limitless.
@ryanid, dance practice in the midas building ( prompt ).
there aren’t a whole lot of people who can get san to sit still in the middle of a practice room. not when he has a promotion on the horizon, a special stage to prepare for. the compulsion would overwhelm him in most circumstances, would peel himself off the floor and dance until his feet went numb. would still be disappointed in his efforts. but ryan’s never really been like that, and they’ve been together long enough that it can sometimes be a push and pull. she’ll heft herself up to practice, and he’ll let himself collapse to talk, even if he can still breathe.
it doesn’t mean he’s still not all movement. unless he’s exhausted he usually is. a bobbing foot, a water bottle rolled between his palms, a bounce of his shoulders along to the music they still have streaming quietly from the corner of the room. a playlist set up with a few of his new songs he needs to practice for, some of jinx’s latest set so that ryan could practice. so that san could theoretically help, the same way that she’d occasionally tried to help him vocally whenever he got dragged for sucking while he was still a trainee, the beginning years of olympus.
he almost pries open his jaw, suggests they practice for maybe twenty more minutes when pinocchio starts up again. but when he turns to glance at her, ryan’s got a look trapped up in her eyes, like she’s a mind reader pre-pissed off with the predictable thoughts he’s about to recycle for the umpteenth time. san bites his tongue instead. stretches his legs out and grabs at the toes of his sneakers. “what have they got you up to, then?” san asks, means in turns of promotions -- group or otherwise. there hasn’t been a lot of time to hang out lately. he’s been too busy, but that’s not foreign to them. it’s why they broke up, once upon a time.
he stretches more, lays his head on his own knees like a pillow as he glances over at her, the awkward angle making him look like some owl-boy hybrid. it’s not attractive, but they’ve long since crossed the threshold where that sort of thing matters. “i’m tired,” he complains, means more than physically. but he pairs it with a smile, more genuine than anything sarcastic or bitter. a throwback to the sort of boy he was, once upon a time. ryan’s one of the few people who can still pull them out of him.
