6 STRINGS. [ TOM KAULITZ ]

- 01

✮ ✮ ✮

I JUST WORK HERE.

—

THE CLOCK STRUCK 10 P.M. on the dot, marking closing time.
With that, she turned off the T.V., the store again in its silent state as she continued to sweep the floors. The music from the record label next door was blasting, though to her, the sound was only distant.
It was frequent for the studio to be open late at night, barely filling the constant silence of the shop.

Her job wasn't at all exciting, surely not boring, as an instrument shop in the heart of L.A., there were frequent customers to keep her busy.
Too busy to realize how boring her life was, to wake up, go to work, sleep and repeat.

Well, that was the over-simplified version, her nightlife consisting of another job, though it wasn't nearly in the same group.

She spent her nights on a small stage in an underground bar, earning disturbing stares from much older men.
That field of work. Whatever it took to survive in such an expensive city.

Though she didn't exactly dislike it all, enjoying the money as it gave her an excuse to work shorter hours in her day job, not to worry about food, and afford decent luxuries.

How she hated her day job, though she refused to work herself enough to live off of just crumpled bills tossed at her, besides, music was her escape.
Not the music that blasted in her ears at the club, or the distant music that came from the studio next door.
The music that came from the hit of a drumstick, the music that came with redness on her palms when she played the drums for hours.

The loud clatter of the dustpan falling from her hands brought her back to reality, the silence settling back into the atmosphere.
When the T.V. turned off at 10P.M. every night, she was left in silence with her own knowledge of how bored she was, and how boring everything else was.
Her life was going nowhere, barely passed highschool, no credentials, no friends, no family.

She didn't mind the loneliness, all fulfilled by one-night stands that gave her only a tinge of joy every week and the time she spent aggressively hitting drums with sticks that made her smile uncontrollably.

But the silence?
She hated it.

Putting the broom in the storage closet, she grabbed the back door's keys to complete her final task.
Though she didn't get to do so before a knock was heard on the glass doors, which as a woman alone in a city known for crime, was rather shiver-inducing.

She turned around, peering at the two men standing outside.
She mouthed 'we're closed', before returning to her tasks. One of them put their hands together in a begging motion, tilting his head as he watched her intently.

Sighing, [Y/N] walked over and unlocked the door.
"We're closed." She said, looking at the two.

The raven-haired one looked embarrassed, "We know," He said, his accent thick, "It's an emergency, please?"
[Y/N] was confused, what emergency called for a trip to Guitar Center. She looked at the two with a skeptical look, obviously not letting into the 'emergency' excuse.

"Seriously?"

"Yes?"
Reluctantly so, she let them in.