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[ That isn't a song that gets his feet tapping, instead rooting him to the spot with each sound that sinks through his skin to hold in the marrow of his bones. It makes him aware of each breath, of not to be too loud or break the woefully woven spell of the notes in case they end prematurely, like sitting alone at a window once the other person in an old house is finally asleep and feeling completely content to watch a horizon of distant stars over miles of endless fields. It sounds like wanting to bridge a distance.

Without taking his eyes off him, Jim paces over to perch on the arm-rest just to be that much closer, arms folded as he observes and lets the fresher notes find him with far greater ease, as he likes to think they want to. ]