open post.

[recreatable]

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[elsecall]

[ Oh. That's a nice feeling, isn't it? ]

Okay. But at the first flicker of doubt on your face as I'm digging in its guts? I'm sending for Rushu.

[recreatable]

Please don't talk about my piano's guts.

[elsecall]

...Getting cold feet?

[recreatable]

No.

Getting cold hands?

[elsecall]

[ The honest answer: yes, she'll be nervous about ruining something he loves.

The answer she writes: ] Only one.

[recreatable]

Then it sounds like you're well-prepared to go digging around in my most treasured possession's guts.

[elsecall]

[ You know what? Storm it. It's out and on the paper before she can think better of it: ]

I'd let you write in my books.

[recreatable]

[ His mouth twitches. ]

What would I write?

[elsecall]

[ If she tells herself his question is a stupid question, she can ignore how pleased she is for having asked it. ]

Whatever strikes you. Appreciation for a meaningful phrase. Corrections for bad logic. Questions you can't help but ask.

[recreatable]

All right.

[ It's really that easy! ]

But I'm afraid I'm not as clever as you. You might have to correct my corrections.

[elsecall]

It's a good way to learn.

[ Oh, look, we've made it full circle back to that depends entirely on whether the dummy can be taught. ]

[recreatable]

[ A breathless, instant reply: ] Consider me your attentive student.

[elsecall]

[ Wellll. If he's offering... ]

You know where my study is. Pick something under three-hundred pages. Annotations due on my desk in four days.

[recreatable]

[ —It's not at all respectable how dry this makes his mouth. ]

Guess I should get to work then.

[elsecall]

[ She smiles to herself and nurses some small thrill of anticipation. Her expectations have risen just enough that she can feel herself looking forward to his elegant penmanship beyond the spanreed back-and-forth, but fit and resized into the margins of a book. One of hers — which provides an even chance of already having a scattering of her notes within its pages. Another different thrill.

And like a little puzzle piece, she adds: ]

Choose wisely.

[recreatable]

[ The spanreed makes a puddle of ink where it's pressed into the paper, unmoving. Don't, he scolds himself as his pulse pitter-patters. Don't make this into something it isn't. ]

Good night, mon amie.