Tired of Silence || Topher & Sophie
"Nope!" She stubbornly crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him, "I’m not leaving! What’s wrong?” She had no plans on even moving from the bed because even a step could make it that much more easy to get her out. So she stayed planted where she was, cross legged and staring at him defiantly. Almost daring him to tell her to get out, despite being unaware that he wasn’t able to talk… she wasn’t about to move, and that much she made rather clear.
She wanted answers and like hell she was getting up before she got them. She wanted to know why Topher wasn’t coming out of his room. Why he was ignoring her, and throwing things at the door. Why he wouldn’t so much as speak to her since the earthquake. “Did I do something wrong?” That was a bit softer, more concerned, though he hadn’t left to talk to anyone… she wondered if possibly she’d done something and he was just ignoring her. She couldn’t think of anything but… Sophie wasn’t confident in herself enough to think that she had absolutely no hand in her room mates’ actions.
Topher's face fell when he saw Sophie's expression, heard her voice soften. He'd never actually told her he couldn't talk, did he? Never even told her he'd been in the hospital after the quake, or checked up on her to make sure that she and her brother had gotten through it safe. Suddenly he felt like absolute shit, even worse than not being able to talk. He'd been a crap friend, that was as bad as eternal silence, as his muse leaving forever would be. His jaw clenched as he realized that, and his arms tightened as well, almost hugging himself, as if it'd make him feel better. It didn't, his stomach was twisting in knots now, making him feel sick.
He dropped his arms, and turned to find some staff paper. There was never any normal paper in his room, but he'd been writing down some of his music, so he had that. Grabbing a pencil he bent down over his amp, using that as a flat surface to write upon. Topher didn't want to deal with people, not even Sophie, but he owed her an explanation. She was supposed to be his best friend, it wasn't fair to make her feel like shit, too. He already felt bad enough for both of them. Hell, for all of Storybrooke.
The earthquake fucked me up. I can't talk anymore. At all. There's nothing wrong with me physically. Doctors said I was sane. Can't talk anyways. Or sing. Or anything. Even if I want to. Don't know why.
That made enough sense, the words scribbled over the staves. It was messy, and his hand writing had never been beautiful, but with any luck it would be legible enough for her to understand. Walking over, he handed his housemate the paper, arms crossing over his chest again as soon as she had it, while he waited for her to read.














