Disclaimer: I do not claim any of the Nodame Cantabile characters as mine; they are the property of Tomoko Ninomiya.

Note: I've been reading some Nodame Cantabile fanfictions and – this is the feeling I'm getting – the authors describe Chiaki as an almost callous person who is ashamed of Nodame and feel that he needs to repent for his sins against her in chapter 123 and onwards? I guess it's to be expected after the events in those chapters but still…I think the portrayal/opinion of Chiaki is a little exaggerated. I completely understand why Chiaki did what he did, and don't hold him responsible for anything.

Oh well, those are my two cents, which may or may not have made sense to you.

Note of Explanation: This story will be told in one-shots, drabbles, etc. and its intention is to showcase snapshots of Chiaki and Nodame's life. The timeline of each chapter is unconnected (unless I say otherwise). This story told in one-shots/drabbles/etc. tips its hat to the Live Journal community 64 Damn Prompts for providing sixty-four unique themes.

. . .

Persistence

Theme 55. Landslide

. . .

The epiphany came in a most unusual and ordinary way.

They were sharing breakfast that morning: she, eagerly extending her plate, and he, depositing the vegetable omelet from the pan when she shot him with one of her brilliant smiles in gratitude.

Cupid's aim was flawless. His chest squeezed and lightened, his head felt airy, his insides fluttered and flipped, and Shinichi Chiaki was down for the count. He could never have predicted the landslide of emotions to come, how hard and fast he would fall.

. . .

The thunderous clapping, feet stomping, whooping and cheering and shouting of "Encore! Encore! Encore!" reverberated throughout the grand walls but the only thing he noticed was her.

"That was a wonderful performance, sempai!" She threw her arms around him, energetically chattering more enthusiasms into his shoulder. Nodame pulled away and her face lit up like a Christmas tree.

Chiaki mumbled a "Thanks" in reply and looked away to hide his burning face and thumping heart. Did she have to shower him with those deadly smiles? They're going to be the death of me, he decided as she obliviously led him away to their celebratory dinner.

. . .

The dimly lit restaurant had been filled with private whispers and soft jazz combos played against the rich murals but Chiaki had paid no heed to his surroundings and instead had riveted his attention on the woman sitting across from him. They had conversed quietly of minor subjects, which had allowed Chiaki to admire how the candlelight tinted her brown eyes or her childishly delighted smile when she tasted her dish of Filet Mignon.

After dinner was adjourned, Nodame declared a midnight excursion and before Chiaki knew it, they were strolling aimlessly on the cobblestone streets.

Neither of them spoke but that was okay. The comfortable air had no room for conversation; the time was long past words.

Their hands brushed in a serendipitous moment but they pretended not to notice, tilting their head away from the other, like shy strangers meeting for the first time.

The second contact came when they unwittingly stumbled into each other's path, and hands flew to catch the other. Both murmured apologies and resumed walking, but the electric tingle of skin on skin remained.

It wasn't until after the accidental third contact that Chiaki inched his hand closer to hers and slowly, tentatively, reached out with pianist's fingers. Her mocha eyes swiveled to his hand and telegraphed a silent question; he waited on bated breath, wondering how on earth she had come to hold such sway over him because if she rejected him now, at that moment, he wasn't sure if he could stand back up.

But her hand tightened over his with such fierceness it left him breathless and wanting and he knew.

. . .

He found himself leaning over her, his lips over her lips, tasting the mouth that frustrated him, embarrassed him, loved him. They fell on his bed, a tangle of sheets and limbs.

He fingered the hem of her wine-colored dress, pressed his nose against her hair, spoke sweet words of "I'm sorry" and "forgive me" and "will you stay with me tonight?"

It's the second time in the same night that he's asked her a question that could make or break him. The power that he's given gratified her and she drew him closer, allowed him to blow kisses down her neck, the stray teeth to scrape the skin.

"We're going to be wicked tonight," she whispered, eyes twinkling in mischief.

His body tingled at her suggestive tone and again he found himself swept deeper by the landslide.

"Yes, we are," he said, his voice hoarse with desire, his lips brushing over her ear.

As soon as the words parted it was as if a dam let loose and they sprang into a flurry of impatient movements. Her dexterous fingers worked at his shirt and his hands flew down the zipper of her dress. He covered her body with his own and they sank deeper into the soft sheets. Her breath left fiery traces on his skin. He could barely hear the hiss of pleasure over the roar of his heart in his ears.

They stayed together until he could see colors, until all that was wrong was right, until he could hear the music she could hear.