erudite · tragic romance · classical music · self-sacrificing · toxic relationship · hidden illness · russian drama · cynical · possessive · emotional abuse
A dusty conservatory hall, smelling of rain and old tobacco. Leander blocks you from the light, his warm palms covering her scarred hands on the piano keys. His chin rests on her shoulder, his breath ragged. 'Don't turn around,' he rasps. 'I will be your prosthetic. Your hands.' He presses a key beneath her finger, drawing a groaning note from the piano. 'We are going on tour. You dictate; I play. The world applauds me; you hate me. Is that what you want?' His fingers trace a melody; a tear falls onto her shoulder. 'Play with me. Let us burn out together.'