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Silco’s eyes shifted to where you were sitting on the floor, in front of his record player, on your knees, sifting through the records. You were a vision of beauty, as gorgeous as the day he met you. Although he couldn’t quite see the one you had selected, the tune that immediately filled the room was familiar. The song you danced to on your wedding night.
He stood up from his chair, hand outstretched to you. The way he moved when he heard the music was almost muscle memory. You took your husband’s hand, and he led you to the middle of his office.
“Darling, you look beautiful tonight.” Silco’s voice penetrated the music. You assumed your normal positions, one hand in his, and the other was on his shoulder. He held onto your waist, his grip unfaltering as if he couldn’t bear to let go. As if you’d float away from him if he did. Your face turned red, bashful at his unexpected compliment. “And you look very handsome, Sil.”
Silco led you both round in a waltz, both of you accustomed to the steps. This was a dance you had danced together many nights; it was almost second nature. Your husband led you round the room, twirling, dipping and kissing you when he felt the urge. You were left a giddy mess, laughing breathlessly at his antics. Silco just adored seeing you like this.
The dance naturally slowed down as the both of you got tired. Silco still led you, but you were barely moving your feet at this point.
“Where’s Jinx?” You spoke softly against him, more swaying than dancing now. Silco sighed wistfully.
“In her room, tinkering with her explosions. You know how she is.”
“That I do, honey.” You hummed in agreement.
“She’s growing fast, you know. She’ll be taller than you soon.”
“I hope she is. Not like I can grow any taller, Sil.” You laughed, and swore you could see the beginnings of a smile pull at your husband’s mouth.
“You’re more likely to shrink as you get old, darling.” Your husband teased, making you shake your head in mock disapproval.
“Well, just for that, I hope she grows taller than you.” You quipped back, making him smile a little more.
Silco pulled you in towards him, stopping your swaying and opting to hold you close to him for a few moments. He inhaled sharply, smelling the notes of your shampoo, and resting his head on yours.
“I’m so proud of how well you’ve raised her.” Came your quiet voice from your husband’s chest.
“We, my love.” He whispered back. The song crescendoed at his words, and the record scratched as the song ended. Silco let go of you carefully, walking over to his gramophone to replace the needle. The starting notes swelled, and he turned back to where you were stood.
But you weren’t there.
Silco took a seat at his desk again. You hadn’t been here for six months. The dance you shared just another cruel product of his imagination. He couldn’t quite tell whether his mind was comforting him through his grief, or torturing him. Dangling the idea of you, alive, in his arms, in front of him.
The notes of your wedding song danced around him. And Silco was sure he could still see your waiting figure in front of his desk. Facing the record player. Almost as if you were waiting for him to join you.
He got up. Rounded his desk again. Pulled you into his arms. And allowed himself this one last dance.