The warmth of dinner hadn’t yet faded when Niffty rushed into the kitchen clutching a rag.
“Dirty!
It’s dirty here, it’s dirty there!
Great, I can wipe it all!”
She screamed with delight as she lunged at the counter, her rag flying so fast it looked like it might catch fire.
Halfway through, a cockroach tried to flee along the baseboard, but she was quick as lightning, pinning it down with a fork.
Charlie was putting the leftover potato mash into the fridge while Vaggie sorted the utensils.
Vaggie didn’t forget to voice her disdain for the giant pot Alastor had left behind.
“I suggest we just bury this thing.”
“But the pot is still good,” Charlie said.
“I feel like it’ll never be clean again,” Vaggie remarked, throwing up her hands.
Angel already had one foot out the door, planning to slip away in the chaos.
Moon turned off the faucet and saw him just as he turned around.
“Angel.”
Angel froze.
Moon picked up a clean towel and tossed it directly at him.
The towel landed perfectly, draping right over his face.
“Since you ate the food, you might as well help dry the plates.”
“Mmph—hey!”
Angel pulled the towel off his face.
His multiple hands got into a bit of a tangle, nearly tripping him.
He opened his mouth to snap back, but then he saw Moon had already turned the water back on, leaving half the space at the sink open for him—naturally including him in the task.
“Tch.”
The spider grumbled but slowly shuffled back, squeezing in at the counter.
“I’m only doing this because I’m afraid you’ll wrinkle those piano-playing hands of yours.
If they get ruined, Charlie will cry herself to death.
Pass the plates over.
If you dare break one, I’ll…
I’ll sign it and sell it to you.”
“That sounds like a real bargain.”
Moon smiled as he handed him a freshly rinsed porcelain plate.
For the next twenty minutes, the kitchen turned into an efficient assembly line.
Niffty was responsible for polishing everything that could be moved; Moon handled the washing; Angel was in charge of drying, his four hands displaying incredible efficiency; Charlie and Vaggie put things back in their places.
Even Alastor took a look at the scene before he left, using his magic to clear away some stubborn, years-old grime—accompanied, of course, by a few eerie canned-radio laughs and a comment about health inspection ratings.
“Geez, that’s more exhausting than shooting a three-hour film.”
Vaggie added from the side, “At least you don’t have to fake it for this.”
Charlie nearly dropped the fork in her hand.
“Vaggie!”
“What?
Did I say something wrong?”
Angel rolled his eyes, not bothering to argue.
Moon dried his own hands and rolled his sleeves back down.
“Doesn’t feel bad, though, does it?”
Angel didn’t look at him.
“Maybe.”
He looked down at his palms, then suddenly spoke again, his voice low so the others wouldn’t hear.
“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask.”
“Yes?”
“That song you played earlier…
what’s it called?”
The dim overhead light reflected in his heterochromatic eyes, stripped of their usual flamboyant mask.
Moon leaned against the opposite cabinet.
“*Melody of the Night*.”
“Night…
ha, pretty straightforward.”
Angel gave a light chuckle.
“It was nice.
Really.”
“To receive such a review from Mr.
Angel…
it seems the piece truly has its merits.”
“Don’t call me that all the time.
I mean…
in private.”
He suddenly interrupted Moon, his eyes darting away.
“Anthony.
That’s my real name.
Though I haven’t used it in a long time.”
This was the weight of trust.
“Alright, Anthony.”
Moon changed his form of address naturally, his tone steady as ever.
Anthony seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, turning his gaze toward the eternally crimson sky outside the window.
“You know?
That kind of music…
it’s dangerous.”
“How so?”
“It makes people want to sleep.”
He gave a dry laugh.
Beneath the glamorous exterior lay a bone-deep exhaustion.
“I have insomnia.
The serious kind.
No matter how many pills I take or how much I drink, the moment I close my eyes, all those messy sounds and images start buzzing around like flies.”
He glanced back at Moon.
“So, if you hear movement in the hallway in the middle of the night, don’t blast me with a gun.
It’s just me wandering around because I can’t sleep.”
Moon stood a bit straighter, not lingering on the heavy topic.
“I don’t have a gun.”
Anthony blinked.
“Pfft—fine.
I guess you get a ‘good person card’ for now.”
Moon smiled as well.
“Walking is a good habit.
However, if you happen to pass through the hall, you might find that the sound of a piano in the dead of night has a flavor all its own.”
Anthony took a moment to process the meaning behind the words.
Then, his eyes curved into a beautiful arc, regaining a bit of his usual cynical flair, but this time with a hint of genuine warmth.
“Is that so?
Then I really ought to go and give it a proper listen.”
He pulled the towel off his shoulder, tossed it back onto the counter, straightened his clothes, and walked out.
At the door, he paused for a moment without turning around.
“Thanks, Moon.
I mean, for the potatoes.”
Moon waited until the sound of him heading upstairs faded around the corner of the staircase before turning off the kitchen lights.
He surrendered the kitchen entirely to the darkness.