A/N: An anon on tumblr asked for KumiWaki + music, and chose Once Upon A Dream for the song. I wasn't sure how I wanted to utilize/interpret this prompt, so I wound up going with my most basic idea…though it still gave me plenty of trouble, haha.

Also, this turned into a bit of an AU. I didn't pay attention to canon timelines and have no idea when this would actually take place, um...

Put Your Best Foot Forward

Wakiya's parents can only be counted on to be home once a year, and unfortunately it's not for his birthday.

For some reason, they find the annual charity benefit they hold to honor those who help the community more important. (Or maybe it's because the community views them as important – Wakiya isn't sure which.)

They're always such stuffy parties, too. Wakiya used to enjoy getting to see his parents for these brief couple of days. He used to enjoy the parties, too – getting dressed up to run around and get his hair ruffled, told he was a handsome young man as he held his mother's hand and picked off the refreshment table until it was time for him to go to bed….

Now, though….

He doesn't have much to say to his parents, aside from updating his father on his successes and assuring his mother he's happy. He's more than tired of virtual strangers pretending to care about what he's doing with his life, and he can only stomach so much small talk with people who are only there for his parents' money.

Sometimes one of the guests will have interesting stories, given that - aside from the benefactors - they're all policemen, firemen, and other professions of the sort. But that's his only bright spot; one that's few and far between the older he gets.

Hoji isn't even allowed to accompany him anymore. His parents attend every year, sure, but now that Hoji himself is older, he has to stay home and watch his younger siblings for the night.

All-in-all, there isn't much of anything for Wakiya to look forward to (except for his custom tailored purple suit), so naturally his expectations of tonight are just as low as every previous year. So far he hasn't been off the mark, seeing as all he's done is linger by his parents and greet everyone who comes in.

Only fifteen minutes into the party, and it's shaping up to be a long, boring night as usual.

And then, well. Then the next guests walk through the door, and Wakiya freezes.

Rantaro Kiyama is here, looking oddly put-together in a neat black suit – although he hasn't bothered to change his hairstyle at all, Wakiya notes.

"Ah! Wakiya!" Rantaro, of course, spots him immediately, and points at him in a show of questionable manners. "I was wondering if you'd be here."

"What're ya doin' here, Kiyama?" Wakiya asks, forgetting himself and the fact that he's supposed to play nice with guests, on account of Rantaro existing in his house.

"I'm here because –"

"Detective Kiyama, it's good to see you again," Wakiya's father says, pointedly polite as he addresses the man (who Wakiya has only just noticed) with Rantaro. His smile looks uncomfortable, with how wide he's stretching it in an effort to make up for Wakiya's lack of finesse.

Rantaro's dad plays along like nothing is off, exchanging niceties with his own far more natural smile. He even greets Wakiya enthusiastically, warm and sincere. "So this is Wakiya," he says, still wearing that easy grin, "I've heard a lot about you from Rantaro."

Rantaro is in the middle of his polite greetings to Wakiya's parents, and as such doesn't seem to hear, which Wakiya thinks might be fortunate. How is he supposed to react to that?! What does 'a lot' mean? Is it a good thing? Bad?

…If it's Rantaro talking about him, it was probably bad.

Still, Detective Kiyama seems happy enough. Weird guy. It's no wonder Rantaro is the way he is.

"Nice to meet you," Wakiya says, giving a smile that might come across as more of an aggravated smirk.

"Likewise!" Detective Kiyama seems to take this with good humor, and claps a hand on Rantaro's shoulder, getting his attention. He dismisses himself and his son, then, effectively cutting off the awkward encounter, and they wander further into the party.

"See ya later, Wakiya," Rantaro says as he goes, complete with a wave. More uncouth behavior…at least he doesn't have a lollipop in his mouth, Wakiya reasons. It could always be worse.

…Over the next few minutes, Wakiya finds it surprisingly hard to focus. It shouldn't be too hard to reorient himself to greeting guests formally, but he can't help but sneak glances around the foyer, occasionally going as far as to crane his head to try and see into adjoining rooms. All the while he wonders where Rantaro got to, and then wonders why he's wondering that.

His parents notice, of course. After scolding him for it several times, his mother eventually takes pity on him.

"You've been standing here long enough," she says, "leave the rest of the guests to us and go find your friend."

Wakiya wants to argue that they're not friends, and that he doesn't particularly want to hang out with Rantaro and is unsure why his attention is so divided because it's only Rantaro after all – but then it clicks that he's been given a free pass out of door duty.

"Thanks mom," he says, and slips away before the offer can be rescinded. He'll do anything to quell his boredom, at this point, and decides to start with the refreshment table.

…It's complete coincidence that he runs into Rantaro here.

The other boy is busy piling his plate way too high with way too many snacks. His suit jacket is already missing, and his shirtsleeves are rolled up – which are only two of the things wrong with this very wrong picture.

Before Wakiya knows what he's doing, he's on the approach. "Where's yer jacket?" he demands, hands on his hips. Really, if Rantaro is going to invade his fancy, invitation-only fundraising party, he could at least have the decency to dress well.

"Oh, hi Wakiya," Rantaro says, instead of answering Wakiya's question. He plucks another appetizer off of the table and adds it to his already over-full plate.

Disgruntled, Wakiya decides to let it slide for now to avoid making a scene as he grabs a plate of his own and starts to gather a reasonable amount of food. "Seriously, Kiyama," he says, because he can't just let everything slide, "what're ya doin' here?"

"Um…." Rantaro pauses long enough to raise an eyebrow at Wakiya, and then turns back to the buffet. "I'm getting food?"

So that isn't what Wakiya meant, exactly, but still: "That's way too much."

"Oh, lighten up Wakiya – this is a party," Rantaro says, using the tongs on the nearest pile of sweets to snag three for Wakiya's plate.

"A high class party," Wakiya reminds him, snatching the tongs from him and replacing two of the little cakes. "And yer not even wearin' yer jacket."

"I got hot!"

Wakiya scoffs. "So ya rolled yer sleeves up, too?"

"We're eleven," Rantaro deadpans, taking the tongs back from Wakiya and snatching the abandoned sweets for his own plate, "they're not gonna hold us to the same standard as the adults."

That sounds like some kind of fake adult excuse that Rantaro undoubtedly got from his father. (…Although, Detective Kiyama hadn't exactly looked perfectly pristine, himself, now that Wakiya thinks about it. Like father like son, he guesses.)

"They're still gonna expect us to have manners," Wakiya reminds him on a grumble. Ignoring him, Rantaro reaches across in front of Wakiya, going for a plate of something to his right. As Wakiya snags the offending wrist to stop it, he looks down and notices, "Ya even have yer watch on the wrong wrist!"

"…Does that matter?"

Wakiya drops Rantaro's arm with a sigh. He can't imagine what it's like to not know even that much. "C'mon," he says, "y'got enough food, we should sit down before ya empty the whole table."

They cross the sprawling room to take a seat at one of the dining tables, then. Rantaro leads Wakiya to a corner spot that he's apparently already claimed, judging by his blazer hanging off the back of the chair. Wakiya rolls his eyes, but decides to skip the aggravation and not comment this time (not yet, anyway).

For a while, they eat in silence, and fortunately Rantaro at least has good table manners – never mind how often Wakiya gets the urge to reach over and roll his sleeves down for him. His bowtie is coming loose, too, and it's only been about an hour since the night started. Wakiya wonders if either he or his dad even know how to tie one in the first place.

"These things are kinda boring, aren't they?" Rantaro says eventually, breaking the almost-peaceful quiet that's only been interrupted by soft background music so far.

Wakiya frowns. If Rantaro thinks this is boring, he should try being here by himself sometime, sitting in a corner as hours drag by. "Ya've only been here fer an hour."

"Do you really do this every year?" Rantaro asks, and he seems to have some grasp of Wakiya's situation after all.

"Yea."

"…Don't you ever get bored?"

"Ya have no idea," Wakiya sighs, fighting the urge to lean his elbows on the table. Rantaro's bad habits must be rubbing off on him already. (Although, the fact that he's here (even if he is Rantaro, and even if he's only been a hassle so far) somehow makes tonight better than expected. At least Wakiya has company now.) "Do ya wanna beybattle?" he asks – because if Rantaro's here, he might as well help Wakiya practice.

Now it's Rantaro's turn to heave a sigh. "My dad said I wouldn't need Ragnaruk so I left it at home…these pockets are smaller than I'm used to, anyway. I don't know if he would've fit…."

"What kinda 'blader are ya?!" Sure, Rantaro is nowhere near Wakiya's level, but everyone knows you don't just wander around without your bey. No matter where you're going.

"It was all I could do to fit my lollipops!" Rantaro argues, and he must be joking. He apparently isn't, though, because now that he's polished off all of his food (how'd he do that so fast?) he digs in his pocket and pulls out a lollipop.

"Y'brought those but not yer bey?!"

Rantaro bristles as he unwraps the lollipop and shoves it in his mouth. "Well I would've brought Ragnaruk if I knew you'd be here!"

Well, that's stupid of him, Wakiya thinks. "Why wouldn't I be here? It's my house!"

"I don't know!" Rantaro says. He's fiddling with the top button of his dress shirt like he wants to undo it underneath his bowtie, and Wakiya refrains from reaching over and making him stop. "I thought maybe you sat these things out!"

"Well," Wakiya huffs, turning away from Rantaro and crossing his arms, "I am here, and now it's yer fault we have nothin' ta do but sit around all night."

"My fault…?!" This is followed by a scraping sound that Wakiya assumes is Rantaro scooching or turning his chair so he can glare better. "What do you usually do at these things?"

"Make the same small talk over an' over," Wakiya snaps.

"…Oh."

"See? Ya shouldn't'a come, if all ya were gonna do is complain."

There's silence from Rantaro for a moment, and when Wakiya gives in to curiosity and glances over, he finds him almost pouting.

"I wanted to see what it was like," Rantaro mutters at length, shrugging.

Wakiya isn't about to offer sympathy. It's Rantaro's own fault that he's here, after all. "An' are ya happy now?"

"You're complaining, too!" Rantaro accuses, fired up again just like that and pointing a finger at Wakiya as he talks.

"I am not!" So what if he is? He has more of a right to complain than Rantaro does, so it doesn't count.

With a growl, Rantaro throws his hands up like he means to bury them in his hair, but seems to think better of it and settles for tossing them over the back of his chair instead. "It's too stuffy in here," he announces after a moment, standing and wandering over to the nearest set of French doors that lead outside.

Against his better judgement – and only because there really is nothing to do in here without Rantaro – Wakiya follows him onto the ample porch. "What're ya doin' out here, Kiyama?"

Rantaro, of course, offers no further explanation as he leans against the broad concrete railing surrounding the patio.

It's a nice night out, at least, and much quieter now that they've left the murmurs of conversation behind. The outdoor speakers ensure that they can still hear the music, though, something classical and slow pouring over them to fill the would-be silence.

Standing here, Wakiya feels downright awkward. If he'd have known Rantaro would let all conversation (and arguments) die, he never would've bothered following him outside. He backtracks to the wrought iron porch furniture and takes a seat at the table, crossing his legs and resigning himself to the quiet.

…He spends altogether too long watching Rantaro stare out over the gardens.

Eventually, the music track swaps out for something a tiny bit more fast-paced, and Rantaro perks up. His shoulders leave their slump, and his back straightens. "Oh, I've heard this before," he says, a smile in his voice. And then he moves.

Rantaro holds one arm up, and the other out at waist height, hands poised as though they're holding the shadow of a person. He then proceeds to spin around the porch in something awful that he probably assumes is dancing.

"Ya look ridiculous," Wakiya says, only watching to make fun of him, because the way Rantaro twirls is downright embarrassing.

"Just because you can't dance, Wakiya," Rantaro quips, cracking a grin around his lollipop.

…The minute or so of silence that Wakiya hesitates for is definitely not due to him being fixated by Rantaro's surprisingly graceful footwork, and the easy way it carries him around the patio. His gaze snaps up fast enough, and thankfully Rantaro hasn't noticed anything, still busy dancing with his ghost partner.

"I can dance better'n you!" Wakiya shouts, in an attempt to regain control of himself.

There's an overabundance of spinning from Rantaro, and he stops in front of Wakiya, bending as he pretends to dip the other imaginary dancer. "Sure you can," he says, but that grin of his along with the tone implies he believes the opposite.

"I can!"

Rolling his eyes, Rantaro glides away. He sways to a stop once he's returned to his previous position by the stone railing, settling his hands on it and going back to staring out at the garden. "I could always teach you, y'know," he says, voice teasing.

"I don't need ya ta teach me anythin'!" Wakiya is glad that Rantaro isn't facing him right now, because the way his face heats up is extremely counterproductive to winning this argument. …If that's even what this is, anymore.

Rantaro tosses a glance over his shoulder, and it must be the dim lighting out here, because Wakiya swears he sees a blush on his cheeks, too. "If you say so."

"Let's go inside," Wakiya decides. He stands up so fast he almost topples his chair, and is back in the dining room before he even checks to see if Rantaro is following him.

x

"Hoji, teach me how to dance."

Hoji blinks as he looks up from affixing Horusood to his launcher. "What?"

Shifting on his feet, Wakiya refuses to waver now that he's gathered up the courage to actually ask what he's been mulling over for the past few days. "Teach me how to dance," he repeats, hands on his hips in the hopes that the pose will grant him more confidence.

"Why?" Despite the question, Hoji's smiling as he tucks his bey and launcher back into his pocket, so that probably means Wakiya will be getting his lesson no matter the reason he gives.

Still, Wakiya has to feign ignorance. Act casual. Give him no reason to suspect anything (even though Wakiya has nothing to hide). "No reason," he says, careful to sound blasé, "it just seems like something I should know by now."

There's a certain glint in Hoji's eye, then, one that Wakiya can see from across the beystadium. "Does this have anything to do with what you told me about the party last week?"

"Wh-what?!"

"From what you said, it sounds like Kumicho's a good dancer."

…It's no use. Hoji knows Wakiya way too well for any of the usual excuses to work. Although that definitely doesn't mean that Wakiya isn't going to try them, anyway. He has a reputation to uphold here!

"He's not that good," Wakiya insists, because he's not. "I could be better with a little practice!"

There's a good-natured, if somewhat placating smile on Hoji's face. "And you want me to help you, so you can show him that?" he guesses, hitting the nail on the head.

"O'course!" Wakiya says. Bragging rights are all he's after here. Bragging rights, and showing up Rantaro when the situation presents itself.

"Okay, young master," Hoji, predictably, agrees, "I'll teach you."

"Good."

Dancing, as it turns out, isn't so bad. Hoji is a patient teacher who doesn't mind getting his toes stepped on at first, and he even lets Wakiya lead.

It turns into a monthly thing at Hoji's request – Wakiya is pretty sure he already has the hang of it by the end of that first day (slow dancing is painfully easy, why did Rantaro make it look so unnecessarily flashy?) but Hoji seems to think more practice will be better. Wakiya agrees, because he's fine with giving Hoji peace of mind, not to mention it's actually…fun.

Rantaro won't be able to upstage him next year, that's for sure.

x

A year later, and it's still weird seeing Rantaro in his house, decked out in formal wear. It's even weirder than last year, somehow, considering they're on better terms these days.

"Ya've got yer watch on the wrong wrist again," Wakiya tuts, grabbing Rantaro by the sleeve of his suit jacket and tugging his arm up.

Rantaro gets the hint and leaves his arm poised like that even after Wakiya lets go, allowing him to unfasten the watch and remove it. He's grinning as Wakiya switches to picking up his other arm and places the watch around that wrist, buckling it.

"Thanks," he says. It sounds one part sincere and two parts teasing.

Wakiya rolls his eyes in response. "Ya haven't learned anythin' since last year." This time, he leaves the front hall even earlier, having already escaped from door duty upon Rantaro's arrival.

"Does it really matter which wrist I wear my watch on?" Rantaro asks as he tails behind Wakiya.

"Yes!"

"If you say so." Rantaro passes Wakiya up, wandering away towards the refreshment table as soon as he spots it. He's already loading up a plate by the time Wakiya catches back up.

It's only this far in that Wakiya finds himself wondering if learning to dance was even worth it. Who's to say things will go the same as last year, after all? If Rantaro doesn't randomly decide he needs air before flouncing around on the porch, Wakiya himself may end up having to spearhead the dancing, thing – and then he'll…what? Dance with Rantaro? Just like that?

…He maybe should have spent more time thinking this through.

Rantaro, his plate stacked with even more food than last year, sits down at a banquet table, and Wakiya takes the seat next to him. Through all his introspection, he'd forgotten to get any food for himself, so he settles for picking off of Rantaro's plate.

"Get your own food!" Rantaro gripes, nudging his out of Wakiya's reach.

"Don't be selfish, Kiyama," Wakiya says, "y'got enough for two people there, easy." Reaching across the table is bad manners, but the massive dining hall is still fairly empty this early in the proceedings, so Wakiya does it anyway.

"I'm a growing boy," Rantaro argues, "I need all of it."

Now that's the most ridiculous excuse Wakiya's ever heard. "Yer already tall enough!"

"Just get your own! The table is right there."

Wakiya hums, not bothering to even pretend to think it over as he grabs the edge of Rantaro's plate, pulling it back into range. "Yours is closer."

"You're so spoiled," Rantaro grumbles, but he doesn't try to move his plate out of reach again, which is all that counts.

x

"Hey, Kiyama," Wakiya says, when he's had enough to eat and Rantaro is picking off the last of the appetizers. "Did ya bring yer bey this time?"

"Yeah!" Rantaro grins as he digs in his pocket, pulling the orange bey free. A few lollipops tumble out around it, sure, but at least he has it this year.

There's something almost endearing about that scene, Wakiya thinks –

– But then Rantaro ruins it by wiping the powdered-sugar-covered fingers of his other hands on his dress pants.

Scowling, Wakiya throws a napkin at him. "Yer gross. Get some manners or I ain't invitin' ya next year." At least he hasn't rolled up his sleeves or loosened his bowtie yet, although knowing him, that's probably next.

Rantaro, for all intents and purposes, ignores his threat. He does catch the napkin one-handed and wipe at his pant leg, though, so there's that at least. "Should we battle, then?"

"Well I gotta get ya outta here if yer not gonna have manners," Wakiya grumbles.

Apparently Rantaro takes that as a 'yes' as he refuses to rise to the blatant argument bait. He's getting to know Wakiya far too well. "Do we need to go to the training rooms?"

Wakiya scoffs. "O'course not, I've got a stadium in the yard."

"Oh, cool!"

"It is."

There's an eye roll from Rantaro, then, but Wakiya ignores it and leads him into the garden through the same French doors as last year. This time they venture into the yard, and not too deep in is Wakiya's outdoor stadium, which happens to be his favorite birthday present this year.

There's a low whistle from behind him, and Rantaro steps around to get closer to the dish. "This is fancy," he says, crouching down to run a finger along the stadium's edge.

"'Course it is," Wakiya agrees, putting his nose in the air. He's especially proud of the aesthetically pleasing way the stadium fits into the flow of the garden. It had given their landscapers some trouble, but is definitely worth it.

Rantaro seems to like it, at any rate. Which is…a plus?

Strolling over to the far side of the stadium (and paying no mind to the realization that he cares what Rantaro thinks), Wakiya takes up his launching stance. "Ready ta lose, Kiyama?"

"Are you?" Rantaro counters, standing back up and fishing his launcher out of his overcrowded pocket.

"Come at me, then!"

x

"Heh, see, Kiyama? Told ya you were no match fer me."

"You only got an over finish!" Rantaro argues. "And the first one was a tie! I'll settle this in the third match…."

Their third battle, however, ends in a simultaneous spin finish. Another tie.

"Does this make me the winner?" Wakiya wonders aloud.

Teeth clenched around his lollipop stick, Rantaro attaches Ragnaruk to his launcher with more force than is probably necessary. "You won't beat me again, so no!"

Even though he isn't looking, Wakiya offers Rantaro a smirk before he resets his own launcher. There's a moment of silence now – a sudden absence of trash-talking or beys spinning – and the soft music from inside catches his ears. It's oddly familiar, and he's given a jarring reminder of that stupid thing he wants to accomplish tonight. With the competitive tone they've set, it might just work out….

"Oh hey," Rantaro says, unwittingly playing into Wakiya's hands, "I know this song. Once Upon A Dream, or something like that."

Oh, so that's what it is. Wakiya knew he'd heard it before. "Isn't it from that Disney movie…?"

Rantaro nods, lowering his launcher and tilting his head as he listens. "This must be the instrumental…it's pretty."

It hits Wakiya then that this song has a perfect tempo, and he feels an odd sort of sinking in his gut that's bolstered by butterflies. "Kiyama," he says, unsure of the words even as they leave his mouth, "I bet I can dance better'n you."

Rantaro blinks at him, looking immediately curious. There's a spark of challenge in his eye, leftover from their beybattles. "You think so?"

"Yeah." Wakiya shoves Wyvern back into his pocket, steeling himself to see this through. "Last year ya said y'were a better dancer than me, remember?"

"Right – because you can't dance." Rantaro looks way too proud about his comment, but he separates Ragnaruk from its launcher and puts both away, regardless.

"I can dance!" Wakiya argues, willing himself not to blush. "I just…didn't feel like it that night! Yer dancin' was too ridiculous for me ta join."

"Whatever you say, Wakiya."

"Oh will ya just – dance with me, Kiyama?" That definitely could've come out smoother, but at least he said it. Wakiya will take what he can get.

The only response from Rantaro is a blank stare, though, so he walks around the beydish to extend a hand to him. Gotta make everything as straightforward as possible. Typical Rantaro. He's lucky Wakiya still wants to dance with him.

…When he looks up, he sees Rantaro's cheeks flaring up red as he rolls his lollipop from one side of his mouth to the other. He's still staring, this time at Wakiya's proffered hand.

Just when Wakiya can feel himself start to waver with nerves, Rantaro finally grabs hold.

"Okay," he says, "show me, then."

Wakiya does his best not to smile in relief at that – and when he fails he tries to turn it into a smirk at least. He's afraid he doesn't succeed, so instead he turns around and pulls Rantaro along, leading him to a clear patch of grass well away from the beystadium. It'd be just his luck to trip them both up after everything.

Once they have adequate space to move around, Wakiya deems it safe to face Rantaro. He lifts their conjoined hands to shoulder height, and then hesitates.

Where should he put his other hand? Why can't he remember that much, at least? He's gotta show Rantaro that he can do this, so the first step is crucial –

In the end, Rantaro resolves the problem for him, placing his free hand on Wakiya's shoulder. Wakiya will never admit that he's grateful, and he'll also never admit that he hesitates more before resting his hand on Rantaro's waist in turn.

"…You're gonna lead, right?" Rantaro asks, after a moment of them just standing there.

"Y-yeah of course!"

Wakiya stares at their feet. Rantaro's already proven his competence here, too, positioning his feet staggered with Wakiya's in preparation. That's good, even if it takes extra points off of Wakiya. To make up for it, Wakiya figures he had better move already before Rantaro takes control of much more.

So, despite the butterflies in his stomach, Wakiya steps forward, pleased when Rantaro follows suit and steps back with the opposite foot.

Logically, this should be easy. Wakiya's practiced it enough, right? It's hardly rocket science, mostly muscle memory, really – but something about dancing here and now with that familiar, undoubtedly romantic song playing in the background is….

He's so nervous that most of his knowledge falls out of his head, and he stands frozen, his face heating up.

Rantaro is definitely gonna have something to say now. It's only a matter of time. Soon he'll be poking fun at Wakiya, lording the fact that he's a much more competent dancer over him, and teasing him for thinking otherwise. Wakiya will be forced to take drastic measures to recover from this shame, like taking an actual ballroom dancing class, or something, because Rantaro will never let him live this down –

Only…that…doesn't seem to be what's happening.

Instead, Rantaro is…he's leading the dance, in Wakiya's place. Guiding him around their little oasis with that same finesse Wakiya had witnessed last year. There are more steps to whatever this is than Wakiya is familiar with, but at least it snaps him out of his funk.

"K-Kiyama, I said I'd lead," he says, his feet scrambling to keep up with this latest twirl. "And why do ya spin so much?!"

Rantaro slows down at that, bending his head as he laughs into Wakiya's shoulder.

Despite the way that kinda makes his heart skip a beat in his chest, Wakiya refuses to miss his window again. All it takes is a gentle push from him, and Rantaro relinquishes the lead without fuss. Wakiya guides them at a more sedate pace, in a simpler dance that involves less stepping and more swaying.

As they go, he tries to ignore the pounding of his heart and the way his palms are slick with sweat – all the while hoping that Rantaro notices neither of these things.

…The way Rantaro is staring at his face with an oddly dreamy look isn't helping anything at all.

"What're ya lookin' at?" Wakiya spits out before he can stop himself – or stare back, heaven forbid. He almost wants to bite his tongue for ruining the peaceful atmosphere.

"Nothing!" Rantaro answers too fast, all things considered. He does avert his gaze, albeit with another blush spreading over his cheeks.

Which is…kinda making Wakiya blush, too, and he feels ever more aware of their close proximity. The fresh outdoor air is only a backdrop scent to what must be Rantaro's whatever-he-puts-in-his-hair. Or maybe it's cologne he borrowed from his dad. Wakiya doesn't know, and he really should stop thinking about it and how nice it smells.

Despite his nerves, it's not an uncomfortable experience by any means, and Wakiya thinks the song fades out all too soon. It couldn't have been more than five minutes long, surely, but it feels like much more time has passed to him.

When he stops moving, Rantaro stops with him, and Wakiya catches himself staring into brown eyes that stare right back. His mouth is dry and he has no idea what to say to diffuse this new tension. All he can do is stand here, acutely aware of Rantaro's warmth under his hands.

Eventually, Rantaro drops his hands from where they'd been positioned and steps away, a laugh tumbling awkwardly out of his mouth. "Well," he says, too loud and with a smile that's too genuine to be mocking (although it tries), "you sure showed me, young master Wakiya."

"Y-yer just jealous that I'm so much better!" Wakiya fires back, because it's all he knows how to do. Even if it doesn't help the heat rising to his face.

Rantaro laughs again, but this sounds more natural by far. "Good job, Wakiya," he says, reaching up to pat Wakiya's shoulder on his way back to the beystadium. "I'll beat Wyvern, next!"

For a moment Wakiya's feet are stuck to the ground as he watches him go, feeling wistful and knowing he's in way deeper than he can afford to let on.

"As if, Kiyama!"

A/N: Disclaimer here that I'm not happy with this fic, but I've kept this request waiting long enough, so here it is anyway! I might come rework it later on, but in the meantime, I hope it was okay.

Fancy clothes + Wakiya's frustration at Rantaro's inability to wear them properly inspired by great fanart - you can find the link in the Ao3 version of this fic.

Thanks for reading.