Chrysalis

Author’s Note:

I’m sorry for the late update. My Internet crashed again and before I had the chance to fix it, my dad declared a sudden holiday trip T.T

Disclaimer:

Nope, I don’t own KKM. If I did, I wouldn’t be writing fanfics, would I?

XXX

CHAPTER 4: Take a Bow and Leave

Despite always bragging himself as someone who could appreciate all kinds of music (be it hard core rock or classical pieces), Wolfram simply could not find anything to be appreciated within the music he was currently hearing. Really, even cats’ caterwauling would be marginally better. Therefore, a true music critic by the heart, Wolfram flung himself upright and stood on his own shaky feet, bright emerald eyes aflame and lips ready to form the worst critic the player would ever receive in his whole life.

Only to find himself in a foreign and unrecognized room, standing without his boots but merely his socks, clad in pajamas that weren’t even his to begin with!

His mind quickly evaluated the situation. He was within what seemed to be a small room made for two, sparsely furnished and rather dark (the lamp was not turned on, and the moonlight was simply not enough), merely consisting a large cupboard, a desk, a chair, a small sofa, and two beds with a nightstand for each. He was standing on the bed next to the window and further from the door. A quick glance towards the bed confirmed that his green backpack was sitting loyally on its foot, and his treasured violin next to the green colour. However, what was that lying on the surface of the other bed? A squint towards the direction of the unrecognizable object identified it as a person, sitting with his back towards Wolfram, the figure slightly hunched.

“Who’s there?” Wolfram voiced out loud, tone tense and wary. It wasn’t everyday he found himself suddenly being in an unfamiliar room, without his shoes, wearing somebody else’s pajamas, and kept together with a stranger.

The figure turned towards him, and the disturbing sound (Wolfram thought the screeching noise was not appropriate to be judged as ‘music’) immediately stopped. The stranger stood up and moved towards the wall, close to the door of the room. Suddenly, the room was bathed within the dim and suffering light of the cheap bulb hanging from the ceiling. However, even the measly light was enough to make Wolfram blink and resettle his sight for a while, disoriented.

And from the light, seeming to emerge was Shibuya Yuuri.

It took three seconds before the blond could re-recognize his bedroom partner. “Shibuya, isn’t it?” he questioned, frowning. Something was wrong with him. His head was definitely aching, and he had to resist the urge of kneading his forehead. “You’re my bedroom partner.”

The black-haired boy nodded. Somehow, the gesture appeared to be rather awkward and sheepish in Wolfram’s eyes. The word ‘wimp immediately flitted in his mind. Really, even five years old had got more backbone.

Pulling at the fabric of the pajamas he was wearing, Wolfram threw another question, “Are these yours?”

Another nod, followed by a timid explanation, “Err, your brother Mr. Weller, I meant told me not to open your bag without any permission from you. He said you would not like it. So I lent you a pair of my own pajamas.”

“Hell yes, I don’t like people rummaging through my stuff,” Wolfram said, positively starting to flame. “How did I arrive here?”

The other boy visibly winced from that question, although it might be from Wolfram’s accusing glare. “We err did not hit it off smoothly, don’t you remember?” Yuuri said. A certain tension began to build up nicely. Sensing the incoming danger, flustered, Yuuri added, “Not that it was something worth remembering…. Eh, it was just a kind of misunderstanding. Don’t sweat to try to remember it.”

Heightening his glare, positively pinning down Yuuri by his flaming stare, Wolfram growled, “My head hurts like hell, Shibuya.”

Out of impulse, the other retorted, “Well, my ass is still aching! You threw me to the floor, for God’s sake!”

Another silence dawned upon the room as the two boys fumed quietly, keeping their thoughts to their own selves. Had there been Conrad or Murata, they would have restored peace with a good-natured laugh; however, since they had not, and Luck forbid them from entering the room soon, the two boys were left with the matters in their own hands. Peace between them was like a thin layer of ice, and they were treading upon that layer with utmost carelessness. It was simply too easily broken.

Desperate to strike another conversation, and at least a civil one, Wolfram asked in monotone, “Did you hear anything strange just now?”

This drew Yuuri’s attention all right. ‘Normal’ was not a term he could often apply to the conversations held between him and Wolfram, and he decided to seize whatever chances there were for keeping civil. All the retorts, sarcasms, and insults could wear one out really quickly. “What sound?” he asked back in confusion, eyebrows high and arched.

Wolfram wrinkled his nose, as if remembering some bad odour. “It was a screeching sound,” he described, starting to pace in front of his bed. “It sounded like music, but I would go to hell before admitting it as music.”

“Music?” This time, Yuuri really lost it. “What music? This room is soundproof, you know. The owner said a lot of musicians came here every autumn to discuss music, so most of the rooms are built with carpeted walls. The only music here…. Oh….”

Looking as if all the colours had been drained straight out of his face, Yuuri scrunched up his face, embarrassed all in a sudden. “Was it really that bad?” he questioned, rather sheepishly.

The blonde shrugged. “Maybe not, but my ears are trained to sounds, Shibuya. What other people think as a tad out of tune is a fault of monstrosity to my hearing organs.”

Ruffling his already tousled hair with one hand, Yuuri sighed, averting his eyes to the ceiling. “It was me, okay,” he admitted, voice slightly harsher, as if he had just admitted the most embarrassing moment of his life. “I was playing my recorder.” With that, he gestured towards the instrument lying on the sheet of his bed, something which Wolfram had not realized before.

Silence dawned along with realization. The clock, set on one corner of the room, ticked by several seconds. Yuuri scratched his head sheepishly. Wolfram stared.

Then, like hot knife cutting through frozen butter, Wolfram’s voice piped up smugly, “That was music?”

Yuuri desperately placed his gaze anywhere aside from Wolfram. Embarrassment saturated his very being, and he knew well that his face had to be flaming red. What he would not give for a hole to appear beneath him! “I did not say it was music,” he grumbled, sitting down on his bed with only his bed displayed to Wolfram. “I goddamn know my playing is bad without you telling me, Bielefeld.”

“Hmm,” Wolfram mumbled incomprehensibly, before approaching and taking Yuuri’s recorder from its place, tangled in the sheets. “Let’s see…. It’s been such a long time since I played one.”

With that, his lips touched the mouthpiece, and he blew.

Sweet, sweet melody hauntingly familiar yet pleasant to the ears drifted through the stale and dusty air of the room, and Yuuri found himself being stunned by the melody alone. Wolfram’s slender fingers danced down the holes of the recorder closing, opening, and closing again. A vibration came, and the air vibrated along with it.

Yuuri’s breath hitched as Wolfram did a particularly complex series of notes without any trouble at all, and the music took a turn, gradually beginning a subtle yet breathtaking crescendo. Another vibration, and Yuuri thought his own breath shimmered along with the notes. ‘How does he do that?’ Yuuri wondered, eyes wide, mouth agape, and most of all ears sensitive to every change of the melody. ‘How does he…play the music so naturally? As natural as he breathes and talk?’

Mesmerizing. That was the only word Yuuri could think about to describe the two. Wolfram and music. Music and Wolfram. Those two circled in his head, and as the melody reached its climax he began to have difficulties trying to find out where the music ended and Wolfram began, or where Wolfram ended and the notes began.

He was a prodigy. He was something special. Someone who could create such beauty surely was someone special. Yuuri was sure of that.

And ten minutes ago, the only sound that recorder could make was worse than cats’ caterwauling. Such was the irony of the world.

The music turned into a diminuendo, before ending in pianissimo. Yuuri fumbled for his breath as Wolfram let go of the mouthpiece. For the dark-eyed boy, the person in front of him was not the bratty Wolfram von Bielefeld, who had pushed him down to his ass earlier. No, it was music, yet it was also Wolfram.

‘It’s really goddamn confusing….’

Wolfram tilted his pale head. Those eyes…. Those emerald eyes. They were waiting for something, anything. Yuuri tried to discern it. ‘Is he waiting for a reaction?’

Therefore, Shibuya Yuuri did something his mind first told him to do.

He raised his trembling palms, and they met together in an also trembling clap. Another clap followed, less shaky than the first one. Then another followed. God, he could not seem to stop applauding what was standing before his eyes. ‘It’s something…that isn’t supposed to be earthly. Something much more than flesh and blood….’

There was something beneath that pretty boy. Yuuri could not be surer than that.

Wolfram’s eyes met his, and those green depths were twinkling with surprise and joy.

“Beautiful,” Yuuri said breathlessly, himself not sure whether he was complimenting Wolfram or the music. But it didn't matter, did it? Music was Wolfram, and Wolfram was music. He could never fathom what set the two of them apart.

However, right then and there, Wolfram’s lips curled into a small smile, and the music took a bow, a fluid and graceful one nonetheless.

And Yuuri knew he had said the right word.

XXX

I honestly don’t know what was on mind when I wrote this. Critics are very much welcomed and appreciated.

Aqua Alta