2+2=5

Part Five: Dear Thomas.

Chapter 49

The following morning, Thom Yorke grew aware of a faint sound drifting from below. It stirred him gently from his slumber, the vibrations threading through the wooden floor of the sparse room he had come to regard as his own within their dilapidated shrine to rebellion. He blinked his eyes open, confusion tugging at the fringes of his mind. None of the others should have been awake at such an early hour.

Easing himself from the hard mattress, he crept towards the source of the sound. It was a soft, rhythmic strumming. It was not Jonny's guitar; Jonny's had a distinctive tone that spoke of long nights and fumbled practices--a tone that Thom knew too well. Nor was it Phil, his new experimentation with the drums had become the pulse of the house.

As Thom descended the creaky staircase, he noticed the rising sun casting a warm, orange glow through the dust-laden windows. There, in the half-light, was Edward O'Brien, perched on a worn chair, his fingers moving with a sort of clumsy elegance across the strings of an old guitar. His eyes were closed, a look of concentration etched on his face. Thom could see that there was spirit in his movements, a spark that had been tempered but not extinguished by the controlling hand of the Party.

Thom paused mid-step, watching Edward with a mixture of pride and admiration. For a moment, he allowed himself to get lost in the melody, the notes that wove around each other, forming a sort of melancholic lullaby. Yet, nestled within that pride was a sensation Thom couldn't quite name. It was like a butterfly fluttering in his belly, a soft warmth spreading beneath his skin. Thom shook his head, dismissing the strange sensation.

Ed's dark hair hung loose around his face, framing his concentrated expression. His fingers tapped against the strings, drawing out the sweetest notes Thom had ever heard. It struck him then that there was something about Ed that was different. Changed. This was not the scared, cautious boy who had walked into their home not too long ago. His stature was still the same, but his eyes - they were brighter, filled with life.

Thom stood there for a while, simply watching as Ed poured his heart into every chord. Then, as if sensing his presence, Ed opened his eyes and turned to him. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he nodded, never missing a beat. Thom returned the gesture, feeling a swell of pride.

Yet, instead of joining him, Thom turned and made his way back upstairs silently, leaving Ed to his melody. He would not disrupt this moment of freedom, this small rebellion that Ed had found in the early morning peace. Climbing back onto his bed, Thom listened to the strumming below, the sound becoming a lifeline of hope in their desolate world.

Yes, they had a long way to go, but the seeds of defiance had been sown. As he drifted back to sleep, Thom knew that Edward O'Brien was awakening. They would fight, they would rebel, and they would win. With this thought, Thom drifted into sleep, the echo of Ed's guitar strumming the soundtrack of their defiance against the rise of a new day.

Chapter 50

Thom Yorke awoke abruptly, his heart pounding, his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. The dreams had been so real, so vivid, it was as though he'd lived through them again. He sat on the edge of the worn-out mattress, running his fingers through his tangled hair, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep.

The dreams had been strange, weaving through his past like a disoriented tourist. He was a five-year-old again, marching home from the school where everyone, him included, pledged unwavering allegiance to the Party. His mother was there, her face lined with unspoken worries, as she handed him a packed bag, another slung carelessly over her shoulders. Without words, he took the bag and followed her, not understanding why they had to leave, not questioning the sudden upheaval of their lives.