Music, Jazz has always believed, is a way into the darkest places of a spark, a last key for a hidden sanctum. When one allows melody to carry thought, only then can one be certain of the message within.
Midvalley seems to understand this, to breathe the idea like another would be addicted to the gas mixture humans call air. Which is why Jazz, now that his lover has taken up the mantle of his chosen path, only listens. The tones vibrating through his audio sensors, carressing his processor, are a soothing balm for any imagined hurt.
Fully surrounded by what he believes to be a perfect moment, he holds the other as close as is possible. Letting his constructed body speak what he lacks proper words for.