Her hands fluttered over the keys, never pressing firmly enough for sound, but each key touched precisely as it should. She never looked up, though no sheet music sat before her, and the breeze from an unknown window played her hair in fits of excitement. Small strokes along the sleek black keys kept her attention, the corner of her lip curling beneath her teeth as she nibbled without thought.

Silence in the room rattled his mind, even as her supple movements calmed him. He loved watching her, the simple pleasure she received from her perusal of sound. Sometimes the silence was beautiful because he could imagine the clear tones of songs she played. Most days, though, he was consumed by the silence, and her refusal to play. In his head the music was glorious, filling all the space until he couldn’t think for all the sound. He wanted her to play and play and play so that he wouldn’t have to think any more.

Today, watching her hands press too lightly to be a real touch enraged him. The ephemeral nature of her playing stormed his vision and he could not think of anything but. Though there were hidden thoughts that played their tunes against his skull, waiting to be drowned. There was no peace and the breeze was stale air.

He stood, taking three strides to the stage, and placed his hands slapping down on the raised platform. She flinched on her leather seat, but did not look up. Raising himself, he placed one foot and then his knee, on the platform, watching her shrink back from him. Her hands still played along the keys, her lip crushed between her teeth. He waited by her side, begging her with his eyes to just play one note, let it hold in the air so he could breathe it in. Still, she didn’t look up.

There were fingerprints on the polished piano. His fingerprints. They greased along the shiny black, smearing his reflection and making her shudder with fingers poised. His eyes glinted in the fading darkness, morning light made her cheeks heat, and her fingers slip in tempo. The tapping of his fingers on the music stand halted her own, and she faltered. Almost, almost pushing that little bit hard enough to make the sounds ring. His hand captured hers, clutching it in his own, he kissed the tips of her smooth fingers.

Slowly, he led her fingers down and pressed them to the keys in front of her while she shuddered without control. The sounds rang out, notes mingling with each other in a mesh of ugliness.

He sank, knees knocking the piano leg, arms wrapping around himself to hold in the shaking sobs. And while she played, he wept.