[ They're on the tip of revelation there, skirting the cliff's edge, dancing the line.
Shinji looks across the grand divide of space Gildor's afforded him — of distance he's won but never earned — and he breathes out harshly, til frictions feels about to erode the lining of his lungs.
The collection of notes in his head feels familiar, if not in design, then in the organic flow of their succession. Music. Brahms and not Shinji's Bach. He knows the general course of the song, even though he's heard it at a slower tempo, and he doesn't prefer it; even though he doesn't play it now.
He says, gently: ]
I like music. [ And lower after: ] I don't think I like that you knew I liked music.
[ Whispers in the dark, minds probing his thoughts. Their world is a glasshouse, and Shinji's broodmates take turns shattering the wall. ]
no subject
Shinji looks across the grand divide of space Gildor's afforded him — of distance he's won but never earned — and he breathes out harshly, til frictions feels about to erode the lining of his lungs.
The collection of notes in his head feels familiar, if not in design, then in the organic flow of their succession. Music. Brahms and not Shinji's Bach. He knows the general course of the song, even though he's heard it at a slower tempo, and he doesn't prefer it; even though he doesn't play it now.
He says, gently: ]
I like music. [ And lower after: ] I don't think I like that you knew I liked music.
[ Whispers in the dark, minds probing his thoughts. Their world is a glasshouse, and Shinji's broodmates take turns shattering the wall. ]
...why... do you try so hard? To be liked.
[ By Shinji, of all people. ]