#i don’t think i have a writing tag which is a bummr

[javierduffy]

sometimes i make myself emotional by thinking about how special it must be to javier that the gang at the very least somewhat learned cielito lindo for him so that they could sing along but now im doubling it by thinking about how kieran may gingerly wander up when javier is quietly plucking at the strings of his guitar, tuning them by ear and relishing in the comfort of the body vibrating hums through the meat of his thighs. kieran will politely sit on a nearby unused bedroll, knees tucked close to his body as though taking up less space is the respectful thing to do, and he’ll point to the instrument in javier’s lap.

“where’d you learn that, mister ?”

javier finds the spindly finger in his peripheral vision, follows it up to the brunette’s nervous face. he offers green eyes an extra glance, and he can see them soften like he’d given himself away already. damn.

“i learned it at home. in mexico, music is a very special thing. we use it to tell stories, history, to communicate with one another. mexico speaks music first, and spanish second. nearly every mexican can play at least a handful of instruments- i couldn’t tell you which one i played first and who it was that taught it to me. by now, it’s like a part of my body, just like it is a part of my soul.”

kieran nods along as javier continues to mindlessly poke and prod at the strings of his guitar, and he finds himself relaxing in a way that he’d never been able to around the man. maybe because javier himself seemed to be so content with his guitar in his lap. like a chef in a kitchen or a mariner at sea, javier brought home to him when the sounds he played echoed through wood and sang loud to his typical audience of outlaws. the crease around his eyes tells kieran that he asked about the right subject- though it seems that escuella is just as good at playing heartstrings as he is guitar strings, with the way that he can feel his blood loudly thrumming in his chest.

“could you maybe… teach me sometime too ?”

the way javier rears his head at the question makes kieran jolt- prey spooked wild in the dark eyes of a predator- though the recognition of excitement (as much as javier attempts to conceal it with apprehension) smooths his bristles back down again.

javier teaches kieran every song he knows, from the ones with all the lyrics he soothes or excites the camp with, to the lulls of wordless melodies that sailed the boat north with him. kieran is good with his hands, and attentive to his every action, so he learns quick and easy, though he’ll never sing a word, even if he could memorize the spanish (and even though he already has a lot of them simply by having dutifully listened to javier sing every night that he could). considers himself a flat dud when it comes to singing. javier is curious, but he’ll never press. often he’s too busy reveling in the sound of home emanating from kieran’s fingers plucking desert lullabies, songs javier thought he’d only ever get to hear from himself.

it hits different, to simply get to listen. to put your boots up on a log and enjoy the ride. he’d been the driver for so long that javier forgot how beautiful the scenery was. he’s grateful that kieran asked him to teach him how to play guitar- he finds himself nearly indulging the idea that when kieran practices or plays, he’s playing javier’s music for javier, and not because it’s the only music he knows. he finds it all too romantic, but the warmth that the idea brings to his skin is just as familiar as the mexican sun, and it aches in his heart how comforting those moments are.

kieran, on the other hand, in his soft, sunken heart, is absolutely playing javier’s music for javier. he can see how the notes have always danced along his smile lines as he sings or hums along to the sound. he’s always seen how protective of his guitar he is. he watches closely as javier plays even when no one is listening, and kieran more than anyone understands just how special something has to be for it to never grace the stage of another’s perception. and kieran, so knee-deep in his affection, wants to give javier the gift of comfort- a form of it so free he may feel he just robbed it from a corpse.

kieran becomes quite good, and javier becomes quite comfortable. often, in the direction of a billow of campfire smoke, you will hear the wordless song of guitar strings, accompanied by the howling gritos of love and grief.