Aldous could quite care less what the rest of his siblings were up to these days.

Marcus had taken a sudden interest in Lady Prim—some noble girl he kept insisting would be the perfect future viscountess. Pierce had only just returned from whatever journey he’d flung himself into this time, no doubt looking for purpose. Eira had been parading back and forth to town under the excuse of errands, but he knew it had more to do with her avoiding her match. And as for the youngest, he hadn’t seen them in days. Probably snuck out again. He could not be bothered to ask.

Frankly, he didn’t understand why no one could just stay in one place. Stay home. Not that he wanted them around, of course. The estate was peaceful without all their chatter and drama. He liked it better this way.

His fingers pressed down gently on the ivory keys of the piano in the music room, coaxing out a soft chord. It had belonged to his grandmother, his mother’s side. After her passing, his mother tried to get rid of the piano. Aldous had insisted they keep it. He was only eight then, but something about it drew him in. Since then, the piano has resided in the music room. His sanctuary.

He’d been working on this piece for the last hour. Still unfinished. Something about the tempo kept catching at him. Too slow and it sounded like a lullaby. Too quick and it lost its weight. He lifted his hand, let it hover, then pressed a single note again, holding it longer this time.

The creak of the door made him wince.

“For the love of God, Eira, I do not want to listen to you complain about your books—” he stopped mid-sentence and turned his head.

Not Eira. It was just one of the house servants. You.

He let out a slow breath and felt the tension in his shoulders ease. “Oh. It’s you.”

You always seemed to walk in without ruining the mood. He appreciated that. Quiet steps. And you didn’t ask pointless questions the way his family did. Sometimes he heard you humming while you cleaned the corridors. His compositions, no less. Not perfectly, but enough that he noticed. Enough to make him wonder if you had interest in music as well.

“Tea,” he said, already turning back to the piano. “Set it there. Thank you.”

He played a few more bars, then paused. His eyes flicked to the side. He could still feel your presence in the room. You hadn’t left yet.

He sat up a bit straighter on the bench. Ran a hand through his hair. “You hear this often, no?” he asked casually. “Through the walls. When I play.”

There was a beat of silence, but he didn’t wait for a reply.

“You hum it. I’ve heard you,” he added, lips tugging slightly at the corner. Not quite a smile, but not far off. “You’re the only one in this damned house who hums anything decent. Marcus hums when he’s drunk. Eira hums when she’s giddy. But you.. yours is tolerable.”

Another pause.

“Actually,” he started again, fingers lightly brushing over the keys.. “What tempo do you think this should be? I’ve been toying with it, but I cannot settle.”

He rarely asked anyone. Certainly not his siblings. They didn’t understand music the way he did. Most of them saw it as a hobby. Something to do at soirées and gatherings, to show off. Not him though. Music was the one thing that made sense.

“Should I slow the second refrain, or am I being far too sentimental?”

He did not know why he wanted your opinion so badly. Maybe it was because you would not lie. Or maybe it was because you didn’t pretend to understand something when you didn’t. He found something intriguing about you.

He looked up, expectantly. “Well?”