"What's playing in here," Howe asked in a chipper tone as she walked into the room.
Too engrossed in my work to get startled, I simply turned in my chair and looked to see her clutching her laptop in her arm, wearing casual nightwear in the same vein as last night. "Oh, you're here! This is," I paused to look at the monitor, "a song called Pagtingin. D'you like it?"
She was silent as she plopped herself in her spot on the bed, slipping her bedroom flip-flops off and swinging her legs onto the mattress. When she had the laptop propped on her lap and in the process of powering up, she nodded and grinned. "Yeah, actually," she replied enthusiastically. "What language is it?"
"Oh, pagtingin is a Filipino word," I replied.
Her eyebrows raised in spiked interest. "Oh," she hummed with realization. "Right, you still speak Filipino. I presume you know what it means?"
"I do but," my face scrunched slightly, "I'm a bit rusty, so take my translations with a grain of salt.
"Sure!"
I shrugged. "Okay, I think the word can translate to view. Within the context of the song, it's basically like how we view each other, or some such similar sentiment."
"Ooh. That's awesome," she said, a little smile creasing her lips. "So you're bilingual?"
"Kind of," I hesitated. "When you live there for the first decade or so of your life, learning the local language becomes mandatory, but English is still pretty widely recognized there too."
"Makes sense," she inclined her head. She seemed to notice that another repetition of the chorus was about to drop, and she perked up. "Can you translate the lyrics for me?"
"Ah, sure," I said, turning a listening ear back to the music. The vocalist sang the first few lines before I paused it so I could give her the translation. "Okay, so he sang "'Pag nilahad ang damdamin, sana 'di magbago ang pagtingin."
"And that means—?" She asked with anticipation.
I paused to construct the most fitting possible sentence in my head. There are clusters of different words that I could pull from through the English language that would technically match what the song was saying, but to get the message across, it was naturally required to be more discerning with the word choice. "When I reveal my feelings to you, I hope your view of me doesn't change."
"When I reveal my feelings to you, I hope your view of me doesn't change," James finally said after some thought.
Just like that, Howe felt her nostrils flare, her eyes reflexively widen, her heart race, and her cheeks flush. The feedback loop, unfortunately for her, only intensified with her sudden nagging herself to make sure he wouldn't notice. Taking extra care to steady and monitor her voice, she uncertainly began, "O-oh. I see."
"Yeah," James said. Either her efforts to keep her emotions clandestine were working, or he simply thought he didn't have to pay her fluttering tone any mind. "And then the next line says, 'When I confess my feelings, I hope your view of me doesn't change.' In simple terms," he added.
"…Interesting," Howe coaxed the reply out of her mouth.
James started looking a little concerned, making her heart start to pound. "Sorry, do you need to lie in early tonight," he laughed gently. "You look really warm. Maybe you should go get some sleep. We can pick this up tomorrow evening maybe, after the...you know."
"Oh," she waved, trying her best to be casual about it. "No, no, it's alright. Tomorrow's probably gonna be a long enough day as it stands. I was just really taking my time to understand and appreciate the lyrics. You know," she shrugged, "I process things slower by ear...and such." She knew it wasn't the most bedrock-solid of excuses, but hoped he'd buy it anyway.
After some careful evaluation in those blue eyes, he seemed to relent. "Alright, if you say so." He hit the spacebar and let the rest of the chorus play out, at least relieving Howe of her perceived hotseat for the time.
Calm yourself, she soothed herself. Though her fluttering heart did take it down a notch, her ears wouldn't allow it such a luxury. The song was, in her humble, first-time-listener, non-Filipino-speaker opinion, a unique level of atmospheric.
Its drums and bass were serving a very selfless rhythm section to everything else, making it groove, but not too much. Everything else, the subtle violin cooing in the background, the serene guitar chanting its melody, and of course, the vocalist with his lyrics, all made for a very well-put-together piece. Though she couldn't understand what he was singing, James's translation echoed over and over again in her head as the song played.
She was abruptly taken out of the swing of it when James paused to explain the rest of the chorus. On the one hand, she wanted desperately to hear more of the tune. On the other, she could simply find the song later and listen in her own time. James was here now.
More to the point, he was ready with his translation. "Here, he sings, 'Subukan ang manalangin. Sana 'di magbago ang pagtingin.' Also, I'm probably butchering these pronunciations, but there isn't a Filipino speaker here to egg me about it, so whatever," he joked lightly.
"Well, the only basis I have for pronunciations is the song itself, and I think you're doing just fine," Howe replied, though she did have to hold back a snicker. It was clear that James used to speak the language a lot, but his practice had gotten weaker over time.
"Great," he chuckled. "Anyway, that translates to, 'I'll try to pray that your view of me doesn't change.' And then the last line, he says, 'Baka bukas, ika'y akin. Sana 'di magbago ang pagtingin.' That basically means, 'Maybe tomorrow, you'll be mine.' And repeat the last translation."
Having finally shaken off the brunt of the song's lyrical allure, Howe giggled softly. "Sounds like quite a melancholic song, doesn't it?"
"Indeed," James nodded. "Love and loss."
Howe sighed as the three words lingered in her head. Love and loss. She may like him, but it's nothing more than attraction, or some fleeting infatuation. Surely.
Right?
They'd known each other barely a week. They'd done nothing but talk, share meals, and have healthy conversation. They'd done nothing for each other but helped with work. Although, they did also open up to each other about the deeper, more personal things that had been gripping them. Or at least, he had opened up to her about his deeper, more personal things. She'd willingly helped him through that, too. But that's just how all friendships start!
Right?
He'd said he was looking forward to good personal relationships with everyone in the fleet, being his first task force of purely shipgirls. He certainly didn't just think of this as a means to that end. Yes, he's a very intellectually adept person, that much has been demonstrated. Yet, off the field, when it's anything but work, his personality lent him an almost goofball-like charm, whether he realized it or not. He does his best to draw closer to people he cares about—that much, Howe had surmised. But then, she thought further, aren't all these observations evidence for something beyond fleeting infatuation?
When two people draw closer together, either pressed by circumstance, ushered by organic happenstance, or even through a simple initiative from either or both parties…
Isn't that how love starts to bloom?
"Howe?" James called strongly, looking concerned and waving a hand in front of her.
"Hm!" Howe jumped, jolted out of her rumination. His face! So close! "Yes! Yes. Yes?"
Relieved, James started laughing and walked back to the desk. "Goodness, you spaced out really bad there. Are you sure you're up to work tonight?"
"Mhm!" She replied hastily, sitting up from a more laid-back position she'd subconsciously slid into. "Absolutely! Let's get going."
"Sure," he said, returning to his desk.
After another half an hour or so, Howe asked, "So why were you listening to music while working earlier? I thought you'd said you weren't the type."
"See, that's what I figured, too," I replied, "but I suppose that was thanks to brain fog. I just felt like I was in the mood for soft background music, and those classic songs that would play back home came to mind. Decided it was harmless, and, lo and behold, I was actually able to work with music in the background."
"Oh, I see," Howe said. "Can I suggest a few songs?"
"Ah, let me guess," I replied, "Coldplay?"
She laughed and I thought I saw a faint blush come about her. "Yes, Coldplay."
"Sure," I said, "I've actually been curious what else has come out of those guys aside from Yellow. And Fix You."
"Oh, you've heard that one, too?" She asked, sitting up from her spot on the bed.
"Yeah, how couldn't I," I chuckled. "It was unavoidably massive back then."
"That's fair," she inclined her head. "Have you heard songs from Viva la Vida?"
"Aside from the title track," I replied, "I don't think I've heard anything else off of it."
"Ooh," she nodded, "Okay. There's this live-only song that they performed exclusively on the South American leg of the tour called Don Quixote. It was never officially released but I wish they did. It's so good!"
I grinned at her little lamentation. "Well, now I'm curious. Is there a place we can listen to it?"
Her face lit up. "Yeah! Two ways: First, the original live recording from a phone camera or something," she chuckled, "or this guy called Zach Parsons who reconstructed it part for part in studio quality. Either way, there're no major changes to song structure. Just the voice is obviously going to be different."
"...Well, I've always been one for sound quality," I said, "so I'll just look for the studio one, then."
"Alright!"
I punched in the search terms and clicked on the first result that had Zach Parsons under it. It took seconds before the audio loaded and started playing.
The opening had an otherworldly dreaminess in its sound, an echoing guitar line that held a childlike sense of wonderment.
A deeper rhythm guitar swooped in riding a simple four-on-the-floor beat, probably played through a plugged kick drum. The keys in the background were slushed together just enough to maintain their dreamlike quality. The bass, of course, tied everything together into a neat flow. It didn't take long for my foot to start tapping to the rhythm.
When he started singing, I noticed something almost immediately. "So he's actually referencing the actual Don Quixote novel," I chuckled.
"Yeah, it's in the title," Howe replied matter-of-factly. "He uses it as a backdrop to illustrate his meaning."
"That meaning being?" I asked.
"Well," Howe gestured with her hand, "just listen!"
We sat in silence as I bobbed my head gently to its rhythm and, to Howe's advice, paid close attention to the lyrics.
It took waiting a minute or so until the second verse of the song when it clicked. "Ah," I piped up. "It's about someone who may not have Quixote's insanity," I joked, "but his drive to make people just a little happier as he goes along. Like, making his own little fraction of a corner of the world just a slightly better place. Or something like that."
"Nailed it," Howe twittered. "Maybe, hoping that one day we'll all pull together and make the world a systemically better place is a quixotic goal," she added, "but making little efforts here and there to be nice and kind can't hurt."
"Surely, yeah," I nodded.
"So tell that princess," the vocalist sang, "tell that princess right down the train, tell that princess she'll never be lonely again."
For some reason, that line struck a chord with me. "Wow," I laughed.
"What?" Howe asked curiously.
"That painted a vivid image in my head," I replied.
"Oh, yeah?" She raised her brows, interest sparking. "An image of what?"
"A train chugging along down the countryside. The sun's rising to the east, coming over a mountain, and the sky's nice and blue," I began, "in the train, a princess looks longingly out the window, waiting for something."
Howe giggled on the bed, swaying back and forth. "Waiting for what? A knight in shining armor?"
I laughed at the subtle jab. "I don't know, maybe! Could also be…" I paused for a second, finding the words. "It could also be waiting for her loneliness to finally pass. Waiting, not for someone to save her from some sort of dire circumstance, but simply for someone who's willing to just be with her. You know?"
"Interesting," Howe nodded. "That is a lovely painting in my mind's eye, imagining it now."
Her soft smile matched mine as the song drew to a close. "Indeed," I said. "Wow, thank you for sharing that. I will figure out how to add that to a playlist of some sort because that was fantastic. Took me back in a really nice way."
Howe clapped her hands and laughed happily. "Yay!" she chirped. "Glad you liked it."
Smiling at her, I replied, "Of course. Now, I suppose it's for the best that we continue with our work here?"
"Ah, yes!" She said, straightening her laptop out. "Let's do that."
"Right!"
"Hey, James," Howe piped up again from the bed.
"Yeah," I prompted before yawning, stretching my arms up, and wheeling the chair back from the desk.
"Can you tell me something random about yourself?" She asked.
I hummed and let a break of silence hold for a moment before bouncing the original question back at her. "You know, I think you've learned a fair bit about me since we met," I replied, a smirk starting to crease my lips. "You even met my parents!"
She furrowed her brow playfully. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying," I said cheekily, "This is a two-way affair. Why don't you tell me a random thing about yourself?" I prompted.
"Ah," she nodded. After some thought, she replied, "I can dance an Irish folk dance."
I reflexively raised my eyebrows in subtle surprise. "Wow. That…that is quite random," I chuckled.
"Mhm," she tittered. "You asked for it."
"Indeed I did. Would you be up to demonstrate?" I coaxed her playfully.
"Ooh," she smiled, setting the laptop aside. "Feeling bold tonight, are you? It would be difficult to get the full effect without my shoes, but…"
I pursed my lips in expectation as she got up from the bed and moved to the free space between my desk and the door.
After a few seconds of internal preparation, she got herself into stance and began a sequence of movements that, to me, always looked quite fascinating. She was right, of course, the full effect of the style would be difficult to convey without proper shoes, but the general idea was there. The characteristic bounce that made it seem as though your feet were never on the ground for more than a second, and the flow that came with the up-down motion were both evident.
After she was done, she started breathing a bit heavier, but smiled and gave a little bow.
What else was I to do but clap my hands? "Very impressive," I nodded. "Do you dance like that with a group?"
"Yeah, actually," she nodded, making her way to the bed once again. "With Ark Royal, Gloucester, Achilles, Grenville, Belfast, a few others…"
"Well, that does sound fun," I said approvingly. "Cool to know you've all got hobbies to kill time with."
"Naturally," she replied simply. "You've got—well, you used to have music. I've got baking, cooking, dancing, and other stuff! It's nice to keep the mind stimulated."
I nodded. "Not just nice, it's encouraged, if anything."
"Indeed," she clicked her fingers.
As she went back to working away on her laptop, I figured I may as well do likewise. While getting back into the swing of things, my mind had reserved a little corner in it for contemplating what had just transpired. Not so much her dancing, but the fact that these people were proving more and more to be just as multifaceted, interesting, and dynamic as everyone else.
McConnell was right. They're not just these characters who have one defining trait about them, and that was it. Of course, they have their hallmarks. Eugen is smooth, Howe is sweet, Zed is diligent, etcetera. But all of those were just parts of a very interconnected web of other things that make them who they are.
Perhaps they even have their own aspirations, outside of the war. Hopefully, they do. It would be a sad existence indeed if one's only goal in life was to fight, fight, fight, and then…die.
Right then, I decided that, if I were to end up working side by side with them to finish the fight, I would make sure none of them would get stuck on such a cruel road. I snuck a quick glance at Howe at the thought. She was sitting on the bed, happily humming the work away.
When she saw me looking at her, I almost instinctively looked away but was able to keep my neck still. I'm glad I did. She graced me with a warm smile that probably would've been enough to fuel me through ten mission reports straight and still keep going.
We broke the eye contact and went back to work. I hadn't noticed, but I'd started smiling myself. Tomorrow was the big day. Usually, I'd probably be all tied up in paranoia or anxiousness about something choking and going wrong. Thankfully, I had Howe to make sure that didn't happen.
We'll execute our mission objectives. We'll bring a family back together.
