Tear In My Heart (COMPLETE)

Chapter Three

The Songs On the Radio Are Ok

But My Taste In Music Is Your Face

And It Takes a Song to Come Around

To Show You How

Tim had expected that Hoody would stay the way he was for the rest of time (or however long they were stuck there; one would realize quickly under the control of Slender that no one really aged); mute, only ever using hand signals and grunts to get his point across. And, almost oddly enough, Tim was able to figure out what most of those grunts and signals were meant to be, as did some of others that lived in the house (yet he found himself better at it, both surprisingly and unsurprisingly) that they had slowly began to drag in after finding them -- or in the case of BEN and Laughing Jack, the entities had actually found them -- while scouring outside into the mortal realm. Yet neither Tim nor Masky found themselves minding being little translators.

In the time they had made the house they stayed in their home - of which seemed to grow and fluxuate whenever new residences made their home there - it came to both Tim and Masky that Hoody was really the only one of the bunch that they actually liked (and Sally; but given she was under the Operator's grace, she was naturally liked amongst all for fear of repercussion from the Tall Man otherwise). Most, they would get annoyed easily by even the smallest of interactions with others. But with Hoody - well, neither could say they ever got tired of the hooded figure. Tim had blamed that on his unending crush on Brian - something that couldn't leave even after the other's death at his hands. Even after their deaths, that feeling - that strong, surging feeling that rose up whenever Brian was nearby, whenever he thought of him - still remained.

He partly blamed Brian for that. Not like it mattered much anymore, of course. Tim assumed he could just live the rest of his life without his best friend and crush being long dead, his body used up as nothing more than a shell for a creature that needed to do an Eldritch being's tasks til God only knew when. And he was quite alright with the odd hand gestures instead of speaking, of which both Tim and Masky had gotten well acquainted with understanding. Not a lot, but enough to get by. Anything else could be scribbled on the paper they kept hidden away in their room in case Tim could not otherwise understand.

But, of course, Tim didn't expect Hoody to try and speak ; didn't expect Brian to push and shove his way out until he found himself at the surface, yearning to break free once again.

***

The day was rainy, as it had been for the past few days. They hadn't been sent on any scouting missions, nor to make someone disappear from their meaningless existence. Tim never minded; it was Masky who often took over for the killing and long, grueling missions, so at least he was at ease with not actually killing the people himself. But he knew a part of him nagged away at the thought of killing someone, regardless if their death was needed or not nor if it was really by his hands or his alter ego's. Just like the others; just like Alex. But he tried his best not to think about those things.

So in the gloomy, borning light of the day and needing to get his mind off of his current thoughts that often plagued him when he was in control or could not find something to entertain himself, Tim had opted to keep to his room, reading one of the few, albeit obviously worn out books he had stowed away in his room. Hoody had, for the most part, entertained himself via roaming around the house and newest additions that had seemed to warp and twist their way into unending halls inside (yet showed no obvious additions to the exterior of the house since they had first arrived; Tim blamed whatever black magic it was Slender used to summon up this place to begin with) until he had gotten bored and found his way into their shared room.

Tim barely gave him a glance and nod from his maskless face as Hoody slunk into the otherwise quiet room, his own mask covering his face as it often did. Tim wasn't sure what the deal was with him wearing that damned mask all the time, especially if Hoody was just Hoody and not Brian ; but he wasn't going to question it. He really didn't feel like getting stabbed at this point in his career, if he were being honest. And especially not by one of his closest friends.

And so the room stayed quiet even as Hoody got onto his bed, shifting around slightly while Tim did his best to focus on his book. Some old fantasy, he remembered as he read, that he had likely picked up from his stays at mental hospitals or something of the likes. He figured there was little cause in throwing it out, especially when any money they 'found' or 'made' often went to groceries or things that could help fix up some of the things in this rickety old house Plus, they were on alright terms with BEN, so it wasn't odd for the poltergeist to occasionally allow them to use his NES or whatever gaming systems he had in his arsenal. It could be worse, all things obvious.

"T-Tim."

The voice was low and hoarse; it sounded as though it had to fight its way up the vocal cords and out the lips that were covered by the mask. Tim's body tensed, head slowly turning from his book to the figure sitting on the bed across the room from him. Hoody sat cross legged, hands on his knees and head tilted to one side atop his neatly made bed while facing the now utterly confused Tim; the most notable thing being that his ski mask was up over his lips as the two stared at one another, with Tim's body stiff in his confusion and book temporarily forgotten.

Tim's heart was beating a hundred miles an hour at this point. Did he actually hear that? Was he finally going completely insane? Did he take his meds today? Where were --?"

"Ti-Tim."

Hoody's -- no, Brian's -- lips moved as unused vocal cords strained under the intense pressure of being unused after well over a year of keeping silent. Yet they spoke with pure and utter force, with meaning as the two stared at one another. Tim's expression showed that of surprise, mouth half opened as he blinked in attempt to process what he was hearing and if it were actually true; yet Hoody's lips stayed straight, unmoving except to speak, as Tim's mind tried to wrap around what was happening.

"Ti- Tim ."

" What ?"

Tim didn't mean for that to come out as loud nor angry as it did, causing him to jump alongside Hoody at the sudden noise that escaped his own lips. Hoody's lips parted again to speak -- yet all that came out were squeaks and huffs, as if his vocal cords could no longer handle the strain of speaking so much after so long. Likely seeing speaking was no longer useful, Hoody was quick to pull the mask back over his lips and shuffle until he was lying down on his bed, hands behind his head as he relaxed as if nothing had just happened.

This left Tim to stare at the other for a few more moments, head still reeling from what he had just heard. He had half a mind to prod further, but considering Tim still hadn't quite decipered what Hoody's hand movements meant (some, but not all) to the extent needed to communicate, Tim opted to instead return to his book; both baffled by the fact that he had heard his friend's voice for the first time in over two years, and slightly elated at the fact that Hoody could actually talk.

Hoody.

Tim wasn't sure if it was actually Brian rising from within to speak with him, or Hoody attempting to find a voice instead of merely motioning what he wanted. But Tim wasn't going to complain; so long as Tim could hear that lovely voice -- even if it belonged to someone else now -- once more, then everything was going to be alright in his book.