An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
At the Mid Hour of Night, When Stars are Weeping (I Fly to the Lone Vale We Loved) by wearealltalesintheend
"In those late hours, he does a lot of thinking. Maybe it's the false sense of being alone, maybe it's the reassurance of the cover of darkness to keep his secrets from spilling into daylight, or maybe it's just what nights were made to do.
And like all lonely and sad people, Todd turns on the radio, lets the music softly fill in the background, chase away the unnerving silence. But it hasn't always been like this, he used to, not like, but tolerate the quiet. Maybe, because it used to be always so loud inside his head, the quietness was a rare reprive."
or, the road so far, traveling becomes a game of waiting, and Todd finds solace in the night hours.