Notes: For Ryuchu's "Underappreciated Pairing Contest". And because I'm tired of seeing just Len x Rin and Miku x Luka. And because Yohio's demos sound fabulous. -shot-
DISCLAIMER: I, japaneserockergirl, do not own Vocaloid or any Vocaloid related media (which includes, but is not limited to: the voice banks, the mascots, the songs, and the manga). Vocaloid is the property of Zero-G, Crypton Future Media, Power FX, Yamaha Corporation, et. al. The numerous songs belong to their respective producers/artists/songwriters.
ENJOY!
00000000000000
"Do you really think Yuki will like it?"
Yohio and his brother Oliver are walking downtown, on their way home after a trip to the craft store. He has his art project due soon and— as usual—he has waited until the last minute to start it.
"'Course she will," Yohio replies, glancing behind him to see Oliver carefully holding the wrapped box. It's boiling, and while he's practically frying in his tank top and shorts, his little brother seems fine under that heavy-ass coat he always insists on wearing. "Girls love presents. And," the elder blonde smirked, "the guys that give them."
Oliver flushes. "S-shut up!" He looks away, but his annoyance immediately melts away. "Hey! There's Kaito's Ice Cream Shop! Can we get some?"
"Sure."
They reach an intersection, wait for the light to change, then cross.
That's when the car hits them.
00000000000000
The hospital walls are sterile white. Yohio rests on a bed, his arms covered with bandages. Other than that and a dislocated hip, he's fine. It's Oliver he's worried about: while he had been hit by the side, the younger blonde had been struck head-on by the speeding vehicle. Yohio's fingers tap the bedside as he waits for his doctor to return.
After what feels like forever, the doctor, a bespectacled brunette, enters the room.
"The X-rays just came back. Nothing's broken, so you can go home," he explains.
"What about my brother?"
The small smile the doctor wears fades. "Unfortunately, he's in a more serious condition. The car's impact sent him flying into a street pole, causing a skull fracture, so we'll need to operate."
"Oh…"
The doctor rests his hand on Yohio's shoulder. "Don't worry. Your brother will be fine."
00000000000
The sound of a man clearing his throat takes Yohio's eye away from his painting and to his bedroom door. His parents stand there, their eyebrows knitted while frowning—a bad sign considering that they have just returned from the hospital. Yohio swallows.
"Yeah?"
"Son…" his father, a tan-skinned man with his brother's golden eyes, says, "Oliver's…Oliver's gone."
Yohio's on his feet immediately, knocking down his easel and stool in the process. "How? The-the doctor said he'd be fine!"
"And he was," his mother, a blonde, explains, "But he took a turn for the worse." Tears start to well in her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Yohio."
0000000000000
Yohio feels sick. The sky has no business being so sunny, so blue on the day of a child's funeral. Family and friends attend Oliver's funeral, decked in black and solemn as they offer condolences. He nods and says his thank yous, but the words don't touch him because the entire time he's haunted by one mantra:
I should've done the project earlier.
I should've made him stay at home.
I should've been nicer to him.
I should've waited a while before crossing the street.
I should've…
I should've…
0000000000000000
The days blend into each now, with him just trying to get by. And he can convince the entire world (and maybe even himself) that he's fine.
Until his easel breaks.
It has been two months since he last painted—two months since Oliver died—and his hand is starting to crave the paintbrush again, even if his mind and heart aren't. He sits down in front of the wooden easel, tries to adjust its position—
SNAP! One of the easel's legs breaks, making his bottles of paint splash onto the floor as the whole thing topples over. He swears.
"Dad!"
"Yeah?" the elder man answers from downstairs.
"My easel's broken!"
"Hang on!" His father enters the room. With a low whistle, he inspects the easel. "Ooh...looks like we need to get you a new one."
"What?" he snaps, "But I like this one!"
"Its leg has cracked right through. There's nothing I can do."
"But I've had this one for years. I grew up with it!"
"I know, son, but sometimes things just need to be replace—"
"No! You can't just replace an Oliver!"
Silence.
"I…I mean easel. You can't just replace an easel."
0000000000000000
The damage has been done. His parents start calling therapists, and before he knows it, Yohio finds himself in a loveseat, under the care of Dr. Luka Megurine.
He spends his first session tossing one-, two-word answers to everything the pink-haired woman asks.
00000000000
That night, he dreams of his living room, but with one addition: a large aquarium full of fish.
It shatters, flooding his vision with water.
000000000000
After his third session, his father buys him a new easel. Yohio isn't sure what to feel about it, nor is he thrilled about painting with it, either. But he sits down and tries to create something nonetheless.
He winds up just staring at the blank canvas until dinner.
000000000000
He's back in the living room, but this time the aquarium's already shattered, leaving broken glass and water everywhere. In front of him is an angelfish, flopping around helplessly as it gasps. The blonde tries to reach for it, but finds that he can't move.
000000000000
"What does it mean when a guy dreams about a dying fish?"
It's his fifth session—the doctor is surprisingly resilient—and it's the first time he says an actual sentence.
He can tell that the doctor's trying not to smile as she puts on a contemplative look. After a moment, she replies, "I'm not sure."
000000000000
He's staring at the flopping angelfish, but before he can reach out to it, he hears a very familiar voice yell, "Got it!"
A small hand snatches the creature, then plops it into a fishbowl full of water. Yohio looks up to find his little brother gazing at the fish swimming inside.
"O…Oliver?"
Oliver smiles at him. "It's not the same, but I think he'll come to like it. Won't you?"
Yohio wakes up with teary eyes and resolve.
000000000000
"So you're the artist who's come out of retirement."
The blonde looks up from his assigned canvas to find an unfamiliar black-haired girl standing next him, her own canvas in hand.
He grins sheepishly—is he really that popular amongst his peers?—scratching the back of his head. "I guess I am. And you are?"
"Avanna. I just moved into town a week ago." She looks at the painting again. "Who's the kid holding the fishbowl? He's so adorable!"
Yohio's smile fades slightly. "He was my little brother."
Avanna flinches. "I'm so sorry—"
"I-I-It's fine. I mean, I was kind of messed up about it for a while, but I'm starting to get better now."
An awkward silence passes between the two before Avanna says, "…you mind giving me some tips?"
"Uh, I dunno. I never really taught anybody except my brother…"
"It's not the same, but I think he'll come to like it. Don't you?"
"…but I guess I could try."
The way Avanna's eyes light up makes him smile.
00000000000000
Author's Notes: This fic is based off the awesomely mellow, yet strange song "The Angelfish", which I assume is talking about ennui/boredom or loneliness. Why I made it about death is anybody's guess. XD
As for making Oliver Yohio's brother (and by extension Big Al and Sweet Ann his parents), it's part of this little headcanon I came up with when I saw a Talkloid video on YT involving the two (But as usual, just because I think of something, it doesn't mean I'm the first to do so; apparently, it's a theory that's very popular on tumblr. :P).
Thanks for reading! If you liked this, feel free to check out my UTAU fic, Antivirus Protection!
-shot for shameless self-promotion-
japaneserockergirl
9/29/13
P.S. The "Gift of Galaco" Event starts in two days! Are you ready?! XD (If not, check my profile for more details!)