Sean, perched like the world's most judgmental cat on the edge of the mirror ledge, lifted his gaze. Their eyes met, and the shift was immediate. Ben felt his shoulders go rigid, the air stretching tight as the memory of the pedestrian route rose uninvited. It washed over him with embarrassing clarity: the way Sean had held him, the closeness, the quiet intensity…
But what startled him more was Sean's reaction. He had gone still for just a moment, but there was no awkwardness in his eyes. If anything, he looked strangely grounded, as if he did not mind having the memory linger.
He stood up and walked toward him with unhurried steps. "Ben. Good. I need help."
Ben snapped out of the memory. He tried to pull himself together. Maybe he really had overreacted and imagined nuance where there was none. Sean was just a blunt, introverted guy, and so all his actions felt intense.
Ben forced his thoughts back into order. "Hey," he managed. "Help?"
"My word's 'Guilt'. My partner, Kei, can't tell the difference between guilt and shame. So we're both spiraling. And I refuse to spiral alone."
Before Ben could react, Daniel flung his arms out like he had just been awarded a lifetime achievement trophy. "Ah, finally, Sean acknowledges my genius!"
Sean blinked. "Dance is the only thing you're a genius in."
The betrayal. The audacity.
Daniel looked like he'd been slapped with a wet fish. "Et tu, Sean?"
Ben, already grinning, crossed his arms. "Why are you being so theatrical? What's the difference anyway? Guilt, shame… they're both 'oops, I messed up.'"
Daniel's head tilted, thoughtful. "No. Shame's different. Shame is when the world knows you messed up. Guilt is when only you do."
Both Sean and Ben just stared.
"That's not dumb," Sean said slowly, blinking. "For someone who pulls pranks using water bombs and toy snakes, that's actually insightful."
Daniel looked offended. "I am being slandered by my own children."
"You need to disown us faster," Ben deadpanned. "We've already escaped."
Still recovering from the philosophical whiplash, Sean rubbed his temple. "Fine, how do I express guilt then?"
Daniel stroked his imaginary beard with theatrical gravity. Sean and Ben watched him, waiting for whatever dramatic insight he was preparing to unleash.
"How about pretending one guy is in love with someone unavailable. Guilt for having feelings he shouldn't."
Sean stilled. His eyes dropped to the floor, his voice came out flat, "Any other ideas?"
Ben narrowed his eyes.
There it was again. Sean dodged the topic of unrequited love like it carried a warning sign. Ben knew that Sean had been rejected in the past, but could a single heartbreak really make someone this guarded about the idea itself?
"…What, why?" Daniel's voice rang through the room.
Sean raised his gaze to meet Daniel's. "I cannot pretend to like someone I do not," he said, in a tone so blunt that it could have cut the air.
Daniel looked like his artistic soul had been crushed.
The three of them shifted their focus to brainstorming a concept around 'Guilt'. Sean rummaged through his bag, retrieving a notebook and a pen, and Ben moved to sit beside him so they could work through the idea together.
From time to time, Ben's eyes drifted toward Daniel, and each time, he caught Daniel stealing quick, nervous glances back at him, as if checking to make sure Ben was alright. The sight sent a confusing mix of pain and butterflies spiraling through Ben's stomach.
But what really unsettled him was Sean's heavy gaze. He wasn't looking at the notes or even the page; his attention was fixed on them. His expression stayed unreadable as ever, yet Ben couldn't shake the feeling of something swirling underneath it.
After a few minutes of circling ideas, they finally landed on a concept Sean approved of: a tale of two friends, one betrayal, and the guilt that followed.
Once the concept was settled, Sean rose to leave. Ben had the odd sensation of Sean's eyes lingering on him, but when he glanced up, Sean wasn't looking; he was gathering his bag and water bottle. Finally, he left, with all the grace of a man who never once expected to rely on anyone.
Once it was only Daniel and Ben, silence fell.
Ben didn't like it.
Daniel fidgeted and kept looking at him before asking, "Are you okay?"
Ben, who was not okay, lifted an eyebrow. "You do realise leaving mystery food and hamster merch anonymously is not the best way to ask that?"
Daniel looked sheepish. "You looked like you were going to cry yesterday. And you didn't want to talk. I didn't know how to make it better. So I asked people to help me send stuff. Did it work?"
Ben blinked. His heart twisted painfully.
So that was what Terrence meant.
Daniel didn't know why Ben was hurting, but he was still trying to make it better, in the stupidest, most Daniel way possible.
He looked so earnest, like a golden retriever who broke a vase but brought you a stick to make up for it.
"I…," Ben sighed, suddenly exhausted. "I hate how nice you are."
Daniel tilted his head, concerned. "Are you mad?"
Ben smiled. "No. Just… ready to rehearse?"
Daniel perked up like someone had just given him caffeine. "Was born ready."
As Daniel bounded toward the stereo, energy rebounding off the walls, Ben looked after him with a strange cocktail of affection, heartbreak, and grudging admiration.
Because no matter how much it hurt…
He really, really loved that idiot.