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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. )
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. )
no subject
( 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. )
no subject
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.
no subject
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. )
no subject
[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.
no subject
( 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. )
no subject
[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.]