She laughs again, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Yeah, and they're usually right," she estimates, "but at least they have the excuse that they don't know better." Carl surely thought Harlan was an asshole, but he was wrong. What he saw was his own bullshit and he projected it onto that sweet, sad boy. Sometimes Vanya misses Harlan so much it hurts. Sissy, too, but that's a hurt she doesn't like to examine as much. They could never be together and she knew it even when she knew nothing else. And Harlan, she must have traumatized him 100 times over. Some days, she would do anything to see him again, talk to him. Apologize.

"I did, yeah," Vanya confirms of the music lessons, unable to keep a little smile from the corners of her eyes. "Some of the most remarkable talent I saw wasn't in an orchestra. I had young students that could play circles around me." And it never hurt. Vanya wishes more of the world saw music like she did: a safehaven, something to be shared by all.

And she doesn't think about how she in particular can sow destruction with it. That's now what she wants. Not anymore.

"Did you work with kids a lot back home?"