[Lucky for him the piano has not moved. Austria allows himself to be dragged (it wouldn't be the first time) and it takes a moment for what America is saying to actually sink in. He... forgot when he went back home?

By the time that sinks in he's listening intently, a little fascinated by the fact that the feeling was enough to compel him to keep learning. Maybe it was true, then, that something from this place would linger, no matter what. There are half-formed thoughts running through his mind that have nothing to do with any of this but the chord brings him back to the moment, and he smiles. America is expressing himself like he's writing a Hollywood script, but Austria can tell it's genuine. If anything it's endearing.]

Music has a way of staying with us. Apparently, transcending states of consciousness. [Maybe the movie-speak is rubbing off on him for a minute there.] I want to hear what you were working on back home.