"Nuh-uh. If I answer that question, you'll stop working so hard to impress me." Micah shrugs his bag off his shoulder and drops it on a table. Slightly careless treatment of a very expensive camera, except that Calvin put enough protective charms on that bag that Micah knows it's pretty safe from getting stolen.

The reminder makes him hesitate for a moment. He's done his best not to think about it. He's had plenty of practice. There's a well-worn box labelled with Calvin's name in his mind, where Micah stuffs every painful, yearning, immature thought he has, enough so that Micah can make jokes when the subject comes up. He can grin and make outrageous comments and try to provoke scandalized reactions out of Calvin. As friends do.

Micah pulls his hand away from the bag, and turns to face his new dance partner, just in time for a slow ballad to start. Like something out of a movie. Micah looks up at him, still unable to make out any specific feature except the black lace over his eyes. "So. Do you lead, or follow?"