768 w
fluff, light romance

He tried. He did. He's always trying. He always did try. Many times, he tried. And failed. Both at the same time, sometimes. He'll find the courage to talk to her, finally, after all these weeks of staying late at school and hiding behind the window or the door just to see her move to the rhythm of the music - it varies and changes from day to day. He'll find the courage. Enough courage. Someday.

Because really, what does a clumsy little candle say to the staggering sun? 

She is fire and wind in the oddest of ways. She's a prodigy of her own kind. He sees her move her hand up and then down and then side, up, down, bam. It's like art already. It's perplexing how someone with such tiny frame hold so much power in her moves. And in her steps.

She doesn't wear heels. She wears worn-out sneakers. But still there is this click click click  sound in his head when she walks his way and is unknown to his entire existence. When the courage doesn't come in the form of words, he'd turn around and pretend she didn't exist too. Which is hard, because he wears his heart on his sleeve. But still, he's just an insignificant little dot in her field of vision. 

What does the candle say?

It - he - melts when she approaches. 

The sun sets and the halls are a bare and basked in a silence that he would think eerie in some occasions, but this time he tolerates it. He has his back against the door, arms across his chest, head bobbing against the music. Today it's songs about female empowerment. American ones, or British - he doesn't know. Either way, she dances like a tornado to every song that she plays.

When he turns to peek behind the door, she is one with the music and covered in sweat from head to toe. She doesn't see him, she's too engrossed in her routine. That, and she monitors herse