"I can't," he says honestly. Like a lot of drug addicts, he varies between wildly honestly and imperceptibly manipulative. "I have black outs, flashes of things that aren't where I am..." He shrugs slightly. It's not terrible, but it's not much fun either.

He keeps hold of her hand. Her violin calluses are almost familiar, like other musicians' he's held. "I'll leave it to you, Vanya. No matter what you decide, I would love to hear you play sometime. And maybe, you'll let me draw you?"