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Hershel woke up with a curious, happy feeling in his chest. As he opened his eyes, he knew that this day would be a good one.
And yet, outside, the rain was heavy; raindrops tapped harshly against the windows and the pavement down in the streets. The sky remained dark, it was cold, even in the houses, and most would guess the sun would not show up at any point during the day.
Hershel didn't mind at all. On the contrary, he always greatly enjoyed hearing the rain outside while he stayed comfortably warm in his home. He knew that Luke, on the other hand, was not fond of it, as the sounds of wind and rain against the roofs tended to wake him up, and then he would fear the rain would turn into a storm, which he was also rather afraid of, though he always adamantly denied it.
Which was why Hershel had made breakfast at a rather early hour for a half-awake Luke, who had been muttering under his breath about the constantly bad London weather; at least in Misthallery, he said while Hershel finished cooking his porridge, the constant fog made the landscapes beautiful; and what could they possibly do in such rainy weather? When they had planned to do so much this weekend!
Hershel didn't know yet what they would do, but they would eventually find something to busy themselves with. Every puzzle has an answer, after all, that he did know.
Nothing would deter Hershel's rather good mood, today, it seemed, so he had simply given Luke some puzzles to distract him; and Luke rightfully answered them all, giving his own puzzles in turn, and, predictably, they were so distracted that Luke's breakfast ended up dragging on for a long time—it was already past ten o'clock when the boy finished his meal.
And then, when they were done with the dishes and had cleaned up the kitchen, Luke asked again:
“What are we going to do today, since we're staying home?”
“I’m sure we'll find something to do,” Hershel simply replied.
He headed for the living room and heard Luke's small, hurried footsteps following behind him.
Hershel looked around his living room, analysing each piece of furniture one by one almost methodically. They could play board games, stored more or less haphazardly in his shelves, praying that none of them had missing pieces; or they could spend some more hours solving puzzles—he knew that both he and Luke could easily keep themselves occupied for a whole day. Or they could read a book, each on their own, sitting quietly on the sofa, or watch television, or listen to the radio...
Or maybe they could listen to one of his vinyl records. Luke played the violin, after all; he knew the boy greatly enjoyed music. Hershel didn't have a huge collection, but maybe that could keep them busy for a while.
Having this idea, Hershel was suddenly struck by another one.
A crazy idea, perhaps a little eccentric for Professor Layton; but on this fine day, this rainy Sunday, which he was spending with his dear friend, he was just Hershel.
And Hershel had decided to dance.
A smile came to his lips as he walked over to his record player. Luke asked him what he was doing, watching him walk across the room.
“We're going to dance, Luke.”
“Excuse me!?”
The boy had almost shouted, definitely not expecting this answer, and Hershel had to repress a laugh. He looked through his collection of records, running his fingers over them, looking for music that appealed to him. Luke, still a bit stunned by his suggestion, eventually joined him at his side.
“You practically only have classical music, Professor,” said Luke, looking at his collection. “Are we really going to dance to this?”
“Of course. We could dance the waltz.”
“What? But I don't know how to waltz!”
Hershel turned towards him, feigning indignation, although he knew he couldn't hide the glint of amusement in his eyes, nor in his voice, as he replied:
“Come now, Luke, a true gentleman must know that. If you don't, then that's all the more reason for us to dance!”
“B-but... Professor...!”
The poor boy was at a loss for words, unable to do anything but watch his mentor pick up a vinyl record, place it gently on the turntable, and put the needle on the disc. The music started up amid crackling sounds, and the first piano notes echoed through the room.
Hershel proceeded to make some room by moving the sofa, then the armchair and coffee table as far as he could; then he turned to Luke, who hadn’t moved an inch, looking both embarrassed and horrified, clearly not knowing what to do. Hershel held out his hand. Luke stared at it with wide eyes before stammering:
“W-well... I guess I must learn... As a gentleman...!”
Luke finally stepped towards Hershel, with the hesitation and grace of a lamb just learning to stand on its four legs. The boy had never learned to dance, and this embarrassment was clearly visible on his face; but still he raised his head high, determined to learn this gentleman’s dance, tried to smooth the strands of hair on his forehead, hid his apprehension as best he could, and finally took his hand.
Hershel took a step back, then another, and Luke followed him.
The waltz was a dance with a precise rhythm, precise steps and equally precise hand positions; but it was still a relatively simple dance to learn. Hershel showed him where to put his hands—with their difference in height, they had to slightly adapt—told him where to put his feet—slide to the right, then again and again so they traced circles with their steps—and counted aloud—one, two, three—to show him the rhythm.
But Luke was so afraid of doing it wrong that he kept his head down, staring at their feet, confused about what to do; he stepped back when he shouldn't, moved either too fast or too slow, stepped multiple times on Hershel’s feet, and apologised constantly without paying attention to what Hershel was even telling him.
As Luke apologised for the umpteenth time, Hershel asked:
“May I give you a tip, Luke?”
“Er, yes, what is it?” he replied, his eyes still looking down.
“The secret to not stepping on someone's foot, Luke, is to not look at their foot.”
“Huh?”
The boy finally looked up, his expression resembling that of a frightened deer, and Hershel had to make every effort not to laugh.
“Don't look where you're stepping,” he continued. “Instead, you should focus on my rhythm.”
“Your rhythm...? Ah, uh, yes, of course!”
“Perhaps you could try counting to three yourself. It might help you get in sync with the music.”
So Luke began to count aloud, but, to Hershel's regret, alas, it was almost worse. He was now concentrating solely on counting, as if he were afraid of forgetting how to; his steps were no longer coordinated, and Hershel felt more like he was dragging him along than anything else.
“Luke, I know you have a better sense of rhythm than that,” he said, slightly teasing him, “you’re a violinist, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but I’m under a lot of stress right now!” the boy cried.
This time, Hershel couldn't help but chuckle.
“It's not funny, Professor!”
“Of course. Sorry. I'm not laughing, my boy.”
But his apology must not have been very convincing, as Luke scowled back at him, the kind of glare he rarely saw from him—or rather specifically directed at Hershel—which, to be quite honest, mostly amused Hershel rather than impress him; it was a look that said, ‘had it been anyone else, you'd be dead by now’.
Even though it was merely a meaningless dance, just the two of them having fun on a Sunday morning, with no one watching and all the mistakes they could make without a care in the world, Luke was always so earnest in everything he did, always striving to do his best; if the waltz was a gentleman's dance, if it was his professor who had invited him to do it, then he had to give it his all.
Perhaps Hershel shouldn’t have told him that every true gentleman must know the waltz, if the boy were to put so much pressure on himself.
In any case, he had to keep a straight face, now, if he wanted Luke to listen to him, so he dropped his teasing and said, much more sincerely:
“Luke, I know you can do it, but you're probably putting too much pressure on yourself. Take a deep breath. This dance isn't as difficult as you might think. Besides, your audience, today, is only me. There's no one here to judge you.”
Luke kept a serious expression on his face, but he nodded, and took a deep breath. He listened to the music for a few more instants, concentrating intently on its range and cadence, before finally resuming the dance. This time, it was Hershel who was following his steps, careful not to break his focus.
At some point, Luke no longer looked where he was stepping, instead looking sometimes at Hershel, sometimes to the side, even stopping counting aloud, instead humming the repetitive melody of the waltz; his face relaxed with each step, and, finally, their dance took shape to resemble something.
Finally, one could say that this really was a dance. They moved gently along to the music, and Hershel even managed to spin Luke around, to the sound of his giggles, the boy finally allowing himself to relax now that he understood how the waltz worked. Now he was having fun. He let himself get distracted sometimes; and it didn't matter at all. They weren't on one of their investigations, which Luke always took very seriously—how many times had he told Emmy to stop joking around, when the poor girl had only wanted to lighten the mood a little!—and he wasn't at school either, where his talents would be quantified by a reductive grade.
It was just a dance, plain and simple. Luke laughed, hummed joyously, and when Hershel congratulated him on mastering the dance so quickly, his whole face lit up, motivating him to put even more energy into his dance—Hershel had to remind him not to forget the rhythm, though, and Luke apologized, laughing again.
“You know, I had a dream one night where you and Emmy were dancing the waltz together,” Luke said out of the blue, still smiling bright.
“Is that so?”
They danced a few more steps.
“It must have been a nice dream,” Hershel commented.
“Hmm, maybe at first, yes, but then you both turned to stone, the Masked Gentleman was chasing me, and then I turned to stone too. So it wasn't very pleasant, to be honest.”
The Masked Gentleman?
Was Luke still having bad dreams about what had happened almost two years ago? Or was he talking about an old dream?
Before Hershel could react, however, Luke continued:
“But that's ancient history, and anyway, what I wanted to say was that it was as if my brain had just guessed that you knew how to waltz! Well, you know how to do pretty much anything anyway, so I guess it's not that surprising, really.”
Hershel let out a soft laugh at that, forgetting the questions that had popped into his mind just seconds earlier. He spun Luke around before replying:
“That's not true, my boy. There are lots of things I can't do.”
“Oh yeah? Like what, for example?”
“Many sports, to begin with. Surfing, for example. For the sake of my hat, it’s probably best I don’t start, anyhow.”
“You could just take off your hat to surf, you know!”
“Now, don’t be ridiculous, Luke.”
There were many things Hershel wasn't great at; although he knew the basics of cooking, he was far from being an expert; mathematics, and sciences in general, although it could be enjoyable in the context of puzzles, were not necessarily his strong point... Hershel sometimes took jokes too literally; he was incapable of tidying his university office, his flat, or, for that matter, any place he found himself in; he sometimes found it difficult not to be distracted by puzzles when he really shouldn’t be.
Luke was probably aware of most of his mentor’s shortcomings by now. But perhaps they didn't matter to him anyway. To him, he was still Professor Layton, no matter what.
The music finally came to an end, and another began very soon; Luke pulled on his arm so they could continue dancing.
“I know this one!” he exclaimed. “It'll be easier for me, I think!”
Hershel didn't know if him knowing the piece really mattered, but Luke was now doing much better anyway. The waltz wasn't a very complicated dance; he wasn't at all surprised that he had been able to learn it so quickly.
They ended up dancing for a good while, though they also took time for a few breaks, as the poor boy easily got dizzy, before going back to twirling around in Hershel's small living room. Hershel didn't regret teaching him, despite the rocky start; if there was one thing to regret, it was not having taught him sooner. Luke laughed, joked and chatted as naturally as could be, when just a few moments earlier, he had been horrified at even the simple thought of having to dance; and now he showed the same joy that had filled Hershel's heart when he got up that morning.
It was, most definitely, a good day. How grateful he was to spend it with Luke.
And whenever the music stopped, Luke kept asking for another song so they could dance again and again—and even when the boy grew bored of the waltz and its classical music, and decided they should switch to more popular music and dance the twist instead, Hershel couldn't possibly refuse him.