Work Text:
Third person
It was a nice afternoon. The weather is beautiful. Not too hot and the sun wasn't beating down on anyone with great fiery fury. It rained earlier, small puddles and wet spots along uneven, gravelly paths.
Since that was the case, Tim was taking advantage of it. Walking along a street and heading nowhere in particular. A long walk was nice once in a while. Made him forget about the times he nearly died.
No one was with him. Just him and chirping birds, perched in a tree.
It'd be even better if he didn't have a song stuck in his head. Playing over and over again, on an endless loop.
He didn't know what song it was, but atleast it was a genre he could agree with; country.
“Maybe I didn't love you
Quite as often as I could have.”
The one lyric that stuck out to him. The very beginning of the song.
As the days went on he could sing the tune, and sometimes found himself humming it. He'd have to stop himself. Atleast the song driving him insane wasn't one he hated!
It was still playing in his head. That meant the person was singing it, right? How long were they singing this? Did they have nothing to do all day?
He was asking himself that constantly. After a few minutes the man is staring at a door. His beloved house.
Stepping into the place, Tim lets out a sigh. The song stopped. For a good few minutes.
Now it's sea shanties. He's heard it before, but where?
"To bring us sugar and tea and rum
One day, when the tonguing is done
We'll take our leave and go."
To the best of his ability, Tim hums along as he goes about his routine. Getting into a chair at the table and setting a laptop down, he prepared to write a paper for the next three hours with a song stuck in his head.
• • •
It had to be two in the morning when he finished it. The songs changed from time to time but it always went back to that same country song. Was it their favourite song? Was it a taunt? To torture him? What?
His fingers are lightly tapping against the keyboard, typo after typo is being made. Tim truly cannot take this. How many more words? It's due.
In five hours.
"Oh shit,"
• • •
At last! Tim is sitting in bed, cozy and eyelids closing as soon as his head hits the pillow.
It's four in the morning. Three hours of sleep before classes. Why'd he take morning classes again?
• • •
"YOU HAVE THE MOTHERFUCKING RIGHT TO REMAIN VIOLENT,"
"Sweet mother of—!" he jerks upright, sitting up and ready to jump out of the bed.
Tim paused, looking around. Did someone actually blast that or was it his-
Why does everything resort to violence?
Yeah, it was in his head.
This person really did have no life.
• • •
"Yeesh, you look dead inside," Brian commented, walking alongside the shorter man.
"Yeah," Tim muttered, keeping his gaze down as they walked down the hall. The quiet steps of their shoes was the only sound in the hallway. Or so it seemed.
The two friends walked side by side until Tim was at the door. Brian had his own classes, but not until later. Three hours later.
Taking a random seat in the lecture room, Tim plopped down the notebook and pencil he usually carried around. The professor looked at him, saying nothing.
In an attempt to stay awake, he rubs his hand over his face and pat his cheeks until they were pink.
Someone sat down behind him, a good few rows down. They always did that. Why? Wherever he sat, the person behind him.
Tim thinks nothing of it. He shakes his head and flipped through notes.
He was not mentally prepared for three hours of English and poem deciphering.
• • •
By the time the class was done, it was raining outside, pouring violently. Tim groaned again. Today's going great!
The day was nothing but tiring and useless. Learning about this was useless.
He was picking up his stuff and gathering everything to head home when he heard humming.
Then someone mumbling under their breath.
"Maybe I didn't love you
Quite as often as I should have."