"It's not something I can do, it's-- it's--" He slaps a hand on his heart, trying to indicate something deeper. "It's like a fucking light in my soul. And everyone here thinks I can just snuff it out and, what, be fine?"

This is what he wants to say: Do you know what it's like, to be noticed by something so strange and powerful. To be seen and heard and loved by it.

It's on the tip of his tongue: I should've let it consume me the first time.

What he means is: I'd die happy if it meant sharing my music with the world.

And then what he says, eyes going down as he slumps his cheek in his hand, his voice flat, like he's just reciting what a teacher wants to hear:

"No, of course I don't want that either."