Title: Misodoctakleidist

Rating: T+

Pairing: KyoyaXRenge

Prompts: misodoctakleidist, piano, practice, hate

Kyoya sighs deeply now.

Long fingers touch the keys – long and white, short and black. Kyoya absolutely hates it, practicing at the piano. It aggravates him to no end because the music doesn't soothe him. Nothing soothes him. But he plays because she loved the piano and he loved her as much as she loved the blasted instrument. Besides, hate sound very good. Very good, indeed.

(Renge laughs gaily at Kyoya's stern expression. She pressed the keys in no particular order – the result is an awful dissonance. Again her laughter, clinking, follows him out the room and into the spacious hallway.)

He smashes the lid down. Bang! It falls with a satisfying thud. He can no longer see those black and white – (his heart and her face) – keys that make him want to scream. That's not true. What makes him want to scream is the lack of clinking laughter to follow him around and make him smile at the oddest moments. He sort of, kind of misses that. The odd carefree feeling Renge brought around.

Because everyone knows Renge is unhinged, Kyoya has never questioned her ability to enjoy the weirdest of things. And that extended to his piano playing skills – which he absolutely hates, but she insisted were, as she put it, peerless. Although he agreed to play for her at times, Kyoya would rather run his fingers through her hair while reading out of those romantic novels she loves so much. They are so senseless and simply stupid, but Kyoya still keeps a whole row of them. But it is undisputable that she loved the piano best.

(Tears stream down Renge's face. She pushes the keys on his piano angrily just to spite him. Her mouth releases a string of curses that make his ears tingle. It is strange to hear her use such language. She gives one last violent press and then she storms out the door, suitcase in tow.)

Brown lacquered surface mirrors his image - as it did hers. Kyoya touches it lovingly. He recalls the light in her eyes as her fingers traced the same surface. Kyoya remembers that Renge likes using it as a counter, especially when she's eating chocolate. Her kisses always tasted sweet when she sat by the piano. Lackadaisically he lets his hand drop. Kyoya hates this piano.

Mostly he loathes the memory of her dancing in his mind, taking over his thoughts. She once sat on those keys, the sound sharp and vivacious – like her. Kyoya has a vague vision of her wearing a pale green dress with a floral pattern. He can see the slope of her shoulder with much more accuracy. Her lips are fresh in his mind; the taste lingers in his mouth. The heat of her body as they make love, unintentionally pressing every key, is still imprinted on his skin. The feel of her skin, smooth and damp, makes him jump up. He cannot stand the piano.

(Pulling away with a violent tug, Renge breaks his embrace. She refuses to let his kiss her lips. Her hands push him away. The suitcase enters the lift after her.)

The door opens with a loud click. Kyoya throws a look over his shoulder. Renge stands there in a pair of jeans and one of his shirts, her suitcase in the hall, half-hidden. Kyoya hates the piano and loves Renge who in turn adores the piano. He pushes the chair back, barely gives it any attention as it falls to the ground. He rushes to her. Like a gone long without water before a fountain, he embraces her. She is as small as he remembers her, dwarfed in his embrace. Elegant fingers stroke her hair.

"Stupid, stupid Kyoya," she says, not without affection. His hands still hold her tightly but she's pressing kisses to his chin. Her hands are trembling as they reach his shoulders. "I can't breathe," she tells him, says it like it's an afterthought.

"Good," he murmurs in her hair. Thin lips, stubble and ever grey eyes – these things define him now as she looks at him. He takes her mouth vigorously, no hesitation.

Kyoya leads her to the piano, still closed. He sets her on the lid, stepping into the cradle of her thighs. She tastes like sugar, still sweet. Her scent, familiar and comforting, fills his nostrils. Kyoya thinks that while he still hates the piano he could put up with it for her.

Renge kisses him back.

A/N: Misodoctakleidist - someone who hates practicing the piano