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truethes · 1 year

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like most things in your childhood, your first birthday is a grand affair.

your mother had insisted as such, the moment she had intertwined the red and gold of the christmas tree with balloons and sparklers. the seconds it had taken your father to push any festively decorated packages behind one giant, out of place box. a blossoming barbara twig is pressed wholeheartedly against your tiny arm and the window for christkind is only opened once they have managed to wrap an extra layer of warmth around the cold that will no doubt keep you up screaming.

they pay no attention to the twinkling lights outside. only sigh fondly at the way krantz finds himself rolling his eyes the moment they choose to play their very own orchestra for your happy birthday.

they only wish to make this special for mien engel, as your mother whispers against the wisps of your first locks: a special kind of thank you to the one who chose to stay back on earth.

───

a few years later, they have you hosting your first party.

you find it makes you uncomfortable, because everything about it feels faked by the children that attend it. you try your best to understand them, to ask them the sort of things that they find fun, but their gaze refuses to meet your own, too busy staring back at the retreating figures of their parents in turn. even if this affair is supposed to be about celebrating you, all of them are only here to obtain the possibility of gaining a companionship with two entirely different beings all together, as if they are no doubt lead by the stars in their eyes over their hearts.

one even goes so far as to skip the hello and ask the question on everyone’s minds: which does the young child prefer, the piano or the violin?

even krantz is not quick enough to stop you from storming out.

your father is the one who finds you first, asking you to explain just what has happened to have you in such a state because: “a héros is not strong enough if he cannot rely on those he trusts ... now, what can i do to help?” it’s the type of talk you’ve heard well, one that never fails to open you up against doubts such as these.

( just as you always would, in the end. the floodgates of your mouth already opening up at the reminder of being strong with/for something else. it does not matter if you cannot save anyone today, as long as your father gets to save someone else )

“i don’t wish to have company if they didn’t want to be here.” you conclude. it’s the first negative thing you say all day. your father raises a brow, gives you a nod and seemingly goes up to disappear.

the house is empty half an hour later, the same three candidates sat on a table for 50 with merely a birthday cake and an elaborately wrapped box sat so calmly behind it. krantz places the party hat on your head as your mother coos her apologies in turns.

( you are five .... turning to six ... already ready to be seven before the clock strikes twelve once again )

───

“---- so what exactly are you planning for your thirteenth?”

the opening sequence to symphony number 40 falls flat before you’ve even begun. your fingers resting so haphazardly against the keyboard that you’re unsure if they should stay there, or if they should go like you wish to despite being prompted with the most simple of questions.

your friend only smiles and nods before raising a brow to prompt your answer once more.

“i don’t know.” you slip your fingers away from the ivory you’re so used to slipping away with, all the more focused on finding an actual answer. “my parents have a concert to attend to, so they won’t be able to make it.”

it’s the first time you’ve announced such a reality, but it fails to make you feel less hurt by it regardless. the orchestra your parents run have concerts that span months in advance, and the one they’ll attend to on december twenty-third is non-negotiable, and despite their insistence that they can definitely fly back to you on time, you know better than to deal with the jet lag between singapore and austria ( you’ve tried it once yourself, perhaps a little too foolishly: there is nothing worse than the tired that comes from an unwelcoming flight, no matter how many hours of sleep you may try to hide despite it )

but a talk like that had ended with a bad taste in your mothers mouth, her words far too forlorn in turn, as though it’s your fault they had to end up almost fifteen hours away from you.

it makes your expression shift far darker than you’d like to admit.

“maybe you could go and visit them?” he suggests pleasantly.

your ring finger slips itself across the keys, a frustrated crescendo. “... you don’t think i’ve tried?”

“maybe they know you like your home more.” he comments, “they want you to put your happiness first.”

that manages to leave your throat dry. you slam the lid of the piano down so quickly ( he only seems to chuckle in response ) and grumble between hissing teeth, “it’s never been about the place, it’s about being beside those i love.”

those you love like the man who sits beside you, accompanied by white walls and a simple piano you no doubt believe is disastrously out of tune. it does not matter the walls you rest around, the concert hall you perform in, a dream is a dream and every one you’ve held is tied to a worldwide ideology that leaves you a free spirit above all. those you love like your parents, whom you want to see smile instead of sigh down on the phone to you.

the silence sticks a little while longer and for a moment you worry you’ve managed to hurt him, too. but he perks right back up before you can even question it. he rests a hand on your shoulder and in reprise: “you’re allowed to be selfish, licht.”

you turn away silently. “an angel would never dare.”

the expression you miss doesn’t shatter, doesn’t allow you to see the guilt that manages to seep in, and you’re both mad that you explained and were not understood and irritated that you no doubt never would.

───

he dies only 10 months later, and his words echo in your head.

it’s a shame, perhaps, that selfishness is never what you’ve wanted that day to be about.

maybe that’s why you bury the rest of your teenage birthdays into concert celebrations / maybe that’s why every celebration comes for everyone else but you.

───

krantz voices his complaints about ... such circumstances on the eve you turn sixteen, sealing a deal with vienna’s own bösendorfer hall.

“have you considered watching someone else instead?”

you shuffle the papers in your hands a little more sternly ( stille nacht is what rests haphazardly on top; nothing more festive than a song that originated from this town in the first place ). your gaze flickering back over to him, and the nervous assistant who hides behind his suit like a child. “their tickets would be sold out by now.”

“not to their stars, they don’t. many young artists would be honoured to have you at their christmas celebrations, especially given your reputation ...”

and with that does he open the consequences that immaculate your existence, the only diffuser and infuser of your dreams.

“there’s no way i would simply take someone else’s seat for my reputation, because ... ”

the assistant behind krantz has the audacity to role their eyes, there’s a twitch in your eye in responce.

“i am an angel.“

and the twenty fourth of december has always been about angels giving to everyone else, just simply for one night alone.

you slam the papers back down, fold your arms in a way that makes your decision final. as if there will be nothing to change your mind.

krantz doesn’t miss such a gesture. you’d be shocked if he did. ever since your parents had placed your tiny body within his arms, krantz had dedicated his whole life to (protecting) understanding you. every unique mannerism, changing temperament, deliberately deciphered like a deliberate ploy to get you to understand him.

he quietly gestures for his support to go, taking a step even closer. “and even angels celebrate, try their best to take a break-”

you turn away, your expression souring. you know krantz is looking out for you like he always does, but you still ...

“the world needs salvation, krantz. who will be there to give it if i let myself go?” you say, and you’re aware that it’s the wrong thing to say and that you sound like a querulous child but you refuse to explain it in any other way.

“others.” krantz argues back, and your fist clenches against the sleeve of your jumper in tow. “and even if we don’t watch any of them, there are always markets we could go visit, decorations we can find for your parents, do some last minute shopping together.”

“backing out of a promise would make me no better than a demon,” you argue.

“and so would forcing your manager to sign something he doesn’t agree with. i will spend the day treating you, instead.”

you turn towards him open mouthed.

there are many times where krantz has reminded you he is the adult. pulling you out of scraps like a cat with his hand around your collar for one, always choosing to put your health and well-being over any declaration of grandeur second of all. and now, thirdly, towards events like your birthday.

you feel embarrassed at the reminder that he can simply do that. ( that he would choose to do that for you, despite it all. )

krantz takes the final few steps closer towards you, reaching to grasp tentatively at the forms you have already signed to chuck them away and you force yourself to bite back any spewed insults because despite the fact that everything was already planned like before and you have never been one so susceptible to change you can recognise that a decade is long but not quite long enough and you admit,

“thanks, then.”

krantz lack of expression breaks into a sunshine of a smile, hands stretched outwide for a hug. there’s a thankfulness behind his eyes that you’re not quite sure you’ve seen in a while, a swab of paper tucked in his pocket in a not so oblivious way.

“but i want a cake.” you demand. “and for it to be us two, just for this year.”

( because there’s something nicer about that reality, something closer to home than any fine tune could make. and if you can make him smile, that is another step closer towards your goal: krantz happiness means your family is happy, a wish you’ve wanted to bring for far too long, again and again and again---- )

“phillipe is not someone i want around for much longer, much alone christmas.” krantz teases as he wraps his arms around you, patting your head like a dog behaving much better. “this birthday will be all about you, you understand?”

and, well, there’s no point arguing against something as strong as that now. is there?

───

krantz introduces you to an actress in the month you are set to turn eighteen.

he labels her as the leading actress of the only movie this year you’ve shown any interest in. someone so deep into her role that she wishes to understand how to play piano from an expert in the making. with the way she smiles so hopefully behind him, it’s hard not to believe it. but when his (drunken) figure walks away, she relaxes so grandiosely you lean away in the realisation that it’s all simply fake.

“i don’t actually need lessons to play my next role.” she says without hesitation. she sounds a little bored at the possibility of even thinking about it, you note.

you don’t have a good feeling about this. “then consider this conversation over.”

“wait, stay a second!” her hand grips at your sleeve, and despite you tugging your hand back do you remain rooted by the fear of knowing she could be in danger, that someone could be ogling or chasing her and if he has to he’ll play the role of someones apparent interest to keep them safe---

“i’m asking you for a massive favour, something special i wished to do for my boyfriend.” she continues, rather casually. “but i have to be careful, since my bodyguard will no doubt get jealous if he finds out about it.”

you click your tongue. what a dumbass reason.

“is he a demon?” you say, and you have no clue just who in this situation you are referring to when she only laughs in turn.

“that’s something you’ll have to find out yourself,” iris placates, mouth behind a hand as if to hide the smile that seems to have made it’s way upon her features. ( even if you can still hear it in her voice. )

this boyfriend of hers is a quote-en-quote “mozart obsessive”, already having been through salzberg more times than he can count, reciting his letters like declarations of love. it’s clear to see that she is at a loss for it, so much so that she’s spent all this energy in finding an authentic austrian pianist to make their next christmas even grander.

“you’re performing in boston on the 28th, aren’t you?” she questions, once all explanations are out of the way. “... it was supposed to be on the 24th or something, or so the orchestra were suggesting.”

now that has your brow raising. neither of you are close enough to disclose something as personal as a birthday, but there’s no surprise that the industry finds itself gossiping all the same. licht todoroki does not cancel concerts, not even when sick with nerves or downtrodden with the flu ( a disaster in the making, naturally ).

just what exactly makes this christmas so important to you.

when there’s no answer, she bashfully continues. “i’d like to take you out to meet him personally afterwards.” you recognise this, at least: her dreams / her accomplishment. their shared dream. “and then, if all goes well ... i hope that one day, the infamous mr todoroki will perform in our house, personally, for us.”

it lingers, then, something you’ve never truly known but will come accustomed to very, very soon. above the upturn of her lips, her eyes sparkle with a gold so liquidised you startle in the next sip you take: greed. iris is as full of greed as she was once with passion, impassioned as in full of love, full of love as in ... ravenous.

she’d eat an angel like you whole if she could.

“maybe. i’ll think about it.” you placate, and you think, think, think──

later, when you are what you imagine to be tipsy and full of good food in your stomach do you hand her your only set of tickets. a single set of four, based on a family rather than a couple on a nervous rendezvous.

“do whatever you want with the others,” you inform her. “i hope to see them filled.”

( maybe, just maybe, that should have been the sign that things were about to change.

for better / for worse. )

───

it’s the 28th december and you almost manage to tick off everything you said you’d do. the 24th marked your 18th birthday, in which you managed to spend the time between krantz’ bounds of adventure and the silent grasp of your parents coddling. there was a performance in america this afternoon, hailed as one of the greatest feats you have accomplished in your steadily growing career. there’s even an invitation, and acceptation, between two young celebrities that you find yourself one half of, even showing up first as if to prove a point.

you’re not a changed man, not really, but something about this feels expected. feels like it’s the right thing to do.

you end up in a conversation with her boyfriend for what seems to be like hours first, and it turns out he’s just as fascinated as she is warned. your hands are prodded, fingers imitated in turn, but you manage to keep your composure, to stop the inevitability of them falling straight into this mans face.

the waiter runs in the moment your fingers flex. rushes to a kneeling position between your table, his words are timid, pained even: iris is now dead.

lost in a freak accident, of all things.

it’s - it’s like watching a movie in some traumatic, damning way, the man who had only smiled mere moments ago shifts into a picture of grief you’re undoubtedly unsure of how to take away, and even though there is no way to comfort him ----- to hold his hand would ignite the discomfort beneath his skin, to offer reassurance no good from one so practically a stranger ----- there’s still that apology, that guilt that thins within the silence that is grows between you.

when he buries his tearful eyes into his cupped hands, you take it as your cue to leave, a responsibility so evident it claws up your ribcage with the intention of over-spilling across your chest. but there is no amount of divination you can bring here, not how you had been expected to help, so you swallow it and instead offer a pat on his shoulder before you have to pull yourself away. he asks you to take his number, and you almost bite back how such thing would be inappropriate for strangers to do, but then you see the devastation in his eyes and remember that’s not the sort of angel you can be anymore, and you take it without a hesitation.

you leave without saving it, but he still offers you one small smile when you turn away, and as you walk away, the warmth of such a gesture despite the misfortune of the situation warms your body against the chilling bite of the winters storm.

krantz stands outside without a car when you see him once more, and promptly advises all of next week is cancelled on the misplacement of grief, and with a deep breath do you find yourself thanking him, requesting some time off before you go back to the next plane, and ask for the opportunity to be able to walk everywhere else you might have to travel for the time being.

he doesn’t question it, perhaps knows it’s better not to.

even when you come hand in hand with a hedgehog merely days later, even when you demand that you have to make him a chain to signify such a bond.

( after all, nobody could expect the events of this birthday to make everything else so different. )

#❛ ♡ › licht : 𝗶𝗰.#long post /#drabble tag /#OH ILL WRITE A SHORT DRABBLE---- 3k words later i am CRYING #this took such an angsty turn but like i am very pleased about it #theres so many headcanons ive thrown in which i will probs overthink havent been explained like #hes only had one party which was a sham bc people only came for his parents and his dad basically disowned everyone there bc of it.#lich.t spent the majority of his teenage years performing concerts on his birthday so his parents never felt guilty they had to perform one #too #and tht he just liked giving to everyone else over him. krantz always took him out for nice food / events during the day its just fact #he hasn't contacted iris' ex boyfriend. not because of any guilt or anything but rather because i just don't think he'd know what to do or #really say??? he did spend the majority of the evening uncomfy bc of the bloke so i do not blame him #if i was to write one more it would have been based on the future where lawl.ess and lich.t would have gone to italy to spend the holidays #with nic.colo and il.dio but that one would have been 1k in itself bc i would have been very indulgent in the lawl.icht but also wanted to #include a lich.t and il.dio scene to parallel the lawl.ess nic.colo one we get in canon #i also want to say writing iris was really fun but also made me emotional bc like ... she was a star who just realised she could do little #to get a lot. and honestly? shes not as bad as a person #the lawl.ess mention between her and lich.t was very cute tho 10/10 would write again #thats ur future husband lich.t have some respect--- jk #where was lawl.ess in that scene? probably out there hanging out with other people. i like to imagine when she was with her manager and bc #it was so near the end #he probably was watching over her less and just talking to someone else #if they met it wasn't in a way they'd recognise each other. just passing really #death /#birthday /#ask to tag /#im not sure what other tags are there sorry its 4pm and im screaming FGHDSJHD #ANYWAY HAPPY BIRTHDAY LICHT I JUST (KISSES HIS FOREHEAD)

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