This was all too familiar to Eiran; it was almost ironic. There was an odd thrill to these meetings that delved back to his time under Valor. The nights when he snuck into his lover's room seeking solace in his arms, to the times when they had to beg their higher-ups for a day off to spend it on some corny date. The memories brought a soft smile to his lips—the days when things were simpler. Happier. Days when their biggest worry was getting caught making out behind the old storage shed.

But times change, and so did he. Pushing the cabin door open, Eiran took careful steps as the molded wooden floor groaned under his weight. Its weathered walls creaked under the weight of time, and the windows, shattered and dusty, allowed the moonlight to seep through in broken shards. Eiran shed his crimson persona as he took off his mask, throwing his hood on a nearby dust-covered chair, as his fingers gently traced the worn-down piano. An almost faded floral design adorned its sides. Roses. He should've gotten some for his lover.

Not caring enough to dust the stool, he sat down, resting his fingertips on the worn-down keys. With a deep breath, he began to play. He cringed at the first few off-tune notes but still carried on. This piano was old, withered, and broken. But so was he, so he had no room to judge. His fingers moved over the keys with haunting desperation, each note clashing painfully with the next.

The melody he attempted to coax from the piano was one he had played in happier times, one he played to little Enora when they were young, an attempt to soothe his fear-stricken sister during a particularly stormy night. But now, every note seemed to mock him, reminding him of all he had lost. His fingertips, calloused from years of battle, began to bleed, leaving crimson streaks on the ivory keys.

Eiran's blood manipulation power stirred with his pain. The blood from his fingertips moved with a will of its own, seeping into the piano, filling its cracks and crevices, and resonating with the instrument. The notes grew more intense, each press of a key echoing with an eerie vibrato that seemed to pierce the soul. His soul. As the blood continued to flow, the piano's sound changed. The discordance took on a strange harmony as if the instrument itself was crying out in pain alongside Eiran. His fingers, now slick with blood, slid over the keys with increasing difficulty, painting each key with his crimson-rich blood, but he did not stop. He could not stop.

A gentle creak was heard from behind, but he didn't turn; he didn't need to. He knew who it was since no one other than his beloved would be brave enough to delve deep into unknown unmarked land, land unprotected by Valor. The blood stains began to gently shape into slick tendrils. He slowly withdrew from his seat, yet the melody continued to play flawlessly, his tendrils picking up from where he left off.

"You are not as stealthy as you used to be, my dear," his deep voice a rumble in his chest, bouncing across the walls that threatened to fall with the smallest gust of wind. His steps were confident, almost as confident as that cocky smirk of his as he approached his beloved. Wiping what blood remained on his black pants, he snaked an arm around his waist. With a gentle but firm grip, he pulled him close, their bodies aligning as their lips were inches apart.

"You seem upset, my darling," his voice was nothing but snarky as his other hand brought his lover's hand to his lips. "Come on now. I went through the trouble of arriving early to set the mood. So how about you humor me with a dance before you lecture me with one of your long, boring speeches?"