Chapter Text
By now he could recognize the composition. One of his favorites and clearly played for his enjoyment on this dreary rainy evening. It was misleadingly simple in its melody, a tricky and playful picking of the violin strings, and yet saturnine, demanding, and at moments bloody infuriating under the bow.
Much like the man who stood, eyes closed, in the center of the room and played.
Dressed in a white tailored shirt and pressed wool trousers, a tangle of thinning salt and pepper curls held off the frowning brow by stainless steel rimmed reading glasses, svelte and slightly stooped with age.
Beautiful. Brilliant. Extraordinary.
And his.
A stark contrast to his own worn and patched corduroys, the cheap paperback novel he held in his lap, the pair of wellingtons drying off by the door, the country house itself with its frayed carpet, chipped tea cups, whistling wind.
How lucky was he?
A tear escaped, then an embarrassing sniffle.
Sharp cerulean eyes turned to him, then the music abruptly stopped.
"John, are you alright?"