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Every few years the different branches of Jujutsu Tech come together and host a ball. It’s an excuse for everyone to get together, see people from the Hokkaido and Fukuoka branches for once and forget all their impending responsibilities for a brief moment.
It’s a few weeks before the event and Yaga has them all gathered in one of the large halls of the school, too large for seven students and a teacher, the empty space echoing around them. He snaps a tape into an old, portable radio speaker and turns to face them.
“Right. Into pairs, we need leads and followers. We have an odd number so I will take over whoever’s left.”
Gojo doesn’t even think twice, slinging an arm around Geto’s shoulders who is standing beside him anyway. He pauses, then bends his neck.
“You know how to dance?”
“Kind of? Not really. We practiced waltzes in school once but that’s it.”
“Oh yeah? Show me show me!”
Geto is about to turn when Yaga barks from the end of the room, “Satoru no! We have an uneven number as it is, pick a female partner.”
“What?! Why?” He glares, pulling Geto closer to him as if Yaga would pluck him out of reach.
“Don’t ask questions, just get on with it!” He growls out.
“Probably for all the followers and leads to match,” Geto whispers, hand over his mouth.
“That’s dumb as hell,” Gojo grumbles, “at least show me how it’s done and I can apply it or whatever.”
Gojo is sticking to him like he might vanish, so Geto huffs and manoeuvres them around, glancing back at Yaga who’s forgotten them for a moment, busying himself with an unenthused Nanami and Shoko.
“Alright, I think it’s like this,” Geto slides his hand over Gojo’s shoulder and takes his free hand, holding it up between them, “and you’re taller so you should probably lead.”
“Oh yeah? I’ll take the initiative,” Gojo chuckles low, eyebrows raised and eyes lidded suggestively.
Geto just rolls his eyes playfully, taking his hand and pressing it into his waist.
“Keep it there, that’s where you’ll guide me.”
Suddenly with this new position they’re very close, their chests bumping, Geto’s breath fanning out a little over him. Gojo can’t help but squeeze him in a little closer when his hand sits so snugly in the curve of his waist.
“Now what,” Gojo utters lowly, staring down at how close he is to Geto, looking up to the other’s face, pink dusting his tan cheeks. He locks eyes with Geto who’s just looking at him, eyes widening just a little. They’re so close he can even see bright slivers of amethyst flecked in his purple eyes.
“It goes..” and Geto coughs a little, pulling their gaze apart to look at their hands and starts humming in threes “dum dum dum. Dum dum dum -“
Geto pushes their feet to move and Gojo follows, listening to the soft hums from Geto as he tries to match his step.
“Try to point to every corner of the room with the beats, use our hands as a pointer and lead me with your other.”
Geto’s a good teacher, Gojo only stumbles once before he’s understanding the instructions clearly, stepping through the beats with ease. The stiffness falls from both of them and he follows along with Geto’s soft hums, bouncing them across the spacious hall.
Geto’s laughing, his cheeks tinged more pink as he’s being pulled and turned, hands bobbing with the tune that Gojo has now picked up. Gojo hums back in three’s softly, getting used to where their feet have to go now and the space of the room. He lowers his head smiling and Geto looks up, holding onto his shoulder a little more tightly.
“You’re really good at this,” he murmurs low between them, his sharp eyes half lidded.
“Yeah? Do I make a good partner?” Gojo grins, lowering his head and bumping their foreheads.
Geto smiles a small thing, one that’s genuine and hidden from the others. Gojo sways them and suddenly he’s forgotten about the ball, and the other people in the room. His heart feels light, soaring when they spin and match, their feet moving in tandem perfectly. He closes his eyes, enjoying the flow of it, when Yaga barks them out of their reverie.
Their foreheads pull apart and they stop abruptly looking at a disgruntled Yaga who’s assorting the meager school into pairs.
He’s not telling them to pull apart, merely frowning with a pensive face at the two of them.
“If it helps matters, I’m politely bowing out of the dance,” Mei-Mei simpers, crossing her arms and sticking out her hip.
A vein twitches in Yaga’s temple, “it’s not optional.”
“Oh, do we not have to go? I’m terrible at this!” Haibara beams, letting go of Utahime’s hands.
Yaga pinches the bridge of his nose, willing some sort of strength to take over him.
“No,” he growls, “we’re the Tokyo branch. We are showing a good example with everyone involved.”
“Suguru, Satoru,” and he looks a bit pained now coming up and fixing their hands to sit a certain way, “fix your foot placement on the third step and stand a little straighter, the others will follow you.” He marches back to the radio and hits a clunky play button, the tape whirring before the light, bobbing thrum of cello’s play out against the tinny speakers.
Gojo looks down at him grinning and all too pleased for getting his own way yet again. Geto huffs, smiling back and fixes a loose strand of hair, “Well, shall we?”
Gojo’s grin turns into one with all teeth, securing his hand around the small of Geto’s back and pulling them close. It causes their torsos to bump suddenly and Geto to sputter out a laugh, giving his shoulder a small slap. He turns to hold their hands more seriously, softly, turning them over so Geto’s hand sits more comfortably in his and looks back at him. Geto is smiling at him, his fox eyes glinting, all molten violet and warm. Something in Gojo’s chest sings and he pulls them, heart and feet falling into the light rhythm of the tinny cello.