“All my broken pieces fit together perfectly! I may not be where I’m going, but I’m right where I wanna be!”

As the song ended, a chorus of twenty-three feminine voices cheered for the singer that stood alone on the Phoenix’ stage. She took a small bow, blushing slightly as she did.

Ranko leaned over to Akane from her seat at the VIP table, an inquisitive smirk on her face. “What do you think, lover?” She peered over at the small white dry-erase board in front of Akane, nodding with thoughtfully-pursed lips as her fiancee wrote a number. She turned to her own whiteboard, scribbling on it with a black dry-erase marker. Ranko smiled over to Akane, nodding once, twice, and then the pair simultaneously turned their whiteboards to face the stage.

“Looks like Hana scores a four from Akane and a six from Ranko, for a score of ten! Not bad, but not good enough to beat out me and Yui!” Sakura laughed into a handheld microphone from the floor at the corner of the stage as Hana groaned and descended the stairs to exit the stage. The Phoenix family’s other two-girl couple had taken the lead on the second song with their duet performance of Worthy of You, and had retained it through six more songs. Only Kasumi’s rendition of Fly and Ayako’s cringeworthy attempt at Sneak had scored worse than Hana’s rating from the two judges. Ranko was thankful that her backup singers had acquitted themselves well, as Hitomi and Emi’s Ranko-less version of Not Yours, Don’t Touch occupied a close second place.

“I can’t believe that got a six from you, and I only managed a four!” Kumiko groaned, throwing her hands up in exasperation at her best friend and captain’s score.

“It’s nothin’ personal, Kumi! You fucked up the words!” Ranko laughed, an easy smile in her eyes.

“Did not!” Kumiko put her fists on the hips of her green skirt defiantly. “What did I mess up?!”

Ranko rolled her eyes with a gentle shake of her head. “Demonically, chaotically, hypnotically psychotic?”

Akane giggled. “I mean, it’s the wrong lyrics, but she’s got you dead to rights, babe.”

“Hey! You’re supposed to be on my team!” Ranko turned to her bride in mock outrage, but before she could speak further, a chorus of clinking glassware stopped her in her tracks and softened her expression.

“Always, beautiful. Now, come here and kiss me.” Akane gave a soft simper as Ranko leaned in to grant her request and answer the cacophony surrounding them.

When they broke the kiss some fifteen seconds later, Ranko leaned back in her chair, sighing contentedly. While she never expected to dig the whole everyone-sings-Ranko’s-songs game, it really had turned out to be a lot of fun, and it beat the hell out of kiss the boy poster and the other awkwardly raunchy games she’d been forced to participate in at Izumi’s bridal shower. Yui and Sakura had really outdone themselves to create an event that was fun for everyone without making any of the five lesbian couples or the dozen or so heterosexual women in attendance uncomfortable.

Arguably, the highlight of the event had been the food; between contributions from Ukyo, Mei, Kasumi and Hana, they could have fed an army. Akane was glad of it; they’d be taking home enough leftovers to eat on almost until the wedding itself just ten short days away, and she knew Ranko wouldn’t have time or energy to cook for most of those days in the final run-up to the wedding.

Sakura lifted the microphone to her lips again. “Does anyone else want to come up and sing something before we declare a winner and move on to the next activity?”

Ranko turned her eyes from Yui’s girlfriend as Akane began to stand. “Akane, shouldn’t we wait to see if anyone else wants to go before we move?” But Akane did not answer, instead walking around the round VIP table and reaching out her hand to Sakura. Taking the dynamic microphone from her, Akane rounded the corner of the stage and hopped up the stairs, slowed in no way by the ten-centimeter red stilettos she wore.

“Well, this is hardly fair,” Ranko called from her seat through her tittering. “Talk about a biased judge!”

Akane waved her off as a soft guitar melody began flowing from the speakers, courtesy of the vocal-less CD Jacob had prepared for the event. Yokai had been slow to produce a karaoke version of Phoenix Rising, to say nothing of the several new tracks Ranko had written since, so the Dapper Dragons’ DJ-in-residence had taken the liberty himself.

Indeed, Ranko had been on something of a tear lately, having written seven songs in just the last two months. At the rate she was going, it was not out of the realm of possibility that the Dapper Dragons’ second album would release in time for the Christmas shopping season. However, the one song she desperately needed to write still just would not come to her. With just eleven days until the wedding, Ranko still hadn’t the foggiest idea what she would sing at their reception, and she’d given Akane her word she would have something new. No matter how hard she’d tried, nothing had seemed like enough to meet the moment.

“Did you know the way time stops when our eyes meet? The way that everything else fades out of my mind? Did you know I hear your name in each heartbeat? That you’re the one my soul was always meant to find?” Akane swayed on the stage, her face aflame, her eyes never breaking contact with Ranko’s as she crooned the song her lover had written for her.

Ranko stood, walking around the edge of the table as Akane finished the first verse of the song they intended to share their first dance at the wedding to, walking right up to the edge of the stage. She folded her arms on the stage platform, resting her chin on them and looking up at Akane with a mien of sheer adoration.

“I hope you did, but if you didn’t, I wanna tell you endlessly. Don’t want a second to go by that you don’t know you are the very best of me. Most people think my life is music. They hear me sing, and they’re not wrong.”

Ranko reached for Sakura’s hand, snatching the bar’s second microphone from her and switching it on. As Akane reached the last line of the chorus, Ranko joined her in perfect harmony. They sang the song together quite often at home, and so they were quite practiced at it.

“I’m just the singer. You’re my song.”

Ranko bounded up the stairs at the right edge of the stage, giving Akane a tight hug. She released her lover after just a moment, raising the microphone to her lips in her left hand again.

“Did you know I’m not the person that I was, and I have changed so many things inside of me? Did you know that I’m so proud of that, because it made my arms a place that you could wanna be? Did you know that I feel safest when you’re holding me? You are the shelter I can build my life beneath. Did you know that I can feel your love re-molding me? I need your presence like the very air I breathe.”

Ranko reached forward, taking Akane’s left hand in her right and staring into her eyes as she sang, willing the torrent of love in her heart to somehow escape her mouth and her eyes so that Akane could at least begin to understand its depth.

“I hope you did, but if you didn’t, I wanna tell you endlessly. Don’t want a second to go by that you don’t know you are the very best of me. Most people think my life is music. They hear me sing, and they’re not wrong. But when they see the joy I feel up on that stage…”

It was Akane’s turn to level the microphone to her mouth and join her bride in harmony. “I’m just the singer. You’re my song.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Their hands still joined, Akane lifted hers to her lips, kissing the back of Ranko’s hand. She smickered joyfully at her blushing fiancee as she started the song’s final verse.

“Did you know that everything is falling into place? That my life is finally starting to make sense?”

Ranko swung her arm, squeezing Akane’s hand tight as she played with her betrothed. “Did you know that my whole universe is just your face? I never dreamed I’d find a love half this intense.”

Akane laid her left hand gingerly on Ranko’s cheek, framing her lover’s face as she looked deep into her eyes, as if she were completely oblivious to all of the other women in the room. “Did you know the way I crave the sweetness of your lips? The way I ache for you each second I’m alone?”

The redhead lifted her hand, cupping it over Akane’s on her cheek and nuzzling her face gently into her hand. “Did you know that there’s a magic in your fingertips, and when you touch me, anywhere we are is home?”

Eschewing their alternating pattern, the brides-to-be sang the final chorus together as one, joined in song as they would soon be in all things.

“I hope you did, but if you didn’t, I wanna tell you endlessly. Don’t want a second to go by that you don’t know you are the very best of me. Most people think my life is music. They hear me sing, and they’re not wrong. But when they see the joy I feel up on that stage, I’m just the singer. You’re my song.”

Ignoring the applause of their friends and family, the pair pulled closer to each other, and Ranko closed her eyes as Akane’s lips met hers. A quiet whimper escaped Ranko’s mouth, which her microphone caught and projected to all in the room. As a chorus of giggles rained down upon them, Ranko broke the kiss, her face aflame. “Look, don’t blame me, alright? She’s really fucking good at that!”

“You’re not half-bad yourself, princess,” Akane said with a smirk as the pair joined hands again and descended the steps to the barroom floor.

Ranko bit her lip teasingly. “Only half-bad? I guess I’m gonna need more practice.”

The Phoenix’ power couple had nearly made it back to the VIP table when the front door of the bar opened to admit the orange glow of the setting sun. “Sorry I’m late, girls! We just couldn’t get Mioko to settle.” Izumi closed the distance to the brides’ table in her favorite shimmering silver dress, setting a small gift bag made of an iridescent white paper in one of the empty chairs and reaching for Ranko to hug her.

“Izumi,” Akane said admonishingly while waiting for her own hug. “What the hell is that? We told you no gifts. You already made two wedding dresses! That’s so much more than plenty.” Akane motioned to the booth closest to the stage, the table of which was piled high with unwrapped gifts. There was a new stand mixer from Hana and a box of red earthenware bowls to match their dinner plates, a gift from Mei. A large square plastic bag containing a black duvet cover embroidered throughout with pink hibiscus flowers, a small cardboard display box containing a pair of champagne flutes engraved with interlocking hearts, and a smattering of smaller gifts too numerous to catalog despite the relatively small shower guest list cluttered the table and one of the benches of the four-seater booth. Perhaps the gift Akane appreciated most, however, was the envelope of cash Nabiki had discreetly slipped into her purse. “Besides, we can’t think of anything else we could possibly need, or even have anywhere to put!”

“Don’t look at me, sis,” Izumi said with a shrug. “I didn’t do it. It was sitting outside the door when I got here.”

Akane picked up the bag, eyeing it curiously. Everyone we invited came, so what could this be? The attached pastel pink heart-shaped tag did not identify the sender, only the intended recipient.

Ranko looked at the little bag in her fiancee’s hands skeptically. “It ain’t tickin’, is it?” Tittering softly, her eyes rose to meet Akane’s. “Akane, you wanna open it? I got the last one.”

The raven-haired girl set the bag back on the table in front of her bride and leaned on her lover’s left shoulder, nuzzling softly against her. “It’s only got your name on it, babe. I think you should.”

“Just mine? Weird.” Shrugging as the onlookers watched in similar curiosity, Ranko slipped her hand down into the bag, digging around under the pink tissue paper stuffing the top of it, and produced a flat, dingy white cardboard box approximately eleven centimeters wide by six long and three deep. The box was tattered with age, and two of its corners flapped loosely at its side as Ranko extracted it from the shiny white bag.

“What the hell?! It’s heavy.” A quizzical expression in her eyes, Ranko carefully removed the disintegrating box lid. Inside, she found a decorative silver hair comb. The crest of it was shaped into four large daisies in a gentle arc, with fading white and yellow paint adorning the metal to accentuate the flowers.

“Whoa,” Izumi mused as Ranko lifted it from the box. “It’s so pretty! It looks like an antique!”

Ranko handed Akane the empty box and turned the comb over in her hand. “Who would even… The five oldest people I know are all in this room!” Still, something about the bauble called to her on a level she could not explain.

“Princess,” Akane said, nudging her arm. “There’s a note.” She handed Ranko a crisp sheet of folded stationery that was quite clearly newer than the gift it had accompanied, and Ranko traded her the heavy silver comb and unfolded it.

As the women surrounding her waited and watched, the laughter in Ranko’s eyes faded, replaced with a dark shroud of concern that itself gave way to something softer. She said nothing as she read the lengthy missive, but by the time she had finished, a pair of her tears had begun to soak into the peach-colored parchment.

“What is it,” Mei asked, unable to stand the suspense any longer. She bounced with excitement as Ranko shook her head and passed the unfolded note to Akane. She could not bring herself to read it aloud. Ranko lowered herself slowly back to her seat as if she’d been hit in the stomach with a sledgehammer. She reached up and took the comb back from Akane’s lap as the latter began to read the note that had been handed to her, turning it around in her hands with an expression Yui struggled to read. It was somewhere between the wonder of having discovered a buried treasure, and cautious trepidation at the sight of some alien device.

Akane’s eyes widened as they took in the columns of tight, neat kanji. The note was handwritten, but the characters were so tightly packed and perfectly practiced that one could be forgiven for thinking it had been typed.

My dearest Ranko,

I will soon return to my family’s home in Kochi, but I could not depart without telling you something. I have sat with it for days, trying to find the words, and it seems that I lack your innate talent for prose where my emotions are concerned. How I wish it were the worst of my shortcomings of late.

When your father made the decision to travel with you, I fought as hard as I could to stop him. I wanted nothing more in all the world than to see my child grow, and that experience was stolen from us both. Not a day has gone by since that I did not ache to see you, to hold you, or to watch over you. For years, I have prayed every day that things would work out in a way that was best for you: that your father’s training would enrich you in ways that I could not, that you would find your way in the world, and that one day, the gods would set our paths to cross again.

How I have squandered their gift.

When I left your bar after you sang that song, it was not in anger, but because I was hurt - and not because you wrote the words, but because I knew them to be true. I dread to imagine how long you have carried some of those things in your heart, and I can only hope that finally getting to say them to me has granted you some small measure of peace.

I can challenge only one of your assertions: while it is true that you are not what I expected, child, you are everything I could ever have hoped for and so very much more. You are strong and brave. You are revered and loved by all who know you, and countless thousands who do not. You have found your true north, and you know both where you stand in the world and where you are going in it. Those are rare accomplishments even at my age, let alone yours. You are peerless in every endeavor you undertake. Most importantly of all, you are happy, and most impressively of all, you have achieved all of it with no help whatsoever from your father or, to my unending shame, from me.

Know that I hold your father’s oath fulfilled as far as you are concerned. (Far less so, as he is.) You are, in every sense of the word, a paragon, but even if you were not, I could not be prouder of you. What a fool I have been for letting the traditions of my upbringing, my own shame for having let you go in the first place, and a lifetime of unfair expectations stand in the way of unconditionally telling you that the first time I saw you, and every day since.

I am so sorry, Ranko, for everything. You deserve so much better than the family you were born with, and I am so very thankful that you have found one worthy of you at long last.

This comb belonged to my great-grandmother, Hikaru Shimizu. She wore it on the day she married, in August of 1873. My grandmother wore it on her wedding day, as did my mother, and as did I in turn.

Now, as you marry, I would see it pass to you, my only daughter.

Yours in love, pride and admiration,

Nodoka Saotome