[hr][CENTER][img]https://cdn.imgchest.com/files/l7lxc8kzzg7.jpg[/img][/CENTER][indent][sub][COLOR=SILVER][B]Location:[/B][/COLOR] [I]Formal Homecoming[/I] - [I]A.R.C., Pacific Royal Campus[/I][/sub][sup][right][COLOR=SILVER][b]Dance Monkey #4.070:[/b][/COLOR] [I]Happiness is a butterfly [/I][/right][/sup][/indent][sub][hr][/sub][INDENT][sub][color=SILVER][B]Interaction(s):[/B][/COLOR] [I]-[sub]-[/sub] [/I][/sub][SUP][RIGHT][COLOR=SILVER][b]Previously:[/b][/COLOR] [I]Hors D’oeuvre & Cummerbund About It [/I][/right][/SUP] [/INDENT] [color=dimgray][INDENT] Cleo had been enjoying herself in her confidence. A whisky sour had broken through any of the tiny feelings of nerves she had, and the air inside the A.R.C was thick with warmth, the kind that lulled her into a sense of belonging. A feeling that maybe this night could be hers. A couple breezed by, and her eyes were drawn to the corsage that they girl wore around her wrist. A lovely yellow colour that matched her dress. Cleo glanced at her own hands, her wrist was bare save for her bracelet and gloves. She fidgeted with the piece of seaglass at the centre of the bracelet, from it, that feeling again from earlier - the scent of books - fleeting, but real. Soon enough, the music snapped her from the curiosity, from lingering on a thought too long. The infectious rhythm refused her denial of the centre of the room, it was her dancing that was enough to light a flame. Joy spread out like roots until there was no room for anything else. Music was magic. She knew that. She had always known that. She danced alone tonight, the fancier-than-her dress cloaked her in the outfit of a creature alien to her. Gloves brushed the fabric and occasionally brushed against someone near her; the slight sensation of their happiness absorbed through the velvet and worked its way under her skin. Two songs had passed and she had spun herself dizzy, the world tilting in that way it does when you're on the edge of something big, something dangerous. The room [i]was[/i] hers, for a moment. The throb of the music, the lights, people and people and people moving around her. All of it blending into a blurry haze of sensation. But there had been something else, hadn’t there? Something small, at first, but sharp. A glance here, a flicker of jealousy there, tiny cracks that zig zagged through the crowds. Unnoticed by most, but inevitable. Even Cleo hadn’t seen it coming. She had been too caught up in her own bubble, too drunk on the freedom of it all. Love Shack—a song she herself had requested with an enthusiastic grin; the DJ met her with an eye roll and an apathetic shrug, but played it anyway. The new-wave beat lifted her spirits high, filling the room with energy. The lyrics were catchy and demanded to be sang out. Laughter bubbled up around her, a ripple of joy those who were dancing had created. She’d seen it in their eyes, felt it in the way the room shifted toward her, the energy electric and bright. But then, from a darkened corner, something else had crept in. A girl sat alone, her pink dress a bright, garish thing against the shadows and yet still so unseen. Cleo hadn’t noticed her at first, hadn’t felt the cold weight of her loneliness. But now, as she spun, her head tilted back, she felt it. Like a wave, slow but inevitable, crashing against her. The girl's longing, her jealousy, pooled across the floor, winding its way between the dancers, invisible but present, a riptide drawing Cleo in. She tried to push it away and to shake it off with another twirl, another laugh. But it clung to her, sticky and dark. The girl’s sadness wove through her, holding cold fingers around her throat. The feeling wasn’t hers, she knew that. It didn’t belong to her. But it felt real all the same. It was unexpected, this wasn’t… She didn’t think… This was unexpected… [i][color=#94b9ff]It’s not mine?[/color][/i] As the tin roof rusted, an unseen weight tugged at the edges of her joy, unraveling it thread by thread... Picking at the stitches to reveal the overwhelming nothingness of it all. The nothingness that also just happened to feel like being punched in the stomach. Her feet faltered and movements slowed, the music turning distant and hollow in her ears, people laughed and smiled on, but the once bright room now felt too close, too crowded. The lights blurred, faces smearing together in a sickening whirl of color and sound. The walls moved inwards. [i][color=#94b9ff]Who would want to take a heart-reader to a dance?[/color][/i] The thought stabbed through her, vicious and cruel, her own voice echoing inside her head. [i][color=#94b9ff]You’re just a weird accent. You’re too much[/color][/i]. Always too much, and yet never enough. [right][i]”I don’t think you’re too much.”[/i][/right] Quiet, quiet words spoken from a quiet smile near a campfire, followed by yet more quiet. The space began to move - press in on her like a weight. Crushing against her chest and it forced her breath to be caught in her throat and the sensation kept going and going and holding and holding firmly and oppressively until she was running, running, running out of air into a panic… [i][color=#94b9ff]BREATHE[/color][/i]. Her chest tightened. Her heartbeat was loud. Fast, too fast. She stumbled out of the A.R.C as carefully as she could. Her shoes suddenly felt heavier, each step forward like the experience of trying to escape a nightmare. It was the cold night air biting at her skin, sharp and clean that pushed the worst of it away and helped her break free faster until she found herself on the outskirts of the evening's events. She brought herself down to sitting on the steps, too quick to really be careful with the fabric of her delicate dress. She let it spread around her as she tilted her head to look up at the clear sky that stretched out forever, dark and vast. Her breath misted in the cold dark, the music now a dull thrum behind her, distant and insignificant. The weight of everyone else’s emotions slid off her water, but the girl's sadness stayed. It had sunk too deep, and had rooted itself in her too well. Cleo continued to stare, her mind blank, empty, waiting for something—anything—to pull her back. But nothing came. Just the quiet. Just the cold. Just the stillness of the night pressing in around her. Only the quiet, and only the truth accompanied her, side by side. She'd been telling herself it didn't matter, for weeks now. That this was just a dance. But those moments—the tiny, delicate snippets from the other girls that mixed with the wave—their feeling of being wanted, of being special… Cleo [i]had[/i] wanted it too. She wanted it, even though she'd never admit it aloud. It wasn’t just the Pink Lady, was it? [center][img]https://i.ibb.co/q0077t8/Designer-2024-10-05-T204118-452.png[/img][/center] [right]The scent of firewood again, just like before. The sound of a page turning in a book.[/right] It couldn’t have just been the girl’s loneliness, could it? It was a reflection, a shadow of something she had been holding herself. The other girls shined under the lights in a way that Cleo didn’t. They belonged to someone and were desired by another. It was easier to pretend she didn't care, but the Pink Lady’s sadness had stripped away her mask, exposing a yearning Cleo had buried deep, the kind of need that felt dangerous to admit. That felt silly to admit. This dance, this night—she’d [i]wanted[/i] to be seen. Wanted to be held in that same light, if only for a moment. But no one had asked. Minutes passed. She leaned forward, drawing her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and resting her chin there. [i]Someone had wanted to.[/i] Cleo thought finally, or perhaps that was just a wish she had for someone who was now gone. Someone who had seen her beyond the insecurities she hid. Or had he always been the one who saw them, and didn’t quite mind? His smile came to mind and she closed her eyes, [i]”you’re not too much,”[/i] he said, eyes locking to hers - the memory suddenly clear and vivid. He returned to his book on the beach as the others of Team Eclipse carried about their activities, and Cleo returned to the present - feeling seen. She blinked, slowly, and turned to glance back at the A.R.C. Her heart-reading spirit stirred, and without thinking, she stood. She knew where she was going as she drew back inside, she wasn’t sure why, perhaps it was the pull of that loneliness, the weight of the girl’s sadness that she couldn’t shake. She saw the Pink Lady still sitting alone, the bright pink of her dress betrayed how shy and quiet she was. The loudness of the music couldn’t erase her loneliness, and it couldn’t bury Cleo’s either. Her sadness remained palpable, but Cleo still waded through it, pushing past the weight of it, her own brightness flickering in her chest, weak but steady. Her hand hovered for a moment, uncertain. But then, she extended it, her smile fragile yet steady, meeting the woman's eyes. [color=#94b9ff]“May I have this dance?”[/color] [/INDENT][/COLOR]