[ That moment at the end of the piece and the last ringing of the final notes seem to stretch on, into the breath of the man now seated beside him. Verso had only half-registered Gustave's weight on the bench, so quietly swept up in what he was playing, and he loves playing, of course he does, but it really is different when played where it can be heard. Where its meant to be heard, even, in a space like this. It really does feel like a spell cast over the hall, that could almost bring him back --
-- Until it breaks. Interrupted just by Gustave's voice. Jarred back to reality, and as he lets go of a breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding, Verso might have been unhappy about being snapped back, except his head turns, and well. Gustave's smile is warm, painfully earnest, clearly genuinely appreciate of what he's just heard and witnessed, but the combination of that smile, those words.
Verso laughs, a quiet sound, half to himself but unquestionably genuine, twisting slightly to face Gustave properly and flourishing an arm in front of him. A performer's bow, or at least gesturing towards one without standing. But as the music fades -- everything else begins to settle back in. Not quite fully held at bay by the silence of the hall, the now-closed doors. Part of Verso's mind reeling back and taking careful stock of what he can and can't say, of the utter absurdity of this man's earnest appreciation next to someone who's been secretly watching him and Maelle for a while, now.
An idle trill sounds out from the piano, reflexive and involuntary, from his hand still on the keys. He doesn't quite want that reality to set back in, just yet. Those few notes aren't enough to hold it at bay. ]
-- Thanks. [ He means it. He tilts his head to the side, wayward hair falling slightly into his face in a way that frames his quiet smile, his tone dry but in obvious good humor. ] Should I ever headline my own show, worth it will grace the cover every brochure.
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-- Until it breaks. Interrupted just by Gustave's voice. Jarred back to reality, and as he lets go of a breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding, Verso might have been unhappy about being snapped back, except his head turns, and well. Gustave's smile is warm, painfully earnest, clearly genuinely appreciate of what he's just heard and witnessed, but the combination of that smile, those words.
Verso laughs, a quiet sound, half to himself but unquestionably genuine, twisting slightly to face Gustave properly and flourishing an arm in front of him. A performer's bow, or at least gesturing towards one without standing. But as the music fades -- everything else begins to settle back in. Not quite fully held at bay by the silence of the hall, the now-closed doors. Part of Verso's mind reeling back and taking careful stock of what he can and can't say, of the utter absurdity of this man's earnest appreciation next to someone who's been secretly watching him and Maelle for a while, now.
An idle trill sounds out from the piano, reflexive and involuntary, from his hand still on the keys. He doesn't quite want that reality to set back in, just yet. Those few notes aren't enough to hold it at bay. ]
-- Thanks. [ He means it. He tilts his head to the side, wayward hair falling slightly into his face in a way that frames his quiet smile, his tone dry but in obvious good humor. ] Should I ever headline my own show, worth it will grace the cover every brochure.