Unbeta'd oneshot. Yes it's short, but I blame the fact that it's 10 to 2 in the morning. I own nothing.
He tossed and turned beneath his covers; once, twice, three times, and his arms flew out to the side as if fighting off an invisible being. A stream of incoherent mumbles escaped from his mouth as he lashed out again, and this time his arm connected with his bedside table with a sickening crack.
Gasping in pain, Gordon jerked awake, pulling himself into a sitting position as he cradled his throbbing hand against his chest. His heavy breaths were the only sound in the darkness, but in his mind, the distracting buzz of noise continued.
He had begun to compare the noise to that of a crowd, like when he walks into school and every GAGA kid is talking about their weekend, and they're all talking as one and he only picks up the odd word here and there. His brain is sort of the same. There is so much noise, so much words and beats and screeching and thudding and banging, all fighting to be heard, that he can only catch the odd snippet once in a while.
As his breathing calmed, he scrabbled blindly under his bed for his notebook, clicking his bedside lamp on as he sat up again. He flicked through the pages, each covered in various scribbles and nonsense that he had repeatedly tried to translate (and failed), before finding an untouched page. He shook his hand about a bit till the pain disappeared, picked up his pen, and began to write.
The words began to flow almost of their own accord. Gordon hardly paid attention as his pen flew across the paper, and more words flooded into his brain. It was almost like an exchange, really. As the words left his head via the pen, more came charging in from nowhere. They never bloody stopped.
"There's a drumming noise inside my head that starts when you're around..."
Boom, boom, thud. Boom, boom, thud.
He screwed his eyes shut, wincing, as the now-familiar scene danced behind his eyelids. There was a blinding white light, and the screams of an invisible crowd rose to a crescendo, and the boom, boom, thud seemed to fill the place.
And then he saw her.
A girl, a blur of red and purple, dancing round in circles, a guitar gripped possessively in her hands as her fingers danced across the frets, picking out a tune that was all her own. The noise of the crowd intensified. Gordon didn't think that it was possible.
He had never seen her before, but Gordon couldn't take his eyes off of her. He stood, transfixed, just staring, as this mad, grinning girl spun and danced her way across the stage in a way that shouldn't have been possible in those large, clunky red boots of hers.
"Scaramouche, Scaramouche, will you do the Fandango?"
"Oi, Gazza! C'mon!" She waved across to him, as the guitar riffs faded into the silence. Silence. Utter silence, for just that few seconds. It was bliss. No voices, no beats, no noise, just this girl standing in front of him. "Uh, Gazza? Earth to Galileo Figaro?"
"Galileo, Galileo, Galileo Figaro..."
And just like that, the noise came flooding back, a deafening blare, like when he forgot he had his iPod on loud before he switched it off, and when he turned it back on the music came screaming out of his headphones before he could quickly turn the volume down.
His eyes flew open and he glanced down at the page in front of him, now covered in scribbles, all overlapping and in different sizes, as if they were fighting for dominance on the page, yet somehow all still legible.
"Never mind, I'll find someone like you..."
He took one last glance at the page, and the three words that were written in a thick black scrawl, smack-bang in the middle of the page, drifted back into his mind as he shut the notebook and tossed it carelessly under the bed, switching the lamp off.
"Galileo Figaro and Scaramouche..." he whispered into the darkness, "It has a nice ring to it..."