Page 45 of The Sound Between Us
I hit record again. My voice feels dangerous. “Found me in the wreckage of your songs...”
“Fuck, yes.” He scribbles with desperation. “And then what? What comes after finding?”
“Maybe... building new pieces from the wreckage?” I toy with the keys; a tentative progression, shaky but trying. “Or realising the wreckage was beautiful all along?”
He looks up. Amber heat and ache in his eyes. “You don’t write someone who’s been hiding from music.”
“You don’t write someone who’s been phoning it in for years.”
We lock eyes, and I feel the ground shift. Tectonic.
“Try this.” His fingers move to the keys; a haunting, almost-lullaby progression swells under his touch.
“What does that make you feel?”
I close my eyes. The chords settle into me; silk and bruises.
“Falling. But not being afraid of where you’ll land.”
“Sing that. The falling part.”
“I can’t just—”
“Yes, you can. Don’t think; just sing what falling feels.”
So I do. I sing nothing words—sounds over melody, feeling without structure. It’s messy; breathless. Raw.
When I stop, the silence hums.
“Again. But this time, I’ll follow.”
I do. And when his voice joins mine, the harmony latches into place. Puzzle pieces clicking shut. We sound... as though we were always meant to do this. Together.
“Jesus.”
“I know.” His hands are still on the keys, but his gaze is all on me. “Do you realise what just happened?”
“We made something that doesn’t suck?”
He grins. “We made something good. Really fucking good.”
I replay the voice memo. It is; too good. Too much.
“What’s the story? What’s it about?”
He flips to a fresh page. “Two people running from things.”
“And they crash into each other.”
“Literally. With a milkshake.”
I snort. “You’re not putting that in the song.”
“Why not? It’s true.” He grins, all reckless charisma and irreverent charm. “What if the whole song is about beautiful disasters? About how the best things in life are usually the ones that terrify you most?”
“That’s either really romantic or really depressing.”
“Can’t it be both?”
