Fic: Please Don't Take My Sunshine Away

[doec]

Title: Please Don't Take My Sunshine Away
Author: Doec
Rating: PG
Synopsis: Young Harry Dresden arrives at Morningway Estate, and begins an unlikely friendship


11 year old Harry Dresden looks up at the tall ghost of a man who is to be his teacher, feeling very nervous and frightened. After Justin left the two to get acquainted and get started, Hrothbert is eerily silent, regarding his new assignment. He's certain he isn't going to like it. Neither of them knows quite how to begin.

“Very well, if I'm expected to help you hone your skills it seems as though one of us ought to do the speaking, and that person may as well be me,” the ghost observes, pacing the room. “Have a seat, we'll see what you already know.”

“Not much,” Harry admits, his ears turning pink, a sinking feeling developing in his stomach.

Hrothbert makes a disgusted face, closing his eyes with a sneer. “Then we shall start at the beginning.”

Harry finds a chair and sits, waiting to be dropped into this strange new world. He'd sufficiently had the rug pulled out from under him and he was willing to accept anything at this point. He fidgets nervously, stammering, “Yes, Professor Hrothbert? Sir?”

The accused opens his eyes at this form of address. The boy actually sounded respectful. Still, he checks himself against showing emotion. To be spoken to like a human being was something he'd almost forgotten about. He purses his lips, fiddling with the metal cuffs around his wrists, his bonds of servitude. He looks at the boy again, hoping that his master's heir may make a better master himself someday. Not if Justin had his way, of course. He'd soon find young Harry shaped into a veritable double of the man he dreaded.

“Perhaps, rather than grill you on what little you already know, you can show me what you can do,” he suggests, hoping to stall for time as he writes up a passable lesson plan in his head. How Morningway expected him to be able to begin instructing the child upon arrival, he had no idea. Just a perk of being able to boss him around. He was bound to obey, even if it wasn't clear how to do it yet.

Harry seemed pleased with this order, and turned his eyes on a stack of books in the back of the room. Clutching his shield bracelet for luck, he floats the topmost book off the stack and across the room. For the sake of showing off a bit, he opens it in front of his new teacher and turns a page.

“Very good,” Hrothbert remarks, staring at the open book. It wasn't one he would have expressly chosen, but he'd been unable to actually read something in a conventional way for so long. Harry has no way of knowing what he'd just done, he certainly looks confused at his teacher's reaction. Usually his levitation tricks only ever made his father angry or upset.

“Now set it down. Can you do that without dropping it?”

Again, Harry's face contorts in concentration as he gently lowers the book onto a nearby table. He smiles up at the man, looking quite pleased with himself.

For a moment, the old ghost's permanent scowl disappears, it almost looks like he's smiling back. “Very good, Master Dresden,” he repeats. “You'll be able to do more than that when I'm through with you.”

The way the boy was looking at him unsettled him. Could it be that his were the first kind words he'd heard since his father's death? Oh, he's certain that Justin would have done everything he could to lure the boy in, but kindness was not in his vocabulary. He can appear generous, even agreeable at times, but kindness...is impossible to fake.

“Thank you, sir. I can't wait!”

Then he can tell for sure, it's not just a twitch or a trick of the light, the ghost actually smiles at him, wholly approving his enthusiasm for his new direction in life. By now, Hrothbert had had sufficient time to find a good starting-off point, the where and how to begin solved in those moments he'd bought.

For four hours every day, Harry is to be holed up in the classroom, learning magic. In his first lesson he learns of his impressive family lineage, what it means to live up to it, what's expected of him: all were required materials from his uncle. But additionally, he learns the importance of patience, focus, control. He is taught he must ignore his bloodlust and desire for revenge, neither of which are completely quelled but the way his schoolmaster talks about it, he knows it's important to bury down if he wants to be a decent wizard.

That night, Harry can't sleep. He keeps having nightmares about his father. About the day he died, only worse. So much worse. He gets out of bed and goes out into the hall. His uncle's room is a few doors down, but he doesn't feel right going to him with his bad dreams. Impressive of a man as he is, something doesn't feel right. Instead, Harry scurries barefoot through the mansion to the classroom, where he picks up the skull from its resting place and curls up against it on the floor. He liked his teacher already, surly demeanor notwithstanding. Somehow this felt safer.

“You'll catch cold if you do that,” a strangely gentle voice tells him.

Harry's eyes open wide, he'd just been dozing off and was now awake again! He stares into the glittering green eyes of his new mentor, fearful of his displeasure.

“Sorry, sir. I didn't hurt it. I just wanted...I...I had a bad dream, I couldn't get back to sleep,” Harry splutters nervously.

Hrothbert stares at the skull in the boy's hands. How he held it to his chest like a teddy bear. “Just be careful with it,” he says. “Put it back.”

For a second, it looks like the boy doesn't want to. He clutches it tighter, bringing his face down to it. The gesture nearly melts the dead man's heart. This poor, frightened orphan chose to come to him for comfort, for safety from his troubled dreams. Then Harry does as he's told, putting it back where he found it, sniffling a little.

“I'm sorry, sir. That probably looked weird.”

“No one has ever done that before,” the ghost admits. He knew then what he must do. He must protect the boy in any way he can. If Harry has chosen him to be his rock and guide, then he'll do his damnedest to live up to it. He only hopes that he may be worthy of such an honor.

“When I had bad dreams before, I'd get into bed with my dad. He made me feel safer, so I could sleep,” Harry admits. Mentioning his father looks painful, he's in danger of giving way to tears.

“You must miss him,” Hrothbert says, feeling uncharacteristically sympathetic. What innocent child deserves not only to have his parents taken from him but to come to live in this awful, god-forsaken place? The boy doesn't realize it yet, but the latter part simply adds insult to injury in Hrothbert's opinion.

Harry nods, reaching for the skull again and then drawing his hand back guiltily. That's all the ghost can stand. For that second, he completely forgets his curse and kneels before the boy, holding his arms out to hug him. Harry eagerly springs forward, and cold disappointment hits them both as he passes through the man. Disgusted with himself, Hrothbert rights himself, looking at the boy shuddering on the floor.

“I'm sorry, Master Dresden. I...forgot. I...I just wanted...I forgot.” How badly he wanted to press the boy into his body, to hold him fast, to feel his warm cheeks against his. Just to comfort him, to reassure him that everything would be okay. Hrothbert snarled in self-loathing, clapping a hand over his mouth.

Harry is unhurt, and recovering from the shock. He stands, hoisting himself up by the tabletop. He gives his teacher a sad look, seeming to understand the man's disappointment, and as a form of consolation he nuzzles his forehead against the skull.

“Stop it, stop it,” Hrothbert commands, unaccustomed to such things. In his hellish after-life, he'd never endured such treatment. “Please,” he adds, almost pitifully. The action tugs at his nonexistent heart and his breath comes in strange gulps. “You'd...you'd better get off to bed, Master Dresden. You shouldn't be wandering around this drafty old place with bare feet, you'll catch your death.”

Strangely, this makes Harry laugh. A ghost warning him against catching his death. It takes Hrothbert a second to realize that he'd made a joke, then he gives him a rare, tight smile himself. He's had precious little reason to smile since his death and prolonged cursed state, and this boy has made him do it three times already. Hrothbert is surprised that he even remembers how to do it. How it lightens his heart, even temporarily! This boy is truly a blessing in his gilded cage.

“Go on. Your mother's shields will protect you from anything lurking in your dreams. Good night.”

“Good night, Professor.”

A few weeks pass, and Harry is getting on well enough in both his lessons and in his adjustment to his new home. He and his uncle rarely speak, except for regular reports of his training. He never asks after the child's personal well-being, never asks if he's happy here, or seems to care that he's grieving for his father under the strangest of circumstances. Then, one day, he enters the classroom mid-lecture.

“Harry, I'm going to be out of town for the next week or so. Business. Don't let him burn down the house,” he adds to the ghost before ducking out again.

“Does he do that a lot?”

Not nearly often enough, Hrothbert thinks, unable to say it. He'd been expressly forbidden from being too free with his opinions. “Your uncle is an important man,” is all he can say before launching back into the lecture.

At the end of it, Harry runs down to the kitchen to raid the pantry. The housekeeper looks on with an indulging smile. She'd made extra preparations for Morningway's time away from home and was glad to give the boy what treats she can. As his takings mount higher on the counter, she taps him on the shoulder and hands him a large wicker basket to haul his booty in. Filled with cookies, apples, pies and cupcakes, it nearly weighs more than he can carry. He shoves in a whole quart bottle of chocolate milk and trots back upstairs to the classroom. The housekeeper watches after him, making a mental note to tidy up after the child's indoor picnic.

He grabs some books he'd been given as required reading materials, sets up his feast in a wide semicircle around him and lies on the floor on his stomach, legs kicking the air contentedly.

“Quite a spread you've managed to get your sticky little hands on, Master Dresden,” Hrothbert observes with the shadow of a grin. He's pleased to see the boy has such interest in his studies that he'll even pursue it in his spare time. “Take care not to smear the pages.”

“You know, you can stop calling me that. It makes me feel really weird. You can just call me Harry if you want.”

“Very well, Harry,” he says, wincing slightly as the boy scatters crumbs over the old grimoire. “It's good to see you taking your lessons so seriously.”

“Are you kidding? This stuff is so cool! Man, if my dad knew any of this...” he trails off as a cold, empty feeling settles inside him. He scrunches his face up against the horrible feelings he's still coping with.

“Harry, as a bit of an expert on the subject of death, may I offer some advice?”

“Sure,” Harry mumbles into his sleeve, determined not to start crying again.

“It's normal to feel this way after losing someone close to you, it's healthy. If you bury your pain, it will only be worse when you finally let yourself experience it. Mourn him properly, then the healing can start,” the ghost sagely advises, wishing once again with all his heart that he could take the boy into his arms. It seems to be an ironic twist to the curse, that he's still able to experience affection but be unable to act upon it the impulses it brings. “You'll hurt for some time, I'm sure, a father is someone you cannot ever replace, but the pain will lessen day by day. Find a way to remember him, think how happy he might be to be reunited with your mother.”

Harry sniffles, wiping his eyes with a vengeance. “It helps to come up here,” he admits. “When I'm with you I don't miss him so bad. I think...I think he'd be glad to know I'm here and that...that I'm not all alone. That I've got you...sir.”

Again, the young wizard's words twist their way into Hrothbert's heart. He had no idea the boy had grown so attached to him this quickly, and is glad that they have several days together without fear of interruption by Justin. Now he wishes he had another name to give him, to offer in return for Harry's allowed familiarity. He'd never had a friend in his life, never had a reason to give or receive affectionate nicknames with his fellows. Then, as though guessing the old ghost's thoughts, Harry asks shyly--

“Hey, can I call you Bob for short? Your name's kinda hard.”

With a leaping heart, Hrothbert, newly christened Bob, smiles with a gasp that may have been a laugh. “Yes, my boy, you may.”

The two lonely, maladjusted souls gaze at each other, grateful for their newfound friendship.

For the whole time Justin was away, things continue like this. Far from bemoaning the powerful man's absence, Harry and Bob rejoice and thrive in it. Painful as it is to not be able to touch, Bob is happier than he's been in centuries. They continue their lessons, which, despite their newly forged friendship Bob is as strict and demanding as ever. In their downtime, however, they read together, share recollections, even laugh together. The dreaded Hrothbert of Bainbridge, feared necromancer, laughing with an eleven year old child over a story older than the hills. Harry had begun taking the skull back to his room to sleep, he claims he felt safer knowing Bob was near.

“Your uncle will be coming home tomorrow afternoon. Remember to put my skull back where you found it. He certainly wouldn't approve,” Bob warns as the boy climbs into bed.

“Sure thing, thanks for letting me though.”

Harry is asleep almost as soon as he hits the pillow, and Bob stands over him, miming that he's petting him. He finds himself singing--

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,

you make me happy when skies are gray.

You'll never know, dear, how much I love you.

Please don't take my sunshine away.”

The next thing he knows is he's being summoned by a horribly familiar voice. Obediently, he appears before Justin Morningway, and sees he has Harry with him, holding him by the arm.

“Harry, it's time for another lesson,” Justin spits at him. “I realize you weren't raised to know any better, but in this house, we do not become friendly with the servants, nor do we allow them to take liberties with us. Do you understand? Especially him. You give Hrothbert an inch and he'll take a mile.”

Harry squirms in fright, nods helplessly.

Justin taps his staff decidedly, pointing one end at his nephew. “I'm sorry, Harry. This hurts me more than it hurts you, but I must. Unless I wish to let you carouse with your new friend every time my back is turned...this whole charming affair never happened!” With that, he shoots a red bolt of energy at the boy. Harry raises his arm to deflect the blow and is sent sprawling in his uncle's wake. Then, as the cherry on top, Justin lifts the boy up and addresses Bob.

“Hrothbert, you fiend, what did you do to him?!”

Harry stands, shaking his head. His ears are still ringing from the spell. He looks at Bob curiously, wondering how his uncle is trying to blame him for what he'd just done. Then he realizes...his bracelet had saved him from the curse! Justin had intended to wipe his memory, his friendship with his teacher. He'd have to think fast.

“Yeah, Hrothbert, what did you do?!” he cries, looking convincingly afraid of him once again.

Bob stands there helplessly, unable to protest or defend himself. “I...I...” no more words come, he silently despairs the reversion to how things had been. He didn't even know if he had the courage to start things up with Harry again, especially if this is how they were rewarded. Doomed, doomed to be alone all my days. No kind words for me, no one to help. Just a sullen, ill-tempered boy who's scared to death of me. His face twists into a snarl, feeling like a wild animal whose young has been threatened. Knowing himself to be powerless, it was a pitiful gesture at best. It only showed his master his pain, betraying his weakness.

With a grim smile, Justin flings the boy into a chair. “Harry,” he purrs smoothly, “so good to see you after my long business trip. I trust you've been keeping up with your training?”

“Yeah,” Harry grumbles, glaring at his teacher. “It's been all right. Professor Hrothbert is tough on me, though.”

“Well, we do what we can.” Giving his bound servant a sarcastic smile, Justin strides from the room, shutting the door behind him. The two are quiet for a moment.

“Master Dresden, I--”

But the boy raises a finger to his lips, leaning back to listen to his uncle's retreating footsteps. He hears another door slam, then brightens, jumping up out of his seat with a smile. “Wow, Bob, I think I even fooled you!”

Astonishment doesn't begin to describe the look on Bob's face. Once again, he wishes he could hug him. He really must find a way to control this impulse. “Harry? You're...quite all right?”

“Quite,” Harry repeats proudly, holding up his bracelet. “He doesn't want us being friends for some reason, I don't know why.”

“So it seems,” Bob agrees drolly.

“If we want to be friends, we have to be sly, like him.”

Bob smiles, relieved his one friend in the world is still here, still his! “Yes, I believe you're right.”

After living in Morningway Estate for a year now, Harry's uncle decides to sit him down and give him “the talk.” When he's finished, Justin marches out, pleased that he'd done his duty, and can move on to other things for the day, leaving Harry with his teacher for the time being.

“Hi, Bob,” he greets his teacher. Harry had certainly grown in the last year, and shows no sign of stopping yet. He's not even thirteen yet but looks closer to sixteen. “C-can I talk to you about something before we start?”

“Certainly,” he allows. “Is it academic or is it personal?”

“Personal,” the growing boy mumbles shyly, looking ashamed of something.

“Oh dear. Might you have something on your conscience?”

Harry twists in his seat, “Kind of.” He heaves a sigh and looks straight at the floor. “Uncle Justin told me about...what happens when kids grow up.”

Bob's lip curls at this, “Oh dear. I don't imagine that conversation's gotten any better since I heard it.”

With a nervous giggle, Harry shakes his head, his face spreading into a wide, manic grin. He knew he could tell Bob anything. “He told me that boys start noticing girls and thinking about them about this time. Like kissing and stuff.”

“Well, yes, that does tend to happen, in the best of circumstances,” Bob says, wondering what's troubling the lad.

“Wh-what if I don't think I'm gonna notice girls?”

Taking up a paternal air, the ghost strolls past the boy's desk, “Oh, you might not think about them right now, but someday--”

“What if I think about boys? A...a man?” Harry blurts out before he loses his nerve.

“Oh.” Bob pauses, then looks unconcerned. “I see nothing wrong with that, although your uncle probably will. Best not to bring it up. If he was upset about us more than tolerating each other...do you, ah, get my drift?” he asks, sounding uncomfortable with employing slang but trying to sound current.

Harry chuckles at his teacher's vernacular, he makes it sound like a foreign language, but he's honestly trying. “Yeah, I get your drift.”

Bob grins toothily, pleased he'd carried off the turn of phrase so well. He'd been unaccustomed to speaking with any familiarity for so long, it's always pleasantly refreshing to have someone who treats him like a person. His fondness for the boy in their first days together had taken root and blossomed beautifully in the last year. “As I was saying, I see nothing wrong in noticing a fine, strapping lad when you might,” his gaze wanders as does his mind, as though drifting into a fond memory of just such a specimen. He catches himself with a light shake and continues. “Is there someone in particular?”

Blushing deeply, Harry fidgets, being deliberately vague. “Yeah, actually. Someone...someone I met through my uncle, actually.”

“He must be of fine stock, your uncle doesn't mix with...lesser sorts.”

Harry shrugs, “Maybe, I dunno. But he's really smart, he knows just about everything. And he's nice and he's funny and really...” he can't find words enough to describe him. “I think he's beautiful. I feel all funny around him.”

Bob's expression fades to a blank slate, amused to see the young man in love, but rather sad that he's slipping away. Still, he tries to keep up the rake act for now, keep things manly. “What's your favorite part of him?”

“He's got really nice eyes, and a great smile. He doesn't like to show all his teeth, cuz they're kind of crooked, but I think they're cute.”

Unknowingly granting the boy's desire, Bob can't help but smile at the lovesick wizard. He tries hard to make his peace with Harry's latest development. What were you expecting? You're far too old for him even to consider you, you're lucky he treats you like a human being with feelings. No one's done that in years. He's only a child. This isn't the 10th century anymore, a master sorcerer isn't allowed to play hide-the-wand with his apprentice!

“Bob? Have you ever been in love?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, quite a few times, actually.”

Harry scoots forward eagerly. “Have you ever loved someone who didn't love you back?”

Bob nods glumly, “Quite a few times,” he repeats. “It's something we all must endure, however.”

Harry frowns in empathy. “I'm sorry. They can't have been too smart, I think you're great. You're my best friend.”

Those sweet, simple words nestle in the poor dead man's heart and stay there, warming him. “And you are mine, my boy. I never thought I'd...have that...with anyone.”

“I don't even mind that you're dead!” Harry assures him.

“I don't even remember that I'm dead half the time. Not with you.” His poor mangled heart twinges at this, his illusion of a body aches to be pressed against someone warm and living, preferably Harry. My dear boy. Then, they hear footsteps, quickly Bob scribbles out a glimmering gold formula in the air, Harry bends over his desk, hastily writing notes. Just as they're convincingly at work, Justin peeks in.

“...and that, Master Dresden, is how the islanders vanquished Bogaten, and they were spared from giant squid attacks from then onwards. You will be required to write a three page essay on the incident and hand it in tomorrow...”

“Yes, Professor Hrothbert,” Harry acquiesces, barely able to keep from sniggering at their play. His uncle leaves, satisfied. As soon as he's gone, he grins up at him. “Bogaten, squid attacks?”

“I wasn't kidding about the essay,” the ghost drawls coolly, making Harry slap himself in the face.

2007

Harry is taking advantage of a slow business day to clean up the shop. Bob watches thoughtfully.

“Harry? I was just thinking back to when you were younger.”

“God, Bob, spare me the memory lane crap.”

“I was just curious about something, if you could remember.”

Harry looks up from poking a broomstick under the sink, looking appalled at what he'd managed to unearth. “Yech. So that's what that smell was.” He nudges the mysterious pile of refuse into a plastic bag and tosses it in the trash. “What'd you want to know?”

“That day your uncle gave you the old birds and the bees lecture...you'd mentioned there was someone of whom you'd already grown fond. A boy, or a man, as you described him.”

Blushing, feeling as though he were being filled with hot water, Harry stammers. “Uh, yeah?”

“You'd said he had been introduced through your uncle. I was just curious who it was.”

Harry flinches with a false laugh. “You expect me to remember--”

“Everyone remembers their first love. It's been twenty years for you, it's been nine hundred eighty-five years for me. I remember it like it was yesterday.” Bob peers down with an annoyed pout. “Dresden, are you even going to look at me when I'm speaking to you?”

Clear as a bell, Harry remembers the exact words he'd used to describe his first love. Right down to how he openly admired his teeth! “Bob, please, don't ask me this. You don't want to know.”

“Simple question,” Bob monotones. “You remember, though, don't you?”

“Yeah. Someone really smart, funny, nice, and devilishly handsome. Nice eyes, great smile...” Harry looks his former teacher in the eye with a confessing smile. “Sound like anyone you know?”

Bob's face drops in amazement. “You...you...”

Harry grins at his old friend's reaction. “You, you.”

The ghost gasps sharply. “You mean to tell me you were in love with me--”

“Since I was eleven,” Harry admits.

“Since?” Bob demands, this is too much. “Since?! You...”

Suddenly shy about it, Harry scuffs his toe on the floor through another pile of sludge, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, there's no accounting for taste. But yeah. You...you're all I had. All I ever had. You were sweet to me, I was a goner. Just, spare me the abuse, just this once. Please?”

Bob wrings his hands nervously, brushing against the cool metal that bound him. “Oh, Harry,” he purrs with delight. He'd been forbidden to speak of such things, but now that he's onto a new master, it might not hold anymore. Still, the fear of what could happen if he tried had kept him from speaking for all these years. He holds his arms out wide, then closes them around himself. He glides directly before Harry, gushing “Oh, how I've loved you! Always, since that night I first found you sleeping with my skull. I promised myself then that I'd do what I could to take care of you. I didn't do very well, I know, but given the circumstances...”

“Really?” Harry gasps, “We've..we've loved each other all this time, and...”

“You were too young, then. Far too young. It wouldn't have been appropriate. But you grew wonderfully.” Then, the full meaning of Harry's young description came to mind. “You...like my smile? My teeth?”

Harry blushes, “Yeah, that gets me every time.”

“Gets you?”

“That...awesome floating feeling,” he gestures around his stomach and chest. “And that thing you do with your mouth when you're pissed off.”

Unconsciously, Bob makes that exact face, making Harry grin with pleasure. Through a frustrated pout, Bob insists, “I don't do a 'thing with my mouth' when I'm...I'm doing it now, aren't I?” He doesn't even need to ask as Harry openly licks his lips at him, looking very turned on. Strangely enough, for a man who'd always been self-aware of how strikingly handsome he was, Bob is amazed at his effect on his master. They must both have become much more sly than either had intended all those years ago.

Bob groans aloud, thrusting his head towards his love, wanting to press his cheek to him. He repeats the gesture, always stopping short of going through the wizard. “Oh, it's not fair,” he curses quietly. “My love, my own.”

Harry, too, feels frustrated even more now. He mimes kissing the man before him, as Bob mimics him obediently. Their lips are less than a centimeter away, opening and closing together in the air, painfully. “God, Bob...” he brings his hand near his cheek, so close to nuzzling in to devour his beloved, a breath and a world away.

“We...we must endure it,” the cranky old ghost tells him. “It's something I've done for some time. You can, too.”

“Must...must...!” Harry breathes, reaching fruitlessly for him.

Bob shakes his head, stepping away, passing a hand through his face. “Stop it! Stop it before you hurt yourself!”

Then, as a consolation, Harry picks up the skull and presses it to his cheek, cuddling it tenderly. He nuzzles what had been Bob's forehead with a sigh, “Why's it so hard all of a sudden? We've been...like this the whole time? What's changed? Why...can't I stand the idea of not...” he trails off, curling his fingers and drawing them near his ghost's cheek.

With an identical helpless moan, Bob sighs, “Knowing we both want it, that's what makes it hard. It's easy to suffer in silence if you think no one cares, but this...Matters of the heart are horribly complicated. There's nothing we can do. Just know that I love you with all my heart.”

Harry isn't taking it any better, he stands as close to his friend as he can, practically on top of him, wishing he could reach out without passing through him. “Just once, just for a minute...”

Bob smiles grimly at that notion, he'd entertained it enough himself. “Oh, you know even if you miraculously got your minute, it wouldn't be nearly enough. You'd be begging for another and another, an hour, a day, a week, a year. What would be enough, if you knew that that was it?”

Nodding sadly, Harry has to agree with the older man. He'd certainly had a longer time to think about this than he did. “I just want to so bad. I love you so much. You've always been there, always.”

“I hope I will continue to be,” Bob says, finally stopping torturing himself. His eyes are clear and free of pain, he simply gazes comfortably at the man before him. Softly, he sings,

“Please don't take my sunshine away.”