[ it's been a long day for nazuna: grading, overexcited students for christmas break, and a lot of sugar cookies at lunch meant that he's been running around like a lunatic all day long. he'd enjoyed the silence of his dorm room when he'd returned, but after just a few moments, he felt restless, and after getting through a pile of paperwork, he's up, staring at his old dance bag by the door for a while before he picks it up and swings it over his shoulder.
the walk to shu's studio is muscle memory, too. nazuna's feet carry him there without even really thinking about it, his headphones in his ears as he walks with his head down, bobbing just slightly to the rhythm of the song over them. it's a soft, dreamy sort of evening, the campus quiet with people studying for finals, and the walk to the studio is accompanied with thoughts of the memories he'd had with mizu--izumi. he'd been some kind of idol, some kind of ballerina (and it tastes bitter in his mouth, the thought that the very thing he'd run from came back to bite him once more), so he could ask, maybe, or see if shu was busy, or--
no, no. he can't bother him, not while he's composing. nazuna's retired, now, by choice instead of by force, but he still makes his way to the studio, hearing the soft sound of music from down the hallway. it's something classical, so he's working on classical dance, and he slides open the door as quietly as possible and is presented with a sight.
nazuna's always thought itsuki was the most handsome when he danced. polished, beautiful, sovereign, a man in charge of his every motion. it's captivating to watch him even just move through the motions, and as he pulls his headphones out, nazuna, quiet as a bunny rabbit, shuts the door and leans against it to watch him dance, heartbeat thumping against his ribcage.
in this studio, dancing is home. it's a place that nazuna, even years after he broke free, would come visit when it gathered dust, a place he's looked on with fondness, and a place he now associates with the very person who's making it come to life right before his eyes. ]
welp
the walk to shu's studio is muscle memory, too. nazuna's feet carry him there without even really thinking about it, his headphones in his ears as he walks with his head down, bobbing just slightly to the rhythm of the song over them. it's a soft, dreamy sort of evening, the campus quiet with people studying for finals, and the walk to the studio is accompanied with thoughts of the memories he'd had with mizu--izumi. he'd been some kind of idol, some kind of ballerina (and it tastes bitter in his mouth, the thought that the very thing he'd run from came back to bite him once more), so he could ask, maybe, or see if shu was busy, or--
no, no. he can't bother him, not while he's composing. nazuna's retired, now, by choice instead of by force, but he still makes his way to the studio, hearing the soft sound of music from down the hallway. it's something classical, so he's working on classical dance, and he slides open the door as quietly as possible and is presented with a sight.
nazuna's always thought itsuki was the most handsome when he danced. polished, beautiful, sovereign, a man in charge of his every motion. it's captivating to watch him even just move through the motions, and as he pulls his headphones out, nazuna, quiet as a bunny rabbit, shuts the door and leans against it to watch him dance, heartbeat thumping against his ribcage.
in this studio, dancing is home. it's a place that nazuna, even years after he broke free, would come visit when it gathered dust, a place he's looked on with fondness, and a place he now associates with the very person who's making it come to life right before his eyes. ]