People love to say that honesty comes easily under the influence.
Amy wasn't foreign to that idea. After all, if she could dirty-dance in front of a crowd without a second thought, surely singing wouldn't be any harder. She was a natural.
Yes, it had been a while- but still.
So when someone announced an impromptu singing competition, Amy signed herself up without hesitation. Full of liquid confidence, giggling at the thought of stunning Elijah. Of proving- to him, to the world and to herself- that she still had it.
But when her name was called, and she stepped onto the stage with a microphone in her hand-
She froze.
It wasn't just her voice that failed her.
It was her body. Her breath. Her courage.
Everything locked at once.
Don't make me drag you down from there! Elijah signed furiously from the crowd, fear etched across his face.
First started the murmurs, the awkward laughter, the crowd growing impatient…
Then dominated the boos. Scattered at first. Then louder.
Amy barely registered them. She was still so excited to sing. She had bragged about her beautiful voice all night long. She just needed a second. Just one.
"What did I miss?" Malcolm asked as he reached Elijah, already sensing something was wrong.
Elijah pointed at the stage- at Amy, standing there trembling, tears streaking down her face now, the microphone clenched like a lifeline. It was obvious that she can't sing aloud.
Malcolm's eyes widened. "How did that happen?"
"She wanted to sing," Elijah replied shortly. "Just- please help her down."
Malcolm didn't know what the right thing was. He only knew standing still would make it worse. So he climbed onto the stage, the crowd cheering now- not for Amy, but for resolution.
"Amy?" he called gently, stepping into her line of sight.
She didn't hear him.
She couldn't hear him.
Because hearing him would mean she wasn't singing.
And not singing would mean she failed. She crouched down, covering her ears.
"Hey," Malcolm tried again, crouching to her level.
This time, she heard him.
I still can't sing, Amy signed, forgetting- completely- that only Elijah understood her. Malcolm didn't correct her though. He just nodded.
Even after all these years, she signed again, hands shaking, I still can't face a crowd.
Malcolm didn't understand the words- but he understood the grief. So he opened his arms.
Amy broke. She buried her face into his suit jacket as the crowd erupted into cheers, misunderstanding the moment entirely.
"Can you stand?" Malcolm whispered.
She nodded. Barely.
Minutes later, the party resumed. Music thumped. Laughter returned. Dancing battles broke out like nothing had happened- like Amy hadn't unraveled on that very stage.
After a cold shower and more water than she could stomach, Amy was sober enough to realize she wasn't back in her apartment. Her purse had been stolen earlier that night- along with her key card.
"Are you feeling a little better?" April asked softly, appearing with a bowl of hot spicy chicken soup and handed it to her before sitting next to her.
"Malcolm and Elijah filled me in." Started April gently but, Amy's hand on her lap made her confused.
Then Amy shook her head. She didn't want to talk about it.
"You don't want to talk about it?" April confirmed gently.
Amy nodded.
So April didn't push. She went back to the series she'd been watching before Amy was brought in.
It didn't take long for exhaustion to claim her after drinking the soup. Amy fell asleep on the couch beside April, body curled inward, defenses down.
What startled April was the sound that came next.
Amy was singing.
Soft. Fragile. Achingly beautiful.
April almost called the boys. Then almost reached for her phone. But both felt wrong. Intrusive. Like stealing something sacred.
The melody was sad. Amy's face was wet with tears even in sleep.
So April did the only thing that felt right.
She stayed.
And she listened.