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“Come on, one more time! From the top! And one, two, thre–”
“Ya! Choi Sangyeop! Have mercy, will you?!”
A pair of boots stomp onto the ground, its metal buckles echoing through the campsite. A few paces away from the campfire, tents, and caravan, is a small space where the owners of said caravan bicker among themselves. Currently, they have dressed down to simple tunics and pants with their leather boots, their coats and accessories tucked away in their belongings. These four people are travelling musicians operating under the group name LUCY. Choi Sangyeop, the shawm player, stands in front of the others, watching over them like a commander to his troops. Shin Yechan, a hurdy-gurdy player, irritably taps his boots on the ground and glares at Sangyeop. Behind Yechan is Cho Wonsang – theorbo player – leaning on a tree as he takes his boots off to rub his feet and Shin Gwangil – pipe and tabor player – laying down on his back looking like he wants to expel his soul from his body.
In the late afternoon sun after a few hours of travel and setting up their tents, the group had just finished dinner. As they wait for nightfall, Yechan suggested they should start practicing the waltz before arriving in the next town, much to the hesistance of Sangyeop and resistance of everyone else.
Right now, Yechan huffs, “we’ve been at this for, what, three hours now? Let’s stop already!”
“But hyung,” Sangyeop resists. “You were the one to say we should learn right now. If we don’t get this dance right, we’ll embarrass ourselves! Then Lord Kang will never hire us again.”
Sangyeop’s concern comes from a letter they received a little over a month ago. Lord Kang is a noble of a valley region the group has visited before. He is known among their neighboring lands to be a patient and peppy noble who loves throwing celebrations of any kind. Lord Kang, and the Kang family by extension, has become one of LUCY’s regular clients, hiring them during the harvest and winter festivals or the occasional ball in the manor. When the members saw the letter addressed to them from Lord Kang, they initially assumed it would be another job hire for them. Instead, the nobleman dictated that he is inviting them to the manor as guests to celebrate the birth of his niece with the people of the city. He wanted the band that the family clearly adored to be part of the celebration. The four men got so excited at being guests at a ball instead of the entertainment that it was only on the road to Lord Kang’s territory did they realize that none of them have any experience in dancing at balls at all.
Or rather, none of them except for Sangyeop, which he so casually mentioned as the group was setting up their tents. Yechan, Wonsang, and Gwangil immediately interrogated him on where, why, when, and how he learned the waltz noble people do at balls, to which Sangyeop replied, “I just know a lot of people, and sometimes when we have gigs, people mistake me for a guest and ask me to dance with them. You’d be surprised how many guys actually approached me!” Sangyeop laughed as he recounted the different instances people asked him to dance, complete with dates and locations and names when he was able to remember them. Wonsang and Gwangil didn’t bother to tell him that Yechan’s face would grow dark at every mention of a guy asking Sangyeop to dance. Their resident shawm player then took it upon himself to teach the others how to dance so as to not ruin their own reputation in the eyes of the Kang family.
Back in the present, Yechan and Sangyeop continue bickering, the older man demanding that they all take a break while the younger one comments that they couldn’t even get the basics right so why on earth should they stop? As Gwangil watches the branches sway above him, he once again regrets his decision to stick to their ragtag group and not run away and make his own. His life will certainly be easier and quieter if he was anywhere else. Him? Dancing? He’s never even danced in his village’s festivals; what more of a noble party?! He became a musician to play music, not dance to it!
Gwangil stops yelling in his head as a shadow sits beside him. He turns his head to see Wonsang tapping his fingers on his own lap as he watches their hyungs bicker more.
“Why did Sangyeop hyung insist we get it perfect today?” Gwangil groaned.
“Well, he is right. It’s important we know,” Wonsang hums. “But we still have a few days before we reach the Kang territory. I’m more surprised Yechan-ie hyung was the one to suggest we do it right now.”
Gwangil feels a smirk growing on his face. “Oh, he definitely got jealous when Sangyeop hyung talked about the guys he danced with. I bet Yechan hyung is taking this chance to be up close to him and hold his waist or hand.”
A cackle leaves Wonsang’s mouth. “So funny, Sangyeop-ie hyung got the female role when he’s way taller than Yechan-ie hyung. But even then, hyung-ie dragged him around even when he said the male role is supposed to lead. Yechan-ie hyung didn’t stand a chance!” The two share a laugh.
The sound of arguing quietly fades as Yechan pulls Sangyeop to their campfire area. Wonsang and Gwangil watch as Sangyeop is forced to sit down by the fire as Yechan yells out, “Take! A! Break!” before stomping to one of the tents. Gwangil remembers Yechan whining about how unfair it is that Sangyeop looks so pretty and cool and “seriously, it should be illegal to look like that!” when the two of them go out for drinks together. Gwangil has always been able to read Yechan better than Sangyeop, mostly because Yechan doesn’t bother hiding how he feels. It is easy to see that Yechan has, at the least, an admiration and infatuation for the shawm player. Casual skinship is nothing to the two oldest but Yechan once quietly admitted that sometimes he dreams of more. Gwangil doesn’t know how deep or shallow Sangyeop’s feelings go for their oldest member, but seeing Sangyeop’s soft, shy smile at watching Yechan stomp away, perhaps there might be a chance after all.
Gwangil closes his eyes and internal groans, if those two are insufferable now, they’ll be even more intolerable when they actually get together. He feels poking on his cheek and opens his eyes to Wonsang leaning over him. A smile crosses the theorbo player’s face when they make eye contact.
“Gwangil-ah,” Wonsang says quietly, almost like a whisper. “Let’s practice again.”
“Huh? Wonsang hyung, you want to dance more?” Gwangil says in disbelief. Just a few minutes ago, Wonsang complained as much as Yechan and Gwangil did, even loudly crying out whenever Sangyeop made him repeat a step.
Wonsang stands up and stretches his arms above his head, his feet tiptoeing off the ground. He hums, “Why not? I think I can go a few more rounds.” He leans closer to Gwangil, “and it’s gonna be less suffocating now that the commander is gone.”
A chuckle escapes Gwangil’s chest. Wonsang grins and holds a hand out to him. A beat of silence passes between them as they stare at each other. Above Wonsang, Gwangil notices the sky has turned dark, stars starting to peek through the clouds. He ponders his options, to keep lying down or practice more waltzing with Wonsang. If he stays stubborn enough, Wonsang won’t pull him up and leave him to his impromptu stargazing. Maybe he’ll even join Gwangil on the ground and talk about anything or nothing at all as the stars do their own dances above them. They can stay like that until either Yechan or Sangyeop forced them to sleep in their tents for the night. On the other hand, if he joins Wonsang, that will be another round of awkward movements, stepping on each other’s feet, and missed timings. Ironic really, how all three of them can’t stay on beat despite being musicians since they were children. Gwangil will only continue to embarrass himself to Wonsang like the past three hours have proven. But even through all that, he can’t deny that it felt… nice to be close to Wonsang. Among anything else, he never once felt awkward to be that close to the other man. They shared a couple laughs, mostly at each other’s expense, and even got a few movements down – something they greatly cheered for. Gwangil sighs and grabs Wonsang’s hand, pulling himself up. Wonsang happily bounces on his heels as Gwangil pats away the dirt on his clothes.
They get into position. This time, they switch roles. Gwangil gets to be the male dancer while Wonsang takes the female one. They look at each other, take a deep breath, and Gwangil starts the dance.
It’s far from elegant, far from the gentle motions that Sangyeop initially showed them when he introduced the steps. Gwangil finds himself looking at his feet more than Wonsang, which got him a slap on the forehead last practice round. The calm pattern of three beats – three steps – is lost as both of them stumble on the back and forth motion of the dance. Tall grass swaying in the wind is more on time than the stumbling waltz of the two men. They’re not stepping on each other’s feet now but their heads have bumped as they glue their eyes to the ground. Gwangil can’t help but frown. It’s official, we’re hopeless, he plans to say to Wonsang. When he lifts his head, his words get caught in his throat.
He’s short enough that with Wonsang staring at the ground, Gwangil gets an unobstructed view of his face. Gone is the cheerful smile on his hyung’s face, replaced with the look of concentration. Wonsang’s eyes are confused but sharp, memorizing every slow step they take. He usually has this look when they’re playing a particularly hard piece or when he’s writing new music for their group to play. Framing his face is a soft, orange glow, dividing his face into light and shadow. With the sun gone from the sky, the cackling of the campfire reminds Gwangil of the only light source the glow would come from. The light and shadow creating a clean divide of Wonsang’s face reminds Gwangil of scholars’ drawings of the moon. Even though Gwangil is the one supposedly leading the dance, he feels he’s been sucked into Wonsang’s gravity, something he will drown in; pulling him back and forth like the push and pull of the sea. Gwangil feels the warmth of Wonsang’s palm on his left shoulder, grounding him yet also sending him floating. His hold on Wonsang’s waist and hand unconsciously tightens. Gwangil isn’t sure if he’s breathing too loudly or if he’s breathing at all. The noise of the woods and their campsite fade away, his attention solely on the man dancing with him. Only when Wonsang huffs and pulls away from him does his body take a sharp inhale. He realizes then that was the longest he “waltzed” without once looking at the ground.
“Ah, we’re so bad at this,” Wonsang defeatedly sighs.
Gwangil turns away and rubs his head, “what can we do? We’re not dancers.”
“But it was fun right?” Wonsang’s mood quickly shifts, clapping his hands softly. “Once we perfect this, we’ll be doing the spins! And all the fancy steps everyone else can do. Cool, right?”
Wonsang smiles at Gwangil, so wide his eyes are squinting. Gwangil doesn’t have the heart to tell him that there’s no way they’ll be reaching that level without the actual proper training noble people do. They might stay as a pair of stumbling dancers, as four left feet, for a long, long while. In a way, Gwangil thinks that Wonsang himself is aware of this. Yet, that doesn’t stop him from smiling at Gwangil, from swaying by himself and doing little spins. This, Gwangil reads in Wonsang’s eyes, this is enough.
Gwangil still doesn’t like dancing, but he swallows his sentiment and smiles back at Wonsang. He boldly holds Wonsang’s hand and guides him to a spin, which the other gladly plays along. They giggle as they face each other.
“Yeah, that’d be nice,” Gwangil sighs out.
They don’t let go of their hands.