The brief insight into the very ordinary life of the other man makes Claude laugh, a slight rumble with no sharpness to detect anywhere. Thankfully, his own mother resides in Marseille and sees him only once a year, at Christmas. Both his sisters are married by now. Seemingly, she has long since given up on him to follow their example. Not everyone can be as fortunate. He could ask Vincent whether he wants him to get an additional ticket - if there is any girl he wants to bring who might be impressed by the grand show, but Claude isn't selfless enough to aid in that kind of conventional matchmaking. If he's going to be dancing for Vincent on front row, the man should better be alone. At least for the night.

Instead, he grasps onto Vincent's final claim. Drowns the last of his cognac and feels the heated tiredness rapidly spreading through his system via his blood stream. Soon, he'll have to excuse himself and go to bed, he has early morning practice at half past six. For now, however... Not so soon. "It's a labyrinth. I practically grew up among those walls. Dark nooks and corners everywhere. It was full of ghosts, even when it was still being built."

A smile. Then, a yawn that he only belatedly manages to halfway cover with one hand. The tumbler emits a dull thud against the wooden surface of the coffee table where he places it. Beneath his sock-clad feet, the rug is raw and soft simultaneously.