“You brought your guitar?”
“Ja, who do you think I am?”
Daryan laughs again. “Good. I wrote a new song, babe. I wanna hear you sing it.”
He can hear Klavier’s hesitation at the nickname, the way he chooses his words particularly carefully when he replies, “We can’t keep doing this, Daryan. We said we wouldn't.”
“No one said it’s about you.”