The Music Room - Ereri/Riren (SNK)

-Day 1-

I first see him in the music room.

I'm wandering around the building when my ears pick up the faint sound of an out of tune instrument and I automatically follow it, wanting nothing more than to shut that incessant, ear-splitting noise up. But when I poke my head past the doorframe and see the bald kid sitting at the piano, I don't have the heart to go in and tell him to stop playing.
He's so into it; his eyes are closed and he leans into his playing, looking almost like the professionals you see on TV, thinking they're Beethoven or someshit. It's annoying, the way they seem to move like the damned instrument is part of themselves or something ridiculous of the sort.

This kid moves the same way, with his face so serene and blissful as he plays. It's no different from the so-called experts, but that isn't why I don't stop him as I'd originally planned. I let him continue because he looks so at peace, so in his element while his delicate, pale fingers dance across the keys to produce a sound that might be nice were it not for the untuned, dusty thing it comes out of.

It is evident simply in the way he appears that death looms closely over his shoulders, ready and waiting for just the right time to consume his fragile body. Though, many of the people here look that way. And while he's no different, the way he seems so happy to be tapping away at the yellowed keys compels me to stay and listen, to give him this moment where he is so utterly happy to be playing that piano, and I have no right to step in and ruin that for him.

The broken song comes to a soft end and his fingers slide off the keys, landing on his skinny thighs with his sweatpants pooling around them on the old wooden bench. His eyes slowly open, and the bliss is replaced by something that might be easier to place were I closer.

The second I make the decision to turn, walk away, and head back to my room is the very second his eyes lift to meet mine. His smile radiates across the room, and though he hasn't said anything, I feet obliged to step through the doorway, hands stuffed in the pocket of my hoodie.

"How long have you been standing there?" he asks in a scratchy voice.

"Not long," I tell him.

"Did you like what I played?"

I can't help but nod. It isn't a total lie. I know it would sound nice if the strings were pulled correctly.

"That thing's out of tune," I say, indicating the baby grand with a nod of my head.

"I know," he sighs, tapping one of the keys. "I'm happy they finally let me in here to play it, though."

A smile twitches at his pale pink lips again. I can only think to nod again. I know this isn't a room often used; most of the residents here don't know how to play any kind of instruments or are too sick to. I am part of the former, but I'd never had any kind of interest in them.

"Do you play?" he asks, eyes flicking back up to my face. It's like he can read my mind. Freaky.

"No," I answer.

"I see. Well, would you like to come sit?" He scoots toward one end of the stool and pats the empty space next to him. At first I want to decline, make some excuse about how I should get back to my room, but I don't. Instead I find myself crossing the room and taking a ginger seat next to him. I never remove my hands from their little nest in my pocket, nor do I take my eyes from his face. Even with his distinct illness - lack of any hair to speak of and the pallid state of his complexion - he's handsome, with large seafoam colored irises and a pleasant, babyish face.

"I'm Eren," he conveys, that vibrant smile returning as he offers his hand to shake. I take it and shake, noting the cool yet soft state of his skin.