Elements of Strings
Disclaimer: I do not own anything pertaining to the Kingdom Hearts franchise besides a copy of the game.
Dilan tapped his foot harder, but the other boy's fixed attention didn't waver. Dilan didn't halt his tapping on the echoing tile; otherwise, the room was almost completely silent except for the sound of gel slapping and oozing between two hands. He coughed, tapped his wrist, and started tapping the floor with his other foot, but the revolting sucking sound continued on uninterrupted.
"Myde…" he said in a low voice.
"I'm almost done, 'kay?" Myde bit his lip, struggling to keep a stray clump of strands erect. It bent over indifferently.
"Your hair's probably just too damaged from all the gel you use. Can we go now?" Dilan shifted his weight again. His eyes followed the snakes of yellow dirt that wove between the tiles.
"Now that was uncalled for…uh, Dilan, was it?" Myde laughed flippantly, not bothering to wait for a response, and then returned to biting his lip, furrowing his brow, and struggling with the defiant strands. "It's not like the project's due tomorrow."
Dilan pushed his back off the wall with his shoulders, staring at the other boy with low eyelids. He strode over.
Myde glanced over when the tapping stopped, then chuckled nervously and put up his hands in mock defense. "Sorry, sorry! See? All fixed." He gestured to the formerly rebellious locks. Dilan scoffed, turned on his heel, and strolled out the bathroom door without a backwards glance. Myde scuttled after, but caught up just enough to keep a shy distance.
"Why didn't you do all that before you got here?" Dilan asked, pulling out the chair and sitting down with a relatively comfortable demeanor. When Myde realized that there were no more chairs and that none would be provided for him, he quickly snatched one from a few tables over.
"I wanted to get here early enough…" Myde was just inches above the chair, but before he could fully descend Dilan slapped a piece of paper down in front of him. The words on it were in pen, dark and neat. Myde thought the handwriting was fairly girlish, but bit his tongue. He waited patiently for an explanation.
"Those are the books we need." Dilan smiled, and Myde knew that there was nothing more to say. He picked up the paper with uncertainty; the list wasn't too long. Dilan looked off to the side lazily, knowing he would have to do most of the work.
When Myde returned there were only two books in his hands, and they were distressingly thin. Dilan rolled his eyes and grabbed the thickest one, flipping through it and sighing. Myde's face remained vacant and unconcerned.
"You know…" he started, "I think I have some of the other books at home." Dilan looked unconvinced, so Myde hurried up his train of thought. "My house is only three blocks away."
Dilan growled and tightened his grip, accidentally ripping a small tear in the page. A librarian glared out of the corner of her eye. Myde smiled playfully, turned around, and strolled out the library door without a backwards glance.
---
The walk was very brisk and very quiet. Dilan was uneasy trailing behind, and he was forced to slow his pace multiple times as he caught himself walking ahead of Myde. He wished they were at their destination so he could start the project in peace.
---
"There's a talent show coming up, you know."
"I didn't."
Dilan sat on the bed as if a board was nailed to his back, while Myde excavated his closet.
"I'm gonna be in it, too. Hey, do you wanna see my—?"
"No thanks."
Myde pulled out a pale blue guitar, glassy reflections contouring to its smooth surface. He held it like a child holds its pet, glancing up at Dilan with eyes anticipating praise. It hummed quietly as fingers ran softly across its strings, the music dancing through the air and landing heavily on Dilan's shoulders. The invisible board he was leaning against turned limp.
Dilan finally took an opportunity to speak. "I'm not sure if you're aware, but luring the books out with music only works in fairy tales." A shy smile crossed Myde's lips, and his upper body once again disappeared into the dilapidated ruins of his closet. There was more rummaging, the sound of papers rustling and boxes falling, but eventually the yellow head emerged holding three torn, grey books.
Myde was flat on his stomach, kicking his legs back and forth as he read the smallest book. Dilan sat at the head of the bed, leaning against the pillows with the book propped up against his thighs. He sat relatively still, as still as he could with Myde's constant rocking.
There was little interruption besides a small argument over the radio. Myde couldn't concentrate in the silence, Dilan couldn't concentrate without. The quarrel was anything but unexpected. The sound that came through the radio crackled like burning paper, and the argument only settled down when the noise of the burning static drowned out the shouting. Dilan returned to his spot briskly, his mouth and brow rigid.
Silence returned, heavy and dense. It was half an hour before the thickness dissipated.
---
"When you expedite something, you make it go faster. In the context of the sentence, it means that the reaction was sped up."
Myde jerked his head around, staring up at the presence behind his shoulder. Dilan appeared casual. Myde frowned indignantly, turning back to the page in front of him and feigning indifference. A haughty smile stretched across the other's face as he lay down and positioned himself parallel to Myde.
"If you don't know what a word means, you can always ask."
"I'm not dumb, you know."
Dilan rolled his eyes, redistributing his balance as he tried to get more comfortable. Myde glanced over and saw the other book sitting neatly on the dresser. He shifted and turned his own book away. Dilan was staring at the wall ahead, his head resting on his hands.
Myde sighed, sporadically looking over at Dilan, but nothing happened, and he eventually let himself fall into the book's words.
---
Dilan's world was fuzzy and dazed, taken up by the colorful green and yellow rays of sunlight shooting out behind undistinguishable bubbles. There was a dreamy, lulling vibration reverberating through his head; it drowned out his breathing and the shifting of the sheets beneath him. The feeling of suspension was relaxing.
Myde missed a chord, twanged on a wire that was too taught, and suddenly the undistinguishable bubbles formed into words and the rays of sunlight fell flat, mere lines on the poster. The music was back, but the suspension was broken, and Dilan had to shake away the stupor before remembering where he really was.
"Myde, what are you doing?"
The tune paused.
"What does it look like?"
It started again as if it had never stopped. Myde was smiling down at the guitar, the white shine on its smooth surface mimicking his clean row of teeth. The melody was fitting.
Dilan frowned. Lifting up off the bed, he muttered an excuse; he had to leave. There was a nod in his direction, and the notes rang on in a smooth continuum. He left briskly, not sparing a glance, and the rhythm slowly filtered out of his system as he walked away.
---
Dilan switched through the channels on the radio. He passed a few rock stations, a few country stations, but all the sounds they emitted were obnoxious and crooked; they didn't fit into the curves of his preference. No matter which way he turned, there was a square that his circle refused to mold to.
Dilan hated guitars.
---
"Hey, Dilan? So…what do I do here?"
"You need to balance the equation."
"But it's so boring," Myde groaned, flipping the pages absentmindedly. Dilan laughed. He tore off a square of paper from the stack at the foot of the bed and started writing on it.
"See, you shouldn't balance the oxygen first because it stands alone here. You can alter it as much as you want after the other elements are balanced."
Myde watched the pencil jerk and spin as Dilan led it across the page. He nodded his head appropriately, trying to print the instructions clearly in his head.
"You write like a girl." He shut his mouth as quickly as he had opened it. Myde looked up at his companion meekly. "Er, I mean…" he started nervously.
"I guess you're right," replied Dilan, eyeing the paper from afar before delving back into the equations. A moment passed before Myde remembered to blink.
---
"Stop that racket."
Myde smiled playfully. "You sound like an old man."
There were essays and books scattered across the floor, mixing with music sheets and magazines. Myde sat amidst the clutter, strumming.
"It's due tomorrow."
"There's only a bibliography left. I can totally finish that up tonight."
Dilan's eyes skimmed over the paper in his hand; the words were monotonous, flat, but read perfectly. He had been looking over them for the past hour. Myde was strumming, strumming, experimenting with little chords. He didn't question why Dilan was still there; he hadn't the entire week.
"You know…" he started, not looking up. "Mom bought some of those chips you said you like. They're downstairs."
Dilan gave a small grunt of recognition. There was a pause in the music, the silence urging him to get them.
He ate them as quietly as he could, and the music started again on cue. He brushed the mattress, trying to shake off some of the crumbs, but his fingers only left orange stains. He wiped his hands on his pants. The sounds stopped and Myde reached over, his hand groping around the bag as he leaned awkwardly. Grabbing a chip, he got up and sat down heavily on the bed, and the music that had previously saturated the room was replaced by the small crunching of chips.
Dilan looked over to see Myde's lips stained with orange powder, and he assumed the same of his own. He licked them, garnering a desperate final savor. Dilan glanced over at the lonely guitar. So did Myde. Their eyes met. Their teeth clacked against each other awkwardly. Their wet lips shivered elatedly under the other's touch, and the taste of the snack melted into the husky taste of someone else.
When Myde opened his eyes, all he could see was Dilan's back as it vanished out the door, leaving him alone in an empty, disorderly room.
---
"Hey, Dilan…"
Dilan stepped to the side casually, passing by with a stoic and indifferent countenance. Myde frowned, turning to follow, but a sea of students cut directly through his path. He stomped the ground impatiently, stretching his back as high as he could and trying to see over the bobbing, interminable batches of heads that moved against him.
Another attempt was made during the next passing period. He managed to grab Dilan's arm before he headed down the stairs, but Dilan turned away, his eyes averted, and shook the grasp off with ease. Once again, he became lost in the crowd.
The lunchroom was noisy, packed, and filled with swarming bodies and sticky floors. Myde stepped over colorful spots of spilled food as he meandered between the tables. A friend called over to him, motioning to an empty seat, but he declined.
"Are you going to eat any lunch?" asked another friend, approaching him with an inviting tray of mashed potatoes and chicken salad in her hands.
"No, I'm kinda busy."
"Just don't starve yourself, okay?"
The girl frowned resentfully; Myde was already gone.
---
"And then, when the oxygen in the water reacts…"
Myde fidgeted. He tugged at the end of his shirt, he felt his hair to make sure it stayed in place, he swallowed profusely and his knees were weak.
"The pollutants from the factory spilling into the lake then…"
He was glad his mouth was shut, spread tightly into a thin line. He was glad he didn't have to open it. Everything was being taken care of. In fact, this was how he had hoped the presentation would be from the very beginning. This was the ideal.
"When the products then react with the carbon dioxide…"
Myde stared at the faces; pallid, blank, uninterested. Very few were even looking. He had experience with these sorts of crowds, a surplus of experience.
"This is a common technique among many scientists…"
He looked down at his feet, stuffing his hands in his pockets and keeping them as still as possible.
"And so…" Dilan continued, "in conclusion…"
He won't even look at me?
---
The walls and carpet were a dull red except for the vibrant mauve curtains. Most students avoided the mismatched room, but now all of them were filing in. A chorus of chattering widened with the crowd like one giant voice, with clusters occasionally laughing conspicuously over the noise. A group of girls giggled as the spotlight changed colors, flickered, and then sped back and forth across the room violently.
Dilan managed to slip away from the commotion. He stood at the back, leaning against the wall and tapping his foot idly. He never really liked sitting.
The principal was explaining something vehemently. There was wild gesticulation, a large cat grin, the polite clapping from the students who were paying attention.
"The first contestant in the talent show is…"
The beginning started off slow, but Dilan's attention was still intently fixed on the stage and its performers. There was some dancing, some singing, and some more dancing. His interest was waning, but his eyes remained fast, straight ahead on the target.
His mind twitched like an old machine being put to use once again when the name was mentioned. It caught onto his ears immediately. There was a heavy pause.
Myde entered the stage, smiling and waving like a professional. His face betrayed its earlier disappointment, but Dilan's eyes were drawn away from the boy as he noticed the details of the guitar more closely. Unlike the blue, vibrant sheen that coated the guitar he was used to hearing, this object was dull. It was an old, faded, tired thing; an elderly replacement.
His mind wrapped itself around the instrument, trying to decipher what exactly it was and why it wasn't the bright blue beauty from before. Then, in the crowd, someone whispered the name.
It wasn't a guitar at all. It was a sitar. And its melody began in a slow and somber voice.
A foreign elegance not only drifted through the air, but held it close with a quiet power. The notes expanded, each one sounding out distinctly until it connected with its siblings into a refined, haunting tune. There was a sudden hush over the crowd, or maybe Dilan had just muted them out.
It was very alien. The lively, childish boy, who ate potato chips and played his favorite rock songs on his brand new guitar, was now weaving something that was entwining itself around the dark, still boy standing in the back of the room.
The spotlight shot through the air, distinct, landing and encircling what might as well be the world. Dilan was the first to start clapping and the last to stop.
---