Hi readers…please enjoy this two-shot. I absolutely love this pairing. I'm considering doing a NovemberxMisaki one next because I also think they're well suited for each other. Yeah. I apologize in advance if anyone dislikes the copious amounts of fluff in here; I hope the characters are not too OOC. Potential spoilers in here.
Please RxR!
Title: Sonata
Summary: ~ [It cannot be expressed in words alone]
Pairing: Hei x Yin
Rating: T
Type: Two-shot
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How far must I go? (I'm waiting alone)
As I pass through the multi-colored darkness,
the guiding melody
makes my heart excited.
---"Maze" Pandora Hearts ED (translated)
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"Li-san!"
The lean youth turned, one hand brushing back the ebony strands of hair that had matted to his forehead with a light sheen of sweat. Around his feet were an odd mish-mash of boxes, tables, pictures, and other furnishings.
"Thanks for moving all these items out of storage. The restaurant is undergoing some renovation, so these are going to have to be sold for whatever price we can dispose of them for. But, ah…" The manager smiled sheepishly, "Li-san, could you perhaps deliver the items for us to our usual business? The driver we hired seems to have fallen ill. A case of bad octopus." He gestured towards a weather-beaten gray truck sitting on the pavement behind him.
"I assume Li-san has a license. And you'll be paid overtime, of course."
"I'll do it." He carried four boxes at once, stacking them neatly in the truck.
"I knew I could count on you, Li-san! Just bring the truck back tomorrow after you're done."
He nodded in acknowledgement of the manager's words, and continued transferring the items from the sidewalk to the truck.
Overhead, thick clouds clustered like a flock of frightened sheep as a chilly wind swept through the street.
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Whump-whoosh.
Whump-whoosh.
His steel-gray eyes narrow as he attempts to see through the silvery sheets of rain hitting the windshield; the truck's wipers worked futilely to keep his line of vision clear.
Hands tensed and ready on the wheel, prepared to make a split-second turn to prevent any accidents that might delay his journey towards his intended destination.
The errand had taken longer than he expected, since the owner had accepted all of the deliveries but one; the other businesses he had driven to also refused to take it.
At least the manager would be pleased with the amount that they had wired to the restaurant from the profit on the other things.
His eyes roved the road before him swiftly. It was getting late (dark) and the rain hadn't been helpful for a quick drive back to his living quarters either.
The apartments couldn't be that far now.
He calculated about ten more blocks were left to navigate through before—
Pbtt-pbbt.
The truck engine sputtered loudly, like a cat trying to cough up a hairball.
That was definitely not a good sign.
Exasperated, he swung the truck towards the nearest curb before it gave one last hiccough and fell silent.
The headlights flickered off and he removed the key from the lock with a quick twist of the wrist.
He released his seatbelt buckle with a click, and peered through the side window; he blinked once, twice.
A familiar small shop, with Tobacco over a sign in dull, peeling letters meets his eyes.
In the front window sits a petite girl, strikingly distinct from the faded surroundings with a mussed ponytail of silver-bright hair and a dress of rich violet.
"Yin." The name escapes his lips before he is aware of it, more of an unconscious sigh than a declaration.
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As he expects, she shows no surprise when he staggers into the building, hair soaked and shirt doused with rainwater. Behind him is a large article swathed in a mass of velvet; it barely fits in the constricted space.
Her eyes—the exact shade of amaranth blossoms—gaze outside the window, face smooth and empty as if in meditation.
The reflection of the girl in the window is interspersed with slashes of silver, the raindrops falling faster, heavier, drumming a hypnotic rhythm on the rooftop.
He sees her mouth move slightly, as if in prayer, a murmur of a word that sounds like "Mother".
He takes a step forwards and stops, his face cloaked in the darkness.
"Yin." His voice echoes in the silence of the room.
She gracefully steps to her feet, maneuvering past him and his burden towards the back of the shop. He sits down, cross-legged, feeling the water slide off his hair to drip on the wooden floor.
"Hei." She drops the towel over his head, roughly textured and pastel-white. Next to his feet is a small stack of other towels in assorted sizes.
Yin returns to her spot by the window, staring through it as if searching for something lost.
(Looking, although she was blind)
"I like the rain."
Her statement was thoroughly unexpected and his motions of drying his hair slow, then stop. The towel hangs around his neck loosely now, while he watches her face with seemingly blank disinterest.
"I can see more things then." One of her hands rests on the windowpane, almost as if reaching for the downpour outside.
"But…it's like the sky is crying."
(Feelings, emotions...an impossibility)
She almost sounds sad, bordering on melancholy. Different from her usual stoic state. The idea discomfits him for some unfathomable reason.
"Yin." She turns her head slightly towards him. "I can't go back to my apartment tonight. I have to stay here. And that too." He gestures vaguely towards the shape crowding the room, veiled in fabric. "The truck is too leaky and the water could ruin it."
She nods her assent, silver tresses bobbing with her.
Startlingly, she meanders towards the mass, her hand trailing across the burgundy cloth until it flutters and slides to the ground.
"A piano." He senses a hint, just a hint of wistfulness, yearning, something in her observation—an intangible quality from her voice, her posture, and the way her hands almost reverently roamed on the glossy lid.
He remembers, hearing the foreigner call her 'Kirsi' (a strange name), the melody that weaved through the hallway, strains of it reaching through his mask. That's right. She had a past too, a past that he never asked about, or felt any curiosity for. They were content without the knowing.
"Would you like to play something?"
Her expression remains the same, but her hands still from their wandering.
The words are spontaneous; perhaps he can't stand the idea of taking it back to the restaurant, unused, unwanted, to be smashed and broken only for spare parts.
She takes out a crate from under a shelf, places it before the instrument and lifts the cover.
Ivory white and night-black keys all gleaming in a row; the girl presses a finger hesitantly on one, the note vibrating in the air.
The piano is still surprisingly in tune after storage for such a long time.
There is a pause, a waiting in the stillness.
She began playing.
At first, slowly, almost timidly, but her pale fingers continue dancing across the notes, gaining in strength.
The notes flutter in the air like doves, falling gently and swiftly as snow.
He watches her, gray eyes keen and unreadable.
Her hands flow past the keys, delicate butterflies alighting on summer blossoms.
It's a haunting melody, interspersed with the distinct harmony of raindrops; they mingle until they are one—one song, one piece.
His eyes close as he reclines in a corner, listening.
Undeniably, she plays well; the surge of lines, melodies and rain is mesmerizing.
The rain continues dancing on the surfaces of the shop, from the sky.
Did she play for five minutes? Fifteen? An hour?
He relaxes, forgetting for a measure of eternity that he was Li, a Chinese college exchange student; BK-201, the deadly Black Reaper; only with her can he afford to drop his façade of ruthlessness and disdain.
She stops; the keys lift, then quiet.
The last note quivers in the air, lingering like a fragile, shimmering spell.
(Silver, like the moon, serenely glowing and magical)
Her eyes glimmer slightly; breathless, her fingers still tingling from their exertions.
He exhales calmly, slowly, limbs slack and dark hair spiked and slick with water.
Rest, rest, breathe—
She sits at the piano, listening to the ever-falling rain for a heartbeat or two.
Then she stands, walks unhurriedly into another room and comes out with a bundle in her arms.
She envelopes him with the comforter, tucking it around his shoulders; one hand reaches to sweep his bangs shielding his eyes—it freezes for a fraction of a second, then drops to her side.
"Sleep well, Hei." A whisper, a request in the shadows of night.
The sky weeps, the rain falls like tears.
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A/N: Okay, another part follows after this that is less angsty and more comedic. I'm sorry again if you overdosed on fluff. Please RxR!
By the way, the sonata I was thinking that Yin plays is the "Moonlight Sonata" composed by Beethoven. According to legend, he created it while playing piano for a blind girl at night that he may have been in love with.
So, yeah.
RxR!