the cadence of part time poets

Chapter 45: Tempo Rubato

Michelle, ma belle,
Sont les mots qui vont très bien ensemble,
Très bien ensemble;
And I will say the only words I know that you'll understand,
My Michelle...

- "Michelle" The Beatles, 1965

The days following Christmas always seemed to blur together. That year was no exception.

Things around the flat were back to business as usual and everyone came and went, apart from him and Tonya. The sofa became their lonely island and they camped out on it under Tomny's duvet to keep warm in the crisp mornings and cooler evenings. When they weren't reading or watching something on the telly, they talked. Prompted by his phone call with Marlene, Remus told stories of his friends at school while Tonya draped her head on his shoulder and absent-mindedly watched the turntable spin. Being close like that never seemed to bother him, it was the dreaded quick touches that sent shivers up his spine, but just existing in one another's presence was comforting.

In the beginning they mostly talked about little things, like how frustrating it was that three out of four of them were night showerers and how Mary and Lottie had concocted this game of trying to paint his nails every time he wasn't paying attention—which Sirius had also joined in on, raising the stakes by attempting to do it while he was sleeping.

"Sounds like you love them a lot," Tonya murmured, gently picking at the chipped polish on his left hand he'd yet to remove.

"I've only been complaining about them," Remus pointed out.

"S'normal to complain about the ones we love. You should hear me whine to Doss about Tomny."

"Oh, I do."

She pinched him, playfully, and they scuffled on the couch before finally settling again.

"So what happened then?" Tonya asked eventually. "What's got you feeling so guilty?"

He sighed. "It's... complicated."

"Complicated?"

"We fought. Sirius got lashed over me and Marlene or something. But I was a right dick all term too."

Tonya hummed thoughtfully and kissed his knuckles fondly. "Something tells me Sirius will come around. And even if he doesn't, I'll still love you."

Feeling warm all over, Remus leaned his cheek against the top of her head.

"Will you tell me more about your band?" She asked.

"It's not a real band, we're all just novices—apart from Sirius, that is. He's like some piano prodigy or something."

"He's that good?"

"Well, I've haven't exactly heard him play, to be honest. He doesn't like it anymore, something to do with his mum." Remus looked down at his hands—at the way she cradled his fingers; "I didn't want to pry."

"Hm, maybe he just needs a new reason to play," Tonya reasoned. "Who says everyone has to be a Tchaikovsky or a Rachmaninoff."

Remus tilted his head up thoughtfully. "I heard on the radio once that Billy Joel learned to play the piano from his father, but then he put all the classical stuff behind him for rock and roll."

"Well there, maybe he'll be the next 'Piano Man'. Who wouldn't be happy with that?"

He knew that Sirius would have rather been 'the only' rather than 'the next' anything, but if he'd met Tonya he would have certainly taken it as a compliment.

"Ton, what makes you happy?"

The question seemed to catch her off guard. She stopped stroking his hand and awkwardly readjusted her head on his shoulder. He hadn't meant to make her uncomfortable, but before he could apologise Tonya cleared her throat and clapped both hands over his.