Page 94 of The Sound of Him

When he pulls his hand away, he takes the stone with him, tucked carefully in his own fist. He signs,Thank you,makinghis motions bigger, making the statement more important. I don’t have time to respond to it before he’s pointing at me and following it with another sign - his wrists crossed in front of his chest, both hands curled into fists, settling there for just a second before he starts to pull them apart, twisting his wrists at the same time so the inside of his fists are facing me by the time his arms have separated completely.

I don’t know it.

I’ve never hated myself more for not knowing something.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t-”

He waves a hand for me to stop, his smile getting firmer instead of faltering with disappointment like I had expected. He checks to make sure I’m watching him before slowly fingerspelling,S-A-F-E.

“Safe,” I echo, my voice cracking a little. I mimic the movement he had made before and try to say the word again, but it comes out more of a whisper, “Safe.”

His smile goes a little crooked before he reaches out and takes my two fists. I let him move them around until my wrists are crossed again, watching as his slim fingers move across the backs of my hands and over my knuckles. He tucks my thumbs in, theSshape instead of theA.I forgot to keep that in mind.

When he pulls back and nods in satisfaction, I sign it again, this time the right way. “Safe.”

He taps my chest, signs,Thank you,then,Safe.

It hurts - how good it feels as the meaning sinks into my chest, as it wraps itself around my heart. It’s amazing, it’s something I never thought I’d get to feel, and ithurts.

“Yeah,” I whisper, knowing my voice would shake if I tried to be any louder. “You’re safe with me. I’m safe. I promise you.”

He smiles and it’s another burst of that sunshine I’ve only gotten glimpses of, still just peeking out from behind the clouds, wary, a little wobbly, but so damn warm.

So damn warm.

He could set the world on fire with that if he’s not careful. Maybe I’ll tell him that one day, when he’s not so scared of it. Or maybe I won’t tell him that at all. Maybe I’ll let him burn this whole world down. Maybe I’ll just stand by his side and keep him safe as he does it.

Music?he signs

I grin.

“Yeah. Let’s listen to somemusic.”

He eats two bags of goldfish crackers, an apple, and one strand of my licorice. I earn the second smile of the night with the licorice by putting on a big show of how Ishouldn'tshare with him, and he better not tell the others because he’s the only exception and I’d hate to hurt their feelings.

We spend most of our time in the 80s, listening to a mix of power ballads and hair metal, a bit of pop and synth-pop added in for fun. Tears for Fears, Scorpions, Metallica, some Quiet Riot and Cindi Lauper, some Queen and Tiffany, some AC/DC and Madonna. Elton John, of course. Prince, too.

I show off a little, warming up by singing along with the fast pace of “You Shook Me All Night Long” before diving into “We Didn't Start the Fire”,the song Keaton used as a tool to teach me history lessons - something my actual tutorloathed. Matt is impressed and amused, eyes bright, eyebrows raising further with every rapid-fire stanza I pull off without faltering.

The impressed amusement only lasts about 7 seconds into the start ofBohemian Rhapsody,however. Then the look on his face is startled, followed closely - at about 26 seconds - by concern. Concern for my sanity, I'm pretty sure.

When I belt out the first, “Mama!” with a fist against my chest to show the seriousness of the moment, he throws a miniature bag of pretzels at me. When we enter the operatic section, his shoulders are shaking with his silent laughter. When I start doing the multiple parts in differing obnoxious voices, he dramatically climbs over into his hiding spot and shoots me a look that makes it clear it’s my singing he’s hiding from.

His grin is so wide. It nestles inside my chest and starts to expand, hot and huge and ready to swallow me whole.

I don’t know how, but I manage to pull my gaze away. The song is nearly over. I let it play, granting him some mercy by not continuing to sing along. I’m not sure I’d be able to sing even if I tried right now. That grin is still inside my chest, filling it tobursting. It feels so damn good. It feels like a touchstone, one I can carry with me, one full of sunshine smiles andMatt.

Things fall into a state of quiet for a while after that. Well, as quiet as things can be when the greatest hits of the 80s are still playing. It’s not so much a relief as it’s justnice.

Bruce Springsteen sings about fires and sparks and dancing in the dark. Everything is calm and warm. We’re safe.

Then the notification comes in.

It pops up just like any other would, just a status update sent from an operative through the system. A logged advancement. A check marked task.

But it’s not just a status update.

My eyes fall closed as the news sinks in. I inhale, shakily. Exhale, even shakier.