recolle | pseudo open | it's hard to do this backward

pseudo open | it's hard to do this backward

WHO: Yuri Plisetsky & Kiyomitsu Kashuu & then anyone at Inkwell
WHERE: ... the Inkwell... I hope
WHEN: Evening July 29th
WHAT: Yuri and Kashuu get into a tango dance off
WARNINGS: Idiots being Idiots

lol u thought i'd do a top level

... okay u right

( FOR VARIOUS REASONS they are here now, in the Inkwell, Yuri incapable of staying still even as he's technically a. underage and b. not meant to be here, but filled with restless energy and having no real outlet for it. His mind won't stop running, tripping over details and worries and insecurities so fast he's right back to his first thought of the night, as the music thrums through his bones: he needs to move.

There's no familiarity here past a few faces, and it's only when he catches sight of one, red eyed, nicely featured, indubiously with red nails, red highlights, red to his core, and it's enough of a fire to spark a response in Yuri. Anya had...

Anya had told him what she needed to, a far more honest person than he is in ways, just as blunt, well liked and loved and known and he doesn't get it. He knows Anya is earnest, but he also knows her as someone used to getting her way; someone who glosses past some faults, because she chooses to believe in people being better than maybe they are. Maybe believing is enough to convince those people it's true; maybe. But he doesn't know what to actually do being told he's liked in a way that steps past the firmer ground of friendship into... what? Possibilities? His coarser jokes come back to haunt him when he can't even imagine what dinner dates mean you're planning to have sex means when he's involved; he doesn't see himself being there, so it's a joke, it has to be, and he wouldn't, he couldn't, but what does that have to do with dating?

Vulnerability. Honesty. The need to get as good as he gives, to give as good as he gets. Winding through the crowd toward a dead end crush is easier because it never has to be anything. He can find Kashuu's love of fashion compelling without ever having to worry about it personally. He can find the fact Kashuu has managed to stumble into his life in moments where Yuri wasn't melting down or keyed up or fighting to keep his place ahead of the curve like most everyone else has seen him and not do more than shrug and consider it an outlying oddity. He can find him attractive without ever caring to do anything about it. A mix of feelings that don't need a resolution, because his life is busy enough, and Kiyomitsu isn't available.

The problem is Anya is. Anya, who already has patience for Yuri's shit, and he knows, he knows he's not easy to handle. He already knows they argue and misunderstand and then find ways back to understanding. He already knows he enjoys her company, but until now, he's had no reason to separate that from enjoying Dave's company, enjoying Karkat's. There's no magical switch in his head that says, she confessed, does that change how you feel? because in so many ways, it doesn't. He loves her, supports her, finds her endlessly frustrating. he finds all his friends that way. Would it be the same mess if Dave had made the same confession? If Karkat had?

Yes and no, he decides, if only because he's told Anya about things from home, from living with his grandfather, from his mother having moonlighted her way through his life, that make him feel more vulnerable now. Anya who is so stubborn, as stubborn as his other friends, as stubborn as he is. She deserves someone better; he's not blind to that. Someone who can be easy and free and whatever it is that he only knows how to be after tripping past the wreckage of his own jaded preconceptions, defending his heart in the only way he ever learned. He doesn't want to throw that barrier up again at Anya. How can he say yes? How can he say no?

He's there, two steps away from Kashuu, and he cocks his head to the side, thoughtless as he slides in next to him, slams his hands against the table and flashes him a look that's all eyes, all challenge, and the slightest curve of lips into a wicked, damning smirk. He likes what this lighting does for Kashuu. Dangerous, almost; seductive, in the way that the night so often is.

Perfect. )

Think you can keep up with me on the dance floor?

( And it is sharp and stark, the sound of a blade drawn and ringing in the heat of a midsummer day, the haze of the world settling around them in pulsing colour and sound and bodies that don't care, but do notice, the shifts in the crowd around them. He's seventeen. It's summer, and school hasn't started again, won't for weeks yet; he's in a bar he has no right to be in, really, and unlike Anya, for whom the grace of god appears to unroll beneath her feet, he has only what he fights to earn, his determination, his inability to lay down and stop trying.

So he smirks at one of the first people he's ever crushed on, knowing the impossibility of it, counting on it, head full of the first person to ever seriously confess.

All he wants it out.

All he wants is to leave whatever part of him is so messed up he can't figure this out on his own to be left behind, bleeding, on the dance floor. )

In heels. Should give you the advantage, shouldn't it?

( Dealer's choice, he almost says, but he's already made up his mind. Latin dancing. Fast and furious without the anger so much as the passion. Get out of my own head. He knows one way to do that, and maybe, maybe, it'll be enough. )

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[Despite now being able to leave his fake ID at home for good to go bar hopping, Kiyomitsu doesn't drink too often. It's not good for the body in more ways than one, okay. Sure, sure, liver and organs - but the calories. He's an active guy, but he's mindful of what he eats! So it's just one drink tonight, that's all - one and then he'll be on his way home again, because he feels more at ease by Yamato's side lately, and that kind of feeling is something he clings to when everything else in the city's being shaken up and dumped back out on the floor.

That said, he doesn't make a point to seem open unless he plans on being out for a long evening. Inviting conversation can be a pain in places like this, and when he just wants to drink and skedaddle, he doesn't have the patience. Normally that works well enough to ward people off, so he jumps a little when Yuri comes in out of nowhere like a bat in the night and smacks the dang table.]

Eh—?!

[Give him a second here, just a hot second to be mildly disoriented because HEY YURI but also, what's this shit about a dance contest? His drink?? His easy-going night?! He's never seen this kind of expression on Yuri before either, which registers in a back-of-the-mind sort of way. It's intense, but surprisingly seems right at home on his face.

Huh.

(Flashback to all of those many people who've told him over the months that Yuri is a Problem.)

But hilariously, while Kiyomitsu's never seen the competitive side of Yuri, this is a stupid two-way street. As soon as everything clicks into place, he sets his glass down and laughs.]

Are you really saying that? I don't need an advantage to keep up.

[Challenge apparently accepted?! Just give him a second as he slams back the rest of his drink because watered-down sangria is the worst.]

( Yuri has always been a problem: attitude wise, at least. Kiyomitsu's mostly seen him in a better mood, or at least not antagonistic toward Kiyomitsu himself. Jim was safe, neutral territory.

Not tonight. Tonight, his eyes flash and he leans back, tossing his hair and looking down the length of his nose at Kiyomitsu. )

Oh?

( How can he make a single exclamation sound so loaded with doubt? He manages, watching Kiyomitsu slam back his sangria like it's hard whiskey. (or anything, really, but it's the first example to leap inappropriately to mind - not even vodka. whiskey.)

He stalks off to the dance floor, weaving between people to get to the DJ; his request is shouted once, repeated twice, finally communicated. and then Yuri is asking (demanding) for the help of a woman wearing about his right size, getting his hair tucked behind an ear for his efforts and a shouted you better not lose or break these because you'll owe me new shoes, kid. red hair. something about red hair and he feels more relaxed about it, giving her shit right back along with a cocky smirk that turns into a focused, driven look.

he's waiting for Kiyomitsu on the dance floor, unmoving in a sea of writhing, swaying bodies. )

We'll switch lead at the halfway. The DJ'll cue us. Lead or follow?

( put your best foot forward, Kiyomitsu, because this is going down. )

[Dancing isn't really Kiyomitsu's thing, but like plenty of other "not my thing" things, he's unfairly good at it. It's a combination of being naturally gifted with balance and actually keeping up with exercise and workouts despite insisting he wants nothing to do with any of the sports (primarily one, really) that he was previously involved in.

He practically dances his way across the floor itself, because apparently an invitation to an impromptu danceoff is exactly what his mood needs to buoy right back up. It's nice for his mild competitive streak, anyway. Gives him something to focus on that isn't the fact that the city - and their general respective lives - seem to be rapidly unraveling around them. It's fine.

There's some definite amusement as he watches Yuri mosey off to snatch some lady's shoes, and he's smiling with an edge but without anything hidden by the time the question is posed.]

I like following, so you can take it first. I'll leave it in your hands, so you better lead me well, o-kay?

[Probably not a surprising answer from the designer who already told Yuri he'd rather not be in the spotlight. Nevermind the fact that the spotlight is exactly where they're gonna be in a hot second...]

( Not surprising, but it's only because Yuri is on edge and raring for a fight in any form, and the fact he's been working on coupled dancing, that gives him the confidence to reach up and pull out his hairtie, letting his hair down. the mass of gold falls half in his eyes, but he doesn't care; doesn't need to see to know what he's doing. )

Keep up, Kiyomitsu. There's only so much I can do to carry your weight.

( His smile is full on challenge, close lipped, while he takes Kiyomitsu's hand in his, turning away and pulling him flush against his back. Pressing his hand to the center of Yuri's chest, Yuri leaves his hand covering Kiyomitsu's, the music purring as it winds around their feet, Yuri looking over his opposite shoulder as if the man behind him is the whole of his world.

His focus? Yes. It's intense, because Yuri doesn't know how not to do intense, but as he slides their hands across his chest toward his side, he's invinting Kiyomitsu to slide past Yuri's hip, shifting behind him and guiding him through a spin and and side slide with Yuri, supporting him against his chest. One hand at Kiyomitsu's hip, the other at his side, under his arm; support more than anything else. Yet he has he has his face at the side of Kiyomitsu's, finger splayed like he's doing something indecent with his hands when he's... not.

But it's all about the show, isn't it? And the show is can you keep up with this? Moving the hand at Kiyomitsu's side to slide under his arm and pull him into another two revolution spin to the music, the beat a count in his blood. To end face to face, poised as the dance does like they're a breath away from kissing, though they never will.

It's music and rhythm and the close attention to his partner, a mental flash to a smaller form, a different flash of bright hair as opposed to Kiyomitsu's dark locks; leading Anya through a spin and moving through the flow of steps that exaggerate each movement into art to the sound of the music that slides against his skin. Pulling Kiyomitsu around and to a stop, taking his hand in Yuri's, his other hand sliding around to the middle Kiyomitsu's back.

They dance. Backward, in time, and through a spin they both step fast in and out of; stepping out to the side and back in again, covering the dance floor left increasingly devoid of other dancers in favour of watching them with all the dramatic flair of the kicks thrown in with the footwork. Shifting his grip as he pulled Kiyomitsu flush against him, bracing and telegraphing with his body his intention to lift and spin his partner around faster than they'd move through the steps in tandem; more than capable of the support, and leading him right into footwork after, dipping him down low after spins and reverse steps, turning Kiyomitsu fast and supporting his torso through the dip.

Yuri is not together enough to banter,so he doesn't try. He keeps himself focused on Kiyomitsu, never looking away. He's a good lead, whatever else he might not be. He's always right there, guiding, as he needs to be. )

[And Kiyomitsu is a good follow to Yuri's good lead, with a natural knack for picking up the right places to add a little extra... extraness, honestly. But hey, what's tango for if not being extra as hell? He knows when to dip, when to bend to wherever Yuri's directing, when to shift himself this way or that to avoid the lessening number of people around them. He keeps his feet light on the floor, drawing soundless circles with the toes of his shoes and keeping the back lifted almost always. In an empty room, the clack of his heels would be loud and meaningful, placed to draw attention, but they're largely lost to the acoustics and rumblings of appreciation around them anyway.

...But there's something about it that feels a little familiar somehow.

Not the dancing itself - he's done that plenty of times before with plenty of partners, all with their own style of leading and all quite a bit less intense than one Yuri Plisetsky. (Not that he entirely minds. He is, after all, the sort of person who quite enjoys feeling like the center of the world's best attention.) His feet trace out movements on the floorboards and he leans into Yuri's support without hesitance, light and easy to direct. He follows the music to the beat, putting as much grace into his dips and spins and leg hooks as he does flair. His hands rest against Yuri's shoulders, his chest, running over his forearms and against his hands with the careful measured movements of a performer. That part is familiar in a way that doesn't unnerve him.

Something else about it, though - about being led, and letting someone else guide his way across the floor, certainly feels a little nostalgic in a strange way.

He does a very good job at not letting that interfere with keeping Yuri's stare, at least. It'd be insulting, honestly, to not give as much focus as he's getting.]

( Kiyomitsu finds his echoes in moving under someone's direction; Yuri feels none of that. There are no echoes for him in any life but this one; the turn of a willing partner underhand tying to those he's danced with before, to Yuuri, to Anya, to Dave. Figure skating, those memories, are solitary. They are blinding lights and chilling cold and the rush of frustration watching someone else mess up their own program. They are the rush of excitement and the fall of depression in knowing someone has outperformed you; that your best is not yet good enough.

More to work on. A flawed self to temper, to improve. He dips Kiyomitsu in his arms and he remembers what it has felt like in his short lifespan to dip others in his arms, and for once, it's not complicated. All it is, right now, is a goal.

Working with Kiyomitsu in order to what? Defeat him? That's not how dancing works. But in showing skill, yes. In pushing his limits, yes.

He leads Kiyomitsu through the steps, their footwork, side to side, chest to back, front to front, and he never, not once, looks away. It's not supposed to be a dance to move the outside world. It's intimacy, by show, rather than by necessary connection. For once he can feel that. For once he can feel connected without feeling vulnerable. Maybe it's because of the fruitlessness of a crush on someone he doesn't intend or want to honestly pursue; maybe it's the collusion with the memories of someone who has said you're wanted and meant it in so many ways. (More than someone, he knows. Dave and Karkat, they've said these things too.)

He spins Kiyomitsu out, right there with him, keeping the motion smooth and controlled and sexy with that focus, that projection, like there is nothing, no one else in the world but the person in his arms.

And for now, he can allow that to be true. He can make himself live in this moment, and he can smile, still a challenge, as he hears the cue from the DJ, stepping away and tossing his hair while his hands find his hips. A rose gets tossed his way, a flash of colour and movement from the corner of his eye that he sees and respond to, turning and snatching it out of the air with a blink... and a smile.

To a chorus of calls he ignores, he places the rose (dethorned, thank you) into his mouth, turning to face Kiyomitsu, tipping his chin up and sliding one foot out to the side.

Kiyomitsu's turn to lead. )

You're a real flashy guy, huh?

[There's a teasing lilt to his tone; not a jab so much as a poke, lighthearted in nature. It's not like he'd be ones to throw stones about something like flashiness, after all...

But he'll transition in time with the shift in music, taking over the lead in a one-two beat. It's obvious that this isn't his usual area of comfort. His movements are still graceful, but a little less smooth, even if minutely so. The confidence of shining when following after someone else is a very real one, and while he projects a certain confidence here too, it's the confidence of someone who has to build themselves up. Entirely different. Not bad, not necessarily, but different.

The audience likely doesn't notice, though. That, he supposes, is what matters.

He's no less daring than what would be expected of a lead either, spinning Yuri and keeping his own steps even and measured. When he does go in for a lift, it's an effortless thing despite Yuri having inches of height on him. Thank his cheatingass tsukumogami strength on that, marginal as it is for now. The music continues to spin out around them and he skirts past the audience close enough for them to reach out and touch if they dared to, though no one does.

It's nice, he thinks. Dancing with other people is always nice, even if it's messy in the back of a club or ridiculous in front of a small crowd or angrily in a zumba class, trying to prove nothing of importance. He doesn't mind it.

He doesn't mind when the music starts to peak and head toward its end either, though.]

Says the peacock to the tiger.

( Is his not so biting return around the rose stem, though the flash of his teeth is real enough when his lips curl up at the corners, eyes flashing. he picks up on the difference in how Kiyomitsu moves, not making comment because it's not why he's here tonight. Kiyomitsu as a whole has nothing to do with his night, but he's a focus now, and a challenge, and Yuri thrives on challenges. sinks his teeth into them and pushes himself harder, and while he feels a thrill of surprise when he's lifted effortlessly, he can't be as surprised as he should. he knows too many who are powerful but misleading, even without suspecting there is more than a touch of the supernatural with Kiyomitsu.

But he's alive in the moment, and he follows the lead he's given with a flare that comes with tossed hair, higher kicks, the tap of his toes down and clack of heels as he's spun. When the music crescendos and hits the end, they're almost frozen in tableau, Yuri breathing hard, rose still clenched between his teeth. His eyes are bright and alive; the crowd shuffles, then bursts into applause and shots, laughter intermingled with the rest. Yuri straightens up, bows to Kiyomitsu, and strides off the dance floor as people move back in, reabsorbing the freed up space. he tosses the rose to the side.

someone catches it, laughing, and the music crashed back down over everyone like a wave.

Yuri feels clearheaded, perching on a bar stool at one of the freestanding tables to pull off his borrowed heels. he flashes Kiyomitsu a smile, less toothy than earlier, and says without preamble: )

That was my dance.

( I won. but he smiles, and he laughs, and it's not as loaded as whatever he'd been like earlier. it's... almost like afterward, he realises belatedly? he'd actually had fun. )

[It's a sweep of excitement and not a lot of poise at the end, when the dance finally stops and he's laughing and spins out a little from the center of the impromptu ring that people had formed. Someone catches his shoulder and pats it as if to say good work my guy, and in the next second, Kiyomitsu's trotting off after Yuri as he goes to take off his shoes.]

Ah, not bad, not bad! You're pretty good. I guess I can deal with that.

[He's a sore loser sometimes, but not when it's all in good sport, okay! And that's what he's taken this as - all of it. He doesn't really know what had Yuri so on edge before and he isn't about to ask, but he's still glad to see that it seems to be edging away.

Graciously, he'll also add:]

Thanks for the dance, Yuri.

( he snorts at the pretty good: he knows he's damn good. not usually at partnered dancing, which is why this is kind of... nice in a different way. he finishes pulling off the other borrowed shoe, flexing his toes and setting them both down next to the leg of his stool. he starts massaging one foot, examining for any start of abrasions from where the borrowed shoes hadn't exactly been friendly. )

You weren't shit at keeping up.

( he says, straightening up again to grin. he's uncouth, sure, but he doesn't have any bite behind it right now. yet again, Kiyomitsu seeing less of Yuri's antagonism than most the world; situational yet again. he feels much more centered, bizarrely. )

Yeah, yeah, you're welcome, and... I don't know, thanks, I guess.

( .... except for when his inability to own a feeling that's almost too close to real gratitude (it is real gratitude, you dork) means he rubs at the back of his neck and looks to the side, snorting. )

I know, right?

[A PUNK a laughing punk until the end... This right here is exactly why he spent so long being baffled whenever someone would bring up Yuri's prickly nature. He wonders briefly if maybe they'd seen more of that sharper Yuri he'd just caught a glimpse of - all teeth and laughter, and none of it particularly friendly.

He doesn't ask, though. Of course he doesn't.

He also recognizes THE TSUN (being a fellow tsun himself, at times), so the thanks just earns him a genuine smile in turn which Kiyomitsu uses to relay his "you're welcome" for him. Then:]

You think your feet are gonna be okay? You really broke those shoes in for her, huh.

Have you ever seen a dancer's feet? Or a skater's, for that matter.

( he's too relaxed, almost, compared to before; the claws and bristling from before soothed back down after five minutes of dancing and figuring out what he had caught up in his own head. he slips off the stool, knees bending as he slips his fingers through the back loops of the heels, lifting them in one smooth, practiced motion. he barely remembers what the woman looks like who lent him them in the first place.

doesn't seem to matter. so much does matter, and to so many different degrees, but that one detail, no, no. )

This is a love letter.

( and it is, he thinks, but he's not sure if it's to himself or to some temporary peace with his heart and mind. it won't last, but that's okay, too. )

We should do this again sometime.

( is what he says instead, lifting the shoes, waggling two fingers as a goodbye and hello all at once. )

Nah, but I've been told it's not pretty.

[Specifically when he was sighing wistfully over how he'd want to do something that elegant if he had to do any sports at all, and was promptly informed that he'd be awful at it because skaters have Horrific Foot Problems. Lord.

But his brows quirk upward at that, caught somewhere around "amused" and generally baffled. Yuri just says the darndest things.]

There's no way I can turn it down now, yeah? You know where to find me whenever you wanna go another round.

[He's always down for rematches, even if he's perfectly content to leave this where it is now. As Yuri gives his little wave, Kashuu dips his head forward, a gesture of parting that's both casual and somehow elegant all at once. Bye, nerd.]

[ what the fuck did he just watch

But Yuri and Kashuu are admittedly great dancers so watch it Yato did, leaning on the bar in his chef's uniform. No one was ordering food while the dance-off was happening, it's fine... Whenever the event is over and Yuri wanders close enough, Yato calls him over. ]

What's with you today? Something good happen?

( he pauses for a moment, feeling triumphant regardless, because here, with this, whatever. things were simpler. he could think and not get lost in a tangle of things that didn't matter so much as whatever was at the heart of himself. for a moment, fleeting as it is, he flashes a smile at Yato. genuine, carefree, almost. the most pure and untouched expression that's ever been on Yuri's face when around Yato, and likely to be one of the only times. )

You know, I think it has.

Ohh?

[ What a precious expression, Yuri. Yato has seen it before ~~from the bushes~~ but how rare for him to get a full frontal experience. ]

What was it? Did you snag a date or something?

( he blinks, then laughs, shrugging his shoulders. )

Don't know yet, but maybe. Either way isn't as freaky as it used to feel.

( you know, all of an hour ago. )

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pseudo open | it's hard to do this backward

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BOBA I AM SORRY I NEVER REAL TAGGED THIS WTF HAHAHA