Chapter Text
”Try a B, sug.”
“You cannot even see the paper!”
Brook huffed and Yorki laughed; just like clockwork.
The brisk winter weather had rolled into spring in what felt like the blink of an eye, and with it, more than plants blossomed. Less and less did the men stay inside amongst themselves, instead taking the time to lay amongst the wooden boards of the deck to soak in the newly returned sun. The winds carried that same heat as well, making the salty air no longer a chilling assault but a welcome kiss from the sea herself. Such a scent, that salt, and such a warmth, her love!
A welcome change for the Rumbar's Captain, Yorki felt as if he had died and gone to heaven. Cold beer beside him, the sun shining above him, and his partner below him, what could ever be better? Maybe a second beer... Brook's hardly-touched mug was always an option.
Rolling his head further back to give the uptight musician a glance, Yorki's eyes only met tan fabric. His own hat's brim; a sigh, the sound of a half-hearted frustration. Not the most advantageous choice of position, but it was the most comfortable in the mottled sunlight, and the closest Brook would allow while working.
The pair, to anyone else’s eyes, sat in an utterly domestic fashion, way beyond the usual choice of most men. Brook sat cross-legged, head bent at an odd angle upon his bony shoulder to read the manic scribblings of the night before that sat fluttering in his hands. Below him with his head upon his thin thigh, lays his Captain, lolled upon his back with one leg folded over his own knee. As casual and comfortable as he could be, nursing off a beer, the blond seemed to be getting the better end of the stick, but who could tell. The duet nestled upon the highest deck, for that spot was the only place not occupied by some covy of men.
A lonely and languid sound of a distant trumpet suddenly interrupted the silence, and with it, Brook let out a gentle croon.
”Goodness, they've gotten very good, those boys.”
”Mm, absolutely. Told ya they could.” Yorki remarked through a grin, wedging his hand behind his hat to lift it further backwards. “Them Mizutas are a good fit.”
“Indeed... I do hope I have enough time to finish these last annotations...” The shuffling of paper came from behind the blond's head but he didn't stir quite yet.
“Ehhhh, don't ya worry too much--“ As if to make his point clearer, Yorki shot up a hand, pointing skyward. ”You're real good at that, Brook! If ya just took my advice, maybe we'da finish that there paper quick--”
“You cannot even read what I am doing!”
“But I can hear ya hum it, and I'm tellin' ya, you'd wanna add a B there, it jumps too damn much.”
A light 'thwump' followed this declaration, the tip of Brook's quill making playful contact with the brim.
“Leave the music to me, my dear, you are but my Captain, not my coauthor.”
“I could be if ya'd stop dismissin' me and shushin' me and all that—”
“Quiet, you requested me to try a B and I shall!”
“Ya might as well try a whole bridge too—”
Another interruption was swiftly silenced with a flick to the back of his head, and the sound of scribbling then began. A few light strokes, a little huff, followed by the clinking of some glass far beyond Yorki's view.
'Must be that lil' inkwell the musician loves SO damn much.'
Closing his eyes, the visage came painted upon the back of the cowboy's mind in vivid detail, mostly in part due its daily appearance upon their shared desk. (Shared is a lenient term, seeing as only man could write or afford to sit still for so long.) Clear, empty, but usually stained a deep, rich blue, the navy color would shimmer and cast odd shades when sat before sunlight.
Suddenly, few notes are hummed out, breaking the illusion of the bottle the blond had begun to rotate in odd fuzzy shades.
B,B,B, a whole lotta B’s; for what Yorki could not read, he could hear, visualizing the sound best he could in shapes he did understand. Music is its own language, coming in many forms, and the man could speak it, however just like every other language, it could not be written with any ease or any legible execution. All those symbols looked alike, making things a bit complicated for him, let alone the idea of them being used for spelling as well as music. Baffling stuff, all that nonsense, and to try and change after 20 something years did not appeal utterly to Yorki, so he didn't. Was simply not worth his time.
A telltale pause, then a few more scribblings, drawing out a chuckle from beneath the tanned hat.
”Told ya.”
“Hush.” Brook's words almost overlapped with his Captain's, earning another laugh.
Then, it petered out, leaving silence in its place. This quiet was only interrupted by the furtive movement of Brook's ink scrawling some new notes, and the brisk shifting of Yorki's legs, simply rearranging to face the other way. Even though it had not worked the first time, once more the cowboy tried fruitlessly to view his lover via some neck craning and the lifting of his brim.
This time however, as Brook leaned to his left to get a better read on his own work, it opened a window of eye contact. Concentration riddled the musician's face, painting little lines that scrunched up around his brows and lips. As cute as any other part of Brook, Yorki sighed at the sight, placing his hand behind his heavy skull to keep his odd stretching suspended. If Brook had noticed his staring, he had not cared enough to show it. From Yorki's strange angle, the opaque lenses that usually shielded Brook's eyes from others were but slivers. Behind them, the blond could watch those pretty dark eyes bat from note to note, narrowed and sharp upon every stroke of his handiwork. As they trailed lower, they slipped off the page, finally making eye contact with the sunlit blues that twinkled at him.
Before a smile could ruin his falsehood of concentration, Brook raised his papers over his mouth, squinting over the pages.
“What, am I not allowed to watch the master?”
“Why does it fascinate you so, my captain? You have seen me do this same work countless times over.” He was not wrong, and a playful lilt hung off his truth.
“Ya right, and you look just as pretty every damn day you do it.”
“Oh hush...” His words came out through a hushed hiss, and his eyes fell back to his papers, almost hidden now as the things were raised higher.
“Don't play coy, Brook... and lemme know when you want my lyrics.”
The papers dropped just as quick as his face.
”YOUR lyrics? Who ever said I would let you dictate this piece?”
“Your CAPTAIN, ya know? The fella you pledged to? Forgot about that lil guy, did ya?“ Yorki chortled, closing his eyes in a sudden splash of sunlight that fell upon his face. “If you didn't want me touching it, you shouldn't have tempted me with your lil' invitation to collaborate.”
“My captain, you invite yourself every time, do not flatter yourself.”
Yorki could only laugh, and a soft hissing titter accompanied him, covered by his papers. With his free hand, Yorki slid his hat back upon his head, firmly covering his sun-soaked face in the cool shadow of the wide brim. It felt nice to dictate where that warmth lay, giving one part of your skin a break while the other bathed in it. A good mix, just like the pair of them; sunshine and shade, switching on a dime like the clouds and wind overhead.
After a few minutes of gentle rustling and the clink of ink and tip meeting, silence settled between them once more, this time without any additional noises. Brook sat motionless, and Yorki only mirrored, listening to how the blood flowed in his ear and behind him through the thin skin of his partner's pant's leg. Almost synchronized if Brook could calm down.
”I will.. listen to any suggestions,” Yorki could feel a smirk peel across his face at his partners waving white flag, but he withheld his laugh for the better good of his health.
“Ya can't find anything in that mighty lexicon of yours?”
“Nothing that fits the tone, no... and if you cannot either, I may have to throw out that little G and foolish bridge you suggested as well.” His sigh came out so genuinely sad that Yorki could easily forgive his venom.
“Well, let's see what your wonderful captain can do, eh sug? Lemme hear that melody, sug-- hand me that guitar.”
Brook did as told, moving in such a way as to best not disturb the man laid over his leg. It was almost like having a pet upon your lap, might as well have been thanks to the golden hair and doggish nature, but an animal would have been better suited for a jam session... pets could be quiet and well-behaved.
It was rare Yorki played music himself, rarer to hear him sing by choice, however it only reared it's head when needed. He did not practice like the rest, at least not in public spaces, nor did he join the group when the time came to perform. Instead, he chose to sit on the side lines, drinking and soaking the atmosphere up like a content sponge, or perhaps a sunflower, always facing the warmest, loudest player. Yorki loved music, and everything that came with it, and sometimes, that included accompaniment!
Passing it over by the neck, the body hit the other's chest with a light thud, nudging his ribs.
“Best be careful with it...”
“Always am, darlin',!” Yorki crooned, rubbing over the fret with a slow palm. “Don't you worry, now!” Dismissive, he waved his hand, and it suddenly met with Brook's own.
On instinct, his head snapped up, hat falling right off at the rush of it all. Brook peered down at him and with that, came his shadow, cast from his bountiful hair. A coy smile toyed at his cheeks and his fingers further intertwined with his partners. It was rare to have the musician make the first move, his flustered, easy to shock nature making him almost skittish at times, but, when it did, it was utterly warm.
“I cannot help but do so, you know my nature.” Cooed Brook, lowering Yorki's hand playfully in a slight squeeze.
“And you mine, darlin’, but ya oughta not! I'm real careful with my valuables, you know that personally...”
“Mm, your valuables may have a different story...” A laugh bubbled past Brook's lips, threatening to babble into a full, blissful crowing. “Is that what you call your bedside manner? Careful?”
Now it was Yorki's turn to fluster, and before he could properly stammer, making a fool of himself, he chose the easier option; deception. Folding his hat upon his head in one quick motion, he languidly shrugged out; “Ya change your tune real quick, musician..." A whistle interrupted his words. "Mighty cruel to go for a man's pride.”
Then came the real laugh, the thing that was more beautiful than any instrument could ever dream to be. Yorki's greatest joy, enough so to be tattooed across his face in bold, black characters.
“YOHO! Yohohoho! You know me to play, do you not? Do not fret, my dearest! Now, let us see how quick you are to fix my problem, hm? I doubt you can even get one rhyme.”
“Mm, you ain't trickin' me into doing your work for ya, sug buuut... I love ya too damn much to tell ya no this time, eh? Cost of lovin' a man like you is heavy.”
“Am I just your burden then?”
“One I couldn't live without!” A well earned smack to the head with his free hand, Brook's scoff crowed over the light thump.
Yorki took it as his cue to get comfortable with his new child so to speak, positioning the guitar on his stomach in a crooked-kinda way. With the cold resin on his skin and his callused hands finding their placement in an odd bend, all that was missing was the sheet music.
That is, if he could properly read it.
That's where Brook came in, the ever helpful aid. Before he even had to ask, his diligent vice-captain had begun feverishly scribbling down a series of letters. They came in odd rows with markings on the tops of some; symbols to show where a sharp lay, and where a chord would be. Like teaching a baby their ABC's, it was a fine start, but it would never leave the ground in truth. There just simply wasn't ever enough time to teach an old, stubborn, drunk dog new tricks, especially with the world around him to distract him from caring.
”Here,“ Brook exhaled heavily, pointing to a few of the notes. “The melody just repeats for the majority, I have marked the key changes just as asked.”
“Ya spoil me, Brook...” Love hung on his own sigh, and with one last stare up at his flushing partner, Yorki gave the guitar a singular, curious pluck. “Don't know what I'd do without ya.”
“Be musicless, perhaps? Maybe arrested?”
“Probably both, with a bit of hangin' on the side there! Nauhahah!”
Brook's only answer was a gentle hum followed by clicking his tongue disapprovingly. Even so, the smiling musician held the piece of paper above his Captain like a man would hold out a bone for his beloved dog. It made reading much easier than if Yorki had to keep glancing down, and was just as appreciated as a treat might be.
”Thank ya, sug,” Crooned Yorki, plucking another practice note. “Let's see here.”
The notes were easy enough, being a repetitive couple of chords, however as with everything he did, a flair must be added. This flair came in the form of his palm hitting the wood, the melody adding a twang that visibly stirred Brook's attention. It was not like most of the crew, that taste in sound, but it made Yorki's input unique.
No words spurred out at first, only soft murmurs barely spilling over the blond's tight lips. Patiently, Brook sat still, holding his pose diligently while fruitlessly straining his ear to see if any words could be caught. Nothing of substance yet, and even with his hat in the way, Brook could feel the smile the man wore as he began to hum along.
“It's knowing that your door is always open...” He began finally, the words stumbled out as he tried to find his traction. “...and your path is free to walk.”
“That makes me tend to leave my sleeping bag rolled up and stashed behind your couch.“ With the words that babbled on, Brook could only listen and try to keep his scribbling up to Yorki's pace.
”And it's knowing I'm not shackled by forgotten words and bonds,“ Leaning backwards just as he had before, the familiar tug of gravity removed his hat for him, leaving Yorki's gaze open to watch his partner's scribbling. ”And the ink stains that have dried upon some line.“
Another line scrawled out followed by another sigh at his own work; Brook's furtive nature could only be lovingly chuckled at, and the sound caught the man's eye. Meeting those gentle blues, the set now upside down thanks to Yorkis strange choice of relaxation, stirred a simper from Brook, along with a scoff.
“Do not look at me like that, focus on the paper! My arm is has already begun to cramp!” His cry only made Yorki chuckle again, closing his eyes briefly as he did so.
“You can focus on ya work, I got the melody down now.” And that he had, for he carried on with the tone even while talking with his eyes half lidded. “Every musician has their muse, and if you want them lyrics, you'll let me enjoy mine.”
Brook suddenly found his tongue unable to move, unable to speak or complain or bitch, and instead, he could only let out a soft hum. The noise unintentionally came out a bit broken, squeaky, and in shame, he quickly went back to dipping in his inkwell as a distraction from Yorki's blatant admiration. Unlike Brook's furtive need to break that terrible eye contact, the blond carried on. Another crow came as the blush crawled upon both of their faces, and another shutter came from his muse.
“Now where was I..” Drawled Yorki, playing with the phrase by dragging it over his teeth
“At the B you begged me to add.“ Even Brook's swift quip came out quiet and a higher octave than normal, as if the loud-mouth had suddenly found out how to play coy.
”Right, right... Lemme start from the beginnin', eh Brook?”
“Do whatever allows you to finish these lyrics, my captain.”
Unbeknownst to Brook, at least to the degree he was not already flustered at, the truth of the lyrics sat huffy and warm beneath his head. From the tremble of Brook's thin thigh, still holding him up wordlessly, and the way the man gently placed his papers down, papers made just to aid his own impairment; everything Brook did with a scowl or huff, everything he could bitch about or pretend to be infuriated by, was done with a passive and unsaid love that did not go past Yorki as easily as it flew over the others head. Sighing as he watched those dark eyes scan over his own wording, Yorki started once more, with a warmth one could only call love pouring through his smile.
'It's knowin' that your door is always open and your path is free to walk,'
'That makes me tend to leave my sleepin' bag rolled up and stashed behind your couch,'
'And it's knowin' I'm not shackled by forgotten words and bonds, and the ink stains that are dried upon some line...'
'That keeps you in the backroads by the rivers of my memory, it keeps you ever gentle on my mind.'