A/N: I'm trying to make their relationship seem realistic but I didn't really know how to do that. I just kind of put in what would annoy me. Inattentiveness on the guy's part, silence on the girl's part.

...

Yeah, something like that...

Present, present, past

Chapter 5: Mute

Gakupo taps his pencil rapidly on his desk, staring at the blank score in front of him. He reaches over, tapping random keys on the piano, setting a new beat on the metronome, but there's still nothing there. No spark.

He throws his head back, running his hands through his hair desperately. Time. 11:26. It's getting late. He has pushed off his deadline for the finishing song of his new album for weeks now. Not out of laziness, but because he simply could not write anything. He felt dried out, too worn and work to make anything but common day actions and thoughts push themselves out of his brain. Now it's down to the last night, but there's still nothing coming.

He pushes out from the desk and leaves the room, entering back into the main room of his apartment. The pale lights of the city shine in through the window, alive even in the middle of the night. He stumbles around in the dark, touching random things, walking aimlessly, trying not to think of music, but knowing at the same time that he has to, and letting it worm its way back into his mind. Instead of the cacophony of sound he usually gets when trying to write, where he has to reach into the chaos and pull something out, there's nothing, not even a ringing or clang of drums.

No, there's nothing in his head.

But something is ringing, isn't it?

His eyes, heavily from lack of sleep and stress, float over to a tiny device that emits soft buzzes and a ray of light. It has sound. There's something inside it that's sparking. He's next to it before he realizes that he's moving, standing over it, staring at the face appearing on the caller ID, reading the name.

Luka Megurine

The name burns in the back of his eyes, the base of his throat, the pit of his stomach. There's something there. Of course there is. There's so much there. Why, why is…Why is she so far away?

If only he could hear her voice.

He grabs his own hand, reaching for the phone, and pulls it back, forcing it down to his side. The smiling face on the screen fades away as the call drops and the room fades back to dimness. He releases his hand, drawing both of them instead upwards to cover his face.

That smile.

Her voice.

Didn't she have such a nice voice?

She was always so nervous about it too. Such a silly girl.

She's beautiful. Every part.

His hands clench around his skin, digging into his cheekbones and leaving dents in his flesh. He would cry out, but there are too many words to say, and none of them would reach her.

Because she's so far away.

Because it's over.

It's all over.

Lifting his head, he reaches out hesitantly and grips the electronic, placing it in his pocket. He turns back to the room, feeling the tendrils of tone beginning to twirl around him again. He strides back into the room and grabs a guitar in the corner, strumming out a chord that dissents with itself. He does it again. Again. There it is. How sick, that pain would lead itself to art.

He feels the weight of the phone against his thigh, he can almost imagine it vibrating with the tune of another call, but he doesn't touch it. He can't touch it. Not yet. Not while he's like this.

This isn't how it was supposed to be.

This isn't how we wanted it to be.

But that's just how it is, isn't it?

Over.

It's over.

And whose fault is that?

He strums faster.

Luka grabs the piece of toast as it pops out of the toaster and shoves it in her mouth, throwing her bag over her shoulder and dashing out of her dorm. She trots down the outside stairs and reaches the ground floor, walking along the road towards the main building.

The weather is warming up, with little sprigs of grass pushing up from the brown lawn. The spring sunlight is a welcome warmth on her skin. She pulls her hair back, securing it with an elastic, as she walks. Once the suffocating mane of pink has been lifted from her neck, she grabs her phone to check the time.

1 New Message

She presses open.

Today, 12:24 AM, From: GK

You called me last night but I was busy with work. I know, invalid excuse. What did you need? Get back to me soon.

I miss you.

She lifts her eyes, somehow watery, from the text and looks around her at the intersection, the tree, the bench under it. It is the place she used to wait for him to walk her to class.

"What's up with you?" he leans over the table at the café they sit at, raising an eyebrow. She meets his gaze with one of ice and criticism.

"Oh, nothing," she responds frostily and lifts her menu to prevent further conversation. She really isn't in the mood to talk to him right now. After everything he said, and the sweetness he bestowed on her when they were together, he had been late again, as any other time. When he arrived it was as if his mind was elsewhere. Floating over thoughts as his fingers absentmindedly played with her as if she was some kind of toy.

No, she is not in the mood to talk to him.

She hears him sigh and watches over the edge of the paper as he looks away, off into the tables. After a moment that faraway look returns, as if there's a road stretched out in front of him and he's walking it, not on a date. His gaze flitters back to her, but it takes a moment for it to focus and return to the present, actually see her there. His lips turn down in a frown and a strange look passes across his eyes before he looks away again, not even trying to start up a conversation.

Luka's hands grip the edges of the menu tightly, fury pouring into her from an unknown source. She pushes it down, trying to keep the mood neutral, but it wavers back up, leaking through areas that she leaves unguarded and working its way out in gritted teeth whenever his gaze darted away.

Hey, say something.

He stays silent.

Look at me.

He looks away.

We're on a date. Aren't you supposed to act like it?

What? Does she want him to scoop her up in the midst of all these people and make out on the table? No, just…

His gaze flickers back to her. "If you don't tell me what's wrong I won't know."

"It's nothing," she whispers. He sighs and gets up, excusing himself to the restroom. Her eyes follow him as he walks away.

Come back.