Morningside Cuesta your ex-lover is dead

He catches the flash of sympathy across slim grey features and lowers his head slightly, but he lingers to hear the man's words, tinged with the faintest melancholy. A slightly wry smile curves his lips as he lifts his muzzle briefly in a skyward gesture, silver eyes sparkling with sarcastic humor. The expression fades after a few beats.
The ghost parts his jaws just enough for a perceptive eye to see what he lacks. Whether he thinks the stranger catches it or not, he closes his mouth and tilts his head a breath later, gaze inquisitive. He cannot speak, but he can listen — and he senses stories behind those fiery eyes. Perhaps he will never hear them, but the golden Mayfair is ever hopeful; the song has led him here for a reason.