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Thom and Jonny were staying in an old house on a rather unremarkable street—the closest accommodation to the city-center venue where they were set to perform. The traffic noise was nearly deafening; the constant honking and chatter shattered any hope of peace and quiet. The house itself looked abandoned: the floral (and terribly tacky) wallpaper was peeling, the floorboards creaked underfoot, and the solid maple stairs were practically rotting—deterring Thom from even attempting to reach his bedroom, so he slept on the sofa instead.
“Where was that place you mentioned, exactly?” Jonny asked. His guitar case was slung over his shoulder; he kept his coat on, as the house offered terrible insulation against the cold. “It’s a bit out of the way—closer to nature...” Thom sensed the boy’s apprehension; heading to such an isolated spot wasn't exactly standard practice. "Relax, I swear I’m not a serial killer. I just want somewhere quieter; the city really gets on my nerves sometimes—you know that." A look of weariness was etched onto his face. Jonny did know that; he’d heard Thom complain about it plenty of times. Still, something about it puzzled him. "Right, I get it. But if you want silence, why not go alone? Don't get me wrong—I’d love to tag along—but I was a bit confused as to why you wanted me to come." Thom turned his back to Jonny, hiding his shy expression. Looking at it that way, Jonny was absolutely right; there was no real reason to invite him along. Perhaps he just wanted the company, given how paranoid he could be—especially about isolated places. Or perhaps it was simply because he loved Jonny’s presence; they shared similar ideas that often complemented one another, and they always helped each other out—whether it was composing a melody, writing lyrics, or even handling simpler tasks like identifying the color-coded parts of an object, given that Jonny was red-green colorblind. Plus, the boy’s lisp was utterly charming, making his company all the more intriguing.
“Well... I think I feel safer around you.” Thom felt his ears burning; naturally, he didn't like revealing things that made him feel so vulnerable, but Greenwood was a rare exception. "Fair enough. To be honest, I feel safer with you around too—to get me out of whatever social scrapes I might land in, you know?" They both laughed, finally stepping out the front door of the place where they were staying—a spot that felt almost like a witch's lair.
They walked for a while through the gray city. Car exhaust irritated the nostrils of pedestrians who moved almost like robots along the streets, avoiding one another like the plague—each wrapped up in their own world, heading to work, school, or college. Thom watched these people with a fascination that bordered on—or rather, that he himself considered—morbid. They all wore similar clothes and trod the same pavement on their way to the same routine destinations; yet, despite these shared traits, none of them seemed interested in anything beyond themselves. To them, the world existed only through lenses shaped by TV screens, radio waves, and the flyers that littered the pavement. Finally, after walking for some time, Thom stopped at a taxi stand and signaled to one of the parked cars.
“Where to?” Thom pulled a map from his black backpack and pointed to a highway not too far away. The driver seemed a bit surprised but agreed to the fare anyway. The journey began; the car wound through the city’s old streets, past sturdy brick houses with paint worn away by time and old utility poles clinging to the ground with admirable resilience, while the sidewalks—visibly rough—were stained in shades of black and gray. The sun shone majestically overhead, yet the air remained incredibly cold. The car’s interior was unbearable without a jacket; the old taxi’s gaps let the freezing air rush in at high speed. Naturally, the two young men tried to keep warm, using each other’s bodies as the nearest source of heat. Thom rested his head on Jonny’s shoulder, clutching his arm and hand as he tried to get as close to the other boy as possible. Jonny was shivering slightly—perhaps from the cold, perhaps from the contact, or—judging by the faint flush on his cheeks—likely a mix of both. But he certainly caught the taxi driver’s look of vague disapproval in the rearview mirror, and felt his blood run even colder. Luckily for both of them, it was brief and Thom hadn't noticed; Jonny knew the boy would have picked a fight if he had seen it.
After a few long minutes, they finally arrived at their destination: a roadside bus stop that was completely empty. The driver pulled over onto the shoulder; a vast forest of maple trees lay ahead. Thom took out his wallet and paid the driver, who immediately drove off in the opposite direction. "We're here," Thom said, grabbing Jonny’s hand and dragging him into the woods.
"Hey, wait... a... sec!" The difference in size between the two was evident within the dense woods. While Thom moved easily among the branches and leaves, Jonny could barely walk; his guitar case only made matters worse, snagging on branches, bushes, and spiderwebs, and nearly making him trip.
Finally, a large plateau revealed itself deep within the forest. Beneath the fallen leaves lay green grass dotted with dew; the dense trees and the chilly mist created a breathtaking landscape.
"Isn't this a great spot?" Thom asked, taking a deep breath and sitting down on the ground. "Clean air, no car pollution; none of that deafening noise from cars and horns—just the sound of the wind. Ah, it’s everything I’ve ever wanted." Jonny looked around, feeling the cold, damp wind on his face, before joining the other boy on the ground. "It’s beautiful, Thom—really beautiful. You were right; it’s so much better here. I can finally... breathe." He lay back on the grass, soaking his back in the dew, but he didn't mind; the scent of the earth was wonderful.
Thom lay down as well, drawing closer to Jonny, his hand lightly touching the other's. "You know, I've been thinking, will I ever write a song that completes me? Even if I write everything I go through and feel, I don't think they complete me." Greenwood chuckled softly, pausing to think for a moment, remembering something he had read a while ago. He smiled and turned to face Thom, his eyes as gentle as ever: "But what would your goal be after you write that song? A complete man is a man who seeks nothing more, since he already has everything, which makes him complete. Everything you write completes you a little, a complete person is a dead person, because after death there is nothing more to conquer." Thom remained quiet, thinking about Jonny's words. He looked up at the sky; in the middle of the fog there was a bright spot—the sun—he stared at it before looking back at the boy beside him, laughing: "I didn't know you were an aspiring philosopher, Jonny." They both laughed, getting closer and closer: "I saw it in a book, it stuck with me a bit, I'll admit." "Finally you told me something about the books you read, I always saw you with one in your hand but you never said anything about it, I was starting to think you didn't read them and just stared at them, pretending to be an intellectual." They laughed some more, rolling around in the field. They both sat down, tired from laughing so much. "There's something in your hair," Jonny pointed to Yorke's vibrant red hair, running his light hands through it, removing bits of grass from the strands. Thom grabbed one of Greenwood's hands, holding it to his head: "You want a head massage? Well, at least it's nice and soft," he affectionately stroked the red hair, watching almost hypnotized as the strands intertwined between his fingers. "I untangled it just for you, be grateful at least," he moved even closer to Jonny, laying his head on his chest. They were closer than ever, with no one to judge them or make fun of them. Thom looked at Jonny—his eyes had an incessant gleam, a beautiful chestnut-brown that turned gold in the light—and pulled him closer (if that was even possible) and finally kissed him. Jonny surrendered immediately, his hand, which was still in Thom's hair, gripped it, moving his head in the same rhythm as his mouth. After what seemed like years, they separated, the taste of each other imprinted on the other's mouth. They stared at each other, both boys having the same expression of surprise and happiness—a smile forming on both their lips, spread across both their faces. "It had been so long since I’d kissed anyone; apparently, I haven’t lost my it. Or maybe it was because of the person I was kissing." Thom planted another kiss—just a quick peck—on Jonny’s lips.
"I promise to help you practice if you don't tell anyone," he murmured against the boy's neck, planting small kisses. Thom embraced Jonny, holding him close in the cold field. They leaned into each other, kissing and exchanging caresses; nothing outside that moment mattered to them—not whether the other members noticed their absence or if they returned to their lodgings late. Nothing mattered there but the two of them.