( even when she isn't raveled up against him, she stays close, soaking in the heat of the tea to her palms, inviting itself beneath her skin, warming her bones. it's a different sort of life, being with baby—mindfully quieted to the tongue of music keeping them company, and every so often it nearly overwhelms her. that she'd found him, here of all places, that she'd been so close to just staying where she was. )

Where you're from, did you sing there? ( for others, she means, though she feels he'd understand. she's seen for herself what it does for him, music, always tucked into the shell of his ear, how his fingertips can't help but to follow the rippling octaves as the music takes on a bit more of a minor tone. she takes a tiny sip of her tea, careful not to burn the palette of her mouth, steam holding hints of blueberry in it's wake. )

For what it's worth, I'm eager to see you. To hear you, so open like that. ( a glance up to find his gaze, shifting so it's her hip pressed to the edge of the counter so she can face him. )