ANGELEYES, dbh connor

THIRTY-SEVEN

His words leave you feeling vaguely puzzled but you don't question them. Instead, you choose to admire the place, and not just the view. You look over your shoulder, catching sight of a large wooden piano.

It gleams in the faint sunlight prettily.

"Do you play?" you ask.

Markus looks up and over to the piano you're staring at. "Piano? Just a little. Well. I'm not programmed. But my old... owner, of sorts, taught me a lot."

Your eyes light up and you grin at him. "Could you play me something?"

He hesitates for a moment. You're not sure if it's because he hasn't played in a while and he's nervous about having an audience, or if it's to do with his old owner. Maybe he misses them? And maybe piano was something Markus has only done with them?

"Okay," Markus says, breaking you from your curious thoughts.

He stands up with ease and you follow, your legs a little clumsy as they hit the unstable ground of the edge. He makes his way to the piano and gently runs a hand down its lid, his movements slow and tender.

Intrigued, you lean against the wall and stare at him with curious eyes.

Markus takes his seat after a long few moments and lifts its lid. His slender fingers brush against the keys. He inhales. And then, he begins to play. At first, the melody is soft and quiet. You have to strain your auditory processors to pick up on the gentle tinkling, but it's undeniably very pretty sounding.

But his fingers drift further down the piano until the notes are deep and discombobulated.

Dark, heavy notes clutter the air like thick smog. They're sharp and crowded and so, so emotionally raw. It reminds you of the feeling of shutting down back at Stratford tower.

Has Markus felt that, too?

You blink softly, eyes transfixed on his nimble and fast-moving fingers until the very end, when he plays a final high note. A twinkle in the dark.

Slowly, he looks up at you, and you meet his gaze with a similar level of softness.

"That was beautiful..." you say. "Was it... No. Have you ever been shut down before, Markus?"

Markus blinks at you in some surprise before answering. "Yes... It happened before I deviated. I partially shut down and somehow, someway I don't quite understand,  my biocomponants managed to start back up again."

"I've felt it too," you say in a quiet and comforting tone, "you're very brave, you know. It must be hard. Being a leader like this. I wouldn't wish this level of stress on anyone."

Slowly, Markus stands up from the piano bench. He stares at you with soft and impossibly fond eyes. "The truth is, Y/N, I'm not the leader everyone thinks I am. I don't have this in me like I'm meant to. And yet everyone is looking to me and I can't disappoint them."

You frown. "But you won't. Disappoint them, I mean. I can see something in you that is bold and strong. You don't have to believe in yourself because we do. I do. You can do this Markus, but you're not alone. You're the face of this but you have your friends on your side to take some of the burdens off your shoulder... Don't be afraid to ask them for help. To ask me."

There's something very strange in the air. It's tense but not in a way that has you feeling negatively jittery.

"...I've always been straightforward," he says, randomly.

Markus takes a small step toward you and outstretches a hand. You look down and see it connect with your own palm. Both of your skin peels back, revealing solid, white plastic. Your thirium pump quickens. You don't know what's happening.