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“I fucking love dancing,” Kageyama says for the fourth time that day, and Hinata kinda, maybe, totally wants to slap the shit out of him. But his best friend glances over with the most happy-serious stare Hinata has seen all day, so he lets it go.
“Good, I’m happy you finally got the move, Yama-yama-kun,” he beams instead, flashing a thumbs up his way. The slight flush Kageyama gets whenever he’s complimented makes its usual appearance, and Hinata has to hide his smirk behind his fist.
They start cleaning up then, because someone has actually booked the studio after them. It’s a rare occurrence that only happens once in a blue moon. So Hinata can’t help himself as he lags to wipe down the floors.
It’s not that the studio they rent is particularly ugly, or old, or anything. It’s just a smaller studio, probably the smallest in the whole building, and Hinata’s dance team had taken to booking it for when they had routines involving small amounts of people.
He hears voices outside the door, and he narrows Kageyama with a surprised expression, before turning his attention back to the wooden floors beneath them.
He doesn’t expect the two ballerinas that walk into the room, all lean legs and graceful movements. Ennoshita, one of the other members in their current dance quartet routine, calls out an apology for still being here, but Hinata’s still too entranced with the leanness of the two that he doesn’t know what to do.
He’s never really associated with many ballerinas in his time dancing. Sure, there’d been competitions in which both his hip-hop genre and their ballet was judged, but he’d never stuck around long enough to pay them attention.
Not to say that he didn’t like ballet, per say, but rather that the ballerinas he had met had all been snotty. He didn’t think they were all like that, though. There was Yachi, the sweet ballerina he’d met through Yamaguchi, who had been so kind to attend his competition after their first encounter. A sweet-heart. A pure soul. Hinata would die for her.
The point was, he just found it harder to talk about their styles, what with them being so different. He knew a few of their coined names, as he’d practiced more hip-hop versions of them, but he never really could do the actual thing. Ballet was hard, and Yachi rarely complained about her sore toes, but Hinata knew they were there.
He’d decided he’d play nice for now, only so he could boast to Yachi later.
Which is why he found himself stuttering out, “s-sorry,” when one of them walks by him. The silver-haired god smiles gently at him, the mole on his cheek twinkling with his smile, before assuring him it’s fine, really. There’s a teasing laugh from somewhere on the other side of the room, and Hinata swivels around.
If he thought the silver-haired one was a looker, he’s blinded by the positively stunning looks of his partner. He’s so extraordinarily good-looking that it has Hinata thinking he probably made him up. He’s tall, with legs that could stretch on for miles, but a grace that queens wish they had. His halo of bronze curls has Hinata’s breath-catching in his throat.
"I didn't know shrimps like you danced hip-hop,” he teases as he makes his way over towards where Hinata and the silver-haired god are standing. Hinata flushes red, stammering out undefinable words. The guy just laughs, soft like bells, before adding, “just kidding, just kidding. I’m not one to discriminate.”
Hinata gulps. The dancer grins at him, reaching for his sweater to pull over his chest. “What’s your name, chibi-chan?” He says, turning around to toy with the stereo.
“Shouyo,” Hinata answers, looking away.
“Shouyo,” the brunette stunner repeats, and Hinata squirms. He’s never heard someone say his name so, carefully before. It sends a tiny shiver crawling down his back. He turns to face Hinata, flashing him a charming smile. “I’m Tooru.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Hinata blurts out, shoving his hand forward. He realizes a second too late how disrespectful the gesture is, and quickly retracts it. Tooru laughs, cheeks tinting in amusement. “S-Sorry,” Hinata stammers.
Tooru smirks, bowing as if he’s teasing Hinata. He vaguely wonders how many times he’s blushed in the past five minutes. There’s a hand reaching for his, and long fingers wrapping around his.
Hinata starts, big eyes glancing down at Tooru’s still bowed figure. His almond eyes stare up at Hinata through dark lashes, and his lips press against the back of Hinata’s knuckles.
“The pleasure is all mine,” he murmurs, one eye dropping in a wink.
Scratch what he said earlier, Hinata hates ballerinas.