Chapter Text
there were many times where Jonathan G. Greenwood found himself asking a lot of questions about Thomas E. Yorke, and a majority of them had a tendency to pertain to one central theme;
did he really know him ?
well, obviously he knew he did. but it also felt like he didn't really know. if one were to draw a comparison, he supposed, one could compare it to the difference between knowing the shape and name of a chord, and knowing what individual notes that chord consists of. both of these things entail an understanding of the subject at hand - but it’s clear that one is a simple familiarity - primal pattern-recognition, ingrained in the human brain through being affected by evolutionary forces for eons - while the other encapsulates something much deeper.
where was jonny in this gradient of comprehension if applied to thom?
it really depends on the day , jonny had concluded.
sometimes, he felt like he could recite every metaphorical note of thom’s self as if they were as clear-cut as the colour of the sky, or the answer to the question “is water wet?”. he’d perfectly understood thom whenever he would make some vague comment about his thoughts concerning the direction he wanted to take a song in, for example. thom would say something like;
‘ i dunno, i reckon it needs… something like, ’ he’d gesture wildly with his hands. ‘ like that. the colour of the synth needs to be like that. ’
jonny is colourblind, so it shouldn’t make much sense to him - out of the two primary hues he could see, the miniscule little differences that apparently existed for everyone else were completely, or at least mainly, invisible to him, so a referral to colours (even if just figurative) could mean just about anything. most people would also probably point out that hand gestures aren’t very helpful when describing a colour - “thomspeak” confused even his closest confidants in the band at times, and they’d often ask him to elaborate.
but somehow, it would still make sense to jonny - thom was right in this imaginary scenario, and jonny would nod and adjust the settings of the synth. they would try again, and jonny could imagine thom pausing him excitedly. ‘ i had no idea that’s what i wanted, but it’s brilliant. we’re keeping that! ’
sometimes it was as if they simply existed on the same wavelength, really - because jonny wasn’t under any impression that he could read thom’s mind (god, he could wish, though...), but he felt as if he had a good understanding of what he would like, what put him off, which of jonny’s ideas he would find interesting and which ones he wouldn’t, even if jonny himself didn’t agree. there were many moments where jonny had found himself showing thom an idea he thought was complete bollocks, or at least just not very good, but believed thom would perhaps see something in it that was salvageable. sometimes he was wrong, of course… but there were plenty of times thom would hum thoughtfully and then return a few days later with the concept tackled at a different angle, that somehow worked . creatively, it felt amazing to have a person like that, a person with a valuable perspective that forced you to look at your own work in another way. intimately - moments like those felt like little testaments to their connection, and almost seemed to work their way into other, non-music related matters as well.
he hadn’t realised it until his dear brother colin had pointed it out, actually. jonny remembers;
‘you’re not thinking of replacing me, are you, you little bastard?’
jonny had felt his hair being ruffled, playfully. he swatted at colin’s grubby hands, but he was laughing. jonny remembers having had a very brief, although awful , phase of feeling slightly resentful of being the younger greenwood brother, thinking that colin’s playful jabs at him were embarrassing - it wasn’t like him (even back then) to make a big deal out of it, though, so thankfully, most of the times it ever comes up is in his own head, where the worst it can really do is make him wince a bit. because really, it’s much more embarrassing to think you are wiser and more world-weary than your elders, at 12-years old . ugh…
‘maybe.’ he had answered, just to see colin’s reaction, which was appropriately faux-outraged. ‘what’d you mean?’
‘you and thom, obviously. it’s getting quite humorous seeing you two in action, i listened in a bit earlier on your little discussion about… what was it about again? right! that woman, the one who kept bothering thom about salvation and the rapture and how he has to change his dastardly unchristian ways…’
jonny had brought up both hands to his hair and ran his fingers through it, remembering thom telling him about it. jonny found such things to be both humorous and morbidly fascinating - he felt a little bad for finding it funny, because obviously, something was not right upstairs in that poor woman, but… he couldn’t deny that the outlandishness of it all was comical.
‘ooh, that, my god - to be honest, out of all frontmen to fixate on for religious salvation… there are better options, aren’t there?’
colin appeared giddy. ‘exactly! that’s what i thought, it’s not like we’re out with him snorting coke off the plump bosoms of devilishly salacious prostitutes… anyway, that’s not actually what i was trying to point out…’
his older brother was aware that he had begun rambling, which he often did, even about things only tangentially related. jonny didn’t really mind putting up with it, because he was aware he could ramble in similar ways, but usually he was more honed in on a particular subject than colin was. colin’s thoughts seemed more… sprawling, than his own.
‘what i really meant to illuminate was that it was so uncanny - because i noticed that you two - thom and you, i mean - you talk with each other like you’ve got little listening devices in each other's heads!’
jonny had raised a brow, a little puzzled but amused nonetheless. ‘what makes you think that?’
‘well… you finish each other’s sentences, you ever noticed that? and i mean, a lot, and when the conversation is moving along at a respectable rate… your conversations move so fast, it feels like there’s got to be some way you know what the other is saying in advance! sometimes it feels like i must be missing something...’
jonny must’ve looked bemused at that still, because colin had proceeded to gesture with his hands, helplessly, as if the simple action of moving his them would somehow trigger a switch in jonny’s brain that would make him understand what was so monumental about his revelation.
‘look - i’d get it if it only happened, like, on occasion - sure, it’s just you and thom, everyone here does it with each other - but with you two it’s uncanny. when you two have discussions like that you’re so focused, it’s strange - i feel like i’m watching something i shouldn’t be - like i’m intruding !’
jonny remembers having run a hand through his hair again at that point, faced with the insight that the way colin articulated it made an average, pleasant conversation with his friend thom yorke sound almost filthy and inappropriate. right, okay, he could actually empathize with little 12-year old jonny feeling complete and utter embarrassment over his brother now.
he didn’t say anything though, back then, because the aforementioned embarrassment prevented him from admitting that he could see what colin meant, at least out loud.