Page 83 of The Sound of Him

No, stop.

I shake my head, not caring if he can see me and thinks I’m crazy. I can’t let my thoughts spiral in that direction again. All I can do is keep an eye on things for now. I shouldn’t worry about overstepping before I even know if there’s a line to overstep.

If he’s hungry, he’ll sneak back downstairs in a little while to get food. He’s done that before. I’ve seen him do that. He's probably fine.

I force myself to let it go and get back to work.

I’m in the middle of tweaking the hybrid algorithm I created to trace the phone Travis stole from one of Mica’s men, wanting it to be perfect for when the phone finally receives a text and I need to deploy it, when a ball of paper bounces off of the back of my left hand and into my lap. I slowly turn to look in the direction it came from, one eyebrow arched in faux-offense even as my lips rebel into a smile.

Matt’s up on his knees so he can peer at me over his barrier. He looks wary just long enough for him to register my smile before his shoulders relax and he wrinkles his nose in disgust. He points at the computer and shakes his head vehemently. His expression is the clearestfuck noI have ever seen. Considering where he’s pointing, this particular instance seems to befuck no, turn that off right this instant.

I smirk. “What? You’re not a fan of ‘Fergalicious’?”

His expression morphs into one of incredulity as if he can’t possibly understand howanyonecould be a fan of this song. Which isn’t entirely unfair. I only listen to it for nostalgia, not quality. If I close my eyes while it plays, I can transport myself to Keaton’s jeep, windows down, the two of us in a matching set of utterly ridiculous bright pink oversized sunglasses, singing this song at the top of our lungs.

Terrible song, though - agreed.

“Alright, alright, I’ll change it.” I pluck the paper ball up and wave it at him. “No need to get violent, gosh.”

He ducks back down, but I don’t have time to look away before he reappears. Then, while making eye contact, with the smallest of smirks on his lips, he throws a new ball at me.Rightat me.

I could have tried to catch it, but it makes him smile wider when it hits me in the face, so it’s worth it.

“Violent,” I reiterate with a shake of my head. I momentarily wonder if I should throw one back at him, if this is a game he wants to play.

Then I notice this paper isn’t blank like the other. This one has flashes of blue ink amongst the creases.

I carefully smooth out the paper until I can read the words.

It’s a song request, written in careful, neat capital letters.

TINY DANCER - ELTON JOHN.

He must have had it ready, maybe waiting for a bad enough song, or just for the bravery. The letters aren’t rushed enough to have been done on the spot. We’re only just getting to the second verse of ‘Fergalicious’.

Matt feels safe enough to come hide here. He feels safe enough to throw paper balls at me - at a man, an operative, someone who could so easily hurt him if I wanted to. He feels safe enough to ask for something he wants.

He wants to fill the air with sound, even if it has to come from my speakers instead of his mouth. He trusts me to do that. He feels safe enough to ask me to do that for him.

I try to keep my face from showing any of the emotions suddenly surging inside of me, already reaching for my mouse as I tell him, “I can definitely make this happen.”

It’s a good pick, as far as first song requests go. I try not to wonder if there's a significance to it, like if it was an old favorite, or the last song he heard before he lost his freedom, or just a song that fits how he’s feeling right now. He wants to hear it. That’s all that matters.

I sneak a look over at him as the song starts, catching a shy smile before he ducks back down. My own smile grows at the sight, a little giddiness settling in. I ride the high of it for a while, through some P!nk, A-ha, Taylor Swift, Smash Mouth, and - ofcourse - a few strands of licorice with the rest of my energy drink.

Then the phone on my desk, the one we’ve been waiting to go active, vibrates with a text. It’s already plugged into my computer’s tower, so all I have to do is trigger the algorithm, open the text, and wait.

Whitney Houston is halfway through lamenting about her desire to dance with somebody when my program takes over the map on my main monitor, zooming in on a region in Mexico. It’s a seven-mile radius, but that’s more than enough for me to work with. If I get started now, I’ll have Mica’s exact location in a matter of hours - long before Travis’s plane would land.

I let the current song play out, not wanting our time together to end. I wanted to make Matt smile again. To play more requests, if he asked for any as the night went on. Maybe even share a bit of my licorice - I have an obscene amount, after all.

Does it make me a bad person for hoping he comes to hide again soon?He has to be upset to want to hide, and I would never want him to feel that way, but this isnice.

This is something I could so easily get used to.

I stop the next song from starting and clear my throat. “I just got an update that’s pretty important. I’m going to have to page all the guys to come here to talk about it. You can stay, if you want to. You are more than welcome to stay. I won’t even tell them you’re over there, but it’s a pretty small room and they’ll likely see you anyway. I’ll definitely tell them to leave you alone, though. They won’t talk to you, I’ll make sure of it, but you can leave if you’d rather.”

He’s already half-perched on the arm of the couch when I look over at him, his eyebrows furrowed. His front pocket is bulging, so he must have stuffed his notebook back in there. I give him an apologetic smile, noticing the way he's hesitating.Maybe he doesn't want it to be over either?