fists balled up against his stomach, training his voice to transition between highs and lows.

a flinch of the shoulders, hands tightening. “sorry, oshi-san,” he doesn't look her in the eye, simply inhales and starts again.

/ IF MY FORMATTING IS WEIRD PLSPELASE IGNORE IT IM NOT USED TO TWITTER ON A LAPTOP

offering her an awkward smile. “sorry, oshi-san..” he repeats like a scratched, broken record, “but, i still don' really get how 'm s'pposed t'focus on a metro—what in m'head?”

“m'ka~y, i can do that,” letting the pace sink in before another inhale, repeating the process and beginning to sing. he stumbles at first— but he's sure he's getting the hang of it!

accidentally taking her comment as a reason to stop, voice dying out and face lighting up. “nnh, ya really will?! ahehe~ oshi-san's so kind t'make considerations like that!”

how to talk, how to walk, how to fall.

“sorry, oshi-san. ‘m not good at containin’ it when ‘m happy like that~” puffing out instead of laughing; straightening posture in an almost dramatic manner, lashes gently falling shut as he continues at her set pace. trying to appease her.

he doesn’t even seem to notice that she’s stopped clicking, seemingly remembering the rhythm in his head. he warmed up to it so quickly— it’s a lot easier than he first expected!

mom, am i still young? can i dream for a few months more?