Chapter Text
Fauntleroy doesn’t realise where they are right away when they wake and in their disorientation they startle themself fully awake. Only when the worn blanket slides off them and they see their boots on the floor beside them do they remember. Babet’s house, right.
Quietly they get to their feet. The house is completely still and silent. Fauntleroy doesn’t want to go digging around for their phone, but it feels like the very early morning. They hesitate for a moment, but they’re wide awake and thirsty, so they take a gamble and sneak out of the room on bare feet. Babet leaves odd stuff lying around sometimes, but by now they think they pretty much know where it’s safe to walk.
Carefully they make their way towards the kitchen. When they’ve nearly reached the door, Fauntleroy slows their step. There’s a voice coming from inside, but it’s not talking. For a moment they think someone must have left on the ancient radio, but then–
Fauntleroy stands on the doorstep of Babet’s kitchen, holding their breath just a little.
There’s just enough vague light coming through the window to fill the room with a grey twilight. Enough to see Claquesous, standing over the sink, and singing to himself.
Fauntleroy’s heart stutters. His voice is very low and Fauntleroy would hardly have recognised it as his if they hadn’t known. They have heard Sous twist his voice in all manner of ways, but they have never heard him sing.
They take in an involuntary breath and Claquesous stops abruptly. He freezes in place and before he moves Fauntleroy says softly:
“You sing?”
Claquesous turns towards them. Something glints in his hands and they see that he has been slicing an apple. Between his hair falling forward and his cloth mask, Fauntleroy really can’t see his expression, but he looks at them for a moment. “No,” he says finally. “I don’t. And if you tell anyone I do, I’ll take the toes off your left foot.”
He turns back to the sink and Fauntleroy swallows the laugh they feel twisting inside them. They can keep a secret.
“Couldn’t you take my fingers instead?” they ask casually, keeping their voice low. “I’d miss dancing.”
“I’ll consider it,” Claquesous replies coolly, but they can hear just a hint of a grin in his voice.
Fauntleroy smiles cautiously at him, softly closing the kitchen door behind them. They slant their head and after a long moment they take one more gamble:
“But would you consider finishing your song?”
Claquesous doesn’t answer. He continues peeling his apple.
Fauntleroy swallows a sigh and tiptoes past him. They can take a hint.
Quietly they fill a glass of water from the bottle in the fridge and instead of lingering like part of them wants to, they move directly towards the door again. The sudden waking is catching up to them, they’re starting to feel tired. “Goodnight, Sous,” they murmur.
He nods silently and Fauntleroy carefully slips outside, opening the door only partially.
They have hardly set a foot in the hallway before Claquesous’ voice follows them. Even softer than before, but this time more familiar. Fauntleroy stands in the empty hallway, one hand holding their glass, the other pressed against the flutters in their middle. He’s not singing the same song as before. This sounds awfully like a lullaby…