The guitar has always been a mystery to Michael. It stands out to him, sticks in his mind as the last inanimate object he’d taken into a shadow before he’d attempted to bring another living being with him. Seeing Wolfgang hold it like they’re going to use it is surprising. Beyond that, the idea that someone might perform a song for him—that someone like Wolfgang is almost certainly going to perform a song for him—borders on surreal.
“I’m not gonna laugh,” he says soberly, and waits, feeling wholly unprepared.