Her.

Chapter IIX

Erik came over that day to Haya's house with the completed version of her song, their song, so they could play it for Henry. It was a four-handed composition, and the both of them were far more excited than one should be to perform such a piece. It was beautiful, but it was just music.

Yet when they sat together upon the piano's bench, they had to be close, so close their hips touched. Playing together was ethereal enough, but touching the other and letting the music flow between them was truly wonderful. Haya wanted that feeling, but her father was being extremely stubborn.

"Come on, papa, we worked hard on this composition," Haya whined as she tried to drag her father from the table they had eaten lunch upon.

"Haya, the piece will still be there when we get to the piano," he argued.

"Yes, but-" Haya was stopped when Erik placed a hand on her shoulder and looked down at her, and her neck turned to meet his gaze. The touch was anything but chaste, for his long fingers stretched almost to the swell of her breast, and his thumb and first two fingers were touching her exposed skin.

"Relax, your father doesn't have much time, he is older, you know," Erik jested lightly, moving his hand so it rested only on the girl's shoulder.

She couldn't breathe, honestly, as that had been the most intimate of their touches, and it still had yet to cease. He allowed it to stay on her shoulder as he began to gently massage the tension he could feel.

"A-alright," she muttered incoherently, her words lost at the contact of Erik's hand, Henry's protests of him not being old lost as well.

She was praying that her father couldn't see the heat in her cheeks, but it must have been a futile effort.

A moment later, Erik let go of her shoulder and she almost whimpered. Her father had decided he was ready to hear their piece, luckily, but Haya was reluctant. Not that she no longer wanted to play it, but she would have traded Erik's touch for a whole year of her life.

"Alright."

Haya sat next to Erik and touched their hips together, craving the contact that had occurred before, but it would come to no same extent.

And soon enough, they played together beautifully earning a standing ovation from Henry.

"That was wonderfully beautiful!" Henry said as though it was his favorite thing in the world. Honestly, it was the most excited Henry had been since before her mother's passing.

"Thank you, papa," Haya said and took the offered hug from him, enjoying the excitement from her father.

"You both did wonderfully, and here I was thinking you didn't work on music at all," he said with a smile. Haya looked away from her father, to the kitchen and out of the window where she attempted to avoid everyone's gaze.

Erik chuckled and assured Henry that music was his main focus, "There's not much to me besides music, I find that I live it. I have not time for much else."

Henry nodded contently, glancing back to his daughter whose hand was gently grasping her neck as though it were sore.

"Are you alright?" He asked her.

"No," she muttered and fled the room, going out of the front door to get some fresh air.

"I'll go to her," Erik said to Henry, knowing he had assured the man he had no relationship hopes for her.