say you’re something like fifteen years old. you sought out a life in the dorms because you couldn’t bear to stay home for reasons you can’t really get into. locked up tight, it doesn’t matter much. say there was this cool older guy, and you were going to be living with him for the coming year, and it was his responsibility to look out for you.
say you feel kind of bad about this.
he doesn’t know what a weird little kid you were, and the hope is that he’ll never have to figure out what you're like sick and nauseous. maybe you could be a cute underclassman to him. probably it'd be fine.
say, then, that he actually takes care of you. properly, like an older brother.
you’ve already got one, yeah. this is just way easier. no external factors screwing this up for you. no mom to basically feed you words to spit back up.
you’re not gonna tell her you said that.
the two of you share a room. you don't hate it. you play games, and he calls you Hanzawa with no pretense of closeness even when you kind of itch for it. you don't have to carry burdens for him because there are no burdens to carry. he has the shoulders to hold them himself.
one thing they don’t tell you about walking into a relationship with someone that guarantees closeness is that there isn't actually a clear and distinct line that says what kinds of feelings you will or will not experience.
maybe you aren't so good at selling the cute underclassman thing.
he's still pretty casual about touching you, and you don't mind it. you like spending time with him, because he makes it easy. maybe you wake up in the middle of the night feeling something, no emotional context for anything, and you look over at him, and you don't stop looking at him—he's like a meter and a half away from you, where else are you gonna look. he's asleep and looks so solid, and you don't actually know what you're staring at him for.
you have brothers, and you know what having a brother feels like, and as much as that is a can of worms for you, you also know that this isn't that.
so what is it, then? you turn your entire body away from him because you probably wouldn't stop staring at him if you didn't.
so he's still casual about touching you, and you don't get weird about it, you don't think. you still play games, you still have fun. it's still all those other things. no burdens to carry, he can carry them himself.
just, you know. you’re still caught on the shoulders thing and you haven’t puzzled out why.
so all of that. a lot of moving pieces, right? say he’s also your club’s vice president.
there’s a different feeling to it. kinetic energy, buzzing, melting down on the way home from the gym. liquid, pulsing energy, sloshing around between your ears; like your brain melts a little more with each passing day, paradox matter that only stays in-tact when you’re flushed red-hot.
funny, white-noise quiet when the two of you are getting ready for bed. neither created nor destroyed; just different.
you end up, somehow, so intimately tied up into his inner circle that you get kind of lost, a little co-dependent.
you're good at ping pong and he's better.
moving piece: a presence with gravity. moving pieces: say, hypothetically, that an inner circle is a little like being in orbit.
alternatively, admit your head’s in the clouds. take a drink, your mouth’s gone dry.
be outside, look in.
you play your role, he plays his. something you aren’t catching onto, right on the tip of your tongue. between sets, on the walk home—cooling and melting down. you dance around each other in the dorm as he goes from big to bigger.
it’s a funny taste. you can’t place it. you sort of think you never will.
be outside, look in. for real this time.
that pull doesn't go away. it's never gonna go away. you look away one second and have a part of yourself, god knows which, taken and placed on his tongue, swallowed to take with him. a keepsake.
somewhere between points b and c, though, sometime before he’s gone for good, two first years walk into club.
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Just kinda blabbing my thoughts out but here's the text version of Martyns little lore bit and my initial thoughts on it! (Theory brain went BRRRRR)
Pause, Unpause
We paralyze
A vacant stare
For wandering eyes
Canary call
The first to fall
Forever caged
In different walls
Echoes ring
For brief exchange
Disruptions by
The ones estranged
Tread careful sound
For if we met
Our gaze would bring
Untimely deaf
First pack is the reference to afk grian and switching of players, he's talked about wanting to bring that up so this is very fitting.
Second pack very obviously Jimmy but fucking hell I regret us telling him about the Canary curse like the day after the recording session pffff
Third pack! Actually the one I'm unsure about atm? Maybe the ones that are out this season but jumped in or something about the broken alliances.
And last one is basically something I feel like a watcher would instruct Martyn like he needs to be careful and has been snooping too far or they don't want him to win and he will loose what makes him a listener if he does!
Last more far fetched addition:
The last line reminded me of ren? Idk why but the way its typed and how it feels like Martyn is being addressed with "sound" similar to how ren addressed him with "hand" just makes that line sound like rens saying it in my head. It's also the mix of deaf being intended to also sound like death. Meaning it could be that a listener dies once he has no one he can listen to or just in general looses their purpose.
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