Chapter Text
Wylder softly plucked the strings of his guitar in the confinement of his room. He was on his bed, sitting crossed legged as his acoustic guitar rested on a firm thigh. The guitar, as old and worn as it was, still sang beautifully as his skilled hands beckoned the sounds forward with gentleness. It certainly had seen better days, but Wylder was dutiful in taking care of it, so it rewarded him with beautiful sounds, despite the withering appearance. Still, this guitar was probably his most precious possession, and he would continue using it.
The silence in his room was otherwise deafening, but also preferred as he locked himself away from the other patrons in what they lovingly referred to as the Hold.
It was only a few months now since he and his sister reunited after he essentially lost everything. With his father's passing, grief took hold. He was stagnating, barely making it to the next day, looking to his music to occupy his time as his sister fretted over him, and he over her. There was nothing else to look forward to, as he had nothing else in his life worth living for.
Duchess rented the entire household to dedicate to their shared passion in music and put together a group, waving off his concerns of money with an unreadable look.
As far as rooms went, this one suited him just fine. It was furnished simply, with a large, plush bed and wooden drawers and dressers. He didn't have many possessions, so the room was rather bare. Wylder wasn't picky, though. It certainly beat moving from motel to motel as he had been doing before Duchess dragged him into this band.
The Hold was an ancient, almost castle-like structure that had a certain grace to it. The whole building revolved around a circular room, which branched off onto different parts of the household.
Upon entering, there was a large, almost ballroom-like hallway they designated as the rehearsal room. It was large enough to fit all their instruments and gear at once. There was also a grand piano, old and polished to perfection, tucked in one of the corners. Duchess made sure all the residents knew to treat it with delicacy, and no one dared to face her anger. Wylder was the only one brave enough to play it.
Past that was the circular living room, furnished with a large central table in the middle. The table was still sturdy, despite looking like it had seen better days. Duchess managed to find a half circle couch to press along the walls, and there was a simple TV on the other end that was rarely used.
Past the living room was the studio, soundproof and ready to record. It was big enough to fit most of the band, though the drums took up most of the space. The living room branched off into two additional hallways, one path that lead to the kitchen where Wylder spent some of his time baking his pita bread when he had a mind for it. The other lead to the library, otherwise known as Recluse's unofficial office. And past the kitchen and library were the rooms. Wylder and Duchess shared a wing, along with Recluse. The others were in the other side of the Hold, in the other wing.
The members she found so far were promising. Blackclaw, who insisted on being called Raider, was a colossal man with a booming laugh and thirst for alcohol that would send a lesser man running. He was a rather talented and energetic drummer, and Wylder found himself fascinated by his skill.
Executor by comparison was completely silent, much more than Wylder himself was. He was a talented artist, already drawing several drafts on ideas for their logo. Not to mention, the skill and dexterity he played the bass with. The talent was surprising considering the motorcycle helmet he never took off, but Wylder supposed he knew what it was like to be judged based on a peculiarity.
Duchess was amazing at vocals, and graceful at piano. Her fingers possessed poise and fluidity that Wylder was proud of. And her voice held such emotion and conviction.
He missed the days his own voice could match that.
Recluse was a doting manager. Wylder at first wasn't sure why Duchess recruited her, but she proved herself almost immediately by finding venues for them and possible record companies once they managed to find their sound. Not to mention, Duchess already seemed to really like her.
Guardian introduced himself as the stage hand. Wylder knew it was a large task for one man but Guardian seemed almost unshakable in his resolve, and Wylder already respected him enough to believe he could handle it. Not to mention, he has caught Guardian taking care of Raider's drums already.
Wylder knew he was good at the guitar. At most instruments. But he still had to wonder why his sister decided to drag him along on her quest. He couldn't sing anymore. And while he was sure she knew what his voice was once like, it would never be return to what it was. He belatedly realized she most likely wanted to keep him close due to their recent loss and his failing health. And Wylder was secretly grateful his sister was close to him once again in light of it all.
The problem? They still needed a lead singer, preferably one who played guitar as well. Wylder had no problems filling in with guitar. He was good in a wide variety of instruments and even preferred the guitar to everything else. But he knew he lacked the mastery over it in comparison to someone who dedicated themselves to the instrument.
Duchess left early in the morning after checking on him, stating that she found someone she deemed skilled enough to join. His sister had high standards, brought out after being adopted into a life of luxury, so he trusted her judgment.
It was near supper now. Wylder knew there was some of the pita bread he baked earlier left over, and he had put aside a piece for his sister for later. She still hadn't returned from her travels. He wasn't worried though, as she frequently texted him updates that he read and never responded to. His phone had lit up several times with missed calls as well, unknown and known numbers all ignored as he locked himself away, physically and mentally in his room.
A knock sounded at his door before Guardian's raspy voice called out. “Wylder! Your sister is back! Will you come out to greet her?”
The answer was no. But Wylder didn't bother to verbalize it. His sister will demand his audience soon enough. Guardian never took offense to his lack of answer, and simply called out again. “When you are ready, we saved you a plate. There should be enough for Duchess and her new recruit as well.”
Guardian didn't wait for his reply as Wylder heard retreating footsteps. He was alone once more.
Wylder wasn't exactly enthusiastic to meet this new recruit, nor was he very hungry. So he settled for softly plucking the strings of his guitar once more. He hadn't been strumming away for no more than a few minutes when he heard a more decisive knock on his door. At once, Wylder knew who it was.
His sister didn't bother to wait for an answer, she knew better than to expect a reply from him. He heard the sounds of his lock being jiggled before the mechanism disengaged and the doorknob turned.
Stubborn. A trait that seemed to run in the family.
“I locked that door for a reason,” was Wylder's greeting to his sister, who unceremoniously pushed open the door without hesitation. His voice was raspier than he'd like, but still soft. The sound of it bothered him. He didn't look up from his guitar, but he did stop playing so they could speak. She slipped her lock picking kit back into her pocket without an ounce of guilt. Bad habits died hard it seemed.
“You haven't answered any of my messages,” Duchess confronted instead, knowing full well Wylder almost never answered his phone these days. “Guardian also told me you haven't left your room since I departed. That was hours ago. Are you feeling well? Have you eaten?”
The answer to both questions was no, but Wylder would never admit to the first one.
“I'm fine. And I had a bit of a bite earlier. I will eat again later.”
“And your medicine?”
Wylder paused as he finally looked at Duchess. Medicine cost money. Money they didn't have, as the band was still forming, still unheard of. Duchess seemed to be getting some form of funding that she was very tight lipped about, but the medicine Wylder needed was not cheap. If he didn't take it, he didn't need to refill a prescription. And if he didn't need a prescription, no one could charge him anything. A win, in his eyes.
He must have taken too long to answer, because Duchess frowned. Wylder felt his stubborn resolve crack. His sister looked too vulnerable for comfort.
One more day. For her, one more day.
“I will take it after I eat. I'm going to eat soon. I just wanted to finish this song. You should eat as well.”
Duchess probably knew he was being dishonest, that he had no intention of eating or taking his medicine before she barged into his room. But she nodded regardless, satisfied.
“I will. Also, the new recruit is here. Introduce yourself please. I don't want him thinking you're some sort of cryptid who haunts the Hold. You're pale enough to be mistaken for a ghost.”
Wylder rolled his eyes as Duchess's lips curled upwards delicately. “That would make two of us then. You're worse, since you enjoy sneaking around in the dark at 3am.”
“All the better to haunt you all.”
Duchess's smile widened, and Wylder let his own lips mirror the movement. Leave it to his sister to brighten his mood, if only a little. He gently set his guitar down, rising from the bed and motioning for her to lead the way. Content with the change in Wylder's mood, she turned and exited, leading Wylder to the living room.
It seemed the others had already gathered, excitedly engaging their newest member. As Wylder trailed in after Duchess, the others paused and turned to him.
Standing in the middle of the living room was a man in a green hoodie and black jeans, a black guitar case on his back. Dark skin and silver hair tied back complemented him, but at once Wylder's attention was entrapped by the bluest eyes he had ever seen. There was plenty of poetic phrases for blue eyes, and Wylder now knew they did no justice to these. They were like a bright fire, and he was a helpless winged insect flying into them.
“Wylder!” Raider's booming voice made him jump. He felt his ears burn. “Nice to see you out of your cave! Introduce yourself, why don't you!”
The others chuckled as Wylder tried not to squirm. Their newest member's lips quirked just so, mischievous. Still, he swallowed his nerves and offered his hand to shake.
“Wylder.”
“Ironeye.”
What a deep, smooth voice. Wylder couldn't help but be a bit envious, even as he fought the warmth in his face at the sound. He knew a speaking voice was one thing. It didn't always translate to a good singing voice.
Ironeye grabbed his hand with a cold one of his own. Wylder could feel how calloused and rough they were. He'd recognize a guitarists hands anywhere.
Ironeye's eyes trailed over him like a surgeons blade. Wylder felt self conscious in his own simple blue shirt and scarf. His hair was tucked under his gray beanie, that he almost never took off these days. He knew he was pale, but it never bothered him before now. Whatever Ironeye thought as a first impression was hard to make out behind that almost emotionless expression. His eyes, though, seemed to sharpen in interest.
“You're the brother Duchess mentioned on the way here, right? You two look alike.” Ironeye noted smoothly. Wylder felt awkward as their hands released. He simply nodded, not trusting his own voice. The less he spoke, the better, after all. Even if he was well aware the damage he already sustained would never go away, just get worse over time.
“You play a variety of instruments right? Duchess told me you'll be lead guitar, but if you don't mind me doing a solo or two, otherwise I can focus on vocals.” Ironeye continued.
Wylder wasn't sure that would be feasible. At least right now. He wasn't sure how skilled Ironeye was at either the guitar or singing. The guitar on his back and cadence of his voice were promising, but Wylder knew neither meant anything if he simply didn't have the talent or the passion. He knew Duchess wouldn't bring someone who didn't meet her standards, but that didn't mean he met Wylder's standards.
Even before his sickness Wylder was a man of few words. He wasn't sure how to speak his desire to hear him play in a way that wouldn't offend. And even if he had the words, he didn't trust his voice to be steady as he relayed them.
Ironeye's lips twitched into a frown this time as Wylder simply tilted his head and silence answered him, and Raider chuckled before taking over.
“Wylder here isn't much for words. Neither is Executor over there.” Ironeye glanced at Executor, who took over a corner of the couch and was sketching away, paying no one any mind. “Don't worry though! I can talk enough for the both of ‘em!”
Ironeye chuckled at Raider's words, and the sound rang pleasantly in Wylder's ears. He ignored it. “It's alright. I take no offense. After all, hard to figure out if I'm fit for the cut without hearing me right?”
Wylder twitched in surprise and Ironeye's smirk returned full force. “Lucky for you, I'm good at reading people. And you,” at this, Ironeye let those intense eyes trail down Wylder's body slowly, before snapping back up to meet his eyes. There was a look in them Wylder couldn't quite place, and suddenly he felt warm. Was he seeing things? “…Are an open book to me. Don't worry. I'll sing something for you. What will it be?”
Wylder mentally shook himself out of his flustered state. There was no way Ironeye could be flirting with him. They just met. Not only that, while Wylder could admit Ironeye was physically attractive, with pretty eyes and a pleasant speaking voice, Wylder was also attracted to the strength of one's character and heart.
Not to mention, while Wylder knew he was handsome, he also knew these days he looked sick. Who would want someone who couldn't even follow their passions? Let alone someone who looked one foot in the grave?
“Right,” Duchess began, interrupting Wylder's mental confusion. “We should probably let you know the roles. I went over it briefly on the way here. I will be your supporting vocals and keyboardist. Make no mistake, I am still the front of the band. But I do not mind sharing the spotlight.”
“I already introduced myself but what the hell,” Raider raised a bottle of beer to Ironeye in mock salute. “Black claw but all my friends call me Raider. You can do the same. I'm the best damn drummer you'll ever find.”
“I am Recluse,” Wylder tried not to jump from where Recluse gracefully came behind him. Usually he would have heard her. He didn't miss the way Ironeye smirked at him again. “I will be your manager. I will do everything in my power to help you all.”
Guardian spoke next, holding his hand out to Ironeye as well. The other guitarist took it smoothly. “I am Guardian. I will be in charge of the care of your instruments and setting the stage. Though…Wylder shows skill at taking care of the instruments as well.” Guardian shot him a knowing look. Wylder fought the urge to squirm. He usually did it when he couldn't sleep, trying to keep his mind and body occupied. He had hoped no one would notice.
Duchess took over, motioning to Executor. “This is Executor. He isn't much for words, as Raider said, but he is a good man with a good heart. He is our bassist, as well as our artist. He also has skill with a soundboard and synthesizer.”
She then motioned to Wylder, who rolled his eyes. He already introduced himself, did he not? “And you've just met my brother, Wylder. Don't worry, he will be lead guitar, and if you want a solo or two he will oblige.” There was no room for argument in her voice. Wylder's choice had been made for him. And he knew there was no point in protesting once Duchess had her mind set.
Raider let out a grunt as he rose from the couch, downing the rest of his beer in one impressive swig. Wylder would worry for his liver, but it seemed Raider was almost never drunk despite how much he tried to be. “Well now that formalities are out of the way, lets get to the good part, aye? The rehearsal room is right this way.”
Duchess faltered, “Ah, shouldn't we show you to your room first-"
Ironeye was already following Raider, eagerness in his steps betraying the otherwise calm expression on his face. Duchess turned to Wylder as if he would explain what was happening, but Wylder just shrugged as he moved to follow. The eagerness was a good sign, but he wouldn't get his hopes up just yet.
Their rehearsal room was the rather large hallway the Hold had. Wylder was sure Ironeye passed it on the way in, but the guitarist looked around almost excitedly, keen eyes taking in every instrument.
Raider immediately went to sit by his drum set, testing the sounds before he seemed satisfied. Recluse and Guardian took a seat by a nearby couch they squeezed in, patient looks on both their faces. Executor immediately took his post with his bass, plucking a few notes to ensure it was in tune.
Wylder gingerly picked up his song book, flipping through the unfinished songs and scribbled up pages. He was better suited at playing by ear, but sometimes he had an idea he felt he needed to write down. Unfortunately inspiration was fleeting, so all he had were half written works. Melodies missing words, or lyrics with no melody. And even if they had the two, it felt like they were all missing…something.
“So,” Ironeye began, pulling out a sleek black electric guitar from his guitar case. Wylder found himself fascinated by it. The guitar was lustrous, shiny enough Wylder was sure he'd be able to see his reflection in it. By the strings, he could tell it was well broken in, but the state of the guitar itself was well taken care of. “Don't we have any songs written yet?”
“Well, we've had some ideas, but nothing complete.” Duchess faltered, looking to Wylder almost pleading. Wylder was the one up at all hours of the day writing songs. What did it say about him, that almost nothing in his song book was finished?
Wylder swallowed as those sharp eyes turned to him, then to the book in his hands. Ironeye's look was careful, soft even, as he beckoned his hand out. “May I?”
To show his songs was like baring his soul for Ironeye to see. Just the idea of it had him feeling anxious and unpleasant. But the open look Ironeye was giving him, for some reason, he knew no matter what he saw and read, Ironeye would never judge.
The others were silent as he shakily held his book out for Ironeye to take. Their fingers brushed as Ironeye gently plucked the book from his grasp, blue eyes never leaving his, before pulling back to study Wylder's songs curiously.
Once again, Wylder felt warm. How long has it been, that anyone has been able to bring about such reactions in him?
Ironeye gently flipped through the pages, silent. His facial expression was still that careful blank state that made it hard for Wylder to tell what he was thinking.
“You write great melodies,” Ironeye eventually said before landing on a page. Wylder blushed at the compliment. Before be could stutter a response, Ironeye pointed at the page he stopped at. “This one looks pretty much complete. Why don't we try it?”
Wylder peeked at the song Ironeye chose. It was one of his earlier works. At his nod, Wylder showed the others the parts he wrote for them. The only thing missing was a solo and a drum line.
Raider boasted that he could come up with one on the fly, and Wylder had no doubt in his skill. Executor and Duchess stared at the page before nodding. Wylder picked up his own electric guitar, blue, as was his favorite color. It wasn't as shiny as Ironeye's, but it was a trusty guitar all the same.
“Do you need me to show you how the guitar chords go?” Wylder offered carefully. If Ironeye was offended, he didn't show. Instead, he shook his head with a smirk.
“No need, I'm pretty good at sight reading. I'm ready when you are.”
Wylder nodded, allowing his lips to quirk up a bit. Again, he was promising. Ironeye's eyes lingered a little too long on his lips. But before Wylder could squirm, Raider was doing the count off with his drum sticks.
Wylder would admit it started a bit rough, but Duchess immediately curbed Raider's enthusiastic drum beat and steered them all into the right direction.
Wylder played the first few introductory notes, and Ironeye joined seamlessly with his own part. Executor and Raider joined as well, the latter being much more controlled.
Then Ironeye began to sing.
“With bloodshot eyes, I watch you sleepin'
The warmth I feel beside me is slowly fading
Would she hear me if I called her name?
Would she hold me if she knew my shame?
There's always something different going wrong
The path I walk's in the wrong direction
There's always someone fucking hanging on
Can anybody help me make things better?
Your tears don't fall, they crash around me
Her conscience calls the guilty to come home
Your tears don't fall, they crash around me
Her conscience calls the guilty to come home”
Duchess smiled as she waved her hand. “I suppose for now this will do. We seem to already be in sync with each other. I feel we finally may be complete. I have one more person I'd like to recruit, but as for the central band, I feel this is it.”
“Hell yeah!” Raider cheered, nearly toppling Ironeye over with how hard he slapped him on the back. “Welcome to the band! You make a fine addition!”
Executor seemed otherwise content, nodding his approval silently, as unreadable as ever under that motorcycle helmet. Ironeye smiled at the compliments, before turning to Wylder.
Wylder frowned as he tried to think of the words for their rehearsal. It wasn't just that the song was unfinished.
There was something missing in Ironeye's singing voice. Something that made him sound robotic almost. Something he definitely didn't like.
His voice wasn't unpleasant. Ironeye hit all of the notes correctly. It simply was something Wylder's senses picked up on.
“I didn't like it.”
Wylder knew the words were a bit too blunt, and had to suppress the urge to scramble for an explanation when Ironeye's expression changed into genuine surprise. Perhaps the most emotion he's seen of him in the little time they've known each other.
“Wylder-" Duchess began, chastising. But Wylder shook his head, stubborn in his own right.
“I didn't like it. I'm sorry. Your voice isn't bad,” he said quickly to Ironeye, who's expression was suddenly guarded. “It's just…do you even like singing?”
Ironeye's expression was still closed off as he regarded Wylder. For some reason, it made Wylder feel guilty. “I do. It's…my only choice.”
The words were spoken in a certain tone. Wylder knew he was missing the context to it. This was important, he was sure, but in what way? He didn't know. And with the way Ironeye’s expression hadn't changed, he might never.
The realization bothered him a little more than he thought it would.
“I don't mean any offense,” Wylder tried quickly, but Ironeye was already unstrapping his guitar.
“It's fine,” Ironeye said, when it definitely wasn't fine. “What about my voice don't you like?”
Wylder swallowed as he tried to think of the words. Raider seemed to have had enough.
“He may not like how you sing but the rest of us do! Sorry Wylder, you're outnumbered.”
“It's not like I was saying he was bad,” Wylder muttered softly. “Or that he'd be kicked out.”
Duchess sighed. “I'm sure that's not what Wylder meant.” She gave her brother a stern look before deciding on the next course of action. “We can try again tomorrow. For now, I'm sure you're hungry, Ironeye. And as for you,” Duchess pinned Wylder with a look. “It's time for you to eat.”
Wylder's protests were silenced with a glare from his sister, so he begrudgingly followed her to the kitchen, Ironeye in tow. The guitarist was just as quiet as he carefully ate, thoughts still unreadable.
Wylder truly wasn't hungry, but Duchess continued to fret over him, so he obliged with a few bites, trying to keep nausea at bay. When she placed a cup of water in front of him and a familiar pill bottle, Wylder let out a childish sigh before popping one in his mouth and chugging the water.
Wylder gave his sister a pointed look, but she seemed satisfied for now, dismissing him for the evening. A glance at Ironeye showed he finished his plate, but it seemed he was ignoring the interaction between him and his sister.
Awkward and unsure, Wylder rose from his seat by the table and hesitated.
“I…really didn't mean any offense, Ironeye.”
The guitarist nodded, but said nothing, seemingly deep in thought. Wylder looked to Duchess, but she simply sighed.
“I'm sure he knows, Wylder. Tomorrow. We will try again. It will be better. I'm certain of it.”
Wylder nodded at his sister's hopeful words, bidding them both a goodnight. He made his way to his room, knowing sleep would not come easily. Sure enough, he only managed to doze off until suddenly his throat felt like sandpaper, dry and scratchy. He did his best to suppress his coughs, hoping the thick walls were enough to keep from waking up the rest of the Hold as he quickly made it to the bathroom. There was an obstruction in his throat, and he coughed harder as he leaned over the sink, head bowed so he wouldn't have to see his reflection in the mirror. It came up and out, and Wylder found himself spitting a blood clot into the sink.
The red was stark against the clean white of the porcelain sink, glaring at him with the reality of his condition. His eventual bleak fate.
Wylder quickly turned the water on, watching as the clot of blood was taken apart until the sink was eventually clean once more. He rinsed his mouth and washed his face, suddenly feeling a bit feverish. Once satisfied, Wylder quietly exited the bathroom and made his way silently back to his room.
It was the late night to early hours of the morning, and he found himself plucking at his guitar strings, knowing sleep would be a fight. An idea struck, then.
Confident everyone was asleep, Wylder carefully took his guitar and eased open his room door. The Hold was dark, silent. All four doors in his wing of the hold were closed, including the vacant one that was tucked in the far corner across from him. Duchess was next to him, closest to the hallway leading to the rest of the Hold.
With careful steps, Wylder made it back to the rehearsal room. Duchess installed several low lights, so Wylder was able to watch his step with relative ease. It seemed everyone was truly asleep, and he wished to keep it that way.
A flick of singular light switch was enough to illuminate the small space he needed, and he quietly pulled up his chair and guitar stand, as well as a music stand to place his song book on. Grabbing said book, Wylder squinted as his eyes adjusted to the brighter space, but otherwise took a seat and propped his guitar on his thigh, song book splayed in front of him.
After plucking a few chords, Wylder flipped to the page they were on earlier. The acoustic guitar was different from an electric, but Wylder knew the chords and how to adjust the sound accordingly.
With the silence of the Hold to give him confidence, he took a shaky breath and began strumming. The same rhythm almost as the electric, but sounding delicately different. Before he lost the nerve, he sang, picking up from where they left off in practice earlier, his voice scratchy and rough.
His voice was much softer than Ironeye's. And as much as he hated to admit it, if Ironeye used it correctly, his voice could have power. But paired with his acoustic guitar, the melody flowed, and he felt himself relax with it.
“The moments died, I hear no screaming
The visions left inside me are slowly fading
Would she hear me if I called her name?
Would she hold me if she knew my shame?
There's always something different going wrong
The path I walk's in the wrong direction
There's always someone fucking hanging on
Can anybody help me make things better?
Your tears don't fall, they crash around me
Her conscience calls the guilty to come home
Your tears don't fall, they crash around me
Her conscience calls the guilty to come home”
His voice wobbled at the very end, and Wylder felt frustration run through him as he immediately stopped. His voice would never be the same. But perhaps, by playing the guitar, he could-
“Your voice is beautiful.”
Wylder jumped, nearly toppling over his music stand at the sound of Ironeye's voice. He quickly composed himself, turning to the source of the sound. Ironeye was leaning against the entrance to the rehearsal room, and rose from his lean to make his way over as Wylder noticed him.
“How long have you been there? I thought everyone was asleep?”
Ironeye smirked, those blue eyes crinkling in mischief. “A while. You aren't the only one who can haunt the Hold. Well, not anymore.”
Ironeye pulled up his own chair and sat directly next to Wylder. He felt himself tense as those keen eyes studied him.
Without any preamble, Ironeye asked, “If you can sing like that, why don't you?” When silence answered him, Ironeye sighed. “It would certainly beat having someone whose voice you hate, right?”
“I don't-” Wylder's voice cracked and he swallowed, hand tightening around his guitar. There was Ironeye's answer.
Ironeye's sharp eyes caught on immediately. “I heard you in the bathroom.” Wylder felt his blood run cold. He heard. Which meant not only was Ironeye privy to him being sick, but his sister might have heard, too. He didn't like either scenario.
Wylder prepared himself for the questions, to answer that he was fine, and that it was really none of Ironeye's business. But silence continued as Ironeye carefully picked him apart with a look alone.
“When did you start playing music?” Ironeye asked instead. The odd question was enough to startle Wylder. Was Ironeye not going to ask about it? Still, it eased some of the tension in him, and Wylder found himself willing to answer, just a little.
“As a boy.” To elaborate would mean to get into his past, and he didn't want to do that. Instead he shot the question back to Ironeye. “You?”
Ironeye quirked his lips a bit, as if he knew what Wylder was doing but was allowing it. Wylder found his eyes lingering on that little motion a bit too long. “Recently.”
Recently? And yet he was already so talented. Wylder nodded, though more questions buzzed in his head.
Wylder's curiosity must have shown on his face, but Ironeye began waving him off. “It's a long story. And I'm not much for sharing, either.”
Wylder could understand; as Ironeye said, he didn't like to share much either. Still, he found himself curious and even a little disappointed. Ironeye seemed to consciously hold himself back, from what Wylder has observed so far. His facial expression, his excitement, his singing, and now his past.
Still, it was refreshing, to have a conversation with someone and not have them pity him. The others meant well, but while they didn't know exactly what was wrong with his health, they knew there was something. And combined with his obvious mental state, often times he felt babied, pitied. There was no hesitance with Ironeye's words to him, no platitudes, only curiosity.
When it was obvious Wylder wasn't going to resume singing, Ironeye pinned him with a look again. “You never told me why you didn't like my voice.”
Wylder sighed as he tried to gather the words again.
“You're voice is fine. It's just…flat. Robotic. Like there's no passion. No soul.” Ironeye nodded, once again unreadable. He decided to ask the one most pressing on his mind.
“What did you mean, that this was your only choice?”
If a human could be mistaken for a statue, that's how Wylder would mistake Ironeye. He was still for so long Wylder worried he wasn't even breathing. But then Ironeye eventually spoke softly.
“I'm not used to doing things for myself. Things I like. This…is the first time I've followed my passion.”
More questions buzzed in Wylder's head as they regarded each other carefully. There was something beneath it all, with Ironeye, that almost craved to be seen. Wylder wanted to be the one to see it. How many layers did he have to peel back from the other, to gaze upon what was really his soul?
Would Ironeye let him?
Was it fair for him to even be considering this, despite the bleak fate that awaited him?
Ironeye stood suddenly, and Wylder watched with wide eyes as he grabbed his own guitar.
“I'll show you.” Ironeye said lowly. The sound of his voice had Wylder suppressing a shiver. “Just wait. I'll show you what I mean.”
Before Wylder could ask what Ironeye meant, the guitarist gave him a cheeky wink and left, heading to the wing where Wylder's room, and possibly his as well now, was.
Wylder tried to wrap his head around it all, energy suddenly buzzing through him. He drummed his fingers. Inspiration was hitting. But no, not for the guitar, for the piano. A melody sang in his head, vibrated down to his fingers, begging to be released and played.
Carefully, he rested his acoustic guitar on its stand and moved to the grand piano everyone else was scared of touching. Passion like this hasn't hit him for a while, and he wanted to write as much as possible while it was within him. He opened his song book to a blank page, thinking of fiery blue eyes as he began to write.
Ironeye was determined to show him his passion, and Wylder would show his, just as well.