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Underneath Corsican Stars

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It was nearing midnight and instead of sleeping, Rufus Sixsmith was watching Robert Frobisher play piano. It was an entrancing sight. Robert’s hands raced over the keyboard and his eyelashes rushed his cheeks. Rufus has never been more in love.
When the music stopped, Robert looked at him with his wide hazel eyes. Rufus could hardly stand to look away.
“It was wonderful, Robert,” he whispered as he did not wish to disturb the silence.
“Of course it is, I wrote it,” Robert said, laughing slightly. It sounded like bells to Rufus’s tone deaf ears.
“Certainly more impressive than my little chemistry experiments,” Rufus sighed somewhat self deprecatingly.
“I hardly think that’s true,” Robert said, looking troubled.
“It is,”
Robert grabbed Rufus by the shoulders and looked him in the eye. “Listen to me, everything you do is impressive and has worth. You would not be in Corsica, here, with me if that were not true.”
“I’m shocked that you care so much,” Rufus whispered.
Robert narrowed his eyes and then took Rufus’s cheek into his hand. After a moment of staring into his wonderful hazel eyes, Rufus kissed Robert. It was a hesitant unsure thing that soon grew more confident. Rufus could not believe how tender and sweet Robert was when he was fiery and brash in all other regards. His calloused hands pushed a dark curl away from Robert's eyes and he smiled.