(Y/N) POV:

There's only glittering eyes hazed with desire and drink. There's something about the way Hobi tilts into me, lets me drag him closer, mouths slick against each other. Hands raking feverishly over my curves, dragging me all the more closer, fingers entangling into my hair to tug my lips to his. Bruising flesh soft and giving until it's not. Until it's demanding and taking just as intensely.

There's something so intense about the way Hobi dances, about the way he lives and breathes, about the way he tugs me nearer, as if there's too much space and oxygen between us until he's swallowing down the sounds he wrenches from me.

There's only arousal and desire that bubbles through my veins, intoxicating and heady, following the lure of steps backtracking and fumbling against the stairs, laughs soft and laden with want as my fingers curl into fabric, tug him into the curved crevices of my body, chasing the warmth of his body, the heady honey of the rough sounds spilling from his mouth.

And he moves with fluidity. Moves as if he knows the map of my body intimately already, as if his hands ache to trace me under his palms. Moving with unfaltering ease inside his house, my mind dizzy and drunk on the taste of him, the way Hobi's lips curl up. Infectious giddiness pressed to the parted seam of my mouth.

Stumbling up the steps, hand steering me towards the door. Somehow getting lost on the way. Lips chasing mine, pressing to the curve of my jaw and down the line of my throat that tilts back in welcomed invite, hand cradling the back of my head. The press of a muscled thigh slotted between my own, body pressing me to the wall, the line of muscles pressing me there, fingers fumbling with a feverishness that burns through conscious thought of any other noise, any other figure that's not him, tugging Hobi further into me. Drunk on the sensations he lathes over every sensitive slither of skin.

"Hoseok—Hobi stop, stop..." words laughed out, huffed with an unevenness to my breathing. Lips lingering against my pulse, teeth relinquishing their hold from where they'd nipped marks down the column of my neck to look at me.

He looks as undone as I feel, ruined just by kissing Hobi.

His lips curve up with a giddy warmth and ease that invites my body all the more closer despite our lips being a hairbreadth apart, eager to chase the heat of his mouth. Eyes tracing his features. Tracing the lack of control bleeding into his movements.

Hoseok's a dancer, everything about him so precise, so calculated but in this moment he looks far from put together. A coil of satisfaction that winds itself around me at knowing I've done that.

Watch his throat bob. Watch his stare turn heavy as he looks at me in turn. Eyes darkened and dilated—gaze reflecting back just how wrecked I look and feel. But I search for cognizance, search for clarity and consciousness. Search for Hobi and that he's not lost to drink and irrationality. Quietly, my eyes scan for that paranoid shiver that checks for Hobi and not an echo of siren-allure, as if some of it might've seeped off me unknowingly, unbidden. His fingers slip upwards, a lazy trace across my collarbones before they crook my jaw down, tilting my lips back to his.

Something so hypnotic about him that for a moment I wonder if this is how it feels. The allure. The inescapable want to be nearer, nearer, nearer.

Voice a low lilted murmur that drags my eyes to his, tearing away from the curve of his mouth.

"I'm not about to take advantage of my boyfriend if he's drunk or tipsy." Eyes gauging as they search his.

In response Hobi's hand clasps my hip.

Body tilting closer.

Eyes raking over me. The image of him, the sight of him dancing, holding me, guiding me burnt into my mind. Branded across the inside of my eyes, flashing before my eyes even now, remembering the swayed motion of his body. Practiced and confident.

Feel myself still as his body tilts nearer, closer, breaths shuddering at the proximity. Hand tightening in the collar of his shirt, body adjusting, hips unconsciously bucking forward when his thigh presses harder, firmer between my thighs.

"I'm not drunk." Voice throaty and low.

"I dunno~ seem pretty tipsy." My words soft and teasing, breath hitching when his hand drags down lower from my hip to drag over the curve of my thigh, fingers sinking into flesh, gripping tight.

"If I was tipsy I wouldn't be able to do this."

Hands dragging to grip the back of my thighs to lift me up, legs wrapping around his waist without a faltering beat, but my grip at his shoulder tightens. Surprise at the sudden motion, breathless with the effortless display of strength, eyes blazing as he looks at me.

Confronted with the dark intensity of his stare, head angled towards mine, peering up. Hair brushing against Hobi's cheek, fingers softer against his jaw. Tracing a line.

Thumbing at skin.

"Picking me up's fine—can you get us to bed without dropping me?" laughter crinkling the corner of my eyes, mouth curving up in a softer lilt. Teasing. Testing.

Bodies tilting towards the bed, his pressing to mine, back hitting the mattress, a breathless grin, eyes sparkling, deep drowning depths, before I tug him forward. Body pressed, pinned by his to the sheets. Grin parting into a kiss, lips and tongue slow and indulgent against mine. Sweet with the taste of wine, intoxicated on the taste of him, on the sound of him, pleasure sparking across my body wherever Hobi's hands graze and touch. Tugging at clothes, fingers delving under to brush against skin, maddening, maddening touches that drive me insane, mind spinning with want, mouth ducking lower to press a course down my jaw, down the arch of my throat, down the dip where I swallow and the line of my collarbone. Mapping me to the touch of his lips. Slow lazy kisses that spark heat and set the heat in my veins to burn.

"Still think I'm tipsy?"

"Dunno..." but laced in the tease is a breathless edge that only winds the spiralling pleasure tighter and tighter, hands gripping at the hem of my dress and dragging it up, head lowering down to skim over the dip of my breasts before skimming lower.

Lips pressing to the arched press of my torso, body twisting to be closer, nearer, feel my breaths waver in my lungs, feel his lips drag down the fluttering contractions of my stomach, dipping lower, fingers hooking into my waistband, hands dragging back up to hook underneath my thighs.

Near delirious with want. With need for him. Senses utterly consumed and overwhelmed by him, him, him.

Hobi.

There's something intoxicating and utterly consuming about the way Hobi looks at me, eyes lidded with pleasure, hazed and blown out as he tracks my movements, hands propping myself up. Head falling back with moaned pleasure, fingers curling into the sheets as his lips trace their way up the inside of my thighs, fingers gripping at soft curves. Feel their grip tighten, harsh and rough and firm all at once.

"Fuck—" word breathy, lips parted with a rough breath, hand loosening in the sheets to grip at messy strands, fingers entangling and dragging against his scalp, tugging Hobi closer, thighs trembling and parting.

Body welcoming his own.

Drunk on the intensity of desire that washes over me, through me, limbs putty under his touch.

"Want to?" lips curled up against my skin, tracing their way up slowly.

Lips pressing lingering kisses against my skin, open-mouthed kisses inching their way up, fingers dragging inwards to angle my thigh open. Eyes skimming upwards, tracing every taut, arched line and curve of my body with a dizzying appreciation.

"Fuck me Hoseok."

My mouth tilts nearer to his, needing his lips against mine but he keeps himself at a hairsbreadth distance, toying with the barest of gaps between us. Eyes flickering with delight. Fingers tracing the slight tremors of my thigh, tracing idly closer and closer, sensing the tension, the tightly coiled anticipation in my body he winds up. Fingers gripping at him, skimming down my hair to curl against my nape, leg hooking around me to press against the flat of his back. To press Hobi closer to me. Feel the muscles in his back flex and contract, feel him press nearer, slowly draw himself down my body.

It's cruel. The rough sharp laugh exhaled against my centre, in the way his hand clasps at my hip to pin me down, back arching off the sheets.

"And here I was... hoping you'd do the honours." Voice thick with arousal.

Lidded eyes appraise me. The quirked corner of his wicked mouth tilting up with a toying grin.

Desire burning its way through my veins at the sight of it.

At the promise in it.

"If that's what you want."

Then anything... everything.

"But you first."

[......]

Bodies spent and entangled together, fingers tracing the rise and fall of his chest, trace their way down the way his abdomen clenches and unclenches, body shifting and tensing under my touch.

A hand grasping my wrist, tugging me nearer, lips pressing indolent kisses from the tips of my fingers down my palm to my wrist. The fluttering pecks almost ticklish, featherlight-soft in the way they trace a path gently down my hand. Heart pulsing warm, a warm sweetness seeping into the afterglow, leg slung over his. Body twisting to face his, eyes blinking up at him.

Watch his own gaze dip down, kiss slow and lingering, breaths exhaled against one another, groaning quietly into my mouth.

"I could watch you dance for every single moment of my life and still never tire. There's something about you."

"Mhm... must be the siren pull." I murmur, head settling against his arm.

Feel his body shift, fingers crook my jaw up, eyes skimming up to look at his.

Voice low against me.

"Can't be."

"Why not?"

"If... if there was such a pull... as a siren... towards me... I don't know how it works exactly... but I figure you'd have gotten me on my knees in that first practice then. Hiding out the back were you? Keeping all this talent...hidden." Surprise and disbelief still colours his voice, fills his eyes as if he can't fathom it being that way, can't fathom the possibility of what might've happened if I had managed to keep it all hidden.

"That's not always how siren allure works."

"Well... what I feel when I watch you dance... it isn't allure."

"What is it you feel?" curiosity lacing my voice, fingers idly tracing over his skin.

"I feel—a lot of things when I watch you dance. But there's something so incredible about the way you move... about the way when you dance you and the music truly are one—you're a born performer. You were born to light up the stage." Voice breathless, eyes full of an awe that transforms each and every line of his body, the intensity of his eyes, the slope of his mouth into something so sweetly tender and admiring that it makes my body flush to be cocooned with the way he looks at me. As if he sees the dancer first. The siren second.

As if I can be... as if I am what I want me to be first and my nature, my very existence is secondary to him.

To them.

"If anything... thank you Hobi."

"What for?" brows furrowed with confusion, lips pecking the tip of my nose.

"For seeing me. For seeing the dancer in me and for not being willing to give up what you saw even though I'd said goodbye to it a long time ago."

I'd given it all up, I'd known the cost of living an immortal lifespan, I'd known a day would come where I couldn't perform. I'd known that my chance to dance on stage would've been once in my siren-life and once alone.

Hobi had changed that.

Hobi had refused to let that part of me go.

He'd clung onto parts of me I was ready to let fade.

"I don't know if you'll ever want to dance on that level of a stage again, but I want you to dance. I want nothing more than to dance with you, than to see you dance for the rest of your life. To see you never give it up."

The earnestness in his voice makes my eyes prickle, makes my heart race quicker, feel his body shift nearer, eyes holding mine steadfast and sincere and true.

"Like today?"

"Today, tomorrow and the days after. Whatever form of dance you want, whatever way you want to dance. All of it."

My lips curve up, smile pressed to his as I kiss him slowly, feel his body melt into mine, limbs entangle further, arms wrapped around me cradling me nearer as I kiss him. Lips parting, tongue brushing against his, sweeping through his mouth with a slow thorough carefulness.

I could kiss you to my last breath, I think.

For bringing me back a part of me I'd tried to let go.

His nose nudges against mine, eyes full of love and tenderness.

"I love you (Y/N)."

My heart aches, beats and thuds. Pulses in rapid thrumming beats for the man in front of me, for the way it feels inexplicably full, overwhelmed and lost in the intensity of the way Hoseok lives and loves and breathes. Loves in every breath.

"I love you too Hoseok."

I'll love you till my last breath.

--------------------

"What's fun about sweating your tits off in an overcrowded room full of strangers?" Habaek oppa's voice calls over the din, expression unimpressed, letting Mi-Sun unnie tug him closer with a ringing laughter that even in the din and chaos and the thudding heavy beat of the club music does nothing to entirely quieten and silence. The nearby figures dancing and pressing onto each other falter in their sweat-flushed movements, eyes tugged towards the glowing pull of Mi-Sun unnie's body. And when it draws eyes to her, it inevitably draws eyes onto us.

"Being one of those strangers." She laughs, head tossed back as her eyes flutter under strobe lights.

The three of us press nearer, Habaek oppa pressing closer instinctively, hand gripping her waist, voice at her ear, a growled warning be careful, turn it down.

"I can't turn off the siren magic." Voice lilted, laced with a honeyed laugh, eyes lidded as they beckon dancers nearer.

The clustering heat of bodies pressing to each other, nearer, eyes flickering with a daze, with a hypnotic pull the strangers can't figure out save for the fact that something... something about Mi-Sun pulls them in. Moths to a flame.

And she delights in it. Gaze turning hungry, wicked. Sharp and calculating. Hand sweeping my hair from my shoulders, lips pressing to my shoulder and then against the curve of my ear.

"See any you like baby?"

I let her arms turn me to face her, body moving in synced time to her own, the roll of her hips pushing against mine, mischief lighting up her features, dark dramatic eyes wicked with intent. Lips curling up as she reads the energy shift on the dance floor. The flicker of carnal hunger she's seemed to ignite in the nearby dancers. Hands tugging me impossibly nearer, hand dragging down my back in a possessive move, lips parted teeth bared with a clear warning to back off, hands off.

She seems to delight in giving the show but there's no invite to touch. Not yet.

Body aglow with the heady thrill of getting lost in the sea of bodies, nameless and unknown just as much as the next person is.

"I like the club music because—" she stresses, watching Habaek oppa tilt closer, dark eyes flashing with a sharper edge, with a deadlier tilt to his mouth.

If Mi-Sun unnie's the allure of a siren. Hypnotically beautiful, luring in strange eyes to feast onto the sight of her, the curves and lines of her body, the flesh she willingly bares to reel them in nearer and nearer, the confidence and screaming sex-eyes that beckon and then push back... push them away... if Mi-Sun is the invite of lust and pleasure and an endless night... Habaek oppa is the opposite.

A deadly edge to his expression that screams warning, that for all Mi-Sun lures in, his presence seems to warn off. If Mi-Sun is desire's incarnate, he's wrath and danger and threat, body towering nearer, crowding closer to the two of us. His hand a possessive clamped hold across Mi-Sun to tug her away from the clustered throe of bodies to draw her, and by proxy me, to the edge of the dance floor.

Eyes glowing with an unnatural haunting gleam.

"You killjoy." Mi-Sun unnie protests.

"How? What's to like about this?" a distasteful grimace on his face, hand herding the two of us nearer, arm banding around us, body a wall of defence, the two of us pressing nearer to the bar's edge.

"No-one knows us. No-one will know us after today. No-one will know us apart for the few hours they see us." The sheer delight, revelling in being anonymous and unknown, in being just a stranger in someone's bed, in being someone's haunting fantasy that'll plague them for countless nights—starved of her presence.

She knows the power she holds.

And she buzzes with having it in her control, her reins.

She gestures to the bartender, beckoning lilt to her body as she tilts over the bar's edge. Voice heavy and thick with sultry promise, lips curving wide as he seems to blink. And falter.

"Two rounds of shots."

Dumb awe flits across his face, glazes his eyes when she focuses her eyes on him, when her eyes lazily appraise him. Slowly looking him up and then down.

In a world of hunters and prey—Mi-Sun unnie has never been anything but a hunter, teeth gleaming as she smiles, fingers curling around the shot glass to down it. Holding her gaze with the bartender, watch his eyes fixate on the way her throat moves, liquid spilling down her throat. Watch as he watches transfixed on the way she swallows, lips glossy and damp as she slams the glass down, eyes glowing. As if the longer she's here, letting loose, the more the siren-allure pours off of her, the more eyes she drags to us.

A kernel of discomfort sprouting in the low of my stomach, body willingly turning and pressing into Habaek oppa's side. Watch her eyes glitter with curiosity, examining the barkeep with interest flickering in her stare.

Contemplating.

And then the abrupt turn of her heels, shots scooped up, pressed to each of us. The liquid burning as it goes down, pooling in the already flushed heat that seeps off my skin, that makes my body feel an echo of that headiness that Mi-Sun unnie's well on her way into, tipsy and loose-limbed.

The same eyes that'd been dark with allure now soften with mischief, lips curling up in a tilt that promises that the night is far from over and she's far from done.

"Drink up. We're leaving after this?" Habaek oppa sighs, relieved as he downs the shots. Swallowing them down without haste, ready and eager to go.

"Yeah there's a club downtown that opens its doors at 1."

"Another club?" Habaek oppa echoes, appalled, eyes flashing with commiseration as they exchange a silent glance to me.

I quietly toss back the next drink. Welcome its burn.

Voice a hushed rasp.

"There's no chance of us saying no is there?" I murmur.

"Abso-fucking-lutely not! Drink up babe, I got all night"

----------------------

Now this... this I could get used to.

The quick swing of legs, body twisting to fall in rhythm with my partner's, laughter caught in my throat but silent as it spills out. Noiseless joy as my heart races, paces with the rush of the music, bodies moving in time to the quick beat of the music, dress fluttering slightly around my thighs. Head tilting back in silent laughter, in the giddiness of being caught up in it all, letting the hand in mine fall away, the two of us swinging in time to the beat. Body twisting this way then that, heels clicking against the floor, steps falling into pace with everyone else on the floor. Two lines of bodies in formation, body circling around my partner's, letting a hand grasp me to twist me round, body dipping back as his leans into mine.

He's nameless for tonight.

But there's something about the flushed glow on his face, the way laughter creases his eyes, and his moves tug out the same dramatic flair from my own. A hand tugging me nearer, the music wild and liberating that stirs up a giddiness that makes my heart thump wildly behind my chest.

Watch his eyes dip to trace the string of pearls, the dip of my neckline, trace his way down to the way the skirt flutters, the fabric clinging onto the outline of my hips and thighs.

He looks at me with desire and elation and it's a combo that stirs up an echo of want in my own.

The lively beat of one song barely quietening before another begins—renews the electric thrumming pulse of liveliness from the dance floor.

A hand that rather than tug and twist me into a quick flutter of movement, draws me nearer, the two of us stepping out of beat.

Voice low and brushing against my skin.

Heated breath to heated skin, stirring up faint tendrils of desire.

"Would you like a drink?"

I nod, lungs feeling breathless, body shuddering for air, skin pebbling at the brush of his lips briefly against my jaw before he draws back. Nodding as he melts into the crowd. The lingering press of his hand against my back still lingers, a phantom touch.

In the wide estate's dance floor my eyes stray, absently searching until they find Mi-Sun and Habaek oppa, the flash of nostalgia at the sight of them flaring up, see the two of them huddled close, whispering behind flutes of champagne. More interested in people-watching than being caught up in the dancing. Content to watch from the sidelines.

Another echo of déjà vu as their heads tilt up, find my eyes on them. Expressions shifting into warm smiles. Their eyes search, assuage that nothing's wrong and pick their way across the dance floor towards me.

"You look like you're having a good time." Habaek oppa murmurs.

"He's a gentleman." Fingers swirling the flute of champagne before drawing in a sip, eyes peering at me over the rim of the glass before she downs the glass. Beckons for a waiter, switching out the glass for a new one. Eyes buzzing with an excitement that I realise is for me. She's excited for me, she's giddy for me.

"He feels like it." I admit, cheeks warm and heated from dancing, eyes absently flickering around the dance floor, voice hushed and quiet. The conscious carefulness engrained in me in a way it hasn't to them. Cautious of my voice being overheard.

A hand presses to my cheek, a squeal as Mi-Sun twirls me around, a hand clutching mine, twisting me around before tugging me nearer. Lips pressing to my cheek.

"Is that what's got you all pink and blushing? A gentleman who can dance... is that your new type?" elbow nudging me conspiratorially.

Wiggling her eyebrows at me when my cheeks seem to flush hotter. A hand brushing against my cheek, disguising the movement by brushing my hair away from my face.

"It's not a type. He's just... really good at making me want to laugh." I admit.

There's a warmth in Habaek oppa's eyes as he looks at me, curved delight in the smile he disguises, fails to disguise, behind his drink.

"Then he's good enough for a whirl." He winks.

"Are you going to kiss him? Court him—like hell. Courting is so last century and besides... such an awfully slow process. Grab him by his collar and kiss him!" Mi-Sun unnie cheers, laughter infectious, head tossed back, attracting eyes. Smiles that curve up in subconscious response to the exuberant sound.

She's all for tossing procedure and decorum aside... not that it really matters in the first place. She hadn't courted or followed the textbook during the last century, she lived by her set of rules so why would she start following anyone else's now?

A ripple of admiration at the confident ease she says it, my cheeks heating at the thought. A phantom image of his lips pressing to mine. The stray thought of wondering whether he kisses as good as he dances.

"Better even... go for a walk in the gardens. Get lost in the maze." Hushed encouragement and mischief in her eyes, flitting past me and then drawing back.

Hand looping around Habaek oppa's waist.

"I mean we're all staying the night and I've heard the private rooms are ones to take advantage of." Words lilted before she lets Habaek oppa tug her away, shared grins as they move out of earshot. A hand at my elbow and then a voice, honeyed soft at my ear.

"Your drink gorgeous."

My fingers curl around the glass, take it with a smile as he steps nearer to me. A hand flitting at the low of my back, featherlight brush of knuckles against my skin, fingers dancing in quiet askance. My body presses into the touch, fingers stilling before his head dips nearer to mine.

"You really do look stunning."

My eyes flicker up, head tilting, and eyes narrowed in playful question. Fingers brushing against his suit before they fiddle with an undone button.

Lips parting in silent invite.

But instead of closing the distance immediately, gaze dropping to my mouth, he trails his eyes back up. Takes the glass from me.

"One more dance?"

My gloved hand slides into his.

I'd be delighted.

------------------

In the privacy of his drawing room, hands spin me around, laughter spilling out at the quick whirl of the movement, of hands clasping around my waist once more, drawing me nearer to him. Eyes soft with a tenderness as he looks at me, tilting at the brush of my hand against his cheek, pressing into the touch.

"I don't do many dances." He confesses, lips curving up when I tilt nearer to him. Content to sway silently in his arms, the music pouring out of the gramophone, bodies swaying together in quiet comfortable sync.

"I love dancing with you though." The admission whisper-soft. Heart fluttering at the gentle motion of his head turning, lips brushing against my palm, hand drifting up to loop around my wrist. To let his lips flutter gentle kisses across the inside of my wrist, trail down before he guides my hand to rest on his shoulder. Head dipping to mine to ghost a sweetly soft kiss against my lips, only deepening it when my lips part, a breathy sound muffled between us. The soft unrushed brush of his tongue against mine, groaning quietly into my mouth, his hand drawing me closer, sprawling over my waist as he kisses me. Body tilting to mine, my back arching under the touch. Smiling against his mouth when he refuses to let distance build, kiss warming me from the inside.

The unrushed patience so characteristic of him begins to slip, kissing me deeper, shared rushed breaths and pounding heartbeats that echo with his.

"I'm not very good at it. I'm not very good at words." He murmurs against my lips.

My hand drifts to angle his face to mine, kiss lingering against his lips.

The press of his mouth to mine, kiss slowly consuming and dragging me nearer makes me feel dizzy with the rush of love that sears through me for him.

"Don't need words... kiss me. Hold me." I murmur, teeth tugging at his bottom lip.

And the composure in his eyes seems to slip, flickering with want as he looks at me. Groans low in his throat.

Hand slipping from my waist to the low of my back, tugging me nearer. The music around us plays but the two of us exist in a bubble of space and time beyond it, the connection between us strong and heady and inescapable.

"I can do that." he murmurs gently, skin burning with the heat of the kiss he presses to my mouth, that he trails down to my jaw. My fingers slip into his hair, tug him nearer, feel a strand of hair uncoil from it's pin.

Hear his voice, low and throaty, so different from its softness, so noticeably affected as he murmurs against my skin.

"Ni hen piao liang."

"What did you say?" curious, breaths fluttering as his lips sweep over my throat before trailing up.

Fingers painstakingly gentle as they brush the strand of curled hair back from my face, tuck it behind my ear.

Eyes intensely burning as he looks at me.

"I said your hair's undone."

But the caress of breath and lips against my skin burns hot and intimate. Makes my heart ache with the sheer force of wanting, wanting, wanting. I could want him for a lifetime and not tire. I could want him to my last breath and still want more.

"I don't think so. Lying to your fiancé Jem?" I lilt, leaning into the touch, into the soft brush of lips against the high of my cheek, eyes fluttering shut.

"Never." But the faint curve of a smile presses to my cheek, tells me all I need to know.

"What did you say Jem?" I ask again, voice breathy with the weight of his stare, feel his gaze look at me, see me and love me all the more.

"You look beautiful."

But he's the beautiful one. He's so beautiful it hurts to look. He's so beautiful my heart aches with it.

But his words warm me from the inside, red-hot flustered warmth against my cheeks at the way his voice drops, low and sincere. The way he looks at me, eyes unwaveringly holding mine, the way even in the quiet I can hear him, hear the expression of love in the way his arm curls around me, brings me nearer. At the way his lips brush from my cheek to my temple, lingering there.

"And I can't believe you said yes."

"I'd always say yes. There'd never be a lifetime where I wouldn't say yes to you Jem." Heads curving forward, resting to one another. Eyes unblinking. A faint stinging pressure as I look at him and see him, loving me for all I am.

"You don't know how lucky I am. I'd wait a thousand lifetimes to find you."

"No need. I'm right here." Lips wobbling as they dredge up, as they press to his. I love you, I love you, I love you.

"May I have this dance Miss (Y/N)?"

"It's Mrs Carstairs to be actually."

---------------------

"And one two–" Appa counts us in, swinging me around carefully as the two of us waltz around the drawing room, giggling as he spins the two of us, my feet balancing across polished shoes. Sidestepping the two of us around, body hunched down to dance with me.

A waltz plays in the background, mama watches from the chaise lounge, stretched out across, hand brushing over her stomach. A gentle rubrub motion over the curved mound, eyes fluttering as she smiles.

"Practicing to dance on behalf of mama?" She calls out.

I nod, brows furrowed with focus as I clasp appa's hands, giggle when he makes a big lunging step, hands grabbing me up to swing me around. Airborne and laughing, skirts flaring as he laughs alongside me.

"That's not how you dance with mama!" I protest, laughing as he spins the two of us round quicker and quicker, the drawing room and mama's smile blurring into colours, clutching onto his shirt as he sets me down.

"No? Mama loves the spinning, twirling dances." He points out.

My eyes fall to her again. She's always loved dressing up, always looked so so beautiful in all the dresses she wears. Appa's always looked at her like she's the stars in the night sky, like she's the sun and moon and he's so in love with her, with the glow that only he brings out in mama. She's not dressed up now, already ready for bed, but he stills looks at her with all the wonder and amazement in his eyes.

"Why aren't you dancing then mama?"

Her hand rubs again at the curve of her stomach, rounded with the baby growing inside her.

"I'd love to but even your appa's not magical enough to stop baby getting dizzy when we spin. And if baby gets dizzy, mama gets dizzy too." She sighs, an expression of wistfulness in her eyes as she looks at the two of us slowly waltz around the drawing room.

"That's why I need our best girl dancing with her appa." He grins at me, slowly spins me around, cheeks curving up as I smile, skirts fluttering around me.

"What if I don't wanna dance with you all night appa?"

He looks scandalised and then clutches his heart.

Shaking his head at me, smile rueful.

"And who are you going to be dancing with all night then little Miss (Y/N)?"

"The boys and girls at the ball! Or... plenty of other stuff to do! Did you know there's an orchestra at the ball? I want to see if they'd lend me some music sheets."

Mama laughs, tinkling and bright. And it's appa's turn to glow as he looks at her.

"You hoard music my little love."

"I want to grow up and learn...no... I only collect the best music pieces..."

"And what do you do with the best of the best you collect (Y/N)?"

"I'm going to grow up and dance to them all!"

"With a partner? Oh you'd look divine dancing the newer ballroom pieces with a partner–"

"I intend on dancing by myself mama. And maybe... maybe if a dance needs a partner then I'll have to find the best to join me."

"How do you find the best?"

"Simple... he just needs to keep up."

Mama's eyes burn bright. Nodding as she looks at me, approval in her eyes.

"Exactly. Never settle for less, for someone who can't keep up."

"I won't mama."

[......]

It's a quiet realisation, sinking into bones, melding with the thrum of my heart, making itself at home in flesh and blood that dance has always been part of me. That one winding connection that tethers each "lifetime", each moment of history, each phase and era and period I've lived through. Winds itself from my first lifetime, my mortal life to the countless ones I've lived as a siren. Dance has always been it.

And Hobi sees it, he understand it.

And he holds onto that tether for me, he holds onto it and makes sure I don't let go.

[......]

Sleep-mussed hair, groggy hoarse voice, lazy drooped blinks and lips curled up at the corners, cheek squished into the pillow as he quietly mumbles.

"Wanna go dance later? I got something to show you."

My heart soars, in the sleepiness and the quiet, in the late morning, tangled in sheets with Hobi, my heart soars.

"I'd like that."

(OKAY... WELL... DEEP BREATH... I'M SO...SO...SO... SO SORRY THAT SIREN'S SONG HAS TAKEN ME OVER A YEAR TO UPDATE. I REACHED A REAL SLUMP WITH IT AND I DIDN'T KNOW WHERE IT WAS I WANTED IT TO GO OR RATHER HOW TO GET THERE... OVER THIS PAST YEAR I'VE REWRITTEN THIS CHAPTER, SCRAPPED IT AND WRITTEN AT LEAST 20 VERSIONS BEFORE THIS ONE... AND THIS ONE... THIS ONE CAME TO ME TODAY. AND IT CAME OUT, NATURAL AND UNRUSHED AND FOCUSED ON HER DANCE AND HISTORY (ALL FOR A REASON 😉) BUT... IT'S HERE. THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO'S WAITED PATIENTLY... EVERYONE WHO'S GIVEN BABY SIREN'S STORY A REREAD AND CHEERED HER ON ALL THIS TIME IN WAIT... SHE'S BACK!)

QUESTION (HAVENT DONE THIS FOR AGES)... Favourite tracks from Muse?

Mine is... BE MINE AND WHO (COS IT GIVES ME SUCH INSPRING IDEAS TO WANT TO WRITE ON AND JUST SFSIFJFJ) MESS WITH MY BRAIN CHEMISTRY! PARTICULARLY FOR ICE SPORTS RIVALRY JIMIN AIHEFIEWGIW THE MAN THAT HE IS!

Borahae! 💜💜💜

PurpleQueenie