Of Teacups and a Quill. [Levi Ackerman]

Steinway and Sons.

The piano was your getaway.
Genre: Fluff, a bit of Angst.

The clamor outside resonated along the soft voice of the piano. Your fingers trailed along the keys, almost caressing them, subtlety letting them collide with the ivory.

Faint footstep sounds had intertwined with the harmonies, like a beat interfering a classical song. And so you stopped.

"You're still here."

Your heart skipped more than just a beat, and your slender fingers are floundered. Come on, play.

His hoarse voice has always been your weakness. And he has no idea. . . God, he is so fucking clueless on how defenseless you are against every inch of him.

"I guess."

The dim, warm lights helped you distinguish the notes from the piece. Yet, you could hear his sighs along the melodies. The storm, the wind, and the droplets of water from his soaked clothes.

"Come home, baby. . ."

You sat firm, biting my lower lip. Trying not to give in to him.

Damn you.

Your heart tingled when you felt his warm hand on your shoulder. Your soul wants to dance in ecstasy and euphoria, but your mind hates him. I hate you. You hate how frail you are against him. How fragile you get even against the simplest words, his slightest touch . . . How could he make you so weak?

"I'm sorry."

Tears instantly formed, your lips are shaking. You knew it. You would give in too easily, that it would take him nothing to have all of you back. His warmth melted your jealousy away. You are always euphoric whenever he envelops you in between his arms. Because home was always Levi Ackerman.

"Let's go home, yeah?" He asked, carefully closing the piano lid, trying not to make a loud sound.

The hail calmed down. But you could still hear the rainfall singing. His body collided with yours, his lips pressed on your forehead, down your nose, until it closed the space in between your lips. You inhaled his scent as your breathing became one.

I am defenseless against you.

"Yeah."