The lights in the studio were off-only the mixing board glowed faint blue. Lena sat on the couch knees pulled up, a single head phone over one ear. Julian paced, agitated.
"You stripped the string section, "he said. "That's the soul of the scene."
She looked up, eyes glassy. "The soul isn't in the strings, Julian. It's in the silence between them."
He stopped pacing. "You're doing it again, "he said softly.
"What?"
"Bleeding through every note and pretending you're fine">
Her jaw tightened. "That's what composers do. we make pain palatable."
Julian crossed the room slowly. He knelt in front of her, hands on either side of the couch.
"I don't want palatable, Lena. I want you. Unfiltered. Even if it hurts."
A beat.
She removed the headphone. "Then don't flinch when it does."
And for once-neither of them looked away.