Our Symphonies | satosere

12 ;

「 twelve 」

"You gave it your best efforts,"

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Ash's hand was safe in mine, and our fingers were inseparably interlocked. Whenever I tried freeing them out of mortification, he only tightened the hold like a child wanting attention.

When we had exited the hall, he was rubbing his chest like some bees were biting him from the inside. The residuals of pain behind his eyes sent tremors down my spine.

By the likes of his behavior, it was hard not to infer that this boy was mercilessly deprived of affection in his childhood. I pondered whether he even had a childhood or not, since I never got to learn more about his memories except the fact that he was friends with May and Korrina. All I knew was that he had been living alone for the past six years.

During our practices, unlike May and I who used to receive calls from home every day, I had never even heard his phone ringing. There was no one who fretted about whether he ate or not, slept or not. He was lonely, and afraid, and too shy to open up. And it seemed utterly unbelievable to me: how could he wear a convincing smile and agree to my stupid demand that day? Despite of all the pain that was flowering within him, he carried the load along with that clumsy facade and selfless acts.

Not only were Ash's eyes an unsung masterpiece, he himself was the same.

He was sitting right between May and I – pinching his nose with eyes closed while taking deep breaths - now more relaxedly. His hair were messier than ever before, and for a second I even thought that he needed a haircut.

The three of us, and Drew, were the only ones at the spot. Recitals were still in the works.

May's face was painted with a concerned frown as she advanced a paper cup filled with water in his way. Her jawline ticked just a little when she glanced at mine and Ash's intertwined hands, but then overlooked it and beamed her classic sunny smile.

"What happened was tragic, but it's alright now." She told him, sympathizing. "You're fine now."

Ash took the water from the hand that wasn't holding mines, and while sipping, he eye-smiled at May to perhaps convey his gratitude. Then, his eyes landed on the latter side: on me.

I wasn't really sure of what to say, what could've made him feel better – but as I was contemplating, he shook his head, eyes moisty yet again.

"I - I'm sorry that you had to witness all of that," He stuttered, his gaze on me unmoving. "And I shouldn't have bothered you during the attack, it must've been so difficult for you to handle everything – but my instincts weren't helping and when I saw your face, all I knew was that you're the only one who can pick me up and piece me together. Everyone else became a blur, I don't know why. But I'm extremely sorry and –"

"It happens," I cut his puzzled string of verbose short. "I understand that it happens at times. We're just glad that the attack wasn't deadly and you're safe and sound. Don't apologize."

And I wasn't saying that to him for mock sympathy, it was a tested, psychological fact.

At the time of anxiety slash panick attack, distractions are the best way to avoid deteriorating the sufferer's health. Anything: ranging from recognizable smells, noise, or even a person – and in the world of science, this item's known as the 'focus object'. But that still doesn't explain as to how was I able pull him out of the spiral.

Ash smiled, but to me somehow, it appeared too forced to be true.

"Maybe you're right." He said before vaporously withdrawing his hand, which broke our intertwinement.