Myer hears the squeak of the door and it's enough to make him give a little startled jump on the piano bench before shooting a glance over his shoulder. Tall, leanly muscular and smirky: Adam.
"You're such an asshole," he says over the third movement of Mozart's Piano Quartet in G minor. "Come in or go away."
He hates being watched from a distance and from behind; the hair on the nape of his neck stands up. Highly unpleasant, and it makes him feel vulnerable. That's something he hates more than anything. Being watched close-up is less disturbing. He thinks that he started feeling that way when they were all sick, and visitors were afraid to get close. Logic said it was that they had been afraid that they'd make him even sicker, what with his compromised immune system, but what it had felt like had been revulsion and fear.
Myer wiped that thought out of his mind. He continued playing. "Did you have anything specific in mind, or are you here simply to annoy me?"