Mozart’s fingers run across the key playing one of his calmer pieces as you make yourself comfortable in the music room. He doesn’t mind your presence, really. You come in all the time when the mansion residents try talking to you a little too much, sometimes you just run out of energy, he’s seen this all the time since you began living here. He knows you’re mute, so you being in the room with him isn’t an issue.

He usually feels the same way. Thus why the room is always closed, the window slightly ajar to let in fresh air but not too wide to hear outside noise.

You both sit in silence. He occasionally notices your glances in his direction, most likely intrigued and soothed by the melody of the keys.

“…”