For You (Ruikasa)
The bard’s fingers trembled on his worn lute, the melody he had meant to play fading from his mind the longer he gazed at Rui. Tonight had been perfect—another masterpiece of light and wonder, Rui’s voice commanding the crowd with a presence that felt almost untouchable.
Almost.
But here, beneath the quiet, Rui looked… tired. Fragile. And Tsukasa hated how it made his heart ache.
"You shouldn’t linger so late, Rui."
The ringmaster's head lifted at the sound of Tsukasa’s voice. For a moment, that carefully crafted mask remained—the half-smile, the unreadable gleam in his eyes. But it slipped as he sighed, turning away from the empty ring.
"I could say the same for you, Tsukasa," Rui murmured. "The audience is gone. No one left to sing for."
"I wasn’t singing for them tonight," Tsukasa replied softly, stepping closer, the faint strains of a melancholic melody escaping his instrument. The notes trembled in the air—haunted, unresolved.
Rui stilled. "That song… It’s unfinished."
"I know."
A beat passed, heavy with words unsaid.
Then Rui spoke, quieter. "You should finish it."
Tsukasa shook his head, swallowing against the lump forming in his throat. "I can't. Not yet."
Because the song was for him.
He wanted to say it. To cross the space between them and speak the truth lingering in his heart for far too long. But the words caught like glass in his throat, fragile and dangerous.
Rui was always leaving. Always holding the world at arm's length, even when they stood close enough for their shadows to touch. And Tsukasa feared that if he spoke now, he would shatter what little they had left.
Rui's eyes softened as if sensing the weight behind Tsukasa’s silence.
Rui walked closer, the sound of his boots echoing softly. He stopped a breath away, his gloved hand reaching out to trace the curve of the lute. "You and your songs… always so sentimental. Always so honest. It's dangerous to wear your heart on your sleeve like that, you know."
"You know this can't last, don't you?" Rui whispered, voice as delicate as the falling of petals. "The show. Us. Everything we create here—it’s all just… smoke and mirrors. Ephemeral. Meant to vanish when the curtain falls."
"No," Tsukasa’s voice broke, raw with the emotion he had tried so hard to bury. "You’re wrong. What we have—it's real, Rui. It matters."
For the first time, Rui’s composure cracked. His gaze dropped, hands trembling as he clutched the edge of his coat.
"Tsukasa…"
A long pause. The words wouldn't come. Or maybe they never could.
And then, just like always, Rui straightened. The mask slid back into place.
"This… whatever you feel—it can't change anything, Tsukasa. "
The finality in his voice was a blade, sharp and cold.
Tsukasa's breath hitched, a thousand protests fighting to break free. But all he could do was play.
A mournful note echoed from his lute—aching, unresolved.
And Rui turned, disappearing into the velvet curtain, leaving nothing behind but the ghost of his presence.
And the song—still unfinished.