Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Aching” didn’t describe how he was feeling.

The piano’s strings were out of tune; none of them had snapped yet, but nothing he did sounded or seemed right when she wasn’t by his side. What was an instrument for, if it couldn’t even serve its purpose right?
Firewood, perhaps. Kindling for the flames of grief.

The pianist brought his gaze back up to his surroundings, a desecrated hall (a ruined dream), as if hoping all of the wrong that’s happened in his world (everything, recently) would revert. It didn’t happen. (It all happened.)
Heavy footsteps echoed with a heavier heart, as the broken half made his way to the entrance, with that beautiful opening mechanism she spent so long on.

As he played one last duet (a solo, really), he could almost hear her strumming along.

And so he faded.

~

The cellist must’ve strayed too far from him.

Her ears were ringing (an unpleasant tune that sang of ruin, of their destruction), and the only thing she could see was crabs and wreckage and darkness.

Oh, how I miss you already.

The lost half stumbled into a wall, and kneeled, with a sinking finality.
A cello with a broken bridge; that bridge being her connection with him.
She had no more strength.

The ringing in her head was almost replaced by the song of his keys and her strings.

And so she faded.

~

Two stories ended here.
One, re-intertwined, could start anew.
Child, you could bring them light.

Won’t you help them?

Chapter Text

The two lounged on the small stretch of sand in the village, mist from the waterfall occasionally blowing onto them. The pianist sat carefully upon a towel, not wishing to get grit on his clothes, while the cellist couldn’t care much less.
Both of them had something to say, yet neither had the courage to.

What if I come on too strong and scare him off?
What if she doesn’t feel that way?

“So,-”
“I-”

They stared at each other, mouths still gaping.
She coughed. He looked away. Their expressions were indiscernible under their masks.

“What is it that you were going to say?” He mumbled.

She clasped her hands together, awkwardly. “Did we, er, ever plan when our first performance in the concert hall would be? The big one with everyone?”

His shoulders sagged a bit. Relief? Disappointment? “I believe we agreed on it being five days from today.”

“Yep, sounds about right, ha. Thank you.”

…

The awkwardness between them was deafening, the only sounds being the waterfall and background chatter of the other residents.

The cellist reached into the sparkling surface of the lake and splashed a bit onto the pianist’s boots.

He shrieked and pointed an accusing finger at her.

She only giggled. “I don’t know why you’re so protective of your clothing! You only live once, so go have fun, silly!”

“We. Are. Performing. In. 5. Days.”

“This is your fault for making us wear concert wear on our day off.”

He sputtered a bit. “Love, we- we need to keep our reputation in the town as the highly professional and renowned musician duo! We can’t just be walking around in our pajamas, or, or those old outfits.”

She stared at him.
He stared back.

She decided to not point out what he said.

“Okay, I agree to your terms and points. But- SURPRISE!”

“Unfair! You went for my face!”

The rest of that afternoon was spent with laughter and clothes that were completely soaked.
Neither of them had said it yet, but there’d be another time.

Chapter Text

It was empty here.

The sky (it was blue and bright once) blended with the floor, the horizon invisible and far. The surface underneath rippled with every step; a mockery of something else that shone and splashed and laughed.

There was a figure mirrored beneath him, but they were unrecognizable. Extinguished, dim, and merely a blue smear.

He didn’t know why he kept walking. There was nothing (someone?) else for him out there.

Yet he searched.

For what, he knew not.

~

There was another person here.

She was donned in lavender, and held her mask in one hand. The cellist was close enough for him to see her sad smile.

He started running, his heart was so full of hope, as he truly thought that she could be real.

It’s glowing here.

Their hands connected, gripping the other tightly.

The pianist let himself be pulled forward, as he felt a tug-

~

He blinked.

Oh.

She wasn’t here.

~

Upon the smooth surface of the rock, he pondered his newfound existence.

Ever since he’s been here, really been here, back with real air and grass and water, he felt weightless; a good breeze could’ve scattered what was left of him. Could his state even be constituted as living? Translucent, blue, and held together by just stars?

(She still wasn’t here.)

He was considering staying here until he faded back into the dull, non-reality of that space, when the unrelenting calls of that child (what could they be, if not a child?) (they were children once) stirred him from his reverie.

“What?” The pianist snapped, surprised by his tone after. He tried to soften his glare, before remembering he was still wearing that mask of his.

The kid, decked in a bright cape that almost seemed too large for them, tilted their head questioningly.

“I suppose I should get back to the hall, yes,” he answered, absentmindedly. “Now,-”

Oh.

The last few moments of his previous life came back, as he stared, befuddled at the closed gates that blocked his way. The “duet door” that she was so proud of.

Now would be a great time for you to answer the door, dear, he thought, bitterly. Certainly not at her, no, more-so the world that decided for her to go first.

…

“Honk,” the other urged.

He didn’t bother with more words, instead half-heartedly plucking out their melody. It sounded like a bird with a broken wing.

The door didn’t open.

Well, the math was simple. Two people, two harps. But she wasn’t here to play. They aren’t her.

The kid picked up the other harp anyways, insistent on opening the door. For what reason, he didn’t know.

…

“Do you, er, want me to demonstrate it again?...” The pianist spent his time around instruments and audiences. Not children.

Thankfully, they were a quick learner.

~

Their playing was slightly unsynchronized, yet it was still something they made. Together. It didn’t matter how long it took, or how rough it was right now, but they would always be there to support one another, through and through.

From the day they found the shell, to the day they’ll finally harmonize perfectly.

~

The darkstone lit up with a beautiful glow, as the stone doors ground open.

Chapter Text

The cellist led the pianist to the center of the concert hall- their concert hall. 

The space that they had tirelessly worked on since arrival; of course, the village residents helped so very much, but he thought that she was the most passionate about it. She, and he, as a result. 

They weren’t quite done with it yet, but it was so very near completion, with the place looking truly spotless. 

Under the beautiful, shifting light, they stood, observing what they’ve made. 

Unbeknownst to the other, while hand-in-hand, their pulses were fluttering.

~

The place was still ruined. He thought that it may have gotten worse, with the spiders taking residence under the tables and over the vases of wilted flowers. 

Thick sheets of webs had spread; a thick coat of dust settled, a colony of crabs scuttled about, and growths of pulsing darkness jutted out of their stage. He thinks his piano may have been shattered, along her cello. The place was just downright oppressive now. 

Her body might still be here.

His skin itched; it was more of a phantom sensation, than anything else.

The numbing apathy from before was gone, and all he felt was another beach of salt rubbed into a newly reopened wound.

The pianist decided to ignore it.

The least he could do for her was to fix up the place for when she came back. She’ll come back.

He looked back to the child, which, what, did they multiply, there’s two of them now ? The other may have snuck in while he was gaping at the hall’s decrepit state. Nonetheless, he looked back at the two children, and said: “This concert hall, it was once a very important place to u- I.” He took a moment to recover. “Will you help me restore it?”

The only thing he had left to offer up was his gratitude. He didn’t verbally express that, however.

Thankfully, strangely, they went to burn up the webs, as if they knew where they were, as if there was something guiding them.

~

You’re such a perfectionist, you know that?” She teased, watching him scrub the same table a fifth time, his arms starting to burn.

He huffed, taking off his mask, as he could’ve sworn that the temperature was steadily increasing. “It is not my fault that you can’t see the dust particles on here. Dear, you may need spectacles.”

“It is not I who needs them. Besides, we’re always providing a spectacle for our audience, and that’s probably enough, eh?” She patted his shoulder.

He laughed, despite how high-strung he was, despite his aching muscles, as he always loved her sense of humor. No matter how… uncomic the jokes were, he could make an exception.

~

With nothing else to use, he scraped off the webs with his bare hands, as the other two lit them ablaze instead. He couldn’t do anything about the candles, other than righting them back to a proper position.

The other two seemed to have finished with the tables, and while he’d have preferred to make the place spotless, he didn’t push them to continue. The only thing left was to remove the darkness and the crabs.

…Of course the most convenient solution would’ve involved her . But no, she still wasn’t here. 

( He deeply wished she was, but that’s no surprise. )

He felt more like a ghost than ever, outside as well as inside now, ha, as he drifted back to the entrance and scooped up both of their harps. 

Inspecting the two kids closer, he noticed that one of them was mostly decked with orange and blue, while the other was mostly donned in red. They never seemed to respond in a language he understood, so he temporarily named them “Two” and “One.”

The cellist was always more creative than him, but she swatted at him whenever he expressed that. “It’s just not true,” she explained, “and even if it were, we both excel in different areas. For instance, I think you look great in blue, while I don’t. Purple objectively isn’t better than blue, no matter how much I try to convince you so.”

One was leading Two, their hands linking them together. His heart flattened just a bit more out of tune. Regardless, he gently put the other harp in the hands of the former.

They knew what to play, and as they did so together, he could almost hear a piano and cello, once again, as if she were playing from wherever she was. 

The light spilled out from the sky, dancing, as if they were underwater. 

They might’ve been, but the pianist wouldn’t drown anymore. He dared for another shard to crash through the window.

Thankfully, it didn’t. 

Clumps of pulsating darkness seemed to lose their luster and color, as the crabs retreated under the children’s onslaught of bright and burning flames.

The piano was intact.

The cello was not. Its fingerboard lay at an odd angle, its strings snapped. A shard of wood lay by its side.

He chuckled a bit, because really, it was all a bit funny. What a way to describe their owners’ states at the moment.

The child, One, approached his piano, as Two stared up at them. They seemed to exchange a quick conversation with either their eyes, body language, or telepathy.

The pianist, the original pianist, sucked in a breath as they began to play the theme once more. It was a bit ridiculous that his first urge was to tackle them off, no, that’s enough, I can’t keep hearing this piece when she’s not playing the other half, that’s my instrument , but he restrained himself. What a fool he was; perhaps the last millenia ( oh, has it really been that long? WHAT YEAR WAS IT?) made him a bit deranged.

But wait, their poster that he skimmed over at first, only because it hurt to look at in its scratched-up state, started sealing up before his eyes. Her face- previously damaged and missing- had come back. 

And so he stood there, gaping, staring, like a fish out of water, as the concert hall began glowing and shifting the way it should’ve been, the candles lighting up, as the child continued their melody. 

( They’d heard of enchanters who could revive their surroundings and create displays of colored lights when they were young. She suggested they run away with them. He called it all a silly myth. )

( Besides, music was a form of magic too. It wasn’t as dramatic to the naked eye, but they could do fine without spells. )

( Who sent this pair? Why could they do this, but not him? )

Two clapped the loudest, out of the, well, two of them.

Mostly, he was preoccupied with their poster.

He could see her face again. He had almost forgotten it; despite how simplified the design was, he could make out her face of full concentration, her steady and accurate bowings, as she put all of her emotions into the cello’s part.

I’ll find you.