Ten Years Ago….

March 30, Nerima, Tokyo

The time was ten past ten at night.

The roar of applause was the thing that filled Kousei Arima's ears, more than anything else.

It was a familiar arena; he was in Towa Hall, playing a recital for some event or other that he couldn't remember the name of and didn't care what it was. He hardly remembered what it was, but he decided to take it anyway for the money. He hadn't played for pleasure, for the sake of it, for a month. If he was honest, aside from tutoring Nagi and a few others, he hadn't played the piano at all for a month. It wasn't as if he couldn't hear the notes; he was over that problem now, he could hear the notes just fine.

The missing person, the one who wasn't with Tsubaki and Watari, up in the seats, reminded him of the real reason why he had avoided playing the piano.

Kaori was dead.

She was dead, gone, flown beyond the veil of the world where he could ever reach her. The letter didn't help his feelings; he hadn't ever realized what he meant to her, hadn't realized how much she loved him, how much she would have likely given to have a little longer just to be with him. She, in return, never realized how much he loved her, how much he would've given for a little longer; a year, a month, a day longer with her.

Her lie stung him the hardest of all the things she'd done.

There were too many emotions for Kousei to process, too many things he had to say to Kaori, too many thoughts that clouded his mind. He would have done anything to have her back, to be able to express his feelings for and about her and get them off of his chest.

Instead, all he had was a poor stand-in, a stone memorial that was supposed to recall a vibrant human being and instead stood as a reminder of a life that had ended far, far too soon. He hadn't even visited her grave since the funeral; it hurt too badly to even see what was left.

For the past month, Kousei had operated in what Watari had drily remarked was 'safe mode'; he went through the motions of eating, going to school, tutoring people, occasionally dropping by the Miyazono bakery to visit her parents, but without the life that he'd had in him this past year. He and Tsubaki were trying their hardest to pull him out of his grief, but Kaori had done too much, been too much to Kousei for their job to be easy, and in any case her death had hurt them too; she'd been Watari and Tsubaki's friends long before she put her plan to get close to Kousei into motion.

He could hear the notes he played again, but without Kaori, their beauty was muted, pointless and vain.

Kousei didn't know how long passed as he stood up robotically, took a bow to the audience, watched as they filed out (Tsubaki and Watari shooting him odd, worried looks, but resolving to leave it until later), and stood there as the audience left, leaving an empty auditorium and him alone with his thoughts. He exhaled deeply, sitting down once more at the piano, looking at the keys forlornly.

It wasn't fair.

He'd been reborn as a musician, but Kaori had died for it. Music had taken almost everything from him; thankfully, it hadn't taken Watari and Tsubaki away yet, but it wouldn't have surprised him if it did. It had taken his mother and his beloved away from him already; he was afraid it would finish the job and take his best friends too. If that happened, he honestly wouldn't know what to do.

Someone had once said that the Muses demanded sacrifice, that art demanded suffering from the artist. Kousei didn't believe it was true, once.

That was before his mother's death. That was before Kaori gave her all to return him to the world of beauty. That was before he was reborn as a musician on the stage on the same day that Kaori died in surgery.

He believed it now, and hated it fiercely.

The Muses demanded sacrifice from Kousei to become a musician once more, and the price was Kaori's life.

It wasn't worth it. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right.

It could never be worth her.

Nothing could ever be worth losing Kaori.

"Are you Mister Arima, by any chance?"

A soft, hollow voice snapped Kousei out of his fugue. He slowly looked up, gazing into the auditorium.

There was a man in a grey suit, sitting with his right leg folded over his left, his bony hands clasped in his lap. His long hair was silvery-blonde and wispy, almost white, and his face was soft and yet hard, resembling at once a child's and an old man's face. His eyes were a harsh gray, seeming to drill into Kousei's heart, peering through to see the soul within. He sat not far from the front, his eyes fixed on the young pianist.

His voice seemed to touch something in Kousei's mind. It was a compelling voice, a voice drawing him forwards with a magnetic force, rather than luring him forward. He slowly nodded, his eyes fixed still on the newcomer.

"…..then I suppose you are the genius pianist that everyone is talking about outside?"

The roar of the crowd talking outside suddenly occurred to Kousei. After all, the music world had gone crazy with the news that the "Human Metronome" had returned after two years of self-imposed exile. Kousei's return had been hailed as a great boon to Japan's classical music scene, innocently and fortunately oblivious to the price that had been paid to return him there. This man might have been, as far as he knew, an admirer.

"…..I wouldn't say I was a genius," the young pianist humbly admitted. "I was….just doing my best."

"Humble. I can appreciate that," the gray-eyed man remarked, an impressed tone in his voice. "I will admit, I was once oblivious to your reputation, but…..I have come from afar, to take in the culture of this place, and your name came up many times."

So he wasn't an admirer of Kousei's. So what was he doing here?

"…..if we're done," Kousei replied, a harsh tone in his voice suddenly. He wasn't afraid of him, but the situation seemed to bother him unduly; this man was an unknown quantity, and Kousei knew nothing about him. "I'd like to go. Two of my friends are waiting outside, and I'd rather not keep them waiting."

"Ah. Well, I won't keep you long," the man reassured him with a light, yet unnerving smile. "May I…request something of you? Just as a matter of curiosity, if you'd like to indulge me this once."

Something about his voice seemed to touch Kousei again. It was a polite enough request, but Kousei didn't exactly play at request (unless it was Kaori asking, but that was a long time ago, a whole lifetime away). Still, he felt that he needed to follow it.

"…..sure. What is it?"

"If you could play a little, just for me," the man requested. "I'd like to know how talented you are, if the rumors are true. Just a short piece."

"I…suppose that's fair," Kousei answered, recalling the piece he had just played for the audience. It was a simple piece, composed for the occasion; it was a strong piece, if simplistic, he felt.

The man seemed satisfied with that, unclasping his hands. "I apologize for inconveniencing you. My business does not give me many chances to appreciate the culture of the world I work in."

"No problem," he reflexively replied, flexing his fingers and beginning to play.

His fingers flew across the keys, conducting a beautiful song, playing it with expert skill. Kousei had drilled this piece into his head for weeks before getting started after the organizers had given it to him; while he resented being called the "Human Metronome", it wasn't as if he hadn't rightfully earned the name. Kousei had long since learned to play a piece like the notation was written on the back of his hand.

It had taken him too long to learn to claim the music for his own, and cost too much.

So he started playing. It was, if Kousei could say, good enough; at least, good enough to impress a normal person.

He could already hear Kaori chiding him for not trying hard enough.

Come on, Friend A! What are you, asleep? No excuses for slacking off!

A bitter smile grew on his face. All he had of her were memories; enough to keep him going, never enough to satisfy him.

It wasn't long into this piece before the man frowned, shaking his head.

"…no, no," he shook his head. "….this isn't you, is it?"

"Huh?" Kousei paused. "What do you mean?"
"…this isn't you. I was hoping that you would play something like you," the gray-eyed man remarked, before sighing. "But…..I guess I was mistaken. I was hoping to see if you were truly the one I was looking for. I guess not. Perhaps you aren't motivated right now. I apologise."

Something about his words incensed Kousei.

The last time he'd felt so incensed, Miike had insulted Kaori in front of him, insulted her for being absent because of something she couldn't have done anything about, and he decided to dominate the stage for her and himself.

In a way, this man was insulting her memory too; she'd tried her hardest to bring him back, and here this person was, telling him he wasn't good enough, telling him that Kaori hadn't done her job, telling him she'd dedicated the last months of her life to him for nothing.

He would never, ever let anyone dishonor Kaori to his face. If he couldn't protect her in life, he would at least protect her reputation in death.

Kousei's expression hardened.

'If he wants me to play 'me'…..then I'll play. For both of us.'

"No," he responded. "You're right. Will you let me try again?"

The gray-eyed man stared at him. "….oh? Please, if you may."

So Kousei played, and something that would never happen again happened.

It wasn't the first time that the impossible would happen in Kousei's life, but he wasn't to know that.

The young pianist felt himself possessed by an unknown force as he played that night.

He didn't know what he was playing; it was a piece, but a piece Kousei couldn't identify, couldn't remember. Perhaps it was half-remembered, something cobbled together in his memories from long nights memorizing and drilling pieces into his mind, or perhaps it was something he had come up with himself, but hadn't put down into writing.

But it was a piece, and it was flowing.

Every emotion that had boiled in him, everything he had felt since Kaori left, every single thought about her that he'd left unvoiced poured out here. This piece was imbued with everything he felt towards Kaori; she had been his muse once, and tonight, she became his muse again, her spirit infused into the song through her will that Kousei inherited.

He mourned for her and missed her greatly. He wanted her to answer for what she did. He loved her so dearly he would give anything to have her back.

The passion he gave this piece was tangible, as much a force as gravity. It could be felt within the auditorium, it could be felt within the gray-eyed man, it could be felt within the very heavens themselves.

He didn't know how long he'd played, but he felt drained, exhausted and tired afterward. Kousei's cheeks were stained with tears as he finished, breathing heavily, looking over the piano with the gray-eyed man staring at him. Kousei simply stared at him, his eyes mixed between anger and grief.

It felt cathartic and yet unsatisfying all at once; he knew he had schooled the man, put him in his place, but that didn't fix what he was feeling, didn't resolve anything else. It was a hollow victory, thought a victory it was.

The man understood immediately.

"….I am…..sorry for your loss," he uttered. "I didn't intend on pressing you so hard."

Kousei was surprised; he hadn't said a thing about Kaori at all. "….how did you know?"

"Some say that you can tell a lot about a person by how they carry themselves," the gray-eyed man replied. "…..and you carry yourself with the bearing of a man who has lost something dear to him, something that can never be replaced."

The young pianist looked resigned.

I'm that obvious, huh?

It was true, all of it. Who could possibly replace Kaori for him? That would be a gap too big to fill.

"…..and your music," the gray-eyed man continued. "It was…..beautiful. Mournful. You could wake the dead with it."

Kousei laughed bitterly at that. "I wish it would."

"…..who was she? The girl? I assume it was a girl."

Kousei didn't know how this man could figure this all out. He didn't know if he should even talk to him about all this, but something about his voice compelled him to. His emotions were raging inside him now, and they needed some way out; he didn't want to trouble Watari and Tsubaki with this, he knew they had to be hurting about it too. In any case, he'd never see this man again, and he was offering to listen, so why not?

"…she was…..the worst person," Kousei quietly uttered. "She always gave the worst impression. She was always hyperactive, always begging me for caneles. She made me play into the night. She was temperamental and rowdy. She lied to me."

He paused, wiping a tear that threatened to pour down his cheek. He needed to look serious, look composed.

"…..but she was the most passionate person, and the most cheerful girl, and the sweetest human being I've ever met," he continued, summoning every memory of Kaori he could dredge up. "She was the worst and best person I've ever known, and…I'd give anything, anything to have her back."

That day in the playground, where she'd been playing the melodica, flickered through his mind; that day, he'd fallen in love with her at first sight, as cliché as it sounded. Those nights practicing pieces with her drilling him like one of those hellish sergeants in those American movies; she was passionate and mad about it, and he understood why. Riding home at night, feeling Kaori cry at his back and not knowing why; if he had known, he would have comforted her, done anything to let her know that he would never leave her side.

Her desperate plea for him not to leave her all alone, the day before she died.

"She pulled me back from hell, from the dark place I'd been. And now…..I wish I had the power to bring her back too, from where I can't follow."

The gray-eyed man closed his eyes. "….I see."

"…..her name was Kaori."

The auditorium was silent as both men simply sat there, quiet, an unsaid understanding between them.

The moment ended when the gray-eyed man stood up, dusting off his suit. He looked up at the young pianist.

"…tell me," he asked. "Have you heard of the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice?"

The names sounded familiar to Kousei, but that was all. There was no memory he could attach to their names.

"No, I can't say I have."

"Orpheus and Eurydice were in love, very deeply so," the man started explaining. "Orpheus was a lyrist, a master musician, who could play so well that even the gods were moved. One day, he married Eurydice, and on that same day, Eurydice was bitten by snakes and died. It was said that Orpheus was so hurt by her loss, that the music he played made every person who could hear it mourn for his wife, just as he was mourning."

He exhaled deeply.

"His playing was so beautiful and yet so tragic, that even the god of the underworld was moved, so moved he let Eurydice return with Orpheus, because his heart was so softened. The myth, I'm sorry to say, ends badly for Orpheus and Eurydice, but you don't need to know that."

Kousei's face simply looked even bitterer. "Why are you telling me this?"

"…..Kaori rescued you from your hell, it sounds like," the gray-eyed man explained. "And now…..like Orpheus, you desire to have her back. She is your Eurydice, the woman for whom you would play so well that even the gods would be moved to give her back to you."

"…..If I could only play so well," the pianist mournfully remarked.

"…..perhaps you already have," the man calmly replied, before walking towards the door. "Good night, Mister Arima."

…..

The gray-eyed man walked outside Towa Hall. It was a starless night; the clouds were high in the sky, blotting out all light.

He smiled, the piece still playing in his mind.

Kaori Miyazono. That was the only Kaori he knew of who had died recently in this area.

Her plight was no different from many other stories he knew of; a terminally ill child, cut down in her youth, long before she had the chance to grow as a fully-realised person. Her story was no different from many others he had known of before. It was unfortunate that he had to take her so early (he hated taking children, it always felt like murder), but then the rules were rules; he couldn't break them simply because he felt sorry about them.

The difference was that those many others hadn't driven a man to play a song so mournful that Death himself was moved. His heart had mourned with Kousei in that moment; he felt the grief the young man felt, felt the pain of her loss, felt the emptiness within him as he played.

Some way, somehow, Kaori had done this. She had driven him to playing so well.

He had to know.

"I wonder, Miss Miyazono," he uttered to the winds as he continued walking. "Who were you that drove him to make such beautiful music?"

He had to know. He needed to know.

"You must have been someone…special."

There was no other way he could find out.

Not without breaking the rules.

The gray-eyed man closed his eyes, a defeated smile on his face.

"Just this once, maybe," he remarked. "It might be okay to break the rules."

He sighed.

"I've heard it said that the Muses demand sacrifice. Perhaps they did this time."

A plan already flickered through his head. He knew what he wanted to do.

"I've always hated that saying. Too many people blame me for doing my job. Perhaps….it is time that the Muses returned what they took, just this once."

The gray-eyed man smiled, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

He knew what he would do now.

March 31, Nerima, Tokyo

The time was ten minutes past twelve noon.

The sun was high in the sky, shimmering through the branches of the cherry blossom trees. It was spring once more, spring in Japan, spring when the cherry blossoms bloomed, covering the land in the vibrant pink. Cherry blossoms were beautiful, an unparalleled sight; people came from abroad to see them, and not for nothing was the tree one of the many national symbols of the country. The shops were alive with sakura-themed memorabilia to take advantage of the time. Nearby, a child pestering their parents about when the trees would fly into bloom could be heard, the eagerness in their voice clear like birdsong; apt for the season.

It was also spring for Kousei Arima, spring when he met the girl underneath full-bloomed cherry blossoms, and spring when his fate began to change.

His eyes lay upon Kaori's gravestone, her name engraved in the harsh, smooth facade, the last trace of her presence a monochrome memorial to someone far more vibrant, far more colorful than it could ever possibly represent. It was ironic, really; Kaori always asked if he could forget her. Kousei wouldn't- no, couldn't- forget her, but now all that was left of her was a single block of stone in a row of dozens of almost identical memorials. If he hadn't committed her grave to memory, he'd have forgotten where she was.

"Kaori...if you can hear me, please, listen."

The tombstone was silent. Of course it would be.

"Please, there's just one more thing I have to say. One more thing, one more miracle, Kaori. For me."

As if he needed to say this, as if the words could not simply remain unsaid. She was the one who helped him be reborn as a musician, pushed him onto the stage, asked him to perform a miracle for her, to play through his pain and worry about her.

"Don't. Be. Dead."

…

This was the story that Kaori and Kousei Arima told their daughter Haru sometimes, years later, when she had trouble sleeping at night, the very tale that she begged to be told at night when nothing else worked, extorting a promise of the story in exchange for drifting off to blissful sleep. She was the very splitting image of her mother at her age; golden hair, blue eyes and as cute as a button, and they cherished her like a miracle.

Haru was amazed at the miracle her father had done, as amazed as her mother had been when she found out what had happened. She, of course, never believed that Kaori had actually died, rationalizing it as Kaori having just moved away somewhere, or been in a coma due to her sickness. She thought it was just metaphor; after all, people died when they were killed, so why would her mother be any different?

She never knew just how true the story was.

She never knew just how much her parents treasured every continued moment they had with each other and how close they had come to being separated forever.

Many times, their tale played out tragically, a pointless endeavor of unrequited love, ending with a dead girl and a broken boy.

Just this once, here, it played out the way it should have been.

END

Eurydice

Last Winter

A/N: And that is the end of Eurydice. Yes, Kousei literally serenaded Death into bringing Kaori back. I felt like it'd be a fitting ending, no?

Anyway, this story was heavily inspired by the BBC Sherlock, for fans of that show, in particular The Empty Hearse and His Last Vow. And a little bit of Series 4, as much as I hate to say. I didn't take too much from the episodes, but I drew quite a few of the plot points from there. In particular, the argument between Kaori and Kousei was actually based on Watson being massively furious with Sherlock when he returned from being "dead". This was also originally intended to be written for Fire Emblem, rather than Your Lie in April, but the moment I found out what happened to Kaori, I knew this story was better fitted to her than the original protagonist of the story I'd intended to write.

Also, this by no way means I'm over the ending. I'll probably never get over it, I'll be honest. The best I can say about it is that at least it doesn't aggravate me as much as a lot of other character deaths do; there is a good reason that Eurydice is a drama, rather than a comedy, and it's that I can't find an angle of attack when it comes to Kaori's death. The best I could come up with was making fun of Arakawa using that whole 'ill girl does good things' archetype, but that wasn't a particularly strong story idea I could do much with. Otherwise, you might have gotten Kaori quite literally leaping out of her coffin at her funeral; funny, but not particularly deep.

I also put in a little shout-out to Your Name, if anyone cares to spot it. I'll be impressed if anyone gets it; as well as any other shout-outs I placed in.

So, I hope you enjoyed that, leave your ideas, comments, suggestions, reviews and thoughts, and I hope you have a GREAT day!