The Great After

i. – "Are you mad at her?"

The music stops and Kousei's fingers come to a halt. "Why would I be mad at her?"

"Because she never told you she loved you. Because she made you believe that she had feelings for Watari when it was you from the start."

Kousei's head tilts up to look at the ceiling, and Tsubaki's heart skips a beat. She doesn't know what she wants his answer to be.

"Maybe a little, I guess. But a part of me thinks it's better this way. I don't think I would have loved her like I did if she didn't push me back into making music. And I don't think she would have been in my life at all if she didn't lie."

Tsubaki doesn't understand. She doesn't get how he doesn't hold any bitterness in his heart for what he lost, or for what could have been. How could he be so forgiving towards someone who was selfish until the very end?

He laughs. "And I don't think I would have made a very good boyfriend anyway."

Heat rushes through her, and she pulls off her shoe and chucks it at his head with startling accuracy. Kousei yelps.

"What was that for?!"

"Now who's the liar?" she grumbles.

What she wouldn't give for Kousei to love her instead. What she wouldn't give to call him her boyfriend.

But maybe she understands a little. She's not mad at Kaori either. Because without her, Tsubaki would have never realized how she really felt. And without her, Kousei would have never played the piano again. Kaori did so much for them, and Tsubaki would forever be grateful for her.

How on earth is she supposed to compete with a ghost?

—

ii. – Tsubaki has spent her entire life thinking about Kousei.

She wanted to play with him all the time when they were younger. He was the one she always sought out after school so they could go home together. She went and supported him at every one of his performances. Wherever one of them went, the other followed. They were always together.

When he stopped playing piano, the world became a little duller. Its sparkle that she used to take for granted was gone, and she didn't know how to fix it.

She thought that Kousei would break upon Kaori's death. She was ready to be there, to pick up the pieces and gently glue them back together—she waited and waited and waited, but it never happened. Kousei never broke. He didn't cry, didn't scream—he never even pounded on the keys of the piano out of frustration. And Tsubaki didn't know what to do about that.

But she stays with him anyway. Just in case.

Kousei doesn't notice her watching him practice through her open window. She's long since memorized the contour of his jaw, his messy hair, the way his glasses slide down the bridge of his nose when he's playing…everything about him is second nature to her. He's probably so engrossed in the music that he'll forget he's hungry. Maybe she'll bring some food over for him?

Her eyes close for a moment as she dozes off, and the book in her hand slips from her fingers and falls out the window. She shrieks when it lands in a puddle of summer rain, and the music stops. She hears Kousei's window open.

"Tsubaki? Is everything okay?"

She races out of her room without a word in attempt to salvage what she can of her book. It's from the library, and she doesn't want to pay a replacement fee.

Kousei somehow beats her out there. He gingerly picks up the book and presses it shut. Tsubaki gulps, watching water drip onto the pavement.

"You should probably leave it shut until it's mostly dry, or else the pages will just rip. What were you reading anyway, to have you fall asleep like that?" Idiot. I wasn't sleeping because of the book. Your playing is just soothing, that's all. He turns it over to look at the cover. "'Claude Debussy: A Biography'? Why are you reading a book about Debussy?"

Tsubaki flushes red and snatches it from his hand. "Well, you've been playing a lot of his music recently, and I thought you'd have no one to talk about it to, since—" She stops. They both know the end of that sentence.

Since Kaori's not around anymore.

Kousei's lips curve into that familiar, gentle smile that she's seen all her life. "Thank you, Tsubaki."

She looks away, sheepish. "Whatever."

—

iii. – "Did you see how far out of the park I hit it? There was no way you stood a chance! You can boast pre-game all you want, but the results are clear." She looks smugly at Watari. "Well? What do you have to say about yourself?"

"At least I tried! I'd like to see you try to kick my ass in soccer," Watari jeers in retaliation.

She crosses her arms. "Nope. I'd be so good that it'd ruin your reputation, and as a friend who cares about you, I'm not going to do that."

They're walking down the street together, Tsubaki and Watari and Kousei, after a friendly game of baseball. Kousei, of course, just watched from the sidelines because he probably couldn't throw a ball to save his life, but Watari had gladly taken on the challenge and gathered his soccer team to participate. Needless to say, they lost spectacularly.

(But that was a given. Even if it was a friendly game, Tsubaki wasn't going to go soft for some soccer players who didn't know better.)

"I think Watari did pretty well, considering he hardly plays baseball. He did hit the ball pretty far a few times."

"Yeah! Take that, Tsubaki!"

She growls and smacks the back of Kousei's head. "You moron, whose side are you on?"

"Ow! I'm on both of your sides!"

She hums and makes a sharp turn to enter the convenience store on their right. The cold breeze of the air conditioning hits her skin and makes goosebumps rise. It's mid-August and they're feeling the heat at its peak; in two weeks, school will start again, and it will be her last semester of school with Kousei.

She turns around just in time to catch him laughing at something Watari said. There is a light sheen of sweat on his forehead, but in Tsubaki's eyes, he will always be beautiful.

She pulls three popsicles out of the freezer and hands the milk flavored one to him. His eyebrows rise in question.

Tsubaki beams. "My team won today, so they're on me."

—

iv. – Sometimes, she goes a few days without seeing him.

Her time will pass as it usually does, and she'll forget about his presence that's constantly at the back of her mind. She wakes up, eats breakfast, goes to summer school, grabs a snack with Nao, and goes home and studies.

But in the evening when she's bent over her books in her room, she will always hear him practicing.

His sound varies from day to day. Sometimes, the way he attacks the keys is harsh. Sometimes, the notes spring back and fill her with life. Sometimes, it's like he's caressing the piano and unapologetically drowning in love.

Tonight, his music is sad.

Tsubaki is familiar with this sound. This was how Kousei played for weeks after Kaori died. He's thinking about her tonight, and Tsubaki doesn't know how to ease his pain. She doesn't know if she should—or if it's a necessary evil for surviving the Great After of Kaori's death.

Tears begin to well up in her eyes, and she furiously rubs them to clear her vision.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

This isn't just Kousei's Great After. This is hers, too.

Kousei wasn't the only one who lost someone. So did she. And Watari, and Kaori's parents, and the world of classical music. Kaori's death was a huge loss, and assuming that Kousei is the only one who's hurting is ignorant and unfair.

Kousei's playing comes to a sudden halt when she bursts into his room, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. His eyes are wide with worry. "Tsubaki? What's wrong?"

She can barely make herself coherent when she chokes out, "I miss her too."

The lines of concern on his forehead soften, and he pushes his piano bench back to stand up. He doesn't say a word, but holds his arms out to her in a gesture of I understand. He wraps himself around her as she tumbles into his chest, crying for the first time since Kaori's death.

"It's not fair. She never told us she was sick. She just came barging into our lives and made us all love her and now she's gone."

Kousei pets her hair and she fists his shirt in her hands, soaking the fabric through and through with her tears. "I know," he says gently.

And he holds her for God knows how long, until her sobs finally subside and her grip on his shirt relaxes. Neither of them move after she goes quiet. She takes a long, slow breath, breathing this moment in.

Kind Kousei. Gentle Kousei.

"I know you love her, but…I'm here. I'm right here."

His fingers continue to comb through her hair, taming the storm inside her. "I know."

"And maybe I'm only going to be second best compared to her, but I won't ever lie to you and I won't ever hurt you."

He chuckles softly. "Now, that's not true. You hurt me all the time. I bleed on a regular basis when I'm with you." He then places his hands on her shoulders and holds her at arm's length. "But you're not second best, Tsubaki. Don't compare yourself to her. You two are different people, and I appreciate all the things about you that are uniquely you." His dark blue eyes pierce straight through her. She feels naked.

Normally, when she feels this vulnerable, she would kick him or punch him right in the nose. But being vulnerable around Kousei isn't scary anymore. He's the home that she doesn't have anywhere else; he's her anchor when she's strayed too far. And when he sees her like this, he understands. And he never laughs. He understands, and he stays.

Tsubaki sniffles. "Can I stay and listen to you practice?"

Kousei smiles, sincere and genuine and reaching all the way to his eyes. "Of course."

She falls asleep against the wall of his room that night, lulled into unconsciousness by his sad, sad music.

—

v. – She waits near the back of the lobby for him to finish.

The three of them talk and laugh together, Kousei and Aiza and Igawa. Each of them are dressed impeccably and holding a differently arranged bouquet in their arms.

After the three pianists had become friends earlier in the year, they decided to hold a joint recital dedicated to Claude Debussy. They each performed eight of his preludes in order for the audience to hear all twenty-four in one sitting. As expected, they all played stunningly, and—as expected—Kousei was Tsubaki's favorite.

He catches her eye through the crowd, and waves her over. She obliges, hesitant; amidst all of these musicians, these lovers of a finer cultural art, she feels clumsy, loud, crass. Cheering inappropriately in the crowd is one thing, but actually talking to them is another.

"So? What did you think? Are you going to praise me?"

She rolls her eyes. "With that attitude, you clearly don't need any praising." You sounded amazing. She raps her knuckles against his forehead, but gently. "I think Kao-chan would've loved this."

"Yeah," he sighs wistfully. "Me too."

—

vi. – Tsubaki can remember the exact moment she was ready.

It was during the first snow of the season. She and Kousei were walking home together in silence, her wishing that she had packed a scarf that morning, and him with his nose buried in a score of Beethoven sonatas.

How many times had they walked home together like this? How many times more? How long would this eternity of friendship last?

Tsubaki didn't know if she could stand another day of this. Of normalcy, of routine—she wanted more. She wanted excitement. She wanted something new, something breathtaking, something that made her heart pound so hard that she grows dizzy.

Up until then, she had always been too scared to be straightforward. She's still scared, but not as much as she is thrilled by all the possibilities that would come with her stepping forward. Love is supposed to be shared by two people; it's too much for just one person to bear.

She never thought that there would be a moment. She thought that she'd ease into the idea of Kousei seeing her differently, of them being more than friends.

But there was a moment.

And it was like the world burst into a thousand new colors.

And it was beautiful.

—

vii. – "I'm sorry, Tsubaki. I don't think I can."

And everything falls apart.

—

viii. – She avoids him for an entire week.

Life goes on as it always does, but every time she sees him, she makes a beeline in the opposite direction. She doesn't have to look at him to know his reaction: he watches her disappearing figure, contemplating whether or not to follow her—and he almost does, until he decides not to.

This is what he always does. He stays put and waits.

"You should probably talk to him," Watari tells her one chilly afternoon. "Especially since this is your last month of school together. Do you really want things to end like this?"

Watari hasn't said anything that Nao hasn't already voiced, but Tsubaki is stubborn. She put herself out there, confessed, got rejected, and now she's still swimming in the heat of her embarrassment. She was so cocky, thinking that Kousei would accept her just because she's always been there for him. Maybe she was too eager. Maybe it hasn't been long enough since Kaori.

Or is it not about Kaori at all? Will Kousei forever see Tsubaki as his sister? Maybe she misjudged the situation. Maybe she was being arrogant.

"I don't want to talk to him," she grumbles, and Watari sighs.

"Well, you're going to have to one day."

—

viiii. – Except she doesn't.

Because Kousei is standing in front of her house when she gets home.

Tsubaki can't remember if he's ever been the first one to step forward.

She stares at him now, speechless and blushing furiously. She wants to kick him, but that would mean getting close to him and she doesn't want to do that.

Kousei smiles his gentle smile. "Hey."

"…Hey."

He scratches his cheek and laughs sheepishly. "I, uh, knew exactly what I was going to say when you got here, but now that I actually see you, my mind's gone blank."

And I thought I wanted you to make the first move too, but now that you're here, I'm scared.

"I don't—um, how do I put this…" Kousei exhales heavily, looking anywhere but at Tsubaki. "What you said to me last week—when I said I couldn't—well, um, I don't think I was very clear about that."

"You were perfectly clear," she mumbles. "You don't see me that way. I get it. You don't have to lick the wounds that you inflicted."

"But that's what you don't understand. I do. I do see you that way." A pause. "I just…can't. Not right now. Not when college is so close—and not when I still think about Kaori all the time. It wouldn't be fair to you."

"But you're never going to stop thinking about Kao-chan. She did so much for you." Tsubaki grips the handle of her schoolbag tight in her fist. I can't compare to her.

"Isn't that the point, though? Maybe you're not supposed to get over some people. But that doesn't mean that you can't love other people." Kousei takes a step towards Tsubaki, and it takes all the strength in her body to stay put rather than move away. "You're amazing, Tsubaki. You're crazy and reckless and you make my life so much more exciting. And you've never left, even during my darkest times." He pauses, contemplating. "So I guess what I'm saying is—not right now. Not today. But one day. If you're willing to wait for me."

She's blushing so hard she's sure that even the tips of her ears are red. But she feels full to the brim with elation, almost to the point where it overflows from her eyes. She can't remember the last time she was this happy.

Kousei waits for her response, apprehensive.

"You idiot. Of course I'll wait for you."

—

x. – The thing about death is that even when you die, there will still be people to remember you.

Kaori will be remembered. She made sure of it. She lived boldly, unapologetically—in a way that made everyone love her, even when they hated her. No one will ever forget her, and that makes Tsubaki cower in her shadow.

But being with Kousei gives her hope. Because he never sees her as anyone but herself. And honestly, he never has—but Tsubaki has a habit of creating demons out of thin air that haunt her every step and creep into her dreams at night. They still do, and she's sure they will continue to for a long time, but she's working on it. And being with Kousei helps with that.

How is she supposed to compete with a ghost?

She watches Kousei brush his hair from his eyes as he studies across the table from her, and smiles.

You don't compete with ghosts. You live with them.

A/N: Wanted to write for this fandom, but didn't know what to write. Came up with some intimate moments in between all the big happenings that would probably occur in their lives.

As a pianist, I'd just like to clarify that we don't actually sweat that profusely when we perform.