Chapter Text
“I think you’ve got everything, Phichit, so you should go before you’re late for your flight.” Yuuri urged. He knew his friend was worried for him. Yuuri wasn’t going home for break, but this was his usual. And his roommate was stalling.
Yuuri hasn’t returned to Japan since orientation over two years ago. He’s long grown used to this by now, his third year at U of M. He appreciates Phichit’s worry; it's his first break in his college career. He knows this is new to him.
“I know I’ve got everything, Yuuri. I’m just worried about you. It would help if you weren’t alone the whole time. Maybe you should go out this week, get trashed, and meet up with someone.” Phichit said, full of enthusiasm and yet so casual, as if that’s something Yuuri would ever usually do.
“Phichit, one, I won't be 21 for another month, so I’m not going to ‘get trashed’ anytime soon-” Yuuri groaned, adding emphasis with air quotes.
“Not with that attitude, you’re not.” Phichit quipped, pretending to pout at his friend, thus prompting Yuuri to roll his eyes.
“And two,” he continued. “I don’t need to meet up with anyone. I can barely handle myself, let alone someone else.” He sighed. “I’m used to this, peach; I’ll be okay, I promise.” And he was telling the truth. He knew he would be. “I’ve got everything I need and everything under control.”
“Hmmm,” Phichit hummed, his eyes narrowing at Yuuri. "Fine, I believe you…” He murmured reluctantly. “For now.” He continued, pointing towards his own eyes and then to Yuuri’s; the unspoken I've got my eye on you lingering in the air.
Yuuri gave a genuine laugh before softly pushing Phichit towards the door. “Yeah, yeah, fine. Now, get moving. You have a flight to catch, " he said with a smile. He knew his friend had been looking forward to his trip home since the school year started.
Yuuri has known Phichit for over a year now; their first meeting was during the summer between Yuuri’s first and second years. Phichit was still in high school but was accepted for a summer intensive with the music department.
Though they both have different degree choices, Yuuri, currently in their third year, is getting his BFA in Dance, and Phichit, in his first year, is getting his Bachelor of Musical Arts in Performance, Strings (Specifically Violin). They both are in the University of Michigan School of Music, Theatre, and Dance. These programs all occur in the same facility, specifically focused on students on the school-affiliated tracks.
When Phichit arrived that summer, Yuuri was assigned to him as a guide of sorts. Yuuri doesn’t go home on breaks and is always open to opportunities for extra money, so he took the job after being offered by one of the administrators on the performing arts board. He wasn’t anything over the top or a 'leader,' but he helped with orientation, answered questions, and helped everything run smoothly.
Once the intensive started, the guides were assigned a few of the students in case they needed something or had any lingering questions. Not a chaperone, but more of an extra, more personal resource, should one of the kids need it. Phichit was one of his, and even though they were in different departments, the admissions team thought it would be good for Phichit to have another international student offer some insight into how the experience is for him.
While, in theory, that is a great setup, Yuuri learned very quickly that Phichit probably wouldn’t have many of the issues Yuuri dealt with. He was extroverted, loud, and fun, and Yuuri couldn’t say the same about himself. But Yuuri and Phichit got along over the six weeks and became friends.
Taking him to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant just a few blocks away, laughing at Phichits glimmering eyes as he exclaimed, ‘This place is open all night?! We can go whenever you want?!’ as he shoved a chicken finger in his mouth. Or taking him through the performing arts building after hours and his amazement at all the available practice rooms. To cracking jokes under a tree in the greenspace around campus, both laughing till their faces were red, sides hurt, and tears running down their face.
By the end of the intensive, Phichit made Yuuri promise to keep in touch and stay friends. Then, with fire and determination, he declared he would get into their music program and become roommates and best friends. And in all honesty, Yuuri was looking forward to that, so he promised, pinky swearing as Phichit stared him down with narrowed eyes and a tight grip; one Yuuri matched with a smile, Phichit let go, his grin covering his features.
Yuuri kept in touch, and they grew closer, sharing funny moments from their times apart or their past while hearing about Phichit's application process through his last year of high school. When Phichit got his acceptance letter the previous spring, Yuuri was on Skype with him. And if his eardrums weren’t already ruptured by the screech coming through his laptop speakers, he was sure he could have heard it from across the world.
Now, they’re here, having been roommates for over a month, heading into the school year's first break. While Phichit stayed on campus for his intensive, his time was temporary. As a full-time student, it was a much more permanent situation, and he was looking forward to returning home, if just for a little while.
“Fine, I see how it is,” Phichit pouted, still being shoved out the door. “You want to get rid of me so badly, you're kicking me out of my own home! Yuuri, have a heart!” He feigns hurt with a hand on his chest and an exacerbated look on his face.
Yuuri shakes his head with a smile while rolling Phichits suitcase to the hall. “Yes, I’m so evil. Forcing you to make your flight on time so you can enjoy your trip home.”
“Exactly!” Phichit exclaimed, grabbing the handle of his luggage. “Okay, okay, fine, I’ll go since you want me to leave soooooooooo badly,” he sighs dramatically while slowly making his way down the corridor. He turns to look over his shoulder and gives up the teasing, shooting Yuuri a genuine smile. “I’ll let you know when I get there. Message me if you need anything! Be safe, don’t die!” He waves, catching Yuuris's grimace at his remark. “What? I don’t want to have to clean that up!”
Yuuri runs his hand over his face, already exhausted from this conversation. “I’ll do my best, " he says, looking back up with a slight shake. "But, Peach, have fun. I’ll see you when you get back, " Yuuri finishes with a small smile.
“Thanks, Yuuri, you have a good week too,” he said, just barely rounding the corner before popping his head back, narrowing his eyes to give one more I’m watching you before Yuuri rolled his eyes and stepped back through the dorm door, faintly hearing the fading laughter from his friend as he walks away.
Latching and locking the door, Yuuri leans against the back of it to take a breath. Standing back up, he takes in the dorm around him. Now empty, besides himself, knowing that campus will be a ghost town come nightfall.
While he is used to being alone during breaks and unable to return home, managing it can still be challenging. This time, hitting a bit harder, having this be the first break with having his best friend as a roommate. Yuuri wasn’t social, to put it lightly. He was awkward and didn’t know how to have a conversation or even the desire to want to. People make him nervous, and Yuuri struggles with what others might think of him.
Growing up, Yuuri never had the best self-image, and as he got older, it only got worse—not just from himself but from those around him. He grew up loving dance, music, and ice skating, but none fell on the metaphorical list of ‘things boys should like.’ He knew that list wasn’t tangible and was just full of stereotypes, but that didn’t stop the very real reactions and beratement he received from others.
From kids his age and older to adults passing judgment on the societal expectations of how he should function and contribute to society, Yuuri was always met with judgment.
His loving and supportive family always believed in him and his passions, and he was beyond grateful. But over time, as people outside of them chipped away at him repeatedly, he felt he didn’t even deserve it. Thus, he created the most judgmental and critical person he faces daily: himself.
That’s one of the reasons he can’t get himself to return to Japan—to visit his family, who loves and supports him no matter what—because the memories and emotional scars leave a bad taste in his mouth and a constricting squeeze in his chest.
If he goes back, he’ll be hit with the constant question of whether he’s found any success. More specifically, something they value as success. If he’s done wasting time chasing a silly dream and ‘get his act together,’ so he can be a ‘proper adult.’ He constantly feels he has to prove himself and his choices to those who would never accept him, regardless of his choice. The thought of it is exhausting, and he doesn’t think he can handle it. Not yet… Maybe never. I’m such a coward.
These thoughts weigh heavy on his heart through the rest of the day. As evening settles, he heads out of his dorm and down towards the performing arts hall. Mindlessly lost in thought, taking the route he’s walked practically every day for over two years.
He grabs his student ID and scans it before the entrance buzzes and unlocks. In general, the school and its buildings are closed for break. Still, with his circumstances—being an international student who can’t go home or leave campus—he’s been given clearance to use the performance building and its facilities. The situation is not unheard of, but it is still few and far between.
Especially now, it seems.
Yuuri takes in his surroundings: the dimly lit lobby and the quiet of the typically lively building. The lobby has multiple halls leading to the different departments.
To the left is the theatre department, with open rooms for the actors' classes and scene study, traditional classrooms for the playwrights, and history of theatre classes.
Straight ahead is the Music department, with many practice rooms lining the long hallway. At the end is a connective room with doors leading to classrooms for theory and composition classes, a main rehearsal hall for the orchestra and band sessions, and an archive/library of sorts, filled to the brim with music and text.
It's a vast vault of information, not just for music but also for plays, librettos, scripts, musical scores, and any history books on niches of the arts studied in the building. There are desktops for student use and printers to copy or print music, scripts, etc. There is a video rental section for music, theater, and dance performances. It is a collective haven and wealth of knowledge for any student here.
To the right is the dance department, which is lined with rooms of all sizes and floors, from polished wooden raised floors to rubbered matte ones. The largest double-sized room is at the end of the hall, with mirrors along the entire length and numbers at the front for positioning and rehearsals.
On the opposite side of the building, with its entrance and lobby, is the primary auditorium and concert hall, shared among the departments. It’s beautiful and vast, with a large house for 1,300 people. On one side is a smaller concert hall with a more intimate setting and a grand piano on stage, primarily used for voice students and music recitals. On the other side is an intimate black box theater primarily used by the acting department and the occasional dance performance.
Yuuri heads to the right, through the dance department corridor, walking to the second room on the left. It’s a medium-sized dance room with a raised wooden floor, a fully mirrored wall, a speaker system in the corner, and an upright piano near the door. A large window looking into the room is along the wall to the hallway. It’s not uncommon to have those in some of the larger rooms, with dancers waiting for the next class to watch a rehearsal or visitors watching over a class while touring the facility.
He sets his bag down on the piano bench and turns on the warm yellow light in the room. Shaking off his sweatshirt, Yuuri reaches into his dance bag and pulls out his water bottle and dance shoes, swapping them with his tennis shoes, before moving to the center of the room.
As he goes through a good warmup and stretches his muscles out, he's still dealing with the nerves of what was on his mind throughout the day. To put it lightly, Yuuri isn’t the best at dealing with emotions. But he best expresses and works through them by movement or playing music.
Feeling high-strung, still tense from the lingering anxiety and all the feelings he’s pressed down threatening to overflow, he doesn’t even move to play music from the speakers or just his phone.
Yuuri closes his eyes, takes a breath, and starts to move, allowing the movement to speak on what he can’t bring himself to say or truly feel. He lets the moment, the feelings, and the movement speak for and guide him, then lets it all go.
Victor finds himself entering the performance building much later than usual. By default, he’s a morning person and usually does his best work around that time. Today, however, he didn't fall into his normal.
Victor is currently getting his MM Masters of Music in Composition. He is just starting his second year of the master's program but his seventh year at U of M’s SMTD [School of Music, Theatre, and Dance]. He double majored for his bachelor's, which is unheard of and usually not allowed, but it was an exception for... certain circumstances. Thus, he received his Bachelor of Music in Composition & Piano Performance.
It took him five years to complete instead of four, but it was worth it in the end—or at least, he hoped.
Victor has struggled with his art and sense of self in recent years. Music, which once drove him with passion and enough dedication to do what some would deem unthinkable, has dwindled. Music no longer felt like the escape it once was, with an endless pool of inspiration to draw from.
Music used to bring him joy when nothing else did; he lost himself between the notes and the feeling of the sound flowing through him.
That euphoria he discovered as a child has long since fizzled. By now, he practically goes through the motions, playing all the same notes, but it is still somehow empty.
Initially, his music told stories so rich and intense that it felt like a movie played in his mind as the song continued. However, everything he tried to write now fell flat—dull and uninspired.
Victor doesn’t know how he got here, but it weighs him down. He wishes for that feeling back. Once feeling completely effortless, the inspiration and fire that flowed through him seemingly disappeared.
So today, he was in no rush to get here. He knew it would be practically empty; it always was. He’s long since grown used to not going back to St. Petersberg during breaks and, at this point, prefers to stay. Now that it was a break, he could take some space and free himself from it all.
Free of the expectations of the ‘exceptional star pupil,’ of the constant eyes looking at him as if he is perfect or eyes filled with envy for his skills. He’s worked so hard and dedicated his life to obtaining these skills, the ones everyone assumes he quickly obtained. He was a people pleaser to a fault. Constantly smiling and chipper, wearing a mask of what he should be in the eyes of those around him.
But here, when most students are long gone for the break, he can let go. Not nearly as motivated as he felt he should be, he came to the facility much later than he probably ever has and began making his way through the doors and the lobby.
Twisting and reaching to put his student ID in his right pocket, his eyes catch a warm yellow projection on the hall floor. Mostly dark, save for the warm light spilling through a dance room window just inside the dance department corridor.
Victor can count on one hand the number of people he’s run into during his time on campus during time off these past seven years. They are all usually international students who can’t make it home for that short time.
Who else would be here so late?
Curiosity peaked, and still lacking the motivation to write, he makes his way down the hall, meandering to the second room on the left in the unfamiliar dance wing; he peers through the window to the room.
His eyes catch on the lone figure moving throughout the center of the room. The dancer has his eyes closed yet still has such an open expression. He effortlessly glides across and around the space, animated with emotion overflowing from his limbs, filling the space. Wow.
After being utterly captivated by the man before him, Victor realized no music was playing. At first, he can’t even fathom how a person like him, whose entire life up until now was music, could glaze over that fact. But understanding flowed over him as he watched the beautiful dancer, who was still oblivious to the current audience.
With precision and grace, each movement bouncing between fluid and sharp was already creating it. Every breath, turn, and flick had meaning, a purpose, an embodiment of emotion and storytelling, creating a voice surrounded by a cacophony of music only they could hear. Somehow, it was silent to human ears but loud, rich, and full sound, as if his body and movement were creating the music.
Victor knows that’s what he’s witnessing; he’s lived it. In that space in your mind, in your art, a small voice, unheard and unspoken, seeps out between phrases of music or sequence of movement. This dancer was in his flow, screaming what Victor could only see as something timid and fragile, yet desperate and determined that he couldn’t look away.
This is what he was wishing for, what he was missing, and what he was trying to grasp in hopes that it would never leave him again.
I wish to revive these seemingly lost feelings. He thought of when he was younger, still inspired and in love with music, and how it flowed through him. How he would lose himself in the feeling as his fingers conveyed a maelstrom of emotions, mind blank until he blinked and realized what he was playing had ended.
At his first recital, he entered a piano competition that got him some recognition, and even years later, when he started here, full of passion and drive, has been lost.
Touched by the overflowing and all-encompassing performance playing in front of him, Victor takes a step back before being seen. Turning and walking away from the seemingly endless moment, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to forget that anytime soon.
Heading towards the Music department, he opens a practice room door and steps inside. He flicks on the light, shuts the door, and sits silently on the piano bench, completely lost in thought. Victor's mind reels, trying to process the emotion he just saw and feeling the once-lost inspiration stir inside him.
Unsure how much time has passed, sitting in utter silence and trying to collect himself, he gives in, closes the unused practice room, and heads to his apartment—not having a clear head with the whirlwind of feelings that he couldn’t focus on much else.
But that night, as he lies awake in bed, restless and unable to fall asleep, he can’t help but silently give thanks to that enthralling dancer.
I wish I could thank you. I wish I had words to describe how much that spoke to me. Your unheard voice screamed loud enough to reach a part of myself I felt I’d lost.
With tears in his eyes and a small, almost unbelieving smile, he drifted off to sleep. He was drifting off, for the first time in a long while, to the sound of unplayed music, softly begging to be freed in his mind.
The next night, he returns to the building, hoping to catch another glance of the dancer who has yet to leave his mind. Strolling through the lobby towards the orchestra wing, he glances down the hall to the right, a twinge of disappointment filling him when he is only met with soft darkness and an empty corridor.
Victor enters the first practice room on the right and starts gathering his thoughts on what he wants to play. It's a break, so nothing is pressing him assignment-wise, but he wants to find a way to hold onto this feeling inside of him.
He wants to hold onto the inspiration he has been begging to come back, beg for it to stay, and find a way to hone in on it and build upon it.
Victor swiftly stands, leaving the practice room door cracked, to head down the hall. He opens the door at the end of the hall, enters the library, and heads towards the shelves of sheet music dedicated to opera.
During his studies, he had to take one year to study a foreign language regarded as historically important to classical music. The big three were Latin, Italian, and German. Victor opted for Italian, led by his fondness for opera and arias.
Flicking through a few songbook collections of classic arias and folders with stand-alone sheet music, he found pieces that he was already familiar with and resonated with, along with a few that he hadn’t but piqued his interest.
Bringing his selection to one of the printers in the corner of the room, he scanned his student ID and made copies with the machine. After returning the collected materials, he grabbed a small stack of empty staff paper before heading out.
As he shut the door, reentering the long stretch of hallway, he saw not only his practice room near the end, the door still cracked, and light barely spilled into the space, but four doors down, a slight glow came through the small window on another door.
Hearing a soft melody float through the space, filling the area with a quiet, warm sound. For the most part, the practice rooms are relatively soundproof, but at night, when the building is dark and practically empty, the sound seeps through.
Taking steps closer, the music flowing gently got louder. He peeked into the practice room window, only to be met with a piece of paper taped over the glass from the inside.
Victor took in the sound, not recognizing the piece, but from what he could hear, it almost felt like a quiet call. A call to a person or place, unsure if it has a specific target or a general plea. Subtly desperate and lonely. It is eerie but beautiful in the raw sound gently sifting through the space.
Victor could relate to those feelings. Deeply.
Now, continuing his walk to his practice room, he shuts the door, sits on the piano bench, and places the music sheets in front of him.
After that point, everything around him was lost. He briefly played the collected pieces and noted some of the phasing or progressions he was allured to. He pinpointed what he felt a connection towards and then slowly combined the ideas onto a new blank sheet of staff paper. Slowly, but over time, he began to build a semblance of a piece. Not knowing where this was taking him, but following the pull of inspiration he'd long desired as it flowed through him. Though not perfect or inventive, Victor felt he was working on a piece of music that truly inspired him for the first time in years.
Yuuri sat alone in a practice room, his cello present, and occupied the quiet space. He didn’t get to practice often, not as much as he would like. Mostly, he would play at the dorm, usually by himself, but sometimes messing around with Phichit and his violin.
Most people don’t know Yuuri could play, and he tried his best to keep it that way. To most, it seems silly. Phichit has said on multiple occasions that he should share his talent or join some extracurriculars in the music department, but Yuuri passionately declined.
He felt like he didn’t belong there; he wasn’t an over-skilled or talented musician like everyone in the department. Yuuri was required to pick up an instrument during his childhood schooling, and he resonated with the cello. He stuck with it through middle school, actively practicing and participating in class concerts. As he entered high school, he let it fall back in favor of his dancing, knowing that was what he would pursue.
That didn’t mean he didn’t love music. Far from it! Music was an escape for him, a way to connect the dots of how he felt inside. As a musician, he could use his cello as a voice for words he couldn’t speak, warm and open, with it being large enough that when positioned in front of him, it almost acted as a shield.
With dance, he could convey his passion through movement in time with music, not hiding and funneling his feelings limited by a single sound. In dance, he didn’t have to hide behind an instrument but let himself become one. He can express himself with movement in pockets of music, using predetermined choreography, and doesn’t have to think of what to do or how people would react. He could let the movement take him and the emotion and connection take over while still knowing the story he was trying to tell.
It was safe, pre-determined, with no risk of wrong choices or judgment, a nice box to place himself in and let go.
In the practice room, Yuuri let himself breathe and relax, hoping for his mind to calm. He didn’t want anyone to know about the musician part of himself. He only allowed himself to use the practice rooms on breaks, knowing he could be alone and go unnoticed.
He is a night owl, so he prefers to come in the evening and leave well into the night. For the most part, he hasn’t run into anyone over the past few years, so he stuck to the night schedule he usually took.
Even though there was never anyone here, especially at this time, he didn’t want to take any chances. It wasn’t uncommon for those in a practice room to cover the small window on the door. It could be distracting, like if you were there during school hours and constantly seeing heads walk by, people peeking in, or even waving. Though Yuuri didn’t have to worry about that, he didn’t want to be seen or even take the risk.
He grabbed an empty piece of paper from the small round table in the corner and a piece of tape to cover the window. Once secure and content with complete privacy, he pulled the chair from the table to the small open space in front of the piano.
He sat down, reaching for the large case leaning against the wall. Opening it, he gently removed the cello and brought it to his front. After setting up and having everything in position, strings plucked and tuned to his satisfaction; he picked up his bow. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders back and engaging his muscles to the precise position he could pull out in his sleep. He's been drilled enough never to forget.
He took some time to think about what he was feeling. The emotions of the day before were still weighing on him, but after dancing the night before, he felt he had organized his thoughts enough to voice them through his instrument. He took that feeling and started to work through some easy scales, getting comfortable and warmed up with the movements on the fingerboard and timbre in his sound.
Once content, he started to play a piece from his past. It was nothing spectacular or complex but a song he played back in middle school that never left him. It felt so comfortable and second nature that he could let go and put himself into playing it.
This was an original piece his instructor had written early in her career while being a part of a traveling symphony as a cellist. While she loved what she did and wouldn’t change anything, there were still times when she would miss home or feel lonely, constantly being uprooted for long periods. It is a small piece filled with melancholy, expressing the double-edged sword of following your passion, the sacrifices you must make, and the accomplishments you achieve.
Having played it enough, Yuuri has long since been able to make it his own, sometimes repeating phrases and vamping to parts that sit close to his emotions that he can’t help repeating with slight variation until he’s satisfied. Yuuri doesn’t even realize how much time has passed.
Coming back to reality, he checks his phone set atop the piano. Forty-five minutes of just letting the music speak and letting go passed in the blink of an eye. He felt much better than when he started but exhausted all the same.
Yuuri had a problem bottling his emotions, and even with outlets to express himself, he still struggles to admit or speak of them to anyone or himself. So, the feelings are never fully resolved. With that, he decides to call it a night. He still has a whole week of break, and it's only Sunday.
He coincides and begins to pack up his instrument and phone. Shoulders sagging and grunting when putting the case on his back, Yuuri realizes that getting his feelings out took more out of him than expected. He opens the door, shuts off the light, and closes the entrance with a soft click. Turning towards the main lobby end of the hallway, he can see that a practice room near the end is in use, with a tiny vertical rectangle of light projected on the dim floor of the hall.
He can hear a piano playing softly, something classical-sounding and compelling. He slowly walks through the corridor as the music grows in volume. He can hear stops and starts of different pieces of music, sometimes playing an entire verse of one before switching to another for only a few bars.
As he approaches the door, he hears a new piece begin, this one less complex, sounding unsure and even empty at times. Curiosity gets the better of Yuuri, and he peeks through the small window on the door, seeing the musician at the piano.
He sits profile to the door on the piano bench, hunched over with intense focus, scribbling on what appears to be staff paper. The musician is beautiful, with silver hair partially covering his blue eyes. They’re fierce and focused on the piece in front of him, and long, slim fingers slowly grazing and hovering over the keys as if pantomiming a few notes or chord progressions.
The figure abruptly sits upright and drops the pencil. Quickly, Yuuri ducks out the window and stands with his back to the wall. Then it begins. The semi-empty and unsure piece from before is playing again, but this time, it's different. It's more sure, but rather than ‘empty,’ it has become more haunting.
Yuuri takes another peak through the window. This time, the musician's eyes are closed, holding less tension in his body and a subtle head sway as the notes flow through him. He saw the figure as beautiful before, but this is different. He's stunning, even breathtaking. He looked so in his element and connected to what he was playing that Yuuri couldn’t take his eyes off him.
Yuuri knew what losing yourself in your music or art was like. It was raw, expressive, and personal… very personal. Oh, Crap!
Yuuri forces himself to move away from the window as his breath catches, and his heart begins to beat faster. He then shuffles to the main lobby. He couldn’t believe it! He knows how personal those moments are to him and how he dislikes being intruded on. For god's sake, he just left a practice room where he taped over the window to stop the same thing!
Filled with guilt and shame, he makes his way out of the main doors, stepping outside. While walking to his dorm, Yuuri couldn’t get that musician out of his mind.
Yuuri couldn’t recall if he’d ever seen him around before, but regardless, he was… enchanting. It was almost as if he was speaking through music the same way he does.
He feels terrible for invading such a personal moment but can’t help but feel a small thrill from what he felt and heard, mainly by what is usually unheard.
An unheard voice that seeps through an artist that is never honestly heard, at least in his experience.
Most people in his personal life support him and his passion, but it feels as though no one has ever really heard him—to listen to the unheard voice and his pleas or cries of emotion. The musician was starting to compose that piece, but Yuuri could feel and sense their connection to it already building. He was not wholly hearing a voice yet, but it was close—closer than he’d ever had the pleasure of experiencing.
The thought made him tingle lightly as he stepped into and unlocked his dorm door. He stepped inside, latched and locked the entry, and removed the cello on his back. Deep in his thoughts and with a shy smile, Yuuri wondered if, since he could hear someone else's hidden voice, would someone be able to hear his?