Chéri laughed, too loud, too disorderly, but in a very warm and sincere fashion “No, I meant if you are always so… good.” He lacked an elegant vocabulary, even in French, but his amazement and enthusiasm were more than evidently conveyed by his body, barely keeping in position, constantly pushing him slightly, his expression, and obviously, his laughter.

Chéri nodded “I get the feeling serenes sonatas must be something you are very good at. Or do you have a different favourite?” Was he working up to a more in-depth, specific question. It wasn’t immediately clear. What was clear was his hyper-focus: he had literally taken to ignore the whole room except Jane, his eyes still gleaming.

At her following response, Chéri pressed the lips together, without failing to smile, but started his next statement with an “I see.” Chéri nodded and massaged his jaw “I… don’t suppose I could persuade you to play again for me?” He was wondering “Not just now, somewhere else. You see, I am… I was a dancer and I would like to practice again. Even just a little. If I don’t do that, I risk losing my abilities. But I need someone who will play for me. And it can’t just be anyone who can put their hands on a piano, it needs to be someone who can feel the music, with great technique and excellent sense of rhythm. You have that.” Chéri stopped. Anything more could, potentially, be discussed further once he had made sure he hadn’t insulted or shocked her. It was an unusual request and in a normal situation, he wouldn’t have had the chance to ask something like that. But because he hardly had had anything to do with real ladies and was in a strange environment, he was asking now. Hoping was allowed, right?