I walked down the empty hallway, my gaze directed at the ground. I sighed deeply, rubbing my temples in circular motions. I had had a stressful day and was ready to just take a break from it all and sleep. I thought I was alone in the large house, seeing as all the lights were off. As I walked by the living room, though, I found I was wrong.

The most beautiful music was wafting from the center of the living room, where the piano stood, the moonlight shining on it gently. I walked into the room quietly and slowly made my way over to the piano, sitting down on the bench beside the player, completely mesmerized.

I know he saw me sit, because I saw his eye flick in my direction, then back to the piano just as fast. He kept the steady tune going, the notes flowing from the instrument like water, completely overwhelming me with how beautiful it was.

After listening to a few bars, I noticed that I knew this particular song. It was the one that he sang to me for my birthday all those years ago. I sighed softly, closing my eyes, and let the music flow through me, lifting all the day's stress off my shoulders.

I began to hum along to the tune, making the edges of his mouth twitch slightly, almost smiling. I knew he loved it when I sang to him, so I decided to give him that pleasure, seeing as I was in a good mood.

I opened my mouth and let the words flow out, not even paying attention to what I was saying. I was too absorbed in the passion of the song to make sense of anything I was doing or what was going on around me.

My eyes opened slowly, eyeing his fingers, slender and pale as the moon, dancing on the keys like they were made purely for that purpose. It was almost ghostly how his fingers moved, pressing the keys gently and making that magnificent sound come from the large instrument.

I let my eye lids slide closed, raising my voice a bit to rise over the intense sound of the piano. I saw him smile gently, closing his eyes as well and continuing to play.

As he played the last words of the song, I laid my head on his shoulder, singing the last words of the song quietly, feeling the hands of sleep begin to take me in their grasp.

Before I could fall asleep, though, I said one thing.

"Thank you, Bakura."

"No problem, Ryou."