It wasn’t the first time in his life that Ariel had earned the honor of being called Dancing Queen. Of course, sometimes it had been intended as a pejorative, but, well, it didn’t matter. Who didn’t like ABBA? With a smile across his face, the boy followed his guide through the crowds. It was too bad Mao didn’t express his excitement aloud. Ariel would have been all about choreographing something for the pair of them. It was too bad the smaller boy was the drummer. That made it rather hard to line something up on set.
Well, it didn’t matter now. The pair of them walked across the room, the mass of bodies parting before them like the Red Sea before Moses. Apparently, they’re genius dancing had attracted attention. Ariel smiled at the people they passed. He was indeed tipsy - not so much worn out, just a little winded from breaking it down after several shots and a beer. The helping hand he appreciated, even still.
With the new cup in his hands, he took a long drink before he grinned over the rim at Mao, some hair falling into his eyes.
“What’s it like being a stereotypical little punk?” Ariel raised an eyebrow at the other boy, eyes slipping down to give his cargo shorts a meaningful look. He laughed into his cup.