Unlucky (Yandere Oneshots x Reader)

Tightrope

Part One

"Presenting Miss Aiko's rendition of Lady (L/N)'s music!"

The arch of the theatre separated the stage and the auditorium, distinguishing the performers and the attendants clearly. The rich interior decoration is made with contrasting vivid colors and luxurious materials to heighten the structure's physical intimacy.

The spotlight shone upon a young songstress. The spotlight was a brilliant path through the darkness of the theatre as if a hundred million stars had joined to make it. Men and women wearing their best gowns and suits sat in the cushioned seats among the arena and balcony, their eyes immediately drawn to her.

"Some people long for a life that is simple and planned. Tied with a ribbon. Some people won't sail the sea 'cause they're safer on land. To follow what's written, but I'd follow you to the great unknown off to a world we call our own."

She sang with such vibrance in her voice, despite its sorrowful words. "Hand in my hand. And we promised to never let go. We're walking a tightrope. High in the sky. We can see the whole world down below. We're walking a tightrope. Never sure, never know how far we could fall. But it's all an adventure. That comes with a breathtaking view. Walking a tightrope --"

Her velvet-colored eyes glance to the far balcony of the theater, where a loge was located. They were a separate room with an opening viewing of the stage. The enclosure, though small and allowing a limited number of people, was grand. With regal seating with comfortable plush cushions and staff entering to and fro to gift the guests with various treats.

She smiled upon the sight of his handsome face. How the tousled strands of his hair caressed his sharp cheekbones and how his brows sloped downward in concentration, that same analytical concentration that was special to only her.

"--With you, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh. With you, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh. With you."

Sitting upon the velvet chair, a young man watched. His greyish-blue eyes were fixated upon the performance. He remembered each lyric, each chorus, each verse. The song is practically engraved in his head. Yet the songstress's voice was nothing to what he cherished hearing from (Y/N).

"Are you not impressed, Sir ?" a middle-aged man inquired. His gut nearly stretched both his jacket and vest thin.

"She needs more practice," Than Pechman criticized, "She isn't supposed to sound joyful."

"My daughter is doing well!" the middle-aged man fought back, "She's practically captivated the audience!"

Pechman only responds with a grunt and ignores the man to focus on the songstress.

- - - - - -

A little boy rests upon a large hospital bed. A thick layer of sweat made his dark hair cling to his narrow face. Yet, despite the pain that seared his body, his blue eyes still stared fondly at his mother. His heart beats stubbornly against his tiny chest, his eyes not focused as his vision slowly dissipated. His body felt cold despite what the doctor said his temperature was, so he continued to leave himself wrapped in his blanket.

He knew his mother wouldn't fight him. She and he both knew that today was his last day on earth.

"Is father not here?" the child looked at his mother, missing her figure by staring towards a wall behind her.

A young woman with (h/c) hair steps forward. She slicks her fingers through his damp hair, combing its strands away from his sickly face. Her gentle touch and silence answered everything.