Work Text:
“Uh…” You glance up from your position on the floor with an uneasy smile. Currently, your gloved hands are unscrewing the vent tube of the dryer and collecting months, if not years, of accumulated dust, shifting their color from a cool blue to an ashy gray. And yet, your onlooker’s expression gives the impression that the filthiest thing in the room is your face. “You don’t… have to watch me, you know. This might take a bit for me to find the issue. So you can—”
“I am perfectly content to stay here, thank you,” Sol cuts you off, his own hands clasped together. That wide grin doesn’t reach his eyes, still boring into your crouched form.
You bite back a sigh. The way he can make the words “thank you” feel so much more like… a different word before “you” will never cease to amaze.
Raising your palms slightly, you decide it best to take the L, turning back to the machine guts before you. As much as his intense gaze makes you feel the desire to escape the room, sidestepping Sol’s attitude is the safest option. At least in this moment when you aren’t feeling very creative with comebacks.
“That’s… fine, but I usually listen to music when I work.” You peek at him in your periphery. “You okay with that?”
Two clicks ring out as Sol cocks his head. “…Do what you must, friend.”
His smile doesn’t so much as twitch. Reaching for your phone, you carefully track your gaze to follow a line on the floor that just grazes Sol’s pointed shoes, but avoids the rest of him. As much as he plays it off, you have a feeling certain music will not go over well with your audience. Thankfully, you’ve come prepared with a playlist specifically for low-key or classical songs. Sol’s preferences are an unknown quantity, but this seems like a good bet.
Soon enough, the feeling of lavender eyes scrutinizing your work fades away as your mind focuses on lyrics and the dead dryer in front of you. Several minutes pass in silence (save for the music). Credit where credit is due, Sol doesn’t once scoff or make pointed remarks about any of the songs that win the shuffle lottery and cover up the sound of hands rearranging machine parts. He just stands in the doorway with his arms crossed, expression still.
Then, a familiar song filters in. Some monkey part of your brain sparks with joy and you forget the company you keep, lyrics falling from your lips.
“Dans un sommeil
que charmait ton image~”
Your task carries on all the same, so you miss the way Sol’s smile finally breaks—that too-wide grin curling down until the veneer of cheer falls apart. Menacing gaze shifts to disbelieving eyes attempting to comprehend something unseen. As the song goes on, his grip tightens on his arms. The air in the room changes from cold metal to warm tea and the smell of fresh rain.
“Reviens, reviens, radieuse,
Reviens, ô nuit mystérieuse!”
The song ends, room filled with silence once more if only temporarily, and almost fades from your mind as quickly as it appeared. Almost.
“Tsk.”
You jolt at the reminder someone is in the room with you, dropping a loose spring which subsequently rolls underneath the dryer. “Ah- Shit!”
You throw your arm into the dusty underbelly before it can go too far, barely catching the sharp “language” hissed behind you. Oh, what an ironic statement in this moment…
After capturing the curly culprit between your fingers, you slowly peek around the dryer and shoot Sol a sheepish grin. “Ah ha… sorry about that.”
He says nothing, but that stare is no longer so intense. Something in his eyes is faraway, looking straight past you and the dirt you just got on your forearm. His left hand flinches briefly against the end of his sleeve. Your eyes follow the length of his silk glove before flicking back up.
Suddenly, the music gently playing in the background feels dangerous, so you pause your playlist. In all this time, Sol has said less than two words. The circumstance and your current relationship doesn’t really call for casual conversation. And yet, you feel compelled to talk anyway.
“So, um…” you laugh, though there’s little humor in it, “Did the music… bother you?”
One click this time. “It was fine.”
“Oh, good. Glad it didn’t offend.” You hope your smile isn’t as wobbly as it feels.
Just as you turn back to the task at hand, Sol unfolds his arms and speaks up, his eyes slightly narrow. “What was that last song?”
“Oh, the one I was singing? It’s called 'Après un rêve'.” Cringing, you resist the urge to rub the back of your head considering the state of your gloves. “I, uh, had to learn it a while back and it just… never left my brain, I guess. Hope my performance wasn’t that bad!”
You expect several things when joking with Sol: either a curt scoff or the most passive-aggressive response in the world. What you do not expect is him to drop his gaze and turn his head towards the left wall. The lack of a retort almost hides the sudden slack posture he holds himself with. A couple seconds pass with you staring dumbly, waiting for some cue to run, before…
“The singing was well done. However,” Sol flits his eyes back to you, the smallest of smiles on his face. It’s hard to tell whether this one is genuine or not. “Your pronunciation could use some work.”
Your cheeks warm to a slight pink. “Well! I mean, that’s to be expected! I learned that song forever ago. And I learned how to sing French, not speak it. You can’t expect me to get it perfectly.”
“Hmm, perhaps someone should teach you better.”
Raising an eyebrow, you let out a barking laugh. “Oh, are you offering? I’m sure you would know the proper way to do it.”
The words are said in jest—a non-request just to lighten tension. However, Sol’s grin curls a bit higher at your words as he places his fingertips together.
“When I have the free time, you can have a few lessons. I’m sure you will learn much with a bit of guidance, friend.”
Your eyes widen. “Oh! Uh, well, I mean… if you’re okay with it?”
Sol turns on his heel, watching you from over his shoulder. “I wouldn’t make an offer if I didn’t mean it.”
And before you could argue or parse the different look in his eyes, he leaves the room. Now it’s just you, a half-disassembled dyer, and several questions.