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[sockling]

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[gotbottle]

It's a remarkable offer on its own. As long as they've been part of each other's lives, she's never been over to his apartment. She'd driven him to his door to pick things up, but he'd always wound up here, even before he started spending most nights here.

It's momentous. But she reads more than the words, more than the easy tone of his voice. There's that sharp exhale. Maybe he wasn't entirely sure. Maybe he hadn't thought about it.

"...If you're comfortable with that, sure." But only if he really is.

[hamelinic]

It's been easier, for some time now, to offer her pieces of himself. It's easier because she's got a quiet certainty in her responses; a calm edge of respect for every offer he makes. She's not just kind about his scars, his eccentricities, his privacy; she's understanding of it. She never pushes. She always seems to acknowledge the 'small' things which mean nervously more to him than they might to someone else.

It takes a moment, but he nods with absolute certainty. His fingers fall still a moment as he leans to press a light kiss against her temple.

"I'm sure."

[gotbottle]

She nods, reassured. She'd never push for anything and never assume, even if he offered anything, without being sure. But she is now. It makes her lean up to press her lips to his cheek.

"Okay. Thank you." Her fingers creep over his, moving to pick out a melody on the screen. Something all too familiar and close to her heart, Bach's Minuet in G Major. The backbone, rearranged, of the first song he ever coaxed out of her all those days who on the edge of a park fountain.

"But only when you're not working, I don't want to be a nuisance."

[hamelinic]

"Ah. We've got a dilemma, then."

But not so much of one he couldn't smile at the tune plucking out beneath her fingers. Not so much he couldn't nuzzle quite contentedly against her temple.

"When I'm not working, I'm here."

And, of course, the obvious solution.

"Suppose you'll have to knock off early some day and come pick me up."

[gotbottle]

She laughs, curling close again. "Now your nefarious plan becomes clear. It's all a plot to make sure I get out of work early now and then, isn't it. Dastardly, sir."

But tempting enough to ensure it. "I'll see what I can do. At the very least we can consider it for a weekend or something, sometime when we're already both off."

Because she's promised she'll take those regularly too.

[hamelinic]

"You have gotten a lot better at those."

Exhibit A: they were curled up contentedly in bed on a Sunday. Exhibit B: the fact that they had been briefly upright was actually remarkable.

"Suppose we'll see what's in the stars."

[gotbottle]

"I've had a good teacher in you. And a good reason to take them, also in you." One good influence after another, he's been. Possibly these are things she should have been doing for herself, but she won't argue with following his lead.

"I'll leave interpreting the stars to you." She smiles, picking at her breakfast. "Since it's your domain and all."

[hamelinic]

The snort is absent and not displeased as he shifts to take another sip of coffee.

"Is it? Music of the spheres and all?"

Clearly the coffee needs to go down again so he can pluck out the right hand of Jupiter. For effect.

And to be certain he's dating someone who both knows Holst and will find this hilarious.

[gotbottle]

She bursts into laughter, shaking her head a little, her breakfast momentarily abandoned in favor of draping her arm across his body. "That didn't quite come out as I meant it."

That's what rough drafts are for. Pity you can't have them when speaking.

"I meant that since your apartment was your domain you ought to be the one deciding when the best time would be. But I guess this is accurate too--of the two of us I'd guess you'd be better equipped to interpret the stars." The composer versus the wordsmith, it seems no contest to her thinking.

"Jupiter, who was... Um. Benevolence and good humor or something along those lines? I wouldn't have made that connection that quickly."

/sneaks back in

[hamelinic]

"Jupiter who was the easiest to play with one hand."

Because the hand around her would not be sacrificed. The ability to hold her tight against himself was not to be tossed aside.

"I'll ask the stars when would be best to bring you around. I suspect they'll tell me to clean up a bit first."

Not that much progress would ever really be made on his apartment. It was amazing the mess hadn't properly followed him here yet.

\o/ huzzah

[gotbottle]

That earns him another soft laugh, and a shift of her body to make sure she stays snug against his side.

"I'd protest that I'm not bothered by that," the relative neatness of her own apartment aside--it's a clear case of holding herself to a higher standard, really. "But far be it from me to question what the stars have to say."

Or what might bother him.

hope you've been well lately, lovely! \o/

[hamelinic]

"The stars are very pesky about being followed. And probably about not asking girlfriends to break their necks on sheet music."

That was the real problem with the mess, after all. He'd learned it. He'd grown it and built it and shaped it so that his feet knew by instinct when to jump and where to slide and how not to tumble over everything.

And where the expensive instruments were hidden among the wreckage and not to be stepped on. Important.

I have! You too, I hope?

[gotbottle]

She hums, the soft sound as contented as it is thoughtful. "I see. Then clearly consulting with the stars should be left to you, and I should just listen."

These things must be taken seriously, after all. The stars must be heeded and all that.

"I'd offer you some sorry of divination in return but I'm afraid my talents don't lie that way. I have only the horoscopes from half a dozen Sunday papers," and there's a vague wave in the general direction of the living room, her desk. "It hardly seems comparable."

Painfully busy but otherwise well. o/

[hamelinic]

There's a thoughtful hum at that as he shifts slightly, presses a moderately gentle kiss against her forehead.

"That's better, really."

Not that this was a serious conversation, but that the sentiment beneath it was. It's better that they live in separate realms of the same artistic minds.

"It works."

That is a feeling I know all too well lately. Glad you're otherwise well.

[gotbottle]

He's right. It is better, it does work. They're similar in broad strokes: artistic temperaments, the drive to create things, to share their translations of ideas with the world. They both compose and tie ideas together.

But they do so in wildly different arenas. She tells stories and he writes music, his work provokes emotions where hers aims to make the audience think. The underlying similarities tie them together and give them says to understand each other and what they do, but the differences keep things interesting and let them be independent, achieve things on their own. They can complement and support each other without getting in the way of their work.

It all completely works.

"I'm glad you think so." She leans up to press her lips to his cheek. "I do too."

/high-fives all over the place for surviving life

[hamelinic]

And it's all thanks to some dumb luck. That's the best part. That's the thing that cinches the love song and completes the novel and entirely creates the act break.

He'd never thought he'd be such a fan.

"Hold onto that thought when you've seen the mess."

Indeed. /high five

[gotbottle]

"All right," she relents. "I'll keep that in mind."

It still won't bother her, she suspects. But that's something to worry about later. Right now is for nosing along his jaw, coaxing him to turn his face so she can kiss him properly.

[hamelinic]

Far be it from him to distract her from a quest for a kiss. All he needs is a moment to set the coffee carefully aside again so he can use his fingers instead to card contentedly into her hair.

"Congrats, Miss Conway."

Lest they forget the important bit of this morning.

[gotbottle]

It's an important part of the morning. One that's far less daunting a prospect with his lips on hers, with his fingers in her hair, and, when they break apart, her head tucked under his chin.

It belatedly dawns on her that this was what she ought to have done on returning with such news. That her initial impulse to sit apart was habit and not a necessity, and digesting such a shift wouldn't have seemed half so nerve-wracking had she just come back in here and curled into him.

"I'm so glad you're here." Her voice is soft, entirely plain and heartfelt in its sincerity. "There's no one else I'd rather be sharing this with."

[hamelinic]

She fits like a violin, he's come to slowly realize. She presses in under his chin like this, close against shoulder and neck. True, she feels like bone and hair and skin, but the general sensation is the same.

Is protective. Is adoring. Is very much right for the woman as well as the instrument.

"Thank God you haven't decided I'm unwelcome to stay the night, then."

[gotbottle]

She knows just how valuable that instrument is--not just in its lineage, but in what it means to him, how it's an extension of him and the means by which he expresses himself. She's seen the care he takes in transporting it, the reverence with which he holds it, speaks of it.

She'd be deeply humbled and touched if she knew the association he was making in this moment, if she knew he was thinking of her in those terms.

She sighs contentedly, the sound touching her vocal cords in a little him at its very end. "Clearly one of the better decisions I've made in a while. Remind me to congratulate myself for that one," she teases.

[hamelinic]

Maybe he'll tell her, someday. Hell, maybe he'll tell her a lot of things, someday. Today isn't that day. Today is just shifting slightly to press a kiss against her temple and dropping his fingers from her hair to slide comfortably around her shoulders instead.

"We'll throw a party. First for being amazing at papers, then for being amazing at life choices."

[gotbottle]

She'll have a lot to tell him someday, too. Little by little, perhaps, the words coming when they don't feel quite so daunting. For now she can only hope he understands, a little, without the words. In her gratitude for his presence, in every little touch and smile.

"I like the sound of that. I've even got a guest list ready: me. And you."

[hamelinic]

He understands enough. He understands what he hopes she understands back.

"You think they'll all make it? I hear traffic from this side of th' bed to that is just terrible this time of day."

Because the words they say might not be 'The Words,' but the words they say just fit so much better just now.

[gotbottle]

She does understand. She may not know the exact depths to which his feelings go, the kinds of comparisons to cherished instruments his heart and mind already draw. But she understands enough. She knows what's there , even if the full picture isn't yet clear.

It's more than enough.

She laughs softly. "It's Sunday. We don't need to keep to a strict timetable today, do we? We could be lenient."