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Builderman’s eyes flickered open, once more presented with his dusty, barren room. It was completely devoid of any decorations outside of a bedside desk, a wobbly chair, and a matching table. The only light source available was the lamp by his bed. It occasionally flickered off, sending the room into complete darkness. He really needed to fix that. While the depressing room was leagues better than being on the run from another murderer, it still wasn’t the most enjoyable experience—it made him miss home, even though he could hardly remember what “home” was.
Perhaps home was a physical building, a cabin in the woods he could call his safe haven, made from his own two hands. Or it could be a small but cozy town filled to the brim with entertaining activities to do in his spare time with friends. Or maybe it was a feeling. Maybe it was the feeling of safety and joy he felt only around those he held so close to his old heart.
Pulling himself out of his rapidly declining thoughts, his gaze eventually landed on his most prized possession in this hellhole, his only hint to “home”: his beloved guitar. She was one of the only things he had gotten to bring with him, since he happened to have her on his person at the time of being forsaken. Builderman carefully picked her up, holding her in her arms like an ancient-old artifact that would crumble into dust at the slightest of touches. As he placed the instrument into his lap he stared in awe at her divine beauty. She was a deep mahogany in color, and a bit on the smaller scale compared to the average guitar. The plastic pick used to play her strings was woven between them, keeping it firmly in place. Her capo was clipped to the headstock.
Builderman had owned plenty of guitars throughout his life, but this one was always his favorite. He loved her so much that he even named her: June. June was like a lantern’s flame, illuminating his bleak life with a warm, comforting light. Whenever he was running around, protecting the rest of the group with his sentries and dispensers, something deep in his heart yearned to hear her elegant strings once again.
Lightly plucking at Low E, he listened to the beautiful vibrations that hit his ears. She was still in tune—she hardly ever wasn’t. Outside of rounds, creating music was one of the only things he did. It always gave him a sense of tranquility. He could close his eyes and, even just for a couple of moments, forget about the hellish dump he was stuck in. He could embrace the melody like a warm hug, but unfortunately hugs never lasted for eternity. They always ended, leaving you with a cold, hollow feeling in the pit of your stomach.
As his pick pulled and tugged at the strings, he let himself fall into a steady rhythm. His body swayed to his own music with no other soul to share it with, a lonely masquerade. The faux light of the lanterns danced on his skin, painting him in mellow yellows and oranges. If he shut his eyes, if he let himself fall into a false hope, he could imagine he was dancing in the glorious sun’s light.
For once in what felt like so long, he felt a semblance of peace.
Suddenly, Builderman’s music was cut short by the noise of his door swinging open. There in the doorway stood Shedletsky, who just invited himself in, walking around like he owned the damn place.
“Do ya’ mind ?” Builderman snapped, his gruff voice laced with pure frustration.
“You play guitar, eh? That’s pretty cool!” Shedletsky blatantly ignored him. He then flashed him that stupidly cheeky grin that was always plastered on his round features. “I was wondering what that noise was!”
The other’s eyes narrowed. Where was this going? And why was he even here ? Of course, he didn’t mind hanging out with his dear friend, but it was so out of the blue, even for Shedletsky. “Uh-huh…”
“I’ve always wanted to learn guitar. Just never had the time for it, I guess.” The swordsman stared at him, long and hard, as if expecting a specific response. Was he asking for a lesson? Builderman drummed his fingers on the body of the mahogany instrument.
“I can teach ya’, if ya’ wish. I’ll try not t’bore ya’ too much.”
That seemed to do it, as the size of Shedletsky’s grin instantly doubled. Without a word, he threw himself onto his friend’s bed, not even bothering to filter his pure excitement. Builderman sat beside him and flipped June to face her upwards for a better view of the strings.
“This here’s the fretboard,” The admin said, gesturing to the sturdy neck. “The metal lines represent each fret. That’s important fer’ chords an’ such.”
Builderman then lifted his gaze, trying to look at Shedletsky’s reaction for some sense of reassurance or confirmation to continue. Only when he noticed how intrigued the man looked did he continue. He plucked the thickest string, a deep melody ringing out. “That there is the E string. It’s usually called the Low E string though, ‘cause there’s also—” He rang the thinnest string. “High E.”
“Why is there two of them?”
“Eh,” He waved his hand around, attempting to word his thoughts coherently. “Represents the highest an’ lowest pitches of standard tuning. Allows fer’ a fuller sound, if that makes any sense t’ya’.”
Shedletsky hummed. He didn’t really understand, but he didn’t feel like saying so.
Builderman continued with his demonstration of each string. With each passing moment, the other man couldn’t help but grow more and more bored with the lesson—it was becoming mind-numbing . It wasn’t like he didn’t want to learn the art of an instrument, or that Builderman was making it a tedious task on purpose, but he just couldn’t get his brain to focus. He knew every word that fell from the admin’s mouth was important information he needed to soak up, but it was like trying to force sheets of concrete into a paper shredder.
“Got alla that?”
Shedletsky sputtered. “Uhh— Yeah!”
The admin hummed a tune to himself, holding June close. His hands grew slimy with sweat. If he wanted to continue this lesson, the other would have to hold June at the very least… but the idea of anyone besides himself handling her sent shivers up his spine. What if he dropped her? What if he were to break her? What if this was all a scheme to smash her into smithereens, just to rub it in his pathetic face? A painful knot in his stomach began to form. He felt his grip around her tighten protectively.
But then he looked at Shedletsky; he looked at that goofy smile, those kind eyes, that unkempt hair, and he knew that his friend wouldn’t do anything to hurt his beloved instrument—not on purpose. Builderman, while still shaken up, gave a smile full of warmth. “Let’s play a song, yeah?”
The sword specialist’s face immediately lit up, his excitement bright as day. He straightened his posture, offering out his arms gently for the wooden instrument.
“Be careful with… it.”
“Of course.”
Shedletsky propped the guitar up on his lap, holding onto her securely. While he admired the beautiful mahogany wood, Builderman couldn’t help but admire him . The way his messy hair fluffed up, framing his face just perfectly. The way his deep, warm eyes examined every situation so intensely. The way you could practically see the gears and cogs turning in his head. The way he was so eager to jump in and help the other survivors, upholding the silent promise between them. All of it made the admin’s heart positively flutter.
“What’s first, you think?”
The builder blinked in surprise from being dragged out of his thoughts so suddenly. He sat himself up, straightening his posture. “Well, the song’s Happy Birthday, an’ it’s only three chords. Starting with G would do us good. Put yer’ index finger just above that second metal line on the A string. That means ye’re on the second fret. Got that?"
Shedletsky nodded, doing as told fairly quickly. Once Builderman confirmed that the other understood, he continued. “Now put yer’ middle finger on the third fret of Low E, an’ yer’ ring finger on the same fret, but High E.”
The swordsman followed the instructions to a tee, and then played the chord with the pick he was given. It was a very full and beautiful sound—it had definitely become Builderman’s favorite over the years. So simple, yet oh so elegant. “That there’s one of the easiest chords t’play. Ya’ got that down?”
Staring a tad longer to ingrain it in his memory, Shedletsky nodded.
“Next up’s D chord. Put yer’ index finger on the second fret of G, an’ yer’ middle finger on High E,” Builderman started. “Then yer’ ring finger goes on the third fret of B.”
When Shedletsky strummed the guitar to test the noise, he frowned. It sounded almost exactly like the other chord, what was the point?
“The thing with D chord’s that ya’ only play the last four strings.” Builderman leaned forward, plucking June’s strings gently. The other man repeated his actions with the pick. The melody sounded much better, a lot higher in pitch from the G chord. Shedletsky grinned and looked over at his friend for validation.
“Good job, bud,” He ruffled the swordsman's chocolate brown hair, pushing down the fluttery feeling that yanked at his heartstrings. “Next up’s C chord. Index finger on first fret B, middle finger on second fret D, an’ ring finger on third fret A.”
“Like this?” Shedletsky asked his friend. The formation was almost perfect, but his last two fingers were on the A an’ E strings instead of the D an’ A.
“Er, no. Yer’ gonna wanna—” Builderman reached out, delicately taking the other man’s hands in his own. They were littered with scars from years of fighting, causing his skin to feel rough to the touch. The builder repositioned his friend’s form, then ran his own fingers on the last 5 strings, leaving out only the Low E. As the builder’s eyes drifted up, both of their gazes locked together, staring into each other’s very souls. Builderman’s face heated up as flowers bloomed in his stomach. The petals tickled his insides in all of the best ways.
“Ah— Forgive me,” he muttered. He then pulled his hand away, mentally slapping himself across the face. What was getting into him today?
“You’re all good, man!” Shedletsky smiled. He noted that his face also seemed flushed.
Builderman cleared his throat, attempting to reset his mind. “Why don’t I show ya’ how t’play the song first?”
With a swift nod, the swordsman gave the guitar back. Having the instrument back in his arms sent a wave of relief through his entire body. Immediately, his muscles relaxed a smidge, and he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Builderman’s large hands quickly fell into position like clockwork, like the two had been crafted just for each other.
The demonstration was simple. Each chord, with the pattern of G D / D G / G C / G D G, was strummed once, slowly to drag out the noise. However, the last two chords defied this rule, instead being a relatively fast switch. From the corner of his eyes, he found Shedletsky analyzing every movement with sharp, analyzing eyes. Funnily enough, he didn’t seem at all worried about the last two notes like most beginners were.
The song was over within seconds, and the builder turned to his friend with a smile. “Ready t’give her a shot?”
Shedletsky nodded eagerly, quickly taking back June. He straightened his back, taking the same formation Builderman had just used. Fingers resting in the position of G chord, he readied for the go-ahead.
“Happy birthday to you…” Builderman sang, emphasizing his pronunciation of “to” and “you” for once. He didn’t have a very traditional singing voice with how gruff he sounded, but it was… strangely mesmerizing to Shedletsky. He couldn’t help but adore it. Shedletsky carefully strummed each chord along with the harmonizing man, savoring the beautiful melody gracing his ears. “Happy birthday to you.”
“Happy birthday, my dear Shedletsky. Happy birthday to you.” Shedletsky fumbled the quick switch of the last D to G chords, but the builder expected such. He did as well when he was younger—it took him an embarrassingly long time to nail it too.
“Didn’t know my birthday came around early this year,” the brunette joked, cracking a cheeky smile. Builderman chuckled fondly, a warm blush settling back into his cheeks.
In that very moment, Builderman realized what home was to him. It wasn’t any physical, tangible object, but a person—it was being with Shedletsky. The bubbly feeling in his stomach, the gentle tugging in his chest, akin to him playing music, that was his home, and he really wouldn’t have it any other way.