Silence.
Silence filled the room. It was often silent in the forgotten music room. A grand piano, starved from the touch of human hands, collected dust as it sat in the middle of the room. The silver curtain from the moon draped itself across the grand instrument, highlighting the dust particles littering the air.
The boy eyed the piano curiously through his frames. When was the last time he had touched this thing?
The presence of the grand piano struck him with pain, misery, hurt and regret. All these feelings ate him up and drained the beauty of the instrument away from his eyes; all because he was forced to fulfill someone else's dream.
He shuddered, feeling the ghost of a cane slapping against his arm.
But despite the suffering from before, his feet carried him to be piano, and sat him down at the bench.
Straightening his back, his shaky fingers lifted the cover and revealed the keys. A plume of dust shot out when the cover was lifted, leaving behind remnants on the ivory and black keys.
He could hear the keys screaming for the touch of a pianist.
Screaming for the touch of him.
Without thinking twice, he pressed his index finger on a randomly selected key, feeling the vibrations through his digit and the sound waves tickle his ears as the note reverberated throughout the empty room.
His heart jumped at the sudden realization that the silence was killed, but only for a moment. It swallowed the note's lovely sound and spit out the bones into the quiet atmosphere.
But there was an unexplainable urge that tugged in the pit of his stomach, and the young boy drew his right hand across the keys, playing a scale.
The boy's ears took in the keys' joyful sounds as their thirst for human contact was quenched. And even though he decided he would never step foot near a piano, let alone the room that held it, he enjoyed the sound.
It was better than silence.
Silence was a blank canvas, and the piano was his paint. And he was the painter. He would throw the paint on the canvas. He would brush the paint into a beautiful work of art. A masterpiece that millions would marvel at.
His hand seized.
No.
Not millions.
Not even ten.
Only two.
The boy's heart ached and his eyelids closed, blocking out the beautiful sight before him. He rested his forehead on the keys, feeling his eyes sting.
"How can I move on if you're haunting me?" He whispered painfully.
He was answered with silence for a brief moment.
"It's what I would have done either way," a voice replied.
The boy sat up, eyes wide. He searched the room for another soul.
No one but him.
He swallowed the growing lump in his throat.
"Idiot. You idiot, you're hurting yourself again. Didn't I teach you anything?" The voice reprimanded.
He glared. "Yeah, not to give Canalis to sick girls because they'll beat me up if I do."
A laugh.
"You're missing the point, dummy."
A brief silence.
"You brought yourself here," the voice said, a note of sadness present. And the voice was gone.
The boy licked his lips, piercing blue eyes looking around frantically.
"Kaori?" He asked.
Kaori didn't answer.
"Karoi?" He tried again, his deep voice breaking. He shut his eyes tight, tears leaking out of the corner of his eyes.
"Dang it, Kaori! This is your fault you know," he mumbled, resting his head on the keyboard, hearing the sound the keys issued.
It was a morose sound. Like the piano was mourning for the pianist.
"Don't be sorry for me," he whispered.
As the last of the lamenting note filtered through the air, silence returned.
It engulfed the boy, and cradled him. But it wasn't comfort. It was a scratchy sweater which he longed to take off.
But how?
"You brought yourself here," Kaori's words echoed through the boy's brain. They racked his senses and numbed him.
Of course she knew what he had to do... He knew very well what he had to do, too. But could be bring himself to it?
"Please. You can do it," the encouraging voice of Karoi from their first concert together rang in his ears, and he was sure he could feel the warmth of her forehead pressing against his as she forced him to stare into her eyes.
"Look at me, Kousei," she commanded. And he never looked away from those daring purple eyes. Those eyes that could be alight with joy one moment, and icy with contempt the next.
Kousei looked blankly at the wall ahead of him.
And as if by instinct, but truly by muscle memory, his fingers raised and touched the Ivory keys.
As he had done so many times before, Kousei began to play.
He started off low, yet strong. The proud noise began to fill the room and pummel the silence.
His eyes closed immediately as he let his fingers do all the work.
His fingers glided over the keys, pounding out their notes into a beautiful song.
Kousei was enraptured in the music, bathing in the masterpiece he was creating before his fingertips.
The mood changed from low and proud, to high and joyful. He swayed at the piano bench, moving in tune with the music.
He could taste the sweetness of each note on his tongue, oh how good it was!
"great job! Wouldja mind if I snuck in?" Kaori returned, and Kousei didn't skip a beat. It was as if he expected this.
"Go ahead," he murmured in reply.
And as he reached a crescendo, Kaori's violin joined in, starting quietly and blooming.
She took over, as if it were her song.
Kousei remembered their first concert together. she really did have a knack for that instrument.
Kousei slowled his tempo, quieting the notes to allow Kaori to show off.
He could hear her bow jumping from string to string, sliding and grinding to squeeze out the beautiful, harsh sound which perfectly melded with his deep, velvet tones.
Feeling as though Kaori had enough measures to herself, Kousei slowly built up, playing in tune to the violin.
He could hear a quiet grunt of frustration from Kaori as he took over, playing joyfully and loudly, but not too loud as to drown out the violin.
And that was what the song became, a tug of war between the piano and violin on who take the spotlight.
They were like children fighting over a toy, but in a playful manner. Kaori wanted Kousei to play, and Kousei wanted Kaori to play.
The musical high was fading, and Kousei could feel it. His fingers started slowing, pounding out the noises from the keys with vigor.
And the violin was dragging out each note, slowly pulling them out of the strings. 
Kousei started to panic. He didn't want to end the song. He wanted to play and play until the piano was reduced to dust. And even then continue playing.
But all great masterpieces had to end, and he was running out of paint for his painting.
Swallowing his fear, he faced the last measure with bravery.
His piano had lowered in volume a few measures ago, and dragged in pace.
Kaori's violin played the last, sweet note, using vibrato to beat out the last of the juice it held.
The last note echoed throughout the room as silence took back its hold.
Kousei looked down at the keys, taking in their sight. The Ivory gleamed in the pale silver of the moonlight streaming through the window, and drops of his sweat dropped on the keys, shining like orbs.
"Hey," Kaori prodded in his basking. "You didn't drown this time."
"That's because I had you as a floatation device," he responded.
A pause. "You won't ignore her, right?"
"How do you know it's a her?" Kousei lightly ran a hand over the keys.
"I can tell by the way she releases the notes. Mine's a boy, if you couldn't tell."
Silence.
"Kousei?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
And at that moment, for the first time since her voice appeared, Kousei turned around in his bench, his blue eyes shimmering with tears.
Cherry blossoms floated gracefully down from the open window, littering the floor.
Their sweet, fragrant smell tickled Kousei's nose.
He sighed, a large weight lifted from his chest.
He extended an arm and a petal gently landed in his palm, bathed a light pink in the moon's glow.
"Thank you."