Emily and Frank were just about to head out of the shelter for their date, when the lights went out. A cacophony followed, the animals having all associated the darkness with something bad happening.

"We can't head out now," spoke Emily, a bit downcast. "This has happened before. The animals need to be calmed down."

Frank nodded. But, what could they do?

"Do you know any children's songs?" He suggested. It was too dark to see if Emily nodded, but he heard her hum.

"I know a small one, from my childhood. I came up with it myself. You can sing it to the London bridge is falling down tune," Frank imagined Emily singing and was grateful that the darkness was masking his features because he felt that his expression was a bit too dopey.

Emily cleared her throat and hummed a couple of notes and then, she began to sing, clear as a bell.

"Do you know the dandelions?

Not real lions, they are not,

But they have a mane as white as snow."

The animals quieted down a bit and Frank sat down on the floor, listening to the song. By the time Emily was done, the animals were all calm.

"Silly, right?" She asked. "I must have been four when I thought of it. Mom wrote it down because I sang it at every tea party she held."

Frank imagined Emily blushing at the embarrassing memory and chuckled. He received a swat on the arm for it.

"It is good for the musings of a four-year-old," Frank admitted. He leaned into Emily and rested his head on her shoulder. "When I was four the most artistic thing, I did was make pots and vases out of mud."

"How does that work, even? Don't you need clay for it?" Frank smiled.

"Well, we had a clay deposit in our garden. So, I went and poured water on it every day. Granted, even a Stone Age man would have made better pottery than me," Emily snorted.

"But, you didn't give up. Do you still do pottery, now?" She couldn't imagine Frank having time for it, anymore. Considering, their shifts were ten-hour ones.

"I stopped at six. My grandfather passed away, and he was the only one who supported my hobby. My parents never placed any of my attempts at pottery on the mantelpiece, so to speak, but he had an entire shelf for them," Emily nodded. That sounded much like her story. Although she had stopped making up songs when she had been ten.

"You know what? All work and no play make for a dull Frank. How about you take up professional pottery? I know this workshop that offers lessons and works late hours," Emily suggested, and Frank gave it a thought. He had enjoyed making his clay small pots and vases, that couldn't even hold water, much less anything else.

"I am too old for such a hobby," countered Frank. The joy the act had given him before was far too detached from his current self.

"You know, the tragedy of all adults is that we think we are too old for that which we considered fun as kids," Emily mused, and Frank had to agree.

"I don't want to live in a tragedy," he spoke, half-joking. "But what about you? Are you still a songwriter?"

"No. You know what? We can uphold a promise to each other. This time next week, you will show me a plate or a vase or anything that you have made, and I will sing you an original song. Right here, so we can share the moment with the animals," Emily spoke and Frank chuckled.

"What if I am pants at making pottery the traditional way? Your task is easier, you can already write songs," Emily considered that.

"I know how to write children's songs, but not ones about adults," she admitted, and then got an idea. "It just won't be fair if the ante is not upped for me, either. I will write a song about adult topics, and you will make something simple, like a vase. No paintings on it — yet. Just like I won't try to make music for my song."

"Can you play an instrument?" Frank thought that Emily could play the piano. She seemed like that kind of girl.

"I can play Spanish guitar," she said, and Frank's eyebrows rose. "I keep it in my locker. It is a bit out of tune, but, sometimes, I play for the animals when no one is looking."

"I think you should play now. To put them more at ease," Frank was looking forward to it. What was she going to play? Something traditional? Or something more modern?

"I am not that good at it," Emily blushed at performing for a human. Apart from her parents, no one else had ever heard her play in the past ten years.

"You got to get up and try," Frank said, determination sipping in his voice. "If you play, I will promise to sing. Even if it comes out like unholy screeching."

Emily giggled, her hand to her mouth.

"Well then, Mr. Dorrens, I suppose I can't say no to that," Emily took out her phone and turned on the flashlight. She went to her locker and come out with a guitar case. She took it out and pressed her fingers to the strings.

"How about Silent Night?" Emily suggested. The phone's flashlight illuminated Frank's face. Emily saw how his eyes had this softness to them that Emily had seen only on her parent's faces. She decided to think little of it. Frank didn't like her like that. And she should stop imagining things, least she got her heart broken.

"Silent Night sounds good," Frank said, and Emily began to play the tune. Despite what Frank had said, his voice had a pleasant baritone to it.  When the song ended, the lights were back on and all the animals were sleeping.

"We bored them to sleep," Emily bent her head so that her fringe could hide her twinkling eyes.

"We are the worst," Frank played along. Emily went and turned on the radio back on and the two left, heading to the Chinese restaurant.