Between Footsteps| p.jm

TWELVE| .--. . .-. ..-. --- .-. --

How.

How could this be happening? Somehow, the days until the performance had flown by quicker than the blink of an eye. 

After working the truck, you determined maybe 62 had been right all along regarding the importance of 'bonding' exercises. You thought maybe dancing would be awkward after the fight, but all it took was a smile for you to calm and focus on both the steps, and him.

The eye contact thing took a lot of practice and patience on both of your parts, but once again, 62's reassuring smile and hold was enough for you to soften and eventually work through most of the dance without dropping your gaze in embarrassment.

Contrary to the times you had been skeptical, now you weren't so scared of looking him in the eyes. You didn't know what you had been afraid of, in fact his gaze was quite nice and friendly. 

62 was respectful and knew his boundaries. He had after all even implemented a safe word for you just in case you felt uncomfortable. With all this, you no longer held any sort of fear or mistrust for he that held you so close.

It was, after all, for memories. Even though your friendship wasn't, the dance was. So thinking too intently on his warmth, hold, or even the "look at me like you want to kiss me" thing would be foolish. So, you didn't.

Instead you focused on learning the steps, working the truck, laughing with and teaching morse code to 62, and staring longingly at the main tent. You didn't want to put going behind the curtain on the back burner... but by now you realized you shouldn't involve 62 in the plan in any way shape or form. You knew this ultimately deemed your original plan useless, but you didn't want to feel like you were using him any longer. 

It was something you would have to do yourself... you just didn't know when. Because there were only 5 days until the performance, you decided to narrow your focus on that and try to stop the nerves that arose upon thinking about it.

Now, somehow, it had crept up on you. How had five days flown by so fast? How were your coworkers telling you good luck and assuring you they'd be there that night at work? How were you back in the gold hotel getting pampered and dressed up for the performance? How were you now standing next to 62 behind the first curtain, waiting and shaking for the show to start?

The lighting behind the curtain was dim, and you could clearly hear the bustle of people and the music from the speakers as they all trailed in to find their seats. 62 was stretching; his collar bone showing above his white shirt as he arched in order to loosen his body for dancing. You blinked when you realized you should be copying his motions and shook your head quickly before bringing your arm across your chest in order to stretch your shoulder. 

Your heart beat thudded and your bare feet felt chilled by the stage. A sort of shiver crawled down your spine and you tried to shake it off before looking at 62.

He was already staring your way rather shamelessly, and upon being caught decided to smirk lightly and quickly look away. The pink on his cheeks wasn't something easily hidden however, and you felt your own face heat up before you scoffed at his odd actions and instead studied him. 

His silver hair sat parted on his forehead in a way that had been perfectly done by the stylists. It matched his smokey eye and the silver earrings dangling against his lobes; they clattering lightly as he went down to the floor in order to touch his toes. The white shirt easily slid about in ways that would certainly showcase his body when he danced, and you brought a hand up to your silver jewelry and nervously fiddled with it as he decided to look back up at you once more.

"Why don't you take a picture, peanut?" He quipped playfully, wiggling his eyebrows before easily pulling himself up off the floor. You rolled your eyes and flushed, biting your lower lip before throwing back a statement to play along.