Junketsu speaks of his friend, yet Maiko cannot conjure him up. He was a boy who moved like a dancer, and one who thought strange thoughts - outside the box, as her brother had put it. Maiko had never met anybody like it. Could he even exist? This boy who so impresses her brother, enough to make him want to learn from and teach one another? Through narrowed eyes, she tries to imagine what it would be like to know a boy like that, to know anybody like that. Ultimately, she has nothing to say about him, for he does not truly exist to her. She wants to be happy for Junketsu, but she finds herself stuck in a cloud of frustration. All she can muster is a small furrow of her brows and a wane smile, because truly, she does trust Junketsu. She knows if he had found a companion like that, he must be somebody special.

She watches her brother dance, having danced back several paces herself. Paralyzed, she thinks, is how she feels watching him grin and leap so effortlessly. Does he not feel the shackles on his paws, she wonders? Does he not feel weighed down by anything, by himself? She shakes her head, and gives him a thoughtful look, a low hm of contemplation beneath her breath as she straightens before she feigns towards him.

"He speaks a different tongue? Have you heard it anywhere else before?" That, at least, truly interests her. It is enough, at least for now, to keep her mind from roaming too far. She tilts her head, inquisitive, before she uses the momentum to spin around, falling into a playful bow and watching up at Junketsu as he spins, twirling like a falling leaf. "Where is he from?" Maiko cannot help it...She wants to shake off her frustration, to be able to imagine the boy he speaks of. Maybe... Maybe it will give her something else, something more in life. To learn, to teach, to come to know other places...Maiko sighs. She pauses, her dance coming to a halt as Junketsu sneezes. It is not that, however, that makes her take pause.

He speaks of secrets. Maiko stares at him, her face hard and mouth taut. "Some secrets feel wrong to say. Keeping them feels terrible, but saying them aloud makes you feel even more rotten," she says, and she does not move, does not dance. Drops of rain hit her, seemingly proud to finally have a chance to take their shots at her. "What do I do with those secrets, brother? I cannot give them, I cannot keep them, I cannot trade them for other secrets." Her heart pounds, then drops into her paws and through the very earth below them. She feels...strangely hollow, sick almost, knowing she has undoubtedly ruined the dance, ruined the fun. Yet, to say it...It had been itching in her throat for days, weeks even.