Chapter Text
As Yumeko wished, with a fervent, almost desperate intensity, and to Mary's own utter surprise, it was Yumeko herself who secured their tickets for the next recital, a mere three weeks after her transformative first experience. This wasn't just a casual interest; it was a fervent quest, a hyperfixation, a new obsession that had taken root deep in her impulsive heart.
"You really enjoyed it that much, huh?" Mary asked, her tone laced with skepticism, a playful eyebrow raised high on her forehead. This sudden, fervent enthusiasm was entirely uncharacteristic of Yumeko, she admitted. The girl who usually dragged her feet to anything remotely quiet, anything that didn't involve a high-stakes bet or a wild adventure, was now actively seeking out classical concerts. It was like watching a shark suddenly develop a taste for kale.
"Of course! I understand now why you play classical music when you do your chores! It's so... vibrant! So dramatic! It tells a story!" Yumeko beamed, her excitement palpable, her eyes shining with a new light.
Tonight, she decided, she would not just attend; she would arrive. She would dress the part, something far more fitting than jeans and a hoodie. Something that would command attention, something that would make her stand out, just like Kira. Something unforgettable.
"Nah, I'm not convinced, Yume," Mary squinted playfully, neatly folding her laundry on her bed, a stack of perfectly creased t-shirts growing steadily. Yumeko, meanwhile, enthusiastically rummaged through her own closet, a tornado of flying fabric, tossing clothes over her shoulder like a disembodied mannequin.
"Why, what else would it be? If not for the music?" Yumeko asked, her voice sweet and innocent, a little too innocent, her smile a wide, disarming grin. She smiled dreamily, undoubtedly picturing the enchanting player from that very fateful night, the way the stage lights had caught the electric blue of her dress, the elegant curve of her fingers sweeping across the keys--
"I don't trust this..." Mary shook her head, a soft chuckle escaping her as she continued her chore, picking up a stray sock. "Are you planning to burn the place down this time? Or perhaps challenge the performers to a game of poker mid-symphony?" she exclaimed.
Yumeko gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest, feigning shock. "Is that what you think of me?! My dear, loyal friend?!" She giggled, a playful, high-pitched sound, before launching herself onto Mary’s bed, playfully pushing and tickling her friend, disrupting the neatly folded pile of clothes, scattering them like fallen leaves.
"Stop! I— It's just so unusual of you, that's all! You're normally allergic to anything requiring formal wear!" Mary managed, wriggling away, regaining her composure after Yumeko's relentless tickles, fending her off with socks.
"Well, I just happen to have been enlightened that night." Yumeko declared with a triumphant grin, her eyes gleaming. Enlightened by a light that radiated a very specific shade of blue, she thought to herself, a private smile blooming on her lips, a secret she hugged close to her heart.
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Tonight could not have gone any slower. Each hour dragged, each minute stretched into an eternity. But alas, it finally arrived, bringing with it the promise of another encounter, another glimpse of the captivating Kira.
Yumeko emerged from the bathroom, transformed. She's dazzling in a vibrant red dress—a shimmering cascade of fabric that sparkled with every movement, catching the light like liquid fire. It was perhaps a touch extra, as if she were the one about to take the stage. But she loved it. It's bold, it's attention-grabbing, it's very Yumeko. She's here to conquer, to impress, to make an unforgettable statement, not just with her presence, but with her very being.
"What? Seriously, you're wearing a dress? That dress?" Mary walked past Yumeko, who's meticulously adjusting a stray curl, admiring her reflection in front of the full-length mirror. Mary held her own simple, casual clothes—a comfortable skirt and a soft blouse—about to head to the bathroom when she stumbled upon this walking, sparkling disco ball. Her jaw dropped. "Are we going to a gala or a damn recital, Yume?"
"Of course! The place calls for it. Elegance, grandeur, a little sparkle!" Yumeko declared, her voice laced with self-assurance, speaking to Mary's reflection in the mirror. She saw Mary’s face scrunch up in confusion, then a slow, hesitant nod of understanding, then a definite frown of dismay.
"Okay, you're making me rethink my outfit," Mary said, a sigh escaping her. She turned back to her closet, her casual clothes suddenly feeling terribly inadequate, completely outshone by Yumeko’s dazzling attire. She put them away and pulled out a simple yet elegant black dress—not as shiny or eye-catching as Yumeko's, but something that could certainly hold its own beside it, a quiet backdrop to Yumeko's vibrant flourish.
"You do remember how we get there, right?" Mary began, pushing her dresser closed, the sound a soft thump, a slight tremor in her voice. "We only take the bus, yeah? You still sure about your fit? That thing is practically a beacon. You're going to get so many stares."
Yumeko giggled, a carefree sound, utterly unconcerned by the prospect of attention. "Yuup, 100% sure." She smiled, clasping a delicate silver necklace around her neck, its tiny pendant a subtle gleam against her skin, catching the light.
"Moments like these are when I wish one of us had a car," Mary scoffed, rolling her eyes as she walked past Yumeko again, now about to get herself ready. The thought of navigating a crowded bus in formal wear, enduring the curious glances, was already making her groan internally.
After preparing, the two girls were off, stepping out into the cool evening air. As they boarded the bus, they immediately drew curious glances—not bad ones, just noticeable, eyes drawn like magnets to Yumeko’s shimmering dress. It was a vibrant splash of color in a sea of everyday wear.
Whispers followed them, a few polite smiles, but Yumeko, used to being the center of attention and rather enjoying it, merely grinned. Mary, meanwhile, tried to shrink into her seat, pulling her dress closer, pretending to be utterly absorbed by her phone.
They finally arrived at the theatre, its grand facade now illuminated by the twilight, an imposing, elegant silhouette against the darkening sky. Yumeko’s smile widened, a nervous flutter in her stomach, a dizzying vibrato of anticipation, as she remembered what they came for.
This time, the audience was considerably larger, almost filling the grand hall. Thankfully, they were early and secured seats near their previous spot, a perfect vantage point.
They even snapped a few selfies before heading in, posing in their dresses, Yumeko striking a fierce, confident pose, Mary a more demure, slightly awkward one, naturally, for social media. "Proof we clean up nice! And that this girl can tolerate quiet for more than five minutes!" Mary declared, and Yumeko laughed, already feeling the excitement building.
Yumeko felt the complete opposite of her first visit—total excitement instead of profound boredom. She didn't mind waiting at all, savouring every second, her attention completely focused on the stage. She even found herself tapping her foot lightly to the background chatter, a nervous rhythm, her eyes fixed on the stage. This time around, the elegant Casablanca piano is already positioned, a silent, imposing presence under the soft stage lights, awaiting its master.
Finally, what pulled Yumeko's eyes away from her phone screen—where she’d been scrolling through Kira’s limited social media presence, admiring every image—was the distinct, measured sound of footsteps emerging from the backstage area.
Click-clack.
Click-clack.
Crystal, silver heels trailed into view, followed by the bottom of a shimmering blue dress, a gown that seemed to ripple like water.
Yumeko’s eyes traced upwards, excitement mounting like a building crescendo, a thrilling surge of sound. "This is it! This must be her!" The blue dress ascended, her eyes trailing all the way up to the hair and...!—oh, it was blonde. Not quite Kira Timurov yet. A tiny pang of disappointment, but she still smiled, adjusting herself in her seat, straightening her posture. At least the show was starting!
The initial performer was endearing, a talented violinist playing a vibrant, fast-paced piece that made her bow dance across the strings. Yumeko genuinely appreciated the craft and dedication, noting the performer's intricate fingerwork and the emotionality of her phrasing. But she was really craving that one performer, Kira, a hunger deep in her soul.
A few more pieces followed: some intricate piano solos that demonstrated breathtaking dexterity, a powerful cello piece that vibrated through the floorboards, a resonant timbre that filled the hall. And then, at last, heels clanked through the echoed hall, a sound that resonated directly in Yumeko's chest, a distinct rhythm that quickened her pulse, and there she was, in all her glory.
Yumeko felt her cravings fully satisfied, a deep sense of contentment settling over her, as if a long-awaited resolution had finally arrived. Kira Timurov offered a subtle, almost regal smile as she stood center stage, taking in the audience, her gaze sweeping across the rapt faces, acknowledging their presence.
Yumeko wondered how many times she had done this. Did the nerves ever truly disappear, or was it a permanent, exhilarating hum beneath the surface?
Her gaze was utterly focused on the icy lady, her piercing blue eyes that seemed to hold secrets, the elegant sweep of her arm as she greeted the audience, the subtle shift in her posture. It wasn't until Kira took her rightful place at the piano that Yumeko finally noticed the companion she was playing with: a violin emerging from the far side of the stage, held by a man in a tuxedo who looked fancy for his own good, a perfectly coiffed, handsome silhouette against the backdrop. He had a confident, almost arrogant posture, his violin held with a practiced grace.
And for some reason, this sparked a peculiar, sharp emotion in Yumeko—jealousy. He gets to play with her? So close? "Damn, if only I could play," she thought to herself, a flicker of genuine longing, a desire to be on that stage, not just a spectator. "I could be a better partner for you. My chaos could perfectly complement your calm. My wild improvisation could meet your controlled precision. We would create a new kind of music." Yumeko, with her intense stare, so utterly focused on the stage, hadn't noticed Mary, her dormmate, glancing between her and the stage, a knowing smirk spreading across her face.
"So that's why, hmm?" Mary whispered, her smile teasing, her voice low enough not to disturb others. "I see it now. It's not just the music, is it, Yume?... It's the musician." Mary giggled, playfully poking Yumeko's side. "You're whipped! Utterly, completely, hopelessly whipped."
Yumeko blinked, snapping out of her daze, her cheeks flushing a bright crimson. "Nah-uh!" she whispered back vehemently, her denial a desperate attempt to regain some composure, though her eyes never left the stage, practically glued to Kira's every movement. "S-she just has this certain... aura. A magnetic pull. A captivating charisma that transcends mere skill." She admitted, openly admiring the way Kira Timurov played, a captivating quality the other performers, however skilled, hadn't quite achieved. It was a unique signature, a legato beyond compare.
The way Kira was so utterly captivated by her own playing, how every single press of a key seemed to mean something profound, how her body swayed with the melody, a natural rhythm emanating from her very core—she isn't just playing notes; she was telling a story, a deep, emotional narrative, a wordless drama, and the piano and her blended beautifully, two souls in perfect harmony, a seamless duet of intent and execution. It's almost enough to bring Yumeko to tears.
"So you did see her play last time..." Mary giggled, for sure not letting her teasing die out. Yumeko was sure this would provide Mary with ammunition and material for weeks, possibly months.
"Shh..." Yumeko hushed, a small warning in her voice, a desperate plea for quiet.
"Okay, okay," Mary surrendered, a small chuckle escaping her. She settled back, herself now engrossed in the performance on stage, caught in the undeniable spell of the music, the intricate dance between piano and violin.
"But I must warn you...I hear she's not easy" Mary whispered, her voice dropping conspiratorially, a shift in tone that immediately snagged Yumeko’s attention. She tilted her head, probing for more information. Mary couldn’t just drop a bomb like that and leave her hanging.
"What does that mean? 'Easy'?" Yumeko whispered back, though her eyes still darted to Mary, stealing quick glances whenever Kira hit a resonant, echoing note that reverberated through the hall.
"There are rumors she's a vampire," Mary whispered seriously, leaning closer, her eyes wide with mock gravity, a playful sparkle in their depths. This earned her a light smack on the arm from the intrigued girl. "Oh, come on, Mary! Be serious! You're making it up!"
"Nah, I'm just playing, there are rumors like that though, but it's just for fun. You know, about her 'icy' demeanor and staying out of the sun, her unusual pallor, her captivating gaze. Who knows, maybe she is?" Mary raised an eyebrow playfully. "I wouldn't mind giving my blood to her if she needed it to keep playing, especially if she played like that forever." Yumeko whispered back, a mischievous glint in her eyes, leaning into the joke, a playful darkness in her humor.
"Oh, you freak!" Mary giggled, giving Yumeko a playful shove that nearly toppled her from her seat.
"But yeah," Mary continued, her tone more grounded now, the playfulness subsiding. "There are rumors of her past lovers... well, disappearing all of a sudden. Not like, gone gone, but just, completely out of the picture. Like they were never there, erased from the narrative." Mary shrugged, not entirely convinced herself. It could all be coincidences, a dramatic flair added to the mystique of a famous, enigmatic artist. Who knew? The world loved its urban legends.
"Ooh, maybe she ate them all," Yumeko joked, a dark humor in her voice, which earned a loud, surprised laugh from Mary that drew a few curious glances from surrounding patrons. Yumeko looked back at the stage, and as if she had supernatural hearing abilities, or perhaps simply a heightened sensitivity to Kira's presence, Kira’s gaze flickered to her, then back to the piano, a brief, almost imperceptible connection, a silent staccato between their souls. This sent Yumeko’s heartbeat racing, a thousand times quicker, a frantic drum against her ribs, almost chanting Kira’s name.
Ba-dump. Ba-dump.
Oh, she'd give up everything just to be stared down condescendingly by a woman like Kira. To be consumed by that kind of power.
After the show, which concluded with a thunderous applause, people chatted warmly, complimenting their dresses, the vibrant energy they brought to the otherwise subdued audience. It felt nice and comforting to experience such a pleasant crowd, all chill and laid-back—a stark contrast to Yumeko's usual haunts, which often involved rowdy competition and high-stakes games. But she could definitely dig this new, refined atmosphere, finding a strange comfort in its elegance.
The two didn't realize how long they had stayed, lingering in the hall, soaking in the afterglow of the performance, unwilling to break the spell. It wasn't as if Kira Timurov would suddenly appear mingling in the audience, signing autographs and chatting—she was far too ethereal for that, a creature of the stage, not the mundane world. So they finally, reluctantly, left the grand hall, exiting into the dimming evening.
Outside the theatre, the air was cool and crisp, carrying the faint scent of a drizzle. "Let's go to the comfort room before we leave," Mary declared, already heading that way, her heels clicking against the pavement. Yumeko followed, her mind still replaying Kira's final notes, spiraling in her memory, feeling oddly satisfied after another incredible performance.
Yumeko waited for Mary by the sinks and mirror, checking her reflection, smoothing her dress, before a sudden, loud pitter-patter began. Slowly at first, then accumulating into a burst of rain, drumming furiously against the building's roofs. It sounded much louder in the comfort room, with the large windows right there, amplifying every drop, every splash. "Shit, I think it's raining, Mary," she called out, loud enough for her friend in the cubicle to hear over the din.
"Uh oh, damn it!" Mary exclaimed as she emerged. She quickly washed her hands and they headed out to assess the situation, stepping out into the theatre’s sheltered portico.
They made their way to the theatre's main entrance, just a few steps down separating them from an extended roof that offered meager protection from the raging downpour. Sheets of water streamed from the gutters, creating a shimmering curtain. Heels, fancy dresses, and making a dash for it did not mix well with a sudden, relentless rainstorm. They sighed in unison, staring out in disbelief at the deluge.
"We were so not prepared for this..." Mary groaned, watching the relentless sheets of water fall, her shoulders slumping in defeat, her hair already threatening to frizz. "My hair is going to be a disaster! This dress is going to be ruined!"
"Should we just go make a run for it?" Yumeko suggested, a mischievous glint in her eye, already considering the dramatic potential of a wild dash through the storm.
"It's a mudslide out there, unless you want to slip and fall, then maybe." Mary deadpanned, picturing the inevitable tumble, the awkward sprawl on the wet pavement.
"Fall for Kira Timurov, sure," Yumeko nodded cheekily, her grin widening, embracing the absurdity. "I say we should just go for it," she continued, already feeling the dampness in the air, the chill seeping into her bones.
"Hate to say it but yeah, it doesn't look like it's going to get better any time soon," Mary agreed, her voice laced with resignation, her hopeful spirit dampened by the rain. She hunched her shoulders, already prepping herself, poised to make a dash for it, imagining the sprint across the street.
They were about to brave the elements, ready to sprint into the soaking night, when a sleek, fancy car, a dark, gleaming silhouette, pulled up right in front of them, silent as a shadow, its headlights cutting through the rain. This stopped them dead in their tracks.
They thought nothing of it at first, assuming it's a pick-up for another patron, preparing to run around the car and onto the street, when suddenly, with a soft whir, the tinted window rolled down, revealing a very familiar, very alluring face. Kira Timurov. "Need a ride?" she purred, her voice a low, melodic question, perfectly calm amidst the storm, before the two girls could make another move.
Mary and Yumeko exchanged wide-eyed glances of utter disbelief. Kira Timurov? The ethereal performer, the woman of their dreams, the one whose performance had smitten Yumeko? The untouchable ice queen? Is offering them a ride? It's too wild, too perfect, too improbable. Someone pinch Yumeko out of this dream.