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Keito is no stranger to formal events, or any type of event really, given his background as an idol. But, that doesn’t make him immune to feeling suffocated by the atmosphere on occasion, either already weary from overworking himself to begin with, or just not being in the mood for greeting after greeting, niceties that are to be expected within this type of setting.
Especially when dealing with any sort of event pertaining to the Tenshouin family, or the fragile web of elite families surrounding them. Keito’s family being no exception, especially considering the nature of their ties, which is something that Keito would rather shove to the far back of his mind right now. This time, the banquet hall that Keito has been slowly taking in the features of was not decked out for the Tenshouin family in particular, but for the wedding of someone considered a close family friend of sorts. That being a phrase Keito was almost surprised to hear when Eichi had brought up the event in the first place, asking for him to attend as a plus one if he wasn’t already invited.
Which is how Keito finds himself with his usual impassive face, any irritation probably undetectable by most in the room as he adjusts the tie around his throat. The offending fabric doesn’t move much, and it technically shouldn’t anyway — he needs to remain well-groomed until he’s able to depart from the festivities. These actions, of course, do not go unnoticed by the man sitting next to him. Long legs crossed and hands folded in his lap as he watches Keito with an air of amused curiosity, as if he can’t already tell what Keito’s grievance is.
Keito casts a sidelong glance towards Eichi as well, wondering how the other is somehow still faring well. But, then again, he has a lot of experience with this thing — pleasant or not, and at the very least both of them will be keeping a close eye on the physical health aspect of things tonight.
Eichi is still looking at him, almost expectantly — waiting for Keito to speak his thoughts without Eichi having to pry it out of him. Even small complaints like this were typically hard for Keito to voice, especially when he finds them virtually useless.
“It’s warm,” is all Keito supplies, accompanied by a defeated sigh.
He’s sort of glad he isn’t wearing his glasses either, the frames certainly wouldn’t have done him any favors right now. Additionally, Eichi had dropped billions of extremely obvious hints about how he enjoyed when Keito’s face was fully visible, not obstructed by his usual pair of lenses. Keito can’t say he minds, in this moment, nor earlier when the vacant, practiced smile that usually occupies the other idols face became a bit more genuine at the sight of him.
Keito also begins to think he’s turning into a huge sap, before being interrupted by Eichi’s response.
“It is rather stuffy in here,” Eichi lifts the back of his hand to his own forehead, laughing lightly.
“Perhaps I can make myself faint on the dance floor, and we could leave shortly after?”
He leans closer to Keito in his chair, voice hushed as if telling a classified secret. The few other people seated at their table pay no mind, this sight becoming a staple of the two being within the same vicinity of one another over the years.
The amused glint never leaves Eichi’s eyes, a tell-tale sign of scheming — even at the expense of his own health. Something that Keito will forever lecture him about, despite being just as bad with his own. Keito, though, isn’t already sickly to begin with. He just shakes his head in response, not giving Eichi the exasperation to take as fuel for whatever he’s currently visualizing.
Eichi doesn’t leave his space, though, electing to move his seat slightly closer to Keito’s. The lack of space allows their arms to press against each other, knees touching — Keito contemplates telling him that it’s too hot for Eichi to start acting clingy. But, he decides to let it go since he doesn’t actually mind too much.
It’s a weird bubble of peace, the two of them staring out at the same scene in relative silence. Keito’s expression is as neutral as ever, but Eichi is watching the dance floor with growing determined interest. It’s a similar type of look to his scheming one, cut with a specific type of sadness and longing — he tries not to think about his mortality, and his ability to do things with his life compared to others. But, that’s relatively hard to completely ignore. Even with how he’s improved his stamina, improved (some) of his habits relating to self care — partly forced to by his unit-mates, and partially out of spite for his illness stealing things from him. He’ll do what he can to retain a firm grip on his life, and live it in a way that brings him even a small token of happiness.
Dancing with his partner at some other person's wedding may not seem like a particularly hefty desire, but the concept makes him wonder when he’d get this opportunity again. They are idols, their entire lives revolve around singing and dancing, putting on a show for others. But how much of that is he allowed to keep for himself, a small personal corner of an idol’s happiness? Of Eichi Tenshouin’s happiness in particular?
With that thought in mind, Eichi brings one hand to rest against Keito’s knee, a silent plea that Keito answers by directing his attention back to the blond at his side. Eichi is still looking out at the dance floor, at the couples having various degrees of fun among themselves. At the now married couple in their own little bubble, only paying attention to one another.
Keito immediately understands what thoughts must be swirling through his mind, and rests his own hand on top of Eichi’s, asking the question that the blond won’t voice himself. The song changes as he does this, and Keito can’t repress the quiet laugh that leaves him as the tempo of the previous song fades into something slow, and sweet. He stands, hand leaving Eichi’s only to offer it palm up.
“May I have this dance?”
There’s a lilt to his voice that betrays his remaining amusement, but Eichi finds no issue with this, blue eyes trailing over Keito in a way that makes the other feel a bit vulnerable.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Eichi teases, smiling while placing his hand in Keito’s and getting to his feet. The pair make their way through loitering people, ones simply watching at the edges, Keito emerging onto the floor first with Eichi close behind.
Eichi spares no distance between them, making Keito a bit flustered by how close Eichi stands as he puts a hand atop his shoulder. Keito’s free hand rests against Eichi’s waist, nearly on autopilot as the pair gaze at each other. To say that Eichi is pretty always feels like a wild understatement, but the other man does have very soft, delicate features. Those akin to an angel, even if the man in question is anything but. Keito’s seen his face so many times, taken in the small details more times than he can count in all their years of knowing each other, never once forgetting. Even during times where the two were on opposing sides, their relationship akin to a slowly untying knot.
The curl at the end of Eichi’s bangs, one that he had thought was an intentional styling method, a belief he held until he witnessed Eichi trying to flatten the thing himself to no avail. The shade of his eyes, the lashes that frame them; even the dark circles he would gain when not taking care of himself. Keito’s committed so many things to memory, and yet he still finds himself in awe sometimes. Distracted, even, as he is at this moment.
Keito is obviously no stranger to dancing, well trained in things much more complicated than a simple slow dance.
Yet, as the pair move, Keito finds himself making a small misstep. Distracted as they dance, embarrassingly caught up in admiration — it causes him to step on Eichi’s foot, the pair becoming a bit off balance before Keito steadies them.
When Keito goes to apologize, he’s met with the sight of Eichi covering his mouth with a hand, shoulders moving with poorly suppressed laughter. Keito only feels his embarrassment increase, almost pulling away completely when Eichi tightens the grip on the hand he’s still clutching.
“Since when did you have two left feet, Keito?”
Eichi steps back in closer, hand returning to its spot along Keito’s shoulder momentarily.
Keito opens his mouth in indignation, closes it, opens it again before that hand moves up further to Keito’s cheek.
“Let’s pay closer attention to where we’re going from now on, yes?” His tone is something Keito would dare to call fond, leaning forward to steal a quick kiss.
Keito accepts it, but rolls his eyes and returns his hand to Eichi’s waist once they part. They start to move again, Keito smiling a bit.
“Two left feet was it, Eichi?”
Is all the warning the other man gets before Keito leads him into a little twirl, causing Eichi to laugh as he completes it, facing Keito once more. The pair continue to enjoy the night to their hearts’ content, throwing away hesitation and appearances for once — no one is really watching them closely, anyway.
If the two of them are a little more exhausted than usual upon returning to their dorms, there are no complaints to be found, only the lingering sensation of being hand in hand, shared happiness clasped between their palms.