1920, Ohio

[themidnightson]

The sun has set all but it's last few rays, which coat a golden sliver of light far away across the horizon. The twilight softness, softly grayish silver that is heralding the dark of night and the birth of bright stars, spreads vast across Columbus. The city isn't quiet in the early evening, but it is quieter than the day time.

Quiet enough that two men, roughly the same age in appearance, can stroll down a just this side of the main streets area, dressed nicely without catching too much attention or notice. The occasional tipping of a head from a passerby or a smile from a porter or door watchman who's seen them pass before on earlier nights.

Comments

[ofthefamily]

Carlisle stands up straight at the sight of the original player -- the hired hand for the evening, apparently -- walks towards Edward.

Carlisle gets to the piano a half-step before.

"We were just leaving," Carlisle starts with a forced smile before the player can open his mouth to say something Carlisle won't like.

[themidnightson]

"It's fine," Edward said, standing, to the thoughts of both of them. Reluctant to bring his hands away, grateful that Carlisle has said the words that will make him, bitterly confused in a blank expression when he doesn't even acknowledge his human savior.

An even softer whisper, one of them will hear. "It's gone anyway."

[ofthefamily]

The whisper hits Carlisle in the gut, but they leave the cafe without another word to each other.

They are nearly home when the questioning Would you like to learn again -- starts.

[themidnightson]

Edward hadn't looked up for most of the rest of the walk. He'd glanced at his hands once or twice as though they might be the culprits themselves -- long, pale, fingers like stone, the planes of a palm; fingers that would never break a nail, never sweat or cramp over keys played too long -- before they'd been shoved into pockets and not brought back out.

What he's thinking at the moment Carlisle intrudes is of a quote he'd so lightly used not too many years ago. A quote, by Fredrick Delius, one of the most distinctive revivalist figures in 19th century English music while he'd been learning;

Music is an outburst of the soul.

If he hasn't the one, perhaps--


Edward shook his head, absently. "I don't think I need to. I hadn't even remembered it."

[ofthefamily]

There were some missteps, surely, but the fact that he remembered any of it is astonishing.

Maybe if you'd had someone watching you, you wouldn't've lost so much of yourself, Carlisle --

Carlisle doesn't think in Edward's direction again for a minute.

[themidnightson]

It's not a misstep when something so pervasive is gone, gone in a fashion where you actually had to be reminded to remember it existed. But what does he known of pervasive and this other side? He thought he couldn't live without air once upon a time, too.

Edward glanced over as though Carlisle had spoken, without turning to face him. "It's not as if I'm lacking in fields of study."

Or someone who was watching out over him. Constantly.

[ofthefamily]

I know, but --

There's no point in pursuing it.

You don't have to put yourself in such difficult positions just because of me.

Carlisle leans over in a blur, giving Edward a kiss on the cheek as they walk.

[themidnightson]

If he's at all surprised, it doesn't show more than in the lessening severity of how he had been holding himself. He doesn't want to worry Carlisle (even as he wonders what else he's potentially forgotten). He never does (and Carlisle still worries).

"It'll be fine. Trust me," Edward said, trying for a wry smile, even as he chose the words specifically. "I'd rather just be home now." It's a question, with a small glance to see if anyone is watching.

[ofthefamily]

I always do.

Carlisle walks home with a song stuck in his head. He hopes Edward will forgive him it being now stuck in his.