[ By doesn't play a chord. Instead, he interlaces his fingers with Bastien's and squeezes. He doesn't say it aloud, but in his mind is an echo of Bastien's words - Thank you for understanding. Because others, they've heard the cruelty and squalor of his work, and they've struggled to comprehend why he doesn't leave. But Bastien understands.
His tight grip releases a moment later, and he smiles, and goes back to playing idly. This time, it is a chord - major, minor, major again, the web of muscle between each knuckle serving as the black keys. ]
No. I was really quite dependent upon my reputation as a lout. I fear that's quite spoiled, now.
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His tight grip releases a moment later, and he smiles, and goes back to playing idly. This time, it is a chord - major, minor, major again, the web of muscle between each knuckle serving as the black keys. ]
No. I was really quite dependent upon my reputation as a lout. I fear that's quite spoiled, now.