"It's my pleasure," Wren says, genuinely, "I'm glad to do it justice." He runs a hand over the dulcimer's strings for a moment and stands to put it away, glancing over his shoulder toward Alex. "I'd be grateful, if it's not a bother," he says at the offer of research. "I've never known much about it, but I've loved it since I was a child."

He comes back to sit, watching Alex look into his wine. Wren almost never breaks eye contact completely; he's not sure if he learned the habit or never learned not to, but he's always watching, soaking in the little details that make up other people and places. So it's a little more evident when other people do.

Wren watches Alex quietly as he talks about his brother. He hadn't meant to touch something personal, but he won't back away from being trusted. "I'm glad they were the ones to tell you," he says. "If it had to happen." He feels an impulse to be nearer, not just sitting formally, and moves to perch on the arm of Alex's chair.