Q can hear music. Well, he thinks he can. A long, long forgotten little tune whispering in the back of his head and he knows that it is Robert. It's part of him or it's somewhere inside him. Q lacks in musical skill, his knowledge of keyboards extending no further than that of a computer, code his sheet music. But it's fascinating to him that these sounds can be conceived in a mind and born through touches-
It's odd to be touching Robert and having Robert touch him, with fingers that are almost his own save for the slight changes that their daily lives have inflicted upon skin and bone.
He died so young. Six or so years older than Q is now, and it hurts him to think that. Worries him, maybe. Because he doesn't know if that is what fate holds in store for him, but then does it matter? Robert is here now.
"Do you think it's narcissistic?" Q asks with a little smile, his arms around Robert's shoulders, stroking the hair on the back of his neck. "This, I mean, of course. Looking and touching." He's still smiling, letting Robert's fingers explore as they will. "I can hear music," he adds. "It's yours, I believe."