Coming full circle

Ra fa mi fara ~

Rustle!

As she stands up from her stool, the lady beside me nods approvingly as she gathers her scribbled notes.

“You’re pretty good,” she says, patting my head. “Why don’t you move in this weekend?”

I say nothing, only watching her with deep onyx eyes.

The first place I go is a huge concert hall. Standing on that bare stage makes me feel important…yet so insignificant. But I know that my dance, my song will fill every crevice of the hall. It comforts me a little.

Tonight a thousand people come to watch the performance. I stand there silently, staring into the wine-colored curtains above me and barely hearing the murmur of the audience. Footsteps draw my eyes to my right.

A young boy in a suit approaches me, running a nervous hand through his black hair.

His name is Yixing. Trembling, he takes my hand and searches my eyes for comfort. Whether he finds it or not, I do not know. The performance is Chopin’s Adante spinatoet Grand Polonaise Brilliante Op. 22. I remember, after his body had relaxed, I had noticed his long sensitive fingers that I will never forget.

When he finishes, he bows hastily and dashes off the stage. I just gaze after his shrinking form, ebony hair vibrating with the noise of applause. And that’s how he disappeared from my life, leaving the scent of spring in his wake.

Every week afterwards, there are recitals and musical competitions. I dance to hundreds of tunes with many different musicians that I cannot remember.

Only Yixing remains in my memory. He had been my first partner. It must mean something. Because dancing can only be shared by two.

Not long after, a war breaks out.

The streets reverberate with the sound of army boots. The concert hall quickly becomes an arms storage room so I am taken to a rowdy bar. No one notices me alone upon the stage during those drunken nights. Sometimes a glass is carelessly spilled over my dress, but no one cares about the silent figure in the shadows.

Except for one young soldier.

His name is Junmyeon. One night, he simply offers a hand towards me. Behind his thin glasses, his soft brown eyes sparkle kindly.

Pulling me up from my chair, his fingers entwine with mine. His tan skin contrasts sharply against my ivory, coffee against cream. Under his guiding movements, I soon find myself dancing as if I’ll never stop. His smile is deeply contagious and soon I quiver and hum like vibrato.

A red-haired officer taps his shoulder, breaking the spell momentarily. Reeking of wine, he asks Junmyeon, “You’re good…Did you take lessons?”

Junmyeon smiles. “I want to be a music teacher,” he replies. “But I am a soldier and still fighting in the war.”

The older man mutters something about “playing jazz” and staggers away. I’m not sure he had even heard what Junmyeon said.

The entire night, we stay together. He loves nocturnes, especially Op. 9 no. 2.

But, after that, I never see him again.

The following evening, the red-haired officer, now-sober, comes before me.

He bows his head, casting a shadow upon his scruffy features. I cannot read his expression. As he holds my hands, his eyes avoid my searching ones. Where is my young soldier?

Instead answering my wordless question, the officer begins to move—I simply follow. That night, the officer who loves jazz dances to a waltz. Tears fall from my eyes when I realize it is Op. 69 no. 1.

The “farewell waltz.”

Finally, the war ends and the army leave the city.

Chanyeol, the officer, takes care of me.

“I will stay and open a jazz bar,” he says. When his captain gestures to me standing silently in his shadow, he rests a large hand on my head and replies, “She will stay with me.”

That is how I come to stay with him. He becomes the bartender, with the only blood on his hand from the occasional spill from wine or a Bloody Mary.

And every night we dance together. We dance to whatever is requested: classical, jazz, folk, blue, Latin, military songs, love songs…

For once in my life, I believe that I found my home.

The way Chanyeol’s strong hands enfold my small ones makes me love him more. For him I become his ideal companion. I am water when he needs freedom; fire when he needs warmth; shadow when he needs support; light when he needs radiance.

All for him.

However, one day, the dream ends again.

“My father has fallen ill,” I overhear him saying that evening. “And I must close the bar to help my mother.”

He comes to me just as he had the first time we danced together. From his tall height, he kneels before me. He rests a rough hand against my cheek and lifts my dark eyes towards his.

“The time for us to part has come,” he murmurs. Though his eyes are misty, his deep voice is steady. He tries a smile. “I really enjoyed your tone and I will miss it.”

I do not say anything. My throat closes up and it is difficult to even breathe. My eyes well up with burning tears. As he strides away, I can only feel unwanted, abandoned, lonely.

So I come to this city’s school.

The schoolmaster barely leads me up the steps when twenty children quickly flock around me, chirping curiously. They tug my long ebony hair, pull my dress, and run fascinated hands over my ivory skin. They twitter in wonder in their fledgling speech.

Initially I am very confused at my place. But after a while, I don’t feel so bad. The children love me and I teach them to dance. Many afternoons are filled with our fantastic revelries and Nature’s most beautiful sound—the children’s laughter.

That is how one season passes into another. As I watch the children, who had once been so small they cannot reach my shoulder, now grown up and taller than I. Watching them grow into adults fills me with bittersweet aching.

Then one day, a newcomer comes.

Only when she is introduced to me do I realize why she had come. She is replacing me. Only then do I notice that my once glowing midnight hair has faded into gray dawn. Even my ivory skin is showing its weariness. Compared to this mahogany-haired, white-skinned beauty, I am far older. And it is only then I realize how long it has been since my quiet beginnings.

“Then we’ll take her,” the gruff man says to the quiet schoolmaster. He helps me up onto the back of a truck. “Thanks,” he calls from his seat before starting the truck.

She gives a small gesture halfway between a wave and a ruffle of her long hair. I bite back tears as the schoolhouse disappears from view.

Thus, I leave this city and I am taken a place far, far away.

After a long time, the truck driver stops before a large house surrounded by lush forests and gardens. He takes me by the shoulder and knocks upon the door. I turn away, as if not seeing my new owner would make him disappear.

“Thank you for coming all the way here.” The man’s voice is soft and very soothing. And strangely… familiar. Gazing up, I meet the gentle eyes of Yixing. He is much older now, but his aura has not changed.

“Are you sure, sir?” my bringer asks. He nudges my stiff body up the steps a little. “She’s quite old.”

“Yes,” Yixing says. “I’m sure this is the one…” he smiles serenely. “She holds all my precious memories.”

Bending down, he caresses my face. ”You’ve come a long way, haven’t you?” he whispers.

How strange that it is only years before, it had been I who gazed down at him. Those fearful eyes are now strong yet they still have that tenderness that only belongs to him.

For the first time in my life, I am glad that I cannot speak on my own. I know my silent tears tell him everything that words cannot express because they reflect back to me in his endless eyes. He understands what I cannot say.

Taking my hand, he leads me into a sunlit room. Without speaking, his fingers, much longer now, entwine mine. Then he leads me in a dance. The piece is Grand Polonaise Brilliante Op. 22. His skills are much better, but he holds me with the same gentle fingers.

No one else can dance with me like this. No one else is so in sync with me, making complete harmony. Maybe he had changed for me or I for him.

Or maybe I was always meant to be his.

When the piece ends, we just sit together in the falling evening, reveling in the soft afterglow.

“You are perfect,” he murmurs after a while, skimming his long fingers against me.

I don’t say anything. But I don’t need to. After all those years, I had come full circle, this journey back to him. I am where I belong.

I am finally home with my perfect partner.

And that is all a simple piano could ever ask for.

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A/N: Ha! I bet you didn’t see that coming >w<

I think it’s kinda obvious where I got the inspiration. What? Did you say Ceci? Yup! That's right! Good job! >

I really wanted to make something right after Ceci came out, but I didn't get the inspiration until now... It was really hard making sure I didn’t give it away, but I think I did...ok?

Little fun fact, I had written this story started a long time before getting into EXO so the tune in the beginning is from the song Tong Hua by Guang Liang. Yeah, just for funsies xD

Just something that I whipped up as I’m flailing through my other stories xP

Hope you liked it! TTFN! Tata for now~