Disclaimer/Notes: Any and all characters from La Corda D'oro: Primo Passo do not belong to me. They are the property of the amazingly talented, Kure Yuki-san. The song This Is Your Life belongs to Switchfoot. If I have any errors in names, places, or this contains spelling-slash-grammatical issues, please let me know. Also, this story will seem OOC, as it probably is, but, please read through before sending the flames. I promise there's a purpose. XD Grazie.

-

to take back yesterday

-

Yesterday is a wrinkle on your forehead.
Yesterday is a promise that you've broken.
Don't close your eyes,
Don't close your eyes.
This is your life,
And today is all you've got now.
And today is all you'll ever have.

-

The impeccable resonance of his music filled the two-bedroom suite with a calming melody she'd know anywhere. No, it wasn't the Ave Maria. That song, and everything it had ever stood for, had ceased to exist they day he spoke of regret. For five and a half years, they'd spent their time together in blissful ignorance of the continuous world outside their door. And then, in the blink of an eye, while attending a charity ball, the truth had been revealed. Their friends conversed about their monumental relationships between themselves and their families, their budding and promising careers, and the "wonderfully magnificent time they'd shared." Though the lights in the dining hall were dim and the lines cheesy, Tsukimori Kahoko always felt at home surrounded by her life-long friends and colleagues. Shimizu, in his quiet, semi-asleep voice, gushed over he and Fyuumi's child and how the toddler was most definitely following in his father's footsteps. Tsuchiura and his girlfriend of ten months, retold of their experiences in Osaka with the blonde girl's parents. Even Hihara, who still insisted on acting like a hyper twelve-year-old, had a promising future which included his newly announced engagement. Although the trumpeter would never stop loving the redheaded violinist, he begrudgingly moved on and found himself a violist instead; a pretty, little brunette, four years his junior. Apparently, the two met while the emerald-haired man was receiving a scolding from a professor. With one bat of her innocent, blue eyes, she had not only successfully gotten him out of trouble, but, had nabbed herself a spot amongst the teacher's most favorite and beloved students. In a bizarre twist, she didn't even have his class. Though the memory made her smile with nostalgia, Kahoko was beyond reminiscing at this point. With dejection, she recalled her husband's words at the mentioning of their up-and-coming anniversary.

"Oh that? Well, I have to fly out to Verona for a concert, but, I'm sure she can busy herself while I'm gone, right Kaho?"

And with that small, simple sentence, Tsukimori Len had sealed his fate. It was so unusual for the amber-eyed man to speak to her in such a way, but, she knew the pressures of his impending concertos were getting to him. However, that did not permit his use of the particularly severe tone.

So, when her husband had finished his daily rehearsal, Kahoko tidied up the living room and waited patiently for him to make his appearance. As predicted, the cerulean-haired man meandered down the hall where he saw his wife sitting; her eyes search the room for what, he didn't know.

"Kaho," he greeted. He paused in leu of his wife's usual, cheerful response, yet, none came. "Kaho?" He tried to retain her attention again. Still, no answer. That was peculiar. Approaching her, Tsukimori then sat adjacent to the oddly-quiet female as he awaited some sort of acknowledgment.

"Len-kun," she began. "We need to talk."

Immediately, he countered, "I was trying to get you to do just that a minute ago. What's this about."

Kahoko swallowed her bitter retort; for some reason, one should couldn't figure out, she always felt slightly insecure around him. When he had proposed, a part of her, more naive than anything else, had hoped she could become more comfortable in his presence and maybe change his stoic ways. Now, she noted, that was nothing but a fool's errand. Apparently, Tsukimori Len had been born hardly a sympathetic bone in his body and would stay as such—an apathetic man—until the day he died. There were the rare times when he would smile warmly and wrap his arms around her, but, those times had disappeared long ago. The marital bliss was nothing but a faded memory, dissipated with the times.

"Gomen," she replied though, she was distraught at the feelings of self-doubt that surged through her. She was a grown woman who could easily hold her own, yet, she felt tiny next to him as if he belittled her every time he sat her down to talk.

"It's fine. Just say whatever it is you need to say."

"Well, I've been feeling a little... ignored as of late. I mean, we used to spend so much time together and now, you're always off performing for some dignitary or something."

"Kaho," he leaned forward as he spoke, "It's my job to perform for others; that's what a musician is. I'm sorry that you feel that way, but, you'll have to get used to it. I can't always stop my schedule to make sure that you are attended to. You should be able to take care of yourself by now; you are twenty-six."

There he went again, speaking to her like she was a child of less than twelve years. He always found a way to make her confidence drop, like she herself had shrunk before his very eyes. Always in a fatherly tone, he would scold her for being worrisome and lonely; that a musician's wife should be okay with the fact that their husband would be gone for months on end—it was in the job description after all.

"I know it's just—"

"Kaho, if you are going to be with me as my wife, you need to know that I won't always be there to hold you when your scared or forlorn. You have friends with whom you can hang around with, but, as my spouse, your responsibilities include staying by my side and supporting my decisions, whatever they may be."

"I do support you," she firmly spoke. Where was he getting this idea that she didn't support him? "I've always attended your concerts when you've taken me along; I've stayed her when needed to look after the house. What more do you want? I..."

"The facts are that I can't be here whenever you want me to. I have my career to think about and—"

"It's always your career," she spat. Suddenly, she didn't feel so little and unimportant; she had things she longed to tell him and now, she had the opportunity to do so. She noted, with some fear and sadness, that in the beginning of their shared life, things hadn't been like this. During their first year of marriage, Tsukimori had stayed with his wife, passing on large benefit concerts and diplomatic celebrations. He'd stated that his place was with his spouse and that his violin was second to her. Then, months later, he began to sway under the pressure of the musically inclined public and soon, he was booking gigs and leaving Kahoko behind. As of seven months ago, he hadn't been home to see her until a few weeks prior. Wasn't it alright for a wife of a musician to feel a little lost in the largely populated and demanding political scene? She, too, was a violinist, but, her music catered more to the clientele of her friends and the occasional duet. In fact, her heart was stuck with teaching younger students the basic techniques of instrumentals. Sure, she wasn't as much a "big shot" as her husband, but, she always made time to cook him a proper meal when he returned to home, weary and somewhat petulant.

"My career is what supports our lifestyle. Your job helps, but, the money I make from all of the performances goes to the living expenses we've accumulated."

"My job... helps? Len-kun, I'm making a huge difference in the lives of young children who, otherwise, would never be able to hold an instrument in their hands."

"That's wonderful, Kaho. You know how much I think of your work with those kids, but, in the end, it doesn't pay the bills."

"Is that all you think about: Bills and your career?" she huffed.

"Kahoko," he addressed her, his voice stern, "my music pays the bills that keep coming so yes, they are some of my top priorities."

"And your wife isn't...?"

"That's absurd. You know I love you immensely. You aren't making this very fair."

"Fair? Is being left behind by myself for months, fair?"

"Now you're being ridiculous."

"I'm being ridiculous?" Fury flooded the petite woman's form as she shook; the anger visibly noticeable in her smallish frame.

"I don't have time for this," Tsukimori sighed pushing himself from the suede couch. However, before he could complete right himself, Kahoko was already up and brusquely making her way to their shared bedroom.

"And where do you think you're going?"

"To Fuyuumi-chan's," she replied, her volume muffled by the closed door.

"Why?" What did the clarinetist have to do with anything?

"I just need some space right now." Her voice became louder as she drew closer, a maroon duffel bag slung over her shoulder. He watched her grab her cellphone from the coffee table and strode over to the front door. "I might call you later, if I feel like it." Then, she left.

Tsukimori stood by the davenport in slight awe at what had happened. One moment, they were having a civilized conversation and then next, she was practically yelling at him for something he apparently did. Women confused him so much.

"Crap," he muttered.

His entire self was a jumble of thoughts so he chose to shuffle down the hall to their room where he changed into fresh pajamas and slipped under to covers. He was both outraged yet disheartened at their argument. On one hand, he'd thought her points were ludicrous and outrageous, but, on the other, he understood where she was coming from. In his younger years, when his mother's playing was at its peak, he'd often been left by himself while his parents attending concerts in honor. Still, he was perturbed at this unfolding predicament.

"Dammit," he breathed as he floated softly into darkness, a frown muddling his near-perfect features. The clock's arms continued forward, the time closely reaching twenty minutes to three o'clock.

xXx

The shrill of his ringing phone yanked Tsukimori from his slumber. Groggily, he felt around for the dangling switch of his bedside lamp and tugged down with superfluous force once he found it. A look at the analog clock mounted on the far wall presented him with the notion that it was three o'clock in the morning; an ungodly hour to be woken at. While one hand rubbed at tired eyes, the other searched for his cellphone, and, when his fingers brushed over the familiarly smooth surface, he snapped it open and brought it to his ear.

The first thing her half-way coherent, conscious brain made out was the feminine whimper. Realizing that it wasn't Kahoko, he narrowed it down to either one of her high school friends or Fuyuumi. When he swore he heard Shimizu's gentle tenor comforting her in the background, he knew it was the demure clarinetist.

"Shouko-san?"

"Tsukimori-senpai..."

With a resigned sigh, he corrected, "Tsukimori-san—we're not in school anymore."

"Gomen, Tsukimori-senpai." Not really in the mood to point out the mistake twice, he let it slip. Sometimes, confrontation was pointless and, often times, it led to more issues.

"Ano... Keiichi-kun has something he... he wishes to t-tell you," she near whispered.

"Hn."

There was the sound of the phone being passed between the two musicians before the cellist's voice murmured over the line. In one of the most bizarre turn of events, one Tsukimori would never understand, he realized Shimizu sounded more alert at three in the morning than he did at the peak of the day. Later, he'd try ot figure out why that was. For now, he listened to whatever it was the blonde had to say.

"Tsukimori," he said, cutting right to the chase. "There's been an accident. Kahoko-chan's being rushed to the hospital right now." With those words, the amber-eyed man's heart stopped and the phone fell from his loosened grip.

"Tsukimori...?"

Kaho... accident?

Then there was black.

xXx

Pale lids fluttered open to a well-lit room and three worried faces—well, two in front of him, one turned away so, technically, he couldn't tell if they were concerned or not. Groaning, Tsukimori turned over to see both his parents anxiously watching over him while a third figure—the one facing the other direction and, whom he'd later find out was Kanazawa—was standing before a wide window that faced an overpass.

"Sweet view," he mumbled offhandedly.

The violinist suddenly jerked forward, his eyes staring into the doorway of his hospital room. The IV in his attached to his forearm snagged with his abrupt movement, but, he ignored the odd, burning sensation as he faced his mother and quickly asked, "Where's Kahoko?"

Misa Hamai placed a hand over her quivering mouth (a strange move due to the pianist's typically calm facade) in an attempt to muffle her sob. His father brought an arm around his wife's shoulder and spoke softly. "She's down the hall."

Before he could relay any more information, Tsukimori had ripped the needle from his arm and all but ran from his room. He could hear his mother calling for him, but, his body was on autopilot as it reached the ICU wing of the hospital. Through the window, he could see her ginger-locks splayed out on the pillow she was currently propped upon. An oxygen mask was secured over her petite mouth as she unsteadily breathed into it. Dark bruises—ranging from pale, sickly yellow-slash-green (the oldest ones) to lapis and deep mauve (the freshest contusions)—covered her face and neck in varied splotches. Her left eyes was swollen, the lid a disgusting shade of indigo while black thread stitched the skin of her cheekbone below it together; the flesh surrounding it an inflamed a vibrant burgundy. An acrylic sling held her left arm up, the shoulder belonging to that arm distended—a dislocation he later learned. Her once thin, frail fingers were broken and discolored due to the amount of blood that filled the injured appendages.

He felt his heart free fall into the pit of his stomach as his lungs ceased to work and air became scarce. To see his wife in such a state made the violinist feel as if he could die. Tears worked their way through fair lashes and quickly spilled over his cheeks. A stone-cold hand gripped at his very soul when he realized that Kahoko was only currently alive in thanks to the life support system she was attached to. It looked as if his sweet, generous wife had been attacked by someone and, clearly, she had lost the fight. Rage seared through his veins at the idea that some monster had assaulted Kahoko and, immediately, he threw open the door to her room. The unexpected rush of emotions took their toll on Tsukimori as he reached her bed and collapsed, uncaring of those that were surrounding her. He fumbled for her cold fingers with his own as his lungs worked double time to collect half-gasps of breath. Bringing her hand to his mouth, he delicately pressed his lips to the blemished skin; the act lingering.

It wasn't until a fragile voice broke the silence that he realized others were there. "Tsukimori-senpai," Fuyuumi whispered.

Both she, Shimizu, and Hihara were standing in the corner of the room, their eyes glued to the tragic scene before them. Fuyuumi was being held up by Shimizu who was running a hand comfortingly over her bare arms while Hihara, who looked on the verge of tears, stood a foot or two away from them. Spotting the tall, soccer player, Tsukimori tore his eyes away from his sleeping spouse and stared at him, as if expecting an explanation. When the pianist hesitated, Tsukimori prompted him with words.

"What... h-happened."

It took Tsuchiura a few moments to get his vocal chords working and, finally when he did, he breathed, "Well... the doctor's said she was driving to Shouko-san's house. I guess she was preoccupied or something because her reflexes where slower than normal."

Tsukimori sucked in a harsh gasp; he and Kahoko had gotten into a small argument earlier that night. It was... his fault she was like this. The fact that he didn't question himself on who the blame landed on proved that it was his.

Hihara answered his questioning look with: "Um, Kaho-chan was driving when this other guy... Well, he came speeding around the corner and—" The trumpeter became oddly silent as a hiccup caused him to cut his sentence short. He sat down in one of the uncomfortable armchairs and cradled his head in his hands as he tried to ease his breathing. Hihara had taken the entire situation horribly and, the others around him, were surprised that he had lasted that long before breaking down.

"He hit her," Yunoki finished. The cerulean-haired man hardly noticed the flutist's presence until now. The room became quite minus the ventilating sound of the life support and the continuous beeps of the heart monitor. Tsukimori turned his attention back to Kahoko and could only gaze at her for a few short moments before his vision became blurry with tears and he was forced to lower his head into her stomach.

"She... she was on Fifth and Seventeenth," Shimizu offered.

Fuyuumi, realizing where that was, whimpered, "One street away, Keiichi-kun. O-One street." The Shimizu family lived on Sixth and Seventeenth, in a quaint housing development; a single block from where the accident had taken place.

It's all your fault. Your entire fault she's like this.

No, it wasn't. It was that man's fault.

If you hadn't argued with her—gotten her so angry, been so careless—she wouldn't be like this.

No, no. I...

Yes, your fault. If you were so caught up in yourself, so worried about your precious career...

"No!"

Everyone present was shocked at the amber-eyed man's sudden outburst. He was shaking now and his hands flew to her face where they caressed every inch of her skin in view.

"Please, Kaho... You've got to wake up," he sobbed.

"She... she's not waking up, Tsukimori," Hihara murmured from his position in the chair.

"What?"

"The doctor says she's in a permanent coma; something about brain damage," Yunoki stated, his golden eyes red-rimmed from recently shed tears.

"Kaho is... stuck like this?" Tsukimori demurely asked.

Shimizu hugged his wife tentatively, answering his friend in the calmest voice he could muster, "They say it's best to... let her go." No one dared speak after the comment as they did not wish to anger Tsukimori. Hihara, on the other hand, sprung from his seat crying, "Kill Kaho-chan? How could you think of something like that?!"

Tsuchiura and Yunoki tried their best to settle the enraged trumpeter as Tsukimori, lost to their conversation, focused on his slumbering wife. Let her go? But, she was everything to him; how could he life without her? He was deftly pulled in opposing directions; one side screaming that it was wrong to force Kahoko to "live" like this, in a vegetative state while, the other voice, was crying and muttering that Kahoko was his everything and he couldn't bear letting her go.

Shimizu, seeing an approaching figure, opened the door and a doctor, clad in a white coat, holding a clipboard, entered the frenzied room.

"So, will you continue her pain?" Tsuchiura, angry at the idea of making one of his closest friends suffer, spoke up.

"You have to let her go."

"No! It's not right!" The other jade-haired man argued.

"Hihara, you don't have a say in this."

"But, it's Kaho-chan!"

"Please, all this yelling is upsetting everyone more."

"Well, Tsukimori? What are you going to do?"

Your fault!

"Tsukimori-senpai?"

"You just can't..."

"Please, stop it."

All your fault!

"Tsukimori!"

The practitioner, with a sympathetic look at the scared, confused man, mumbled, "Gomen." Then, with one abrupt motion of his hand, he pulled the plug that was powering the respirator. The wheezing sounds quieted until nothing was left and the cardiac monitor flatlined. She was gone.

Everything spiraled around Tsukimori as his vision became hazy and a strangled sob bubbled from his throat. Why was this all happening? He hadn't even given consent yet! They had no right; no right at all! It wasn't fair; she was so young and beautiful and had so much of her life left before her. He was supposed to support her and their child (whenever he or she came along) and be the adoring husband. They were going to grow old together, watch their children (and then, grandchildren) grow up and form families of their own. They were supposed to take a trip around the world, play for Kings and Queens and Dukes of enchanting, breathtaking kingdoms, and love one another until the end. She wasn't supposed to die yet. This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

All your fault!

Darkness encroached upon his mind and again, he was consumed by black.

xXx

"No!" He woke up screaming, his body entangled in the white bed sheets. His skin was slick with sweat and his breath was coming in short, stuttering heaves. Tsukimori hunched over and placed a hand over his galloping heart. He could feel the trails left behind by the numerous tears that had fallen. Looking up at the ticking clock, he realized it was a little after three o'clock in the morning; the time of her accident had just passed.

Kahoko! Was he too late?

Snatching his phone, he dialed her cell number and waited anxiously for her to pick up.

Please... please.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity or two, he heard her answer: "Yes?"

"Kaho," he all but yelled. A huge burdened weight lifted from his shoulders at the sound of her confused voice.

"Len-kun... I told you I'd call you when I was ready; not you."

"But—"

"I'm hanging up now." No! She had to com home.

"Please, please..." he breathed, his heart rate picking up again. If she continued driving, she'd—!

"Len-kun, what's wrong," she eventually asked noticing the scared tone of his voice.

"Kaho," he gasped, "where are you?"

"Um, Third and Seventeenth. Why?"

A relieved sigh and then, "Please come home."

"Ano, are you okay, Len-kun?" Now, she was throughly worried.

"Please," he begged.

"Alright," she consented. "I'm heading home now."

"Arigatou."

She hung up and Tsukimori made his way to the front door, his previous cold sweat causing him to shiver in anticipation. Three minutes and twenty-four seconds(he'd been counting) later, he spotted the headlights pulling into the parking lot. The black car held a safe, but, somewhat miffed Kahoko in the front seat. The amber-eyed man tugged open the door and sprinted down the stairs toward her, his mind reeling.

She's okay. Kahoko's safe.

"Len-kun?" The redhead got out of the car to see her usually indifferent husband running towards her, his eyes intensely focused on her, with so much emotion (dominantly, relief), he seemed beside himself with. She didn't have time to say anything else as she was swept into his arms and off the ground. He twirled her effortlessly; the lights of the nearby street causing his watery eyes to shimmer in the dark. They were alone in a desolate parking lot with not a single soul nor sound around them and, she had never seen so much sentiment splayed on his fair face since their wedding. A near face-splitting grin was stretching his mouth out abnormally wide. Then, he pulled her tight against his chest as her feet dangled helplessly in the freezing air.

"Kaho," he murmured before placing fleeting, chaste kisses over the expanse of her face and neck. He continued to swing her round, the feeling of freeing liberation coursing through him. She was here, in his arms, and nothing would change that. Any frustration she held for him melted away at the sight of her husband, her Tsukimori, this new, more adoring, caring personality overwhelming him.

"I was so worried," he confessed as he nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling the sweet fragrance that was entirely and only hers. It was the warmth of another body, more specifically hers, engulfed in his own that finally gave him the reassurance and solace he'd been longing for since he awoke from the horrendous nightmare.

"Why?" she asked, intrigued.

"I thought I lost you."

Finally relinquishing his unyielding hold on her, Kahoko balanced herself before Tsukimori cupping his face in her hands. She gently yet firmly turned his head so his penetrating gaze was locked with her own.

"Len-kun," she determinedly assured him, "I'm not going anywhere." Whatever had happened to him in the last fifteen minutes had changed him drastically; spinning his normal characteristics in an one hundred and eighty degree turn.

Kahoko thought back to the time that she'd been given when she left the apartment in a flurry of emotions. Once she'd started the car and drove off to Fuyuumi and Shimizu's, she realized that maybe, she hadn't heard Tsukimori fully out. Thus, she pulled over and sat in the idling car for ten minutes and, just as she was about to continue on her way, her husband had called her, his voice strangled and somewhat lost. Agreeing with his concerned tone, she turned left on the next street and slowly drove home, but, not before passing a huge wreck that had received the attention of not one, but three, patrol cars, a fire truck, and an ambulance; all their sirens blaring in the frosty night's air. A large pickup was lodged in the tree adjacent the four-way stop that Kahoko would have taken to get to Fuyuumi's. The driver was horrible injured and had to be taken away on a gurney. She felt awfully sorry for the man, but, for anyone else that could have been involved in the accident. As she gave her small Honda a once-over, she realized she'd never survive a crash like that.

A shiver-inducing breeze blew up her spine at what had just occurred. Had Tsukimori not called her, she would have most likely been dead, hit by that driver. He... He had saved her life.

With newfound compassion for the other, they both closed the gap between them; Tsukimori's hand coming to rest at the base of the redhead's neck, the other winding itself, once again, around her waist. Kahoko snaked her arms under his shoulders to grip painfully at his back; handfuls of fabric fisted in her fingers. Their lips moved furiously against each other, the fear of what could have been causing both their hearts to pick up speed. They stayed like that for several more minutes before the amber-eyed man pulled away to gaze into her wide, honey-colored stare.

"I love you." The statement was strong and endearing and Kahoko was nearly blow away at the amount of emotion within it. She tried to respond, but, she found herself unable to form coherent words. Instead, she nodded and gingerly kissed him once more. Leading his wife back to their flat, Tsukimori contemplated everything that had happened that night. From the fight to the dream to finding Kahoko safe in his arms—he couldn't help but think that it had all happened for a reason. He silently thanked whatever power had given him that knowledge a thousand times and, when they were back in the warm confides of their home, Tsukimori picked up the redhead and they sat together on the worn couch.

"Let's go somewhere," he suggested.

"Huh?"

"Let's get away for awhile; just you and me."

"Really?" she asked, dumbfounded.

"Yeah."

He'd never take anything for granted again; not his talent, not his life, not the gorgeous woman in his embrace. Nothing. And, starting tomorrow, he would make up for every mistake he'd made, beginning with the neglect he'd inflicted on his lovely wife. He loved her to the ends of the Earth and the edges of the universe and he'd be damned if anything ever jeopardized that. He was grateful for her in his life—forever grateful, and nothing would ever take her away from him. Not even death. She was his wife—his love, his hope, his reason for living— and he loved her. End of discussion.

-

Don't close your eyes,
Don't close your eyes.
This is your life,
Are you who you want to be?
This is your life,
Are you who you want to be?
This is your life,
Is it everything you dreamed that it would be?
When the world was younger,
And you had everything to lose.
(Everything to lose.)

- This Is Your Life|Switchfoot

Please drop a review if you have the time. Grazie! :D