putain de bordel de merde!

Kai:

Before meeting Cinder, he mostly listened to whatever was popular. After spending years around her, he got introduced to rock music and discovered he prefers the more melodic side of the genre.

Think: The Cure, Oasis, The Beatles, The Smiths, Fleetwood Mac etc.

He's not really listening for the angst the way Cinder is. He's here for the yearning.

Kai's so loverboy coded that Lovesong by The Cure is permanently in rotation. You can't tell me "However far away / I will always love you" isn't something he says to her every day she's on Luna.

Half his paperwork has little "K + C" hearts doodled in the margins because a song reminded him of her.

When he's in a silly, goofy mood, he'll put on Lady Gaga while making breakfast, dancing around the kitchen in his boxers with a spatula as a microphone. The first time she walks in on him, she stares at him for five seconds, pours herself coffee, and goes, "Don't stop on my account."

Scarlet:

She loves country music. It's only fitting considering she's a farm girl herself.

Think: CMAT, Dolly Parton, Johnny Cash, etc. (I've only really listened to these artists, so I'm not super familiar with the genre 😭)

I also feel like she'd listen to a lot of French indie music. Since she's from France, it just feels right that she'd have a playlist full of artists from home. Videoclub is definitely on there.

I don't know many French artists beyond the obvious ones like Indila or Stromae, but I don't really picture Scarlet listening to either of them. If anyone has recommendations, I'm all ears!!

Wolf:

He likes old jazz standards and swing music.

Think: Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Louis Armstrong, etc. (I don't know much about this genre, so forgive me if my picks are off)

Surprisingly, he's amazing at singing Jazz too.

Cress:

She is a pop and theatre girl through and through (very Tumblr 2016 core).

Think: Taylor Swift, Halsey, Olivia Rodrigo, BTS, BLACKPINK, the Hamilton soundtrack, etc.

Cress is also the best singer in the Rampion crew. This is not up for debate.

She has major shower singing problems and absolutely zero awareness of how loud she is when she gets into it.

Thorne:

I'm actually very torn about him. I think he could fall into any of the following categories:

Rock music, but different from Cinder, in the sense that he's more of a Franz Ferdinand (the band, not the historical figure), Queen, and KISS kind of guy. Green Day could also work for him.

I could also see him being more into electro-pop, with artists like Empire of the Sun or Tame Impala.

Additionally, he could be your average white guy maxxing and listening to Alex Warren or Benson Boone.

Finally, in an AU where Thorne is from Toronto, he would love The Weeknd (peak) and call Drake's album ICEMAN and the other two albums (not peak) he released recently the best thing to ever happen in music history.

Winter:

Soft girl/indie/folk-pop music like Laufey, Beabadoobee, AURORA, and Ethel Cain.

I don't think I really need to explain this one.

Jacin:

This guy is so mysterious. I genuinely do not know like ?????? 😭

Idk Imagine Dragons or some shit.

Iko:

Much like Cress, she is very much a pop girly.

Think: Addison Rae, Sabrina Carpenter, Charli XCX, Ariana Grande, KATSEYE, Chappell Roan, PinkPantheress etc.

He is ten, hunched over his advanced English exam, fingers tightening around his stylus as his thoughts loop in rigid precision—point, proof, analysis. Point, proof, analysis. The words blur together, lines bleeding into something meaningless as sweat gathers at his temples.

He doesn’t notice Ms. Liu approach until her hand comes to rest gently on his shoulder—stilling the restless tapping of his stylus against the desk. He knows even before she speaks. His body drops cold.  

“I’m so sorry, Kai… a hover has been sent to pick you up.”

The rest—something about rewriting the exam at a later date—passes through him without landing. Instead, he focuses on the wrinkles on her forehead, counting as her brows draw together. One… two… Stars above… three, four… how old is this woman?

“Kai?”

The sound splinters. The low hum of the air conditioning stretches sharper—ringing, pinging, a dull metallic pounding that fills his ears until it is all he can hear. It presses in on him, relentless, drowning out everything else—

“Your Majesty.”

Not Kai.  

Your Majesty.

The title cuts through the noise as if it is a blade.

Kai inhales sharply, the air catching halfway in his lungs as the classroom dissolves around him. The sunlight, the blossoms, Ms. Liu’s hand—gone, all of it, pulled out from under him like a rug.

He blinks.

Once. Twice.

The classroom is gone. 

Dark wood. Soft lighting. Two chairs fill the space. The sting in his palms registers a moment later. Kai loosens his hands, forcing his fingers to uncurl, though the crescent marks remain as faint, angry reminders passed into his skin. Dr. Han sits across from him, composed and watchful. Her expression is carefully neutral, softened only by that look in her eyes—a certain look he has only ever recognized in Cinder, and once, in his mother. 

Kai straightens instinctively in his chair, shoulders pulling back as the weight of the title settles over him once more. 

“I’m here,” he says.

He isn’t sure if that’s true. For a fleeting, disjointed moment, the thought unewelcomingly slips in: what if he just got up and slammed his head into the wall until everything finally went quiet? The image lingers for half a second too long. Then it’s gone. 

He stays where he is.

Dr. Han’s glasses slip a fraction down the bridge of her nose as she studies him. The light from the window catches on the rim, glinting briefly before she stills. “You came back quickly.”

“I didn’t go anywhere,” Kai says at once. He feels it immediately—the faint dampness at his hairline, the way the collar of his shirt clings just slightly against his skin. Irritating. Sloppy. He forces his shoulders to settle, easing them back against the chair, aligning himself with its straight edge as if that alone might restore order.

“It was just a memory,” he adds, quieter and softer now.

Dr. Han tilts her head, just enough to suggest curiosity without pressure. “What did it feel like?”

Kai exhales through his noise, slow and controlled, the way he’s been taught. “Irrelevant.”

Her pen taps once against her notebook. “The same as always, then?”

His jaw tightens. “...yes.”

“The same as when?”

The silences stretches. Kai lets his gaze drift—not to her, but just past her shoulder, to the clean seam where the wall meets the ceiling. Perfectly straight. Unbroken.

“When my mother died.” The words leave him evenly, stripped of inflection. He knows what she’s doing. Understands the sentiment. There’s structure to it, a method. Identify the pattern. Name it. Dismantle it.

Logical.

Ineffective.

Dr. Han watches him over the rim of her glasses. “And just now?” 

Kai’s fingers curl again before he can stop them, nails pressing into the skin of his palms. He loosens them a second later, flexing his hands once, as if resetting them. Ever since the miscarriage, Torin had insisted, persistently, that they both return. As if time and repetition could dull something that had already carved itself too deep.

“It’s not the same.”

But it is. It always is. And it pains him every time. The woman sighs, moving her pen again but this time on paper. Kai tracks the motion without meaning to—the angle of her wrist, the steady pace, the lack of hesitation.

“I know with what’s happened recently you feel—”

Kai cuts her off before she can continue, noticing the time on the clock. “We can continue at our next session.” He doesn’t raise his voice. Doesn’t even look at her when he says it. But he is already standing.

The chair shifts back with a quiet scrape against the floor, loudly in the otherwise controlled space. Kai smooths his hands over the front of his dress pants, pressing out invisible creases, restoring what little composure he feels slipping.

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

She removes her glasses this time, folding them carefully between her fingers. Then she stands, offering a curt bow before going still as if she were waiting for him to say more.

He doesn’t give her anything more. 

Kai turns toward the door and pauses with his hand on the handle—just long enough to notice. Then he opens it, leaving, grateful for her silence.

The knot of his tie feels too tight. He loosens it as he walks, fingers slipping slightly against the fabric before he finally tugs it free. The corridor stretches long, polished floors reflecting the overhead lights in clean, uninterrupted lines. Order. Stillness.

It does nothing to settle him.

The suite isn’t far.

If not for himself, he would be strong for her. That much she deserves.

When they first began trying, Cinder had been bright. There had been a lightness to her—an unguarded softness and a readiness that he wasn’t used to. She laughed more easily. Spoke about the future as if it were something they could simply reach for. He had allowed himself to believe it too.

The media certainly had.

There had been that clip—the one that refused to disappear from the net and had made every headline. Cinder in the courtyard of an orphanage in the Cambodian province, a child balanced easily on her hip, smiling in a way that felt almost private despite the cameras.

People had called it natural. They weren’t wrong.

Scarlet and Wolf’s children had only made it worse. Small hands. Unfiltered laughter. The easy way they fit into spaces that felt too large without them. Kai had found himself watching, cataloguing things he had no reason to catalogue—the weight of a child against an arm, the way Cinder’s expression mellowed without effort.

It had felt inevitable. It should have been simple. Not necessarily easy, but possible.

Instead, it became numbers. Schedules. Appointments that blurred into one another. Tests. Medications. Specialists with impeccable credentials across the city and carefully measured optimism. And always—always—the same result. 

A single line. 

Until it wasn’t.

Two.

He remembers the way Cinder’s hands shook when she showed him, the disbelief written across her face like she didn’t quite trust her own eyes. He had laughed then, giddiness breaking open in his chest all at once. Relief. Joy. He had kissed her—once, twice, again—unable to stop. For a moment, it felt like the stars had finally aligned.

The elevator hums softly as it begins its ascent. Kai watches the numbers change, one after the other. He doesn’t remember pressing the button. It ticks to eight and dings before he enters, and everything comes crashing down.

Eight weeks.

He slumps against the elevator wall as the memory overtakes him. The number lodges somewhere sharp in his mind. Eight weeks, everything had been going well. And then—

A scream that haunts him even now. He is moving before he registers it, the distance between the bedroom and the bathroom collapsing into nothing.

The door is open.

Cinder is—

He stops. Even now, the memory resists him. Cinder is sitting on the edge of the toilet, folded in on herself, one hand braced against the wall, the other pressed tight against her abdomen. There’s blood. Too much of it. It stains the pale fabric, stark and unmistakable. It shouldn’t be there.

Kai crosses the space in two strides. He is beside her, hands finding her arms, trying to steady her. Her voice is unsteady, breaking as she tries to explain—something she read, something she knows—

He doesn’t let her finish. “It’s—it might be nothing,” he says, too quickly, the words tripping over each other despite how carefully he tries to place them. He knows they’re wrong as soon as they leave his mouth.

Cinder shakes her head, breath uneven, as she begins to break out into sobs.

“It’s okay,” he insists, gently now, like saying it enough times might make it true. “We’ll—we’ll go to the doctor. It’s—” 

She folds into him before he can finish.

Later, the doctor’s voice is calm. Practiced. There are terms. Explanations. Statistics meant to soften what cannot be softened. Kai hears none of it. Only the absence. For a brief moment he thinks the world has tilted. He grips the edge of the counter harder than necessary, grounding himself in something solid. 

The sound of the elevator hum pulls him back to the present. Kai slowly exhales as the faint, distorted, reflection of himself in the doors divides into two. His hand moves almost on instinct, slipping into his pocket, pulling out his portscreen. The screen lights up, showing him unread alerts.

Friday's meeting—cancelled… a string of messages from Thorne, ending in a poorly cropped cat meme. 

And then—

Two messages from Cinder. Forty minutes ago.

heyy

got some dumplings from the market. just waiting for you 

His chest loosens—just slightly. A small smile presses at his lips before he can stop it.

As soon as he opens the door to the suite he and Cinder have shared since their marriage, warm light spills out to meet him. The faint scent of the savory dumplings lingers in the air. Cinder must have already set the dinner table.

Before he can take a full step inside, BaoBao is there. A blur of soft fur and frantic movement, nails clicking against the floor as he skids slightly at the entrance, circling Kai’s legs with barely contained excitement. The small dog lets out a sharp, eager bark before immediately tugging at the hem of Kai’s pant leg as he tries to step out of his dress shoes.

Kai exhales a breath that almost resembles a laugh. “All right—okay, I see you,” he murmurs, bending down just enough to scoop him up.

BaoBao wriggles in his arms, tail a blur, licking at his chin, his cheek—anywhere he can reach with unfiltered enthusiasm.

“Oookay, buddy,” Kai says, voice lighter now in a way it hadn’t been moments ago. “Let’s go find Mum… do you know where she is?”

The dog gives no indication that he does, too busy pressing forward, insistent, alive. Kai sets him back down, smoothing a hand once over his head before straightening.

He moves further into the suite, slipping off his shoes and setting them neatly by the door out of habit more than thought. The space feels lived-in—in a way the rest of the palace rarely does. Familiar.

He heads toward the kitchen, filling a glass of water. BaoBao follows close behind and waits expectantly by his bowl. Kai pours the kibble, the small, mundane action requiring just enough attention to quiet the edges of his thoughts for a short moment.

It had only been two months since the incident. Since he had found her in the bathroom and saw Cinder look smaller than he had ever seen her.

Since they lost the baby.

The suggestion had come from her therapist with good intentions. Something to fill the space. Something to ease the silence. BaoBao had done that, in his own way. The house is louder now. Warmer. But still, there's a certain absence. Kai knows it. Cinder knows it. Neither of them says it out loud.

Already unbuttoning his shirt, Kai moves toward their bedroom, the fabric loosening beneath his fingers, but he stops. A familiar melody drifts down the hallway.  And beneath it, quieter still, Cinder’s voice. He follows it without thinking.

She stands in the nursery.

The light is dimmer here, even warmer somehow, casting shadows along the pale walls they had painted together months ago. The drawer is pulled open, and in her hands small clothes that she’s folding into a neat pile.

Kai doesn’t move from the doorway. One shoulder rests against the frame, arms loosely crossed. He lets the sound of her voice ground him. The record player hums from the corner—his father’s, from the second era, the faint crackle of it filling the room between notes.

We’re all of the stars… we’re fading away…

Her voice lacks focus, drifting through the line as if she isn’t fully aware she’s singing it.

The thought comes unbidden, familiar in its cruelty—this is my fault—but he lets it pass this time, not chasing it, not giving it shape. He pushes himself off the doorframe and crosses the room.

“Hey,” he murmurs, though the word is barely more than breath. Cinder startles slightly before softening when she sees him.

“Kai—”

He doesn’t let the distance remain. His hands find hers, gently, guiding the small bundle of fabric down to the dresser before drawing her closer instead. 

This is not the type of music one typically dances to—not really. But he shifts anyway, one hand settling at her back, the other lacing with hers, moving her in slow, absent circles across the floor.

A waltz, if you’re generous.

Just try not to worry… you’ll see us someday…

This time, Cinder’s voice is steadier. He joins her without meaning to. The words feel different in his mouth. Heavier. Like something he doesn’t quite believe, but wants to.

She laughs—low, breathy—and leans in, pressing a kiss to his lips. It’s brief and gentle, yet it undoes him anyway. A tear slips free before Kai can stop it, tracing a slow path down his cheek.

Her hand comes up to cup his face, thumb brushing lightly against his skin, and she keeps singing—this time as if the words are meant for him more than the music—

So stop crying your heart out…

Kai lets out a shaky breath and buries his face in the curve of her neck. She wraps her arms around him without hesitation, holding him there, close, anchoring him to the Earth. They stay like that, swaying slightly, the music carrying on around them, filling the spaces neither of them can.

By the time the song fades, the room is quiet again. Kai pulls back just enough to look at her. There’s something lighter in her expression now. He spins her gently, the motion slow and careful, drawing a small laugh from her as she turns back into him.

He presses a kiss to her temple. Her nose. Then her lips.

Cinder cups his face again, her gaze steady as it lifts to meet him. His hands rest at her waist, grounding, familiar. One of his slips upward, covering hers where it lingers against his cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over the curve of her wedding band.

“You’re thinking too much again,” she murmurs.

Kai’s shoulders loosen slightly, the tension leaving in a release. He shakes his head, though it isn’t quite a denial. “No,” he says after a moment. “I just—”

The words falter. Rearrange.

“So much of our lives have been… anything but ordinary.” His gaze drops briefly, then returns to hers. “I thought maybe this would be the one thing that was.”

Simple. Certain.

Uncomplicated.

He lets out a breath that almost resembles a laugh, though it doesn’t quite reach it. “Normal.” For a moment, neither of them speaks. He thinks of what Scarlet had said—you still have time—and holds onto it the way one holds onto something fragile, careful not to examine it too closely in case it breaks.

Cinder’s thumb brushes lightly along his cheek. “Well,” she says, a small smile tugging at her lips, “where would be the fun in that?”

Kai huffs a small laugh, the sound soft but real. She leans in slightly, her forehead resting briefly against his. “We’ll get through this,” she says, quieter now. “We always do.”

— — — —

The next time the cherry blossoms bloom, the sun is once again unbearably bright over New Beijing. Petals drift lazily through the palace gardens, catching in the light before scattering across stone paths and trimmed grass. The air is warmer now—thicker with life, with movement, with the quiet hum of a world that has kept turning.

Cinder sits beneath the blossoms, one hand steadying little Hasumi against her chest. The baby sleeps easily, curled into her warmth.

Kai stands just beside them, not sitting yet—still learning how to trust moments like this enough to settle into them. His eyes don’t leave them for long.

“She’s got your hair,” she says, brushing a careful finger over the baby’s dark strands. “And your eyes.”

Kai lets out a small smile. “Yeah,” he says after a moment. “But she looks like you everywhere else.”

Cinder tilts her head slightly. “Jealous?”

A pause.

Kai huffs a laugh. “No. Just thinking she’s going to get away with a lot more than I did.”

Cinder scoffs, though there’s warmth in it. “I can already see it. She’s going to be just like you.”

He raises a brow slightly. “That sounds like a warning.”

She rolls her eyes, and Kai finally sits down beside them. He reaches out and presses a finger gently against Hasumi’s cheek—barely there, just enough to feel the softness of her skin. She doesn’t stir.

A breeze moves through the garden, scattering cherry blossoms. One lands in Hasumi’s hair. Kai notices it. Carefully, he brushes it away. And for once, he doesn’t think of what he has lost.

Only what is still here.

A/N: Crappy and corny fanfic I wrote in basically 2 days. This was written for Kai's birthday week event. It covers the prompts, angst, fluff, and the emperor's playlist. Inspired by Impossiblesuitcase’s infertility/miscarriage headcanon! @tlc-fan-events