//------------------------------//
// No Reprise 
// Story: September Stories 
// by Cherax 
//------------------------------//

She heard the buzzer sounding from the next room, and her heart - her traitorous heart - quickened its pace. Octavia closed her eyes, drawing in a slow breath, holding it, 1, 2, what are you doing, 3, 4, let her in, 5, breathing out through her mouth. She left the bedroom, walking past piles of cardboard boxes to the faintly pulsing intercom.

"Come up," she said curtly. Too curt. "Hello," she added as an afterthought, then winced, and held the Unlock Door button down for a few seconds. There was no reply from the other end. She opened the front door and waited, listening to the echo of approaching hoofsteps up the concrete stairwell of her apartment complex. As her visitor approached she quickly trotted over to the kitchenette and attempted to look busy making tea.

She heard Vinyl Scratch pause at the doorway before entering. The DJ surveyed the apartment slowly, made eye contact with the cellist for as long as it took to mumble "hey," then looked away, first at the floor, then to a nearby pile of boxes.

"Hello," Octavia replied, and winced again as she realised she was repeating herself. This is ridiculous. It's only hard if you make it hard, right? "How are you? Can I make you tea or coffee?"

Vinyl shook her head. "You know how I've been," she said quietly. She magicked a box open and inspected the contents with a look of mild surprise. "Oh."

"I thought I'd just, um, make it easier for you," Octavia explained. "I had time. They're all still in alphabetical order, don't worry."

"Right," Vinyl said, flicking through the records, double-checking. "You didn't have to do that." There was no appreciation in her voice. She stopped suddenly, looking up, finally meeting Octavia's gaze. "You didn't have to do that," she repeated, this time as if she meant it. "Thanks." Maybe she was imagining it, but Octavia thought the DJ's eyes were a duller red than normal. She saw none of their characteristic fire in them; only a hint of something desperate. Perhaps just desperate not to be here.

"Uh, the kettle." Octavia realised it was whistling, and she hastily flicked off the stovetop. She poured her tea in silence. It amazed her - the breathless hours of their last argument still rung in her ears, filling the abyss now between the two mares. Is this really all that's left? Is there nothing more to be said?

But she saw the way Vinyl's mouth opened ever so slightly, paused, closed again; the way her eyes would land anywhere but upon her former lover; she felt a tugging at her own heartstrings. There's always more.

"Is this all of them?" Vinyl stood between the piles, eight boxes in total. It was an impressive collection in itself, though Vinyl had on many occasions assured her marefriend it was nothing compared to the one in her studio. That library was used for work: sampling, referencing, education. The cardboard boxes here were filled with the records she wanted to come home to. This was the music that she loved the most, and loved to share.

As if answering her own question, her gaze drifted to the phonograph in the corner of the living area. Field Note's Ocean Town Soundtrack lay on the turntable, its album sleeve leaning against the wall besides it. Octavia noticed at the same time. "Oh, I'm sorry, I am so sorry, I was… listening to that last night," she trailed off. She felt a wave of guilt breaking over as she spoke the words. She hates me. She must.

With a small shrug, Vinyl magicked the LP back into its cover. "Okay," she said flatly, sliding the album into its appropriate box. She closed her eyes in concentration, and the record collection floated up above head level.

Octavia took a tentative step towards the unicorn. "Do you need a hoof?"

"It's fine. I don't think you could really help, anyway." With one last fleeting glance, Vinyl made for the door.

This isn't right. "Vinyl, wait."

She paused in the door frame, shutting her eyes for a moment - then she turned to face Octavia with an imploring look. "What?"

"You… you have to say something."

Vinyl bit her lip. "I did. I said everything I wanted to say. You know how I feel, Tavi. And I know you think I'm—" She swallowed her words, finding a more diplomatic replacement. "Well, I know how you feel."

"You're right. I do know how you feel. That's why I can't stand… this," Octavia gestured vaguely, "this sad little puppy routine. Aren't you mad?" Vinyl tensed visibly, but held her tongue. "Get mad, please! Hurl all the epithets you need to! Say something - scream something! Give me something, anything but this silence." She could still hear, in the space between them, in her dreams and waking moments, Vinyl's voice: the warmth of her singing, the chime of her laugh, the thrill of her whisper, the cadence of her moans. "It… kills me to see you like this."

The words were there already, only waiting to be spoken. She thought she could see Vinyl's mind working, articulating the unsaid, crafting and sharpening, and she braced herself for the coming storm. But - "It's a break-up, Octavia," Vinyl said, unfurrowing her brow. "It's not supposed to be pleasant." She glanced at the door and her mouth worked again, but she abandoned the thought, and she left the apartment with downcast eyes, boxes trailing behind her.

That's not it. Octavia followed, trying to find her own words. There's always more. From the doorway, she called out after the unicorn, "I don't want this to be the last time I see you." She felt the familiar sting of tears welling behind her eyes. "I don't want to remember you this way."

Vinyl Scratch stopped at the top of the staircase. Octavia could not see her face, but her words reflected off the concrete. "How is this about you? How are you making this about you?"

Octavia flinched. "This is about us—'

"Is it?" Vinyl spun around, staring the cellist down with wide eyes and flared nostrils. "Is it really? 'cause this was your decision, Octavia. You did this, and— and now you're acting like you're the victim? Like I'm the one breaking your heart? You tore down everything we had because I don't fit into your future, and there's no solid ground beneath my hooves any more and I don't know what the hell to do with myself - but it just kills you to see me like this?! Fuck yourself, Octavia! I won't apologise for your mistakes." The boxes floated above them, shaking. Vinyl clicked her tongue. "Is this good? Is this mad enough for you?"

She forced herself not to look away from those red eyes. Each word pricked and poked deeper, bringing to the surface more tears, more uncertainty, more panic. She just wanted to run back inside and wait for it all to pass. She wanted to hide, curled up in the darkness and warmth of her lover's embrace. She wanted—

Octavia swallowed. "What if it was a mistake?"

"It was." Vinyl breathed deeply, steadying her grip on the boxes. "I love you, Octavia. More than you deserve. If you're gonna remember me, remember that." She turned away.

The panic mounted in her mind. Octavia knew she had to say something then, say the perfect thing to make this better, but a million words and phrases whirled around her mind in nonsensical patterns. What was there to say? Which words were pure, which were instinctual? Which came from fear? Which came from love? What was the difference, here and now?

She felt something starting on the tip of her tongue, but before it could be born, she heard the complex's security door swing shut below her with a reverberant boom.