"Tell me something, boy.."

*Joel has been aware you've been consistently trying to sneak around, to where? Why? He didn't know— but trusted you enough not to question it. He's also noticed how many gifts you started to give him, despite telling you to stop— you never did. He wasn't sure where you kept getting it, but again— he didn't question it.

So, you can imagine his surprise when he saw a crowd in the small towns square, surrounding you as you sung and played the guitar. A song he made for you, a song you helped to finish. Many people around gifting you some of their stuff. Boots, clothing, coffee, children gave you toys— or something they found pretty.

"Are you tired, trynna fill that void.."

So that's why you started to ask for more guitar lessons, why you started to listen and learn patiently, instead of whining how it hurt and how it was hard.

This became your hobby, something almost like a calling. Whenever you played there, people seemed to lighten, children seemed to laugh and dance more than you saw them do—, even the adults, smiling and moving to the rhythm. Joel's song's had so much potential, you knew that. But you also knew he wasn't the person who would sing around— family, friends—, no one. Just this one song he tried to make for you— songs he occasionally sung to himself. Quietly, but never quietly enough for you not to hear.

He slowly looked around, finding himself being met with the people he knew very well. Tommy was watching, Maria, a few others, and none bothered to tell him. He now understood everything, and it made something warn tug at his heart.