Oh, and just one other thing...

((I love that song! When I was little, the music video used to give me goosebumps.))

She could see the excuses falling from her friend's expression, almost akin to layers peeling off of an onion. In that moment, however, she knew she would be hearing him play - she could see it on his face. She added extra reassurance as he spoke, answering him with an, "Oh, I'm sure."

He went about retrieving the guitar and Jack turned around in her chair, sitting in backwards as she settled in to watch him. She rested her arms on the back of the chair, dropping her chin into her cupped hands. She smirked at him, saying, "Name your price - no way am I missing this."

Albus began to play, and Jack recognized the tune - the first eleven years of her life were spent believing she was a muggle, living in a muggle household, and then the following summers after that for seven years. It would be outright peculiar if she hadn't come to know muggle music - to be honest, she knew muggle music, even the older music, much better than she any magical music.

Her eyes watched his fingers as she lowly hummed beneath the music, unable to keep from doing it. He began humming too, louder than her. She was able to him a bit louder, though she stopped as he got a little louder. Her eyes moved from his fingers and up to his face. She had to wonder - Albus was from a magical household. If he had found magical music, it was because he had looked. She was drawn to this song because she had heard it growing up. There was a good chance this song was his discovery. Something had drawn him to this song particularly.

He opened his eyes and for a moment, they just looked at each other. Jack finally cleared her throat and straightened up. "I like that song." She wanted to say something else, something to make this all less intense. "My ears are still intact." She smiled. "So, what sort of payment will you be requiring?" She smirking, trying to get back on the laughter route.

(( Its Albus' song for me The video I linked in the previous post was literally made for him, I swear ))

She didn't know. But she guessed. She guessed what the song mean to him, guessed that the lyrics rang true to the tune of his heart. Albus found himself not minding.

The atmosphere of the room seemed.....changed after the song. The restlessness, the worry, crawling under his skin ever since Jack walked in through his door, seemed somewhat calmed. Albus breathed out, and felt no tightness in his chest, no throbbing behind his temples. Playing was truly therapeutic to him.....after all, what was done was done. Half-truths had spilled out of his tongue, frantic reassurances that he would never betray Jack....and he wouldn't. He would meet Katrina-Carlotta, and cancel. That was that. Nothing more to think about.

He raised his head, from where it had been bent against his chest, and saw Jack.

Truly saw her, muscly arms, dirty freckles and all. Saw the strength that could easily rip him to shreds if he ever dared step out of line. Saw the understanding, the comprehension of why exactly he was tempted to erase the line altogether.

"Payment? Well..." Something had changed after the song, something fundamental. The raging storm, the whirling doubts, all had settled. Albus didn't dare question it, he just went along, and let the words flowing naturally to his tongue escape, "Friday. Seven pm. I'll pick you up from outside your house, and we'll go for dinner. Let's see what a planned meeting with the Jaquellene Dyllan is actually like."

Then he paused, and the meaning of his words hit him like a speeding truck. Shit....he hadn't...did he just....Albus clamped down the panic, threatening to overtake him. No it was okay, Jack was unfailingly oblivious about these kind of things, she wouldn't interpret it that way....would she? If there ever was a time for jokes, it was now. Striking another tangent entirely, Albus adopted a stern-teacher voice, "Behave like a girl. Wear a dress. And heels." Yes, that would make her splutter and indignant enough to avoid the wrong....or rather, the right implication of his words.

((I can totally see why. Don't you just love when musicians write songs just for our characters? xD ))

Everything had settled well - the tension and the strain; the strange, unidentifiable emotions; the uncertain, but sincere desire for trust. It all faded, promising the return again stronger, more persistent, and more compromising than ever. But, music had a way of taking over, forcing everything to the background.

Jack had briefly thought it a mistake to ask him to play for her, just a moment before he began to play the instrument. There was always the chance that he would actually play badly, but not badly enough for her to enjoy poking fun at him, just bad enough to make it awkward. Or there was the possibility that he would play some strange, lovey-dovey sort of song that would give her no choice but to mock him, obviously. Or there was the slim possibility that the moment would be way more intimate than Jack would be comfortable with. Fortunately, the truth was, the music was a mild solution to temper the nerves of everyone in the flat.

Jack quirked an eyebrow at his beginning stages of the payment. What? She thought, if anything, they would be square. She had fed him breakfast, and he had fed her breakfast? So why did he want another meal? It couldn't be... Well, Jack didn't know what it could be. She simply could not figure out the motives behind a payment of a dinner between the two of them.

And then came the kicker. Jack had gone for a drink of coffee and nearly inhaled it through her nose, so badly she choked as he gave the part that would really cause her pain. So that was it, then? He was going for humiliation. No, a dress was not humiliation to her...

It was annihilation.

"You're killing me!" she moaned. "Cruel and unusual punishment shouldn't be allowed!"

Hope. Dread. He wouldn't admit it even on the pain of death, but amidst regret on what had just escaped his lips, there was dread that he would hear a no. Hope that he would hear a yes.

There was an odd, queer sensation in his chest, a mixture of this hope and dread. Something that had been slumbering, unnoticed for a long time, a dead ember; had awakened. Awakened and started making its presence felt, and Albus hated it. Hated the way it started swelling and growing and making him feel so full of.....something. Something resembling legions of butterflies, armies of flowers, bouncing and bubbling and glowing. It was difficult to put a name to it, like a blind man trying to recognize colours.

Jack eyed him, and she couldn't hide the confusion on her face. Why was he doing this? Why am I doing this? Like a real, living thing, the sensation reared up in his chest. I don't know. I don't care.

Jack choked on her mug, coffee dribbling out of her lips and nose, and Albus yielded to the sensation and laughed. Loud, clear, mirthful. "You said you could take anything I threw at you. So there." The sunlight surely, hadn't been so warm, so bright a few minutes prior. It slid over the table, glistened on his coffee mug. Jack's hair, a halo of red, was gleaming in the morning sun. Albus took pity on her, "Fine, leave off the heels. If you don't wear a proper dress though..." He waved his index finger emphatically. "You never get to talk to me again. Or eat my food." Hell, Jack was whining like a kid, which should have annoyed him, but there was something ridiculously resembling affection in his words. He didn't know. He didn't care.

Her hand collided with the table, flopping around in its mad search for a napkin to mop up her poor face. She found it and pressed it against the coffee stains on her skin, cleaning herself up. Her mind was aggressively arguing that there was no way IN HELL she could appear in public dressed like a... like a... like a girl! But, the other part of her was calling for blood. She had a bit of a competitive streak when it came to anything resembling anything like a dare. Prove him wrong! Shame him with your spectacular plumage! Wear three-foot-tall heels. Win. Win! WIN!

That said, Jack was still incredibly relieved when Albus revoked the part including the heels - which was probably just for safety. Jack wearing heels meant she would be falling, and she would never fall without taking at least everyone within a ten foot radius down with her.

Jack groaned loudly, lolling her head back and forth as she slowly resigned herself to her fate. She knew she would have to do this - this horrible, horrible thing. She looked up at Albus, squinting her eyes as she stared at him. "And you said you'd never stoop to evil or cruelty." She smirked, quickly trying to assure him that she was kidding. Perhaps it was too soon to tease about that. She flopped her head onto the table and heaved a sigh. "I'll go," she said, her voice muffled against the table.

Merlin, was Jack hilarious when she was all righteous-indignation. And panic, of course. Couldn't forget that one. Albus seriously couldn't understand the reasoning behind that emotion though. No matter how much she tried to camouflage it, Jack was a girl, a woman.....what was so disastrous and humiliating and world-changing about acting like one?

His emerald eyes flickered over her coffee stained T-shirt, the sneakers with ever-dangling laces, the murderous glare. Right. Stupid question.

All these musings didn't kill the sensation though. Jack looked up, shoulders slumped, entire posture hinting towards defeat. Didn't stop her eyes from gleaming competitively though, as though contemplating turning out in full Charlotte Topez attire just to shock him. The hope leaped up, wibbling in his belly.

"And you said you'd never stoop to evil or cruelty."

The room darkened all of a sudden, the flying sensation suddenly extinguished. Albus tried, tried so hard to keep his face from closing off, but Avariella's shocked face as the curse zoomed towards her, spilt blood and guts, and a stormy night flashed before his eyelids like a cracking whip. He breathed. Once. Twice. Then lifted his chin and smirked softly, "I'm a Slytherin. Certain instincts are hard-suppressed."

He didn't know why he said that, and not something else more comfortable, reassuring. Maybe because, semi-consciously, ever since that sensation had leaped to awareness in his chest, lies were looking to be increasingly difficult.

And truth always paid dividends. Even truths which were better left unknown. Because she agreed to go.

Albus turned away. Jack's face was pressed against the table, but he couldn't take chances. Couldn't take risks. Couldn't let her see him smiling openly, like a man with no secrets. If he himself couldn't bear to see that smile in a mirror, how could she?

Perhaps she was over-thinking it, but maybe that joke really was too soon. It suddenly felt like the moment when laughter subsided after an inappropriate joke, and everyone fell into the uncomfortable silence of people shamed by the truth of the statements. This moment was something akin to that sort of moment, and Jack wished she could take back the dumb joke. She shifted awkwardly in her seat as her mind compiled the words for a heartfelt apology. One she needed to say.

"Albus-" she said, opening her mouth and preparing to say how she was wrong to tease and she did trust him...

But he spoke. Though he had a grin full of jest twisting on his face, she knew they had taken a step back somehow. It was nice to have the excuse of having to answer the whole dinner dare thing, and then made her feel even more inclined to press her face against the table. She slowly lifted her head, resting her chin on the table as she looked up at him. "I'm going to order a huge hamburger. And it's going to be an ugly sight for everyone."

Right. Jokes. Because they were so helpful in the first place.

"Ah." Albus nodded. "But what if........" He paused for maximum impact. "I take you to a place where there are....no hamburgers on the menu?" The next words were delivered with a particularly wicked smirk. "French waitresses, violin music in the background. champagne, scallops and escargot. C'est magnifique, non?"

He stood up, smiling broadly and walked over to her side of the table. Picked up the plate, wandlessly levitated the mug, deftly managed his own utensils. He could get used to this, having meals with Jaquellene Dyllan. It was a proud moment when he realised that the thought didn't scare the living daylights out of him. He walked towards the kitchen, paused at the door. Turned his head around.

The sun was bright. They were going to have dinner. Jack shouldn't still have that glimmer of guilt in her eyes.

"Jack." His tone was reprimanding, yet gentle. "I'm not a wet-blanket kitten you know. Nor are you a stranger. You have the right to joke, so stop looking like you're going to keel over with guilt." Because that was what their entire relationship revolved around. Not jokes. Confessions, and truth. He would learn to handle the truth, someway or the other, because it was plain unhealthy to delude oneself like that. Also because it was Jack.

What if? What if? Jack looked up, holding her breath as her eyes met Albus' own gaze, full of sincere suspense. What else could he pile on top of all he was already asking of her? Surely, it could not get worse than a dress out in public? Jack did not know if Albus had ever looked into the subject of psychological torture, but she would have accused him of it if the subject were not such a sore one.

There it was. A fancy restaurant and everything. The whole she-bang. Jack groaned. "Anything but the French!"

Nevertheless, she looked up, grinning a little, as he began putting things away, clearing the table. There was something pleasant in the air now. How strange - something in the air was causing the mood to flip-flop between fear and tension to camaraderie and laughter. She could not explain it, nor would she want to.

She raised herself up fully, looking over at Albus. His point rang true to home, though she felt a bit ashamed that he had to say it. She smiled a bit. "You're a little kitten-esque." But she nodded, her smile briefly flickering into a serious expression, before allowing it to resume once more. "Got it," she whispered.

She had that morose, resigned look on her face, but the eyes sparkled. Somehow, Albus was inclined to doubt that Jack was really as traumatised and depressed by the idea of their dinner, as she was pretending to be. "That's a grave insult to the kings of fine dining."

Of course, her next comment caused him to widen his eyes in scandal, then smile sarcastically. "Kitten? Oh of course." It was a difficult task not to drawl on the words. "I simply live to be cuddled and play with yarn-balls." He made the mistake of looking at Jack's face, and the unreadable, yet strangely meaningful expression he found there hooked him to place. Too long. Too long. He turned, and walked into the kitchen, heartbeat a steady thump against his chest.

The utensils were dumped into the sink, the tap opened full blast. It was difficult to hear anything, much less the sound of his own thoughts. But even as he scrubbed the non-existent oil out of the plates, his voice rose up high, ridiculously calm for the fact he was about to reveal. "I visited Mungo's yesterday." He scrubbed and washed, glad for the tap to fill in the silences in between. "Ava...riella Hudson is dead. Her family claimed the body yesterday." And just as happens in high mental stress, Albus's mind occupied itself with random, phantom worries, like the possibility that Jack might not remember.