For a brief moment, Cabello remains blissfully unaware, his half-lidded eyes carrying the same carefree calm. His feet slip into a few casual shuffle dance moves, alternating quick toe-and-heel pivots with effortless little hops as he gradually drifts to his left, his shoulders swaying in easy rhythm.
Eventually, the shuffle dance comes to a stop, and Cabello is left slightly hunched toward his left. As he slowly turns his head to the right, he finds Ryoma in the exact same posture, leaning at the very same angle and matching even the slow turn of his head, like a reflection that has somehow stepped out of the mirror.
The imaginary tune inside Cabello's head vanishes without warning. The carefree sway leaves his shoulders as he gradually straightens, the lazy looseness giving way to a cleaner, more disciplined orthodox stance.
"...What the..." he mutters beneath his breath.
