I maybe smiled and I didn't even try to particularly hide it. Why should I? I now know that Frank knows how I feel, and, more interestingly, I know how he feels. The atmosphere between us is more comfortable than ever. I love it.

I am fully aware that I will have to perform within the hour, yet all my nerves have vanished. Maybe not all of them, but most at least.

I feel at ease, while Frank drives through the suburbs on dark road: only a small preceding part gets illuminated by the headlights, only to be swallowed up by the car just as quick. Tall trees, indistinct from each other, rise up on either sides of the street. The homogeneous sound of the car's tires on pavement have become a familiar sound I can't distinguish anymore from the feeling of Frank's presence.

I admit, I didn't always enjoy it that much.

I reach out to the radio and put it on. Apparently, a cd of mine with music of Debussy was still here. I make myself comfortable in my seat. I always enjoyed the dreamy sounds of Debussy.

Frank listens for a couple of seconds, but then decides to skip this track. And the next one. And the next one. Until a couple of very familiar tones come out of the car's stereo. Frank briefly looks at me. "Do you remember?"

I think about his question for a moment, but I am confused about it. "This is a piece I've known how to play for a couple of months now, so yeah, I still remember it quite vividly."

Frank parts his lips to say something, but waits nonetheless.

"What is it?" I ask.

"This is the first piece of music you played for me."

Oh.

A strange, warm feeling overcomes me along with the memory of that specific situation.

"Not that you actually played it for me. If I remember correctly, you explained to me then and there why you didn't want to play for me."

I click my tongue. "It's not that I didn't want to play for you in particular," I take a deep breath. I actually didn't want to play any music for the stranger who came living in my house at that time. "but you know."

Frank quickly glazes at me, visibly amused. "It doesn't matter, I know I was a stranger to you."

My favourite part of the Debussy piece that is still playing just started, and I take a moment to enjoy it.

It's undeniably gorgeous.

When the part ends, I cautiously ask: "Are you still a stranger to me?"

Frank lightly furrows his forehead. "It seems to me that only you can answer that question. Not me." He slows the car down to take a turn. When he accelerates again after the turn, he continues. "Do I still feel like a stranger to you?"

When the next track of Debussy comes on, I hit the 'go back'-button. And so, the piece we just heard, starts playing again. I'm not sure if I can answer that, so I let the question dissolve into the air. Instead, my mind slips off, back to the memories of the first days with Frank.

I remember how hostile I found him and how seriously mysterious he acted. I chuckle out loud.

"What's so funny?"

"You were really a douche to me those first couple of days after my dad left to China."

Frank raises his eyebrows. "I" He emphasizes the 'I' in a sarcastic manner, like it is an impossible thought "was a douche?".

"Yeah, you acted like a creep, with all that intense staring and behaving all mysterious. You pushed me against a wall on day one." I look at him.

Frank looks amused and immediately responds. "You know, I've had girls telling me I have very sexy eyes. So you probably mistook 'the intense staring'-thing for something else." He knows perfectly what he's doing when he looks sideways to catch eye contact. After two heavy seconds, he winks merciless.

Despite the inside of my chest catching fire, I look away and click my tongue. What a bastard. While I try to cool off the sudden heath Frank inflicted in me, he continues talking.

He knows he's having the upper hand in this conversation, and he's enjoying it a bit too much. "Let's not forget you weren't a delight to work with in the beginning as well."

I'm still a bit red in the cheeks, but I ignore it. "How so?"

Frank hits repeat when the piece of Debussy comes to it's end. "Don't you remember the 'you work for me' you gave me with that attitude on the first day?"

I quickly breath out. "You pushed me against a wall in the middle of the night!"

"You sneaked up on me."

I laugh. "You spied on me!"

Frank suddenly turns painfully quiet.

I'm shocked by his reaction. Did I say something wrong?

His voice has lost all its playfulness from just seconds ago, and he now speaks to me in the assertive way he does so often. "What do you mean?"

I hesitate. "You know, the security cameras. You placed them in my house without me knowing. What else would I be talking about?"

I can clearly hear Frank exhale and relax.

What was that about?

I, again, feel like he's hiding something. It's starting to drive me mad.

"Yes." I say.

"What?"

"Yes, you still feel like a stranger to me."