Chapter Text
I can’t wait forever, is all that you said
Before you stood up
And you won’t disappoint me, I can do that myself
But I’m glad that you’ve come
Now if you don’t mind: Leave.
Leave.
Free yourself at the same time. Leave.
Leave.
I don't understand. You've already gone.
There’s something about busking that fuels Casey’s soul. No matter how cold it is - how numb her nose goes peeking out below her hat, how blue her fingers get as she strums her guitar, how her teeth start to chatter between songs - she always feels warm. Even as she sings her heart out on an empty street corner, people passing her by catching glimpses of the broken pieces shattered across the street for them to witness. Her soul left raw, open, and vulnerable for anyone to see.
She’s been going for a few hours, with the sun setting on the short day behind her. Frost in the air. There’s less people on the street, and definitely none paying her any attention now. It’s past the time where people might stop and hover. Listen. React. It’s at the point in the evening where people carry on their way without pausing. Casey doesn’t blame them.
One more song, she thinks to herself, Just one more.
There’s only so many times you can do something for nothing - even something you love dearly. Everyone hits a breaking point. For Casey, there’s only so many times she can relive the memory she so desperately wants to escape. Only so many times she can play this song and still get up the next morning. And, if she’s not going to carry on playing the songs she’s poured so much of herself into, is there any point in carrying on playing at all?
The emotion builds up inside her as she plays. She can feel the tears rolling down her cheeks, the rest of the world oblivious to it. And it’s not the rest of the world at fault, not when every individual is inherently selfish in their own way. She doesn’t expect the rest of the world to be there for her. She doesn’t expect the rest of the world to be there for anybody.
She ends the song by dropping her guitar into its case. She’s done. It’s over. She’s so ready to walk away.
“That song you just played - is it yours?” A voice comes from what seems like the shadows, but really the man stands right in front of her.
Casey is silent, her only response to slowly raise her head and meet the stranger before her’s eyes.
“I know you can talk,” he continues, after a beat or three of silence, “I just heard you sing.”
She continues to say nothing, watching warily as the man takes a couple of steps forward. And then a step to the side.
“Unless, you can’t talk,” he jokes, but Casey can tell there’s an edge of nervousness to him as she remains still, and quiet, “Can you only sing? No talking?”
She finally responds. Not with words, but with actions. Turning away from him slightly, she adjusts the hat on her head and leans down to pick up her bag from where it sits on the floor beside her - no, not her, the - guitar case.
“You can sing me your answer instead, if you like.” The voice reaches out to her as she starts to step away.
“No thank you,” Casey replies, finally, as she moves closer to the shadows.
“Hey, I made you talk!”
“I could already talk.”
“And sing.” He confirms, before pressing on, “Did you write that song?”
“Erm,” Casey hesitates now, not quite as ready to just leave as she was a second ago, “Yeah.”
“It’s good.” The man says, humming a few bars from the chorus under his breath before continuing, “Very good.”
“Thanks?”
“You’re welcome.” He’s completely sincere with his response. There’s a pause before he gives her a little wave, “Hello.”
Casey tilts her head slightly, “Hi?”
“Do I have to start every conversation?” He asks.
“Well,” she points out, “You seem more up for it than I do.”
He grins in response and Casey swears she feels her knees go a little weak because of it. Which only serves to make her mad at herself. She doesn’t need this. She doesn’t need to be interacting with a stranger in the middle of the street when she could be halfway across the city by now on her way home to watch some crap TV with her sister.
“Hey!” The voice calls from back behind her when she’s already several metres away, on her way to the nearest station entrance, “You left your guitar!”
“I don’t want it anymore,” she calls back over her shoulder, before ducking around a corner ready to leave both this interaction and a huge section of her life behind her.
I don’t know you
But I want you
All the more for that
Words fall through me
And always fool me. And I can’t react
Take this sinking boat, and point it home: We’ve still got time.