The movement of his hands was swift, his fingers gracefully sliding across the piano. Frederick’s eyes were closed shut, his mind trapped in the world that was his music. It was delightful, having a place for himself. Here was he free to stray from the guests that plagued this grand estate, walking around the mansion his dear friend Claude worked so hard for.

After playing a quick melody on the piano, he soon halted, taking deep breaths. He stared coldly at the keys, his eyebrows furrowed. He really had no reason to come here, had no reason to lurk in the music room. The composer let out a sigh, shaking his head. He should’ve stuck with his original plan and stayed home. He would’ve been rotting in his study all day, but at least he wouldn’t have to talk to people.

He wiggled his hands, preparing to play another song when he heard the door across from him open. He shifted on the piano bench and turned around, only to see you. His gaze narrowed, taking you in slowly. He had heard from Claude that you were a rising singer, having come to Paris because of a connection you had with one of the guests. Frederick grunted softly, disappointed that you had interrupted his alone time. “Are you foreigners always so keen on meddling in places you shouldn’t be in?”