Chapter Text
Torpe sighed, watching the rain fall down outside the music hall. The sky was dark and dreary, as was so common in cities such as this. He should have expected the downpour, but he saw bright sunny skies earlier in the morning and paid no mind to getting an umbrella.
A stupid decision, he should have seen it coming. He’s been in the music hall for hours, practicing and practicing his piece until he can perform it perfectly. Torpe let time slip away, and now he was suffering the consequences. It has long since gone to evening, he doubts anyone remains.
And then he’s proven wrong.
“Torpe? Why are you still here, it’s getting quite late?” asked the director. Torpe turned away from the window, watching Dancho approach with a stack of papers in hand.
“Oh, well… I wanted to practice more for the performance after everyone left, but it appears I’ve lost track of time,” Torpe said nervously. “I don’t have an umbrella for the rain, and my outfit can hardly be considered appropriate to rush through the rain. I suppose I’ll wait out the rain.” What an inopportune moment for lighting to strike, the booming noise and bright light momentarily made him flinch.
Dancho sighed, “I doubt the storm will end anytime soon, Torpe,” his gaze switched to the window Torpe was watching earlier. Torpe averted his eyes, was there any other option? The storm will surely pass come night, after all. “I know what you’re thinking, come here,” the director beckoned, and Torpe rose from his seat with apprehension.
“I can’t leave our pianist here all alone, can I? I’ll put these papers away, and then I’ll walk you home.” Dancho began to walk away, knowing Torpe would follow. Torpe muttered something to himself, scrambling after him.
“That really isn’t necessary, Director-”
“Nonsense, I can’t leave you here all alone, and my umbrella can surely fit the both of us. Think of it as,” Dancho paused to think, and Torpe finally slowed down to a brisk pace, having caught up and now walking by his side. “A sign of gratitude, for staying so long to practice for our performance,” he finished.
Torpe bashfully looked at the floor, unable to meet the director’s cheeky gaze. God, when he looks at him like that–
“Alright, that’s where those papers belong,” Dancho commented, “I’ll go get my umbrella from backstage and we can head out, alright?” Torpe nodded. He didn’t even realize he stopped walking to wait for Dancho to return the papers.
“Thank you…”
Dancho chuckled, “No need to thank me, you know I adore,” he stops, “I adore assisting you, it’s no issue to me. Now then, let’s proceed before the storm gets worse.”
The walk home to Torpe’s small house was in silence only accompanied by small directional instructions and the sound of rain hitting the surfaces of everything under the sky, but it’s also filled with warmth that Torpe let himself enjoy.
☆彡
Tsukasa blinks away the sleep in his eyes, forcing himself out of bed before he’s tempted by the blankets against the chill air of his room. He makes his bed, the blankets all ruffled by his sleeping self. He stares particularly long at the pillow near dead-center on his bed, as if he was holding it during his sleep. Tsukasa bites his lip and puts it back in its proper place.
Grabbing his phone from his desk, ah, 6:24. He’s a lot earlier than his alarm. He should get ready for school, then he can go visit Saki, make dinner for his parents and himself… Tsukasa makes a short to-do list on his phone as a precaution, so he doesn’t forget. Just in case, his memory can get foggy at times and nearly nonexistent at worst.
He goes through his daily routine with little preamble. By the time he’s dressed and his bag is by the front door, he has over half an hour until he needs to leave. He can always make himself breakfast.
Tsukasa can treat himself, just this once, so he grabs a bag of biscuits from a shelf and prepares them with some eggs, as opposed to just eggs with furikake. The wonders of an allowance, he’s not sure what his parents would think if he asked for foods like this often.
He finishes quickly, washing the dishes before pausing at the door. Did he leave something upstairs? Tsukasa goes up just to check, he hasn’t seen his phone… Tsukasa remembers that he just left it in his bag. Of course…
He heads back down, ready to leave for school, but not before adjusting the plushie in his bed so it stays nicely cuddled up in his blankets.
He gives Dancho an affectionate pat on the head before finally heading downstairs to get on with his day.
–☆–
Tsukasa hardly pays attention in class. At least, not in English. Why would he? It’s not anything he hasn’t learned. So he drifts off, daydreaming about scenarios he’s not sure could count as real or fiction.
One thing he keeps coming back to is a song he would like to play on the piano. Leaning on one of his hands, he slouches on his desk. An empty notebook sits in front of him, only having a heading at the top. His unoccupied hand silently taps the desk like how he would play piano.
The silent performance is stopped when a noise from the window drags him back to earth. He stares, watching as raindrops hit the classroom windows. What starts as one raindrop becomes two, becomes eight, rapidly increasing as the rain intensifies.
Tsukasa doesn’t have an umbrella with him.
“Tenma! Can you answer the question on the board?” Tsukasa staggers in surprise. Him? How cruel, for the teacher to call on him! He’s never been her favorite, probably for his lackluster efforts in her class. Tsukasa takes a look at the question, quickly answering before lowering his head. This kind of attention is the worst. He should take any and all attention with stride, like a star!
But…
The older parts of him just wish to hide from the attention, to practice and practice and never face an audience until it’s perfect. A star… A star needs to be able to adapt to any situation..! Not just ones that are rehearsed and practiced and prepared for days and weeks in advance.
He could’ve salvaged this situation if he wasn’t so lost in his embarrassment and thoughts. Laughed it off, said something cocky like he usually does. And yet, this time he just lowered his head and ignored his classmates' snickers.
Why can’t he ever agree with himself? Does he want to be a star or not, does he live for attention or stray away, why can’t he make up his mind?
–☆–
Tsukasa walks home in the rain. He doesn’t have an umbrella, but it isn’t like he can ask anyone. He doesn’t feel like facing any of his classmates. His uniform gets soaked, but it doesn’t even matter, not with the black coloration of it. For once, he’s glad the uniform is so dull.
He should go home and change before he goes to visit Saki. He’s soaking wet, dripping water so much his clothes can’t even get more drenched. It feels like the water can wash away the natural red in his hair with how it pours on him.
Most of all, he hates the coldness that seeps into his bones.
☆彡
Rui skips school that day. He takes an all-nighter, and passes out after his mother gives him breakfast and ruffles his already mangled hair. She doesn’t say anything about his pitiful state. He’s specifically asked her not to.
It’s hard to reason with himself to keep going, these days. It’s the yearning that is the worst. Wishing and wishing a certain someone would magically find him, and save him just as before.
He has to find other reasons instead. Mizuki still needs his support. Nene comes over still on occasions, always after she bugs him to take a shower. His parents are still so supportive of him.
When Rui returns to the land of the living, rain comes down outside his garage. He barely pays it any mind, lugging himself out of bed and picking up some tools from the floor. He twitches at the feeling of how disgusting his hair feels, so he just ties it up.
Maybe if he went outside today, the rain would help. It’s only a passing thought, one that Rui chuckles at. He settles himself at his desk, and starts to work on a new drone of his. It’s not made for performance, more of support. It should be able to record and transfer those recordings to a program on his phone.
He could even program it to move in certain ways to capture certain angles, or add lights for special effects and clarity, but his most important focus is making it fast and silent. He could add a noise reducer, but he wants raw footage more than anything. Silent would be easier to accomplish anyways.
He needs a suitable name for it. Fast and silent…
How does Torpedo sound?
Rui likes the sound of that, so he scribbles the name on the blueprints. He pauses when he does so, staring at the characters. Almost lovingly, he writes down the name in English instead. Much better.
That’s… confusing. Why does he have a preference for English this time? He never dwells on a name like this. Why does he care so much, just to write the name of a drone that took less than a minute to come up with, as to write it in English, with handwriting that can put the entirety of the blueprint’s notes to shame?
What could be so important about a word like Torpedo?
Ah. Of course.
Rui takes a blank sheet of paper (Not exactly blank, there’s scribbles of squirrels on it, of all things. What is it even doing on his work desk?), using it to cover the last syllable. Of course.
Rui can’t stop himself from smiling softly at what looks back at him.
Even after everything, his brain always comes back to him, doesn’t it? Despite everything, all the feelings that come with the name, Rui wouldn’t have it any other way.
A chill wind blows through the door leading to the house. His mother must have left a window open somewhere. Rui sighs, pushing out of the chair and walking into the house. He finds the offending window in the kitchen.
Rui hesitates before he shuts the window. Staring out of it instead, the downpour only seems to reflect his own person. Sad. Pitiful. Distressing to look at. Something people wish would just go away already. Rui can go on.
He hopes it’s not raining wherever he is. Such a bright thing doesn’t deserve this weather, this seeping coldness that ruins everything. A strong wind comes in and Rui shivers. He closes the window with a sigh.
Maybe he can ask if Mizuki wants to visit. Or even just track them down himself. He doesn’t feel he can trust himself to be alone currently.
Rui wonders if there’s a psychological connection between the cold and the feeling of loneliness.