SWAN 4 - Anyplace, Anywhere, Anytime

Song Without A Name
Chapter 4
Brought to you by 30 Minute Breaks at Claire’s and one
Lady Yate-xel

Edgar just wasn’t the type to get noticed. It was something that he simply did not do. Whether or not he was even able to be noticed had been frequently called into question.

So, how was he to feel about a proposition involving suddenly having recognition where there had previously been none, regardless of method? About everyone suddenly… seeing him there?

“I-,” he swallowed once. “I’m not sure. It depends, I guess.”

Johnny still fiddled with the buttons on the keyboard in front of Edgar, never actually pushing any, just tracing the shapes. He looked up from the buttons he was concentrating on so intently, perhaps thinking he’d get more out of Edgar from eye contact.

“Oh?” he smiled, tilted his head, “and what does it depend on?”

Edgar watched fingertips adorned with flaking black polish poke randomly at the options on his keyboard. He was unsure if he was concerned about the settings, or just fascinated with the someone poking at them.

“It depends on who’s doing the noticing…,” he answered, still staring at Johnny’s hand.

Thankfully, Johnny didn’t seem to be bothered at all about the hint that he was the only one who need notice Edgar. He simply decided to stop fiddling with the keyboard buttons in favor of collapsing into the pink recliner. A quite visible cloud of dust puffed up around him.

“Who would you want to notice?” he asked, reaching over his head to tangle his fingers in the cord of the phone Edgar had hung up earlier.

“Well… beyond you three… I’d rather no one…,” Edgar said softly, rubbing his forearm to distract him from the growing feeling of uneasiness.

“It’s four, actually,” Johnny corrected, now throwing a piece of wadded up paper he had found in the chair at the ceiling, “Devi’s friend will be able to see you too, when you meet her.”

“Oh… I had forgotten Devi had another friend, that’s right… Still, it’s just this small group, and everyone more or less understands the situation, you know, so I don’t have to worry about -“

“HA!” Johnny caught the paper on its way from the ceiling, and bolted upright, legs still dangling over the chair’s arm. “YOU? Worry? About what?! I suggested the idea of getting seen, and I’m the one living in a high school choir room! You have a whole house, Edgar. You’re safe in your little world with your house, and your phones and your keyboard and your ugly pink chair!” Johnny slammed his fist into the back of the chair at his last word, expelling another cloud of dust, which he dispersed with a puff of breath.

“I’m sorry!” Edgar half-yelled. “But what can I do but worry about it? Have you ever seen any indication that I do any work to afford the chair? Even an ugly pink one? That stuff shows up here, Nny! In the basement! That chair was the only furniture in the house for a while.” He ran his hand through his hair, and let out a long breath. He wasn’t quite so good at this yelling thing.

“I’m not even sure,” he continued, “exactly, how I ended up here, how I even came to be. Yes, I worry. With all of our situations, not just mine, we’ll be in danger getting noticed now. People won’t take kindly to a random teenager living in a house alone, nor part of a high school… Especially part of a high school. And, really, I don’t want to have to be committed to an asylum over all this.”

Johnny was silent for a minute, as he sat, staring over his knees at the keyboard. “Right, right,” he muttered, “not quite yet.” He sounded almost distant. “Play me something else,” he said suddenly, and most completely non-distantly. “It doesn’t have to be something I know, just play something. You can talk while you play, right?”

Edgar sighed.

“Sure,” he said, shrugging. He turned back into a comfortable position while Nny did the same in the pink chair, flopping into it again. Edgar started tinkering with something simple, something he didn’t have to concentrate on too intensely, since Johnny had indicated that he fully intended to keep up conversation.

Not a few measures later, Johnny started asking questions again.

“So, you’ve got no one, huh?” He had gone back to throwing the paper wad at the ceiling which Edgar had only noticed when the regular clicking sound of it hitting the ceiling began to affect his timing.

“No,” Edgar answered, “It’s been just me for quite a while, as long as I can remember anyway, and even that’s rather limited at this point. After all these memories piled up on me, I don’t remember ever having parents… I know they were there once though.”

The clicking continued, uninterrupted.

“Might be kinda fun if you were a robot, though,” Johnny suggested.

Edgar raised an eyebrow and almost laughed as he played.

“Oh, great fun, I imagine, but I’m positive I had parents. At least in one lifetime. ”

“Damn. How about aliens? Maybe you were a tube baby!”

“Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised,” Edgar laughed lightly.

Johnny let out a slight laugh himself, before falling silent again, save for the click, tap, click of the paper he still hadn’t tired of. Edgar continued playing; silences were not something he handled well.

“What are we doing here?” Johnny asked, breaking a long silence.

Edgar’s fingers faltered for a note or two before he caught control again.

“'Here'… where?”

“We died. Twice, right? Why are we doing this, again?”

“The first time…,” Edgar paused, reflecting on actual memories of being shredded. “The first time, I died before you, so, if it worked the same way for you as it did for me, I would think that you would have the memory of why that happened.”

“Which means we’ll never find that out. Great,” Johnny said bitterly, throwing the paper harder so it smacked against the ceiling enough to add emphasis to his frustration.

“I’m sure we’ll find some sort of explanation,” Edgar offered, trying to concentrate on not revealing anything dangerous and keeping the music moving, regardless of tempo. “Maybe Ji- Devi will know something.”

If Johnny had looked at him funny when Edgar had said ‘Ji-Devi,’ he didn’t make it vocally known.

“And the second time?” Johnny demanded. “Why again?”

Edgar slowed the song.

“I… I asked for this one. Volunteered,” Edgar spoke quietly, almost apologetic.

Johnny sat up sharply, tossing some more dust. “Oh, come on!” he yelled, “What the fuck, Edgar? Didja volunteer the whole fucking planet? That’s bullshit.”

It was getting increasingly harder to play the longer Edgar carried out this conversation.

“No, No, I’m very serious,” he said, hitting each note slowly and deliberately, “They asked if I wanted to go around again, I agreed… you agreed, and we-“

“Wait, wait, wait, you talked to me too, now? I was okay with this?”

Edgar flinched. Dammit.

“Yes,” he said through his teeth, “Yes, you were.”

Johnny sighed heavily and another cloud of dust told Edgar he had once again sank back into the chair. Edgar heard another long breath from Johnny before he spoke again.

“Why did you say ‘yes’? Is being dead that bad?” Johnny’s voice was muffled slightly and Edgar guessed he was hanging upside down off of the recliner in some fashion. He hoped the chair was distracting Johnny enough that any holes in Edgar’s story would be ignored, as this conversation was getting dangerous enough without having to concentrate on this playing, too.

“Well,” Edgar said thoughtfully, “I… I wanted to make sure… to try to… help you, I guess.”

“Am I that important?”

Edgar’s hand slipped, slamming into a hideous combination of notes that startled him as much as the question had. Johnny hadn’t gone without noticing.

“The hell was that?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing!” Edgar lied. “I’m sorry, my hand must’ve slipped.” He fumbled around a bit, losing any ability he had earlier to remain calm in the face of nearly having to let out certain bits of information or else lie his way around them. He rubbed his arm and adjusted his glasses several times, before glancing at the pink recliner.

Johnny was now hanging upside down from one of the chair’s arms, his shoulders and neck against the floorboards, arms sprawled around the chair’s base.

“So?” he asked from the floor.

Edgar blinked.

“So… what?”

Johnny sighed, annoyed.

“So,” he turned himself over, “am I,” took his legs off of the chair, “or was I,” got comfortable on the floor,” really that important?”

“I… Yes,” Edgar answered, scratching the back of his head, “you were… sort of all I had, you know?”

Johnny narrowed his eyes. “Right. So I suppose you’re doing all this,” he made a sort of circle/collective motion, “for me?”

Edgar swallowed, and looked a little pained.

“Yes?” he answered weakly.

“Oh, how very noble of you,” Johnny said mock dramatically, rolling his eyes, “Tell me, what was it you REALLY wanted?” He lifted himself from the floor, and moved to stare Edgar down at his place on the keyboard bench.

“Nny, I don’t underst –“

“Trying to be some sort of reverse martyr, are you? Trying to save poor little me from – no, not even me, but some guy I used to be, from certain DOOM so you get extra salvation points?! Is THAT it?” Johnny had crawled along the bench, so they were nearly nose to nose now, and Edgar was out of bench to escape on.

“No… no, it’s nothing like that…,” Edgar stammered, closing his eyes in an attempt to flee the close proximity.

“Oh, No? Then maybe you’re another Jimmy? Maybe you want to fuck me so badly that you’ll eventually copy everything I do so you can perhaps get off on SOMETHING?!”

“I… I…”

“OR MAYBE,” Johnny interjected, grabbing Edgar’s shirt collar, “Maybe you’re like Devi? Completely bat shit crazy yourself, but getting close to me so you look SANER?”

Part of Edgar wanted to cry.

The other part wanted to scream in anger. He wasn’t entirely sure which emotion won the battle, but he spoke, hoping one of them would help him.

“Is that how you see them?” Edgar asked quietly, his shoulders and voice shaking slightly (though from built up tears or anger he couldn’t tell). “Is that really what you see?”

“And what are you seeing when you look at them, hmm?” Johnny tightened his hold on Edgar’s shirt. “In your years of knowing them, I bet you understand completely, after all.”

“You used to really like Devi,” Edgar spoke softly due to the trouble he was having breathing with a shirt collar tightening every few seconds. “With the way you two acted, I had thought you still did. And Jimmy,” he coughed, “well, you never really liked him, but he was a simple stalker of yours, I’m not entirely sure where this fucking and getting off comes in… I mean, he was creepy, but…”

“You said yourself,” Johnny corrected, “that I’m not the same as I once was. They aren’t guaranteed the same either, unlike you, Mr. Perfect Memory.”

“Nny, I remember almost nothing about myself! I remember some feelings I had, but not how I looked, where I worked, my parents… almost nothing…” He made eye contact for the first time since Johnny’s screaming began.

“Nothing, really, except,” Edgar continued, taking hold of Johnny’s wrist as it threatened to tighten Johnny’s hold on Edgar’s shirt, “my best friend. I’ll suffer through living and dying as many times as I have to for my best friend.”

Johnny almost snarled at him, but Edgar continued.

“No matter what you say about having not been my best friend, I can’t be wrong. These are the only memories I really have, and I would never miss him once I met him again.”

Johnny opened his mouth to protest, and again he was stopped.

“Say what you will, but there is no mistake, you are him. He’s you.”

Johnny released Edgar’s shirt, at the same time tearing his wrist from Edgar’s hold. “That’s…! No! People don’t just… live for other people! I have no one that important! No one does!”

Edgar’s eyes softened from rather angry and hurt to filled with pity. “I’m sorry for you,” he said.

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, “that you don’t have someone so important to you. Sometimes,” he smiled weakly, “they’re all you have.”

Johnny had now changed from daring Edgar to prove him wrong to staring at him, confused, still sitting uncomfortably close. He let out a long breath.

“I guess,” Johnny said after one more breath, “regardless of who I am or who I was, if you’re going to look at me as ‘all you have,’ then I’ll wait to pass some judgment on you. I suggest you do the same with me,” he sat back, finally. “Go ahead. Impress me.”

Edgar got a brief mental image of himself as Johnny’s personal dancing circus monkey, as he just wasn’t sure what else he was going to do to ‘impress’ Johnny. He took a few panicked glances around the living room for some sort of inspiration, and noticed that Johnny had arranged his possessions as though he thought he would sleep there.

“Nny… would you… like a room to put all your stuff?”

Edgar took this as an opportunity not only to change the subject, but also to stand up and get his personal space back. “I have two extra rooms upstairs. You can stay in one of those if you want, you know, so your stuff isn’t all over the living room. Unless you want to stay on the couch, I guess…”

Johnny turned and regarded the room, covered in his things. He shrugged as he looked around. “Doesn’t really matter,” he said, “I’d be fine here. I sleep on chairs or desks usually, so, the couch is great.”

Edgar shook his head as he walked over to the coffee table to retrieve the abandoned omelette plates.

“I’ve got space, and I’d feel awful leaving you on the couch. At least come up and look at it,” Edgar offered. He walked back to the kitchen, and put the used plates in the sink. When Edgar came back into the living room, Johnny was standing at the base of the staircase, arms folded across his chest.

Edgar started heading up the stairs, assuming Johnny wanted to follow, and when he heard footsteps behind his, tread a little less cautiously. He turned to tell Johnny some funny story about a time when he fell down the whole staircase, but somehow Johnny’s expression wasn’t conveying any sort of willingness to listen to idle stories.

They reached the top of the case and Edgar led Johnny off to the left to show him the first extra room. He opened the door and peaked inside first before opening it wide enough for Johnny to see how it looked.

“There’s a desk and a bed in here, but it’s a little smaller than the other room,” Edgar explained. “This one gets the better sun, though, I think.”

When Johnny didn’t say anything, Edgar moved to the next room and motioned Johnny inside. This room was just barely furnished. A bed and a small bookcase sat against one wall, but the room was bare and uninviting without the little rugs, desk and books that made the other room feel homelier.

“I’ll take this one,” Johnny said, before Edgar could explain its lack of furnishings. “I’ll go get my stuff.”

With that, he was half way down the staircase, leaving a confused Edgar standing in the bare room’s doorway. He debated for sometime about going down and helping Johnny haul all his stuff upstairs, but by the time he had resolved to do so, Johnny and the back pack were already on their way back up.

Johnny made his way silently into the room, and started unpacking. The amount of general stuff he had been able to fit in that bag was amazing. He unloaded several books that he put on the shelf, some random trinkets that he set up on top of the bookcase, even a blanket that he tossed in the general direction of the bed. After a few minutes, it almost looked like someone lived there.

Edgar immediately felt bad for not helping at all, and tried to offer some sort of positive comments.

“How did you manage to get all of that in there?” Not exactly what he had had in mind.

“Practice,” Johnny answered quickly, still fishing through the last dregs of his bag.

Edgar suddenly realized he had been just standing at the door, and thought he’d sit down on the floor with Johnny and his bag. Johnny was throwing random objects out of the depths of the bag, so Edgar retrieved them one by one and set them in nice piles or folded articles of clothing.

“Nny, where do you get your stuff anyway? I mean… I assume you don’t have any money, so…” And yet again, Edgar found himself wanting to punch himself in the face for the completely retarded things he said to Johnny.

“Here and there,” Johnny said shrugging, as though it was a well rehearsed line. “Take stuff from the lost and found, grab things people drop, find a quarter and save it or put in one of those machines at the dollar store. You know, nothing special.”

Edgar stared at the shirt in his hands. He had seen it on Johnny the day before.

“How did you…,” he started, motioning to the shirt.

“Oh. Well, you do what you can. Grab shirts people throw out of cars, sew random fabric onto them. I have a couple shirts all made from transplanted parts of other shirts. It’s fun to grab stuff from the ‘New To You’ consignment place, too. They don’t notice when some donations go missing.”

Edgar felt disgusted with himself. He had this house thing, with all of this comfort he didn’t really deserve, clothes, food and plenty of space, all sitting here, mostly unused, while Johnny lived out of vending machines and wore stolen or discarded clothing. He thought perhaps there was some sort of karma thing affecting the situation. Edgar had been a good person all around for the most part, and Johnny… well, Johnny hadn’t. So, Edgar gets a house, and Johnny gets a choir room. A lifetime ago, that would have been well justified, and completely alright in Edgar’s eyes. Now, however, he cared a great deal about the person who’d been dealt the worse hand. The whole thing made him want to just tear something to piece-

“Hey! What the fuck are you doing to my shirt?!” Johnny snatched the shirt from Edgar’s hands before Edgar had completely processed that Johnny had spoken. Johnny now sat inspecting the stitches in the sleeve that Edgar had successfully torn from the rest of the shirt. Edgar’s heart sank as Johnny glared at him, holding the shirt protectively.

“Nny, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to tear it! Here, let me go get some thread, we can fix it.” He stood up, hoping Johnny would either acknowledge him or follow, but he did neither; Johnny just sat, clutching the shirt, glaring at Edgar. Edgar let out a defeated sigh and went back to his room to uncover the sewing kit he’d buried in his ‘Useful Stuff’ trunk.

As he tossed things inside the trunk aside, he glanced at his closet. His eyes went wide for a moment. An idea now working its way into his brain, he ran over to his closet. He threw open the doors, and looked at all the shirts he never wore. All the ones he’d grown out of but had never been able to give away (because just as the ‘New To You’ didn’t notice donations getting stolen, they weren’t incredibly keen on completely anonymous donations either.) All the ones that had come from nowhere and he had deemed just too ugly to be shirts. All the ones he’d just forgotten about. Every one of them could be modified to suit Johnny’s strange taste. He was even more positive that they could alter them all to fit Johnny’s tiny frame.

Edgar picked up all the shirts he could carry, and the sewing kit, which had been on top of his dresser the whole time, kicked the trunk closed, and made his way back to Johnny’s room as quickly as a three-foot stack of clothing blocking his vision would allow. He dropped the pile in front of Johnny, who hadn’t moved from his prior position. Edgar bit his lip, fearing he’d just intruded on Johnny’s dignity. He knelt down beside the pile, and took the sewing kit off the top.

“I found this for you,” he said, shoving the plastic box across the floor where it stopped by Johnny’s toe. “And I thought maybe you’d like a few more to modify… I don’t have a use for the ones I’ve outgrown, but I think you’ll fit in them.” Edgar pulled a few of the smaller shirts out of the stack to demonstrate.

Johnny stared at him quizzically, before looking down at the sewing kit. He regarded it for a moment as though he thought it might introduce itself, then reached down and popped it open. He poked around in the box before his eyes lit up and he selected a spool.

“You have red thread! This will look great on this shirt!” Johnny seemed to forget entirely that he was repairing the shirt because Edgar had ripped it, not that he just wanted to start a sewing project, and immediately searched for a needle to thread. Edgar began to feel better about ripping the shirt in the first place, and started sorting the shirts in the pile beside him into piles based on how useful he thought they’d be to Johnny. Usually black and striped went into the ‘Very Johnny’ pile, while things like random button up shirts went into the ‘Use As Dish Rag’ pile.

None of these shirts had actually been selected by Edgar himself. He had had most of them appear one day in his basement, and had been completely in the dark as to how they got there. He didn’t truly know for sure that the people in charge of his rebirths were sending him useful things, but it was the closest to a logical explanation as he could get, and logical made him a little more comfortable.

As he sat, folding, he began thinking about his past existence with Johnny. There was no way he could have ever done something this close to domestic with him before, nor would Johnny have ever accepted Edgar’s assistance or help with anything.

The whole relationship had been incredibly strange. It had started when Edgar was so nearly murdered, but was saved when a particularly loud television turned itself on (Johnny must have set the timer) on one of the upper levels. Johnny had recognized the audio as one of his favorite commercials, then gone to watch, and upon his return began releasing Edgar from the machine. Careful not to endanger himself further by reminding the maniac of his prior intentions, Edgar had waited until he was freed before asking any questions. Johnny had shrugged when asked and said that he had passed a room filled with stupid people he had found in a parking lot one day, so he just used one of them when the commercial was over. They were closer to the room with the wall anyway, he’d said, bored. Then, he'd asked Edgar if he wanted tea.

“Hey!” Johnny’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

Edgar shook his head.

“What?”

“I like this shirt!” Johnny exclaimed, as though completely surprised by the idea. “I can really have these?” He was holding a red and black striped shirt that Edgar had hardly worn, if ever. Beside him were a few other striped shirts, even a few of the button ups Edgar was going to throw away. He assumed Johnny was going to harvest the sleeves for the vertical stripes.

“Yeah,” he answered, “they’re all yours. I have no use for them.”

Edgar’s response was met with the sound of fabric being torn, and the repeated click of a pair of scissors. No ‘thank you’, but an enthusiasm that Edgar took for gratitude anyway.

After some time Johnny looked up and over the pile of shirts at Edgar. Edgar blinked, and titled his head to one side.

“Do you have a marker?” Johnny asked.

“Permanent?”

“Yeah.”

“Hang on, I’ll go check.”

It took Edgar a while to remember where he’d stashed all the Sharpie-like things he’d found lying around the house. He eventually went back to his ‘Useful Stuff’ trunk; after all, he had to have written those words on the top of it with something.

A few moments of digging uncovered 3 markers. He was positive he had more than that, but brought the ones he had found back to Johnny anyway.

Johnny had put on his headphones and already had most of the new hybrid shirt finished, and had long since fixed the seam on the shirt Edgar tore. The new shirt had the red and black striped sleeves and a grey t-shirt as its base. Johnny happily took the black marker as Edgar offered it and scrawled ‘ninja’ on the shirt. Edgar raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.

“I’ve always wanted one that said that. Ninjas are neat.”

Edgar shrugged.

“Whatever makes you happy.” Saying the words gave Edgar chills. He stared down at his feet. That’s what everything in his existence was about now, wasn’t it? Whatever makes Johnny happy. He lived for whatever Johnny wanted. The idea was almost terrifying. Almost. Beating death twice really does something to a guy’s fear of such a thing.

Happy. Make him happy.

“Hey, tell me if this looks alright.”

Edgar looked up, to see Johnny half out of one shirt and half into another.

“I can never quite tell if I’ve taken them in enough on the sides…,” Johnny explained, tossing the old shirt aside, and burying his head in the new one. He was still too skinny, compared to his past self, but he appeared to be a little less dangerously so. Johnny managed to fight his way into the shirt, pulled it down over himself, and spread his arms.

“I think you’ve got more fabric on the left side, it’s not a lot though. You should be able to get away with it as is.” Funny how some modification could turn boring things Edgar owned into something in Johnny’s specific ‘do it yourself’ style. Edgar smiled.

“I like it. It’s you,” he added.

“‘Me’ is ‘You,’ mutilated,” Johnny replied. Edgar flinched a little on the irony of that statement, and managed a weak laugh. He heard some slight noise in the silence that followed, and noticed Johnny’s headphones lying on the bed, still playing. He had taken them off to try the shirt on. Walking over to the bed, Edgar asked if he could listen to them; he was interested to hear whatever could hold Johnny’s attention.

Johnny gave muffled agreement from somewhere in the shirt he was trying to take off. Edgar put on the headphones, and heard something in… German, he thought. This one sounded a little older, though he really had no idea when he thought it could be from.

…chkeit
Fliegen Motten in das Licht
Genau wie du und ich
Wrap your fingers 'round my neck
You don't speak my dialect
But our images reflect…

The song changed back and forth from English to German several times, and something about the English made him want to know the German.

…Gib mir die Hand
ich bau dir ein Schloss aus Sand
Irgendwie, irgendwo, irgendwann.
If we belong to each other, we belong
Anyplace anywhere anytime…

He looked over at Johnny, who didn’t seem to notice Edgar standing there anymore. He was more absorbed in finding another shirt to splice together. Edgar just watched him. Make him happy. Make him happy. Make him happy.

…rück
Bits and pieces from your storm
Rain upon me as they form
Melt into my skin and I feel warm…

Edgar took the head phones off, and set them back down on the bed.

“Where’d you get that song?” he asked.

“Which one?” Johnny was entirely absorbed in another grey shirt.

“The one with the German bits…it sounded old.”

“Ah, that one. I found it in the choir room. The stacks of music in there are years and years old. I just go through it all, find the stuff I like, and then use the computer lab to burn everything I really like onto other CDs,” Johnny threw some shirts behind him. “That song has a completely German version, too, but I like the one you heard better.”

He sighed, frustrated. “Do you have a solid black one?”

“I think so,” Edgar said. “Let me help you look.” He shuffled over on his knees and starting tossing shirts. Make him happy.

Some furious digging later and they’d found a long sleeved black shirt. Edgar never thought he looked good in black, so never wore it, though in retrospect, he really shouldn’t have cared. It wasn’t as though anyone would have seen him in it anyhow.

“This is perfect, I don’t even have to add sleeves…,” Johnny said grabbing the shirt and a few safety pins from the sewing kit. He starting pinning something to the front of the shirt, then held it up in front of him, judging it for a moment. He then turned it around and showed it to Edgar.

Johnny had taken a square of a white shirt and drawn some strange symbols on that, then pinned the square on the black shirt. He peeked out from behind it, grinning.

“Not bad, huh?”

“What is it?”

“It’s my name. Hieroglyphs I picked up from the seventh grade history room. I’ve been looking for something to write this on...,” Johnny said, looking again at the pile, already sounding distracted enough to start a new shirt.

Make him happy.

“Do you still fit in any of this?” Johnny asked.

“Yeah, a few of them, why?”

“Show me which ones.”

Edgar selected a few from the bottom of the stack; some stripes and t-shirts he had just never bothered to put on, and handed them to Johnny.

“Those ones,” he said. “What do need them for?”

“I’ll make you one. You can’t be boring forever.”

He’d already been born like that three times, it was starting to look inevitable, but if Johnny was convinced a shirt would make him less boring, Edgar would play along. Make him happy. Because everything was about making him happy.

…I'm going to any world you're coming from
Anyplace anywhere anytime

Gib mir die Hand
ich bau dir ein Schloss aus Sand
Irgendwie, irgendwo, irgendwann.
I'm going to any world you're coming from
Anyplace anywhere anytime…

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