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likealarkLance/Kikanah, sequel to this
subject header is from this
Kikanah drops your hand the moment you're both inside the practice room and steps away from you. From the corner of your eye you can see her scanning the small room, making note of its soundproofing panels, wooden floor, the sleek black pianos in the center.
"Why are there two of them?" she asks. She moves away from you, bracing a hand against its surface. You watch her slim brown fingers stroke across the lacquered wood.
"So the teacher has a piano, too," you explain, "or for two piano pieces."
She hums and nods but doesn't say more. After a beat, she lifts her head to look at you and her gaze is weighted, expectant. After all, she brought you here for a reason.
You sigh and step towards the piano on the far end of the room. After months of playing, the gestures of sitting on the bench and opening the keyboard, and fanning your fingers across the keys should be almost comforting. You can feel her dark presence behind you, though, settling into a slouch against the wall, her eyes boring into your back. Your spine straightens under her scrutiny.
Your sharp mind flips through the few pieces you know before settling. You take a breath, hands settling on the keys. Then you begin.
The piece flows like water from your hands, quiet and serene. Clair de lune. A melody like moonlight rippling across the water; light reflected. Serene in a way that Kikanah is only in her most rare and vulnerable moments. Moments that only you get to see, now.
A love song.
Her presence behind you is a quiet, steady sense against your back. Even as you lose yourself to the ebb and flow of the piece you never lose track of it. You can feel how her thoughts, at first critical, settle into repose.
The last arpeggio rises into the air and dissipates, swallowed by the soundproof walls. You remain as you were when you played it, curved over the piano, your fingers slowly relaxing. Kikanah pushes away from the wall and comes towards you.
Her hands slip over your shoulders, down your arms, until she lifts your hands in each one of hers. You turn your head and see her scrutinizing your fingers. "You have good hands for the piano," she says.
"Thank you," you murmur, accepting the complement for what it is.
She's blushing now when she looks at you again. You don't have to abuse your mental connection to know that she understood what your music was trying to tell her.
"But if I have to keep waking up without you next to me, I'll be angry," she tells you.
"I'll play between classes instead," you tell her. "Don't worry."
Her expression softens then. Was that her primary concern? It's cute.
I'm not cute, she snaps at you mentally. When you chuckle, her blush deepens.
"Let's go home," you say, pulling your linked hands to your mouth to kiss each of her fingers. She leans down and you lift your head to meet her lips with yours. The kiss is soft; lingering.
"All right," she whispers against your mouth.
You don't think you'll ever find the piano piece that captures all of Kikanah, her ferocity and softness, but that won't stop you from trying.
subject header is from this
Kikanah drops your hand the moment you're both inside the practice room and steps away from you. From the corner of your eye you can see her scanning the small room, making note of its soundproofing panels, wooden floor, the sleek black pianos in the center.
"Why are there two of them?" she asks. She moves away from you, bracing a hand against its surface. You watch her slim brown fingers stroke across the lacquered wood.
"So the teacher has a piano, too," you explain, "or for two piano pieces."
She hums and nods but doesn't say more. After a beat, she lifts her head to look at you and her gaze is weighted, expectant. After all, she brought you here for a reason.
You sigh and step towards the piano on the far end of the room. After months of playing, the gestures of sitting on the bench and opening the keyboard, and fanning your fingers across the keys should be almost comforting. You can feel her dark presence behind you, though, settling into a slouch against the wall, her eyes boring into your back. Your spine straightens under her scrutiny.
Your sharp mind flips through the few pieces you know before settling. You take a breath, hands settling on the keys. Then you begin.
The piece flows like water from your hands, quiet and serene. Clair de lune. A melody like moonlight rippling across the water; light reflected. Serene in a way that Kikanah is only in her most rare and vulnerable moments. Moments that only you get to see, now.
A love song.
Her presence behind you is a quiet, steady sense against your back. Even as you lose yourself to the ebb and flow of the piece you never lose track of it. You can feel how her thoughts, at first critical, settle into repose.
The last arpeggio rises into the air and dissipates, swallowed by the soundproof walls. You remain as you were when you played it, curved over the piano, your fingers slowly relaxing. Kikanah pushes away from the wall and comes towards you.
Her hands slip over your shoulders, down your arms, until she lifts your hands in each one of hers. You turn your head and see her scrutinizing your fingers. "You have good hands for the piano," she says.
"Thank you," you murmur, accepting the complement for what it is.
She's blushing now when she looks at you again. You don't have to abuse your mental connection to know that she understood what your music was trying to tell her.
"But if I have to keep waking up without you next to me, I'll be angry," she tells you.
"I'll play between classes instead," you tell her. "Don't worry."
Her expression softens then. Was that her primary concern? It's cute.
I'm not cute, she snaps at you mentally. When you chuckle, her blush deepens.
"Let's go home," you say, pulling your linked hands to your mouth to kiss each of her fingers. She leans down and you lift your head to meet her lips with yours. The kiss is soft; lingering.
"All right," she whispers against your mouth.
You don't think you'll ever find the piano piece that captures all of Kikanah, her ferocity and softness, but that won't stop you from trying.
