"Who did this to you?"

Schroeder momentarily stopped playing to caress his aching wrists, noticing the bruise had started to show on his hands with a deep purple.

He quickly replied, "No one, really," without even meeting her gaze. He seemed to be disgruntled with himself, as if the wound was a nuisance.

Lucy huffed and scuttled towards Schroeder's end of the piano, and stole his hand. Schroeder' only response was a grunt of pain, and otherwise, did not protest. Lucy examined his hands closely and without warning dropped them and walked across Schroeder's living room and disappeared behind his kitchen door.

Schroeder looked on in exasperated confusion, but raised his shoulders in dismiss and returned to his practicing. Perhaps, he thought, it was a good thing she left the room, since she wouldn't bother him. But at the first tiny "plink" of his piano, his left hand trembled, and he yelled.

"Don't even try to play you duntz! I'm gonna fix you up right now, hold on..." Lucy's shouts reverberated from the other room, "and I sure hope those bruised hands weren't from your playing, because last time I checked pianists don't punch their keys... aha!"

Lucy briskly walked back to his living room, hands full of whatever was from his first aid cabinet. She set them on top of his piano, much to his annoyance, and sat down in front of him.

"You really don't have to do this Lucy. I am perfectly capable of mending my own wounds." Schroeder grunted.

"Nonsense! If I let you keep practicing as long as you usually do, they'd fall off before lunch."

Lucy said while opening the disinfectant.

"Besides, if I am going to be your wife, I need to practice taking care of you!"

She gave a flirtatious smirk, to which Schroeder's only response was the rolling of his eyes.

Lucy then spread the disinfectant on a cotton ball and dabbed it onto his palms, humming one of the pieces he had been practicing.

Her earnest and uncharacteristically gentle approach made Schroeder feel a bit guilty for lying about his condition and he finally confessed.

"Shermy was badmouthing Charlie Brown earlier today. He said his pitching sucks and some other things, and I started to talk back at him. Charlie Brown isn't perfect, but he sure isn't deserving of those kinds of comments."

"So you punched him? Seems manly of you." Lucy chuckled

"No, he pushed me down first, my punch was a reflex that I sort of regret." Schroeder looked down sheepishly and finished, "I don't think I've ever run so far so fast in my life. Not even when we're on the field."

To that Lucy almost snorted and immediately apologized, proceeding with the first aid.

While Lucy was bandaging his hands, he noticed how sore he really was, and winced at knowing he'd have to be off the piano for at least a few days. He was surprised someone aggressive like Lucy would be so careful with his condition, for someone else would surly mishandle them and cause him to take a longer break.

"So, what are you gonna do for the next day or so, since obviously you won't play?" Lucy looked up to Schroeder as she asked.

Schroeder internally jumped back at her question, since he didn't expect for her to talk anymore. But, he responded, "hmm, I dunno. Maybe listen to some records, go to the park to get inspired. Maybe I'll see a movie if anything good is on."

Lucy gave a half grin and said ,"I'm surprised you didn't start lamenting about not being able to play, I kind of expected this long and over the top response."

"Oh? You mean like "woe is me! I breath and eat piano day and night. Without it, I might as well die!"" Schroeder thrusted his head upwards and cast his right hand over his face melodramatically.

After a pause, the two began to laugh, and struggled to suppress them.

"I thought you knew me better than that Lucy, I'm obsessed with my piano but not...well, too obsessed!"

"You seem to be 'too obsessed' to me. That stupid piano takes all of your attention..." Lucy began to trail off, once again upset that the piano held most- if not all- of Schroeder's focus.

There was that love crazed side of Lucy Schroeder disliked. He sighed and said, "I'm not your boyfriend or anything Lucy. And I'd maybe enjoy your company more if you would stop asking me about what our first house should be or dating things like holding hands!"

Schroeder's annoyed face turned into that of surprise, and Lucy soon mimicked his expression. The two looked down at Schroeder's bandaged left hand holding Lucy's right in an intimate manner. Fat cloth aside, the two seemed to fit well together. Schroeder gasped and quickly let go and was worried how long he had held her hand- and more alarmingly, if she had known all along.