#sohwi

the guitar underneath his hands resonates throughout the tavern, fingers gliding over the strings in a gentle, slow melody that accompanies the rumble of his voice. the music's from his heart, as his mouth weaves the tale, propped up on a stool in the candlelight and background hum of the patrons.

"the moon spoke to me when i was younger. she's quieter, now, but i used to hear her like a hush right at my ear. she'd tell me things, especially when it was at the peak of night, three in the morning before the sun would start trying to tear all of the dark out of the sky."

seohan's boot taps against the ground, keeping time, hood pulled down low over his eyes, lips brushing against the strip of fabric concealing the lower half of his face.

"lead me all the way to world's end until the sunrise, and i learned about the hush of the earth, and that if you'd sit there long enough, you could feel the thrum right against your fingertips. water, dirt, sand, there's stories all tucked right there in each grain of the weave that you can ease open like the skin of an orange."

he shakes his head a little, he doesn't even really look out to the crowd, anymore, somewhere far away where he doesn't have to think much past the memory, maybe those old, dusty curtains that try to paint a fence between him and the rest of the world outside.

"all i ever knew is that alone truly isn't alone. the very fabric of it all, tucked into the moon's voice, the earth's tide, the pull of the sun, even at world's end. even at the edge of it all, there's so many stories there. memory, what people have left behind even with just a glance. the world will tell you about it all if you take a moment to look."

he's found so many quiet things tucked in the corners of this town, everywhere he looks to love, to remember that the love is there, that it stays. it follows him even as he steps down from the stage and walks to the bar, slides up and nods at the bartender who makes him the whiskey he always gets after he gets off stage.

there's someone already there, one that he'd noticed had listened to his stories a few times now, a new face, though. he's used to seeing people pass through, presences fading like the curling of paper, time eased out in front of him like the spill of a pool.

he gets a glass in his hand and pulls down the fabric to take a sip, shadows obscuring whatever the candlelight doesn't catch.

"do you happen to like my stories?" seohan asks, curious. slides the fabric back as he leans on an elbow, melted by the warmth of the hearth and the low murmur as someone else takes the small stage.

"i think i've seen you here a few times, but you're not from around here, are you?"