[ he's not, actually. he's just running through drills, it's not anything particularly important. it's just reminiscence, as shu falls back on the flat of his feet, shifts out of first position back to a regular stance.
when shu first taught nazuna how to dance, it was different, sneakers instead of ballet shoes, hard hitting beats instead of graceful extensions, but in the end--
nothing's really changed, actually.
there's a silence again, because shu has never really been good with words, he's always found it easier to express himself through movement, when words have failed him at some points, and his gaze is piercing, though it flickers to the way nazuna's dance bag hits the floor with a thunk, and while his expression is unreadable, his posture relaxes just a little bit.
it's almost unnoticeable.
but there's relief there, when shu nods, gestures for nazuna to step closer, right up to the ballet barre, and it's a tentative invitation, because it's been years and shu isn't used to doubting himself, not when his movements used to be confident, when his steps were more sure, more elegant. ]
Come here. [ close enough, that it's easy to reach over and touch, that shu can smell the faint hint of nazuna's soap. he pokes at nazuna's arm, a small gesture to hold onto the barre with both hands, for support.
from there, it's easy, shu shifting with a fluid motion to step behind nazuna, hands placed on nazuna's hips, professional but guiding.
nazuna is lean and taut under his hands, and perhaps he's imagining it, but his heartbeat sounds a little bit too loud in his own ears, every exhale sounds a little bit too magnified, a little bit too thundering. ]
Try an elevé. Up on the balls of your feet, and hold there.
[ the french rolls off his tongue like it's second nature, borne from the many years of practice and drills and his love for the language, as natural as breathing since he's known this from the time he was seven years old and slipped on his very first pair of ballet shoes. ]
no subject
when shu first taught nazuna how to dance, it was different, sneakers instead of ballet shoes, hard hitting beats instead of graceful extensions, but in the end--
nothing's really changed, actually.
there's a silence again, because shu has never really been good with words, he's always found it easier to express himself through movement, when words have failed him at some points, and his gaze is piercing, though it flickers to the way nazuna's dance bag hits the floor with a thunk, and while his expression is unreadable, his posture relaxes just a little bit.
it's almost unnoticeable.
but there's relief there, when shu nods, gestures for nazuna to step closer, right up to the ballet barre, and it's a tentative invitation, because it's been years and shu isn't used to doubting himself, not when his movements used to be confident, when his steps were more sure, more elegant. ]
Come here. [ close enough, that it's easy to reach over and touch, that shu can smell the faint hint of nazuna's soap. he pokes at nazuna's arm, a small gesture to hold onto the barre with both hands, for support.
from there, it's easy, shu shifting with a fluid motion to step behind nazuna, hands placed on nazuna's hips, professional but guiding.
nazuna is lean and taut under his hands, and perhaps he's imagining it, but his heartbeat sounds a little bit too loud in his own ears, every exhale sounds a little bit too magnified, a little bit too thundering. ]
Try an elevé. Up on the balls of your feet, and hold there.
[ the french rolls off his tongue like it's second nature, borne from the many years of practice and drills and his love for the language, as natural as breathing since he's known this from the time he was seven years old and slipped on his very first pair of ballet shoes. ]