!" Dismissing Hotaru's blunt comment, the girl waited eagerly for Hotaru's next quiz.

"Leitmotif."

"I got this!" Mikan cried. Knocking on her own head, she winced, "When will these stupid hands heal?"

"I'm waiting for an answer here," came a monotone voice.

Eyes brightening, Mikan beamed, "I got it! Leitmotif is uh—"

"—Don't stutter."

"—Is… also German! For 'leading motif', which is, I think, a concise theme that undergoes some sort of transformation and, I think, carries a," she coughed, "specific musical association, blah bIah. This too was perfected by our dear friend Richard Wagner…"

"And?"

"Oh umm…" the brunette yawned, "It's a musical fragment imbued with some kind of meaning or standing for a certain character, place, object, or e-emotion."

Hotaru nodded in satisfaction, "One more. Wagner's birth and death?"

Mikan gawked at her friend, "You're not even looking at the textbook! You remember all that?"

Hotaru stared impassively at her friend, "You should have remembered it all too, dummy. Waiting for dates right now, idiot."

Closing her eyes in concentration, Mikan finally squeaked, beaming confidently, "1813-1883!"

"Exact dates, of course."

"Hotaru! You're so cruel!" After several minutes, she finally uttered, "May 22nd, 1813 – the thirteenth of February, 1883."

"I didn't hear that. Come again?"

Mikan scowled, "The twenty-second of May, 1813 to February thirteenth, 1883," she said positively.

"Good."

Mikan reached for her phone, ignoring her friend's blandness, "It's one o'clock already? No wonder I'm pooped," Mikan mused, a yawn racking her body.

Hotaru rose from her spot on the couch. Strolling towards the piano, she repeated from earlier, "Hyuuga was there, you know."

The brunette stuck her tongue out, "you mean the bloody, crimson-eyed, per—"

"—Let's not repeat ourselves," Hotaru interjected quickly, "Yes, the crimson-eyed being."

"So he's not human after all!" the brunette piped up.

Hotaru turned from her standing position at the piano, discontinuing her affair of dusting the lid. Shrugging, she said, "You can say that."

The brunette beamed, which was immediately replaced by a frown, "Wait who was where?"

Hotaru took a deep breath. Keeping her voice as steady as possible, she ground out, "My cousin. Natsume Hyuuga," the violet-eyed girl coughed upon saying his name, "was at your concert several days ago."

"Eh?! He was? The stupid perverted moron watched me perform!" she fumed, "The nerve!"

"Jumping to conclusions quickly, are we?" Hotaru remarked wryly.

The brunette shrugged, unable to keep the excitement out of her voice, "What did he think? Did he like it? Did he hate me? Was I awesome? Oh! I can't wai—"

"Slow down, jeez. Why I even bothered to tell you, I don't know…" Hotaru muttered.

Mikan just grinned, flopping down on the leather couch, all traces of sleepiness flying through the window. "So? Tell me! What'd he think? What did everyone think? Come to think of it…" the brunette thought aloud, "I didn't get to stay after the concert. Because I just had to go to your place," she pouted.

"You're so immature. Besides, Hyuuga's practically a stranger to you. How you manage to pull of a show in your music will always remain a mystery to me."

"It's not a show!" Mikan squeaked heatedly, "It's genuine." Fuming, she placed emphasis on the word 'genuine'.

"Mikan,"

"Eh?"

"If you keep whining, we'll be here forever. I'm tired."

"Oh right! Go on please, Hotaru! You're my bestest friend!"

Leaning against the piano, she folded her arms across her chest. Hotaru began stoically, "As I said, Hyuuga was there. But I'm not one to repeat his words. Simply put, he enjoyed it," she finished disinterestedly.

Mikan puckered her lips, "That's it? There was no particular phrasing he liked? He didn't enjoy my different interpretations? What's his problem?"

Hotaru straightened, staring dispassionately into Mikan's chocolate orbs, "He doesn't give out compliments. Not many people see his emotional side. To say that he enjoyed it, is a great compliment."

"You're protecting him? Aww, Hotaru! That's so sweet of you!"

Silence met the brunette's complimenting admiration. Shrugging at her friend, Mikan's body was convulsed in a yawn. Covering her mouth with a bandaged hand, she said, "Well, I'd like to meet him anyway. Properly. One day. A day that he won't look at my underwear."

Hotaru just shook her head, nodding a moment later , "Hyuuga was here during your performance of the Tempest."

Mikan nearly fell out of her seat on the couch, "He what?!" she shrieked, spluttering.

"You always make me repeat myself twice, don't you?"

"Sorry Hotaru," Mikan murmured meekly, climbing warily back onto the couch.

Shrugging, Hotaru gave a wave of her hand. "He left after you flirtatiously bumped into him. Anyway. It's getting quite late. We should part ways now." She strode towards the door, turning her head slightly, "We'll set up for a meeting between the two of you. Expect a text."

Grinning, Mikan waved at her friend, "Thank you Hotaru! And night night!" Scuttling around her studio, the brunette closed down her pianos, humming a lively tune. "Wait, flirt? Jeez Hotaru, in your dreams!" Cheeks reddening, she resumed her task of scurrying to and fro. Tidying up the rest of the room, she discarded the trash lying about on the floor, picking up loose sheets of music, stacking textbooks together neatly on a table. Beaming, she clapped her hands together, "All done!" Wiggling into her jacket, she glanced at the time on her phone. 1:47am. Yawning, she sauntered out the door, a smile on her lips. Locking the studio behind her, Mikan turned down an empty street, happily fantasizing about her comfortable bed. Snapped from her thoughts, she clumsily bumped into a figure.

"Watch where you're going, little girl," the voice growled.

Mikan peeped up, gaping at the figure donned in black. She gasped. There was only one word running in her mind.

… Crimson.

A/N: As I am finishing up this chapter, it is Wednesday morning. Believe it or not, the sky is a beautiful, fluffy pink color. It's gorgeous and a maybe a bit tugging at the same time, the pink overlapping the dark clouds, shrouding them in a soft glow.

Thank you, everyone, for being patient with my rather slow updates. A lot of the times, time just does not permit for me to upload my writings. By the time you read this, it will probably already be Saturday. Nuh-Uh, it's Friday, and almost lunchtime for me right now!

I know that a few of us aren't all too familiar with Richard Wagner and German terms, so… sorry for ruffling with your brains! I just need to include more musical background, with Mikan being a musician and all.

Direct any classical music questions towards me, if you must.

And so, until next time, my friends,

Alex

As I am signing my name, the pink from the sky has entirely disappeared, leaving behind but a faint rosy tint to the murky clouds. Too bad it's Friday already. No more pretty 'n pink.