[He's heard her playing, but hearing her play and knowing who it is--what it's meant to be--that's different. That feels heavier, somehow, weightier, and it fights down the anger in him and queues up everything else--weariness and desperation and sadness. Anger is almost better, if only because it's easier to deal with.
He stares at her, and then his eyes flick over to her violin.]
no subject
He stares at her, and then his eyes flick over to her violin.]
Maybe.