Don't shout at me like I'm across the room when I'm right here, when you're right this time
He flips through the pages until he lands on the flute, his pride with the sketches well seen in the are he’d taken to the schematics of it. Mostly a beautiful, rather plain looking thing, but one with smaller etchings into the sides of it, little things here and there that made it so it added a flare of himself to it. Because he wasn’t pristine, with the scar on his face, neither should this flute be.
As for whether or not he plays? There’s a flush along his cheeks as he shakes his head rather quickly, swallowing hard. “N-n-no. I d-don’t.” There’s a bit of sadness in his tones, his fingers rubbing along the edge of the paper where it’s smooth and no sketches sit. He doesn’t know what stops him now from trying, knowing that his parents thought it was a useless hobby. But gods how he loved to hear Hester play, to watch her get lost in the music over and over again.
It was the only thing he thinks he can do without stuttering or failing over and over again.
As for whether or not he plays? There’s a flush along his cheeks as he shakes his head rather quickly, swallowing hard. “N-n-no. I d-don’t.” There’s a bit of sadness in his tones, his fingers rubbing along the edge of the paper where it’s smooth and no sketches sit. He doesn’t know what stops him now from trying, knowing that his parents thought it was a useless hobby. But gods how he loved to hear Hester play, to watch her get lost in the music over and over again.
It was the only thing he thinks he can do without stuttering or failing over and over again.
GLAS
