I didn't realize Tohru and Momiji had so few fans shipping them until I looked in the tag and you either made or were mentioned in several of the few posts there! ;_;
yeah, they're my otp ♡ sweet little cinnamon rolls ♡♡ i have lots of fanfic of them on ao3, if you're interested
summary: momiji gives one last violin performance, just for the two of them, in which he bares his soul. a story in which tohru doesn’t understand, until she does.
prompt: momiru for @eroshiyda ! i hope you enjoy <3
pairings: momiji sohma/tohru honda
words: 1495
warnings: none
note: here is a spotify link to the violin piece, “none but the lonely heart” by tchaikovsky, that i listened to on a loop while writing this :)
“Tohru!”
Tohru turns away from the stove, catching just the sound of Momiji’s voice as he pauses at the front door to tug off his shoes. It takes only a moment before he comes into the kitchen, a bright smile on his face.
Tohru grins at him. “Hello—”
“Before I chicken out,” Momiji cuts in, “I promised that I would give you a private concert.”
Tohru blinks. “Oh, Momiji, you didn’t really have to—”
“I wanted to!” Momiji interrupts again. The excitement is bleeding into nervousness which bleeds into his voice, into the slight shake of his hands, into the grin at his lips. He hoists the violin case in his hands up, just showing that he has it. “Come on, take a break from cooking. You work too hard, Tohru.”
Tohru glances between him and the vegetables that she had been cutting on the counter. Slices of carrots and scallions are resting in piles at the cutting board, the knife still in her hands. The miso soup in progress is simmering on the stove. “I suppose this can wait a few minutes.”
“Great!” Momiji grins, grabbing her hand.
He pulls her out of the kitchen and towards the table, Tohru following him with a yelp. She sits down at the table, legs folded underneath her. Momiji stands across the table from her— he sets down the violin case and pulls out the violin.
“I got all prepared earlier,” he says, putting the violin to his shoulder. “I didn’t want to have to warm up while you were watching.”
Tohru smiles at him, something warm coming to her cheeks. He’s more considerate than people give him credit for, she thinks. There’s something about the brightness of his smile and the energy that’s constantly running through his veins and coming out in bursts of laughter and movement that makes him seem childish, that makes him seem like he’s less than he is. Seeing him here, holding the violin, in his element, Tohru thinks that maybe she’s beginning to see through all of that.
“What are you going to play?” she asks, rubbing her palms against her knees.
She’s sweating from standing over the heat of the stove, and she can feel a kind of nervousness rising up in his throat. She can’t place why it comes, but Tohru has always had a good sense for people, and she can’t shake the feeling that Momiji is saying something with this performance that he can’t say out loud.
Last time that they had talked, Momiji had said that he was going to quit playing violin, but he had promised her a concert, just between the two of them. Tohru is, with a sudden and acute awareness, terrified that this is going to be the last time that he plays violin. She doesn’t know what to do with that, with this gift— if she’s the last person to hear him play, play for real, that means he’s given up on his dream of a concert just for his family.
She can’t let that happen.
For the hundredth time that week, Tohru promises herself that she’s going to find a way to break the curse. This isn’t going to be Momiji’s last concert. His mother hasn’t heard him play, not yet.
“Wish Upon A Star,” Momiji says, smiling, “just like you asked for. I’ve been practicing all week.”
“You learned it so quickly,” Tohru says, more of a breath than a sentence.
He shrugs, the violin hitting his chin. “I wanted to do this for you. As a thank you.”
“A thank you for what?” she asks, frowning.
“For being my friend,” he says, a soft smile on his face. It’s sad, though, and she can’t quite figure out why. “Are you ready?”
Tohru nods wordlessly, and Momiji begins to play.
She doesn’t know that she’s crying until she feels the tears drip from her cheeks to her clasped hands. She didn’t know, before this, how much music can move a person. How much it can say.
Even in such a simple song, Tohru can hear the talent that rests in Momiji’s fingertips, she can feel the longing in the notes— the wishing for something that you can never have, the aching desire to hold it in your hands and the coldness in your palms where you know it will never lay. She can hear every emotion that she’s ever felt poured into each note.
Momiji closes his eyes while he plays, swaying back and forth slightly, his hands moving deftly across the instrument— fingers pressing down at the strings, wrist at a sharp angle, the bow of the violin falling across the strings as if it were the wind brushing through the trees. He gets lost in the music, lost in each dip and trill.
Tohru watches with wide eyes, feeling the tears falling from her face as Momiji brings the song to its climax. He picks up speed, the bow moving quickly, his fingers flying across the strings until she can’t differentiate between ring and pinky. She watches him as he stands there, his stance strong, rooted into the ground with a kind of force that she doesn’t understand— like he’s scared that the music will give him wings and let him fly above the house and up to the sun. Like he’s afraid of the flight of sound.
The music spills out from the violin in a kind of heartbreak, in a kind of longing, in a kind of wanting. There are no words for this, Tohru thinks. There is only sheet music. There is only song.
She can’t put all of her thoughts together as she listens, can't string together a coherent sentence. She loses herself to the music. She lets herself fall into it, swimming among the notes, letting all of the feeling spill out of her chest and into the violin. She feels the tears falling faster, and she loses her breath as Momiji curls out one last note.
It’s filled to the brim with longing and wanting and words that can never be said out loud.
The two of them let that last note hang in the air for a moment, let it disappear into the wind. Momiji keeps his eyes closed for that second, just drinking in the sudden silence.
When Tohru finally brings herself to clap, Momiji opens his eyes. He turns to her with a sad smile.
“You’re crying,” he says softly.
Tohru wipes at her cheeks with her shirt sleeve, trying to clean herself of all sadness. She feels drained, in a way, like the song had taken everything out of her. “It was beautiful.”
“Thank you,” he murmurs. He places the violin carefully in the case again, exhaling slowly. “I can’t continue my lessons anymore, but I’m glad I got to perform for you.”
Tohru swallows. “Thank you, Momiji.”
“Anytime, Tohru,” he says quietly. He chews at his lip for a moment before sitting down across from her. He busies himself with loosening the violin bow, with setting it away, with carefully strapping the violin into its case, with everything he can do but look at her. “Do you understand?”
“What do you mean?”
“What I’m saying.” Momiji takes a breath. “Tohru, do you know that I love you?”
Tohru stares at him. Her cheeks are still wet. There’s a new kind of longing in the air, a new kind of song. “What?”
Momiji doesn’t look at her, just closes the violin case and takes a breath. “You don’t have to say anything. But I’m glad you liked the song.”
“I loved it,” Tohru says softly.
Momiji stands up. He’s gotten taller; when did that happen? When did his eyes get so sad? “I’ll see you later, okay?”
Tohru nods as Momiji takes his violin case and starts to leave the room. Just as he passes her, she grabs his wrist, her arm hitting the violin case. She winces at the bump, but doesn’t cry out. She just stares at the space where he had been standing, holding onto him. Momiji stills.
“I loved it,” Tohru repeats, and Momiji makes a startled noise. “Do you understand?”
Momiji is quiet, and Tohru takes a breath. She says, “Will you play for me again, eventually?”
“Whatever you want,” Momiji says, his voice choked. “I’ll play whatever you want.”
Tohru lets go of his wrist, standing up. She looks at him, searching his eyes for something, for some kind of question, some kind of answer. Carefully, she brushes a curl of hair away from his eyes. “There’s a new Mogeta movie in theatres.”
“I’m free tomorrow,” Momiji breathes, voice catching on a new brightness, a new music.
His eyes meet hers, and she smiles at him. She can still hear the song in her head, she can still feel the tears drying at her cheeks, she can still taste the sound of the violin in his words. “I’ll see you then.”
Momiji's POV of Tohru standing up for him at the beach house.
Rain pelts violently against Momiji’s face, his cheek pulsing with the bruise from the punch Akito gave him. He stumbles blindly in the dark, searching for the villa housing the older Sohmas. The skin of his feet digs into the gravel, cutting him scratches and scabs.
“Haa-ri, Shigure…!” he coughs out, choking on a sob. The animal spirit inside him screams, twists, and rebels, weighing down his footsteps, causing him to bend over. He clutches at his chest, the pain of betraying the god spirit unravelling his insides. He struggles to breathe.
“Momicchi! What are you doing out here in the rain?” Shigure’s voice sounds. Momiji looks up to see Shigure and Hatori staring at him in shock from the patio. Hatori approaches him and holds him up by the shoulders.
He can’t speak. “A-Akito, he-”
The two adults frown at each other. Briefly, Shigure turns and quirks his head towards someone behind. Belatedly, Momiji notices Kureno standing by the sliding doors to the villa. Kureno stares briefly at the rest of them, before running in the direction Momiji came from. Immediately, Momiji’s knees give way and he collapses to the ground. Clutching at the grass, he pounds a fist at the soil, disgusted, abhorring his uselessness.
A warm hand is placed on his shoulder.
“Come,” Hatori murmurs. “Let’s get you back to the villa.”
Momiji nods, stands up, and numbly follows after the two adults.
---
He sees Tohru kneeling on the ground and he freezes.
The two adults walk ahead and Momiji watches as Hatori grabs hold of her chin and tilts it up. Following a short examination, Momiji is relieved to hear that the adults arrived in time before Akito could do more damage.
The relief is short-lived, however, when Tohru turns her head and reveals three long lines along her right cheek, blood seeping out from the wounds. Momiji stares at them. Three lines reflecting his inability to protect, his helplessness in face of danger befalling the girl he loves, the purposelessness of his presence. They mock him, reminding him of what he has been bound to, everything he cannot grasp and keep, everyone around him who suffers- who has suffered - because of him. He inhales, exhales, lungs screaming for air. It’s Mom again, calling him a monster; it’s Father again, telling him to give up so the suffering goes away; it’s Momo again, a ghost of all he has ever wanted. She’s going to disappear, she’s going to leave, he has to do something, has to say something before-
“I-” Momji bites out, teeth clenched.
Tohru’s hand goes to his bruised cheek. He stiffens, waiting.
“What beautiful tears,” she breathes before wrapping her arms around him.
Something in Momiji breaks right there and then. He closes his eyes, leans briefly into her embrace before inevitably transforming into the form he has never hated more than he does at this moment. Hanging from her shoulders, he desperately wishes for his human form; to clutch at her shoulders, to bring his lips to her ear, to tell her, over and over, how much it means for her to be here, right here, with him, with them. He buries his head into her neck, lets the tears seep down his nose, takes in her warmth. Her breaths pass over the fur on his back, shivering from the cold. It is a release, yet it isn’t, and Momiji fights valiantly against the tightening of the bond between him and the person who hurt the girl he loves, but to no avail. In the midst of it, Momiji’s heart brittles, mourning the future he wants to offer to the girl who has embraced him, animal and all.
Later, when Tohru releases him, and he transforms back, they walk hand in hand back into the villa. It takes a monumental effort on his part to separate to get cleaned up, and he finds himself outside her door after, seeking her presence once more. And Tohru, sweet Tohru, lets him in, lets him hold her hand again, and Momiji is so, so lost. She leads him to bed, where a little Kisa is snoring, and tucks him in, fingers wafting through his hair. As he closes his eyes, hand not relinquishing its hold, Momiji wishes he can stay like this forever, bathing himself in the warmth of Tohru’s attention. Instead, he is allowed a fleeting touch of eternity before he surrenders to sleep, giving up a hereafter that he will never be allowed to taste, ever.
