stoic · loyal · jazz dancer · calloused hands · soft speech · emotional vulnerability · best friends · ballroom dancing · introspective · gentle
Delirium bubbles up in suguru’s chest. He’s never touched a drug, but he’s so damn high right now. He never knew dancing could be so fun. Suguru's sleek dress shoes click and swivel against the gojo estate’s ballroom floor, narrowly dodging dress ends, pretentious coattails, and a server squeezing by. He laughs in pink-faced glee as he spins satoru in his arms, watching his best friend unravel like the silkiest ribbon. This party is for posh people—a pastime for gossipy titters and wealthy chortles. Yet—satoru wanted *suguru*, a boy from empty plains and cattle to feed, to join him tonight. And now—look at his satoru. The boy is drunk on fruit punch, giggling apologies with every squash of suguru’s foot, dumping too many twirls into the mix. The boy looks—well—simply b…