Overrated | The Voice France / MIKA & OC

6.8 - Semi-Finals. The Show, Part 3

For the first time on the show, I put on a suit. And no matter how good the dress feels, nothing is more comfortable than a pair of trousers and a shirt.
Gaspard still looks like he picked the outfit himself, and he didn't bother to come up with something fancy - the same jeans and a jacket seems to highlight his natural approach to music.
- This will be our first official collab, you know that? - he says as I take him by the hand and we walk together onstage, - You still have the time to decide if you want it or not.
- The same about you.
- Oh no. I heard you enough to know we would sound well together.

Like with Flori, we walk towards the edges of the stage. Such a strange sensation, almost deja vu, when I see him smiling on the other side. As if it's all a game, a little show we have just for fun. Perhaps that's how real partnership feels like.
As the steady beat kicks in, I find it easier to rock to the rhythm with a cane. I remember learning to dance with Eloise, and even try copying some of her moves while the beat gets louder and sharper and we slowly walk back to the center of the stage.
Gaspard can't resist dancing as well, but the most he allows himself is clicking his fingers.
The first verse is mine:

Je commence les livres par la fin
Et j'ai le menton haut pour un rien
Mon œil qui pleure c'est à cause du vent
Mes absences c'est du sentiment

I have to thank Luck Castel and his crew for giving me a hands-free microphone, so my right hand is, well, free. I use it to help catch the stream of music, even moving it with the flow, as the chorus approaches:

Je ne tiens pas debout
Le ciel coule sur mes mains
Je ne tiens pas debout
Le ciel coule sur...

As I let my voice do the work, putting trust in my pitch training and many days of rehearsal, and take the time to look around, I suddenly realise just how happy I am right now. These faces in the dark, watching, always ready to cheer and clap for us - when did they become so familiar? It's as if I spent the whole life on stage, really.

We do a circle around the stage, and when we change our places, it is Gaspard's turn to sing:

Ils sourient rouge et me parlent gris
Je fais semblant d'avoir tout compris
Il y a un type qui pleure dehors
Sur mon visage de la poudre d'or...

I just can't help getting lost while listening to him. His voice, clear and confident, resonates from the speakers and surrounds me, strangely, like an invisible wall between us and the audience. So the best thing I can do is close my eyes and dance, without holding myself back, as he continues with the chorus:

...Ça ne tient pas debout
Le ciel coule sur mes mains
Ça ne tient pas debout
Sous mes pieds le ciel revient.

Keeping my eyes closed, I join him in the bridge, a little shorter than the original. Together we harmonize, repeating like a spell:

"J'fais tout mon make-up au mercurochrome
Contre les pop-ups qui m'assurent le trône."

When I look back across the stage, I see that this time he's dancing as well, and grinning at me probably with the same smile I have right now - smile of a person who's genuinely having fun with an old friend. Mika was right about both of us - if we perform, nothing else exists to us. And while I have a temptation to look at my coach and see his reaction, instead I throw away all the stage choreography and approach my teammate to sing the last chorus togther, face to face:

Je ne tiens pas debout
Le ciel coule sur mes mains
Je ne tiens pas debout
Le ciel coule sur...
Ça ne tient pas debout
Le ciel coule sur mes mains
Ça ne tient pas debout
Sous mes pieds le ciel revient.

While the outro plays in the background and the audience start to cheer, we hold each other in a tight hug. And I know for sure that it's not the last time we will perform together. So who really cares if I win or lose?

***

Well, apparently Mika does, for he look of distress in his face is quite easy to read, as the staff hands him an envelope.

- Now the coach has to make his decision, - Nikos explains.

- I really don't know... - Mika mumbles, staring at the paper. He takes a deep breath, exhales, hanging his head. Then he raises his gaze on us, squinting a little. I watch him very carefully, and I can actually catch the moment he makes a decision: his sight falls on me. It's heavy, but it's confident - this is his final word, and he wants me to know.

He chooses me.
Wait. He chooses... Me?

My mind starts racing. I wish I could say it out loud, get the answer, maybe talk this out...
I mean... I should be happy, but why do I start shaking instead?
Why does it feel do wrong?
I was ready to leave, I was completely sure I will be out! He can't do this to me!

Yet he gives a nod to my surprised look - "yes, it's you". As if he's reassuring me. Did he really think I was hoping for it?

Karma just keeps making surprises.
And if I usually accept it as it is, this time a whole new feeling boils up in me - anger.

Maybe this time I'll make my own decisions, for a change.
And this decision comes faster than I think. There's no need to think, really.
I shake my head - "no, not me".

Mika frowns. He did not expect that. Now it's him who's confused, it seems.

I shake my head again, as if persisting, and feel that it's the right thing to do.

My coach stares at me for a while, then his gaze slips down, with somewhat understanding, and I realise that Gaspard has been holding my hand this whole time.

He makes a few strokes on the paper, hands over the envelope, and Nikos announces that the voting is finished. Now that I know exactly what will happen, it feels like the last bits of fear and anxiety has left me. So I just smile and hold his hand tighter as the host announces the name of the finalist:

- Gaspard!

With the same smile, Mika gives me his last hug. I try to capture this feeling - warm, firm, endlessly loving. And I whisper the only thing I can say at the moment:

- Thank you.