Chapter Text
Heathcliff's countenance relaxed into a grin.
'Come, come,' he said, 'you are flurried, Mr. Lockwood. Here, take a little wine. Guests are so exceedingly rare in this house that I and my dogs, I am willing to own, hardly know how to receive them. Your health, sir!'
I bowed and returned the pledge; beginning to perceive that it would be foolish to sit sulking for the misbehaviour of a pack of curs: besides, I felt loath to yield the fellow further amusement at my expense; since his humour took that—
The music surrounding me, 15 seconds into the song, began to skip, repeating from the very beginning.
I was sucked out of my book.
My heart began to race, and I nearly dropped my book, standing from where I sat in the corner of the store.
I rushed over to the record and fixed it, placing it half of a millimetre over to the next line. The song, The Dance Is Over by the Shirelles, began to play properly.
I swallowed, sighing as I looked up, absentmindedly deciding to look out the large windows out onto the street.
I hoped no one had heard that mishap, seeing as the song was connected to the speakers both inside the record store and outside of it as well.
A man was standing out the window, looking at the record that had begun to skip.
He glanced up at me. I looked back down.
...You left me standing, at the dance alone...
I felt him still looking at me as I made sure there wasn't any dust or scratches on the record.
I glanced up again and stopped breathing.
My eyes were unable to move from his own, from his face, from the way he stood, from the way he breathed.
...You said that you would walk me home...
He was pale, pale as paper and had hair the colour of the night. With green eyes so light that they seemed almost white.
…The dance is over…
…The dance is over…
He wore a black three button mod suit, matching black pants and belt, with a white dress shirt and a black ascot wrapped around his neck.
An umbrella tucked underneath his arm, he seemed to be using it as a walking stick. Or a cane.
...And you are gone....
I took a deep breath, finally, and looked away.
Not wanting to risk looking odd, I turned, walking back to where I had been sitting before. The song continued.
I leaned over and picked my book up, setting it on the chair with a sigh.
I shouldn't be so obvious. If I were a woman, this would be different. But I'm not.
Why did he look at me like that?
He'd walked away, anyway, so it didn't matter anymore. Unlikely that I'd see him again.
I heard the bell above the door ring, but I didn't pay much attention.
I decided to go and organise some records further into the store.
As I did so, I heard my co-worker, a woman named Mary Askoy who had blonde hair, blue eyes, and a figure I shouldn't have envied, greeting the customer.
"Good morning, what can I do for you, sir?" She asked. It wasn't morning anymore, and she should have said 'good afternoon', but she wouldn't change.
He muttered something.
"They're right here," She said, voice loud over the echoing music.
She must've been talking about the records, which were in a large stack behind her. I had gone through the trouble of organising all of them, numerically, and then alphabetically.
There was a pause. I wondered if I needed to help with anything, but what would I do?
I heard the man, his voice finally loud enough. His pitch was light, his tone soft.
"What about that one, up there?" He asked.
"The Beethoven?" She asked.
"Yes, the furthest one, see?"
I walked back over to my area, a counter filled with cleaning supplies for vinyls and new needles for record players.
My counter was facing her desk, while hers faced the door. I finally looked up at the customer she was helping.
"Number seven," She said, looking him up and down as she leaned slightly to her right and got the book of records he wanted from underneath the counter.
He stared at her for a while.
It was him.
The man I had just seen out the window.
I looked back down, nervously counting the lines in the grain pattern of the wood on my desk.
I found him very, very attractive. I shouldn't have.
I wished he'd leave.
I didn't want to feel this way for a man. Not again.
"Oh," He said with a slight laugh. "You keep them down there,"
She laughed as well. "Yes," She said.
He was flirting with her. She was flirting back with him. It had happened many times.
Probably the only reason this place was still in business was because of her. Men would come inside and buy dozens of albums only to talk with her, go on a date with her and then she'd leave them.
I shifted my weight.
There was another pause. He must've been looking at her.
"Needles?" She asked.
Why'd she ask that, if he wasn't looking over here? I stayed staring at the desk, at nothing I suppose.
"No, no," He responded.
I took a deep breath, trying to not look up at him.
"Who plays the sheet music here?" He asked.
I laughed internally.
Many had used that line, as if they knew she would say she was the one who would play it.
Although we both had that job, I rarely ever had the chance to do so.
"I do," She said, and I could hear the smile on her face echoing through her words.
"Oh, you do that?"
She hummed.
"Well, would you mind... playing that for me?" He asked.
She giggled softly. I hated that sound. "Certainly," She said. "I'd be glad to,"
I rolled my eyes and turned around, leaning over to pick up some cardboard boxes of needles that needed to be opened and put into their drawers.
The music in the store continued, and I cleared my throat a bit.
I felt like I might need to clean or dust off a few more shelves before I'm able to put the respective items away. If I was getting allergies, it must be there.
I was sure she and that man were already canoodling in the room, so it didn't quite matter if I wasn't being as attentive as normal. No one else was here.
"New tune, isn't it?" I heard from behind me.
I jumped up, my heart slamming in my chest as I turned to face them.
Him.
Him, it was the man.
I swallowed nervously, my throat and mouth completely dry.
"I beg your pardon?" I said.
He seemed to smile a bit. "It's... It's a new tune,"
I smiled back.
"Oh, I didn't hear you. Yes, it just came in," I said, stomach turning. “It wa-was um, just released in April,”
He looked down a bit before looking back up at me.
"Would be nice to dance to,"
I nodded slightly.
"It is," I said. I was smiling too much. I was too excited to be talking with him, too nervous, too happy.
He glanced over at the pile of unorganised records I had on the counter for me to look through. I felt embarrassed about it.
"What's on the other side?" He asked. The other side of the record that was currently playing. The other side of the—
"It's another new one," I said, looking through the pile to try and find it.
After a moment, I found the right one.
"Would you mind playing it for me?" He asked.
I swallowed, shaking my head. "No," I said. "I wouldn't mind,"
I suppressed a smile, knowing I'd be in a room, alone with him, for at least three minutes.
I'd be able to stare at him, I'd be able to look at him up close. The room was small, and I would be standing very close to him.
He smelled heavily of cologne, and I'd be able to memorise it.
"This way," I said, turning and walking to the room we had the record player in.
I opened the door and began to set it up, taking the vinyl out of its paper and setting it in the correct order. I picked it back up and flipped it around, realising I'd placed it on the wrong side, it would just play the same one that was already playing in the store.
I didn't know where the man was, or why he was taking so long. As anxiety began to settle in my stomach, I heard the door close behind me. I breathed a soft sigh of relief, hoping it wasn't too obvious.
...I know I'll love you....
I continued fiddling with the album, setting the needle in the correct place as I felt him stand right behind me.
My heart wouldn't stop fluttering. He was standing there for a short amount of time, and then moved— I noticed he had a limp– and sat in the booth sofa to the right of me.
...Until the end...
I turned to face him.
Sitting on the floor next to him was a large pile of albums for me to play for him.
...The dance is over...
At least three hours worth of music and songs.
I looked at the pile, then back at him.
...The dance is over ...And you are gone...