Phil doesn’t tend to look up when he hears people wander in, preferring to let people enjoy the music without the caveat of a social encounter—and he does hear them, even if he doesn’t always register them, same as he hasn’t quite realized the lightness of those footsteps. Of someone who is not very big at all.

But he reaches the end. The music stops and Phil looks up to see a face he’s scarcely seen all last month, and for a moment he softens to see her fast asleep, stuffed animals in her lap, until—until he notices that whatever her dreams, they aren’t peaceful ones.

He drops from the stage and crouches at her side, one gentle hand at her shoulder, trying to shake her awake. “Fio? Fio, are you alright?”