Uta no Prince-sama: A-Z [ONE-SHOTS]

Little Things: R for Retrophilia

A/N: I'm working on writing several chapters in advance so I can update more regularly. But before then, please stay patient for me :) Thank you, and enjoy this chapter!

Words: 1958

retrophilia: love of things of the past

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Ranmaru wandered around his apartment aimlessly, lost in his thoughts. Lost in the memories. He strolled into her room, his hands deep in the pockets of his ripped jeans as he surveys the bare room. It's been empty for a year now – exactly a year, because today was the day marking three hundred-sixty five days since she left. He could never bear to rent it out or rearrange anything.

Those walls used to be covered in posters of Starish, her soul and pride – her friends. Ranmaru stepped further inside, brushing his fingertips along the wall. The punctures in the plaster were remnants of her bulletin board and numerous to-do lists. He shifted his gaze to the working desk she'd left behind because it was too bulky to move. The desktop used to be littered with music sheets – some completed, some in-progress, and others freshly off the top of her head.

There were always pencil stubs laying around, and he used to walk in to sweep the nubs into the trash, swiftly replacing them with a new supply of pencils he'd just sharpened.

Sometimes he would walk in on her conked out on the desk, and he would carry her back to the bed she rarely fell asleep on. The next morning, she'd awake in bed, to an organized desktop and breakfast cooking outside. She would smile knowingly because everytime she tried pointing out the small things he did for her, he'd flatly deny the fact, despite the redness of his face and ears when he turned away from her.

Ranmaru ruffled his silver hair, exhaling deeply. The apartment was deafeningly silent, only the tick of the clock reminding him time was still going and that this was real. He trudged out of her room, his heart leaden with regret and nostalgia. He plopped down on the maroon couch, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

This was where she would find him passed out every weeknight when she came back to a tousled boyfriend, washed out from the long day of practice. He'd awake the next morning and there'd be a fleece blanket draped over him – her fleece blanket. It smelled of lavender and vanilla...all her. Of course, he'd give only a disgruntled "Thank you," precisely because being polite wasn't his forté.

He'd often regret the times he stubbornly kept the rough and tough facade up around her, no matter how bad he just wanted to cuddle her and kiss her sweetly on the forehead. He'd be disappointed in himself every time, guilt weighing in on him when the flash of hurt appeared. He knew he should've given her more love, more attention, more of him so that she wouldn't have had to decide it wasn't worth the effort.

She had felt lonely for too long. He'd coerced her into these living conditions back when they were still senpai and kohai because he was dead set on making her his woman. He had determination and motivation back then; when did it stop? His inability to express his emotions properly showed him up again.

How many times did he want to reach over and hold her hand when they walked, when they talked? For how long did he crave her? Her smile, her laugh, her touch? Why hadn't he done something about it? He prided himself on being such a straightforward guy, blunt beyond the point of caring, but when it came to someone he so desperately longed to love, why was it something he put off doing? He hated himself.

Ranmaru could only imagine how frustrated and angry she must've been at him. How hateful she thought he was. The prospect of her despising him made him sick; he felt his stomach twist and his heart wrench itself, bringing an excruciating pain he told himself he deserved.