[connor's features squish into a confused expression. middle school is not the typical age range or location to learn formal dance. not unless... his led whirls yellow, doing a quick background search on what types of specialty schools would offer such a skill. he's given thousands of results, narrowing the most common explanation to someone who attended boarding school or high-profile families who debuted daughters and sons at cotillion. either way, it suggests a background of wealth and prestige.

which is...decidedly at odds with what he knows about gavin reed.

he catalogues this information for analysis at a later time, instead prioritizing the need to continue this charade and worry about where gavin learned to do this at a later time. it's just as well, because despite pulling up a subroutine for a waltz...it feels impossibly difficult to focus. like all of his memory and processing capacity is focused on standing upright and performing this well from a manual standpoint, rather than just leaving it on auto-pilot.

he blinks a few times, running diagnostics and coming up with nothing.

maybe he's just...nervous? being in such close proximity to gavin?

(he smells nice. has he always smelled nice?)]

You're good.

[he blurts it out in a rush, brows furrowing behind his mask as they move reasonably smooth across the floor.]

Good at this, I mean. In case that wasn't clear. I--hm. Middle school is not the place to learn where to waltz Gavin.

[why did he lilt detective reed's name like that?]