Between Footsteps| p.jm

TEN| .--. . . -.-

Indeed it had been a challenge for 62 to convince you to take the clothes, but after he assured you that he had so many outfits that he wouldn't even notice their absence, you finally decided to comply with narrowed eyes at his statement. Deep down, you were exceedingly grateful even beyond his boasting. 62 was a thoughtful and generous friend, and you were thankful for his small acts of kindness that went such a long way.

Upon changing into the new clothes you found that you could immediately pick up the sensation of his scent wafting through the material. It made you smile at the familiarity before catching your mistake and clearing your throat in embarrassment while forcing your small smile to drop.   

You had to admit, it felt nice. He had given you two hoodies, some shirts, and sweat pants. They fit loosely but you were fine with it. Finally you had a sort of warmth to your usual cold body under the linens that were thicker than your usual thin pajamas. 

When your old clothes were returned to you, 62 refused when you offered to give the clothes back. Now you had your dress, pajamas, and the few articles of clothes 62 had gifted you to choose from in your limited but suitable wardrobe. 

When you walked into work proudly in the new attire, you had gotten strange looks from your coworkers. Probably because you were wearing men's clothing, but you didn't really care. It was better than pajamas. 19 complemented your new attire and you had shyly thanked him before getting to work in both cooking and learning morse code.

Over the last few days, just as 62 had proposed, you had both worked harder than ever. The time that ticked on until the performance day felt like a throbbing in the back of your mind that only aided in looming anxiety. You and 62 hadn't even been able to hang out much outside of practice because every moment spent together in some way shape or form turned into practice itself. 

Although you missed the more care free moments with your friend, it didn't bother you so much. You wanted the extra practice anyway and knew if you simply hung out then you would feel stressed and compelled to stop and keep working.

After the scheduling, you were scared of failure. Not for yourself, but for the sake of 62. With all the people that adored him, he also seemed to have a lot of people that resented him. You didn't want to mess up for his sake and give people something more to hold against him. He didn't deserve that.

Thankfully you seemed to be getting better and better with every day. You worked so hard that one night you noticed your feet were bleeding from opened blisters. It hurt the next day, but you refused to make a sound in fear that 62 would stop the practice. You wanted to get better and breaks weren't going to help you get to that point.

After five days, you had almost completely learned the whole choreography. You still needed to practice of course, but it was something. The fact that you could dance and slightly keep up all the way until the music ended was a miracle, and 62 noted this progress with praise before informing you he would now be teaching more small details to help things look better. 

At a certain point, you wondered when your area of focus had shifted. To 62, the dance was a way to claim his name and you were a form of companionship. To you... you had agreed solely on the prospect of gaining answers. Now however you found yourself only working on dancing. You even stopped thinking about morse code as much as the days to your performance ticked on. At one point you had even forgotten about the tent and going behind the curtain all together. 

You were so determined to dance well for 62's sake that you were forgetting your true motivations. When you went to bed on night 100 with throbbing feet, you held your pink stuffed cat close as your mind whirled in attempts to stir that same determination you had in your first week of the Between. It was harder to reach, and you panicked when you found your goals and priorities were now so blurred.