This Love I Love

 “Don't be too hard on her Mr. Floyd, she's trying her best I'm sure!” Sylvia pleaded as she approached the register, which was now under Floyd's command. He rang up and packaged with purpose, expertly and smartly sending each customer on their way with minimal wait.

“Worry not Sylvia,” he replied, sending yet another parent and child out the door. “I have no intention of being hard on a voice that beautiful. She has a problem with people yes, but who is without their faults? You should take care to help her as best you can. Which should not be too hard I assume, seeing as you have taken a liking to her,” Floyd said with a smile, stepping away from the register.

“Well yeah, you gotta stick up for people who are sad!” she beamed, taking over for Floyd.

“Of course. Now if you do not mind, it seems I must assist Cecil,” he replied, gesturing across the shop to the man awkwardly stumbling out the door with multiple record players in hand.

Floyd pushed out the door after him, the sky overhead gray in it's autumnal slumber. Overcast clouds sagged as they rode the chilled wind which whipped up and down the street. Cecil turned around upon noticing Floyd's approach.

“Floyd, what are you doing?” he asked, popping open the trunk to a customer's car.

“Well, I simply thought I'd give you a hand with those players. They seem quite heavy—”

“No, not with these— the girl in there. It's a ticket, man. You don't always have to be such a cheapskate about things,”

Floyd's prim white eyebrows frowned at this.

“Now listen here!” he started, waving his cane at the stern-eyed young man. “I found it in my heart to put you through art school, did I not? I could only feel the same pull towards that young lady who looked so nervous yet so eager to see the show,” he continued, as Cecil hoisted the players alone into the trunk with significant struggle. “But she must also learn that work is valuable. Nothing is free, Cecil,”

“You have her in there having a panic attack just so she can pay you back five dollars, Floyd,” Cecil dryly rebuffed, shutting the trunk as the muffler sputtered and the car began off.

“Well— as I said, work ethic is invaluable! Nevertheless, you really should hear that young lady sing Cecil, she is amazing. I mean absolutely superb!”

“I haven't even heard her speak,” he cracked, carrying another record player to the next car in line. “Besides, wasn't last night's failure enough for the week?” he replied. A gust trailed past them, tossing up a column of foliage down the village's streets.

“They laughed at me Cecil,” Floyd mumbled, his face wrinkling in heartache.

“They chuckled at you. I was there,” Cecil replied, affixing the last box to the top of a station wagon.

“What is a chuckle if not a laugh, Cecil? I put my all on the line, bared my whole heart— and to what response!?”

“You just come on too strong, man. You're supposed to be making a case for why you can help them out, but it always ends up being the other way around.”

Floyd leaned into his cane, watching the foot traffic proceed through the shop doors. “I think it is necessary to come on strong Cecil. Youth is only fleeting— doubly so for yours truly. To hesitate is to say you find comfort in watching the world pass you by,”

He stopped outside the door proper, looking back at Cecil. “Do you of all people not know what that feels like?”

—

The mayhem began to wind down as the afternoon wore on, Floyd having had tea delivered some time earlier to congratulate a job well done as it became clear the worst had past.

“Hey Aster!” a soft voice greeted as the storeroom door creaked open slowly, a peppermint bow poking through. It was of course, the spriteful chirp of none other than the little blonde Sylvia. Aster fumbled awkwardly out of the pose of sobbing she'd found herself in for the past hour— though by this time her tears had finally dried, hilariously feigning composure in a way that lacked all subtlety or nonchalance. “Tough work today huh?” she peeped, cocking her head back in an infectious smile that relaxed Aster's defenses, the weary girl drawing her legs together tightly as she nodded in an affirmative.

“Looks like everything is finally taken care of!” she cheered, handing Aster a cup of tea as she shut the door behind her. “I know you're probably pooped, but I've got one final job I know you'll be fab at!” she declared, and sat down in the chair beside Aster, picking up a guitar. A sudden ruckus from behind brought Aster's attention to a door further back in the small room that she hadn't noticed previously— a scuffed metal door that all at once flew open, revealing a back alley. Mr. Floyd, absolutely out of shape, huffed and puffed his way through the door, a guitar in each hand.

“Do you mind helping us out with tuning them?” Sylvia gleefully offered to her.

“As if the events from earlier were not enough, I nearly forgot today is our biggest delivery of the month!” Mr. Floyd guffawed, setting the guitars upon their racks.

Aster's heart lept with joy at the opportunity to pick up an instrument for the first time in days— let alone one that was arguably, although artificially, vintage.

She took the guitar from Sylvia, her excitement allaying any hesitation, and marveled at the handiwork that comprised the guitar. It put everything she owned to complete shame.

But wait, why is she assuming I know how to tune anything? Aster wondered as she held the acoustic, shyly picking at the strings with her small fingers as she focused her gaze away from Sylvia in thought. True to the expectant smile Sylvia was already casting towards her, Aster had the guitar tuned in just under a minute.

“You're a quick learner huh?” she teased with a smug smirk, before tuning her own guitar just as quickly.

“You can play?” Aster stuttered in amazement— the first words she had truly uttered all day.

“Ha! Can she play?” chuckled Floyd as he went back out into the alley. Aster turned back to find Sylvia sporting a remarkably proud shit-eating grin as she began to lightly run her fingers down the fretboard, her dainty fingertips pressing into the strings as she bent one here and there and left the final note swaying in self-congratulating vibrato.

Aster for this moment had put away her usual expressions of sadness and irritability, and sat there in utter surprise. “That was... really good,” she mumbled in astonishment as Sylvia went back to caressing the strings, moving from guitar to guitar as she tuned them and compared their sounds for herself.

“Thanks!” she giggled while giving an expression that was so transparently an attempt at being humble that had never a hope of appearing so while the person making it displayed such a triumphant level of skill.

“Holy fuck,” Aster exclaimed as Sylvia went through the motions of flamenco picking, abruptly stopping at Aster's utterance.

“Uh oh!” Sylvia muttered, her devilish grin once again returning to her face.

“Miss Aster!!” scolded Floyd as he suddenly burst forth in a waltz from the alley, “We will have none of that language in this shop!”

Oh god.

Aster froze. Her blood turned to ice, and tongue caught in her throat as she felt that ever-present miasma of social stuntedness once again fill the room and make itself known. “I'm sorry,” she stuttered. She was unable to look up at either Sylvia or Mr. Floyd, the former of which met the latter with a piercing scowl.

What did I do?! It was starting to go so well you fucking idiot!

“Well, as long as you've apologized, then there is no issue here,” he said, handing Aster another guitar with a smile.

Aster looked at him in complete astonishment, reeling from emotional whiplash.

“I'm sorry,” she started again, her feeble voice breaking.

“I said it is not a worry, miss!”

—

In the fallout of her great embarrassment Aster retreated into herself, slowly picking at the strings while Sylvia and Floyd tuned the rest of the instruments. Aster—always one to practice and play religiously, was exceedingly eager to make up for her days of not doing so, and so quietly played out chords and melodic riffs when she was sure that the two of them couldn't hear.

It brought to mind the realization that she had never actually played around others. Communities of musicians were still in existence online in 2066, and Aster did collaborate with others in those groups— but doing so in the flesh was a wholly alien and exhilarating, as well as terrifying, thought.

“Oh my,” cooed Floyd. Aster, lost in her thinking, had become unaware of how loudly she was playing. “That sounds splendid Aster!” he added, practically bubbling over with joy. “Who could have ever guessed you were so skilled!”

Aster panicked, immediately releasing the fretboard in embarrassment. “Nope!” interjected Sylvia as Aster tried to put away the guitar. “That chord progression was just too groovy!” she shouted, instantly miming it as she attempted to figure it out by ear.

She paused, coming to the next chord in the progression. “Huh? Floyd, she's switching out of key for this— ”

She slid her pinky down the fretboard in such a way as to make her hand resembled a contorted spider “— one,” she said, the chord ringing out in striking prettiness, shimmering through the now closed shop. Cecil, locking the door up front, turned his attention towards the storeroom.

“Are you guys goofing around?” he mumbled, poking his head in. He looked down at Aster, always one to resemble a deer in headlights— and particularly in this moment one that resembled a deer that looked as though it were trying to recall what guitar playing humans looked like.

“Cecil! Check this out!” Sylvia chimed, playing through the progression that she had just learned from Aster. He rumpled his brow as she demonstrated.

“Wait, when did you start writing, Sylvia? Why does a pop progression have a major subdominant into a minor subdominant?” he asked. He leaned against the doorway. Aster wished to evaporate in embarrassment.

“And why does it end on a D-flat half-diminished?” he added.

“It's actually just an F minor sixth...” Aster mumbled near inaudibly. Cecil looked yet more confused at this response.

“Sylvia, play it again,” he asked. Sylvia struck the chord.

“Yeah, you're right. You did write it, didn't you?” he inquired in increasing confusion as she ran through the scales to the chords.

“Nope! That's all Aster!” she said, picking away.

Aster wished at that moment so desperately to shrink down as small as the laws of physics would allow her. She hoped if she just thought about it hard enough, the fact that this was all simulated would bestow upon her the power to instantly vanish out of their gaze and scurry off like some imperceptible mite, where someone's destined step would hopefully crush her.

“That's really good,” Cecil dryly muttered. “I didn't get to introduce myself earlier. I'm Cecil. I'm one of the managers here,” he added, reaching out to shake hands with Aster, who did not respond in kind. The echoings of the alley and all its droll humdrum soundtracked the breathtaking deadness of the shop in that moment.

Cecil retracted his hand, his face now in an expression that was not completely a scowl but wasn't entirely devoid of annoyance and confusion either. He left them with a laconic 'alright,' as he went to take the newly tuned guitars and basses out for display.

In that second, Aster swore she could taste her heart— the iron becoming ever more pronounced with every heartbeat as she hanged herself by the awkward tension in the room.

Why? she whimpered inside of her head. Why? This is supposed to be a fantasy world, right? So why doesn't anything go right? Why am I still such a fucking loser?! The guitar strings stung as they dug into her tightening grip.

It's no fucking fair! This should be the opposite of everything! I should be happy. It should be easy to be happy! It shouldn't be like real fucking life!

She didn't wish to cry in front of Sylvia and Floyd, but her heart was breaking.

If this is all the Eden device is, then how was it even worth the risk—

Suddenly, Sylvia's notes rang out and gently hung in the room, as she once again began picking at Aster's chord progression. Floyd quickly joined in, miming the chords in simplistic versions on his ukulele. Aster turned to them, utterly astonished, as she listened in on the birth of her very own harmonic tapestry.

“Well? You know the words, sing 'em!” Sylvia smiled, playing with increasingly vibrant crescendo as if the guitar itself could reach in and lure Aster out of her shell.

Aster felt a spark of excitement within her, but didn't know quite how to react. Playing music in front of others— let alone music she wrote was far too embarrassing. For all of her life such a concept had been absolutely out of the question, even if the chance were to ever arrive, she told herself. But such a chance was impossible, she thought, and so was entirely content to go about her life never considering it a possibility.

And yet here she was— watching other people play her song— a dream she never realized she had. It was her chords and her feelings that strung those temperaments together which those two strangers were reciting— and they resonated fucking beautifully. The whole performance sounded like such an achingly sweet melange of sound that she would've scoffed at the concept in even her wildest dreams.

But why did her heart flutter so? she wondered. They were simulations. They were technically no different than Tsubomi, and yet Aster could only feel the complete opposite towards them. She closed her eyes, and desperately tried to quell her nervous heart.

“On a bed of roses,” she felt her lips begin to recite, “—hope I open every vein,”

Cecil had returned, once again positioned nonchalantly against the door frame.

“—be so sweet to bleed out before, this love I love drives me insane,” she sang, lightly strumming the chords on her guitar.

“Aster, that's so good!” Sylvia exclaimed. “Why didn't you tell us you could play like that?”

Aster once again felt her face overcome with the burning neon intensity of embarrassment, as she could find neither a response nor a place to set her awkward orange eyes as it dawned on her she had been found out.

“Ms. Aster dear, I don't mean to pry, but would you happen to be a runaway, by any chance?” Mr. Floyd whimsically interjected.

“Mr. Floyd, that is not at all subtle!” shouted Sylvia, crossing her arms.

Aster was taken aback by the sudden question, which was more of a technically correct assumption than Floyd realized.

“Like I said before I'm from out of town,” she quietly replied. There was nothing more she wished for at the moment than for this line of questioning to be dropped.

“Alright. In any case, it's okay even if you are dear, you are in no trouble,” Floyd put forth gently, his powdered wig shifting as he leaned forward in his chair.

A look of incredulity came to Aster's brow. “I'm not lying,”

“I don't think Floyd wants to catch heat for holding some kid up in here,” Cecil interjected, to which Aster whipped her head around in a look that could make them all swear her prior anxiety and timidness was a farcical hallucination.

Her burnt orange eyes lit Cecil up as those weighty brows furrowed in on themselves. “I'm twenty. I decided to move out,” she stated matter-of-factly, folding her arms in defiance.

“Hey we're the same age!” Sylvia interjected, adding to her quickly growing list of failed high-fives. “Cecil calls me a kid all the time too,” she added, sticking her tongue out at him.

“Well you act like one and you're as small as one, so I see no problem with it,” he smirked.

“Cecil you're such a drag! Aster's even smaller than me!” she yelled, patting Aster's bushy head. Aster's expression was now threatening to freeze into that angry grimace.

“Miss Aster, how long do you plan to stay in Peppermint Plains?” Floyd began in his warbling voice.

Aster's mind went blank. In the past couple days she had had seldom a moment of peace to herself, let alone time to consider that she may need to manufacture a back story.

“Awhile...” she choked out, looking away from Floyd.

“Well then, runaway or not, you have no place to stay— would that be correct to assume?”

Aster looked up in slight confusion. What was he getting at? she wondered.

“If my assumption is indeed correct, then I would like to offer you a place to stay here— so long as you continue working in the shop in lieu of rent.”

Aster's heart stopped. Such a turn of good luck was so unknown to her that she almost couldn't believe it. At every turn she was born to suffer, she relentlessly told herself— and the world had always been eager to confirm for her. She burst into tears at the sheer weight lifted from off her.

“Really?” she squeaked through her watering eyes as Sylvia embraced her, reciting all her points about how exciting it was to no longer have to work with just Cecil.

“With one catch!” Floyd trilled.

He reveled in his slight pause with a smirk.

“I would like you to also form a band which I will manage,”

He uttered this declaration with a rap of his cane against the floor.

Aster's tears ceased, and the entire room was looking onto him in momentary silence. Floyd's refined face awaited her reply with a soft smile. His hand was visibly straining in a tense grip around his cane.

Aster was so worn and brutalized by the events and many lows of the past few days that she could barely process his offer. But she felt it— the most overwhelming sense of desire and purpose she had ever known.

All that now remained between her and a reason to live was one emphatic answer in the affirmative, which she gave in tears—

“I'll do it.”