Belletrist
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“…Signor Kreiburg?”
At that, Frederick seems to remember himself, turning his head to meet Antonio. “Oh. Oh— yes. My apologies, I suppose I was a little out of it.” He holds out a hand. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr…”
The decorum is almost comical when the mussed hair, recumbent coat, and the mess of sheet music accompany it.
Antonio lightly slaps the hand away. Frederick looks something almost akin to heartbroken. “…Paganini. It’s truly no matter. Do forgive me for startling you, and for interrupting your piece.”