Conner Kent didn't die. Conner Kent just had a very sick family member. Yeah… yeah, that was it.
He didn't realize that the club would look exactly like any other club he'd ever gone to. He'd expected something gothic or dark or damp or… something that just screamed… evil. He didn't get that.
The Underground was shoved between a tattoo parlor and a shoe store. With a hole in a building and a line leading out the door. People ate street food as they waited to get in. Once in the building down the rickety stairs you went, grateful for the tens of people trying to get in because then there was no room for you to trip and fall down. Once to the door you either got in, or the Bouncer, well, bounced you.
He had an in. One in. To get let back in, night after night if need be, that would be up to him. He was cut off, he was alone. Tim's life depended on him. He could do it. He had to be able to do it. He would do it.
He grinned at the bouncer and spoke to him a little, friendly and kind. That would hopefully help get him back through the door-although of course he would love to find Tim, get him out, and never see this place ever again. He stepped into the club.
The lights were multicolored and strobed. They reflected across the skin of the club-goers. The thrumming music made his head pound. He decided to start simple: he was told that Tim had gone in as a pretty party-boy, so he would look on the dance floor first. But it would be weird if he didn't go to the bar at least once. He decided to head over to the bar first and chat up the bartender.
"What can I get you?"
"Rum and soder, please."
"Coming up, Hot Stuff." The Bartender said with a wink. As the bartender made the drink he looked around at the back of the bar, where a corkboard was pinned up. On it were the regular things that you'd expect: roommate notices; clubs and other flyers; pictures of regulars; and finally, a notice. Every Wednesday: karaoke night. Karaoke night? In a club? Musician nights, sure he supposed. Bands and such. But Karaoke?
"What's that?" He asked the bartender, taking his drink as it was slid to him.
"Hmm? The karaoke night? Oh, that's 'cuz our owner is a huge music fan. You see all the music nights up here, right?" The bartender waved a hand vaguely at the corkboard. Which, yeah, he does see what the bartender is referring to, but at the same time, what music fanatic only plays current pop music? Not even artists that mixed styles; a little country, a little rock and roll.
He sipped his drink. He flirted with some of the girls at the bar. He kept his eye on the dance floor, but he didn't see any telltale electric blue eyes, no starkly dark black hair. No thin, muscled limbs and no expert grace. Tim wasn't here. Yet. He finished his drink, he paid, and followed a girl who'd been winking at him down to the floor.
He danced. His body moving with the music which-almost contentless-wrote itself on his heart and across his eyes. His body melded with those of the girl's. Her eyes flickered to his, gorgeous and dark. He felt her hands on his chest and his were on her hips and it didn't matter the song or the words but rather the beating, pulsing bass and drums that filled his heart. That made him move and dance and sweat and crave and want for so much, so, so much-
Tim.
The name came back to him with a start. He jumped. The word had been so strong, as if someone had said it right next to his ear. But no one was speaking, they were all just moving. Dancing, writhing, grinding. The music swept them away and when he looked back down at those endless eyes of his dance partner he realized that as deep and dark as they were, they were also glazed. Unseeing. As she danced-not even remotely mechanically but like someone who lived for it, who couldn't stop-her eyes and hands and body travel up and down his and drank him in like he'd drunk that rum and soder and his heart was pounding and that unbearable want and crave came back over him like a crash of feeling and fear and-
Tim. Tim.
She wasn't Tim. Tim was… he was in trouble. He had to save Tim. He had to- How was he going to do that again?
Tim.
He clung to the name as he drowned in the tsunami of the music. Tim. He looked away from her glazed eyes, in them he was lost, and right now that was the last thing he could be. He turned his head, almost remotely, scanning faces and movements in the dim flashes of colored lights. Tim. Tim. He let the name pound through his head, to contrast the pulsing in his heart. Tim. Tim. Tim. Tim.
Black hair. Blue eyes. Muscled arms and legs. A stomach like rocks. Practiced grace of an acrobat. Skin pale and reflective. He could see him when he closed his eyes. He'd look beautiful under these lights. Beautiful. Tim. Tim. Tim.
He opened them again. He had to find Tim. His head whipped around. He couldn't see him. He couldn't find him.
The first floor of The Underground had the dance floor, a platform for the DJ or band or singer he supposed. Behind the bar which jutted out of the wall were the kitchens and emergency exit on one side and the entrance and bathrooms on the other. Then there were the stairs up to the VIP balcony. The balcony was covered in sheer curtains, most of which were pulled back because only one person sat up in the balcony.
His eyes caught on her. No one else looked at her. She stirred her drink (a dark red wine, he believed from his awkward vantage point), swirling it around by the stem, gently.
Her hair was thick and curly. It reflected the red and blue of the lights. Her skin looked gray in the dimness, but was probably a mid-brown color. From here, when he squinted, he could see her eyes. Unlike his dance partner, her brown eyes were full and alert. She looked around the dance floor like a wolf stalking prey. Her eyes lingered on the bartender. She took a small sip from her wine. But it was her clothes that made her stick out. Unlike him who had chosen a simple tight black pair of jeans and a nicely tight t-shirt, or the girls here who wore skin like they never got to display it otherwise, or the other men who wore mesh and leather and shirts tighter than his. Even the bartender wore something casual, something simple and not necessarily like hers. The woman wore a sundress, yellow with red flowers. It looked stunning on her, really it did. Absolutely beautiful. But, not like it should have been here.
It was only when she looked up and her gaze met his that he realized something. She hadn't expected to meet anyone's eyes. She looked surprised. So he did what he always did when charming a gorgeous person, he smiled.
She smiled back. She crooked a single finger.
He felt something warm and soft flutter in his belly. He pulled himself away from the dance floor, from the ghost people who danced there. Even his dance partner didn't seem to mind much, already grinding against someone else. He ducked his head to cover his ears slightly. There was something wrong here, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Something just felt… off.
He climbed the velvet roped stairs (which had no guards he noticed, although with a dancefloor like that he could understand why no one would ever want to leave it). Each step his mouth felt cleaner, his lungs fresher. His steps had more bounce, more energy. He felt.. full.
He met her at the top of the stairs. She clasped his hand in the one of hers that didn't hold the wine glass. She tipped it towards him. "Thirsty?" She asked. Her voice could somehow be heard over the music, or under. He wasn't quite sure. He smiled at her and she smiled back. Her smile stained like roses. Her smell like marigolds. He stumbled after her to her seat above The Underground, sucking in the fresh smell of flowers that followed her as she wafted across the balcony.
He accepted the glass of wine. On her white metal ornate table-all of them, now that he looked around were like that, like garden tables you saw on a suburb lawn or in a gazebo-she had a second glass and two bottles of wine, the first almost finished.
"I've never seen someone so uninterested in his dance partner," she said.
"I wasn't uninterested, I was just curious."
"Careful there, curiosity killed the cat."
He saluted his glass towards her in a toast. "But satisfaction brought it back."
She smiled at him. "You have a gorgeous smile," he said before he even realized he was saying anything. The alcohol was making his tongue loose, he needed to stop before he spilled something he couldn't take back.
She blushed. "Thank you. That's very kind. You're a very beautiful man."
He grinned. "I try," he said flippantly and pretended to take another sip of wine, just to be polite. She drank further. He wondered what the cause of her blush was now. His sweet nothings or her drink's.
"What were you looking for?"
"A friend." He shrugged. "I was going to meet him here, I guess he couldn't get in."
"I see."
"Who were you waiting for?"
"Huh?" She looked surprised. Her dark red lips parted slightly.
"Two wine glasses, and I didn't see anyone else up here before I came up."
Her smile turned rueful. "It doesn't matter much anymore. Just like your friend, he didn't show."
"But I did."
"That you did."
"Too bad. A pity to waste the wine and a lovely woman like you by not showing." He pretended to take another sip. She pursed her lips and actually drank. He decided to drop the subject, because it seemed to piss off his new friend. The only one in here who seemed to be able to hold his eyes with focus, despite the alcohol brimming through her body-giving her flowers a boozy smell.
"So how much do you pay to be up here?"
"Nothing. Just no one ever comes up here."
"Pity. Do you ever go down there?" He nodded to the dance-floor.
She raised an amused eyebrow. "Are you asking me to dance, stranger?"
"It would be a crime not to. And perhaps more than just that if you're interested."
She held out a hand. "They call me April Mae. And what's your name?"
"Call me Orpheus." He said, taking it.
Kon got in the next night also.
His feet still hurt from the night before. He'd left at some point in the early morning, his shoes almost worn through, warm and bubbly and still a little tipsy, April's arm slung through his. Then, after turning down yet her third offer to stay she put him in a cab. He had managed to get out his hotel address, and his stumbling up to his room hadn't woken too many people. He'd sunk into his bed like a rock. Then he'd slept. That was the easy part.
When Kon awoke with a foggy mind and a mouth full of cotton. After a shower and some toast (his belly too wobbly for anything more) he felt more like himself. But even though he ate a good amount of junk he'd bought when he first got to Midway two nights ago, there was something aching in his belly. Or was it his chest?
Something soft and hurt that made him want to curl up on himself. He didn't want to be here he didn't want-He-He wanted-He needed to go back. He was so alone and so tired and he just thought back to how much fun last night had been, dancing and twirling with April on the dance floor until early and the ache in his feet almost as if they were begging to be used, begging-
Woah.
Kon blinked. What-what was that?
The ache was still there. But, he looked down at his half eaten piece of toast, how had a little ache turned into that.
Something was making noise. A really annoying ringing like-
Oh. Wait. His phone.
Kon scrambled for it, ignoring the gnawing feeling in his chest.
Batman.
Batman was calling him. Why again? He couldn't-He couldn't….
Kon picked up the call. "Hello?"
"How did last night go?" Batman's rough voice asked
Why did Batman care? "It was. It was fun. The music there is great and the prices aren't so bad. There was this girl-"
Batman grunted angrily. Kon shut up. "I don't care about that. I knew you were the wrong person for the job, but Dick said… What about Tim, Superboy? Was he there?"
Tim?
Suddenly Kon wanted to puke. The name ricocheted around his mind.
Tim. Tim. Tim. Tim. Tim tim tim tim tim
He'd been there for Tim. He'd been there to find Tim. How could he have forgotten? After everything with April he'd just-
Bile rose in his throat. April. She'd-she must have had something to do with it. With it all. Hades and whatever? This gang? She had to right? She had to have known he was looking for Tim-Eurydice-and tried to stop him. To distract him. He didn't-He didn't forget Tim on his own, right? He couldn't have… He wouldn't have.
Kon closed his eyes. He tried-he tried to remember. Tim… he hadn't seen him, had he? That flicker of raven hair had been someone else? … A dark skinned boy? Maybe? He couldn't… The whole night was fuzzy in his brain. He couldn't… he couldn't really remember it. He could remember the way it felt but not-not things, not pictures, just… feelings.
"No. He wasn't there." And Kon wished that he was as confident as he sounded.
"These things take time," Bruce said from the other side of the line and Kon wondered vaguely who that was supposed to be a reminder for.
"I'm going back in a few hours."
"Fine. Stay on task this time," Bruce snapped.
Anger boiled in Conner's lungs. As if-As if this was all Conner's fault! "I'm not the one who put him in this situation!" Conner shouted. Yelling did make him feel better. But that something was still eating at him and it was distracting.
Batman was silent. Then, "find my son, Superboy." And the line went dead.
Kon wouldn't forget Tim this time. He wouldn't.
The moment he walked up to the bouncer he was let in without so much as a nod of acknowledgement. Kon pushed past the jumping clubgoers and almost stumbled right into April Mae who smiled and slung her arm through his.
Conner wanted to pull back, to tell her 'no.' That he had to find his friend. That he had to- the music pounded in his head-he had to-he was thirsty, thirsting to move, his body restless, he wanted to dance and-
What did he have to do again?
"Let's dance!"
April gripped his arm firmly. "I'm tired, why don't we just go upstairs and sit instead?"
But Kon wasn't tired! Kon wanted to dance, to move and spin and-
Something dark flashed on the outside of his vision.
Tim.
Yeah, maybe going upstairs was a good idea, he could see the clubgoers better from up there.
"Yeah." He took a deep, shaky breath. "Let's go upstairs."
April Mae led him up to the balcony and once again two wine glasses and a bottle of wine were out, waiting for them. From here his mind was clearer. The thrum of trance and pop music was less dizzying.
Something was wrong here. Music… wasn't like that. Something was wrong here.
Focus on the bad things. Focus on why you're here.
April poured him a glass of wine. He grinned as he took it and she smiled at him. He wouldn't drink it. Tim had taught him to pretend to drink once. He hadn't been very into wasting good booze but Tim had rolled his eyes and tried to impress the importance of the exercise on him. Conner had learned, in the end. But he'd stalled as much as he could so he could spend more time with Tim's hand guiding his.
Conner pretended to take a sip and when April leaned over the railing, watching the crowd downstairs, swaying gently, he spilled a little out. "You weren't waiting for me, were you?"
April shrugged, a pretty pout on her lips. "I'm always waiting. It's nice for someone to finally arrive."
Conner got that there was more to that story, but they weren't there yet. He had to be careful about this. He couldn't be too hasty, he couldn't risk it.
April bumped her hips against Conner's. "What about you, Orpheus? Why do you keep coming back?"
"Don't people always? I can't imagine leaving." Conner wasn't completely lying either. But it wasn't because he particularly enjoyed being here.
April frowned. "You know what they say, one taste of The Underground and you never leave." She cocked her head at Conner. "But you, Orpheus, you're the first person who took a bite," she nodded to the dancefloor, "and left it."
Conner smiled at her. "I guess I saw something tastier." He winked to sell the line and April blushed. She waved him off and drank some more.
Conner poured out a little more wine.
"Why don't you dance?" Conner asked.
April ran the index finger of her left hand around the lipstick stained rim of her glass, dark lips pressed together as she thought about her answer.
"I suppose," she said softly, "I've already had my fill."
Conner caught the glint of a ring on her left hand. Cold washed over him, and then relief.
"You're married?"
April jumped, startled. She gave Conner a doey-eyed look of shock before glancing back down at her hand, as if she'd forgotten that she was wearing her ring.
"Oh, yes." Her gaze reverted to her glass of wine and she stared into it's dark depths for a moment before scoffing. "This half of the year, anyway." Had Conner not had super-hearing, he would have missed the bitter reply-overwhelmed by the pound of the music.
April straightened, leaning against the rail of the balcony so her entire body was backlit against the strobing, club lights and drained her glass. She swayed slightly, just for a moment, eyes blinked half closed, and turned to Conner.
"Refill?" she asked.
April… had problems, Conner decided. Either martial ones or alcoholic ones… maybe both.
But she was practically the only person here who didn't seem affected by the music, that gorgeous hum and bop, that intoxicating boom and crash-Conner shook himself. There was something… wrong here. And April, no matter how much she loved her wine, seemed to be the only one immune.
Conner needed to know why.
He needed this pain in his soul to go away, this ache in his feet.
Conner gave her a half-smile and held his glass out for more.
The wine sloshed into his glass and the fact that April poured herself a little more than what Conner's had didn't go unnoticed by him.
"So, what's he do?" Conner asked. An innocuous question if he thought so himself.
April raised a playful eyebrow. "Can't you guess?"
Conner could play. "Well, considering how pretty you are, I'm going to say… model?"
April laughed, a low, husky sound. "Please."
Well, it was worth a shot.
"Give me a hint," Conner begged, turning up the charm and pouting slightly.
April smiled. She waved her glass at him, spilling some of the wine onto the carpet beneath them. She didn't seem to notice or care.
"The allowances I give you, Orpheus…" she tisked. "Fine." She waved her glass once more, purposefully. "Look around."
"Uh… wine maker?"
April grinned, amused again. "Nah, if that were true, he wouldn't mind having a drink with me, would he?" She took another sip from her wine.
Conner glanced down at his own glass, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the edge of the base. Two wine glasses…
"He owns the club?"
April Mae grinned again. She licked her dyed lips.
"Ding, ding, ding! Give the boy his prize!"
"That's who you're always waiting for?"
"Mm-hm." April took another sip. "But he's too busy to come down for even a few minutes." She turned back to the dance-floor. Her dark, wavy hair fell over her face and the colored lights played with her face in an entrancing way. Here she was alive, no matter the sorrows she drowned. Blues and red reflected off of her cheeks, carving her face and bust out of the shadows. Each divot and sharp ridge.
"I love it here," she whispered. She dragged a hand across the railing, fingers barely brushing it. "I love seeing the couples dancing… happy… infatuated…"
Dancing…
Conner looked down at the dance-floor below. At the gyrating bodies. He could almost smell the liquor, taste the sweat. The music overtook his super-senses, and the lights blinded him. He could feel himself swaying, unable to stop-not wanting to stop. His body ached to move. He was hot, sweaty, burdened with the oppressive heat of the exertion. He gasped for air and when he came up again, he turned to April.
She was looking at him, curiously.
Conner smiled at her. He held a hand. "Are you sure you don't want to dance?"
April opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. "I'm… I'm not very good."
"Can I tell you a secret?" Conner asked.
"What?" her voice was breathy. She took a step toward his outstretched hand.
"No one is."
April smiled and took his hand. He pulled her close and spun her around. She laughed and her laugh was like bells. Like music. So much better than the music that pounded into his head, throbbing with need. Her dark hair… almost black, swished around her.
Black hair… black… Conner was…. what was Conner doing? Why did black hair matter?
April pulled close to him, almost as if to hug him.
Conner couldn't remember. He closed his eyes, and bent down, nose nestled into her tresses. She smelled like marigolds.
Days passed. Maybe. Nights did though. Nights definitely did.
Conner spent most of his time with April Mae-how any man could marry her and then disappear like her husband did, Conner didn't know. Conner's phone was a dead brick. It had lost power… forever ago. Conner had always been too tired, once back from the Underground to bother to charge it. He wouldn't remember why he would. Everything he needed was at the Underground. Everyone he needed.
Nights with April Mae passed in a blur. Always dancing and drinking. He was always happy with her. Always feeling like something had bubbled up into his chest, overpowering himself. And the wine was always good with her.
Conner abandoned shoes-his feet long since wore them through. But that didn't matter. He didn't need shoes when he danced with April-his toes squished in the soft carpet of the balcony and April laughed and his feet no longer hurt.
The only time Conner ever saw the sun was on Wednesdays. The first Wednesday he'd come by the Underground, it had been as if something had pulled him there. He'd been restless, unable to sleep despite his exhaustion.
He'd wandered in, having a vague memory break through the fog of his mind… something was happening at the Underground on Wednesdays. He realized as soon as he walked in, what it was.
The Underground during the day was quiet. No longer nearly as packed as it was at night. Only the true regulars-many of the people Conner remembered who would truly lose themselves in the dancing during the night, staying until the first rays of dawn crept over the horizon-were there. The dance-floor was cluttered with tables. It was almost blasphemy, to see it covered like that.
On what would have been where the DJ stood most nights, a stage had been cleared off and adorned with a single microphone and a spotlight. A man stood there badly singing Hips Don't Lie on Karaoke.
Conner hadn't known you could sing Hips Don't Lie on Karaoke.
Conner's eyes restlessly roamed the milling watchers who sat at the circular tables, stirring cocktails and shmoozing under their breaths. They moved to the balconies automatically, but the usually open sheer curtains were now drawn. He dropped them back to the floor and laid eyes on her.
April Mae sat, arms crossed and one leg swinging over the other. She sucked her teeth at the large man next to her, who was speaking with three equally large men standing around them. The man sitting took a drink from his tumbler. He flicked a few fingers and one of the men ran off to do his bidding.
Conner started towards them, only to be blocked from April by the standing men-guards-who glared at him and slid to cover her from view.
The man on the stage came to the end of his song. Sparse applause followed but he lapped it up. He was still there when the next person muscled him off, to get at the mike. They also sang a pop song. April cheered. The man she sat with continued to ignore her. April turned her full attention to the stage.
Fine then.
Kon found his way to the sign up sheet, and put himself and chose a song.
When his turn came up, he also had to shove the past guy off the stage. It seemed the applause did something to them, making them never want to leave the limelight. Every song so far had been some pop song, which Kon had found annoying, after all, there had been other songs in the catalogue. Kon had even chosen one.
Kon saw April gasp and look up at him adoringly. She gave a small, shy wave and Kon waved back.
Her eyes sparkled.
The music started, and slowly, Kon began to sing.
"Never treats me sweet and gentle..."
The words fell from his lips like honey. Kon watched as April's eyes grew wider with every word. Kon's voice rolled through the crowd. He felt that power, as they scooted forward on their seats, listening to his pipes as the jazz rolled through the speakers, smoothing them into docility.
"He don't love me, like I love him/no, nobody could…"
Everyone except one person. April's companion flinched, looking more and more uncomfortable longer Kon sang. He grew paler. Shifted restlessly in his seat. His hands clenched and unclenched, a muscle in his jaw clenched.
But April stared at Kon like Kon was the whole world. And Kon's heart leapt.
"I got it bad, and that ain't good…"
At the last note, the crowd rose in an uproar. Was this always what it was like?
April Mae burst forward. She pulled out the rhododendron from the centerpiece vase on her table, and handed it with a flourish to Kon.
Kon took it, unable to keep the blush from his face.
"That's my Orpheus," she whispered as the patrons of the Underground cheered.
Conner could live like that forever. Could live as Orpheus forever. He couldn't remember why he'd ever been anyone but.
Orpheus smiled when April waved to him that night from the balcony. He blew her a kiss, and took the glass of red wine from her before she could even ask. They clinked glasses and drank. Orpheus drained his glass in one gulp, and April topped him off.
They danced for so long, Orpheus became dizzy. He would have danced longer. He would have danced forever if April had wanted to, but April had something else on her mind.
She placed her glass onto the table, taking the bottle instead-had they finished it already? Hadn't another been on the way? Was that their next one? She pulled him along, giggling as she did. He stumbled into her and his stained lips brushed her ear.
Orpheus froze.
April smiled back at him. "Come on, my zinnia," she teased, "hurry up!"
Orpheus was helpless to refuse. So he hurried.
They stumbled, giggling, up a flight of stairs-had Orpheus known there was another story to the Underground? The stairs swirled, until Orpheus was dizzy once more. April pulled him along, bursting through a pair of double doors.
Orpheus strode right into April's… bedroom?
April giggled and threw herself on an elaborately decorated bed. Golden covers, covered in embroidered grapes and flora spread across the expanse of her enormous bed. She tipped the bottle she held, spilling a little wine onto it. The dark purple stain bled across the needlework.
"Come on, silly! Join me!"
"No."
Orpheus hadn't known he'd said it until April pouted. Why would anyone refuse April Mae? She's married, a voice whispered to him, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. No… that wasn't it-well, it was true but that wasn't why.
It wasn't…
Conner couldn't. Wouldn't.
Why not? Orpheus couldn't remember.
"What? Why not?"
Orpheus opened his mouth to answer, but all that came out was, "I… can't."
April frowned. "I'm sure you can, it's a big enough bed."
"No, I mean. April… I can't… do that with you."
April frowned, lips parted slightly in their pout before she blinked, surprised again.
"Oh! Orpheus, my zinnia, no! I didn't mean that. Just sit!"
Just… sitting?
Orpheus could sit. Just sit. If that was what April wanted him to do. So, Orpheus sat. He eased himself up, legs crossed beneath him. Careful not to touch the spreading stain-not that he needed to be, he had plenty of room on the spacious bed. California King, must have been. Or something of that type.
April shifted over to him, petting his arm. "Darling, no! I would never ask you to do something like that! I'm married! And you…!"
Orpheus frowned. "And me…?" he asked when April didn't continue.
"Well," April tucked a lock of hair-black, beautiful hair, soft to the touch and smelling of sweat in the good, intoxicated way, the pale ski-behind her dark ear. Pale skin…? Why had…? And like a dream that disappeared seconds after one woke up, the thought was gone. And Orpheus couldn't get it back, no matter how hard he tried.
"Well, you're still waiting for that… friend of yours. Right?"
Was he? Orpheus thought he'd only been here for her. Gorgeous, funny, sweet April Mae.
"Tell me about them."
"Him." Orpheus surprised himself. He hadn't known the pronoun to be true until he said it. "He's…" Orpheus tried to describe the man he couldn't remember. Like trying to describe the color you saw when you closed your eyes. "Wonderful."
"He is?"
Words spilled from Orpheus' mouth faster than he could stop them. They formed a picture, a man who was strong, and powerful and persistent. The type of man someone might fall in love with. Orpheus wove stories: remembered silly anecdotes and escapades that ended in triumph and giggles. Spiking someone's shampoo with a different color, late nights playing video games, soaked and coming home exhausted and barely kicking off their clothes before curling up in his large bed (so much like hers) together and sleeping until a dog's tongue rudely awoke them. The way Orpheus' shirt hung off of him recently, no longer like a child playing dress-up but in a way that spurred something warmer within Orpheus. Something fragile.
"He sounds wonderful," April whispered in awe. She'd been quiet for so long, that Orpheus had almost forgotten that she was there. That he was telling these stories to her. He'd kept speaking, telling them over and over to himself, worried that if he stopped this feeling in his chest might have gone away with the words, as if they were never there.
"What's his name?" she asked.
"His name-" Orpheus' tongue halted in his mouth. He tried again. "His name is…"
Orpheus wasn't allowed to say his name. Right? Or maybe… maybe…. he didn't remember? The stories were fuzzy now, fading away. Orpheus tried desperately to hold onto them, but his mind was slippery. He couldn't… he couldn't…
"I don't remember."
April Mae took a sip from the bottle of wine. If this admission bothered her, she made no mention. She just hummed in acknowledgement before squinting and glancing out the window.
"Oh! Look! It's sunrise!"
Orpheus blinked too in the sudden brightness. A headache raged behind his eyes.
"I should…. go. Home."
"Okay," April turned back to him and patted his hand. "See you tonight?" she asked.
It was a silly question, Orpheus wanted to tell her. Of course she'd see him, where else did he have to go?
But all his clumsy mouth said was, "sure."
"Come on," Orpheus wheedled, pulling April along with him. The buzz of alcohol mixed with the insanity of the music and made him burn. He shimmied as he drew her to him and towards the stairs. "Just one dance on the dance-floor. Please?" Orpheus pouted, giving her his best puppy-dog eyes, "for me?"
April gave him a small exasperated shake of her head, as if he was pushing himself too far. Which he was. And he knew it. He'd managed to convince April to dance with him, but never downstairs. And Orpheus couldn't shake the feeling that if he just got her onto the dance floor, under those blazing lights and in the throng of that push and pull of sound, then everything would be alright.
April sighed, amused. "Fine!" she relented, letting him pull her down the stairs. "Fine!" She laughed again. Kon loved that laugh.
They made it to the floor. To the throb and bounce. To the hum and the gasp. April slid against him, dancing closer than she ever had before. Kon found himself around her, encompassing her as they danced. April threw back her head and the shimmering lights cascaded the unblemished, dark line of her throat. She smelled… she smelled…
"April!" the scream shattered the mood. At least, to him. Everyone around him didn't seem to be doused, to be cold, and suddenly confused and uncomfortable.
He was on a dance-floor…? And April… April didn't seem to notice.
"April Mae!"
Someone shoved through the dancers. They didn't even yelp in complaint.
April frowned, stopping. She looked around, confused. As if waking from a daze. "What…?"
"April Mae!"
The person who had screamed had finally pushed his way to Orpheus and April. He was gaunt, sickly looking. Large dark bruises beneath his eyes reflected the strobing lights.
"April! Oh, thank god! April! I thought I'd lost you!" He dove for her. April gasped and jumped out of the way, pressing herself into Orpheus.
"April, do you know this man?"
"I… I don't think so," April said.
"How can you not remember me!" The man cried. "How can you forget? Our time together? It was the best time of my life! Us dancing, and drinking…" his eyes landed on Orpheus, as if he'd seen him for the first time. "You!" He shrieked. "You stole her from me!"
Orpheus frowned. What? That was crazy!
But the man lunged at him, shrieking, spittle spraying from his mouth.
Orpheus didn't even think about it. April had clutched his arm, and screamed. Orpheus just pushed him back. But the man went sailing across the room. He slammed into the back wall with a sickening crack!
The music didn't stop. The dancers didn't notice.
But they weren't the only ones in the Underground.
"There he is!" Someone shouted. "Get him!"
"Orpheus!" April screamed as people descended on him.
"Stop him!"
"AH!"
Screams filled the room as Orpheus tried to throw the onslaught of guard-like men off of him. But they kept coming. They didn't end. There was always another, and then another and another-Orpheus couldn't remember why he wasn't supposed to hurt them the way he was, there were just too many any April was screaming as they hustled her out of the fray. Orpheus cried out for her but he couldn't see her. He had to get to her! He had to make sure she was oka-
whump!
Stars swam in Orpheus' vision. He tried to blink them away, but couldn't. Above him a small man-not like the others that had attacked Orpheus-loomed. He was skinnier, but not skinny. Never skinny. Orpheus couldn't see his face. But the memory of those hands as they'd gotten past his defenses and tossed him onto the ground…
As suddenly as he'd ended up on the ground, he was back on his feet as the large men dragged him up and off of the dance-floor. No one noticed. The music never stopped.
They dragged Orpheus out of the up the stairs and out of the Underground. Those in line to get in watched curiously as they tossed Orpheus carelessly against the ground.
Orpheus tried to get up, but before he could pain erupted from his chest and he was thrown back against the street. His head hit the curb and his vision went spotty. Orpheus cried out, trying to rub the black from his eyes.
A shadow blocked the light. Above him that same lithely muscled figure loomed.
"Finish him Eurydice," a voice said. A voice so familiar, yet Orpheus couldn't place it. Deep, and commanding.
He finally looked up, and locked eyes on the person who'd beaten him. But Eurydice didn't move. Frozen. Long, pale arms, wrapped in muscle. Scars that glittered in the streetlights…
Long, long, raven hair that fell into his blue blue blue eyes.
"Tim?" Kon whispered.
"Finish him, Eurydice!" The voice was clearly not used to not being listened to.
"Wait-Ti-Eurydice! It's me! Orpheus!" Kon cried. Tim raised his foot. Kon tried to scramble back, but the curb stopped him. He raised a hand. "Eurydice! Stop!"
"I said, finish him!"
"Eury-!"
But the foot came down, and everything went black.