The piano playing demon.

I was hovering over the large man’s shoulder, affixed on his lanky fingers playing friskily over the keys. It was a piece by Frederic Chopan called Etude Op. 25, No. 12, he later told me. He played it so beautifully, the result of his whole lifetime of dedication, but he also told me once that it was a combination of need for routine and boredom. However, I could tell he had an infinite love for the instrument.
Glancing up, I saw a quick glare. He was getting sick of me doing this to him. I knew just from observation that he loved others watching him play, but my breath on his neck probably wasn’t exactly pleasurable. Maybe he thought I was special needs or something, which is why he never told me to just buzz off. Though I could start to feel the growing aura of annoyance, like I was a small child or something.
A quick glance up again. I was still unwilling to believe he was so beautiful. He matched his piano perfectly.

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