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Language:
English
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Published:
2022-02-27
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995
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1/1
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Kudos:
17
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the most beautiful thing

Summary:

Shu has a dream of the past.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

It had been such a long time since he had danced with her.

She had a record player in her sewing room. Her husband had a newer, fancier radio in the kitchen that could play CDs and even songs from Kiryu’s MP3 player if he hooked it up, but she had been collecting records for her whole life and treasured her collection. Shu and Kiryu would argue sometimes over which record they would listen to while they worked, but when Shu got to pick, he always chose whichever looked oldest. It could be a waltz, jazz, or opera, but the crackly record noises and the slightly tinny music always cast a spell over the room, like they had all gone back in time together.

He would never admit it, but his favorite days were the ones when Kiryu was out playing with the other boys- the boys Shu hid from if he could because he knew that they would get mud on his clothes and laugh at his dolls, no matter how much Kiryu tried to stand up for him. Maybe it should have upset him more that Kiryu still played with those boys sometimes, but deep down Shu knew that they were giving Kiryu things he couldn’t get when they played together. Besides, whenever Kiryu was out, Shu got her attention all to himself.

She would always fix him a snack, something light that wouldn’t hurt his stomach. Sometimes she would let him hold her baby, Kiryu’s new sister, and Shu would examine her tiny fingernails and her chubby cheeks and her wisps of baby hair with solemn awe. After the baby was asleep in her crib, they would head to the sewing room, Shu would pick a record, and then the magic would start. They always started off by picking the fabric they would use. He couldn’t get enough of all the different colors and textures, running his hands over the bolts of fabric greedily while she held different combinations next to each other, humming softly to herself when she found the right one. His sense of aesthetic wasn’t developed yet but he learned so much from hers. Some days they made clothes for his dolls and worked side by side so that she could walk him through each step. If he made a mistake she was ever patient, gently showing him how to rip out messy seams and supplying bandages if he ever pricked his finger on a needle. Even better, however, were the days when she made dresses for him.

He remembered being small, gazing at her face as she concentrated while pinning the fabric of his new dress. None of her dress forms were small enough for him, so he stood on an old milk crate, as still as he could hold, and listened to her as she narrated what she was doing while her hands created magic right there in front of him. Draping, pinning, sewing, adjusting, hemming: the steps were mesmerizing but there was such a satisfying logic to them. No one in his family would even think about buying him dresses like this, and no one he knew besides her could make them. When the dress was done, she always asked him to twirl for her and he would, right there on the milk crate until he was dizzy. The way the fabric of her creations swirled around his legs was mesmerizing.

Then she would help him off the crate and they would dance. She would curtsey and he would bow and then she would laugh and pull him along after her. Even though he had no idea how to dance, she would lead and he would do his best to follow her steps. The record would spin and crackle under the needle and she would spin and smile as she did and it was all the most beautiful thing Shu had ever seen.

It felt so warm there in the sewing room, his tiny sweaty hand engulfed in hers, the sunlight streaming through the windows lighting up motes of dust, the old carpet soft under his bare feet. But suddenly, her smile wasn’t so human anymore. Her eyes were too big for her face and they had never been blue like that before either. Shu’s spine turned cold as the warm hands holding his turned to cold porcelain, the braided black hair suddenly spiraling down into golden ringlets. He had been small when they danced in the living room, distinctly remembered looking up at her, but he wasn’t a little boy anymore and now he could look right into her lifeless eyes. He was waltzing with a doll, limp in his arms, puppeteering her in a sick mockery of those childhood dances from before. Then there were marionette strings coming out of her head and arms, and they were on him too, and he couldn’t move by himself anymore and someone in the distance was laughing too loud and the music from the record player stopped like the sound had just gone dead in a theater full of people and he was there on the stage, stuck, with a mockery of the woman he had once loved in his arms.

Shu sat up in bed with a start, tears on his cheeks. His room was cool, fresh night air making its way in through his bedtime window. Distantly he could hear the sounds of Paris outside, of tourists making their way back to their hotels from restaurants and shows. He shivered, and realized his sleep shirt was drenched in sweat. His room was empty. Everyone he loved was on the other side of the world. The tears continued to fall, but as they did Shu heard a high pitched falsetto voice, coming from the familiar doll sitting securely on his dresser. “It was just a bad dream, Shu-kun. It’s going to be ok.”

It had been such a long time since he had danced with her.

Notes:

Hi! This is my first time publishing anything I've written for Enstars, and it's just a drabble this time, but I hope you enjoyed. Shoutout to Kat for the prompt (even if you had no idea this was what I was going to write when you asked for "Shu dancing with Mademoiselle.") Come bug me about Shu on twitter @itsukishup!