The Importance of Hugs

Sometimes the difference between good and evil comes in the form of a simple expression of affection.

Sometimes it doesn't.

Sometimes, the villain is a person slighted his (or her) whole life, and all he (or she) ever really wanted was just proof that someone actually cared for his (or her) soul.

Sometimes, the villain is just a villain.

Sometimes, when there's a young man sitting at a table in the coffee shop, he is crying because he was just rejected by the last graduate school on his list, and his brilliant girlfriend dumped him because he was "holding her back" and his brother just committed suicide two months, three weeks, and four days ago.

Sometimes, he's crying tears of anger and frustration because his minions have left him, and his plans are falling apart. Not that he cares about the grunts, just that this makes it ten times harder to take over the world.

Sometimes, there is a person (often a mother) who puts a hand on the shoulder of the young man and offers them a handkerchief.

Often, the patrons look away uncomfortably and let the man cry.

Mostly, people try to ignore those who are most in need of attention.

And sometimes, even a handkerchief is not enough, anyway.

But, once in a very long while, there is a person who will take the young man by the shoulders and embrace him -- and she (or he) will tell the young man that everything will be okay, even if it won't.

Sometimes, that hug doesn't matter.

Sometimes, it does.

Inspiration: My friend's conversation with his girlfriend about why hugs are important.

Tobias

Music filled the room, bouncing off the walls and people until all Tobie could hear was a cacophony of instruments, each timbre indistinguishable from the overall mash of sound. He was on the dance floor with a fairy named Tabby (his friends thought that was clever), moving to what he thought was the rhythm. It was hard to hear, to be honest.

That annoyed Tobie a little — if everyone would just shut up they might be able to hear the music properly — but he let roll off his back. The important part was that he was dancing, and he was enjoying himself. Tammy—Tabby—seemed to be enjoying herself too, though she was shouting something at him that he couldn’t quite hear.

He leaned forward and mouthed, “What?”

She laughed and pulled his ear so close to her mouth that he swore she got lipstick on it.

“Do you want to get something to eat?”

He didn’t, really, but they had been dancing a while. She was probably getting tired.

“Sure,” he said into her ear.

She smiled, and her violet eyes caught the light beautifully. They twined through the crowd, clasping hands quickly after they almost got separated by the couples that were in their own little world.

“Whew,” Tabby breathed, letting go of his hand.

They had finally reached the refreshments, which were on the other side of the room. They weren’t the only people there; a decent crowd had gathered around the table. Exhausted couples taking a break from dancing, hopeful fairies standing by themselves and looking for someone to dance with, and some older fairies that had come to Mercel’s birthday party to be polite.

The music was a little quieter here, but Tobie couldn’t keep his foot from tapping anyway as Tabby leaned against the table and selected a raw vegetable to place between her shining red lips. To be polite, Tobie picked up the first thing his eyes landed on — a cracker with Sanjado cheese on it — and ate it. His eyes were still fixed on the dancing fairies, which Tabby noticed.

“I’m knackered,” she said, letting her hand run down his arm. “You go on and dance. Maybe I’ll find you later.”

He grinned at her.

“You’re a doll,” he said, kissing her hand and jogging back to the dance floor.

He found a girl lingering on the edge of the dance floor and asked her to dance. She had just been ditched by her date, so she accepted thankfully. His right hand found the small of her back with a practiced modesty, and her right hand gripped his. In seconds, they were spinning around the floor.

She was almost as good a dancer as he was, but she was much more careless. He adjusted his steps to hers, and they moved as a unit, twirling around other couples. He dipped her, and she laughed; he spun her, and she grinned. They danced for the rest of the night.

When it was over, he walked her home. She gave him a goodnight kiss on the cheek, but he didn’t ask her name. Because, he was Tobie. He would have had just as good of a time dancing by himself.

And, in fact, he did that quite a lot. It was just harder to practice some of the steps without a partner.

Inspiration: The name Tobie. Some Mozart l'Opera Rock influences. Tobie is a new, in-the-works character for a story I've got stewing around in my head.