Disclaimer: La Corda d'Oro and its characters belong to Kure Yuki.

Rating: T (PG-13).

Characters: Ryoutaro and Len.

Summary:
When Ryoutaro was on the verge of tearing his hair out, unable to decide whether he should offer his help or just let Len fall from being a top rank soloist, he realized that things might not be so simple between them.

A/N: I wrote this as a submission for Infantrum's 50 Sentences Challenge II. Thank you so much to annalisemarie99 who has wonderfully proof-read it, and also to ThinE who has spared her time to check on the first six themes.

A STEP FOR ANDANTE

~One to Five~

.

(Winter: dear God, please don't let him freeze!)

.

When they met again, Ryoutaro didn't need a second glance to recognize the arrogant violinist standing among the other orchestra members and music reporters—much to his dismay, because like hell would he want to be like girls with that kind of pull towards their crushes. But there he was, clearly staring at Len's figure, half-hiding behind a pillar as he failed to do what he originally had planned to do: going straight back to New York after watching the concert.

Keeping his gloved hands inside his coat's pockets, his eyes focused on how the ethereal puffs of breath escaped Len's lips in the middle of the chill winter wind, before he shook his head in defeat. Despite himself, Ryoutaro started to break through the crowd, inwardly cursing of what the hell he was doing, catching faster and nearer to where Len was surrounded by the reporters. God help him, his legs wouldn't stop moving.

.

(Night: my only wish is to simply be there.)

.

"What do you want?"

Len had asked when Ryoutaro awkwardly emerged inside his line of sight out of the blue, grinning like an idiot under the soft yellow of the concert hall's lamps. The night was tough, and it showed on Len's features; how the dark circles under his eyes made him look more fragile than he should have been, and the red on the tip of his nose as he sniffed away the droplet of snow grew slightly redder each passing second, or the way his shoulders slumped, if only a little, as he tried to keep the tight grip on the dark blue violin case.

Ryoutaro didn't—couldn't really give Len a proper answer which he knew Len wanted to hear, but he kept his smile painfully wide, and patted Len on the back as they fell into silent steps along the path heading to the gates, where a limousine had been prepared to escort Len home.

"I wouldn't call your performance tonight great. If I still have to mention—," no, they both knew Ryoutaro didn't need to, but he did anyway, "—very unlikely, but your music was a mess."

"Oh, thank you for your watchfulness," Len scoffed, sarcasm thick in his voice. Around him, the other orchestra members bid him goodbyes with waves of hands, to which he regarded only with a polite nod.

"Wow. Bad mood, huh?" Ryoutaro grinned, ignoring the fact that even that was an understatement. Len seethed at this, momentarily pausing in his steps.

"So," Len said, expression steel but eyes burnt with something Ryoutaro couldn't quite put his finger on, turning to walk again as though none of Ryoutaro's words bothered him. "What do you want?" he repeated.

Huffing as he stared straight to the dark, cloudy night sky, Ryoutaro shrugged, concentrating on the voice at the back of his mind.

Indeed, what the hell did he want?

"I guess it's just been a while since the last time I got peeved by someone," his hand secretly crushed the return flight ticket inside his coat's pocket.

Gazing at Ryoutaro through his narrowed eyes, Len was torn between the feelings of being intrigued and mild indifference.

"…Quite a masochist, aren't you?"

That was a statement. But Ryoutaro didn't bother to deny.

.

(Simple: keep your eyes on me. I'm here. I'm here! )

.

"I said, let's have dinner. Okay?" Ryoutaro repeated patiently, for Len seemed to have trouble in hearing. The chauffeur who had come along with the rented black Limousine stood unmoving, ready to open the door for Len.

"I fail to understand why you're trying to ask me for dinner," Len replied, using the same stoic tone with that of his high school days. "To be honest, I'm planning to go straight back home."

"And leave your old friend who has come all the way to Tokyo only to watch your disastrous performance?"

Len's left eye twitched—Ryoutaro was suddenly reminded to what he had just said.

"Ah, I—"

"Fine, I'll go with you," Len said, turning away from Ryoutaro. The chauffeur opened the car's door, ready to help him put his violin case. But Ryoutaro grabbed his hand, stopping Len midway.

"Let's walk. Maybe Mr. Driver could pick us up later after dinner," told Ryoutaro when Len's glare intensified.

"In this cold weather?"

"It's close," Ryoutaro shrugged, using his chin to point at a tall building nearby—a five star hotel. "Let's have dinner there."

"Sounds even more absurd to me," Len retorted, almost rolling his eyes in disdain. "Going to a five star hotel by foot—"

"Could you just shut up and appreciate something simple for once?" countered Ryoutaro exasperatedly, while Len shook his head incredulously.

"Simplicity is different with stupidity."

"But you loved stupidity."

At that, Len choked, coughing a couple of times before glaring at the grinning pianist.

"I'm right, huh? " Ryoutaro was clearly enjoying this. Of course, only he and Len understood the joke as the two guys who had harboured their first love to one of the densest girls in history. What a cute memory, he nodded inwardly.

Without saying anything, Len took his violin case again, stepping away from the limousine and towards the hotel in a swift, graceful motion. Picking up at the hints, Ryoutaro smiled inwardly. He hurriedly sent the chauffeur an apologetic smile, asking him to come to the hotel in two hours. He ran afterward, catching up to Len and attempting to make the needed conversation. When he did, though, he was completely ignored.

Well, damn.

.

(Word: when everything betrays me, your gaze is what I'll hold onto.)

.

At first, Ryoutaro still tried to make decent conversation, constantly stumbling on his own words, until he finally gave up and chose to just listen to the melody of Chopin in the background. Hopeless as he was, he finally surrendered to the temptation of just observing how Len looked vulnerable and pale, despite how incredibly icy his mask seemed to be.

Due to self-awareness, Len couldn't stand to not send curious glances at Ryoutaro. But when said person could only offer him a stupid raise of an eyebrow in return, he sighed exasperatedly. Then as if nothing was going on, they were back to their own plates, staring past the abandoned honey-covered chicken steaks, and just let the world be swallowed by nothing but gracefulness of Nocturne.

This awkward silence was peculiarly horrid—nerve-wrenching; heavier than any demanding recitals Ryoutaro ever had, apparently.

But he didn't really hate it.

.

(Leave: if you were to go away, I'd choose to stay and wait.)

.

"My condolences," Ryoutaro at last broke the ice, slightly unsure if that was really the right time to utter the dreaded words. Predictably, Len didn't flinch even a little, but the way his eyes wavered for a split second told everything.

"No, I'm sorry," Len sighed, choosing to settle his eyes on the panorama behind the huge glass window, tightening his fingers around the empty glass of wine. Dots of snow fell slowly upon the city of Tokyo, showering the colourful lights below in heavenly white. "You must have been shocked."

Yes, Ryoutaro couldn't deny it. His days in New York were awful, if not the worst. Even for him, the fact that his idol, his most adored and respected person had gone, was too much. So much that when he regained his composure back—and that was when he saw the news about Len being the guest of an orchestra in Japan—Ryoutaro couldn't help but feel pain within him, imagining how much worse Len's ache would be.

"True," Ryoutaro said, taking a sip on his wine. "It was hell. And your mom was—is still my target."

Len cast his eyes down, gazing at the glint of glass in his hand. "Well, you can still hear her CDs."

"You know that's not enough," Ryoutaro retorted, suddenly feeling the urge to lock Len with angry eyes. The latter immediately held the same sentiment.

"Then what would you suggest? Chasing after her and—" Len cleared his throat, almost choking on his own words, "—leave?"

For a moment they both glared at each other, eyebrows twitched and forehead creased in anger; perfect nothingness tuned the Nocturne melody out.

"No, I'll wait," Ryoutaro in the end told Len slowly, eyes softened whilst his fingers gestured towards the box of violin that was laid on the chair beside Len. Well, hell. Ryoutaro might regret what he was going to say tonight, or the fact that he was even here with Len. But right now, when he finally had seen everything with his own eyes, he couldn't care less. "Until you come back."

Len kept staring, eyes widening for a second, then glanced sideways, looking past everything before him and whispered.

"We hardly even acted like mother and son. You fool."

.

(Stay: the moon behind the clouds is keeping me here.)

.

"Unbelievable. You even asked the chauffeur to pick your luggage up at the station's locker."

Ryoutaro rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish but still keeping the nonchalant vibes nonetheless. Before him, Len mouthed his protestation, seemingly endless, while hanging his coat onto the hanger that was standing proudly near his apartment's door. Once he was done, though, he offered his hand to Ryoutaro, to which the latter answered with questions reflected on his eyes.

"Your coat," Len stated, expression saying Ryoutaro was being idiot, again.

"Oh, thanks," said Ryoutaro in what little surprise he still could get from knowing more and more different things Len had showed. His music was one, and now, somehow, Len was no longer the little prince with no care towards the world—as impossible as it might sound. "And for letting me stay here, too," he added.

"Because someone's stupid enough to fly from New York to Tokyo without booking into a hotel beforehand."

"Didn't know that everywhere would be fully booked," Ryoutaro lied, and Len gave him a suspicious look. Well, Ryoutaro could only hope his decision to stay was right. "But I never thought you'd have an apartment in Tokyo. You are rarely even here," he continued.

Len raised an eyebrow. "How would you know?"

"Like someone is not the prince of violin," Ryoutaro replied with a roll of eyes. "You practically invade all Music Magazines." —but the fact that he couldn't help but be curious about each of Len's article was better left unsaid.

"Well, indeed I'm rarely to come here. Which is the reason why I have no one to work here," Len admitted, moving his eyes in and around the huge, but relatively empty place. The kitchen was just on his right, and he looked into Ryoutaro's eyes again while adding, "including a cook."

Ryoutaro stared back, opening his mouth slightly, before grimacing just as Len turned his back and walked towards his bedroom.

"Right, Fine. I can be your temporary cook," he grumbled.

Seemed like Tsukimori Len was still the little spoiled brat.

.

(Lunatic: can anyone slap me back to my senses?)

.

"Close the window, will you?"

The way Len asked him was monotonous and expressionless, but under the soft spray of moonlight glow, his skin looked translucent and his eyes shone like fireflies. Ryoutaro could have sworn he was already out of his mind.

"Err, sure," he replied after a short moment, sliding the window shut and letting the soft burgundy drapes swung lightly against the glass. "Sleep now?" he asked solely for the purpose of covering his uneasiness.

"Why else am I wearing pyjamas?" Len raised his eyebrow scornfully. The living room was dim, illuminated only by the light that came from the tiny desk lamp at the corner, creating soft shadows on Len's khaki clothes.

"I usually wear pyjamas just to get free from stupid formal suits; not necessarily to sleep, you know." Yes, Ryoutaro knew his answer was lame. Len didn't bother to respond.

"There's an upright in that room," Len pointed at the door across of him. "Soundproofed. Feel free to use it."

Quite amazed, Ryoutaro brightened. "Wow, you're unusually kind tonight."

Len shrugged. "I can always take my offer ba—"

"Are you kidding me?" Cutting Len's lazy tone of voice, Ryoutaro kind of jumped and held Len's shoulders abruptly. "Piano is what I need!" —to disguise my stupid mental breakdown.

"Like you need to voice it out loud," Len seemed like he almost roll his eyes. That, though, made Ryoutaro realized what he was doing.

"So, I'm borrowing your piano, alright," he let out a brittle laugh, taking his hands back as though he had just touched the forbidden. Len on the other hand, looked wholly undisturbed.

"Do what you want," he muttered while pivoting towards his own bedroom. When he had disappeared behind the door, Ryoutaro instantly cast his eyes down, confusedly staring at his hands. The tinges of warmth were still lingering there—Len's warmth. Moments later, however, he shook his head, cracking his knuckles wearily as he fell into steps towards the piano chamber.

He must have gone mad, indeed.

.

(Now: I know you more than I want to.)

.

Len had his own shower in his bedroom—one which Ryoutaro didn't need to witness with his own eyes to get the idea that it existed—every luxurious apartment had it, right? What made Ryoutaro tilt his head in bewilderment though, was the fact that Len hassled to go to the one outside, located just across the kitchen, which Ryoutaro used as well since the guest room was only equipped with a simple toilet.

"This is the master bathroom, with a bathtub," said Len when Ryoutaro had asked him one day. Still Ryoutaro didn't quite buy the answer; no one used the bathtub and came out freshly only in ten minutes. When had he even prepared the water?

"My shower's out of service," was Len's answer on another day. Ryoutaro's eyebrows arched suspiciously.

"Are you making excuses just to bathe together with me?" he teased, voice laced with indifference nonetheless. The silly bantering would come again, Ryoutaro predicted, and he was beyond ready to return any possible remarks from Len. What he didn't expect was, Len replied him only with his disgusted expression—as if he had just imagined something harmful to his sanity. And Ryoutaro didn't know that it would hurt him, if only slightly.

Well, maybe not slightly.

It didn't take his curiosity away, however, as Ryoutaro decided to actually sneak into Len's room when the latter had just gone to a meeting with his agency. At least his mind would be at ease if he knew whether Len really lied or spoke the truth regarding his shower. So he opened the wooden door to Len's room, inviting a soft cracking sound as he did.

Len's room was the colour of honey; milky white marble desk was placed just besides the door, upon which a complete audio set was sitting solemnly. The lighting was dim, adding a graceful touch to the single bed—which looked so minimalist, yet clearly made of expensive materials, covered in a graceful blue silk bedcover and a white furred comforter, with beige sheets peeking from beneath. Near the cerulean draped windows, which leading to a balcony, stood an elegant wardrobe; black and smelt freshly like sandalwood even from afar, ethnical flower patterns decorated both the top and bottom of it. Right beside it, at the corner, a study desk rested—a bright neon lamp seated on it together with piles of music sheets and books. The mahogany bathroom door was just a few steps to the left.

Rich boy, huh. But Ryoutaro would admit he was awed by the view.

Inhaling sharply, he strolled forward, eyes lingered to every corner inside. Len's scent enveloped him, mildly, ethereally, mixed with that of the sandalwood aroma, making his stomach flip and churn uncontrollably. Once he was right in front of the bathroom, he pushed the door open, then turned the light on. Almost instantly the lamp sprayed the area with its dusty golden touch; Ryoutaro held his breath for a second.

". . . Why, there is a bathtub," he muttered to himself.

Under the radiant glint of light, everything looked neatly normal; the marble sinks and the giant mirror, the ivory and unbelievably huge bathtub and shower—which must have cost millions, if Ryoutaro had to guess; the pale blue with golden flowers wallpapers, and even the sets of cabinet and wardrobe which stood elegantly a couple of paces away the sinks. Yes, everything looked perfectly usual, except for the fact that it somehow gave away the feelings that it had been unused for a long time.

Dusty, he thought, sliding his finger over the bathtub. The water ran perfectly as he turned the tap on for only a moment. Clearly, Len had lied. He sent his eyes around again, taking in every single thing absent-mindedly. Then, his eyes spotted something that was unnatural in a place like this.

Walking past the sink, he glanced upside and stretched his hand to reach over the cabinet. When he had obtained the object of his curiosity, he sank his back on the wall. A silver frame was sitting on his palm; a blue haired boy was staring intensely back at him, his beautiful mother hugged his shoulders while smiling. Len and Hamai Misa.

Suddenly, everything made sense.

Ryoutaro had thought that maybe Len had no photograph displayed in this apartment because he was rarely there. But . . .

Throwing an audible 'tsk', he rushed to the wardrobe, slamming it opened with least patience. Just as he expected, colourful women outfits were hung neatly in row; complete with the matching high heels and bags.

Of course.

This apartment was originally Hamai Misa's, and Len had locked everything that reminded him of her in this bathroom.

Sighing exasperatedly, Ryoutaro closed the closet, now tardily. He shut his eyes in deep thought. Damn, he had almost forgotten why he was here in the first place.

Yes, it wasn't as if he had no job in New York—in fact he was sure that his agency was now busy trying to cover up for him for running away in the middle of a concert preparation. He was only given three days—the flight from New York to Tokyo took more than twelve hours, after all. Therefore he didn't book a hotel, keeping his luggage in the coin locker at the station while he was at Len's concert.

Now, though, he had passed the three days due, which forced him to spend hours convincing his manager to get extra free days. After a long battle, he finally could get some extra days, with the condition that he should work harder to catch up later. Well shit, he even didn't know why he cared so much to Len's disastrous performance that it made him put his job on the line.

What he knew was, Len was falling, deeper and deeper, losing the balance that was his perfection. He had spent too long struggling to break free from his mother's shadow; and when the target had gone, he too had forgotten how to fly.

.

(Silly: I don't want to do this for you—but I do.)

.

"Welcome back." Grinning, Ryoutaro was pleased to see that Len's steel expression had broken into puzzlement. He rested his back on the wall, scrutinizing Len's figure as said man was undoing his shoes with confusion still sparking from his eyes.

"I've shopped and cooked lunch. Do you want to eat, or do you prefer to take a shower first? Or—"

"I don't remember I being married," Len cut out, expression showed his deep uneasiness. Ryoutaro's mouth hung open instantly.

"Hey, what—I'm not your wife!"

"Thank God," snapped Len, walking past the flabbergasted Ryoutaro in annoyance. The latter sheeted directly, catching up to Len's steps.

"I was only trying to be nice!"

"By playing housewife?"

"Just because I said welcome back and offered you to have lunch or shower, doesn't mean I—"

"Doesn't mean you what?"

Stopping in his tracks, Ryoutaro's mouth opened and closed wordlessly. Dammit. Why the hell did he copy those lines housewives usually said in midnight dramas just because he had no idea how to be nice to the iceberg? Wrong decision. Definitely.

". . . You can just do whatever you want," he said after a long while in defeat. Len sighed mockingly.

"Why, thank you. That's really helpful," he stated, briskly continuing his journey while sliding off his coat. "I'll be in the piano room. No disturbance," he commanded with a glare.

"Aye, jerk," Ryoutaro mock-saluted, and Len slammed the door closed.

.

(Sonata: your heart-beats echo in my mind.)

.

"What's he doing," Ryoutaro hissed to himself, almost soundlessly.

Len was restless, the pianist could see it from the way he repeatedly going through the score sheets, tweaking here and there while occasionally pressing rows of ivory and ebony on his upright piano, only to scratch more and more red marks on the sheets. Leaning by the doorframe, Ryoutaro observed, impatiently, contemplating whether he should leave Len alone or approach him and let him know that Ryoutaro wasn't pleased to hear his messy, hideous piano playing.

In the end, the second option won.

"Lend me your piano," he interrupted with a sigh, running his long fingers over the top of Len's piano which was the colour of tea, polished and shiny like new. For a moment Len merely looked up, eyes fixed at Ryoutaro's tanned hand, which gave away a contrast image to the chalky white wall the piano was facing. Then his attention diverted to Ryoutaro's annoyed expression.

"Pardon?" he blinked away his daze, almost forgetting how to speak. "…I'm busy here, if you haven't noticed."

"Yeah, you're busy trying to injure my ears," Ryoutaro almost rolled his eyes, kind of pushing Len aside so that he could sit beside him. When Len made an attempt to retort, Ryoutaro continued, "Wanna try to play a duet?"

Closing his lips again, Len connected his brows together, taking time to ponder if Ryoutaro's offer had malice behind it or it was simply just—an offer to play together.

"Um. I mean piano and violin, you know. Not a piano duet—"

"I know," Len cut out, standing up with a sigh as Ryoutaro felt slightly embarrassed for getting worked up for nothing. "What do you want to play?" he opened his violin case which was seated on the nearby desk, taking out the golden instrument in a gentle motion.

"Why don't we play this piece you're trying to compose?" taking the sheets Len left on the top of the piano, Ryoutaro skimmed the notes and made random hums. "Surprise, surprise. It's actually not too bad."

"Shut up."

"No, I'm being serious. Though the second movement does seem weird."

Len turned to see Ryoutaro, catching the sight of said man pursing his lips while studying the scores. His fingers touched the piano keys without actually pressing them to let out soft thuds. The view made Len press his lips harder.

"It's not yet finished, what do you expect?" he said instead, gaining Ryoutaro's full attention.

"Well, maybe—"

"Maybe?"

At the raise of Len's challenging eyebrow, Ryoutaro swallowed the words on his tongue and chose to tug his lips' corners to a reluctant smile. "Listz's Liebestraum, how does it sound?"

Len didn't answer, only adjusting his violin and bow to the right position, and Ryoutaro secretly sighed in relief. He didn't need further confirmation, cracking his fingers, and jailing the bugging feelings at the back of his mind. As the notes started to vibrate ceremoniously in the air, Ryoutaro willed himself to be indulged by the beautiful of music. Len's and his music…

…Until Len's hand wavered and the sound cracked.

"I…" said Len, almost inaudibly and broken, eyes tardily closed bitterly. "…Nothing."

The next second, he disappeared to another room without a word.

Ryoutaro was left staring at the door.

(To be continued)

The total of themes is 50, but I'm allowed to choose between 25 or 50. So there's a chance that this fic will end in 2 or 5 chapters (2 if I decide to just pick 25 themes, and 5 if I'm going to write for all the 50 themes).

Please review, especially if you put this story into your fave/alert list? Thank you. ^^