the Box and the man in it

A long time ago, in a galaxy far away...

Roderich's hands skittered over the piano in desperate strokes, coaxing a desolate melody from the translucent keys. It didn't matter that everything was fading - he had all the notes memorised, forever ingrained into his fingertips.

The melody blurred as Roderich felt himself heat up, blood rushing and heart pounding as he slammed his hands down in a terrifying finale, a trickle of some liquid running down his cheek.

He didn't pay it any attention.

The wrong notes had gotten the best of him.

There lived a man, who was kept alive by a memory.

The substance started to slide off his porcelain cheek, splattering onto the piano. Roderich didn't heed the sign, continuing to pound, refusing to look anywhere but at the instrument.

The man loved music, above all -  the memory of when everything was solid and beautiful.

Roderich's breathing slowed as the melody softened. Everything blurred, wet and sticky, like the remains of a carcass. Which, in a way, it was. The notes screamed out.

Once, the man lost his music.

Hands came, tugging him away from his beloved music-making machine. Roderich choked out a scream and looked behind him, clawing at the pale hands attached to his own.

They were relentless, and Roderich could only watch helplessly as his piano faded into nonexistence right before his eyes.

The hands let go, and Roderich flew over, kneeling, looking desperately at where the piano used to be. A strangled sob escaped from his fragile throat and crystal tears pattered the ground, fallen from violet eyes.

The hand was on his shoulder, an arm around him, protective and nurturing.

Restraining.

"Rods." The nickname . Roderich used to hate it, but at that time he clung onto it like a lifeline.

"Hey. Stop crying. You knew this was going to happen." A hand in his hair, ruffling it, messing it up. Roderich didn't bother to push it away. Instead, he stayed quiet.

"You have to come out of the Box! I know you love that damn music of yours, but..." The hands rested on his cheek.

"Come out. Your piano's gone now, but I can get you a new one. Stenwhy, right? What you wanted?"

Roderich stifled a chuckle. "A Steinway," he breathed, his voice cracking, a ghostly whisper. "A Steinway," Roderich repeated, feeling a new life seeping into him, bringing blood to his cheeks, vigor into his eyes.

He raised his head. Ruby eyes met him.

"Whatever." Arrogance. He missed it, missed it like he missed the sun. It was his sun.

"Steinway. Fine." Roderich saw black boots in front of him. He rose, looking the other in the face.

"You'll get me a Steinway," Roderich whispered. Those eyes captured him, drew him in.

"Damn right."

Roderich felt himself being pulled into a kiss.

He smiled joyfully.

The man lost his music, but he found something better.

That thing made him truly happy.

And it would be his, his forever.