Erik pulled himself stiffly away from the wall that had been supporting him. He felt as if his heart had been seared out of his chest, and the sudden cessation of music was just as jarring as hearing the music itself. It was almost enough for Erik not to notice the sound Hannibal was making as he walked.
Hannibal retrieved the folio, and Erik's brow furrowed. A strange twist in his chest protested the removal. The mystery pianist had played it as if it had been written for his specific skill. When his friend made the introductions, however, Erik felt a keener understanding. He'd never before seen the City bring in the same person from different places in their life. And yet, Erik had never believed he would have his own living wife at his side, a woman who willingly took vows to love him until death parted them. Erik wondered if she were dead now, or if the City had returned her to Paris where she belonged. The City did many unexpected things.
"Thank you," Erik said. And, given that this was his doctor's elder self, it made more sense that he could read the music that had been in front of him. Erik had also seen how the man kept playing even after the sheets were removed. He was clearly as stubborn as the Hannibal Erik knew. Perhaps time and experience did not change certain things in a man.
"Hannibal is being kind. The music was never meant for ears other than his. Some music is too toxic for general consumption. But... as those notes were written upon his insistence, and you are in some manners he, perhaps they were also written for you." Erik paused. Then, more carefully, because he had the good sense of a maestro to know when misplaced words could prick the ego of a grand talent: "You performed it well."