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It started on an otherwise mundane school morning, the kind that felt like it might go on forever. The teacher was already halfway through the daily announcements, droning in the exact cadence that made time feel fake.
The final item (normally enough to stir excited murmurs from the class) only ever filled Okarun with dread.
‘Culture festival again…’ Yokarun sighed, long-suffering. ‘It’s always such a bummer.’
‘It might not be that bad this year, if we manage to work with our friends,’ He replied, already shifting into damage control mode. ‘Though… I guess that’s not guaranteed. We might end up with Hase or someone. That might be even worse than being ignored…’
Yokarun seemed to choose to only listen to the first part though.
‘Wait, shit, yeah! We can work with Momo-chan this year, yo!’
‘Momo’s in a different class,’ Okarun reminded him, deadpan.
‘Oh… yeah…’
The gloom returned instantly. He was treated to a full-sensory mental image of Yokarun slumped over in pure despair—head down, arms limp, cartoon depression cloud included. He still wasn’t sure how Yokarun managed to communicate feelings that vividly in their shared headspace.
‘Aw, don’t worry, guys,’ Momo cut in cheerfully, her voice sliding into their mind like she had every right to be there. ‘We’ll go around all the attractions together, yeah?’
‘Momo-chan!’ Yokarun crowed, delighted.
While Okarun was, honestly, pretty happy with the idea too, he felt obligated to at least pretend to be the responsible one.
‘Momo, you should be focusing on your own class instead of eavesdropping on us!’
It was a well-rehearsed argument at this point.
‘Says the guy arguing with himself. Do you even know what your sensei’s been saying for the last five minutes?’
‘Hey, don’t turn this on us—’
‘Nope. Momo-chan!’
He groaned aloud and slumped forward in his seat, defeated.
They mostly kept out of the ensuing discussion, content to zone out—until the class, inevitably, settled on the most overused culture festival idea imaginable.
A haunted house.
Classic.
The group was quickly divided into two teams: “performers,” who’d play ghosts and monsters, and “set design,” who’d be in charge of decorating the place and setting the mood.
Predictably, they ended up on the set design side. Which, as far as Okarun was concerned, was a win.
‘Aw, we could’ve scared people,’ Yokarun sulked.
‘We’re not exactly scary if no one can see our powers.’ He replied, bored.
‘Bummer.’
But stray thoughts aside, it was honestly the best-case scenario. They could spend the week quietly puttering around with Sakata-san and Vamola-san, slapping fake cobwebs on cardboard walls, and wouldn’t even be needed during the actual event.
It was already shaping up to be the best culture festival yet.
When they met up with everyone at lunch, they found out Momo’s class was also going with a classic: food stands.
Apparently, she’d been assigned to food prep duty—courtesy of Miko, Muko, and Jiji all declaring her the obvious choice thanks to Seiko-san’s cooking skills.
‘Those poor suckers,’ Yokarun thought with a snicker. ‘They don’t know Momo-chan sucks at cooking.’
That earned them a sharp glare across the table.
It fell under the category of “thoughts you technically can’t help having, but I’m still judging you for them,” so the punishment was light: a long stare and a chilly silence, broken only when Yokarun offered an apology as Okarun handed over half of their melon pan.
Crisis averted, the conversation shifted again.
Apparently, Shiratori-san’s class had come up with the most original idea so far: a western-style ball. The plan was to let students throw on oversized suits or dresses, dance for a minute or two, and snap a cute commemorative photo.
Seemed like a pain to actually set up and run, but it was certainly the most unique.
They both strongly suspected Shiratori-san had been directly responsible for the idea.
Still, it wasn’t something they were particularly interested in.
...Until Momo’s face lit up at the mention of it.
Her eyes went wide, practically sparkling, and before they could say a word, she grabbed both their hands and exclaimed that it sounded like so much fun—and that they absolutely had to do it together.
They both promptly melted into a mental puddle at the sheer enthusiasm on her face.
They agreed without even thinking.
A few hours later, they were walking home. Momo was out with Miko and Muko, and so Yokarun—no doubt imagining himself as nobly self-sacrificing—refrained from launching into his usual tragic monologue about how excruciatingly lonely they’d be in their apartment without her.
(It worked about 95% of the time.)
Wanting Momo to have fun with her friends apparently won out over his impulsive clinginess.
Sometimes.
They’d almost made it back when a terrible realization finally surfaced.
‘Wait,’ Okarun thought, freezing in the middle of the sidewalk.
Yokarun stirred sluggishly, having mostly faded into the background once nothing interesting was happening. ‘Hm?’ he offered, blank and mildly curious.
Okarun responded after a beat, voice flat and bleak. ‘...We don’t actually know how to dance.’
There was a pause. A moment of pure, shared horror.
‘...Fuck,’ Yokarun thought.
Other-him was starting to spiral. Yokarun could feel it. It was unmistakable—the mental energy curling into a tight knot, the rising tangle of secondhand embarrassment and future regret.
What a drag…
He tried to interject a few times, throwing in the odd ‘We’ll figure it out’ or ‘It can’t be that hard, right?’ but Other-him barely registered it.
Probably best to let him run out of steam.
With a mental sigh, Yokarun did the equivalent of leaning back and closing his eyes.
But then his other half started tugging at their hair. Hard. Dangerously close to actually ripping out chunks.
(It wouldn’t have been the first time.)
Sighing again—louder this time—he drew on a bit of the old hag’s spiritual power. Just enough to trigger a partial transformation. No need to go full yokai; shoes were expensive. That money could be better spent on Momo-chan, after all.
More importantly, it let him take the wheel.
The panic didn’t even falter.
Yokarun rolled their shoulders and adjusted their bag, then set off again at a slow, deliberate pace toward their apartment.
Let the Other-him spiral. At least they could do it somewhere warm. With snacks and a TV.
They weren’t far from home—maybe fifteen minutes had passed since Yokarun had taken.
Now he was sprawled out on their couch, bowl of cheap microwave popcorn balanced on their chest, and a stack of subbed Doctor Who tapes queued up and ready to go.
Other-him finally stirred.
‘Why are we eating popcorn?!’ he blurted, disoriented and appalled.
“Oh, you’re back,” Yokarun said lazily, not even looking away from the screen.
‘What do you—when did we get home?! When did we switch?!’
Yokarun tossed a piece of popcorn in the air, trying to catch it in their mouth.
He missed. It bounced off their glasses and left a greasy little smear.
...Somehow, that felt familiar. In a deeply unfortunate way.
Huh.
‘Have we eaten dinner yet? You’re going to ruin our appetite.’ Other-him asked, sounding vaguely horrified.
He let out a mental groan. Couldn’t Other-him have waited, like, five more minutes?
After ceding control back to Other-him, they ended up having a perfectly boring and healthy dinner: meat, rice, and vegetables. Because apparently, diet mattered when you were trying to get stronger for Momo-chan.
Or something.
Yokarun still kinda thought they could save money by just staying transformed all the time. No food needed. No dishes. Obvious win.
Back on the couch, a random variety show playing in the background, the real issue finally resurfaced—the one that had launched the earlier spiral.
“What are we gonna do?!” Other-him burst out suddenly, grabbing at their hair again.
It kind of hurt.
‘We could just learn how to dance,’ he offered with a mental shrug.
Okarun blinked. “Is that something we can just... do?”
‘Must be. People gotta learn somewhere, yo.’
“But don’t people usually learn by practicing with someone else?”
‘We can be literally two people if we want, yo.’
There was a long pause.
“…Oh. Yeah.”
‘Yeah.’
...
‘Can we have the rest of the popcorn now?’
It took a few days for the right opportunity to actually put their plan into motion.
They needed space—and their apartment barely had enough room to turn around without knocking over a chair, let alone attempt coordinated movement.
And they needed to be away from Momo-chan—which, realistically, ruled out most of their free time.
But after a few days, Momo-chan mentioned she’d be hanging out with Miko-chan and Muko-chan that afternoon.
Perfect.
He even managed to blurt out a lie to cover their asses: they were staying after school to work on a report.
They could sneak up to the school roof—plenty of space, no one to disturb them, and zero risk of being caught in the middle of... whatever this plan was.
“You couldn’t think up a better lie than writing a report?” Other-him muttered as they climbed up the stairs. “We already used that one before. And look how that turned out!”
‘Didn’t see you saying anything better,’ Yokarun countered.
“It’s your job to think fast!”
Finally alone on the roof, Other-him dropped their bag against the railing and took a steadying breath, focusing hard as he began to gather their spiritual energy.
Projecting a second form like this was still tricky—easier once the initial push was done, but never quite effortless.
He braced himself as the familiar sensation hit: a sharp tug behind the ribs, a sudden weightlessness—
And then he was out.
A swirling, half-formed mass of spiritual energy, suspended midair and tethered to Other-him by a thin, flickering cord.
Time to do his part.
He narrowed his focus, pressing inward, tightening the shape bit by bit. Packing the energy down. Visualizing the form he usually took while in control.
A moment later, with a soft hum, the mass snapped into place.
He landed lightly beside Other-him on the rooftop, fully formed.
Tall and lanky, just a little uncanny around the edges. His standard gakuran already catching light from the spiritual flames licking the hems. Coat tails flaring in a breeze that didn’t exist. White hair drifting like smoke.
Keeping it all stable was a drain—they didn’t usually bother unless they had a very good reason.
Momo-chan was a good reason.
He yawned, stretched, and let his fake joints crack with satisfying pops. The astral body always felt strange at first—lighter, floatier, untethered from weight in all the wrong ways.
Other-him was squinting at him.
“Sup,” he said, casual.
“You’re too tall,” Other-him muttered, adjusting his glasses.
“…Momo-chan’s taller than us, yo,” Yokarun shot back, arching an eyebrow. “Isn’t it better to practice with someone taller?”
“Not that much taller.”
“Fine,” he sighed, rolling his eyes. He let the spiritual flames settle, shrinking his form down a bit. Adjusted a little more. Maybe a touch more. There.
Roughly the same height as Other-him.
...Maybe a little taller.
“Don’t suppose you could try wearing shoes too?” Other-him asked wryly.
Yokarun looked down at his bare feet. Tilted his head.
“Hmmm.”
He scratched his chin. “Nope.”
“No?”
He shrugged.
“We don’t wear ’em enough when I’m in control to picture it,” he said, perfectly matter-of-fact. “Soz.”
Other-him gave him a look—somewhere between confused and mildly suspicious—but he was being completely serious.
“…We should probably fix that,” Other-him muttered.
They both squinted down at their tiny phone screen, watching a slightly pixelated video of a couple in formalwear holding each other in a stiff, vaguely graceful pose.
“Okay,” Other-him said, gesturing vaguely, “you hold my left hand, and then my right goes around your back…”
“Hang on,” he cut in, frowning. “That’s what the guy does. Why do you get to be the guy?”
“Because I’ll probably be the one in control,” Other-him replied matterof-factly.
Then, with a smirk: “Besides, you’re taller. Momo is also taller. It just makes sense.”
…Damn. Got him there.
“Fine,” He grumbled. “But I get a turn at leading later.”
Still, they couldn’t stay on the roof forever—and keeping the projection stable wasn’t exactly low effort.
Other-him tapped a few buttons on their ancient flip phone and started some music. Tinny. Slightly staticky. But it would do.
They stepped into position.
Or tried to.
Their first attempt looked more like a confused sumo match than a dance. Hands vaguely in place, feet braced far too wide apart, like they were squaring up for a duel instead of a waltz.
The second attempt was marginally better. They stopped stepping on each other’s toes—and started knocking knees instead.
Eventually, they shuffled into something that at least resembled a dance position.
It still felt... weird.
They literally shared a body. Why did standing this close feel like awkward middle school gym class?
Then—
They both stepped forward at the same time. Hard.
Glasses clacked. Possibly not just glasses.
“Gah—”
“Ugh—”
A long beat of silence.
Then twin sighs. Reset.
Yokarun tried to go with the flow, but Other-him’s muttering was getting harder to ignore.
“And back, and side, and then close, and—”
“Yo, can’t hear the music over your mumbling.”
‘Then we can switch to thinking,’ Other-him shot back, a little snippy. ‘Momo should be well out of range by now.’
Yokarun shrugged. Fair enough.
‘Okay, let’s try again. Forward, side, close…’
He sighed and let himself be led. Whatever. It’d all be worth it when Momo-chan saw them twirl her around—maybe even toss her a little. Just a little.
‘That’s not how this sort of dancing works!’ Other-him squawked.
‘What a drag…’
Momo might’ve fucked up.
When the skank had first mentioned they were doing some cheesy ballroom dancing shtick for the culture festival, she’d scoffed.
Until she remembered she had a boyfriend this year. A really sweet one who she wanted to show off to the entire world.
And then the mental images started.
Just a little harmless montage. No big deal.
Except it was a big deal. Because now she couldn’t stop picturing herself in a dress, Okarun in a suit, and the two of them gliding across some polished wooden floor like a fantasy couple. Straight out of that spy movie she watched last week—the one where the cool and collected lead twirled the equally deadly femme fatale across a candlelit ballroom like they had all the time in the world.
It looked so smooth. So confident.
And okay—maybe she did want to be held like that. Maybe she did want Okarun to pull her close, spin her around like she weighed nothing, and maybe—just maybe—she’d gotten a little bit hyped about it and begged a rather startled Okarun to agree to it.
...But there was one massive problem.
She didn’t know how to dance.
At all.
And she’d been the one to suggest it! But now? Now she was going to make them both look like idiots in front of the whole school.
AGHHHH.
Okarun would be fine. Of course he’d be fine. She’d seen them twirl around the skank during the Nessie fight like they were born for it. If they crashed and burned, it’d be her fault. Her clumsy feet. Her off-beat timing. Her—
She needed to fix this.
Fast.
There was only a week left before the festival.
She needed to practice.
But... with who?
Practicing with Okarun was obviously out of the question. He could never know about this. Yokarun would never let her live it down.
Jiji?
...Yeah, no. He’d blab in seconds. And he’d probably get way too into it.
Vamola or Kinta?
Neither of them screamed "waltz-ready."
Miko and Muko would never let her live it down either. They’d tease her into the next life.
Which left... one person.
The only other person she knew for a fact could dance.
As loath as she was to admit it.
“Tell me again why you can’t just practice with Takakura, Momo?” Aira asked, trudging up the stairs towards the roof behind her.
Why wasn’t the skank getting it?
“’Cause I said so, that’s why,” she muttered, arms crossed and thoroughly refusing to elaborate.
She kept her eyes on the stairs ahead, trying not to think too hard about what she was about to do.
Or who she was doing it with.
But halfway up, a familiar hum crept into her mind—half-formed and drifting, like someone had accidentally left their mental mic unmuted.
She blinked.
Was that...?
‘This ain’t it, yo.’
‘Maybe if we try it slower?’
‘C’mon, me.’
Huh.
Weird. The library must be closer than she thought.
Poor Okarun. Sounded like they was really struggling with that report after all. She’d offer to help, but he was already doing better in class. Not that she’d ever admit it out loud.
(It was still totally cheating to have like, two people to help memorize things, she maintained.)
Still, mildly annoying. Maybe the signal would drop off by the time they reached the roof.
Except... it didn’t.
In fact, it got clearer.
‘Wait—no, not like that!’
‘What a drag…’
Momo frowned.
That... didn’t sound like essay writing.
They turned the last corner. The door to the roof was just ahead.
‘You’re pulling too hard—I’m supposed to lead!’
‘This is depressing. I wanna lead…’
What the hell were they doing?
‘Ow! Stop digging in with your nails, they’re sharp!’
‘Then stop going the wrong way, yo!’
She froze at the top of the stairs.
The voices were coming through loud and clear now. Definitely the roof.
They had to be up there. But... why would they be working on a report up there?
‘Your hand’s on my—HEY!’
‘I slipped, yo!’
Her brain took the absolute worst leap possible.
Unless—
She stared at the door. Her stomach plummeted to somewhere around her ankles.
You’re overthinking this, she told herself. It’s probably not even that weird. Right?
She curled her fingers around the handle.
And slammed it open.
Given what she’d been overhearing through the door, Momo wasn’t sure what exactly she expected to see when she opened it.
But it certainly wasn’t... what she actually saw.
Okarun.
And Yokarun.
Holding each other. Arms wrapped around shoulders and waists as they awkwardly shuffled in a slow circle, feet scuffing across the rooftop. Their ancient flip phone was balanced on top of their bag nearby, playing tinny romantic music from its tiny speaker.
For one surreal second, she genuinely wondered if it was possible for her boyfriend to cheat on her—with himself.
She must’ve let her control slip, because the moment the door creaked open, both boys froze.
Then, in perfect sync, they sprang apart like they'd been electrocuted.
Identical shocked expressions. Hands still half-extended in mid-motion, like they’d been caught mid-crime.
Yokarun made a choked sound somewhere between a cough and a squeak and managed to spit out a panicked, “Momo-chan!”
But whatever balance they’d been holding fractured the moment she walked in. Their concentration slipped.
Yokarun’s eyes stayed locked on hers, narrowed and panicked—right up until his form began to waver, flickering at the edges like static. Then, with a shudder, he collapsed entirely into a loose swirl of red and black spiritual energy, the only structure left in the form being those twin white eyes, still staring.
The mass recoiled, drawn back along the short, flickering tether between him and his counterpart, before surging straight into Okarun again.
Who immediately doubled over with a sharp gasp, clutching his head.
She winced. Merging back always gave them backlash (she knew that) but her shock completely overrode her usual sympathy.
“What—what are you guys doing up here!?” she demanded, voice jumping a little at the end.
There wasn’t much of an answer at first, just the overlapping groans of pain from both Okarun aloud and Yokarun echoing in her mind.
Eventually, they seemed to recover enough to sit up. Okarun kept holding his head like it might fall off, before his shaking hand came down to hold his glasses, and he turned away from her slightly, pointing at her from across his chest with his far hand.
“W-well, what are you doing here, Momo?” he blurted, turning her question back on her.
It might have worked better if he wasn’t bright pink and shaking slightly.
“T-that’s irrelevant!” she snapped, then immediately winced. “You told me you were writing a report!”
‘Wait, yo—we can’t let Momo-chan know that we’re—’
Okarun cut in hard, blasting static through their shared mind—and out loud—with the first thing that came to him.
“TOO SHY SHY BOY, KONO SHUNKAN NI!”
It wasn’t even in key.
She winced as the sheer volume of it hit her like a mental flashbang. Goddammit, Okarun. Yokarun was about to spill!
“Tell me what’s going on!” she barked, trying again, eyes narrowing.
There was a beat of shared, guilty silence.
‘...Let’s run, yo,’
Okarun blinked at her for a long second.
Then he bolted.
No warning, no excuse—just spun on his heel and took off running in the opposite direction from her and Aira.
Run where? she thought, already exasperated. They were on a roof. And she was standing in front of the only door.
Except he was already kicking off his shoes as he ran (when did they get so fast at doing that?!), letting a rush of spiritual energy ripple over their body. Yokarun slipped into control with practiced ease, taking over the sprint without missing a beat, bare feet slapping against concrete as they picked up speed toward the—
“Oh no you don’t!” She shouted, bursting into motion after them. Her aura flared to life in teal streaks. “Cowards!”
Aira didn’t need prompting. She was already moving at her side, transforming mid-sprint, a whip of hot pink hair launching out after them like a lasso.
Yokarun reached the edge of the roof, feet skidding slightly as he launched himself forward, bare soles pounding the surface. With one clean kick off the ledge, he rocketed into the air—an impressive arc, honestly. They looked almost cool for a second.
Almost.
As the effect was somewhat ruined as they were immediately yanked out of midair by two grasping teal hands and a mess of aggressively pink hair.
“Momo-chan!” he wailed, arms and legs flailing as she tightened her grip like a vice.
He squirmed. She didn’t budge.
‘It’s over…’ Okarun muttered somewhere in the back of their mind, resigned and embarrassed.
‘Idiots.’ They might have been able to land safely with enough forward momentum… but if she dropped them now? Who knew what would happen!
“We coulda always done the helicopter thing again,” Yokarun muttered stubbornly from within her grip.
The mental image that popped up in her head was so stupid it almost made her drop them right then and there.
The skank shot him an odd look at the apparent non-sequitur, but said nothing.
Together, the two of them reeled in her wayward boyfriend like a flailing, spiritually-charged fish.
Yokarun, now thoroughly caught and unceremoniously plopped onto the ground, sat cross-legged and sulking, held firmly in place by Momo’s spiritual energy.
The questioning could begin.
She had briefly entertained the idea of going full good cop, bad cop—with the skank playing backup. Maybe even a dramatic shoulder lean and synchronized eyebrow raise.
But the moment Yokarun was pinned, Aira let out the most theatrical sigh imaginable, muttered something about "You're both idiots," and crossed her arms.
“If I—naive as I am in the ways of love—can see what’s going on here,” she said flatly, “then I don’t think I’m needed to help out anymore, Momo.”
Then she turned on her heel and left without another word.
Momo stared after her for a second, eyebrows twitching.
Rude bitch.
Whatever. She could run an interrogation herself.
“So!” she said, stepping forward and crossing her arms with deliberate flair. “Have you guys ever actually written a report in your life?”
Yokarun winced like she'd just smacked him over the head.
“Momo-chan…” he mumbled piteously, eyes somehow both piercing and suspiciously glassy. Dramatically so.
She blinked.
‘Sorry, dude,’ she thought dryly. ‘The puppy-dog eyes work better when they’re brown.’
Almost immediately, she found herself staring into wide, watery brown ones instead.
‘Goddamnit.’
Her eye twitched. “Stop trying to butter me up!” she snapped, jabbing a finger in his face. “Just tell me what you two were doing up here!”
Okarun sighed, then mumbled something almost too quiet for her to catch.
Thankfully, the mental version came through loud and clear.
‘We wanted to learn how to dance.’
...Wait, what?
He was trying to do the same thing as—
She cut the thought off before it could fully form. No way she was giving the game away that easily.
Though, judging from the mental hum Yokarun let out...
Gah!
Still, she couldn't unsee the scene she'd walked in on—the way they were holding each other, the soft music (still playing in the background, stupidly romantic and echoing off the tiles), how they were shuffling around each other—
...
‘Maybe she wasn’t a genius after all.’ she thought.
In fact she knew she wasn’t when Yokarun didn’t mentally jump in to defend her honor. He just gave another thoughtful little hum in the back of their shared mind.
Ugh.
‘Momo-chan…’ Yokarun practically purred.
Ah. Busted.
‘Why were you coming up here with Aira? Thought you were heading out with Miko and Muko today.’
Okarun’s head shot up, eyes wide and brown and impossibly earnest. Godforsaken, weaponized puppy-dog eyes.
...
...
...
She hung her head in shame.
“I was gonna practice dancing too.” she muttered, rubbing her bangs between two fingers as she avoided
“With Shiratori-san?” Okarun said incredulously.
“We can’t all be two people at once, dude!” she snapped, flushing. “Would you rather I asked Jiji?!”
Silence once more.
...
‘Aira’s fine, yo.’ Yokarun added unnecessarily.
They just kept staring at each other after that.
She felt kinda stupid.
And kinda awkward.
And she had no idea what to say next.
Then she realized she was still pinning Okarun to the ground with her powers.
With a soft, embarrassed noise, she let the oversized spiritual hand dissolve. His arms dropped free again.
He flexed his fingers slowly—(ugh, sorry, Okarun...)—then looked up at her with a hesitant, thoughtful expression.
“Um... Momo?” he said hesitantly, looking up at her with those big brown eyes. “If we’re both not sure… maybe we could practice… together?”
‘Please, Momo-chan!’ Yokarun added, way too enthusiastic.
Gods. The skank was right.
They were all idiots.
“Yeah,” she said, sighing a little as she reached down to help him up. “That sounds good.”
He took her hand carefully, letting her pull him to his feet. His palm was warm against hers, and his eyes wouldn’t quite meet hers—not at first.
The air between them felt strange—quiet in a way that made her hyper-aware of every inch of space.
She suddenly became way too conscious of her other hand, hovering uselessly at her side.
She cleared her throat.
“You, uh… not gonna split again?” she asked, brushing imaginary dust from her skirt to avoid looking at him.
“Oh, um…” Okarun stammered. The blush was already climbing to his ears like it had been waiting for its cue.
‘We can’t keep up the concentration for that if we’re dancing with you, Momo-chan.’
Ugh. Yokarun’s earnest smoothtalking strikes again.
She rolled her eyes and turned away—just in time to keep them from seeing the pink blooming on her cheeks.
Yokarun’s snickering echoed softly in the back of her mind.
Okarun scrambled over to their bag, crouching to dig out their flip phone. He tapped a few buttons, then straightened with a little nod—expression equal parts nerves and focus.
“Okay,” he said. “We’ve figured out a few steps. I think. We can work through them together…”
“Lead on,” she said, sweeping her arm with exaggerated flair. “You guys are the experts, clearly.”
That earned her a flustered huff from Okarun—and a snort from Yokarun.
With a new song cued up—starting from the top this time—they began practicing together.
It was... awkward.
Okarun’s hand hovered at her waist like it was allergic to contact, and the one in hers—well, it was kind of sweaty. Not that she could judge. Her own grip wasn’t exactly dry, either.
He stuttered out the steps as they moved, voice soft and halting, eyes fixed on their feet like they might betray him at any moment.
Every so often, Yokarun would cut in from the background with a quiet correction—usually directed at her, annoyingly enough. Gentle, but smug.
‘Momo-chan, your left—no, your actual left, yo.’
Okarun, meanwhile, was too focused to notice anything else, laser-locked on not tripping over their own shoes.
But they must’ve already gotten some decent practice in—or maybe they were just more adept at it than they’d thought—because Okarun's steps were growing more confident with every motion. And before she knew it, she was falling into rhythm beside him, letting her body follow his lead through slow, steady turns and softly counted steps.
Their mind was quiet, now.
Or maybe… she was just too caught up in the moment to hear anything.
When she finally tore her gaze away from her feet, making sure she wasn’t about to trip him, he was looking at her with nothing but adoration in his soft brown eyes.
She closed her eyes then, savoring the moment. A little thrill shot down her spine as the hands on her waist and in her hand suddenly turned cold—a pleasant shock against the warmth flooding through her.
When she opened her eyes, the boy holding her looked slightly different. The grin was wider now, less restrained, with the barest hint of a fang peeking out. Their eyes were narrower like this, more piercing—yet somehow no less gentle.
Despite the subtle changes, their expression was exactly the same.
But then the pace quickened, faster than whatever imaginary music was playing. And then, in a move she was pretty sure wasn’t part of any actual dance, he grabbed hold of her arms, pivoted on his heel, and started to spin, picking up speed until her feet lifted off the ground.
It was dizzying. And they were on the school roof. But she trusted them completely and let out a delighted squeal, even as he practically hurled her into the air, deep laughter ringing out across the empty rooftop.
She fell back down, landing safely in lanky arms that caught her bridal-style. Still laughing, she reached up and met cold lips in a kiss that warmed halfway through. When she pulled away, she saw blushing pink skin and wide brown eyes once more—
—and couldn’t help snickering. For all his posturing and sappiness, Yokarun had chosen to run away as soon as she turned it back on them.
It turned out they were both idiots.
Because this was Japan—and of course no one knew how to do western-style dancing.
Except, apparently, the skank. Who was busy manhandling her way through most of the boys in the room—and a few of the girls—one awkward waltz at a time.
So in the end, they probably embarrassed themselves more by being the only couple even remotely attempting an actual dance—embellished though it was, especially with Yokarun in control.
But as they moved together through the music—her boyfriend seamlessly switching between Okarun’s slow, careful steps and Yokarun’s sweeping twirls and chaotic throws—their shared mind full of nothing but adoration and joy...
She couldn’t find it in herself to care.
Not even a little.