[And he knows enough about dance to understand that he should be the one taking the helm, but he follows her anyway. It's what he's always done, follow her lead, trusting that she knew what she was doing and what needed to be accomplished. That's why she had been chosen to be the leader of the group, despite having very little experience to her name. She was—is—an individual people don't have trouble following.
He keeps his steps careful and deliberate—perhaps a bit hesitant, because he'll be damned if he still doesn't feel nervousness eating away at him like some sort of disease that shows no outward symptoms, but he wants to do things right. He starts to feel the rhythm of the music—all made up of words he can't understand, but perhaps it's better that way—and finds it easier to as the music inches towards its conclusion. He learns to move a split-second after she does, like there's no pause at all. He doubts he moves with anything that could be described as elegance, but he can keep in time, and he'll be damned if he's going to step on her feet. He can follow the pace she sets.
But wanting to do things right also means stepping up and taking the lead eventually. She led him all September. He had initiated very little. Kept his role passive and did what needed to be done when it was necessary. But this September's his, too. He waits for the song to change, not wanting to disturb the equilibrium she's set.
When the song ends, there's a few silent seconds in-between, and in the interim of them coming to a standstill, he tugs her gently back and to the left, almost playfully, though not entirely so. Unlike some people, he's not going to ask her to show him again, and she is right about one thing: he learns quickly. Learns even quicker from his mistakes.
And then a new song starts. Slower, quieter, and thankfully in a language they understand. He still doesn't know quite what he's doing—dancing still ain't his thing and never will be—but he can pretend for a few minutes.]
no subject
He keeps his steps careful and deliberate—perhaps a bit hesitant, because he'll be damned if he still doesn't feel nervousness eating away at him like some sort of disease that shows no outward symptoms, but he wants to do things right. He starts to feel the rhythm of the music—all made up of words he can't understand, but perhaps it's better that way—and finds it easier to as the music inches towards its conclusion. He learns to move a split-second after she does, like there's no pause at all. He doubts he moves with anything that could be described as elegance, but he can keep in time, and he'll be damned if he's going to step on her feet. He can follow the pace she sets.
But wanting to do things right also means stepping up and taking the lead eventually. She led him all September. He had initiated very little. Kept his role passive and did what needed to be done when it was necessary. But this September's his, too. He waits for the song to change, not wanting to disturb the equilibrium she's set.
When the song ends, there's a few silent seconds in-between, and in the interim of them coming to a standstill, he tugs her gently back and to the left, almost playfully, though not entirely so. Unlike some people, he's not going to ask her to show him again, and she is right about one thing: he learns quickly. Learns even quicker from his mistakes.
And then a new song starts. Slower, quieter, and thankfully in a language they understand. He still doesn't know quite what he's doing—dancing still ain't his thing and never will be—but he can pretend for a few minutes.]