At the sound of the music, Freddie freaked out. He'd gone deaf so young that he barely remembered hearing - even in his dreams everything sounded like it was underwater - and whilst the hearing aids did help, they were more of a cue that sound was happening at all, giving him access to a handful of the frequencies he was missing. He just wasn't able to listen to music the way that most people did. That hadn't stopped him going to the club, to raves, but it was more for the ambiance, the chance to take MDMA and make out with strangers, and the vibration of the bass through the speakers. Beamed directly into his head, clear as a bell without the clumsiness of his ears to filter through, Freddie was hearing music in a way he hadn't since he was a toddler. He pressed his fingers to his ears, staring at Emmanuel wide-eyed and confused, his mouth hanging slightly open.
It took several moments for Freddie to zone back in. "Dance?" He signed, figuring that Emmanuel would understand it if he could get into his head like this. He clambered to his feet, a little awkward and uncoordinated in his disorientation. He rubbed at the back of his neck, looking between Emmanuel in the chair and the spot where he'd been sitting on the bed. He could move to a rhythm, sure, his hips were even swaying just a little now that just the sound of the music itself wasn't frazzling his brain quite so much, but it felt like some kind of test - one that Freddie was absolutely certain he was already failing. Whatever this was, it was humiliating, made Freddie's cheeks flush and burn, but he couldn't face losing points; he needed them, desperately. He could barely think and found himself chewing at the inside of his cheek, trying to ground himself.
Slowly, he lifted his jumper over his head, revealing a plain, white tank-top beneath. Freddie knew he was pretty good looking, an unpretentious, working lad's amount of muscle in his shoulders and core from days spent labouring. The blonde buzz cut didn't given him anything to stare out moodily from behind, but it did allow his bone structure, the sharp angles of cheekbones and jawline, to shine. He tried to focus on the rhythm, let the melody wash over him and focus on the bass, the way he was used to. It was difficult, feeling so observed, feeling judged and considered in a way he wasn't used to. All of his movement was uncertain, frustrating even to himself - but he had to impress. He had no idea what he was risking if he didn't. He made a bold choice, dropping into Emmanuel's lap, allowing the movement of his hips to become familiar, like he had done for Alistair on plenty of occasions. "Like this, Sir?" He signed again.
