The Balladeer, somewhat unnervingly for him, has to consider the question for a second. "I could," he says finally with a slow nod. "I did, for a while after I first met him." He'd never once forgotten about it, but it's only over the past few days that it got stuck in his head like this. He can still hear it now, though it's faint under the sound of Greta's voice, her usual harmonies, and even the faint disparate notes he's picking up from the babies asleep in their crib.
Thinking about it makes it louder, and his grip tightens a bit around his mug. It's fine. He's fine. He can get rid of it anytime he wants.
"It's a lot easier when he isn't actually around," he continues more firmly, careful not to actually raise his voice. "I can handle it when he is, I think, but..." Well, he doubts they're going to be in close contact from now on if either of them has a choice. Those bridges are well and truly burned. The Balladeer is content enough to let it stay that way; even if Johnny is somehow a victim in this, he's never gone out of his way to befriend people who punch him. They're stuck in the same city still, but New York is a big place. They can easily lose each other.
"But I - "
He stops. But what, exactly? Greta doesn't want him listening to it, Johnny certainly doesn't, and he's not exactly enjoying the experience himself. There seems to be a general consensus on that, but something about the situation still bothers him. The Balladeer starts again, speaking as if feeling out the words. "I've never been able to actually change anything before. It didn't bother me - I mean, history is what it is." He'd have driven himself mad, worrying about things no one could ever erase. And, of course, he'd never known anything else. "Here, though...I don't think I could forgive myself if anything happened, and I could have done something to stop it."
He knows he's being vague, but he can't help it. Through all this, all those nights spent trying to translate noise into notes, he's never been able to form a clear idea of what it is he even thinks Johnny might do. It's all too loud and jumbled together, and perhaps he's worn down too from throwing himself at it over and over again. It just seemed like something that horrible and lingering had to be either a relic of unspeakable deeds, or worse, some kind of terrible omen.
If it's something contagious, maybe it still is.
"But if you're sure he's not dangerous..." Whatever the case, his hearing is failing him, and he doesn't know what he's supposed to be doing. Maybe he should try just trusting someone else's normal human judgement.
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Thinking about it makes it louder, and his grip tightens a bit around his mug. It's fine. He's fine. He can get rid of it anytime he wants.
"It's a lot easier when he isn't actually around," he continues more firmly, careful not to actually raise his voice. "I can handle it when he is, I think, but..." Well, he doubts they're going to be in close contact from now on if either of them has a choice. Those bridges are well and truly burned. The Balladeer is content enough to let it stay that way; even if Johnny is somehow a victim in this, he's never gone out of his way to befriend people who punch him. They're stuck in the same city still, but New York is a big place. They can easily lose each other.
"But I - "
He stops. But what, exactly? Greta doesn't want him listening to it, Johnny certainly doesn't, and he's not exactly enjoying the experience himself. There seems to be a general consensus on that, but something about the situation still bothers him. The Balladeer starts again, speaking as if feeling out the words. "I've never been able to actually change anything before. It didn't bother me - I mean, history is what it is." He'd have driven himself mad, worrying about things no one could ever erase. And, of course, he'd never known anything else. "Here, though...I don't think I could forgive myself if anything happened, and I could have done something to stop it."
He knows he's being vague, but he can't help it. Through all this, all those nights spent trying to translate noise into notes, he's never been able to form a clear idea of what it is he even thinks Johnny might do. It's all too loud and jumbled together, and perhaps he's worn down too from throwing himself at it over and over again. It just seemed like something that horrible and lingering had to be either a relic of unspeakable deeds, or worse, some kind of terrible omen.
If it's something contagious, maybe it still is.
"But if you're sure he's not dangerous..." Whatever the case, his hearing is failing him, and he doesn't know what he's supposed to be doing. Maybe he should try just trusting someone else's normal human judgement.