His reaction is selfish—and yes, he admits to that. It doesn't seem worth the trouble to lie and save face, because nothing seems to matter now that the ride is so close to being over. He sits in that theatre, shocked to silence by the film, though it's the third time he's seen it now. But when on-screen-Billy opens his mouth and begins to sing, Dom doesn't think of Tolkien or the quest or even the words.

He thinks, I remember watching Billy write that melody. He thinks, That day, and yeah, that's right, 'cause Billy asked me, to, to something, I dunno, but it was about Pippin's song. He thinks, And I somehow got into the studio that day and I stood at the back of the room and watched through the glass as he sang, with those huge ear muffs on, with the mic covering half his face.

As the chills creep over his skin, Dom's fingers creep over the armrest and work Billy's fingers free of a soda cup before claiming the damp digits for their own. Billy smiles but doesn't look at him and in the dim light Billy's cheeks seem just a fraction of a shade darker.

Dom thinks, During that part where his throat goes in with the words, maybe it's a different note or higher volume, I dunno, his whole face changed, and he looked up and saw me just as he was finishing, and he brushed some hair from his forehead as his chest emptied of air.

Dom's soul aches for Faramir; aches because he can conceptualize and understand the pain that comes with that brand of rejection. Because David is damned good at bringing that across. But Dom's heart with selfish threads all woven through aches sweetly for the man sitting next to him—because Billy's hand refuses to let go.