"We tried to be better, but we aren't. I don't think anyone could last more than a week here if they weren't willing to do bad things." - Alba Reyes

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Cicada Days
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👀 (credit to Kotorikun)
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Noah really did have good moves though. Irene let her eye casually bounce with every jerk of his body to the rhythm. It was all slow, controlled, easy to follow. So much so that even she was somehow managing it. Was this what her coaches meant when they said 'stop trying too hard and control your pace'? Maybe. Irene wouldn't remember such an epiphany in the long run anyways, but here and now it looked pretty good on her. Only major mistake she'd made in the last few seconds was extending the arm, because like hell that was going to happ-

Oh.

Oh.

Well. It wasn't the rarest thing for hands to be on Irene like this. Arms, those were a thing she was used to. From mom, dad, sis, friends. Less so friends nowadays, since Irene's social circles had skewed towards neeeeerds with varying degrees of social incompetence. 'Just put the arm on my shoulder damn it, it looks weird hovering off it like that!' And so on. Irene didn't often dance with this much contact though. She'd never expected there to be this much... contact. She, uh, liked it. A lot. The pressure valve in her head that held the spastic at bay was twitching, spewing steam. Uh. Worth.

She fell in a bit, as close as she dared. Man the dude towered over her. He seemed to be going for a display of the Coriolis Effect. There would be rotation. All was cool. Irene had this. Just spin. Maybe 'wheee' a little bit.

"Hah! Uh, yeah!" All she could respond with as they began to pick up. Inertia worked it's magic, her boy Newton betrayed her. It was all in motion now, however it ultimately stopped. Don't trip. Don't trip.
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Dying To See How This One Ends · At the Dance