an eternity, yours

whatever, you grumble to yourself, pausing at an intersection. even after all this time of working here, the hallways still confuse you. you look at the map on your phone, something you've made a habit of keeping open after you got lost for the nth time, and scrutinised the passages. where was training room 7…?

"you look a little lost, miss manager." a familiar voice echoes through the hallway, and it makes you sigh with exasperation. unfortunately for you, you happen to know exactly who it is.

behind you stands michael kaiser in all his… well, you would say glory if you were as starstruck as you were when he first came to blue lock, but after dealing with him for those few months, he's more like an annoyance.

"lovely seeing you here, kaiser." your words drip with sarcasm, your face a clear indication that you are less than pleased about his presence.

"you're so cold. and here i thought we were friends?" kaiser teases, throwing his tattooed arm around your shoulders.

"we're about as much as friends as you and isagi are…" you huff, a pleased smile overtaking the frown when you see a dark look cross his face. isagi, you sure have no shortage of people out for your blood…

"anyway, what are you doing, looking so lost in your own facility?" he pointedly ignores the jab, choosing instead to annoy you relentlessly. first hugo, now kaiser, who's next, itoshi sae? all these new gen xis sure are pain in the asses!

"just trying to find a training room, you know how it goes." you show him the map, pointing at the room. he takes a look, squints, and then looks back at you.

"you know i can't read this, right?"

you look at the map again. it's all in japanese. oh…

"sorry…" and now you're both lost as you try to pull up the map with english. this really is your life, huh?

hugo had just finished some practice with loki and charles in one of the training rooms and stepped outside to refill his water when he heard two voices echoing through the halls of blue lock.

one was undoubtedly yours, he would know it just from the way you breathed, but the other was… male, and unfamiliar.

hugo deduced that it wasn't one of the japan players, you would be speaking in japanese if it was, and the accent from the male didn't sound french, so you weren't speaking to anyone from france, either…

quietly, hugo moved closer to where you and the mystery man were, hiding behind the wall. he could hardly make out what any of you were saying, catching the occasional english here and there, but not enough to understand the context. which, to him, kinda looked like…

no. he doesn't even want to think about it.

still, hugo can't help but take a very long peek at you. your back, and the man as well, was turned to him, his arm slung around your shoulders. upon seeing the blonde and blue strands of hair, hugo instantly knew who you were having this… rendezvous with.

(it should be him right there…!)

michael kaiser, a fellow new gen xi. he's heard of the german, with his strikingly fast swing speed, and hugo begrudgingly acknowledges his aptitude to be a striker. but what he does not acknowledge is how close he is to you.

he grimaces just imagining how close your faces are. your heads are practically touching from how close you're both looking at… whatever it is that you're looking at together, and it makes hugo feel hot.

this heat is vastly different from the one he usually feels with you. it is far from warm and comforting. no, this one feels like a fiery blaze, so much so his hand is holding the poor bottle even tighter than he ever would.

hugo closes his eyes and attempts to calm himself, breathing in, and breathing out. japan sure is hot in the summer, that's probably the reason why he feels like this, not to mention he was just training. yep, definitely the reason he feels like this.

(when he peeks back at you again, the fiery blaze comes back just like it never left.)

"how about i —" you start, but kaiser cuts you off. maybe he could learn a thing or two about listening to others…

"no, we are not telling anyone about this." about what, this rendezvous? hugo hopes, prays, even, that that wasn't what he was referring to. it couldn't be, right? surely loki and charles would've told him that you were a taken woman, let alone by michael kaiser of all people!

in hugo's little mental breakdown, he fails to process the words that follow after.

"do you want to stay lost forever?"

"no, but i'm not having people find out that i got lost! and this is all your fault, of course."

"what, are they going to leak it to the press that michael kaiser of the new gen xi can't read a map?" there's a short pause where neither of you speak, and then you snort.

"that would be a pretty funny headline, actually…"

hugo just mentally clocked back in and now he's about to clock back out again. what do you mean a funny headline? that yours and kaiser's relationship gets revealed??? he feels so lost.

"what the hell are you laughing at?"

"…nothing. anyway, i think i figured it out. the training room should be just ahead." hugo feels sick. you were going to a training room? with kaiser? just the two of you? just what on earth would you both need to be in the same room for?!

he has to put a stop to this madness. if there's anyone going into any room alone with you, it's him!

but how does he do it without sounding like a weirdo…?

the bottle in his hand makes a small wheezing sound. oh right, what he originally came to do.

hugo straightens his posture and takes a deep breath, before revealing himself from the corner. his steps are just a smidgen louder, boots clacking against the floor, as he walks to the water fountain as casually as he can.

"hey." he nods to you and kaiser, twisting the bottle cap open. you stare at him with what looks like confusion, while kaiser returns the nod. hugo's eyes linger on the arm still on your shoulder. "what are you guys doing in the hallway?"

"we just, uh, happened to see each other and got caught up talking about the neo-egoist league days!" you flounder with a shaky smile, eyes darting between him and kaiser.

hugo gives you a doubtful look.

you fold instantly.

"we're also lost…" kaiser scoffs and rolls his eyes, mumbling something about "folding under zero pressure" under his breath.

"ah, i see." suddenly, hugo's chest feels a lot lighter. he turns the tap off and twists the cap back onto the bottle. "do you need help?"

"i think we're fine… the training room is up ahead, if i'm looking at the map right." you gesture to one of the rooms while kaiser's eyes flit between him and you, arms now crossed over his chest.

"oh, i think i get it." kaiser grins, smirking. you look at him with what might as well be a question mark written all over your face, but all he does is continue grinning, and pats you on the back.

"hmm, i think i'll go on ahead. don't want to be caught getting lost with you again." kaiser turns around to leave, waving off with a flimsy wave of his hand. you're still standing in the same spot, confused and mildly worried about what that pat on your back meant.

hugo stares at kaiser's leaving back. was he that obvious? he thought he was being subtle…

"i'm sure you have training to get back to, uh, vivien, so i'll just go on ahead…!" you try to remove yourself from the situation, but hugo shakes his head in refusal.

"it's fine, i'm taking a break. i'll walk with you so you don't get lost." he leaves no room for argument, already standing next to you, waiting for your next move.

realising that you won't be able to shake him off, you deflate in acceptance and walk toward the supposed training room 7 you've been searching for.

lagging just a few steps behind, hugo watches you walk as though you flutter, like a shy butterfly. ah, he's been trying to find a word to describe you, and just watching you like this, it appears as though it was only waiting for him to make the connection. that's what you are to him — his papillon.

"thank you for coming with me, you really didn't have to…" you start, a nervous smile playing at your lips. your eyes are set on the ground, head hanging low, and hugo thinks you just look so adorable, it makes his chest heat up with the warmth he has come to associate you with.

"it's no problem," he replies, his hand subconsciously finding your chin to tilt your head up so he could see into your captivating eyes.

"and next time, you should let me know when you're lost. i'll come find you no matter where you are, and i'll lead you back to your flower, mon papillon."

(charles and loki had come out to see what was taking hugo so long to refill his water. what they didn't expect was to see him holding your chin like that.

who knew hugo actually had rizz?)

the unnecessary cherry on top to the missed goal is loki scoring another one all by himself with what little time that was left. if earlier was a public humiliation ritual, then you're not sure what this is because it blows out of the water by more than a few magnitudes. you just know that the locker room is going to be screaming bloody murder from all corners.

the egregiously large scoreboard hammers in the final nail to the coffin of the match, a blaring JAPAN VS FRANCE 2 - 4 rubbing salt in the fresh wound. would it be unprofessional of you to run away into the tunnel before the teams did?

as entertaining as the thought is, you are glued to your spot to watch the teams wave their final goodbyes. or rather, france waving theirs while japan hangs in despair. you can see loki yawning while hugo trails behind him, unintelligible words exchanged between them, no doubt about blue lock's shortcomings. in this state, you're not one to disagree.

isagi stops hugo from behind, an all too familiar look on his face that tells you he's far from defeated. sometimes you really wonder where he gets the audacity from, but that's blue lock's and by extension japan's poster boy, you guess. whatever words are being said result in what looks like a smile from hugo, and something about it makes you feel like you're seeing the eighth wonder of the world. when he turns around to follow the rest of his team into the tunnel, his eyes immediately search for you.

even among the crowd of people, he spots you within seconds, locking eyes with you. he's bathed in the afterglow of a win, the smallest smile on his face. his eyes seem to sparkle in the stadium lights, and… was hugo always this… pretty?

he doesn't approach you, of course not in such a public setting, but you can faintly see the movement of his arm as if he was trying to reach out to you. the distance between you however isn't one that can be overcome by the length of an arm, so instead his smile speaks for him. right before he enters the tunnel and disappears from your sight, his lashes flutter and the quickest wink is sent your way.

now, your face isn't warm from embarrassment anymore, but still warm from something else…

(must be the summer heat, you try to reason, but when you remember that cheeky smile, your face warms all over again.)

for some reason, hugo feels free in a way that winning a match hasn't given him in a long time.

he shouldn't feel this way, at least not to the extent that he does, after losing to isagi in a one-on-one. blue lock imploded on itself at the end, this much was to be expected, but that wasn't what has hugo feeling so… happy, is that the word for this?

ah, it must be because you were watching him, just like he wanted you to. and this time, you didn't run away.

hugo wanted to speak to you, to ask if he impressed you. to hear your voice call him, to see himself reflected in your eyes, to feel your hand in his again. quietly, he laments that he didn't get your contact.

the locker room is loud with celebration, everyone patting each other on the back and cheering loki's last goal. normally, he would at least participate, but this time, hugo can only sulk to himself. you were just here, he could've asked for your number…

"why do you look like you're sulking?" charles's voice pulls him back to the present, wide eyes staring at him with a towel hanging on his head, head tilted a little like a curious dog.

"…i'm not."

"you tooootally are!" the blonde giggles. "lemme guess why! hmm… it's cause you didn't get her number, right?"

"…"

"i'm right!" charles grins, before waving his phone in front of hugo's face. "weeeeeell… lucky for you, i have it!"

it would be a lie to say that hugo didn't perk up even just a little bit at his words. however, something in him said that asking for it from another person didn't feel quite so right.

"and i can give it to you for the low price of —"

"no thanks." hugo stands from the bench, phone in his pocket, and towel around his neck. charles's face morphs into one of surprise, and hugo can just about see the gears in his head turning, and mouth forming into an 'o' shape.

"you're gonna ask her yourself?!"

the answer is clear from the moment hugo stood up, and for some reason, his heart is pounding faster than it ever did for the entire match. only when he walked through the locker room's doors and into the tunnel did he realise that he, of all people, did not have a plan. first, for how he was going to find you, second, how he was going to ask you. what if you were in the japan locker room? there was no way he was going to check there, even he knows it would be insanely crazy if not disrespectful to do that. should he just wait outside like a weirdo…?

but just as destiny had planned your first meeting, destiny had predetermined this meeting too.

right outside france's locker room hallway, there you stand, outside of japan's locker room hallway. you have yet to notice him, engrossed in writing something on your tablet, so hugo takes this moment to admire you in your element.

your brows furrow in concentration, unconsciously chewing your bottom lip while your hand grips the stylus in your hand. small sounds of confusion from you are like music to his ears, and hugo can't help but think, wow, i really am in love with her.

apparently, hugo doesn't know that the connection between his thoughts and his mouth are but one in the same, and so those very same words he was just thinking of echo through the hallway.

"je suis vraiment amoureux d'elle." the words spill out before hugo even realises, and for a brief second he wonders who managed to read his thoughts. when it registers that it was in fact his own voice, his face suddenly feels a little too warm.

you stare at him, mouth agape. oh, the earbuds must've translated what he said…

"um, i wasn't wearing my earbuds… what did you say?" you ask timidly in english, hugging the tablet to your chest.

oh. so you didn't know what he said…

"don't worry about it," hugo dismisses your question, choosing to keep his thoughts to himself as they should have been in the first place.

"in that case, i'll be going…!" you make a move to walk into the labyrinth of hallways, but before you can, hugo catches your hand.

"don't go yet," he very nearly pleads, voice breathless. when it comes down to it, hugo is just like any other person; shy, and afraid of rejection from the one he loves.

you stop in your tracks, turning to face him. a sense of deja vu washes over him, and he's reminded of your first meeting.

"is there something i can help you, mr hugo?" hugo shakes his head in a wordless reply, still trying to find the words to properly say what he means.

"call me vivien." he murmurs, closing his eyes briefly, finally finding the words to say.

"i want to know you, far more than just this. so… could we exchange contacts?"

in hugo's defence, he's never done this before. (please go easy on him.)

"ah, um… o-okay…" hugo reaches for his phone at lightning speed, the keypad already open. you take it with nervous hands, typing in your number and handing it back.

now, you're both staring at each other, unsure of where to go from here.

"i gotta go… i'll see you around, hu— vivien." you correct yourself and give him the tiniest of smiles, disappearing behind the hallway corner. only after you leave does hugo let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

on the screen, your numbers stare back at him like the beginnings of a victory.

(when hugo went back into the locker room, charles pounced on him and immediately asked what took him so long and how it went. if the pink on his cheeks weren't enough to speak, then the way he held his phone to his chest was enough of an answer.

while you hid behind the corner of the hallway, desperately trying to calm your beating heart, and trying to figure out how you went from being someone he disliked to… whatever this is.

is this what they call psychological warfare?)

(next part)

either way, the tablet caught you up on everything you weren't there to witness. hugo scored a goal just before the half-time break, and while you can acknowledge that he's a very talented player, your impression of him is still that he absolutely despises you. oh, and that he has some penchant for physical contact considering how close he was to isagi for a good part of the match (you are acutely aware that football is a contact sport, but it wasn't put-your-chin-on-their-shoulder kind of contact!). you shudder at the thought. hang in there isagi…! maybe after the match, you and him could form a support group…

shaking your head at the thought, you sigh in relief as you finally locate loki's damn phone. the device sits on one of the benches unsuspectingly, and next to it lies a book. huh, loki didn't say he was missing a book. it wasn't charles's, that you were sure of, and you don't recall seeing anyone from blue lock bringing a book to training. hm… maybe it was someone from the french team?

you slipped the phone into your pocket and took the book, flipping it open to see if any name was written on it. instead, what you found was blank page upon blank page upon blank page, not a single drop of ink on the pristine white pages. maybe it was someone's new notebook? but even those would have names written on them somewhere…

with another, more exasperated sigh, you leave the training room and make your way back to the locker rooms. maybe if you were lucky, you would arrive after they leave and you wouldn't be in such terrifyingly close proximity to hugo. it was unlikely, you know that, but a girl can hope!

the walk wasn't long, the training rooms less than 10 minutes away from the pitch. you could hear some boots against the floor and muffled conversations as players and coaches entered their respective locker rooms. maybe you should just join the japan team room, and then head into the france locker room when the break ended…? ah, but you wouldn't be able to ask if anyone was missing an awfully blank book…

steeling your nerves, you close your eyes and take a few deep breaths . you will be brave this one time and go into their locker room, regardless of hugo! but before you do… damn you loki for putting you in this position!!!

now, you were ready. well, not really, but sometimes in life, you don't get a choice. this was one of those times.

walking down the hallway, the doors at the end automatically slid open just as you arrived. immediately, probably over twenty pairs of eyes shot to you. this really is your worst nightmare!

"um, i'm really sorry to interrupt, but i have loki's phone…" you hold up the device as evidence, an apologetic tone to your voice. the coach nods in acknowledgement as you scurry to where loki was sat on the bench, a little too close to hugo to your liking. you could feel his eyes on you the whole time, but you tried your best to ignore it just like you did before the match.

loki nods at you in thanks when you hand him the phone, while charles waves at you enthusiastically. just as you were about to celebrate surviving this ordeal, you remembered the book in your hands. since you're already here, you might as well…

"and uh, does this book belong to anyone here? i found it in the same spot as loki's phone, if it helps…" you hold it up for everyone to see, and a wave of refusals makes you put it down. guess you'll just hope that someone comes looking—

"it's mine." the hairs on the back of your neck all rise, and your back straightens instinctively at the voice. you knew exactly who it belonged to, but you were praying that you were hearing things and he didn't say that.

to your misfortune, which you find to be becoming a pattern around him, the owner of the voice and the book magically appears in front of you and takes the book out of your hand. but that's not the only thing his hand grabs, no, because your poor hand holding the book also got taken hostage by hugo.

…is this the part where you beg for your life? because it really was starting to feel like it, if not some public humiliation ritual…

"thanks for finding it." hugo murmurs. you didn't even get the time to be baffled that he just has a completely blank book for no reason, because he was leaning a little too close to your face. any closer and his lashes would be touching your face! has he no concept of personal space?!

his other hand, hiding behind his back, places something in your arms. a first glance tells you it's something dark blue, the fabric soft. a second glance, and charles's loud gasp, tells you that it's a jersey. a third glance tells you that it's hugo's jersey, his name written in big capital letters. you were starting to feel really lightheaded.

"you should wear it, and watch only me." he all but demands, and maybe it's just because you're terrified, but it also feels like he's leaning in closer with every word. frantically shaking your hand free, you bow to the coach in apology and dash out of the room as fast as you can without fainting. the jersey is still clutched in your arms, a little too tightly for your own liking. you stand just outside of the japan locker room, trying to catch your breath and calm your poor heart that was beating a million miles a second.

what on god's green earth just happened?! and what are you supposed to do with his jersey?!

and once again, damn you julien loki!!!

hugo was extremely grateful to loki.

thanks to loki, his dream of winning the world cup four times will be realised, and so too will his dream of wedding you. if loki hadn't forgotten his phone, then you would've never found his book, nor would you have come into their locker room, and hugo wouldn't have been able to gift you his jersey.

the whole room is quiet, almost everyone except their coach staring at where you once were with a combination of wide eyes, open mouths, or hands on their faces. hugo pays them no mind, sitting back down on the bench, eyes trained on the book you held just a moment ago. his fingers brush the places yours were, feeling the lingering warmth from your hands. if he closed his eyes, he could feel your hand in his again…

"what just happened???" charles gawks, oddly reminiscent of the first time hugo met you, the cup in his hand having taken a skydive to the floor. the other players make similar sounds of surprise, having just witnessed perhaps the most shocking thing in all their time of playing in the team. hugo, mechanical and blunt and unfeeling and — you get the idea, hugo, trying to make a move on a person of the opposite gender?! and someone from the opposing team, no less!

they didn't even know hugo could do that!

their coach doesn't even bother to silence them. there was only a few more minutes left of the break anyway, so they might as well take some stress off (if they were even feeling any) by… freaking out over hugo's impossibly bad "rizz."

"their poor manager looked like she was about to collapse…" renoir mumbles, chapa nodding in agreement.

"she looked like she was going to file a restraining order against him…" camus mutters, taking another gulp of water.

"hugo, there's no way you're going to make her like you by acting like that!" leyden laughs, while most of the room nods in agreement.

"thanks for bringing her here, loki." hugo says sincerely, finally looking up from the book. loki only stares at him with a mix of exasperation and bewilderment, and mentally, he apologises to you for putting you in this position.

"you really are hopeless, hugo…"

when they make their way back to the pitch a few minutes later, hugo searches for your figure at the benches. to his dismay, you aren't looking at him, and you're not wearing his jersey.

(logically speaking, there was no way you would ever wear it during a match so long as you're on the opposing team, but a man can dream...)

the beginnings of a pout form, but he steels his expression. hugo glances at isagi through his lashes, when an idea pops into his head.

"hey, isagi yoichi…" hugo calls, seriousness in his voice and an intensity in his dark eyes. "what's your little manager's number?"

"…?"

(by the benches, you sneeze.)

(next part)

Despite how much you practiced, how much you competed, how much you tried, the world spat in your face over and over again. You were forced to watch, eyes wide and mind all too conscious as your peers and even those who gas started far later than you did breezed past you and achieved the dream you so desperately wanted for yourself.

Years piled upon years, and you were still at the same place you started. Staring at the grand and majestic piano in the center of an empty theatre, the silence a cruel reminder of a dream unrealised.

Then, in the midst of your wallowing, a voice breaks the silence like the shattering of glass.

"Your performance last night was magnificent." The man smiled, a black coat sat on his shoulders. His glasses reflected the dim light of the theatre, so polished that you could even see a glimmer of the piano's glossy wood.

Last night… he was there, then, to see you lose once more. To watch as another person takes a leap closer to your dream, while you can only watch from behind, chained to your place.

"It was hardly anything worth praising, but thank you for your compliment." A bitter smile sits on your lips, having long grown used to these fruitless endeavours. Ah… perhaps you should let this childish hope go and become an adult.

"I would disagree. The way your fingers glided across the keys was a delight for the eyes, and your technique was just the perfect balance of technical yet soulful." The man walks closer to the stage, and with him brings the scent of cigarettes. Subconsciously, your nose scrunches at the bitter scent.

His words bring about a sense of emptiness, words you can't even believe yourself. His sincerity wasn't of any interest to you, a life of performance and polite speech having made you numb to both negative and positive criticism. In the end, this was all you would amount to in your music career.

"Is that so? Then you have a good eye, sir." Your hand glides across the glossy keys of the piano once more, before pulling the lid close. At the place of your final loss, you would say goodbye to the instrument and its world forever. "It's a shame then, that my first admirer will also be my last."

"Oh? Do you plan on abandoning this path?"

"Perhaps a better word would be finding a path that I can walk." You walk down the steps slowly, each tap of your shoe against the wooden floor echoing throughout. From the corner of your eyes, you can see that he follows each of your movements despite his eyes being closed.

He hums in reply, a thoughtful look crossing his face for a moment before it settles back into a neutral expression.

"Sorry, I didn't manage to get your name." You say, standing by the stairs. You open your mouth to give him yours, but he quickly cuts you off by saying he remembers it from the night before.

"Feofan. You may call me Feofan."

Testing the name on your lips, you cherish it for a second as you prepare to leave it with the tattered dreams of the child you once were. When you part with it a moment later, there's a weight that grows in your chest.

"Thank you for enjoying my performance, Feofan. If one person enjoyed it, then this silly passion of mine wasn't for naught." Even at the end of this road, stepping out of your chains and changing your direction, you still can't seem to smile, not a genuine one.

When you turned your back, he called out to you again, a softness to his voice that sent inexplicable chills down your spine.

"What would you say, if you became my pianist?"

The memory is still fresh, a wound that refuses to close. In hindsight, perhaps that was the true end of your road, caged within the walls of this labyrinthine mansion.

It is a beautiful cage, the mansion reminds you every waking moment of that. It is a proper reflection of its owner, and it hides its captive without struggle. Truthfully however, with every day that passes, you've found less interest in even leaving the room, let alone escaping this maze.

Feofan, or the Regrator, as you've heard some servants refer to him, lives lavishly. He spends countless mora on your wellbeing and your beloved piano, dedicated doctors, servants, and technicians at your beck and call. Even he himself keeps a rather close eye on your health, an obsessive one you would even say. Whenever he arrives back from another one of his business trips, the first thing he checks is your wellbeing.

The second thing he checks is your skill.

A theatre, similar to the one you had sealed your fate in, was built just for you. At least, that's what he tells you. Whether his words are truthful or just sweet talk, you can't be bothered to care. There's nothing you can do with them, after all.

The grand piano, a replica of the one in the theatre, sits quietly on the stage. It reminds you of that day.

It's hard to say if you resent it. It is the reason your life ended up so miserable, yet at the same time, it is the very thing that keeps you alive. The only audience you play for is Feofan, and he is nothing short of the perfect audience, always ready with praise for your piece.

To be honest, these days, the numbness that started in your heart has spread through your body and infected your mind. Your emotions steadily become more and more muted, life a poor imitation of functions you can only describe as mechanical. There's days you don't remember awaking at all.

But if there's anything that sets your emotions ablaze, it's the smell of cigarettes.

You don't know how to explain it, a pounding of your heart and an anxious sweat that drenches your whole body. Your mind is sent into a frenzy stuck between rage and grief, and despite all these years, their symptoms only seem to worsen. But you've learned to keep it together, to force the chaos to exist only within the boundaries of your mind.

Feofan knows this, and it is this exact reason that you truly despise him. But a performer cannot hate their greatest and only admirer.

There's a routine to his return, you see. First, the servants knock on the door. Then, they usher you into a warm bath, washing and scrubbing every part of you until the invisible dust has been erased from your skin. Then, they fit you into stiff and formal clothing, clasping countless diamonds and other similar jewellery around your neck and arms. Lastly, they ease you into new and uncomfortable shoes, and accompany you to the theatre. There, you sit at the piano and wait until Feofan takes a seat in the front row, and only then do you begin your performance.

Today is no different, except that you've managed to gather what little motivation you've had over the span of his trip and written a new piece. Judging by the trees outside of the window, you can guess that it's around the anniversary of your first meeting. In honour of this, you will perform it for him. It will be a pleasant surprise, you're sure.

As you await his arrival, you press each of the keys with a practiced touch. They are well-oiled, surfaces smooth, sound loud and clear. The pedals can all be pressed with little resistance outside of what is expected. Even if there is nothing left in this world, you can still love the piano.

You smell him before you see him. The doors open with an echo, your back straightening in instinct. Your audience has arrived, and now your own performance is about to begin.

"Welcome back, Feofan." You greet him with a practiced smile, face turned to him as you wait for him to take his usual seat. "Have you been well?"

"As well as I could be without you, my darling." His tongue knows no rest, sweet words always at the ready. Still, you entertain him with a practiced giggle. "What will you play for me, on this blessed day of our union?"

"I wrote a piece just for you, in celebration of this day. I hope you like it." Like a dance, the two of you sway to the rhythm of the beat, smooth and coordinated in your responses.

"Is that so?" His purple eyes watch you with interest, a glint in them behind his silver glasses.

"Of course. I have elected to name it Autumn Song, as a reminder of the season our destined encounter fell upon."

As you play, the melancholic sound puts your mind at ease for the first time in what feels like forever. Here and now, there is only you and the piano and the sound of music that you've lived and loved your whole life. Maybe, your passion could find its flickering embers and reignite.

The bitter and overwhelming scent of a cigarette brings this wishful thinking to a halt, staining the beautiful piano with its acrid smell. Here and now, all that you love has been tainted by sorrow and a wordless reminder of that you are no longer yourself.

In the end, you hate the very thing that made you, you.

When a tear hits the key just as you press the final note, a clap resounds through the hall.

"What a magnificent performance."