[for romain]

[umbralla]

[It's not hard to find Ghyslain when he's not in class or the dorms - he doesn't go out a lot, and when there aren't classes in the music room, he'll most likely be there. How often do you find a giant grand piano to play, after all? Even his family had a much smaller one, slightly out of tune, which grated on someone with such a natural ear when he came back from lessons and had to practice on it.

Today he's playing something he remembers his older sister listening to; not his kind of music, but the musician was damn good on piano, so the melodies stick out and he picks them out when he hasn't got a song in mind. It's slow at first, then picks up to the actual speed of the song, light and flourishing.

He's clearly in his own world, pale eyes dreamy and head swaying back and forth. In a soft, deep voice, he tries to translate the lyrics he can remember, but they come without scansion and rhyme because it's so off the top of his head.]

Comments

[quantities]

[He thinks the opposite - that Ghyslain is wondering if he made Romain feel something like love. Which is a scary thing to ask, just as much as the other, and it makes Romain lose his words all over again.]

I don't know. I mean - I don't regret it, I don't, but.

[ugh. These conversations are hard enough when he's familiar with the scenario.]

I need some time to think. Before I end up hurting your feelings.

[umbralla]

[No regret. That's the best news he's had all morning, and makes air rush back into his lungs.]

That is - oui, that is best. [He starts to turn away, focus on his coffee again, but he has to say something else first.] Je ne suis pas attaché, Romain.

[He likes this young man, yes. Very much. And last night was thrilling. But he won't bash his heart against any more brick walls; there will be a sting, not an open wound.]

[quantities]

[quietly, after a moment, he nods. That's good, he thinks. Takes some of the guilt off.]

So I'll see you around.

[and. Go.]