*He smiles a little at that, but more in recognition than humour.

Fifteen years spent denying himself any right to happiness, or to any emotion at all. Immersing himself in books, in paperwork, in routine and bureaucracy; too ashamed even to be glad to be alive or to find any joy in it; telling himself that perfection and the approval of his mentor would fill that gaping hole. And then his trial, and that carefully constructed life that he had built had crumbled around him within the space of a day.

He withdraws his hand, looking at Kristoph for a little longer as he gazes into the fire.*

Rare or not, you are entitled to seek it, Kristoph. It's part of being human. Just as it is to be angry, confused, or unhappy.

*He shrugs a little, turning away, hands in pockets and walking over to the window.*

Contentment is what it is. I know it well enough.

*He stands at the window for a while, watching the last of the light fade into darkness, and then he looks down, the violin case catching his eye. He looks at it thoughtfully for a while, then stoops to pick it up, crossing back to the fire and laying the case carefully on Kristoph's lap. There's a slight smile when he meets his eyes, before he returns to the window, cracking it open a little and taking out his cigarettes.

I have heard you play, Kristoph.

I did not hear the playing of someone who is merely alive. I heard the playing of someone who knows what it is to live.