Pianissimo: 01 (La Corda d'Oro, Ryoutarou/Len)
Title: Pianissimo ~ A Violin & Piano Romance
01: Roommate: Willing to Sell or Trade for Different Model
Fandom: La Corda d’Oro
Pairing: Eventual Ryoutarou Tsuchiura x Len Tsukimori, one-sided Ryoutarou x Kahoko Hino
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: La Corda d’Oro and its characters do not belong to me.
Summary: Future fic. A series of one-shots and drabbles following the progression of the relationship between Ryoutarou and Len, from feuding roommates to friends to lovers.
Ryoutarou wasn’t really sure why Len had answered his ad for a roommate. The violinist certainly didn’t need a place to live, not with that huge house his parents owned but hardly occupied. And even if he did, he could’ve easily afforded a place of his own. The whole thing was nuts, really. He didn’t get it.
“I don’t get it.”
Len looked at him, expression as emotionless as ever, over the kitchen table where Ryoutarou handled all affairs of business. It was extremely professional-looking, what with the teddy bear salt and pepper shakers Kahoko had gotten him as a housewarming gift and had made him promise to use.
“I don’t see why I should give you an explanation.”
“Because you’re going to be living here.” He barely repressed a shudder, though the reaction was more habitual than sincere.
“And I’ll be paying half the rent,” Len reminded him.
Ryoutarou frowned. “Still, I’d prefer to know.”
Len frowned back and took a moment before answering. “Three-fourths rent and no explanation.”
Shit, that sounded good. Ridiculously good. Sinfully good. He hated to decline such a tempting offer, but unfortunately he had a conscience the size of an elephant.
“No, I can’t let you do that.”
“Half the rent, then,” Len amended, “and we’ll move in my mother’s piano.”
Ryoutarou’s fingers tingled at the thought of his idol’s piano in his home. Len smirked at him, knowing he’d won, and heat spread across Ryoutarou’s face. He groaned and stared hard at the smiling faces of the teddy bear salt and pepper shakers.
“…Deal.”
And that was that. By the end of the next week, Len Tsukimori was moved in. Ryoutarou knew, as he handed over the copy of his key he’d had made, that he was going to regret this.
[~]
Ryoutarou definitely regretted this.
He and Len had barely managed to stand each other when they’d been forced together in high school. Living together was absolute hell. They argued over every little thing-from what to watch on Mondays to who would get the mail on Wednesdays and every other Saturday. It was ridiculous. Sure, he got Misa Hamai’s piano out of the deal, and he still drooled every time he saw it.
But he hated living with this constant tension in the air. And he just didn’t understand why Len would voluntarily stay in this situation. Maybe he was into some freaky sadism/masochism stuff, but Ryoutarou really didn’t want to think about that and he desperately hoped that wasn’t the case.
Well…he supposed he wouldn’t mind the freaky stuff, as long as Len would just ask him, so he could be aware the freaky stuff was going on-
Oh, he definitely regretted this.
[~]
“Huh. It’s raining.”
Len looked up from where he was lounged on the couch, book in hand. He arched his eyebrow at Ryoutarou, who stood at the window, holding the curtains aside so he could look out.
“Gee,” he remarked dryly, “you’re an observant one.”
Ryoutarou shot him a nasty look and let the curtains fall closed. He took the cordless phone off of its hook and went over to the coffee table where he kept the phone book, and started flipping absently through the pages.
“I guess we should order in for dinner. What are you in the mood for?”
Len shrugged, returning to his book. “Whatever.”
“Sushi good, then?”
“No.”
“All right,” Ryoutarou said through clenched teeth. “How about Italian?”
“Hm… No.”
“Well, what do you want?” Ryoutarou snapped, glowering at the other man.
Len looked up from his book again, slowly, casually, taking his time just because he knew it made Ryoutarou’s blood boil.
“Oh, it doesn’t matter to me.”
Ryoutarou really, really wanted to punch him. Right in the face. Which wasn’t that cute, no matter what stupid meddlesome friends like Sasaki might say. No, Len was definitely not cute.
Handsome, maybe.
Hot was pushing it.
…But, Ryoutarou would admit, Len was, at least, easy on the eyes.
“Pizza?”
“You really have no taste at all, do you?”
Not that how Len looked mattered, anyway, because his personality was one ugly bastard.
[~]
Every time Kahoko and Ryoutarou went out together, she’d bring him some knickknack. The girl had a bad shopping problem that Ryoutarou blamed on the influence of Nami Amou and her silly, girly ways. (But at least, unlike the journalist, Kahoko didn’t beg Ryoutarou to divulge Len’s sleeping and bathing habits. Like he would know. Honestly, she was just as bad as a group of yaoi-loving fangirls that used to follow the team around, giggling and squealing during practice. Ryoutarou and the others had tried to pay them no mind, but, well…showers after big games weren’t quite as comfortable as they’d used to be.)
Anyway, Kahoko would bring him some knickknack that she would declare was “so cute.” And she’d put it in his hand, insisting that he have it and put it some place where he would see it everyday. And he would, because, well, she was so cute.
“Remember that piano figurine I got you for your mantle?”
“You mean,” Ryoutarou spoke around the straw of the milkshake they were sharing (her idea-and he really didn’t see how she managed to keep proposing these romantic things without meaning for them to be romantic), “the one for the mantle that I don’t have?”
“Yes, that one.”
“You mean,” he continued, smirking faintly, “the one for my windowsill that wishes it was a mantle?”
“Yes,” she laughed, “that one.”
“What about it?”
“Well…” She smiled in that sweet little way of hers that made Ryoutarou’s heart flip and flop. “I went back to that shop to get some sheet music and I saw the cutest thing.”
“Of course you did.” Ryoutarou watched fondly as she reached into her purse and pulled out a little box. She opened it to reveal a violin figurine and reached over the table to place it in his hand.
“Isn’t it the perfect companion for the piano?” She asked.
“Companion, huh?” He echoed vaguely, his mind running wild.
Companion, yes. The violin and the piano were perfect companions. Just like that fateful day of the concourse back in high school, when the two of them played together for the first time. She looked so beautiful and was so grateful and he-gosh, how he adored-
“You know, since Len is living with you now,” she said, “I thought it would be really sweet to have the two next to each other.”
“Oh, right. Len.” Goddamn him.
She looked at him for a moment, and then she reached over and took his hand. His pulse skyrocketed. Maybe this was still the moment-
“Listen,” she said, her voice gentle and sincere. “I just want you to know that I think it’s really great that you two are becoming close.”
...He must’ve done something in a past life to really piss off the gods of romance.
[~]
It was the team’s fifth win of the season. To celebrate, they all pitched in for a hotel room for the night. Someone brought one of those huge bags of ice. Someone brought booze. Someone brought the entire cheerleading squad. It was going to be a good night.
Especially since it meant Ryoutarou wouldn’t have to deal with Len for several more hours.
Now if only people would stop talking about him.
“You mean you really aren’t going to call and let him know?” Sasaki asked for what was possibly the tenth time (or maybe the question had just been echoing in Ryoutarou’s mind, as things concerning Len were wont to do).
Somehow, Ryoutarou managed to tear his eyes away from the cheerleader that was popping beer cans open between her thighs to frown at his teammate and reply with a strained, “No, I’m not. Why should I?”
“Well, I mean, you’re gonna be out all night.” Sasaki shrugged. “You don’t think he’d want to know?”
Rolling his eyes, Ryoutarou returned his attention to the girl who now had frothy liquid spilling down her legs.
“He wouldn’t care.”
“You sure?”
He was watching the girl, and the girl was watching him watch her, but all he could see was Len. Len, and the way Len looked at him-like he was the scum of the earth.
“Yeah,” he said, some small part of something in his chest hurting in some inexplicable way. “I’m sure.”
Len was asleep on the couch when he got home in the morning. Ryoutarou closed the door softly, and then reconsidered, opening it again and closing it a little louder. He might have felt a bit bad about waking him up if the first thing out of his mouth wasn’t, “Where were you?”
“I was out,” he said, dropping his duffel bag onto the floor. “With the team,” he added, without quite knowing why.
Len frowned, sitting up from what was probably a rather uncomfortable position and stretching. And Ryoutarou frowned, mainly because he hated when Len stretched; his shirts had a bad habit of riding up when he stretched and his skin was too-well, perfect, really.
“You could’ve called,” Len muttered, rubbing his eyes.
“You-geez, Len, you’re not my wife.”
“Thank god,” he snapped with a scowl, getting up from the couch and storming off to his room, slamming the door behind him.
Ryoutarou gaped after him. Un-fucking-believable.
[~]
Ryoutarou had been living with Misa Hamai’s piano for a month, and he had not played on it yet. He wanted to. Oh, how he wanted to. His fingers itched like mad every time he came into the room where it sat, taunting him. The problem was, every time he went up to the piano and reached out to touch it, he felt this wave of immense guilt wash over him. Before, when he was making the deal with Len, he’d figured that getting permission from Misa Hamai’s son was just as good as getting permission from Misa Hamai herself. And, well, he still figured it was.
The problem was, Misa Hamai’s son was Len. And he and Len just were not getting along in the slightest. So, though he had Len’s permission, he didn’t feel like he’d earned it at all. And he just couldn’t use Misa Hamai’s piano without earning it. He just couldn’t.
And it was killing him.
Len was out, picking up dinner (presumably dinner for both of them, but Len had a habit of claiming he “forgot” Ryoutarou wanted to eat, too), and Ryoutarou was standing and staring at the piano. A thing of beauty, it was. And he knew it would sound so beautiful, too. If only he could just-
But he couldn’t just, because the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Yes, hello. This is Misa Hamai. Is my son at home?”
“Mi-Mi-Mi-Misa Hamai! I-it’s-he’s-hi!” Ryoutarou had spoken to his idol a total of maybe five or six times since first meeting her during the concourse, and he still had difficulty forming complete sentences.
“Hello, dear,” she chuckled kindly. “How are you?”
“F-Fine. I’m fine, Misa Hamai!”
“You do know you can just call me-”
“How-How are you?”
“Oh, busy as always,” she said. “Is my son there?”
“Uh, no. He’s out. Should I tell him to call you when he gets back?”
“No, I only have a moment. I just wanted to check up on him. Is he doing all right?”
“Yeah,” he said, although he really didn’t know, and amended, “I guess.”
“Good. I want to thank you, Tsuchiura-kun.”
“Thank me?”
Was this heaven?
“Yes. Thank you for allowing Len to live with you.”
Not quite.
“I know he may not be the easiest of people to live with,” she continued, and Ryoutarou just barely resisted telling her what an understatement that was. “But I also know that he’s been lonely, living practically by himself for years. And I think it means a lot to him to-well, to have someone familiar there.”
Oh.
Oh.
So that was it. That was the mysterious reason Len answered his ad. Len-that arrogant, stubborn, son of a bitch-had been lonely. Imagine that.
“Huh,” he said vaguely, feeling that thing in his chest that had been hurting start to thump in a steady, scary way.
“Well, anyway, thank you. Tell Len I called and that I’m thinking of him, will you?”
“Sure. Of course.”
“Goodbye, dear.”
“Bye.” He held the phone in his hand for a moment or two or three before slowly hanging it up.
When Len got back, Ryoutarou was playing Chopin on the piano.
“It figures,” the violinist muttered, carrying the take-out boxes to the kitchen.
“You didn’t forget me this time, huh?” Ryoutarou asked, glancing up from the keys with a bit of a smile. “Your mother called-said she’s busy, but thinking about you.”
Len murmured some noncommittal sound, placing the boxes on the counter. He lingered there, tapping his fingers faintly, silent as Ryoutarou played the final chords of the Butterfly Etude. When Ryoutarou finished, he waited, expecting a snide remark or two or a couple of criticisms. But he received none. So he stood from the piano bench and joined Len in the kitchen.
“What’d you get?” he asked as Len took his time getting plates down from the cupboard. Ryoutarou didn’t mind eating out of the boxes, but he figured he could humor Len’s fancier preferences.
“Here.” Len handed him a plate and a box, somehow still managing to look haughty and indifferent as he averted his eyes and said, “Sushi.”
“Sushi,” Ryoutarou echoed, amusement in his voice. Grinning, he clapped Len on the shoulder and headed for the table, shaking his head and laughing, “Sushi.”
Len just rolled his eyes and followed, sitting at the table where he could see the big living room window, where a little violin and a little piano stood next to each other and looked a little perfect.
01: Roommate: Willing to Sell or Trade for Different Model
Fandom: La Corda d’Oro
Pairing: Eventual Ryoutarou Tsuchiura x Len Tsukimori, one-sided Ryoutarou x Kahoko Hino
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: La Corda d’Oro and its characters do not belong to me.
Summary: Future fic. A series of one-shots and drabbles following the progression of the relationship between Ryoutarou and Len, from feuding roommates to friends to lovers.
Ryoutarou wasn’t really sure why Len had answered his ad for a roommate. The violinist certainly didn’t need a place to live, not with that huge house his parents owned but hardly occupied. And even if he did, he could’ve easily afforded a place of his own. The whole thing was nuts, really. He didn’t get it.
“I don’t get it.”
Len looked at him, expression as emotionless as ever, over the kitchen table where Ryoutarou handled all affairs of business. It was extremely professional-looking, what with the teddy bear salt and pepper shakers Kahoko had gotten him as a housewarming gift and had made him promise to use.
“I don’t see why I should give you an explanation.”
“Because you’re going to be living here.” He barely repressed a shudder, though the reaction was more habitual than sincere.
“And I’ll be paying half the rent,” Len reminded him.
Ryoutarou frowned. “Still, I’d prefer to know.”
Len frowned back and took a moment before answering. “Three-fourths rent and no explanation.”
Shit, that sounded good. Ridiculously good. Sinfully good. He hated to decline such a tempting offer, but unfortunately he had a conscience the size of an elephant.
“No, I can’t let you do that.”
“Half the rent, then,” Len amended, “and we’ll move in my mother’s piano.”
Ryoutarou’s fingers tingled at the thought of his idol’s piano in his home. Len smirked at him, knowing he’d won, and heat spread across Ryoutarou’s face. He groaned and stared hard at the smiling faces of the teddy bear salt and pepper shakers.
“…Deal.”
And that was that. By the end of the next week, Len Tsukimori was moved in. Ryoutarou knew, as he handed over the copy of his key he’d had made, that he was going to regret this.
[~]
Ryoutarou definitely regretted this.
He and Len had barely managed to stand each other when they’d been forced together in high school. Living together was absolute hell. They argued over every little thing-from what to watch on Mondays to who would get the mail on Wednesdays and every other Saturday. It was ridiculous. Sure, he got Misa Hamai’s piano out of the deal, and he still drooled every time he saw it.
But he hated living with this constant tension in the air. And he just didn’t understand why Len would voluntarily stay in this situation. Maybe he was into some freaky sadism/masochism stuff, but Ryoutarou really didn’t want to think about that and he desperately hoped that wasn’t the case.
Well…he supposed he wouldn’t mind the freaky stuff, as long as Len would just ask him, so he could be aware the freaky stuff was going on-
Oh, he definitely regretted this.
[~]
“Huh. It’s raining.”
Len looked up from where he was lounged on the couch, book in hand. He arched his eyebrow at Ryoutarou, who stood at the window, holding the curtains aside so he could look out.
“Gee,” he remarked dryly, “you’re an observant one.”
Ryoutarou shot him a nasty look and let the curtains fall closed. He took the cordless phone off of its hook and went over to the coffee table where he kept the phone book, and started flipping absently through the pages.
“I guess we should order in for dinner. What are you in the mood for?”
Len shrugged, returning to his book. “Whatever.”
“Sushi good, then?”
“No.”
“All right,” Ryoutarou said through clenched teeth. “How about Italian?”
“Hm… No.”
“Well, what do you want?” Ryoutarou snapped, glowering at the other man.
Len looked up from his book again, slowly, casually, taking his time just because he knew it made Ryoutarou’s blood boil.
“Oh, it doesn’t matter to me.”
Ryoutarou really, really wanted to punch him. Right in the face. Which wasn’t that cute, no matter what stupid meddlesome friends like Sasaki might say. No, Len was definitely not cute.
Handsome, maybe.
Hot was pushing it.
…But, Ryoutarou would admit, Len was, at least, easy on the eyes.
“Pizza?”
“You really have no taste at all, do you?”
Not that how Len looked mattered, anyway, because his personality was one ugly bastard.
[~]
Every time Kahoko and Ryoutarou went out together, she’d bring him some knickknack. The girl had a bad shopping problem that Ryoutarou blamed on the influence of Nami Amou and her silly, girly ways. (But at least, unlike the journalist, Kahoko didn’t beg Ryoutarou to divulge Len’s sleeping and bathing habits. Like he would know. Honestly, she was just as bad as a group of yaoi-loving fangirls that used to follow the team around, giggling and squealing during practice. Ryoutarou and the others had tried to pay them no mind, but, well…showers after big games weren’t quite as comfortable as they’d used to be.)
Anyway, Kahoko would bring him some knickknack that she would declare was “so cute.” And she’d put it in his hand, insisting that he have it and put it some place where he would see it everyday. And he would, because, well, she was so cute.
“Remember that piano figurine I got you for your mantle?”
“You mean,” Ryoutarou spoke around the straw of the milkshake they were sharing (her idea-and he really didn’t see how she managed to keep proposing these romantic things without meaning for them to be romantic), “the one for the mantle that I don’t have?”
“Yes, that one.”
“You mean,” he continued, smirking faintly, “the one for my windowsill that wishes it was a mantle?”
“Yes,” she laughed, “that one.”
“What about it?”
“Well…” She smiled in that sweet little way of hers that made Ryoutarou’s heart flip and flop. “I went back to that shop to get some sheet music and I saw the cutest thing.”
“Of course you did.” Ryoutarou watched fondly as she reached into her purse and pulled out a little box. She opened it to reveal a violin figurine and reached over the table to place it in his hand.
“Isn’t it the perfect companion for the piano?” She asked.
“Companion, huh?” He echoed vaguely, his mind running wild.
Companion, yes. The violin and the piano were perfect companions. Just like that fateful day of the concourse back in high school, when the two of them played together for the first time. She looked so beautiful and was so grateful and he-gosh, how he adored-
“You know, since Len is living with you now,” she said, “I thought it would be really sweet to have the two next to each other.”
“Oh, right. Len.” Goddamn him.
She looked at him for a moment, and then she reached over and took his hand. His pulse skyrocketed. Maybe this was still the moment-
“Listen,” she said, her voice gentle and sincere. “I just want you to know that I think it’s really great that you two are becoming close.”
...He must’ve done something in a past life to really piss off the gods of romance.
[~]
It was the team’s fifth win of the season. To celebrate, they all pitched in for a hotel room for the night. Someone brought one of those huge bags of ice. Someone brought booze. Someone brought the entire cheerleading squad. It was going to be a good night.
Especially since it meant Ryoutarou wouldn’t have to deal with Len for several more hours.
Now if only people would stop talking about him.
“You mean you really aren’t going to call and let him know?” Sasaki asked for what was possibly the tenth time (or maybe the question had just been echoing in Ryoutarou’s mind, as things concerning Len were wont to do).
Somehow, Ryoutarou managed to tear his eyes away from the cheerleader that was popping beer cans open between her thighs to frown at his teammate and reply with a strained, “No, I’m not. Why should I?”
“Well, I mean, you’re gonna be out all night.” Sasaki shrugged. “You don’t think he’d want to know?”
Rolling his eyes, Ryoutarou returned his attention to the girl who now had frothy liquid spilling down her legs.
“He wouldn’t care.”
“You sure?”
He was watching the girl, and the girl was watching him watch her, but all he could see was Len. Len, and the way Len looked at him-like he was the scum of the earth.
“Yeah,” he said, some small part of something in his chest hurting in some inexplicable way. “I’m sure.”
Len was asleep on the couch when he got home in the morning. Ryoutarou closed the door softly, and then reconsidered, opening it again and closing it a little louder. He might have felt a bit bad about waking him up if the first thing out of his mouth wasn’t, “Where were you?”
“I was out,” he said, dropping his duffel bag onto the floor. “With the team,” he added, without quite knowing why.
Len frowned, sitting up from what was probably a rather uncomfortable position and stretching. And Ryoutarou frowned, mainly because he hated when Len stretched; his shirts had a bad habit of riding up when he stretched and his skin was too-well, perfect, really.
“You could’ve called,” Len muttered, rubbing his eyes.
“You-geez, Len, you’re not my wife.”
“Thank god,” he snapped with a scowl, getting up from the couch and storming off to his room, slamming the door behind him.
Ryoutarou gaped after him. Un-fucking-believable.
[~]
Ryoutarou had been living with Misa Hamai’s piano for a month, and he had not played on it yet. He wanted to. Oh, how he wanted to. His fingers itched like mad every time he came into the room where it sat, taunting him. The problem was, every time he went up to the piano and reached out to touch it, he felt this wave of immense guilt wash over him. Before, when he was making the deal with Len, he’d figured that getting permission from Misa Hamai’s son was just as good as getting permission from Misa Hamai herself. And, well, he still figured it was.
The problem was, Misa Hamai’s son was Len. And he and Len just were not getting along in the slightest. So, though he had Len’s permission, he didn’t feel like he’d earned it at all. And he just couldn’t use Misa Hamai’s piano without earning it. He just couldn’t.
And it was killing him.
Len was out, picking up dinner (presumably dinner for both of them, but Len had a habit of claiming he “forgot” Ryoutarou wanted to eat, too), and Ryoutarou was standing and staring at the piano. A thing of beauty, it was. And he knew it would sound so beautiful, too. If only he could just-
But he couldn’t just, because the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Yes, hello. This is Misa Hamai. Is my son at home?”
“Mi-Mi-Mi-Misa Hamai! I-it’s-he’s-hi!” Ryoutarou had spoken to his idol a total of maybe five or six times since first meeting her during the concourse, and he still had difficulty forming complete sentences.
“Hello, dear,” she chuckled kindly. “How are you?”
“F-Fine. I’m fine, Misa Hamai!”
“You do know you can just call me-”
“How-How are you?”
“Oh, busy as always,” she said. “Is my son there?”
“Uh, no. He’s out. Should I tell him to call you when he gets back?”
“No, I only have a moment. I just wanted to check up on him. Is he doing all right?”
“Yeah,” he said, although he really didn’t know, and amended, “I guess.”
“Good. I want to thank you, Tsuchiura-kun.”
“Thank me?”
Was this heaven?
“Yes. Thank you for allowing Len to live with you.”
Not quite.
“I know he may not be the easiest of people to live with,” she continued, and Ryoutarou just barely resisted telling her what an understatement that was. “But I also know that he’s been lonely, living practically by himself for years. And I think it means a lot to him to-well, to have someone familiar there.”
Oh.
Oh.
So that was it. That was the mysterious reason Len answered his ad. Len-that arrogant, stubborn, son of a bitch-had been lonely. Imagine that.
“Huh,” he said vaguely, feeling that thing in his chest that had been hurting start to thump in a steady, scary way.
“Well, anyway, thank you. Tell Len I called and that I’m thinking of him, will you?”
“Sure. Of course.”
“Goodbye, dear.”
“Bye.” He held the phone in his hand for a moment or two or three before slowly hanging it up.
When Len got back, Ryoutarou was playing Chopin on the piano.
“It figures,” the violinist muttered, carrying the take-out boxes to the kitchen.
“You didn’t forget me this time, huh?” Ryoutarou asked, glancing up from the keys with a bit of a smile. “Your mother called-said she’s busy, but thinking about you.”
Len murmured some noncommittal sound, placing the boxes on the counter. He lingered there, tapping his fingers faintly, silent as Ryoutarou played the final chords of the Butterfly Etude. When Ryoutarou finished, he waited, expecting a snide remark or two or a couple of criticisms. But he received none. So he stood from the piano bench and joined Len in the kitchen.
“What’d you get?” he asked as Len took his time getting plates down from the cupboard. Ryoutarou didn’t mind eating out of the boxes, but he figured he could humor Len’s fancier preferences.
“Here.” Len handed him a plate and a box, somehow still managing to look haughty and indifferent as he averted his eyes and said, “Sushi.”
“Sushi,” Ryoutarou echoed, amusement in his voice. Grinning, he clapped Len on the shoulder and headed for the table, shaking his head and laughing, “Sushi.”
Len just rolled his eyes and followed, sitting at the table where he could see the big living room window, where a little violin and a little piano stood next to each other and looked a little perfect.