Day is no different to night deep down in The Ghost Lines, but Soahn always senses when the city far above settles to a lower, drowsier thrum. Sleep won’t come; it never does after a long day recording and mixing with the others, their reactions and emotions still tangled loosely around his own thoughts. Even with tiredness tugging at his limbs, he wanders, quiet and directionless, checking old relays, discovering side tunnels he’s never seen before.
Only, it feels different tonight because he knows Kairo is awake, too. And he’s nearby.
Usually, when Kairo’s around, you can hear him even if you’re not in the same space. But sometimes — rarely — he seems to fade slightly, taking himself away without fuss. Soahn is careful not to follow on those nights. Kairo deserves his own quiet. If anyone understands that, it’s Soahn.
Tonight, though, there’s something new.
Music.
But it’s not Kairo’s normal brand of chaos and experimentation. This is softer, the sound winding through the tunnels like a ghost. It sends a shiver down Soahn’s spine, and without meaning to, he gravitates towards it, the unusual melody pulling at something deep inside him.
Further down the tunnel, he finds a door that’s open a crack, letting out a sliver of pale cyan light. And from within, that sound — piano, but distorted, low notes rattling the speaker, the quiet clicks and hisses turning silence into part of the song. Gingerly, Soahn steps up to the door and peeks through the gap.
The battered keyboard looks like it’s been here longer than most of the relay. It could possibly be older than Rayne. A cracked circuit board juts out near the pedal, and one speaker flickers every time a high note rolls.
Kairo is seated at it, slouched over the keys, his head bowed, fingers moving slowly but steadily. He plays like someone who was once trained but has forgotten a lot of the technicalities. That almost makes it better.
Kairo never talks about his life before E.V.E.N. Soahn suspects he doesn’t remember much of it, perhaps not even his real name. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t need details. It’s all there in every stroke of the keys, a soft, sad melody that rises and falls, pushes forward, draws back. It settles into his chest, and everything in him that feels too much aches in response.
Part of him wants to look away. To turn and run and never hear anything like this again. But Kairo is here, playing like he’s forgotten how to breathe without the keys beneath his hands.
So Soahn stays, no matter how painful it is to listen.
He doesn’t realise he’s holding his breath until the song ends, fading into nothing.
Kairo lifts his fingers from the scuffed plastic. At some point, someone’s stuck a sticker to the keyboard. It reads PLAY ME BITCH like a dare. The crudeness of it makes Soahn clench his fists because it doesn’t belong here. Maybe he’ll come back one day and peel it off.
Kairo’s shoulders sag slightly beneath his oversized jacket. Exactly what he just unlocked in himself, Soahn isn’t sure. But as he quietly leaves, he knows it’ll stay with him. With them both.
Always.