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Chapter Text

Delicate, an almost hesitant sound began to unfurl, blossoming from the stage. Mellow sounds, like the gentle ebb and flow of a tide, began to resonate, each note a soft whisper, almost a hand made of pure sounds reaching out, hypnotizing its sparse audience into a collective stillness.

Plink, plunk.

Plink, plunk.

It was the soft notes coming out of a piano, a prelude to the performance. Yumeko stood furthest from the stage. 

Yet despite the distance, despite the formal grandeur, the music seemed to speak directly to her. She swore they even spoke her language.

Mesmerized is an understatement, she was enraptured, she was spellbound, and all thought completely dissipated. The world, for a moment, had shrunk to the size of a piano note, and she was entirely encompassed by it.

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Just an hour ago, she'd been dragged, quite literally, by her friend, Mary, a devout lover of classical recitals. Her passion for the arts was as unwavering as Yumeko's passion for chaos.

"We are going to be so late, Yumeko! Hurry up, the performances start in ten minutes!" Mary, with her signature bouncing pigtails and an almost frantic energy, had declared, pulling Yumeko by the wrist with surprising strength. 

Boring instruments. Random people. Two hours of quiet. Probably music that all sounds the same. Why am I even doing this? Oh, right. Mary. Friendship. Her sole mission for the evening was to accompany her friend.

The grand hall itself was immense, an architectural marvel, its very air thick with the scent of aged wood, polished brass, and the faint, sweet perfume of anticipation. Its soaring ceiling seemed to swallow sound, amplifying even the most quiet of murmurs of the few attendees. 

The stage looks wide enough for three full grown elephants to fit comfortably, it appeared intimidatingly vast and empty by the eyes of Yumeko. 

Yumeko glanced around, a frown creasing her brow, her sharp eyes taking in every detail. The place felt far too grand for their casual jeans, worn sneakers, and Mary's slightly rumpled hoodie.

"We should've worn a masquerade mask, or at least a ball gown," she mumbled. "Instead, here we are, looking like we just rolled out of bed after a late-night study session, or worse, a poker game." Mary, too excited to notice Yumeko's fashion critique, merely tugged her forward, solely focused on finding seats.

Yumeko also observed the curious lack of audience. Row upon row of plush, velvet seats remained empty. "Such a big place wouldn't be easy to fill," she mused aloud, her voice a low murmur, wondering about the turnout for such a prestigious-looking event. "Maybe it's an invite-only thing? Or maybe no one actually likes classical music this much." The emptiness, however, granted them easy advantage, an unobstructed view. They found a perfect spot, roughly in the middle, ensuring a clear line of sight to the stage.

They pull down the retractable seats, "I thought you said we were late..." Yumeko whispered, her voice barely a breath. The pervasive silence of the hall, despite the lack of attentive ears, seemed to demand quietness, so she whispered. "...Where's the music, then? Has it not started yet?"

"Just wait, they're almost out." Mary hissed back, her eyes fixed intently on the empty stage, practically vibrating with excitement. "Relax, Yume, you'll enjoy it. Trust me." She offered a hopeful smile to Yumeko, whose boredom was already etched clearly on her face. If her face had subtitles, it would read impatience all over.

"Sure," Yumeko replied, her smile unconvincing, her internal clock already ticking down the endless minutes. Her gaze drifted to her phone, then to the large ornate clock above the stage, its golden hands moving with agonizing slowness.

Five minutes later, after constantly checking the time, pointlessly opening and closing the weather app, calculating how many cat videos she could watch in the projected two-hour recital duration, and even contemplating whether she could discreetly start a game of solitaire, a restless sigh escaped her lips. Her leg began to bounce rhythmically.

She stood up, bending down to Mary, "I'll be back... going to the restroom. This quiet is surprisingly loud in my head." Mary, completely engrossed in her own quiet excitement, merely nodded.

Yumeko left her bag on the seat, reserving it just in case. As she politely and quietly makes her way out of the hall, careful not to disturb the few, hushed patrons, a true, deep breath of relief escaped her lungs. It was like finally exhaling after holding your breath underwater. 

Finally, the faint, comforting hum of a bustling, louder crowd reached her ears from the main lobby. The scent of coffee and popcorn reached the heavy, musty theatre air. She purposefully took her time, lingering in spacious, airy lobby, pretending to read information boards about upcoming performances, inspecting the faded portraits of long-dead composers.

She then indulged in taking her sweet time in the restroom-- staring at her reflection in tbe vast mirror, meticulously washing her hands for probably the third time. Anything to kill a few more precious minutes before re-entering the quiet abyss. 

Finally, a sense of duty, or perhaps a flicker of genuine curiosity about what was actually happening on stage, tugged at her. She decided it was time to return. Mary would for sure start to worry if she was gone for too long, might even send a search party.

She approached the grand, heavy door leading back into the grand hall, its dark wood gleaming under the soft lobby lights. She pushed it with a deliberate, firm effort, the door itself is surprisingly weighty, resisting her push for a moment. 

Her feet met the threshold, a plush, rich red carpet that felt absurdly luxurious under her worn sneakers, a jarring contrast to her casual attire. As the door swung open with a soft, almost reverent whoosh, the immediate swell of piano music enveloped her, no longer a distant murmur but a vibrant, full-bodied presence. 

It wasn't a tentative tuning of the instrument; it was a powerful, melodic flood. Finally, something's happening, she thought, a spark of genuine, undeniable curiosity igniting in her chest, replacing the earlier boredom.

Her eyes swept across the darkened hall, then widened, captivated, as she noticed it: something that hadn't been there when she left. Centered on the lone stage, gleaming under a focused spotlight that seemed to pull all light into itself, sat a magnificent instrument, a grand piano, its polished surface reflecting the golden glow like a dark, still pool. 

And communing with it, fingers dancing across the keys with an almost ethereal grace, a blur of motion and intention, was a girl. Her dark, curled hair, a vibrant, almost electric blue aura in the spotlight, almost shimmering, as if waiting to tell her tale. It was the color of a deep, starless ocean, yet vibrantly alive.

Yumeko was nowhere near well-versed in music theory, composition, or the intricate history of classical works. Her musical education extended to catchy pop songs, the occasional melancholic indie tune, and the rhythmic beat of a competitive card game. 

But it doesn't take a Michelin-starred chef to appreciate a gourmet meal. And in this moment, the raw, undeniable beauty of the performance struck her like a lightning bolt, a sudden, blinding flash of insight. 

She was utterly, completely star-struck. Was it the melody that had so utterly captivated her, each note a direct hit to her soul, a perfect pitch striking a chord deep within her? Or perhaps... the player herself, her every movement a dance, a silent choreography? 

She had never witnessed such raw emotion, such ethereal beauty, poured so completely, so fearlessly, into a performance. Every movement of the girl's fingers, every sway of her body, was a brushstroke on a canvas of sound, a living symphony of dedication. 

Maybe this is why Mary goes to these things... she mused, a profound, undeniable understanding dawning on her. The world, for a moment, had tilted on its axis, and its new, vibrant center was the girl in blue.

She hadn't realized she was still standing frozen in the doorway, a silent, almost theatrical entrance of her own, a human statue silhouetted against the lobby lights. She was utterly oblivious, lost in the captivating performance.

It wasn't until the girl in blue finished, rising gracefully from the piano bench, her movements fluid and unhurried, that Yumeko snapped back to reality, a jolt of self-consciousness hitting her.

The performer walked to the edge of the stage, offering a soft, elegant smile to the scattered applause that rippled through the hall. Her lips, painted a striking shade of blue, a perfect match for her captivating dress, made Yumeko ache with a desire she’d never known, a sudden, fierce craving to know more about this enigmatic woman. 

The lady bowed deeply to the audience, her posture impeccable, eliciting a smattering of applause, a delicate rain of sound. And Yumeko swore the player’s eyes flickered to her, a fleeting acknowledgment of her rather conspicuous, unmoving presence in the doorway.

Yumeko finally exhaled, a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, her chest aching from the effort, a sudden release after the tension. Maybe she wanted to go blue herself from asphyxiation? Her hands lifted, ready to join the applause, to show her newfound appreciation, to finally break the spell, when the grand door behind her burst open, slamming hard into her back with a sickening thud and nearly sending her sprawling onto the plush carpet. The force of the impact jarred her.

"Fuck!" she muttered under her breath, a sharp, involuntary expletive that echoed a little too loudly in the quiet hall, her carefully composed facade cracking. She spun around, ready to glare at the clumsy culprit, her eyes narrowed, but quickly softened, offering an apologetic, slightly sheepish smile to the startled person who had opened it. A middle-aged man with red-faced with embarrassment.

"No, no, I'm so sorry! I was in the way, my fault entirely!" she chuckled, genuinely embarrassed by the sudden spectacle, scratching the back of her nape. Her eyes, still wide with lingering shock and the residue of Kira's mesmerizing performance, darted back to the stage, and the player, Kira, was still looking her way, a faint, amused smile playing on her blue lips, a hint of genuine laughter in her eyes. It was a fleeting, shared moment. How utterly embarrassing. Mind you, this was her very first impression of Yumeko.

"Damn it..." Yumeko sighed again, the blush creeping up her neck, staining her cheeks a deep red, as she finally, reluctantly, made her way back to her seat next to Mary, who was now giving her an inquisitive look.

"What took you so long? Kira Timurov already finished her piece," Mary chastised softly, a hint of concern mixed with playful annoyance in her voice. "You missed half of it!"

"Kira Timurov, huh..." Yumeko repeated, the name tasting foreign but intriguing on her tongue, a new word added to her personal lexicon, a name she knew she would never forget. "I see."

"What? You know what, nevermind..." Mary shook her head, a soft chuckle escaping her. She was already accustomed to Yumeko's eccentricities and sudden, detours. This dramatic, public display was hardly the most questionable thing her friend, and now dormmate, had done throughout their shared history. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Or fallen in love." Mary teased, a knowing smirk playing on her lips.

The recital continued, the next performer, a flutist, taking the stage. And to Yumeko's genuine surprise, she actually found the subsequent performances enjoyable. Though none quite matched Kira Timurov’s captivating presence, her magnetic pull, her undeniable charisma, they were something.

Each musician poured their heart into their craft, their instruments becoming extensions of their souls. Yumeko, now attuned to the subtle shifts in emotion, found herself feeling all sorts of emotions conveyed by the players.

She left the hall that night with a newfound, unexpected appreciation for classical instruments, for the sheer power of sound to convey story and feeling, a language she was just beginning to understand.

"Hey, so... when's the next one?" she asked Mary as they made their way out, a genuine eagerness in her voice, a question that surprised even herself. Mary’s smile widened, a knowing triumph in her eyes. "Well, well, looks like someone enjoyed themselves."

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.

Chapter Text

Oh, it was impossible to deny now, not when they needed it the most. The rain, coming down in sheets, downpour that hammered the pavement. Taxis and buses alike were nowhere to be found, a ghostly absence in the storm, and their elegant dresses were already threatening to become drenched, their carefully chosen attire on the verge of ruin.

As audacious as it felt, as improbable as it seemed, is it truly wrong to accept such an offer? The sheer improbability of the situation made it feel like a dream, or a scene from a wildly dramatic movie.

"Ms. Timurov?! I—we—wouldn't dare..." Mary stammered, her usual composure utterly shattered, disbelief painting her face in stark lines. The opportunity to be so close to the famous virtuoso, to be offered such a personal kindness, was almost too much to handle.

"Just hop in," Kira stated, her voice calm and steady, a gentle command that cut through the pouring rain and the internal static in their minds. Her window rolled back up with a soft whir as the car doors unlocked with a faint click, an inviting sound. Mary and Yumeko exchanged a quick, wide-eyed, decisive nod—a silent agreement born of shared shock and desperate need, a moment of telepathic communication—before Mary fumbled with the passenger-side door and they both slid inside, into the plush, luxurious interior, leaving the storm behind.

They shrugged their way further into the comfortable seats, a slight awkwardness clinging to them, the silence in the car almost as loud as the rain outside. The air inside the car is a sensory symphony: the rich, new-car smell, mingled with the faint, expensive scent of Kira's perfume—something woody and subtly floral. There is also a faint hint of something akin to a sophisticated, aged drink, perhaps fine whiskey or an exquisite wine, adding another layer of mystery.

Yumeko’s eyes immediately darted around, taking in her surroundings: the driver was a masked woman, serene and utterly silent, her hands resting calmly on the wheel, her posture rigid, almost formal.

And next to her, in the passenger seat, the goddess herself, Kira, a captivating presence even in the enclosed space. Yumeko could barely believe her eyes, her mind struggling to reconcile the ethereal stage presence with this very real, very tangible person sitting mere feet away. 

She had never truly thought of Kira as an existing, moving person with her own life, separate from the stage, a flawed but beautiful human being. Perhaps it was selfish to think Kira was only made to play the piano for an audience, a static image of perfection. A sense of sonder hit her.

"Where to?" Kira's voice, perfectly suited to her alluring presence, flowed through the quiet interior of the car. It was sultry, deep, a rich timbre that resonated directly in Yumeko's chest, sending a pleasant shiver down her spine. Yumeko hadn't even consciously imagined what Kira's voice would sound like beyond her stage presence, but this was exactly it. It is a melody all its own.

"This is so embarrassing, we owe you so much, Ms. Timurov," Yumeko said, her own voice laced with its usual tinge of sweetness and subtle... seductiveness—a practiced charm that was usually enough to make any man or woman turn their heads. But now, it felt a little weaker, tinged with genuine awe, a sincere tremor in her usually confident tone.

"We live at Dominic street, at the dorms there," Mary chimed in quickly, offering the address, still a little flustered but recovering her composure, eager to break the silence.

"Oh, the tall, colorful buildings?" Kira replied, a hint of amusement in her tone, as if picturing the dorms with a whimsical curiosity. Yumeko found her description utterly endearing, a surprisingly quaint way for such a formidable artist to describe a familiar landmark.

"Yeah, that one, Ms. Timurov," Yumeko acknowledged, her voice softer than usual.

"And oh, Kira is fine," Kira added, her voice a soft command. Yumeko felt her heart doing backflips, a frantic beat against her ribs; she wanted to bite and punch every bit of fabric in the car out of sheer happiness if she couldn’t contain herself. Kira Timurov, the untouchable virtuoso, had just given her permission to use her first name!

The car smoothly started to move, pulling away from the theatre, its tires barely whispering on the wet pavement, professionally driven by what appeared to be Kira's chauffeur.

Mary and Yumeko exchanged knowing glances in the back, their eyes wide with a mixture of delight and disbelief, both giddy and overwhelmingly thankful for their current, surreal situation, their eyes conveying a thousand unspoken "can you believe this?!" questions.

"This is Riri, my sister," Kira introduced, her gaze momentarily meeting theirs in the rearview mirror, her eyes piercing through their reflection with an unnerving intensity that was somehow both intimidating and captivating. Yumeko immediately noticed the subtle resemblance—the same dark, deep-set eyes, though Riri's were devoid of Kira's magnetic stage presence, holding a quiet, almost watchful stillness.

"Oh, how wonderful to meet you both!" Yumeko exclaimed, her smile radiating warmth, trying to break through Riri’s stoic facade, to draw her out of her shell.

"Mary and I are so captivated by your performances, Kira-san..." Yumeko continued, tasting the name as it rolled off her tongue. It felt unnatural, too familiar, almost forbidden, yet she knew she could get used to it, wanted to get used to it.

"Why, I'm glad," Kira said, a hint of amusement, almost pride, in her deep voice. "It's the reason why I do what I do... To inspire and emit emotions. To connect with others through the universal language of music, to tell stories without words." She continued, her voice gaining a passionate resonance, and Yumeko felt as though Kira could yap about this all day long, and she wouldn't mind one bit. Yumeko hung on Kira's every word, captivated by her passion, by the way her features softened when she spoke of her craft.

"I didn't quite catch your names," Kira inquired, her eyes meeting Yumeko's again in the mirror. "Oh, I'm Mary!" Mary said adorably, always the more straightforward and less dramatic of the two, seizing the opportunity to be polite.

"I'm Yumeko," she added, her gaze unwavering from Kira, a silent challenge in her eyes. "It really is an honor to meet you in the flesh. Your performance tonight... it was just incredible. It transcended playing notes, it was storytelling. A true masterpiece." She looked like a total fangirl, despite having only attended two of Kira's shows.

Riri's presence was almost invisible. The masked woman did not speak a word, only grunting whenever Kira addressed her, a low, guttural sound that seemed to communicate volumes between the sisters, a silent, efficient language.

But a certain someone—Yumeko—seemed utterly captivated by that very fact, intrigued by the silent communication, the enigmatic bond between them. She wondered what stories Riri held behind that mask, what secrets the quiet driver kept, what history lay hidden in her silence. Mary, too, seemed to observe Riri with a quiet fascination, a subtle interest in the quiet sister.

"Mary and Yumeko, how lovely." Kira’s deep voice carried. "I've noticed you two amongst the crowd. Your energy was quite... vibrant. A delightful contrast to the usual hushed reverence. I'm so thankful for the support." She spoke with such genuine sincerity that Yumeko felt she could give her liver right then and there if Kira asked for it.

Yumeko was right, the musician did notice at her that night, and suddenly felt embarassed by her not-so elegant, but definitely memorable happenings. Exhibit A, getting hit by the door. She physically cringed recalling it. 

Nonetheless, Yumeko wished the ride could last forever, a perpetual journey in this luxurious, perfumed bubble with Kira, insulated from the mundane world outside. But the car slowly pulled up in front of their familiar dorms, the colorful buildings a contrast to the elegant interior of the car, pulling her abruptly from the dreamlike state.

"Here's our stop," Mary said, a touch of regret in her voice, wishing the ride wouldn't end. "We're so grateful, Ms. Kira! You saved our lives from that deluge." Mary smiled warmly, stepping out of the car, her relief palpable. "Ms. Riri, thank you!" It was obvious Riri was taken aback by the direct address, a slight shift in her posture, but nonetheless gave an acknowledging nod, a subtle tilt of her head that Yumeko noticed.

"Thank you! How could we ever repay you?" Yumeko asked, genuinely wanting to express her profound gratitude, wanting to find a reason, any reason, to extend this unexpected encounter, to secure another glimpse, another interaction.

"Don't worry about it," Kira replied with a knowing smile, her eyes twinkling with a hint of amusement, a playful light in their depths. "Just come to my next show. Your presence is payment enough." Yumeko's smile widened, a radiant glow spreading across her face. That was easy; she'd do that anyway, now with an even more fervent eagerness.

They stepped down from the car, rushing inside the dorm entrance as they shut the door close, cutting off the sound of the rain, waving goodbye to the two women as the car smoothly pulled away, its sleek form disappearing into the rainy night, leaving only a shimmering trail in its wake.

"Did that really happen...?" Mary just stared at the retreating car, her memory hazy, her simple brain struggling to process the surreal encounter, the improbable sequence of events. The entire event felt too fantastical to be real, like a fleeting dream.

She was glad Yumeko was with her, a witness to the impossible. "I know... I can't believe it either." The two girls stood there, staring out at the rain pouring down the streets, each drop bouncing off the pavement, reflecting the distant streetlights like scattered diamonds. They walked further into the dorm, not squealing in immediate excitement, but taking their time to fully process the extraordinary event, the gravity of what had just occurred.

It wasn't until later that night, well past midnight, when they had settled into their beds and Mary's eyes were already shut, her breathing even and deep, that Yumeko finally snapped. The silence of the dorm room, suddenly broken by a sharp, piercing squeal that echoed off the walls, followed by a fit of uncontrolled giggling, jolted Mary awake, causing her to sit bolt upright. 

"Dude, that was so unreal!" It seemed the reality, the profound significance of the encounter, had finally sunk in, hitting Yumeko. Mary groaned, pulling a pillow over her head, but a soft smile played on her lips. She knew Yumeko had fallen, and fallen hard, a gravitational pull she couldn't deny.