Sometimes Theo thought they were speaking a different language. The way their cadences flowed smoothly between each breath, it was hard to get a word in. It often felt like he was interrupting a performance, a band of instruments all in unison suddenly cut off abruptly for him to speak. They both turned to stare at him, waiting for his intellectual brain to spit out something wonderful which in most cases it never did. So, he had become accustomed to sipping tea in the faded blue armchair by the bay window, content to just listen and dream up pretty pictures of the future while the tea messed with his mind.