I hope you never lose your sense of wonder
You get your fill to eat
But always keep that hunger
May you never take one single breath for granted
God forbid love ever leave you empty handed
Dorothy Catalonia gazed sadly into a brightly lit ballroom, shadows playing across her pale face. Wrapping her shawl tighter around her cold body, she leaned against the gilded glass door, her soft hair fanning around her, shimmering in the moonlight. A melancholy violin serenade played softly in the background, giving a soft sadness to the atmosphere. Lost in thought, Dorothy's eyes glazed over in tears, rolling down her pearly skin. A sharp wind played with her gown, swirling the violet silk like a leaf in a breeze. Sniffing slightly, she diverted her gaze to the mosaic tile that decorated the small balcony she stood on. Taking a breath, she decided that she would have to go inside sooner or later. She slowly twisted the handle and stepped into the mob of people, all talking and sipping small glasses of wine. Glancing around nervously, she took a flute glass from a passing waiter and nervously held it, not daring to dull her senses with alcohol. A hand rested lightly on her shoulder and she spun around, holding her wine glass defensively in front of her. A young man stared back at her, surprised at her reaction. "Would you care to take this dance?" Dorothy gave him an appraising look. "No." As she meandered around the room she turned many men down, and she soon felt very self conscious. She took to standing in the corner of the room, behind the punch table. Finally daring to loosen up and take a sip of wine, she smiled slightly, reminded she was underage. By a year, but who would know? Taking a deep drink she looked up from her wine glass and abruptly dropped it in surprise and mild horror. Trowa Barton stared back in utter disgust, quickly turning away and losing himself in the crowd. A butler came over and began sweeping up the remainders of her glass, but she didn't care or notice. Throwing caution to the wind, she made her way in the direction she last saw Trowa go, for some reason feeling a great need to follow him. After a few minutes of fruitless searching, she was at the point of giving up when a soft hand grabbed her own. She spun around, prepared to tell another boy off, and if she had another glass she would have dropped it again. "Hello, Ms. Dorothy, would you care for this dance?"
I hope you still feel small, when you stand beside the ocean
Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens
Promise me that you'll give fate the fighting chance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
"Quatre!? What are you.How did you know I was here? Why are you here?" Dorothy squeaked, pulling her hand from Quatre's grasp. He just took her hand again and gave her a modest smile, leading her out into the dance floor. She offered no resistance, too shocked to retaliate. "Trowa told me he spotted you by the punch bowl," Quatre explained calmly, wrapping his arms around her waist. "I've been looking for you for half of an hour." Dorothy's eyes widened, but she put her arms around his neck, going through the dance steps. "Why would you go looking for me? I mean, we are not exactly..after that." Quatre gave her a reproving look and lightly dipped her, causing her heart to skip a few beats. "I have forgiving disposition. Why Ms. Dorothy, you expected me to hold a grudge on you? I have already assured you that I believe you are a wonderfully nice person. It's just a shame I had to admit that under those unfortunate circumstances." Dorothy felt her nervousness give way to an unexpected wave of compassion, and she rested her head on his shoulder, swaying lightly against him. Quatre leaned his head down and rested it on top of hers, whispering lightly, "I've waited for you. I knew I'd find you again."
I hope you dance ....
I hope you dance ....
I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance
Never settle for the path of least resistance
Livin' might mean takin' chances, but they're worth takin'
Lovin' might be a mistake, but it's worth makin'
Trowa twirled his wine around on his tongue, savoring the night. He sighed contentedly, watching Quatre and Dorothy dance. Even though he thoroughly despised Dorothy he was more than happy to hook them up. In the last few months Quatre had grown more detached and became despondent, cutting his communications with everybody. Although he never said it out loud, Trowa always knew why his friend was so melancholy. He had been pining for the girl for a year and wouldn't look at another, although Trowa had subtly introduced Catherine to Quatre, his good intentions in mind. Quatre, of course, had been quite the gentleman but at once Trowa could see his sister was not an option. As Quatre sunk further away from his, Trowa had become desperate enough to prod Quatre into reserving a ball, and Trowa had sent an invitation to Dorothy. He half expected her not to show up, and he half hoped she wouldn't. He was positive her and Quatre were not going to hit it off well...but he was wrong. He looked back over at the couple. Quatre had his face buried in Dorothy's neck while she was feeling up his back.. It was a wonder they could still coordinate their dancing. Trowa got a slightly nauseous feeling in his stomach as he watched the two. He had nobody. "Excuse me, where do you grab a glass of wine? Everyone has one and I'm feeling kind of stupid without one." Trowa jerked his head up. A lovely girl stood in front of him, wringing her hands nervously. Trowa stared at her for a moment, and suddenly memories came rushing back to him. He gasped. The girl looked at him, panicking. "Is there something wrong with my hair? Is there a stain on my dress?!" Immediately the girl began examining herself, looking for some sort of hideous blemish that would make a boy stare at her so intensely. Trowa grabbed her hand, and she glared at him in alarm. "Excuse me?" Trowa smiled. "Middii? Is that you?" The girl looked uncertain and twiddled with a piece of her wheat brown hair before answering. "Yes.Why?" Trowa's eyes filled with happy tears. "Don't you know me? I'm Trowa!" Middii just stared at him in alarm and wrenched her hand free of his grasp, taking a step back. "Look, I don't know a Trowa and I don't know how you know me but." Trowa put a finger to her lips, smiling. "Nanashi." He whispered, taking her hand in his once again. Middii's eyes widened as memories forced back into her thoughts came rushing back. She gave a strangled sob and hugged Trowa, crying into his shoulder. A few people looked over, but returned to their conversations for the sake of being polite. Trowa hugged her back, shedding a few tears of his own. Stroking her hair, he felt the loneliness disappear as he comforted his lost love.
Don't let some hell bent heart leave you bitter
When you come close to selling out, reconsider
Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
The ball ended, and Quatre had not caught site of Trowa anywhere, not that he had his mind set on looking. His immediate problem was how to get to the car without letting go of Dorothy, who had a dreamy look across her face and was clutching his arm as if he would run away. Quatre looked at her, tipping her chin up to his face. "Would you like to come home with me? We have many extra bedrooms and I'd be delighted to host such a beautiful guest." Dorothy smiled and pecked him on the lips, making his face turn red. "I'd love to. What would I wear, though?" Quatre grinned and put his arm around her shoulder, escorting her to his car. "You shouldn't worry about such menial things. We so many clothes I'm sure we could find something suitable for a nightgown. If not, you can just wear one of my shirts." He flashed her a roguish smile and opened the car door, motioning her to get in. When he got in and shut the door, the chauffeur gave him a mildly surprised look. It wasn't everyday Master Quatre brought home a girl, it certainly was a first. The chauffeur gave a chuckle and started the car, ignoring the giggles coming from the back. And all this time he thought Quatre was gay...
I hope you dance
(Time is a wheel in constant motion)
I hope you dance
(Always rolling us along)
I hope you dance
(Tell me who)
I hope you dance
(Wants to look back on their years and wonder)
I hope you dance
(Where those years have gone)
I hope you still feel small, when you stand beside the ocean
Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens
Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
You get your fill to eat
But always keep that hunger
May you never take one single breath for granted
God forbid love ever leave you empty handed
Dorothy Catalonia gazed sadly into a brightly lit ballroom, shadows playing across her pale face. Wrapping her shawl tighter around her cold body, she leaned against the gilded glass door, her soft hair fanning around her, shimmering in the moonlight. A melancholy violin serenade played softly in the background, giving a soft sadness to the atmosphere. Lost in thought, Dorothy's eyes glazed over in tears, rolling down her pearly skin. A sharp wind played with her gown, swirling the violet silk like a leaf in a breeze. Sniffing slightly, she diverted her gaze to the mosaic tile that decorated the small balcony she stood on. Taking a breath, she decided that she would have to go inside sooner or later. She slowly twisted the handle and stepped into the mob of people, all talking and sipping small glasses of wine. Glancing around nervously, she took a flute glass from a passing waiter and nervously held it, not daring to dull her senses with alcohol. A hand rested lightly on her shoulder and she spun around, holding her wine glass defensively in front of her. A young man stared back at her, surprised at her reaction. "Would you care to take this dance?" Dorothy gave him an appraising look. "No." As she meandered around the room she turned many men down, and she soon felt very self conscious. She took to standing in the corner of the room, behind the punch table. Finally daring to loosen up and take a sip of wine, she smiled slightly, reminded she was underage. By a year, but who would know? Taking a deep drink she looked up from her wine glass and abruptly dropped it in surprise and mild horror. Trowa Barton stared back in utter disgust, quickly turning away and losing himself in the crowd. A butler came over and began sweeping up the remainders of her glass, but she didn't care or notice. Throwing caution to the wind, she made her way in the direction she last saw Trowa go, for some reason feeling a great need to follow him. After a few minutes of fruitless searching, she was at the point of giving up when a soft hand grabbed her own. She spun around, prepared to tell another boy off, and if she had another glass she would have dropped it again. "Hello, Ms. Dorothy, would you care for this dance?"
I hope you still feel small, when you stand beside the ocean
Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens
Promise me that you'll give fate the fighting chance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
"Quatre!? What are you.How did you know I was here? Why are you here?" Dorothy squeaked, pulling her hand from Quatre's grasp. He just took her hand again and gave her a modest smile, leading her out into the dance floor. She offered no resistance, too shocked to retaliate. "Trowa told me he spotted you by the punch bowl," Quatre explained calmly, wrapping his arms around her waist. "I've been looking for you for half of an hour." Dorothy's eyes widened, but she put her arms around his neck, going through the dance steps. "Why would you go looking for me? I mean, we are not exactly..after that." Quatre gave her a reproving look and lightly dipped her, causing her heart to skip a few beats. "I have forgiving disposition. Why Ms. Dorothy, you expected me to hold a grudge on you? I have already assured you that I believe you are a wonderfully nice person. It's just a shame I had to admit that under those unfortunate circumstances." Dorothy felt her nervousness give way to an unexpected wave of compassion, and she rested her head on his shoulder, swaying lightly against him. Quatre leaned his head down and rested it on top of hers, whispering lightly, "I've waited for you. I knew I'd find you again."
I hope you dance ....
I hope you dance ....
I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance
Never settle for the path of least resistance
Livin' might mean takin' chances, but they're worth takin'
Lovin' might be a mistake, but it's worth makin'
Trowa twirled his wine around on his tongue, savoring the night. He sighed contentedly, watching Quatre and Dorothy dance. Even though he thoroughly despised Dorothy he was more than happy to hook them up. In the last few months Quatre had grown more detached and became despondent, cutting his communications with everybody. Although he never said it out loud, Trowa always knew why his friend was so melancholy. He had been pining for the girl for a year and wouldn't look at another, although Trowa had subtly introduced Catherine to Quatre, his good intentions in mind. Quatre, of course, had been quite the gentleman but at once Trowa could see his sister was not an option. As Quatre sunk further away from his, Trowa had become desperate enough to prod Quatre into reserving a ball, and Trowa had sent an invitation to Dorothy. He half expected her not to show up, and he half hoped she wouldn't. He was positive her and Quatre were not going to hit it off well...but he was wrong. He looked back over at the couple. Quatre had his face buried in Dorothy's neck while she was feeling up his back.. It was a wonder they could still coordinate their dancing. Trowa got a slightly nauseous feeling in his stomach as he watched the two. He had nobody. "Excuse me, where do you grab a glass of wine? Everyone has one and I'm feeling kind of stupid without one." Trowa jerked his head up. A lovely girl stood in front of him, wringing her hands nervously. Trowa stared at her for a moment, and suddenly memories came rushing back to him. He gasped. The girl looked at him, panicking. "Is there something wrong with my hair? Is there a stain on my dress?!" Immediately the girl began examining herself, looking for some sort of hideous blemish that would make a boy stare at her so intensely. Trowa grabbed her hand, and she glared at him in alarm. "Excuse me?" Trowa smiled. "Middii? Is that you?" The girl looked uncertain and twiddled with a piece of her wheat brown hair before answering. "Yes.Why?" Trowa's eyes filled with happy tears. "Don't you know me? I'm Trowa!" Middii just stared at him in alarm and wrenched her hand free of his grasp, taking a step back. "Look, I don't know a Trowa and I don't know how you know me but." Trowa put a finger to her lips, smiling. "Nanashi." He whispered, taking her hand in his once again. Middii's eyes widened as memories forced back into her thoughts came rushing back. She gave a strangled sob and hugged Trowa, crying into his shoulder. A few people looked over, but returned to their conversations for the sake of being polite. Trowa hugged her back, shedding a few tears of his own. Stroking her hair, he felt the loneliness disappear as he comforted his lost love.
Don't let some hell bent heart leave you bitter
When you come close to selling out, reconsider
Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
The ball ended, and Quatre had not caught site of Trowa anywhere, not that he had his mind set on looking. His immediate problem was how to get to the car without letting go of Dorothy, who had a dreamy look across her face and was clutching his arm as if he would run away. Quatre looked at her, tipping her chin up to his face. "Would you like to come home with me? We have many extra bedrooms and I'd be delighted to host such a beautiful guest." Dorothy smiled and pecked him on the lips, making his face turn red. "I'd love to. What would I wear, though?" Quatre grinned and put his arm around her shoulder, escorting her to his car. "You shouldn't worry about such menial things. We so many clothes I'm sure we could find something suitable for a nightgown. If not, you can just wear one of my shirts." He flashed her a roguish smile and opened the car door, motioning her to get in. When he got in and shut the door, the chauffeur gave him a mildly surprised look. It wasn't everyday Master Quatre brought home a girl, it certainly was a first. The chauffeur gave a chuckle and started the car, ignoring the giggles coming from the back. And all this time he thought Quatre was gay...
I hope you dance
(Time is a wheel in constant motion)
I hope you dance
(Always rolling us along)
I hope you dance
(Tell me who)
I hope you dance
(Wants to look back on their years and wonder)
I hope you dance
(Where those years have gone)
I hope you still feel small, when you stand beside the ocean
Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens
Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance