055.
second-person!(dbsk)junsu and tablo, in anyband!verse. also close to a year old, or more.
"I..."
"Hush," the man smiles and pulls you up.
He leads you up to the roofs of abandoned buildings, the familiar air of marching feet and an oppressing silence burning in your ears.
"You know what? the man asks, grinning in your ear.
"What?" The reply is automatic - it shouldn't be, not in this world, but it is and makes the man grin all the much wider.
"One day, we're going to free everyone here." He flings a hand out and you follow the line of his arm; the marching people, going nowhere, doing nothing; the soldiers, ready for violence.
You swallow and turn back with a hesitant smile.
"And you're going to help."
The gentle strumming of the guitar drowns everything out;t he ever-present almost-silence that fills your ears - no joy, no cheer, no music and no love.It burns your ears even as the marching attempts to mask it.
You strum a bit louder, getting lost in the sound, the music you're making and words come to your lips - a melody. It's beautiful, something that causes joy to well up so suddenly in your throat that you choke on a sob and then you remember.
Outside. Soldiers. Hating and killing and stopping this.
But then you remember Daniel's words as he had flung open the door, kiddish grin plastered on.
"Your place. Sorry it's so dingy but you can practise here without anyone hearing - I checked."
So you find your fingers again, pull them away and place them in their rightful place.
"I..."
"Hush," the man smiles and pulls you up.
He leads you up to the roofs of abandoned buildings, the familiar air of marching feet and an oppressing silence burning in your ears.
"You know what? the man asks, grinning in your ear.
"What?" The reply is automatic - it shouldn't be, not in this world, but it is and makes the man grin all the much wider.
"One day, we're going to free everyone here." He flings a hand out and you follow the line of his arm; the marching people, going nowhere, doing nothing; the soldiers, ready for violence.
You swallow and turn back with a hesitant smile.
"And you're going to help."
The gentle strumming of the guitar drowns everything out;t he ever-present almost-silence that fills your ears - no joy, no cheer, no music and no love.It burns your ears even as the marching attempts to mask it.
You strum a bit louder, getting lost in the sound, the music you're making and words come to your lips - a melody. It's beautiful, something that causes joy to well up so suddenly in your throat that you choke on a sob and then you remember.
Outside. Soldiers. Hating and killing and stopping this.
But then you remember Daniel's words as he had flung open the door, kiddish grin plastered on.
"Your place. Sorry it's so dingy but you can practise here without anyone hearing - I checked."
So you find your fingers again, pull them away and place them in their rightful place.