She steps inside his apartment, it isn’t remotely what she had envisioned in her mind, but it is entirely Arthur all the same. Her gaze lingers, trailing along the room where leather bound books line the shelves and warm tones color the walls. A low melody shocks her out of her moment of reverie, her gaze shifting towards the far side of the room where Arthur sat in a chair.  

It was as if he blended in with the rest of the room, painted to belong there, and it takes her a moment to find her voice. “You play guitar?” She finally managed in a weaker voice than she had intended.