Page 128 of The Fake Divination Offense
After that, the evening folds into more songs and drinks and food, laughter and dancing. Bel’s at the focus of it all, both with the crowd and my attention.
Seb and Thio make their way back over, and we’re all cracking up about nothing, then a bit bemused when Phei does a song in their rock form. Just a pile of rocks on the stage while the instrumentals for “Sweet Caroline” play on.
Darian follows it up with a few Queen songs before Bel hops on stage and queues up Taylor Swift’s “I Can Do It With a BrokenHeart,” and this time he does sing his soul out, pain bleeding into the words.
The song ends, fading in applause, and I climb up next to him.
Bel’s eyes are teary from his performance, and I swoop him into a hug, earning ripples ofawwfrom the audience. I hold him long enough to feel his muscles relax, and when I pull back, he’s smiling again, but it’s soft and small and vulnerable.
I take the mic from him. “My turn.”
Behind us on the stage, Darian groans. I ignore him and scroll through the karaoke machine.
I want Bel to smile again. To get back to that place of thoughtless fun, of freedom.
An older song pops up and a grin lights my face.
Bel’s next to me, so he sees what I choose. A confused laugh huffs out of him. “What—”
But I hit play. Flute notes fill the bar, silencing everyone’s chatter for an equally confused beat. They all look up at me with expectant smiles.
I sway to the music, pulling on an overly serious expression and holding the mic to my chest. The music swells, and I flip my eyes up, going as over-the-top cheesy as I can, and sing “My Heart Will Go On.”
Bel claps his hands to his mouth to stifle his giddy shriek. Darian muffles a curse but laughs, and as I sweep my arm out wide, really hamming it up, the crowd devolves into snorts and cackles of laughter.
Sheer delight gleams in Bel’s eyes, all heavy emotions gone, and it’s fuel on this absurdity fire. I pivot to serenade him, pairing off-key words of maudlin love with completely inappropriate body rolls. Soon, he’s holding back tears, choking on laughter, and I break with a wide smirk.
The lyrics get a little heavier suddenly, a little more real. Lovecanlast for a lifetime. And it doesn’t matter where he goes; near, far, I’m with him.
Bel catches my transition, the moment things go from jokingto promise. His hands lower from his mouth and his laugh slants at the edges, eyes going liquid and adoring.
The music ripples into a lull between verses, and my chest warms.
I hadn’t meant to get emotional again. I wanted him to smile.
I clear my throat, the harsh grate of it echoing in the mic, and Bel breaks out of his trance with a nose-scrunching grin.
He snatches the mic from me. The final verse kicks up and he plummets to his knees.
I can’t help the winded grunt that comes from the very pit of my stomach at the sight.
He arches his torso back and belts out the words, giving Celine Dion a run for her money by perfectly hitting each note, heaving his entire self into the performance like he so expertly does. The crowdloses it, whistling and screaming, and Bel feeds off their energy by holding the last note impossibly long until I’m sure the bar’s noise can be heard all up and down the street.
The music fades out and Bel collapses forward in a bow on his knees. The applause is a torrent and I see more than a few people recording us; this is a private event, but I know the odds are good that some of this will end up online.
I take the mic from him and say, over the noise, “Remember to keep dancing.”
If we stage a fake ritual and it tricks the cultists into thinking Bel isn’t what they need, he’ll be able to see his cousins again.
Bel’s head flies up. His big eyes fix on me, chest heaving from the song.
He scrambles to his feet, grabs my hand, and hauls me offstage.
I pass the mic to Darian and go, of course I go. He’s smiling again, I’m gone.
Everyone’s rippling apart, alcohol and the lateness of the night peeling away inhibitions. The room is sweaty, people holding each other on their feet in intoxicated clusters or coupling up; I spot Aaron and Marlow making out in a recessed alcove. Go them.
Bel pulls me down a side hall and pins me against the wall near the restroom.
