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The rat had been up for hours, but still had yet to dress. He paced naked back and forth as if trying to wear a dull spot in the hardwood floor with his feet and tail, walking past the room where it waited for him.

He finally crossed the doorway with a frustrated sigh. Two bookshelves, stuffed with books worn from multiple readings, lined the room and a small desk held a computer--both clean and well used. A chair sat in the center of it all next to a new, sharp-looking music stand at a cant, almost as if it was waiting for him. She's getting married in a year and a promise is a promise, no matter what my feelings are, _he thought as he made his way to the cello case tucked away in the corner of his study._

He lifted the dusty case from the corner and set it down beside the chair. "God... Five years." A pang of sadness flowed through him as he cleaned off the black surface. The rat brushed a brown paw along the case, covering his palm with layers of grime.

As he opened it, light gleamed off the plated inscription on the inside lid, catching the rat's eye.

Ace - May Music Guide You - Kit

He rubbed a knuckle against the gold plaque. I've tried to get him out of my mind for years. And now... With a sigh, the rat closed his eyes. Phantom duets began to play in the back of his mind, and visions of the ocelot formed in his mind; the two of them playing together, of the music they made and the stories they told. I don't know if I can play her into his arms...

The rat's ears flopped from side to side as he shook the notes from his head. "I'm not here to reminisce." Sliding the case closer to the chair, he sat down and freed the bow from it, studying the piece.

The wood was still in good condition. Such a dark tone it was almost black. Ace ran the back of his index finger over it, checking for splinters. Not that he expected any. He drew the hair of the bow taut. As the strands pulled together with each spin of the button, so did the tension on his heart.

Ace placed the bow in his lap as he pulled the cello out of the case with care, then a rubber stop. After fitting the rubber snug over the pointy endpin and setting the instrument between his knees, the rat grabbed a cloth from the case and gave the cello a dusting. The wood began to shine, and the pain on his heart became clearer, too. The loss of a lover and of music in one fell swoop. Music hurt too much without him. But now, I have to move on. I have to push through.

His mind fell into the trance of muscle memory as he removed the old strings. After the rat finished the first, he moved to the second, third, then fourth. Once done, he placed the cello on its side next to him and set the bow on top of it. "So much prep," he muttered. "I should stopping delaying and just play." Returning to the case, Ace pulled out and small box and picked up the bow.

Sliding the block from its container, the rat ran the grooved amber rosin over the hair. His whiskers twitched at the scent as he prepped the bow and his mind wandered. Probably kept the tuned ear from years of playing, but I doubt I have the skill. He sighed. "But I promised I'd play her down the aisle."

Dropping the rosin back in the case, Ace picked up the instrument and rested it against his body. Last time I touched the cello naked, I was still in the tail end of afterglow. His mind wandered to that night, watching Kit lie in their bed, only a sheet covering his modesty. The more he thought about that evening, the more he started to get aroused himself. That was one of the last nights we spent together as a couple. _His chest tightened. _But_I _left him_._

Ace cleared his mind with a cough. Never mind that, though. I have other work to do. Grabbing thimble-like pieces from the case, he slipped them, one by one, over each of his claws.

First note in years. Will this work? Ace closed his eyes and took a breath. With a flick of an ear, he held the end of his bow in his paw--no form or finesse--and dragged it across the thickest strings. His palm wrapped around the fret board, distorting the obnoxious tone further. Wrenching his eyes shut with a smirk, the ugly, screeching sound bounced around the room.

As it died down, a real smile spread across his face. "There. First notes were awful." He reached for a tuner. String after string made the tool light up as it rang clear. Then, with a proper grip on his bow, he set the hair against the string.