Yearning. An intense longing for something.

‘I yearn for a day where I’ll see him again.’ Or, ‘I yearn for the other contestants to stop giggling when Chanyeol passes them because it’s so cringeworthy.’

Or, ‘Chanyeol yearns for my hand for the first dance, then picks on me after he’s sick of me.’

That last part was an exaggeration, of course. I don’t think he despises me. Or maybe he does, because that’s why he’s prolonging my agony in this competition.

I yearn to go home. I miss all those times when I’m comfortable and lazy and relaxed. Here, I have to silently compete to see who’s the quietest, or most well-behaved.

I wish I could just be myself.

Sun Young had dreamed of a day when she would be able to wear a dress and dance under the light of the chandelier in a masquerade ball, twirling in the arms of a tall masked stranger with a piercing gaze that could turn her insides on fire.

It had always been a fantasy of hers to be shrouded in the unknown, to feel herself falling over the edge of the precipice, tumbling down a dark rabbit hole where nothing was ever what she knew.

She didn’t expect that, in some ways, her fantasy would be her downfall.

As she followed Park Chanyeol towards the middle of the room, right at the heart of it where she would be the subject of attention, Sun Young’s mind was a blank.

This was clearly not what she had expected, nor was it something that she particularly enjoyed.

But she knew better than to show it, and so, for the benefit of all their spectators, both the people in the room as well as the inanimate cameras that served to capture her every expression, she kept her head up, her smile sincere, and her eyes certain and sure.

After all, it wasn’t this wasn’t a fairytale, and it wasn’t as if she were the doe-eyed beauty dancing with a hideous beast.

She was Sun Young, the Myeongdeong girl who knew close to nothing about formal ballroom dancing, and he was Chanyeol, heir to everything she was never able to know.

“CUT!” PD Kim’s voice yelled, thankfully interrupting them, “Five minutes time out! Cameramen, please come over here! Photographers, do your job!”

Just as she said that, a few photographers rushed in front of them, their flashes casting stars and spots in her vision.

“Smile wider, Miss Park!”

“Stand a little closer, please, Mr. Park, yessss, that’s right!”

“If you could gaze at each other, and smile, please!”

Sun Young beamed so happily that her eyes became crescents; at least she wouldn’t have to look at him and feel like puking.

“Mr. Park, we need you and Miss Park to bow to each other,” one of them said.

Oh, god, these demands are getting out of hand, she thought, turning to Chanyeol, who shut his eyes in resignation.

She felt his fingers let go of hers as they turned to face each other, and he stepped back and bowed.

You better thank the heavens I watch classic English movies, Mr. Park. I know how to curtsy better than most people here.

She dipped, not even faltering, before standing up to see his eyes gaze upon her, almost in silent amusement, like he knew what she was thinking, before he closed the distance between them, catching her by surprise as he took her in his arms, making her slightly dip back.

Sun Young let out the little gasp she had been holding, surprised by the close proximity between their bodies. She could feel the warmth radiating from his body to hers, feeling the layers of skirts pressing against him as she looked up.

“AHHHH that’s good, Mr. Park!” a female photographer praised, “Alright, good, good!”

And then they hurried away, satisfied with whatever they had gotten, leaving her still blinking up at him like he was mad.

The last time she was this close to a guy was during prom, until he decided to kiss her and she slapped his face.

But this was Park Chanyeol, and there were freaking cameras everywhere she turned.

He straightened, and she took a couple of steps back, too flustered to look at him.

“Why did you even pick me for the dance? You hate me.”

He merely stood there, watching. “Stop overthinking, Miss Park,” he murmured, “Don’t think I’m trying to be a certain way, Miss Park. I would gladly give up this opportunity in favour of doing my paperwork.”

“M-Maybe I’m not thinking of that,” she said, casting him an imperious look.

“Then what are you thinking of?”

She looked up to meet his gaze already on hers, judgemental in the very essence of the word. She turned away. “Maybe I’m trying to remember whatever I know about dancing a waltz in front of a million people so I won’t mess up.”

“What have you got to worry about?” he asked, “Just remember that dance, waltz specifically, is an art. An expression of intimacy, a sensual experience. And the basis of all ballroom dancing is oneness. A couple has to move as one, and it first comes in the form of the level of comfort and chemistry they have with each other.”

Intimacy.

Sensual.

Couple.

Chemistry.

How can he be so technical when talking about things like this?

Reminds me of my science teacher when he was talking about the human reproduction system.

‘And here we have the !’

I wonder if Chanyeol has ever met him. They honestly sound alike.

Sun Young distracted herself from that by talking. “You must really like dancing to wax lyrical about something it.”

He cleared his throat, not looking at her. “I wouldn’t say I’m that passionate. My etiquette tutor was adamant that I got it ingrained in my skull,” he murmured, adjusting her hand on his shoulder such that it no longer felt like it was going to get numb anytime soon, “He wanted to make sure I knew each and every rule there ever was.”

So you’re trying to say you’re an expert at this, then.

Typical.

“Sure, Mr. Park,” she said boredly.

“Moving on,” he continued, “Now, when I say oneness, I meant closer. You’re holding yourself back at least two steps, I can feel your resistance.”

He was right, of course. Underneath her skirts, her feet were as far from his as she could go.

He pulled her closer. “We have to be one.”

Huffing, she tried to push his hand away. “We are one,” she interjected, “You’re so close, you’re all I see.”

“That’s a nice pickup line, but no.”

Her cheeks turned hot. “No, that’s not what I meant!”

He tilted his head slightly towards her ear. “How experienced are you in dancing?”

“I dance. Very often,” she said, “Not this kind, though. Hiphop, jazz, street dance-”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re well versed in contemporary dancing, Miss Park,” he interrupted smoothly, “But unfortunately, we find ourselves in a situation where whips, naenaes, and twerking are regarded as the proverbial trash.”

“I do none of those things,” she said with a flip of her hair, “So it doesn’t offend me. Besides, I’ve done ballroom dance before. Everyone goes to prom, don’t they?”

He scoffed, pulling back to regard her with mock-disdain. “Not me.”

“Of course. You probably hate everything mainstream.”

“Prom is nothing to actual ballroom dancing,” he protested, “It’s just a make-out-session-a-la-prom pretending to be dance.”

Well, he got that part about prom right.

He bent his arm that was holding her waist, effectively pulling her closer, as if they weren’t already pressed against each other. “Remember, I’m not here to make you feel awkward. I’m just doing my part, and you’ll have to do yours, or we’ll fall to the ground before the cameras start rolling.”

“I guess when you put it that way…”

He nodded. “Obviously. I’ve got more than enough experience to lead you; you just have to listen and follow me.”

She rolled her eyes. Just when I thought I got the hang of conversations with this guy, he ruins my perception of him.

She wiggled out of his arms. “Wow. That makes me want to obey even more,” she muttered, adjusting her braids even though they didn’t need any adjusting, “I’m at your service, Park-senpai. Your wish is my every command.”

She curtsied for good effect, holding her skirt with her hands and bowing her head in mock-submission. “It is my greatest pleasure, the highest honor to be your partner for this dance.”

He brought her to her feet. “Please don’t.”

She threw her hands in the air. “My biggest wish is to dance the opening waltz with you,” she began dramatically, when his arms encircled her waist, preventing her from attracting more attention.

She felt a deep rumble vibrating in her chest and she realized, to her utmost surprise, that it was him laughing.

“Stop being a clown,” he tried to scold, but it was hard taking him seriously when he was smiling.

Sun Young stared at him with one eyebrow up, not sure what to do as she watched him shake his head, resuming his calm aura once more.

That was so weird. And rare.

I actually feel shivers. That’s how much I wasn’t expecting this.

When he looked at her, she saw his eyes twinkle with amusement. “You should audition at an entertainment company, get training, Miss Park,” he asked, “Why did you even enter this competition?”

She clutched her chest. “Alas, that is a long story, best told on another day of interrupted time, over sad tragic music, junk food, and sighs of regret and nostalgia.”

“We have lots of uninterrupted time now. At least, until that woman starts yelling at everyone to take their places.”

How soft he sounded, his words caressing her ears like a tempting offer, persuading her compliance.

She turned back to him. “It’s not a particularly enjoyable-” she began, before her breath was taken away.

He was looking at her with unadulterated anticipation, his gaze tender and patient, as if he were hanging onto her every word. His arms had loosened around her, but maintained its intimacy, and she couldn’t fathom why, but it made her heart skip.

Chanyeol noticed how intently he had been looking at her, and blinked, his expression becoming his usual aloof one. “What is it?”

Sun Young let out a long breath, mentally kicking herself for having such thoughts. “Nothing,” she said quickly, “You had some spinach at your teeth.”

He doesn’t, of course.

His face contorted into one of wide-eyed shock. “,” he muttered under his breath, once again sending a hum that vibrated between their bodies.

She suppressed a smile as she stared at the rose on his boutonniere.

He sounds so anxious and husky when he curses.  

“Wait, we didn’t have spinach in the menu,” he said, peering at her.

His anxiety is sooo relatable. Cute, even, but let’s not go there. I’m already paying too much attention to him as it is.

“Did we? I forgot,” she said with a shrug, pretending to check his teeth. “Oh, it’s gone now. You’re good.”

He looked irritated. “Miss Park.”

Busted.

She continued to avert her gaze. “What do you know, we’re having live orchestra music!” she commented, “I had no idea it was live.”

Chanyeol was about to say something when applause rang out around them.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Chen’s voice echoed through the speakers, “It is my great pleasure to present the opening of the first dance, led by Royal Pavilion’s very own Park Chanyeol and his chosen one, Park Sun Young.”

Sun Young felt her cheeks turn hot with the dramatic announcement, but she broke into a little smile as she cast her partner a look. “I’m the chosen one,” she mouthed.

He shut his eyes as if praying for salvation.

“Maestro,” Xiumin’s softer voice called, as everyone glanced at the conductor, “If you please.”

Applause and cheers rang around the room as the musicians began to play a melancholic-sounding piece that began with the solitary song of the clarinet, to the creeping rhythm of the cello amidst the wailings of many violins that tugged at her heart.

Sun Young closed her eyes, immersed in the almost tragic melody of the waltz as it echoed in her ears, filling up her entire being with a feeling akin to hope amidst a dark tale of love lost.

I feel…forlorn. Like I lost something of myself I’ll never get again.

Why?

Why would he pick such a song to open the first dance with?

She opened her eyes as Chanyeol reached around her waist, his other hand behind his back, and she placed her left arm on his shoulder while holding her skirts with her right.

“Follow me,” he said quietly, and she nodded.

He stepped back, and she allowed herself to follow, taking a step forward as he held onto the small of her back.

She peered up at his expressionless face, tilting her head in thought. “Am I doing it right?” she whispered to him.

He nodded. “You’re doing fine.”

“Great,” she murmured, holding onto his shoulder like he was her anchor of stability. Any moment, she could trip and their connection would break, and she couldn’t have it do that.

Oneness. I guess he’s right.

I’ll have to put my feelings aside and melt into the dance.

Into…

She looked up at Chanyeol.

…you.

Kyungsoo watched from the sides, sipping his drink as he watched the dancing couple, following the first few notes of a dramatic-sounding waltz began to play from the other end of the room, where the Royal Pavilion’s very own orchestra band – made of musicians who had graduated from Julliard – were beginning to play.

His eyebrows rose in recognition, and exhaled slightly, almost sputtering on a bit of water, until the person next to him glanced over in concern.

“You okay man?” Amber asked.

Kyungsoo shook his head. “No, it’s just-” he began, “The music. Park had them play the same waltz at least once every mealtime this past week. I see why now.”

“He probably doesn’t them want to mess it up.”

He scoffed. “They’re probably sick of it.”

Amber glanced at the young musicians’ vacant expressions, seeing how uptight they looked. She turned to Kyungsoo. “What’s he like?”

“Who?”

“Him. Park, as you refer to him as.”

“Nothing much to tell. Think of the phrase jack-of-all-trades, interspersed with a dash of OCD, and a grumpy cynic, and you have him.”

Amber whistled softly. “That’s quite the combination.”

Kyungsoo shrugged, sipping his drink. “Yes, well. Park likes to do expand his repertoire so he can alleviate his anxiety about not being good enough, and if he can’t do it, he’ll keep at it until he does,” he explained, like he was talking about something as banal as the kitchen inventory list, “He’s a brilliant director, mind you. It’s just that he’s just really, really perfectionist to a fault, and sometimes, it gets on the staff’s nerves.”

Amber looked over at the orchestra. “I can tell.”

He sighed. “The one thing that I’m surprised, though, is why he picked her, out of all people,” he pointed out, “If there’s anyone who’s the complete opposite, it’s Sun Young.”

“What can you say about her?”

He watched the couple in the middle of the room, seeing how the chandelier lights illuminated his friend’s face as she twirled in Chanyeol’s deft hands, her green skirts rustling as it swept the glossy ballroom floor.

She looked exactly where she belonged, literally shining under the glow of lights as she danced, the lilies in her hair making her look like a princess.

Kyungsoo’s lips pressed together when he saw Sun Young throwing her head back and laughing, and it was at that moment that he caught a glimpse of Chanyeol’s grin.

Not the smirking, sniggering kind that he always had on when throwing thinly veiled insults.

But an actual, genuine, almost sincere kind; the kind that one would give when truly enjoying their company.

From the looks of things, if Sun Young had actually managed to make the usually-morose director smile, then that meant that she had a chance at winning.

Kyungsoo sipped his drink, a proud smile on his face as he looked over at Amber.

“I think she’s the brightest thing after the sun,” he only said.

Sun Young had suggested that they indulge in conversation, if only to alleviate the feeling of being watched by their audience so intently, and Chanyeol had wholeheartedly agreed, giving into her request because – heck – he was almost getting too absorbed by the heavy atmosphere around them both.

She was bright, brighter than he had thought. The mellow instrumental of Andre Rieu’s And The Waltz Goes On was not a random choice of music; he had chosen it after carefully considering that he hadn’t been in the best of moods in the days leading up to the Princess Games.

In fact, he was half afraid that he would wallow in a kind of withdrawal; he had already felt the stirrings of his depression, following the few flashbacks of his accident, and both Baekhyun and Secretary Choi had noticed it too.

But now…

After all the pointless banter he had engaged Sun Young in, a little voice in the back of his head whispered that he might actually be able to overcome this bout of unexplainable sadness.

He stared at her as she looked past him, watching the contours of her face, noticing how she was mouthing one two three as they moved, and he allowed himself a little smile.

Not because he was happy, but because he found it highly amusing how this one girl could actually continue to remain cheerful and full of vigor when everything in this world seemed to be against her.

He could learn a few things from such a positive outlook on life; maybe he should single her out more, or suggest that the young ladies take a turn around the garden and talk to her again.

There was something about her that seemed to fill his insides with warmth and light, withholding the despair that plagued his soul for just a few moments while she stood near him.

He composed himself when she resumed looking at him.

“I might have been wrong about you, Mr. Park.”

“Really?” he asked, “How so?”

He let her go, spinning her around and catching her once more.

She was smiling, her eyes twinkling with excitement. “I can never get used to that,” she said, as he let her twirl again.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

She held onto his shoulder. “Stop it, you’ll make me sick!” she cried, throwing her head back and laughing as he smiled at her.

Ah, I feel it again.

The call to the light.

He heard himself laugh softly, her happiness infecting him and inducing him into some kind of joyful turmoil, playing with his feelings – his heart, mind, body and soul – and making him infatuated with the idea that happiness might exist, that problems could be solved, that nightmares would disappear.

Because at that very moment, in the presence of the girl as bright as the sun, he felt hope.

The song came to a close, to a silence that sounded as though everyone was holding their breath as the violin echoed throughout the entire room, sending it into a standstill. Even

It was a scene that, as Park Yoora stared, seemed to come from a fairy tale.