daybreakacademy | Wastin' Away Again~

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Wastin' Away Again~

Who: Teachers! TA's! RA's! Other graduate students! Other students who are crashing (or god help them, working there??)
When: March 8, 2019, in the evening.
Where: A karaoke bar in Soleil.
Warnings: Alcohol

Sometimes, after tests are done and mysteries uncovered, the teachers need to relax.

Which is why there is karaoke! The faculty of Daybreak Academy have converged, through random inspiration and not a terrible lot of planning, on one unsuspecting bar in Soleil on a Friday evening. A few drinks (or more!) are to be had; however, there is also a stage, with a microphone and a big screen -- which shows a music video for whatever song is on -- and the lyrics. A friendly little green ball bounces over them.

It is time to sing your heart out.

It is time... for karaoke.

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The dunking gets a faint 'oof'. When his head lifts, there's a little flush to him and a little look of wonder. She's probably right. A faceplant would've been exactly the sort of thing to happen there. It's just unusual to hear her call it out in a way that's fond.

That question seems like a dangerous one. He's supposed to answer no right? But that's not true.

"Mmm, sí. I like singing to you. I missed singing to you. Did you have fun?"

I like singing to you. I missed singing to you.

She can't help but smile a little, despite looking anywhere but at him. It would be a lie to say that she didn't miss hearing him sing to her, or the way it made her feel like they were the only two people in the room.

"I didn't hate it," she concedes, looking down at the table, and then glancing up at him.

She felt embarrassed, yes. But hate? No. For once, it almost felt like it did before, when he would sing to her. Those pangs of heartache that used to come with music feel so much further away when she's caught up in his words and the way he looks at her when he plays.

There it is again. That smile. He melts in place, head going back to rest on his arms. She won't look at him but that means he can keep his eyes fixed on her.

"That's good," he says. "I'm glad." He doesn't know how good that is exactly, but it can't be outright bad.

He watches her a little longer before he says, "Do you want to sing? That might be fun too. More fun than not hating it."

The mention of singing drops the smile from her face. She looks uncertainly up at him, and then out at the others gathered in the bar. It's one thing to listen to him play. It's entirely another thing to be up on that stage herself.

"I don't know," she says, looking back to him. "It's been too long... I don't think I should."

"Should?" He repeats that word with confusion. "It's karaoke. No should or shouldn't." But that's not really what she means is it?

Her smile has slipped. His own is taken with it. He eyes her a moment, concerned, before letting his gaze drop.

"Too long sounds like more reason to me. I remember your singing. It was beautiful. A voice like that would ache, stuck inside so long." Any voice would, he's sure. But with all the passion in hers that could only be more true.

Even if he says there's no should or shouldn't, she's sure that there probably is. She hasn't tried to sing in ten years--at least not with any planning in mind. It was always too painful to even try, and while it might not be so now, there's a nervousness about her as she looks out over the bar again.

A small, tight smile crosses her lips. "I don't think I'm drunk enough to make a fool of myself in front of all these people..."

He is very drunk. He's just aware of himself to recognize that much. He is more distantly aware he's probably going to say things he shouldn't. But, he couldn't be more serious when he speaks to her then.

"You could never make a fool," He says, holding her gaze as much as she'll let him. "You sing wonderfully, with all your heart all the time. No time could change that." He smiles back, encouraging, and also a little lopsided. "Besides. I've been here all evening. These people know a fool when they see one."

She gives him a dry look for that, but she doesn't argue that fact. He's been acting a fool for most of the night, and the whole bar has probably recognized that by now. She at least has a little dignity left to spare.

But she looks across the table at him, thinking to herself for a few moments. She casts another nervous glance at the stage, and then back at him again. "You really want this? Me going up there?"

He laughs a bit and lets his head fall back to his folded arms upon the table. He stares up at her, smiling bright, fondness shining in his eyes. He looks utterly contented.

"I'll always want you, Imelda," He says soft. "Whether you're there or here or home or in class. All the time, every part you share."

He wishes he could kiss her. Something tells him he shouldn't right now. That's okay.

She's not prepared for those endearing words or the look that accompanies them. He cuts straight to her heart with such unabashed sincerity--the sort of charm that most men can only feign, but Héctor delivers without a second thought. As simple and as genuine as breathing.

This was the man she fell head over heels in love with. She looks away from him again, her cheeks feeling more flushed than they should be with the small amount she's had to drink tonight.

She takes a deep breath, bracing herself against this madness she's considering. "Alright. But I'm not going up there alone."

He looks surprised, straightening up. Despite his words, he's not sure he actually expected her to ask him along. He wasn't thinking that far ahead. He wasn't really thinking so much as going with his feelings in the moment.

"You want me to go up there?" He asks. And then a small, hopeful smile starts to form. "...You want me to go up there with you?"

She's going to sing! She wants to sing with him! He might be bouncing a little in place. Just a little.

He says it like that, and it becomes very clear how flustered she is. She doesn't want to go up there alone--she doesn't think that she has the nerve to follow through on that with everyone watching. But having him there... It's both an excuse and a reassurance. If anyone asks, she can say that he persuaded her to do it. And if she falters, she knows he won't let her falter alone.

"I can ask someone else," she points out, even knowing that she can't. It's him or nothing. It always has been.

He jolts in place. Rather than say anything, he scrambles quickly to his feet, going up to stand (with only a little wobbling). He falters only there as he tries to think whether to offer his arm or his hand or some other thing.

That's a clear "No, pick me", Imelda.

He's so quick to get up, that the movement almost startles her. She looks up at him, eyes wider than they might otherwise be... and then she smiles faintly. It's not beneath her to peer around him, like she's trying to survey the room for other options. She hums to herself.

"Maybe... Ekkehart would want to come up with me?" That's a safe tease. She's almost positive that the man has no interest in her, even though he's been friendly just the same. She likes that about him.

He wilts slow, nervousness replacing hope more and more. On some level he could imagine she's teasing him, but it's also been a long time. He fidgets, shuffling in place.

"Well... maybe. Ekkehardt's a good guy. He'd be pretty fun to sing with..." But.

But Ekkehardt isn't him.

Oh.

He takes her teasing so seriously that she feels a little bad. She thought that he might insist more, make his case for why it should be him and not Ekkehardt, perhaps even tease her back. But instead, he simply looks ready to step aside, no matter how much she's sure that he wants to protest.

Her expression softens. "Well, then... It's a shame that I don't want to sing with him. Let's go." To Héctor, she offers up a hand to help her out of her seat.

Maybe years ago she could have got as much from him. He had a little more confidence in her favor and less doubt in himself. But that was years ago.

Her words lift his gaze from the ground. That eager light comes back to them and a smile blooms.

He takes her hand, holding it tight until she's on her feet, his other hand going behind his back like some old fashioned man. He offers his arm to her once she's risen. But not at all old is the way his eyes fix on her, like she could be suggesting they sort coal by size and still being happy to do so with her.

Quietly, he asks, "What would you like to sing?"

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Wastin' Away Again~

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