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There’s something in the sway of that girl’s body that has Momo light in the head.
She didn’t really expect such moves from someone so quiet, someone who only speaks to snark back or defend either herself or others, but she supposes that’s irrelevant now. Now, she can hear the girl’s voice in the intricate footwork, in the squeak of her worn sneakers against polished wood, in the way her cropped leather jacket wrinkles and creases with every pop and lock of her limbs. They haven’t even exchanged a word, yet Momo feels like she’s known the other dancer just by watching. She leans cross-armed on the doorframe with one shoulder, observing the hip-hop dance class with what was once a critical eye, now an enamored one. Her pointe shoes suddenly feel trapping, stray hair falling from her perfect and pristine ballerina bun, as she sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the group of teens dressed in sweats and muscle tanks and clothing that is just much too loose for her liking. She shifts, suddenly aware of just how odd she must look here, what’s the ballet princess of Yuuei doing in a hip-hop class, but she keeps herself composed, brushing off the question with a roll of her shoulders. I’m just here to watch. It’s harmless. Besides, why would anyone bat an eyelash at me when there’s…
There’s her.
As in, there is this petite yet passionate girl all over the center of the room, dressed in nearly all black and somehow managing to incorporate dance like this to heavy rock music. If it weren’t for the supportive whistling and hooting, Momo would only hear the blaring noise of fingers dancing on the neck of an electric guitar- she imagines its her, that girl setting the floor on fire with a kick in her step, doing just that, with a smile blinding the crowd like the rockstar she clearly is. Rockstar, Momo thinks, do rockstars normally dance like this?
“Amazin’ right?”
Momo jumps from her position, squeaking under the music playing through the speakers. She looks at the guy next to her, a spiky redheaded fellow with...sharpened teeth? This class sure has quite the variety of people. He has the same kind of blinding attitude too, she notices, the repeated canines fitting perfectly to form a friendly smile.
“Oi, no worries. I don’t bite.” He winks then perks his lips up so they point in the other girl’s direction, “You were really watchin’ her though.”
“O-Oh. I was…?” A heat rises in Momo’s cheeks, oh gosh this wasn’t supposed to happen I just wanted to check it out and leave-
“Ha! Sure was! Don’t blame ya though. Jirou’s amazing...mixing all kinds of genres like that all the time.” He gives Momo a positive pat on the back.
“...Jirou.”
“That’s the name. Ah, speakin’ of which. I’m Eijirou. Nice to meet ya!”
"I'm Momo. Nice to meet you too." Momo replies, bowing her head politely.
The spiky redhead- Eijirou, somewhat extends his fist in front of Momo. Reluctantly, she bumps the fist with her own, smiling nervously in the “am I doing this right?” way, to which Eijirou beams back. Is this entire class just full of people like this? They turn back immediately as a rather heavy guitar riff catches their attention, and Momo is already thrown back into the same, captivating sight of this girl- Jirou, shining like the brightest star Momo has ever seen.
“Aaah...Her footwork is so clean, right Ei?” Another voice, female this time, pokes at Momo’s attention. She glances for a second just to see who’s talking, and spots a bubbly looking girl with short, light brown hair and yep, that same kind of beaming smile.
“For sure...I gotta ask for tips if I’m ever gonna-”
“Gonna what, impress your precious loverboy? ”
“H-Hey, shut up…”
As the two of them chuckle and giggle next to her, the minor distraction dies away while Momo watches the finale of Jirou’s dance. The music has mellowed out, and so has Jirou’s moves. She sways to the gentler rhythms, until the last few drumbeats kick, and she ends with a powerful stomp to the ground, making the wood feel like it’s rippling under electricity. The entire room erupts in cheers and praises, and are immediately quieted by a man’s voice, when Momo looks at the source of this voice, it belongs to a rather slim man, with his golden hair slicked back so far that it comes to a fine point at the end.
“Alrighty, great moves, Kyouka! Always know when to pack a punch!”
Jirou stands, smiles, then walks off from the center of the studio, never saying a single word.
It isn’t until then does Momo realize she was holding her breath.