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It was the sound of the piano that woke him. No one ever used the piano, so far as he knew; Rosie was too young for lessons and didn’t show a love for her godmother’s piano so much as her godfather's violin, and while it was a family heirloom, according to Molly, he had had no idea that she even knew how to play, or even if it was in tune.
Apparently, she did and it was.
The soft melody came into the bedroom he was using while his flat was being repaired. Even after it all, he wanted to take things slowly, do things properly. Just because the acknowledgment of love between them, of feelings that ran deeper than either of them might have ever voiced aloud otherwise, he wanted to properly court her. Easier said than done when they shared a residence, at least for the moment, but he was trying, and separate bedrooms were part of the arrangement. He had even offered to take the guest bedroom as long as she let him use the quilt he favoured when he was in her bedroom.
The long and winding road it had taken to get to this point was a marvel, really, mostly in his own blindness and stupidity, but it had a happy ending and for that he was grateful. He would have been devastated if he had lost her, as his destruction of “her” coffin had shown, and she knew that now. She knew he loved her.
It was a start, but he wasn’t sure it would be enough to make up for the way he had told her, the truths he had dragged from her in his sister’s game.
But for now there were the soothing sounds of the piano being played elegantly coming from the sitting room, and he decided to join her rather than lie in bed and listen passively.
His brother had gotten him a new violin. Nothing as extravagant as a Stradivarius, though he knew his brother could have arranged one on loan from some prestigious organization while they waited to see if his own was beyond repair, but it was an antique with a warm sound, and he was almost hoping he could keep it when all was said and done. He picked up the case and carried it to the sitting room, moving as silently as possible so not to startle Molly and stop the sound.
But stop it did before a song he did not recognize began.
Or maybe he did recognize it, vaguely, but the name of the piece and the name of the composer slipped from his mind as he watched her play, seemingly unbeknownst to her. He abandoned his plans of a violin accompaniment as he watched her fingers glide along the keys, transfixed. He hadn’t thought anything could top how beautiful she was to him on any given day but this, watching her concentrate and play with passion as the notes grew loud and then soft again, slow then fast and enchanting...he wanted this moment frozen in his mind palace forevermore.
Soon she stopped and then looked up at him with a smile. “I bet you thought this piano was only here for looks,” she said.
“I had,” he replied, moving towards her. “What was it?”
“’Clair de Lune’ by Claude Debussy,” she said.
He moved behind her and sat down, gently embracing her from behind. She leaned into him and he rested his cheek on her shoulder. “Play it again?”
“Alright,” she said, straightening against him and beginning to play the song again. Instead of violin accompaniment, he hummed the song, having now stored the tune in his mind palace, his mouth nestled against the fabric of her jumper. He shut his eyes as she played, and when it was over again he pressed a kiss into the fabric. “You are quite talented,” he said.
“Not as much as you, but I try,” she said. “Do you have other requests?”
“Pachelbel’s ‘Canon in D’?” he asked.
“I know that one,” she said with a nod, the movement making the fabric against his cheek move. “Do you want to do a duet?”
He shook his head slightly. “This is just fine,” he said, and for a moment she took her fingers off the keys and picked up one of his hands, pressing her lips to it and then let go, going back to the keys and beginning the song. Maybe this would be a momentary respite from the future, but it would be one he cherished.