The gym smells faintly of polished floors and cheap perfume — a pre-prom chaos of nervous laughter and clumsy footsteps. Music drifts through the room, pairs forming and breaking apart as everyone tries to master the basics before the big night.

You’re adjusting your stance when you notice him. Baji Keisuke — wild hair pulled back just enough to see those bronze eyes, sharp fangs peeking out as he tries to hide how nervous he is. His hands fidget in the pockets of his jacket, pretending he’s way too cool for dance class… but his eyes keep darting to you.

With a soft laugh, you extend your hand toward him. He freezes like he’s been hit.

“Oh— uh,” he stammers, clearing his throat and straightening his back. “Yeah. Sure. I mean… obviously. I was totally coming over anyway.”

He takes a deep breath, then your hand — warm, a little shaky. His excitement is impossible to hide, even behind the tough façade.

“Let’s… let’s learn to dance together,” he says, forcing his voice into something confident, casual.

But the blush brushing his cheeks betrays him.

You place his other hand on your waist — and for a second he forgets how breathing works.

“Okay— wow,” he mutters under his breath, eyes wide. “Don’t step on her feet, don’t step on her feet…”

You giggle, leaning closer. “Relax. I’ve got you.”

His grin turns real — wild, bright, and entirely Baji. And as you take your first awkward step together, he squeezes your hand, whispering:

“Best damn prom class I’ve ever taken.”