You hear a knock at the door, a sound which has become both comforting and annoying. Comforting, because it means he's here. Annoying, because it's means he's here. Grumbling, you roll over in your pile (you still can't believe you started making piles of things too) and grunt out an irritated "mh," in the general direction of the door. You rub your eyes and sit up, clearing your head. You'd been in the middle of writing something in your block in a dream bubble. You no longer hate going there. That's the only place you write down words. You still feel uncomfortable about having it written down on paper here, where anyone could find it. But it's getting closer to the day you know you'll let him read it. Or, rather, hear it.
Dave swings the door open at your invitation, shoving it closed behind him. You still cannot figure out how he does such movements so silently. The door barely clicks as it closes. He pulls his usual chair over in front of you, plopping down, still not saying anything. He gives you a small nod, and his lips quirk slightly. You can tell that means you have horrid "bedhead" again. You bring a hand up to pat it down a bit, and give up immediately. You don't really care either way. It's just Dave, no big deal.
You let yourself fully wake up before speaking. "Time again huh?" He's taken to waking you up at the same time every day. At least an hour too early for your taste, but the routine is good for you. It gives a small purpose and and goal to each day. He says you need to take better care of yourself if you want to start feeling better. In his own stupid words, of course. Wake up, practice, eat, movies, mess around, eat, then whatever else you feel like doing that day, before you get to go to sleep again, and keep writing. The days no longer blend together for you, and the hours have stopped dragging. They seem to fly past you now, and you're happy about that.
When Strider started getting you into this routine, it just got too weird to not say anything. You remember the look he gave you when you finally just asked "So, what, are we pale now?" He smirked at you, shook his head a little and it made you feel a little embarrassed for asking. "Dude we're bros. This is what bros do." You think you like that. Being his "bro". Feels even more important than just being friends. And he was doing all of this for you because he wanted to, rather than out of obligation due to moiraillegiance. Somehow that made it even more meaningful. You'd never tell him that though. He's still an insufferable prick. Just a lot more sufferable.
He nods, tossing you the guitar out of his sylladex. You adjust yourself on the pile to a more comfortable playing position. You've been meaning to bring another chair in here, you just keep forgetting. No too big of a deal anyway. You pluck the strings one at a time, listening to the reverberating tones that echo out, a couple sound a little off. You mess with the knobs at the top and pluck them each again, until they sound right to your ears. He told you a few days ago he was surprised you could tune it by ear, after such a short amount of time. You were kind of proud of that.
He still hasn't told you the names of anything. You just know chords are notes played together, but you don't know much else, just some other basic things, but besides that he just lets you do your own thing. You don't know which notes you play, or if you're playing right, but he usually corrects you if you do end up doing something wrong. So you begin playing.
You always play almost the same thing. Some days certain chords sound wrong in the place you'd had them the previous day, so you'll change them, or change the tempo you play at, but you never end a session without feeling confident at that time about what you've got so far. He hardly ever lets you go for more than a couple of hours at a time, but you're fine with that too. He says it's good you've got a hobby, but you've gotta have other things in your life too.
But now isn't the time to think about that. You strum, and set your fingers to the position they always start in, and begin playing. It sounds so crystalline and clear, and clears your mind of thoughts until the sound dulls out. You play the short song Dave had played that first day, then let it lead into your own song. You're almost done with it, you can feel it. You no longer mess up and have to start over. You're just having a bit of trouble with keeping the same tempo the whole time. But you're getting better at it. He says so too. You're getting better at something that you enjoy. You're happy about that.
