[Quiet from Polnareff would normally be impossible not to notice and probably earn at least one comment, but not right now. It's not so much that Bruno's ignoring Polnareff or even forgotten he's there. He's aware of the fingers that have slipped under his shirt and the solid feel of his body next to him. It's just not where his attention is.]

[Bruno could never forget what this album sounds like. He's listened to it hundreds, perhaps even thousands of times, making it so that he knows each track from start to finish. But in some ways, this feels like his first time hearing it after having gone this long without it. He's practically basking in it, relaxing entirely against Polnareff with his eyes closed and a content smile on his face.]

In the afternoons, before my parents divorced, it would just be me and my mother. Sometimes I helped her out with chores around the house, but I always helped her with dinner. She usually let me pick what we would listen to, but I picked this one so many times out of her collection that she actually hid it from me. [Bruno smiles a little wider.] She told me that only lasted for a few days though because the guilt started to eat at her.

I remember it was her turn to pick when she managed to "find" it again. She put it on when I wasn't paying attention, and I was so happy she did, I tried to convince her to let me just make dinner by myself.