"Going into the music hall," Remi said, almost as soon as Sam had finished asking the question. "I’ve only tried once. The ceiling was high, and normally that’s enough, but it was dark and there were a lot of people and... I had to have help leaving." Smiling sheepishly, he told Sam about the kind-faced old man that’d dragged him from his seat and guided him out of the building. If Remi hadn’t recovered as quickly as he had, he was sure the man would’ve carried through with his threat of calling an ambulance for him, but thankfully, it hadn't come to that.
"If I didn't miss it so much, I wouldn't have bothered,” Remi admitted, resting his head gently against Sam’s. "Music, I mean. I listen to it through my phone, sometimes. With the things you put in your ears? Ear pods? But it’s not the same. You can’t feel it."
Not like he could feel Sam in that moment, the weight on his shoulder and their twined fingers acting as a comforting reminder of their connection to one another. Combined with the cool breeze carrying the essence of freshly bloomed flowers past his nose, he found it easier than he’d thought to broach a topic that’d been bothering him.
"I should look forward to seeing my mother most, shouldn’t I?” Remi’s throat grew tight, making the remainder of his words strained. "I wish I did, but it makes everything twist up when I think about it. I’m not her son. Not really. What if she doesn’t want to see me?"