Relaxation (open)

[Michael Blackwood-Hardt]

Michael nodded and fell silent, letting the music flow however his hands decided to move. Every now and again he would glance over at Dare, but mostly he watched his hands. He stayed silent, figuring that the uncomfortable moment would leave better with silence than by force, so he didn't fish for another topic of conversation.

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

Dare's quill scratched furiously for a while, the motions growing shorter, lighter, and farther between as there was less detail left to add. Ink wasn't like pastel, where you could erase, smudge, and change. There was only so much he could do. Eventually, the music filtered back into his mind as more than the background noise grounding him. His quill stopped, and he set it aside, then raised his head a bit, looking down at his drawing.

[Michael Blackwood-Hardt]

Michael was starting again to think about that day in the forest, and his hands slowed to a momentary stop before he forced them to start moving again, complete silence wouldn't help matters any. He looked over at Dare, thoughts rushing through the mind that had been so very relaxed minutes beforehand. Actually being in the same room as Dare put new light on his earlier thoughts, could he really try it?

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

Dare stared at his drawing for a moment longer before setting it aside to dry. He liked the way the ink was sitting right now. He'd been too absorbed in making bold marks to think about the fact that he couldn't turn the page. When he finally looked back up at Michael, it was to see that pensive look in his eyes again. What was he thinking about that playing still hadn't tempered? His mind hadn't switched gears yet to think about it himself. "Knut for your thoughts," he said.

[Michael Blackwood-Hardt]

Michael was able to think about it because he had been playing for a while even before Dare had come in. He looked away again, forcing tired fingers to play just a little while longer. Just a few more minutes. "It's nothing," he said, unwilling to bring it up. "Just thinking that I need to write an owl." Not exactly a lie, a few minutes before he had been thinking about that.

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

Dare's mind was beginning to clear, and he thought, maybe, that there was something else, but he wouldn't push. Michael hadn't pushed him. He wouldn't push. Dare got to his feet, shaking his hands out to dry the ink staining his fingertips as he walked back to the piano. God, sometimes he missed...he stopped that thought before it became solid, but the Room had caught it, and against the wall, in a shadowed corner, the vague shape of an acoustic guitar formed out of nothing. Dare stopped beside the piano again and watched, his mind having distracted him once more from his unfinished business with Michael.

[Michael Blackwood-Hardt]

Michael's eyes caught the motion and he finally let his fingers rest and looked up at the guitar in the corner. "You play?" he asked, looking up at Dare, once again so near him. He wondered if he was the only one who was still thinking so hard about that day. He brought his hands together in his lap, wringing and popping his fingers.

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

Dare was watching Michael's hands again, watching the motion of skin against skin. "No," he said, thinking Michael meant piano until he followed Michael's gaze. He stopped, frozen for a moment, his heart thudding, then squeezing. He tore his gaze away, turned his back on the guitar as he looked down at his own ink-stained hands. "Not anymore," he corrected. He wished the damned guitar would go away, but part of him still wanted it, and it stayed, persistently.

[Michael Blackwood-Hardt]

"Go get it," Michael urged, "You know you want it," he added, grinning a little. He turned and straddled the piano bench, stretching his hands out in front of him on the wood. They weren't used to playing for so long, not anymore. At one time he could have played for hours on end, but he was so out of practice. He looked from the guitar to Dare, his gaze coaxing.

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

Dare's head was bowed, his hair obscuring his face. He shook his head. "I don't play anymore," he insisted. Dare leaned heavily against the side of the piano and crossed his arms over his chest. The silence after all the music was getting to him, though. He kept thinking about the guitar, then shoving the thought aside, then thinking about it again. "I can't do it," he said, the words half choked. He turned, slid down, then sat on the floor beside the piano, drawing his legs up and bowing over them. The memories were threatening, were there, waiting for him to acknowledge them, and it was all he could do not to break.

[Michael Blackwood-Hardt]

Michael wasn't expecting that reaction, and his eyebrows came together as he pushed himself off of the bench and sat beside Dare. "You don't have to, what's up?" he asked, crossing his legs and, for the moment, forcing his hand to stay off of Dare's back. He wanted Dare to talk, it would help him, even if it was painful to do so. It seemed like Dare really needed to talk, and Michael hoped he would.

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

What's up? What a loaded f~ing question that was, Dare thought. He took a few sharp breaths, then a few longer ones, trying to rein himself in enough to make sense, trying to put together words, just for the sake of getting them out. "I haven't played since Mom died," he managed. "She wanted me to play for her." And he didn't want to play again, even if he desperately wanted to.

[Michael Blackwood-Hardt]

"Maybe it would help," Michael suggested softly. He wouldn't push Dare to play, wouldn't make him, but he knew that sometimes it did help to face the pain. "I know it sounds crazy, but it might." He kept his eyes on Dare, watching for a reaction to his words. If Dare refused, he hoped that he would just refuse, and not hold anything against Michael for trying to help.

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

Dare made a low sound of near-despair, his shoulders tensing further. Then his head rose, just enough for him to look at the guitar, half accusing, half pleading. "I told Silver I wouldn't play again," he said, though part of him wanted to be convinced. He'd loved playing, it was part of his art. It was. "You really think it might help?"

[Michael Blackwood-Hardt]

Michael continued watching him, his own chest constricting at the look on Dare's face. "It could, if it doesn't then you never have to play again." He clasped his hands in front of him, in his lap. "There's always the chance it'll help." His eyes went over to the guitar, silently telling Dare to go for it, he had nothing to lose.