How was Alan supposed to hear a story like that and not just have his heart broken by it? But he needed to be strong and encouraging and help her see the light and not just this swallowing darkness. “That was long ago,” he told her. “Every year medical science gets better and better, and-” he added, casting a glance to where Apollo was driving in the front seat “-you have your Musagetes right here with you this time. You know that he’ll never let anything happen to you.”
To underline these words, Apollo reached back through the seats, his hand stroking down Melpomene’s arm until he found her hand, and squeezed it tightly. He gave Alan a look of approval through the rear view mirror, brief but meaningful before he turned his attention back to the road. “We’re not far, either, and they’re waiting for us,” he promised. “Give us another song, Alan.”
Me thought Melpomene faintly, gripping Apollo’s hand though she turned her face toward Alan’s stomach. Not us. Me.
Alan wanted to put a fist through the driver’s seat but very maturely didn’t. Instead he focused only on Melpomene. The song was only for her, and not her arrogant lord.
“Early one morning, the sun was shining, I was laying in bed, wondering if she'd changed it all, if her hair was still red…” It was so easy to notice how many songs in his repertoire were about love and lost love when trying to sing them for someone he was failing to get over.