Note: The piece that Riko plays in this chapter is a real piece: It's really called the Suite bergamasque by Claude Debussy. If you can find it on your preferred music app (YouTube or otherwise), I'd recommend listening along to it when it pops up in the story. It heightens the mood in this piece, whatever the heck that arbitrary concept means.
Yoshiko approached the music room for the second time in two days, taking slow, deliberate breaths. Don't get so worked up! It's not a date, it's not a date…
As much as she wanted to lose herself in the "private audience" fantasy she had put forth yesterday, she had to temper her expectations. This was for Riko to find the magic she was missing, not for Yoshiko to indulge herself in her meaningless desires.
Could I somehow do both at the same time?
In weighing the two, Yoshiko walked headfirst into the door, staggering back as pain lanced through her forehead. She clutched the tender area, cursing under her breath as she glared at the guilty party. It wasn't her fault that she had lost herself in silly thoughts, it was the door's fault for existing in that space and being firmly closed.
Only now did Yoshiko realize that something was amiss. She looked around the empty hallway, frowning. Riko should have been here by now.
The music room was silent. The light was on, but no one sat at the piano bench. From where she stood outside the window, she couldn't see anyone inside.
Yoshiko pulled out her phone. No new messages.
A slight worry began to settle in at the edges of her mind. Yoshiko had to shake her head to displace it. "No, no, she's probably just running late…" Just like yesterday, she had hurried to the music room as soon as class let out, and she knew it would be unreasonable to expect Riko to share that urgency.
She tested the handle, and the door yielded. The resulting squeak seemed to echo in the empty room. The same was true for her own, hesitant footsteps. They led her to the piano bench, which she regarded with suspicion as though it was somehow responsible for Riko's current absence. Already, her mind swam with rogue thoughts; pictures of Riko offering only a nonchalant shrug to the piano, or worse still, crumpling to the ground after a particularly botched run appeared before her, and she reached for her phone, because coming off as a worrywart was preferable to not knowing...
The footsteps behind her didn't register until a pair of hands closed around her face, shrouding her vision in black. "Surprise!"
Yoshiko squawked, and immediately regretted allowing that sound to escape from her mouth. Hoping this person couldn't feel her face heating up, she flailed her arms in a futile attempt to escape. "Desist at once! Underestimating my powers will be your demise -"
A musical giggle sang in her ears. "You have to guess who this is if you want me to let go," her assailant said.
Yoshiko's arms fell to her sides, all of their resistance vanishing in that instant. "Riko?"
"Correct!" The veil was lifted, and Yoshiko spun around to a beaming Riko. "You're right on time."
Her smile dispelled all of Yoshiko's prior worries, the unpleasant images her imagination had concocted, and the contrast made her want to leap forward and throw her arms around Riko, just to confirm that what she was seeing was real. Before she could, though, that very contrast tugged at the corners of her mouth, pulling it into a suspicious frown. "Were you…" She looked towards a far corner of the room, not visible when she looked inside moments before. "Were you hiding?"
Riko nodded.
"...Why?"
"Uh… I don't know. I felt like having a bit of fun?" She tried, her smile fading slightly.
Yoshiko crossed her arms. "And did you have fun?"
Riko's growing guilt was apparent in the way that she tented her fingers together, but that didn't stop her from saying, "A little. Your reaction was great."
Yoshiko pressed a finger to her temple, taking a deep breath. She had to choose her next words carefully, lest she let her annoyance show…
"Did you think I wasn't showing up? Were you worried?" Riko beat her to it. Her smile had disappeared. That, combined with her pleading eyes, made it impossible for Yoshiko to lie.
"Yeah."
"Ah…" Her quiet response was tinged with remorse. "If I changed my mind about today, I would have had the courtesy to tell you beforehand. But I still made you worry, so I'm sorry about that."
"It doesn't matter anymore," Yoshiko muttered, wishing she would drop the subject and get on with her magical ritual of piano playing.
Riko wasn't finished. "You must be pretty concerned about me, Yocchan." She giggled. "You're really too kind."
"Kind?!" Yoshiko scoffed, bringing two fingers up to her eye. "Hardly. It's my hellish duty. Don't make me repeat myself!"
"Of course, of course." The words were the audible equivalent of a dismissive hand-wave as Riko looked past Yoshiko, to the piano bench. "Shall we?"
She was chasing yesterday's moment. She wanted to think they both were chasing it. Because for those brief seconds, Yoshiko had wanted for nothing more than to lie down and let the music wash over her. That very claim she had put forth yesterday, at the coffee shop, applied just as much to herself as it did to Riko.
So from the moment Riko laid her fingers across the keys, Yoshiko couldn't suppress her anticipation. The sound was just as she remembered it; she found herself swaying gently to the easy waltz tempo that Riko started off with. For all of Riko's talk about mistakes, Yoshiko could almost believe that she could make the most dissonant notes ring out in harmony.
As much as she wanted to sit next to Riko at the piano bench, she restrained herself by pulling up an adjacent chair. Riko didn't seem to mind when she produced her notes from class, and Yoshiko didn't need to convince her that she was still listening. The occasional glances they exchanged seemed to be enough.
Now that she was only inches away, Yoshiko could properly observe the spellcaster herself, the one behind the magic. She carried herself a little differently than yesterday; whereas Yoshiko had previously imagined Riko to be the picture of grace, with a ghost of a smile and gently closed eyes to match, the real Riko seemed to crease her brows in a permanent furrow. Was it the result of simple concentration? For want of perfection? An unhealthy aversion to the slightest mistakes?
She banished those creeping doubts from her mind. She was happy because she was close to Riko, and Riko was happy because she was playing again. What more could she want?
Yoshiko had a semblance of musical training under her belt, which came naturally with singing in Aqours for a year. She supposed that she would be able to tune into an accidental change in tempo, or a note that was a half-step off. Today, however, she felt herself honing into the fleeting fantasy of yesterday's Riko, yesterday's piano, and in her desire to lose herself again, her eyelids fluttered closed despite the increasing urgency of the tempo, the misplaced accents -
CLANG.
Only her previous embarrassment saved her from emitting another uncouth squawk, but she failed to suppress her more physical reaction: a sharp flinch that almost launched her out of her seat. Any protests on the tip of her tongue died as she saw that Riko had slammed the piano cover shut. She lowered her head, locks of maroon hair falling across her face and shrouding her normally bright eyes.
The cacophony left a pang in Yoshiko's ears, its echoes careening off the walls. Yoshiko leaned closer, extending a tentative arm to the silent girl, who just moments before was the source of such a beautiful sound. It was an excuse to touch her, but she convinced herself that Riko needed the contact to bring her back to Earth. Her hand hovered over Riko's opposite shoulder -
"It's not working."
Yoshiko drew back, and when Riko looked up to meet her gaze, she couldn't tell whether she had done the right thing; those golden eyes looked so troubled, so confused. "I'm not feeling it. My mistakes… they're too loud. They're all I can hear." She drew in a deep breath, and Yoshiko braced herself for a self-deprecating rant or something of the sort, but instead Riko let it out as slowly as she'd taken it in. "I was so sure I'd turned a new leaf yesterday…"
"Hey, hey…" Yoshiko soothed. The desire to touch this girl, so obviously in need of support, still held her, and so she similarly reached to hold Riko's right hand, her frown deepening when she felt it shake in her own. "You did."
"No, I didn't!" Riko protested, attempting to gesticulate for emphasis, but she found herself hindered by Yoshiko's grasp. She settled for a defeated sigh. "I'm even worse than yesterday."
"Riko."
"It's like I'm forgetting how to play!" Riko's voice rose in both volume and intensity. "Oh, what if I really am hopeless-"
"Lily!"
Her head snapped up, so close to Yoshiko that her locks brushed across the younger girl's face. Once Yoshiko had properly appreciated how fortuitous they were to narrowly avoid a violent headbutt, she found Riko's shimmering eyes directly in front of her. She had to fight herself to keep calm, and not think of Riko's slightly parted lips or her light breaths, which caressed Yoshiko's own mouth. "Take a breath." She removed her hands from Riko's and placed them instead on the other girl's shoulders, giving them a friendly shake. Riko's expression didn't change. "The piano is holy, so I don't know much about it, but… you didn't wake up one day and suddenly realize you were good at it, did you?"
Riko shook her head, the only indicator that she was listening.
"So isn't it the same now?" She jerked her head towards the piano, sitting there silent and daunting all the while. "It'll take time."
"Yocchan…" Without warning, Riko closed the gap between them and threw her arms across Yoshiko's back. Before she knew it, Yoshiko found her face buried in Riko's hair, her senses overpowered by what seemed to be flowery shampoo. It took a tremendous effort of willpower for her not to take a deep breath and bask in the fragrance. "You're right again," she murmured into her shoulder. Yoshiko felt her heart thumping against Riko's chest, and she thought to escape for all of a moment before she returned the embrace instead.
"I must have been too eager to return to form," Riko continued. "I thought it was just a mental block, and I'd be right back at it by today."
"Ah. Yohane isn't suited to play the optimist, it seems," she mused. After a moment, she buried her face into the crook of Riko's shoulder, pleasantly surprised when she wasn't met with a flinch of surprise or disdain.
"No, it's not your fault. I just got ahead of myself."
They remained in their embrace after both girls had fallen silent. Yoshiko didn't know for how long, only that it wasn't long enough when Riko finally separated herself. "You know, Yocchan…" she said, putting a finger to her chin.
"Hm?" Her response was the least "fallen angel" thing she could think of, dazed as she still was by the sudden turn of events.
"That was the first time you called me 'Lily' since…"
The interval dawned on Yoshiko just as it was pointed out to her. "Since Aqours? Yeah." She saw Riko's growing smile, a glint appearing in her golden eyes. She had to downplay it. "So?"
"I never minded it, you know." Riko's serious gaze conflicted with her wide smile, and Yoshiko cruelly wished in that moment that she hadn't offered those words of consolation, if only to prevent such an unfavorable topic from coming up. The resulting shame colored her cheeks more than the overtly personal question that Riko followed up with. "Why did you stop?"
Yoshiko mentally flailed for a response, well-aware that Riko could see the blush she felt all the way to her own ears. But her mind ran in hapless circles, and only after the initial panic had faded did she realize why she was at such a loss for words:
"I don't know." She regretted averting her gaze, and she regretted how she muttered the words just above a whisper. She felt like she was lying somehow.
A short pause. "That makes two of us, then." Riko laughed, and the tension in Yoshiko's shoulders dissipated. "You don't have to, but… Like I said, I wouldn't mind if you picked it back up."
Yoshiko's face couldn't get any redder. Riko's word choice didn't escape her; by using the same sentiment that Yoshiko had used on her to keep practicing, was she equating the two endeavors, unequal though they were? Or was Yoshiko overthinking the matter, like she always did when it came to this girl who used to be so radiant?
Riko's voice dragged her out of her thoughts. "...anyway, it wouldn't be smart to try playing after all that. I think I need some fresh air." She got up, beckoning Yoshiko as she headed for the door. "The roof's the best place to do that. Don't you agree?"
Yoshiko followed suit, though she was still occupied with an alarming point that Riko - no, Lily - had helped her realize.
Why did I stop?
The colder the weather became, the less likely students were to relax on the rooftop at any given point during the day. Here, in the middle of October, a few brave souls chatted as a light breeze blew across the roof. Riko rubbed her arms, her eyes narrow as though that would shield her from the mid-autumn chill, but she still insisted on moving forward. With the abundance of free space, they had no problem finding a spot at the roof's edge.
On this rooftop, with its pervading chill, Yoshiko couldn't help but think of times past, of the only time which she could definitively say fell under the "rose-colored youth" she so claimed to chase. On that rooftop, characteristic of their now-defunct school, she, Riko, and the seven remaining girls of Aqours had found the radiance their leader had pursued with such perpetual intensity.
This, too, was "no contest," if she were to borrow one of Riko's phrases from yesterday. Uranohoshi's rooftop was untouchable, literally and figuratively. Yoshiko found herself glaring at the cast-iron fence that boxed them in on this rooftop, as though she could burn holes in it just through the intensity of her stare alone. She missed how her uniform could never escape the smells of sand and sea salt, how the coast-bound ocean breeze was as present as the collective hope of nine bright-eyed girls on the rooftop, the only constants of that one single year.
"Do you actually like it up here?" An ever-present wistfulness weighed on Yoshiko's words.
Riko faced the skyline, dotted with the occasional skyscraper. "It's alright. Nothing special."
"I thought you said -"
"That the rooftop's the best place to get some fresh air? It is." Riko's eyes were on her now. "In some ways that are… less pleasant than others."
Yoshiko frowned. "Care to elaborate?"
"Well…" Riko turned back to the rooftop's edge, and something about the simple action told Yoshiko that she'd better listen to the older girl's next words. "...There's no better place than this to remind us Aqours is in the past."
She looked back to Yoshiko, presumably for a reaction. Yoshiko's wide eyes must have told her all she needed to know, because she didn't wait for a verbal response. "Were you thinking the same thing?"
"...I didn't know you were a mind reader, Lily." She pressed two fingers to her temple, squeezing her eyes shut. "Though it's strange. I don't detect any dark magic telepathy at work here."
"I'm not a mind-reader," Riko giggled, but her smile was gone as soon as it appeared. "I just feel the same way as you. But as hard as it is to accept, I think it's what I need right now. If I'm to try my hand at this whole 'moving on' thing, anyway." She fell silent, leaning against the iron bars. Yoshiko watched her long hair sway in the breeze, a stormy expression clouding her usually-golden eyes.
If Riko found it in herself to be this vulnerable, then the least Yoshiko could do was return the sentiment, to let her know she wasn't alone.
"...Yeah. Me too." She finally joined Riko at the roof's edge, gazing out to the claustrophobic skyline. From anyone else's perspective, it was surely a dramatic image: the two of them with their backs to an imaginary camera, staring at nothing while the breeze ruffled their hair in synchronicity. A wry smile crossed Yoshiko's face at the mental image, and she silently wished she'd had the foresight to capture this moment somehow.
"I think we're somewhat behind in that regard." Riko broke the all-too-brief silence. "Ruby-chan's started her own idol group, hasn't she? I heard about it from Mari-chan."
"Yep." Yoshiko allowed herself a brief review of the relevant events: from its quiet inception courtesy of Ruby herself, to the unconditional support of Zuramaru and Yoshiko herself, now second-years, with Leah included. Once the news had reached Mari's ears somehow, it was all but official. Keeping a secret from Mari and expecting her to keep a secret were both exercises in futility. "It'll be hard, with Ruby and Leah living so far away from each other. Ruby might be entertaining the idea of moving? And I thought I was crazy." Yoshiko snickered, but her comments weren't entirely in jest; the Ruby of old couldn't even form a proper sentence around a stranger without breaking down. Yoshiko still couldn't believe how quick, how radical the change had been. She almost envied it.
Riko nodded in agreement, but she had another avenue of conversation in mind. "I take it you didn't join them? You didn't mention it when we were talking yesterday, and you're absent from all the pictures Ruby-chan and Hanamaru-chan post to the chat..."
Yoshiko quirked an eyebrow. It was just like Riko, to pick up on those little details. "No, I didn't. I'll support my little demons no matter what, but…" she hesitated. Come on. Lily deserves the truth. "My heart wasn't in it."
Riko grimaced, her eyes full of sympathy. "Did you tell them? That must've been a difficult conversation to have."
"I'd thought so too. I'd prepared this whole speech on how it's 'not them, it's me,' but they understood right away. Almost made me change my mind right then." She smirked. "It's kinda weird, watching the three of them do it without me, but… I really don't think I could've done it if it was just for them."
Instead of replying, Riko chose to gaze at her. Yoshiko tried to ignore it at first, as the glance was sidelong and she could pretend those golden eyes weren't in her peripheral vision, but her curiosity won out. She met the stare. "What?"
"You probably don't want to hear this from a normal girl like me, but we really are one and the same."
"Please." Yoshiko rolled her eyes. "Don't start with that crap. 'Lily' and 'normal' are two words that don't go together. Maybe even less than 'Yohane' and 'normal.'"
"That makes it even more true, then," Riko declared, wearing a triumphant smile for reasons unknown to Yoshiko. "Can we go back now? I feel a little better. Being up here works, I'm telling you. I feel like I'm about… five-percent moved on?" She stepped away from the edge, smiling, and Yoshiko fell in step with her on the way back to the music room.
Or maybe my thoughts are distracting you from your own? Yoshiko bit back the cynical thought. In truth, Riko's announcement of similarity should have been a cause for celebration. One with a number of qualifications, but a celebration nonetheless; they were kindred spirits connected by an inability to move on.
Riko sat back at the piano bench, her eyes faintly concealing a muddle of emotions. Neither of them had turned on the light when they walked in. After a moment, Yoshiko sat next to her, and Riko lifted the piano cover with care. She stared at the keys as though they stared back.
"Lily, are you sure?" Yoshiko asked, seeing her thousand-yard gaze. "You shouldn't force yourself."
Riko's eyes came back into focus, though her expression was still just as thoughtful. "...How about this: do you want me to play anything?"
"Me?" Yoshiko pointed at herself.
Riko nodded. "Maybe I've been thinking about this too selfishly? If I play at your request, it might help me approach the piano differently. I could worry less about what I want out of it."
"Huh." Yoshiko ran a hand down the side of her cheek, frowning. Already, she could see how the plan could backfire; another person's expectations could add pressure to Riko's playing, further increasing the chances of another dead stop. But then again, if she suggested a piece that didn't overemphasize technical precision, Riko could focus on the feeling, bringing both of them closer to the complete immersion that Yoshiko still desired.
On top of that, she now had the chance to put in her very own request to Riko. She wasn't going to pass that up, so she nodded to herself while she thought of a piece that would strike the right balance between expression and difficulty.
The answer that she landed on didn't exactly scream "fallen angel," but she was willing to sacrifice that, just for the moment, if it could lend Riko a modicum of confidence.
"Clair de Lune."
Riko raised an eyebrow. Not the reaction that Yoshiko was expecting. "That's… pretty easy, but…"
"But what?" Yoshiko wondered if she had somehow insulted the pianist, underestimating her skill in some way.
"But… I'm surprised you know it."
"Don't be. Isn't it famous? Even in Hell, it is," she tried, hoping she wouldn't have to reveal that it was her preferred "study music," which would certainly incite some anger from Riko and cause her to claim "disrespect" or something equally accusatory.
"That's true… Oh! How about I play the whole Suite bergamasque?" She clasped her hands together in excitement, an excitement Yoshiko didn't share.
"The what what?" Yoshiko didn't bother to hide her puzzlement.
"Clair de Lune is the third movement of a larger composition, or 'suite," as it's called here," Riko explained. "It's famous as a standalone, as you already know, but it's really meant to be played alongside its companion pieces."
"Is there…" Yoshiko frowned as she searched for a fitting term, limited as her technical knowledge of piano compositions was. "...an advantage to playing them all together? One that's not for completion's sake?"
Riko hummed, playing a single note on the piano as she mulled over the question. It rang out for a few seconds before she seemed to find her answer. "I'd say the suite takes you through a wide range of emotions, whether you're playing or just listening. It's more rewarding that way."
If that was true, then Yoshiko only saw one other obstacle to Riko's proposal. "Can you do it?"
Riko turned to face her, not a shadow of doubt on her face. "If it's for you, Yocchan, then I think so." She beamed.
Yoshiko flushed, gaping at Riko and at a total loss for words. For all that is unholy, that is not fair!
From the get-go, from that moment Riko had once again laid her fingers to the keys, Yoshiko knew she was right to play the entire suite. The opening section thrived on its flighty runs and resounding bass notes, a far cry from the gentle and warm Clair de Lune that she'd initially requested.
Though she was unfamiliar with this piece (Riko had called it a 'Prelude' and nothing more, and Yoshiko had tried not to snicker at this pleasing coincidence), she found herself entranced by its fluid dynamics. Riko would transition from near-pounding to the gentlest of touches at a moment's notice.
More important than all of this was the expression of the player. Yoshiko didn't hide the many glances she snuck at Riko's face, and was pleased to see the hints of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth, never quite there but always hiding just below the surface of her features. Even when she capped off the first section with dramatic flourishes, playing a series of runs with increasing difficulty, she never allowed herself more than a slight frown.
Was she so naive to think that progress came this easily? Was she so selfish to think that change was impeded only by an untried shift in perspective? She knew the dangers of succumbing to this belief, and yet she did anyway. So she was selfish. She knew that. She would be selfish if it allowed her to believe in Riko.
Riko transitioned into the second piece without so much as a cough. This piece, too, distinguished itself from the first notes with its key change, which Yoshiko was prescient enough to key in on. The overall tone was more playful, too, skipping along with notes of a generally shorter duration.
Yoshiko, in particular, enjoyed the bounce of Riko's shoulders as she lifted her fingers off the keys in quick succession, her chin jutting upwards ever so slightly with each lift and bounce.
If the previous piece couldn't stand alone as substantial evidence, perhaps this one could. Even if she crashed and burned in spectacular fashion after this, Yoshiko was sure that Riko had already proved herself many times over. And if she didn't believe that, she would go to Hell and back in trying to convince her of that fact.
Riko played the subtlest of notes, lasting only for fractions of a second. Then, with a deep breath, she leaned further into the piano, and played the signature opening chords of the third movement, Clair de Lune.
Just as Riko had claimed, its effect was at once immediate and dramatically different than what Yoshiko expected. After the constant pomp and playfulness of the first and second movements, respectively, Clair de Lune began with an understated beauty. Yoshiko found herself admiring each silence just as much as she did each series of harmonious chords, each line of melody and counter-melody.
Finally, she closed her eyes and let the music wash over her. As she did, she leaned in closer to Riko and rested her head on the pianist's shoulder.
"Yocchan?!" Riko's harsh whisper sounded in her ear, and Yoshiko's eyes snapped open. She looked up with trepidation, fearing that her impulsive action had ruined the beauty of this moment. Somehow, Riko continued playing through it all, even though Yoshiko could see the redness that dusted her cheeks.
"...should I stop?" she whispered back.
The music crescendoed briefly before Riko played a series of descending runs. Yoshiko watched her hands move - were they nervous? Shaking, even? Finally, she said, "No. I don't mind."
"It's not harder to play?"
"If it was a harder piece, it would be…"
Yoshiko smiled into Riko's shoulder. She knew she'd had the perfect request.
The piece came back down from its climax; even the more impressive arpeggios seemed to emphasize beauty over technicality. A slight variation appeared on the main theme, and Yoshiko knew that this movement was drawing to its close.
"I made a few mistakes, you know," Riko murmured, still in the midst of playing the final few measure. "I hope you don't mind."
"Just the opposite. It was wholly angelic."
Was that her heart that was singing? She wanted to believe, if just for one wonderful, fleeting moment where she could treasure all of their uncertainties, that Riko's heart was singing in perfect harmony with her own.
Note: Woooow I've actually finished a story?! For the first time since early 2017?! what alternate universe is this
Honestly, I don't feel satisfied setting up all this characterization in this post-canon setting and leaving it on an uncertain note, especially where the romance is concerned (if you can even call it that). So, even though I know it's dangerous to say this with my complete lack of discipline, but this will most likely be the prequel to a long-form piece that will focus on the intersection of Yoshiko's and Riko's dramatically different lives X amount of years down the road. The idea's been running in my head for a looong time, but maybe now that I've finished this (and I've pitched the idea for the sequel by typing it and putting it out there), that could be the impetus I actually needed to start?! idk
Anyway, thanks for reading. I had a lot of fun writing these two. See you when I see you.
