Chapter Text
“So you must be—Oh Jesus.”
And so it begins.
Huck maintains a forced yet pleasant smile as the man—who is a shorter, stout one named Enrico—fumbles with his clipboard as soon as he lays eyes on him. Huck always notices that look in their eye when they first look at him; Initial shock, followed by disgust, followed by pity. They attempt to cover up with sickly sweet niceties that are ingenuine, then walk away murmuring something about his “fugly mug”. Honestly, he prefers the ones that just blatantly stare or insult him. At least they’ve got the guts to be upfront about treating him like a walking freakshow.
Enrico quickly gives Huck’s scarring another lookover before addressing him again. “How’d all that happen?”
Well, at least this one didn’t beat around it.
“I served in the war, sir. Got caught in a blast and—”
Enrico stops him from continuing with a wave. “Ugh, okay. Yeesh, don’t need to tell me the specifics.” He writes something down behind his clipboard, “I’ll be honest with ya’ kid, that face a’ yours is a bit of a bad buy. I don’t wanna risk you chasin’ my customers...”
Huck feels a pang in his chest with those words. This would be the seventh rejection this week...
“Please,” he pleads, approaching the shorter man a little closer in his desperation. Enrico backs away cautiously. “I know… I’m not exactly easy to look at but I swear I work hard. I’ll do anything. I used to work at a mental hospital, and I was out there serving on the frontlines. I can take on anything, sir, just please—“
“Okay! Okay, kid you’ve made your point.” Enrico sighs. “Look I ain’t offering you the bussing position no more. Nothin’ personal it’s just I got a business to run and I really can’t risk you spookin’ nobody, but you can clean up after hours. You work everyday except Mondays and Wednesdays ‘cause we’re closed. I’ll pay you three bucks a night to sweep, mop, and shine. Shouldn’t take no more than four hours tops, dig?”
Huck nods quickly, excitedly shaking Enrico’s hand. “Yes, sir. You won’t regret this!”
Enrico quickly snatches his hand back with a ‘hmph’, then opens the door and ushers him out. “You can start tomorrow night. Be here around midnight that’s when we close up. Now scram! The talent’s about to arrive.”
Huck tilts his head affirmatively before disappearing out the door and into the hall.
Well. Working at a lounge would be a sight different than what he was used to at the Lucia State Hospital, but perhaps that was a good thing. Sure, the pay wasn’t as good but frankly, he never wanted to think about that place again. That’s why he took the first bus out of there to San Francisco, and swore he’d never go back. After what happened last time…
His hand unconsciously migrates to his chest. He rubs it gingerly, feeling the rigid gash of a bullet scar beneath his shirt. Huck thought he wouldn’t have to worry about guns again after the war, but strangely, that mental hospital hid enough pistols to fill a small arsenal. It was there Charlotte Wells shot him, and he nearly died. Again.
While he bled he remembered having two distinct thoughts; the first being that he didn’t resent Charlotte for what she did, and the second was how funny it’d be if he died like this. He barely survived the war—a blast from a grenade nearly killed him—but he did survive. To go through hell and back to only die at the hands of a civilian he swore to protect both as a soldier and as a nurse… Well, there was a grim sort of irony there.
Finally, he arrives at the back exit. He reaches for the door handle, but before he can pull it open, it aggressively swings towards him along with a woman. She excitedly bounds inside, running straight into his chest.
“ACK!” She gasps.
Huck's hands instinctively spring into action; one grabs for her shoulder, the other slips behind her back to keep her upright and steady.
“Are you alright?!”
The woman looks up at Huck wide eyed, still startled by the collision. Her eyes meet his, softening as she stares into them for a moment longer than she should before flicking them up and down his face. She takes in his features before returning her eyes to his. Huck notices something different about the way she looks at him. It’s not scared, or pitiful, or disgusted but somehow—
“You have such kind eyes,” she says with ease. There’s neither a fluster to her expression, nor a hint of condescension or mockery in her voice. She’s genuine. Huck is stunned, speechless. He loosens his grip on her shoulder and allows her to stand on her own before he tilts his head towards her, muttering a “goodnight” as he swiftly makes his escape out the back door without looking back. Unlike her, he is absolutely flustered.
The woman watches him leave out the open door before turning her attention to Enrico, who storms towards her.
“You’re fuckin’ late!”
* * *
You smile at Enrico sweetly, causing him to blush despite himself. “Oh, I’m sorry, Rico. You know me, I always encounter a bit o’ this and that on my way here. Besides,” you place a hand on his cheek and lean in a little closer, “it’s better to keep them waiting a little, no?”
Enrico swallows thickly, overwhelmed by your presence. He’s captivated by the look in your eye; intoxicated by your scent—powdery rose cologne with a bit of vanilla and vetiver. He opens his mouth to say something, closes it, then opens it again. He blatantly avoids making eye-contact with you while he speaks.
“Just go out there and sing. Better be as good as your audition or else there won’t be a next time.”
You wink at him then saunter to the backstage.
* * *
Huck doesn’t know what he’s doing.
He just got hired, and here he was jeopardizing it because his stupid curiosity got the better of him. He just couldn’t help it. If he was expected to be here after the talent performed every night why not sneak a peek at one show while he has the chance? It just felt like an itch he had to scratch. He knew how to be discreet and it was pretty dark. He wouldn’t get caught unless he did something really stupid, and since he was already doing one stupid thing he figured he’d put a cap on it for tonight.
Just one song, then I’ll leave.
Huck migrates over to the bartender and asks for a water—which makes the woman grimace—then tucks himself into one of the back corner of the room. Even though he was pretty far back, the location provided him with a perfect view of the stage. He takes a sip of his water, then feels his excitement rise as the room goes completely black, then a spotlight pops onto the stage with Enrico positioned in the center. Somehow, the man looked taller, and more refined on stage.
“Ladies and gentlemen! You sure are in for a treat tonight, ‘cause for tonight’s performance we’ve got the loveliest songbird in all of San Francisco—no, scratch that—all of California!” The crowd murmurs in a mixture of awe and disbelief, causing Enrico to smirk. “Don’t believe me, well, let your ears do the judging. Get ready for the one, the only, Dandelion!”
And with those words the spotlight goes off abruptly, and the curtains rise. A new, soft blue lighting fades in and highlights the form of a woman on stage, gracefully perched on a stool with an acoustic guitar in her arms. The way the blue light contrasts with her skin is mesmerizing; it causes the illusion of iridescence, emphasized by the white dress she wears. It resembles a waterfall in the blue light as it drapes off of her form. The whole room seems to be in silent awe of her, breathlessly waiting for her performance to begin.
She strums the first chord on her guitar, then another, effortlessly playing the progression with her eyes pleasantly closed; a satisfied smile on her lips. Then finally, she opens her eyes, then parts her lips, and sings.
♪… If today was not a crooked highway
If tonight was not a crooked trail
If tomorrow wasn’t such a long time
Then lonesome would mean nothing to you at all
Yes, and only if my own true love was waiting
And if I could hear her heart a-softly pounding
Yes, and only if she was lying by me
Then I’d lie in my bed once again…
I can’t see my reflection in the waters
I can’t speak the sounds that show no pain
I can’t hear the echo of my footsteps
Or can’t remember the sound of my own name
Yes, and only if my own true love was waiting
And if I could hear her heart a-softly pounding
Yes, and only if she was lying by me
Then I’d lie in my bed once again…
There’s beauty in that silver, singing river
There’s beauty in the sunrise in the sky
But none of these and nothing else can touch the beauty
That I remember in my true love’s eyes
Yes, and only if my own true love was waiting
And if I could hear her heart a-softly pounding
Yes, and only if she was lying by me
Then I’d lie in my bed once again… ♪
After the song it’s dead silent.
Again, she opens her eyes that she hadn’t realized she closed, then looks at the crowd uncharacteristically timid for how otherworldly she seemed on stage. Huck’s hands move without thinking. He is the first to clap, and it does it fiercely, determined to express his utter satisfaction with the performance the only way he can in that moment.
Dandelion perks up when she hears the sound, searching for the lone source of applause, and then she sees him. Despite their brief interaction, despite him being in the very back corner of the dim room, she recognizes his eyes instantly. She locks him in her gaze for a moment that seems to last several, then she beams.
And finally, the whole room applauds her.
Huck finds himself stunned for the second time that night. He can’t believe that this woman—this Dandelion—was smiling at him, and him alone in that room full of people more worthy of it. When the room quiets down again she readjusts her guitar, strums a new chord.
“This next one is called Moonglow.”
Stay for one song. Such a naive thought that was.
* * *
Finally, your gig is up.
The room echoes with thunderous applause as you finish, with some additional chants for an encore, but after already giving them two, you figured that it was time to truly end. You bow excitedly—though a bit clumsy with the guitar in your hand.
“Thank you so much for coming out tonight! You’re all beautiful, really helped my moxie. They call me Dandelion, I’ll catch you next Friday!”
And with those words the lights go out, the curtains fall, and you’re all all alone. You let out a breath you forgot you were holding in and gasp as a violent chill rushes through your body. You had way more stage fright than you thought. Enrico pads over, a huge smile on his face.
“Hey Rico how’d it g—OOF!”
Your words are cut off as Enrico pulls you into a big bear hug. “I hit the jackpot with you, baby o’ yes I did! You’re gonna bring this place up to soaring heights, I can feel it!”
You struggle to reply while enveloped in his hug, but eventually he releases you and you gulp in a big breath of air.
“Ya’ really think so?” You smile, still a little breathless. You pick up your guitar and begin to adjust the tuning a bit, playing a string and a chord to test the pitch.
“Oh I know so,” he beams. “You were grand! Most of ‘em stayed the whole night to listen to you. Told ‘em they had to keep buying drinks to stay in here or hit the road, and guess what most of ‘em chose.” You squeal, delighted by Enrico’s words. He hands you an envelope. “For tonight’s gig, plus a lil’ extra since the turnout exceeded my expectations. Keep it up and I might be able to get you in on Saturday’s lineup as well.”
You’re simply over the moon. You hug Enrico this time, causing him to chuckle before urging you off of him.
“Alright, that’s enough. You did good tonight, Songbird. Get home safe, I’ll see you next week, yeah?”
You nod and pack up your guitar.
As you leave the nightclub that night you can’t stop humming and smiling the whole walk to your apartment. After years of ridicule and struggle—no one willing to support you or your dream of being a singer—you finally feel like you’ve made some sort of progress! You’ve completed your first gig with about a hundred people, and it was amazing!
Nothing could make this better, you think to yourself. The sense of peace you feel as you walk through the quiet city streets alone, accompanied by only the light of the full moon, is surreal. Yes, indeed, nothing could make this moment better. Nothing, perhaps, except the chance to see that stranger’s kind eyes again.
The eyes were always the first place you looked when you met someone; from them you could tell so much about a person. That man you met—or rather, ran into—had sad eyes. Quite possibly, the saddest eyes you’ve ever seen. They were a warm brown color, but they felt so cold, aimless, and unseeing. He was a hard man, but he didn’t want to be, that much you could tell. That hardness was beaten into him from unspeakable experiences that wanted to smother him and his kindness, but he wouldn’t let it. He was too strong.
The embers of his kindness still burned, and they made you feel warm inside. It reminded you of how you felt when you were still fresh and new in your adolescence, escaping into fantasies and dreaming of possibilities. Sure, you were still quite young and so much still awaited you on your journey through life, but believing in it didn’t come as easily as it did when you were still a little girl. You envied children, and the way their eyes still seemed to sparkle so brightly in a way yours couldn’t anymore.
Your mother always told you the first time is by chance, the second is coincidence, and the third is fate. You weren't sure if you believed in fate, but…
You wouldn’t mind seeing him again, a third time.