It took me a moment tofilter through Quinn’s nervous rambling to work out what he was trying totellme, butsomething warm bloomed in my chest as I realized what he was saying.
A version of his song—hissong, the one he’d written himself—that I could listen to. That I wouldn’t bemissing half of.
Even without headphones,music never quite sounded right anymore.
Quinn didn’t know whatmusic had meant to me once, but he wantedthisto meansomething to me.
It was hard to believe he’d come up withsuch a sweet idea for my benefit. That he’d thought hard enough about myhearing todosomething likethat.
Not many people would havegiven a damn, and fewer still would have bothered.
“I care,” I said in a hurry.“I… thank you.”
What else was there to say?A handful of days ago, I’d never heard of this man.
Today, though, I cared. Icared a lot more than I wanted to, than I wassupposedto, but there wasnothing I could do to change that.
And now Quinn had beenthoughtful enough to arrange a gift like this.
He handed me the headphones,and I held the band for long moments, hardly believing what was happening.
I might have cared too muchabout Quinn, but it was hard to tell myself that he didn’t care at all aboutme. After this, howcould I believe that?
The music starting all in myright ear made me gasp. I felt too exposed, too vulnerable in a room full ofstrangers.
After a few bars, Quinn’s voice started.
Oh.
Hidden inside his tiny framewas a voice full of power. He reminded me of a gospel singer, carrying a noteas though he was belting it out behind the altar of a cathedral. That was theonly kind of place that’d do it justice.
I could barely understandthe lyrics and I wasn’t sure I was meant to. Not on the first listen.This was the sort of song you were meant to listen to hundreds of times,picking the meaning out layer by layer.
It wasn’t the kind ofthing you heard much in a monthly top 100 compilation. Or at least, it hadn’tbeen the last time I’d listened to music.
Quinn made me want to listenagain. It was almosttoointimate, like looking directly at his soul.
Tears stung at the cornersof my eyes and I had to turn away from everyone.
Everyone but Quinn, who waslooking at me as though he knew what I was seeing in him. The pain, theloneliness, but also the fragile beauty of his work.Hiswork, his own,not the things he was being forced to do.
And why it was worth it tohim. Iunderstoodnow. He’d gone through all of this because he wanted tomake something truly good, and this was the way forward he’d found.
I held his gaze as the songended, frozen to the spot.
Blood rushed in my ears as Itook the headphones off. I wanted, more than anything, to gather Quinn up intomy arms and hold him for as long as he’d let me.
I could see why people foundit so easy to connect with him. I felt as though he’d reached into my chest andspread my ribcage open, exposing everything inside. As though, quite aside fromhisownpain, he’d seen mine, aswell.
That was what the best musicdid. Spoke to you as though it wasforyou.
The music I’d loved once hadalways been like that.
“Thank you,” I said again,fighting to keep my voice even. I had no idea what else to say. My whole bodyfelt hollowed out.
Quinn, on the other hand,lit up like the sun.
“You liked it?”
