They sat on the floor later, notebooks and snacks scattered around them like it was a study date from hell.
Daniel was scribbling ideas like a possessed choreographer. Whenever it came to dance, Daniel shifted to razor-focused and intense, like a split personality that only activated when dance was involved. Meanwhile, Ben tried to remember how to breathe.
After far too many discarded ideas, Daniel snapped his fingers. "Done. A dream sequence."
Ben looked up, suspicious.
Daniel ignored him. "You're the dreamer. I'm your desire. Since I'm not real, I don't express desire. But you will have to go all in."
Ben blinked. "…Why am I the only one expressing desire?" he asked, already regretting the question.
Daniel shrugged casually. "Because you're the only one who knows what that feels like. And I'm not risking the choreography imploding because I fake it wrong."
Ben bit his lip. Daniel was not wrong, but expressing what he felt for him, even under the guise of fiction, felt like laying his heart bare for everyone to see. Still, it was the best idea they had.
"…Okay," he said, exhaling. "It's cliché. But it works."
Daniel clapped like he'd just won the lottery. "Yes! Now, style. I'm thinking contemporary, or we can fuse different styles. A little acro or b-boying for the dreamlike vibe…"
Ben just nodded. His soul was already trying to file for early retirement.
Daniel went into director mode. "You'll be on stage first, lying down. I enter when the music starts. You 'wake up,' hesitate, because you're unsure if I'm real. You reach for me, and when I don't vanish, the dance begins."
"...Got it." Ben deadpanned.
Daniel gave him a dazzling smile. "We haven't picked the music yet, so let's do that first."
They sat on the studio floor, scrolling through playlists, tossing ideas back and forth until they landed on the instrumental version of Those Nights by Bastille.
Once it started playing, both of them went quiet.
Ben listened, fingers tapping lightly against his knee. The track felt dreamy and a little haunting, carrying this strange, nostalgic ache, like an echo of a forgotten memory soaked in moonlight. A bit too romantic for Ben's already compromised sanity, but perfectly suited to the routine they were thinking of crafting.
"It gets repetitive near the end," Ben pointed out.
Daniel shrugged, unfazed. "I can cut and edit it. Don't worry about that. The vibe is good. Let's start shaping the choreography."
If Ben had to summarize the next few hours, it would be this: a full-blown spiritual crisis, despite the fact that he had already reached the resignation stage of suffering. He no longer had the energy to panic; he had accepted his fate and braced himself for impact.
Daniel explained the outline of the choreography, pulling references from the video he had shown earlier and sketching movements in the air with his hands.
When they actually began, Daniel looked just as awkward as Ben felt.
They stiffened through every intimate beat. Every lift ended with both of them blushing and stepping back like startled cats. Every close hold felt like a high-voltage wire. Daniel, perfectionist to his core, paused every few seconds to reset and try again, determined to get the angles and timing right despite their shared social death.
After more than two hours of trial and error, something shifted. Daniel's embarrassment cracked, and his focus finally took over. He slipped into what Ben privately called "Dance Demon Mode." His movements turned fluid, precise, and beautiful, like some celestial being sent for the sole purpose of driving Ben insane, while Ben felt like a constipated robot in a mid-system breakdown.
By the studio's closing time, the choreography was mostly fleshed out. Daniel had powered through his self-consciousness, but Ben was barely holding himself together. He wasn't just trying not to lose control; he was trying not to do something regrettable.
Unfortunately, in the process, he had achieved zero facial expression.
Technically, everything was correct – arms, legs, timing, lifts – but his face had the emotional range of a malfunctioning android.
Daniel noticed.
As they packed up and walked out, he began gently, "I know it's awkward, but you have to emote, or the whole piece collapses. This entire performance depends on your expression, Ben. And right now, you look like a robot starring in a romantic horror."
Ben sighed, sounding ten years older. "I already told you, hyung, this isn't easy for me. You just don't understand."
Daniel slung an arm around his shoulders, squeezing lightly. "Bennie, just ignore me. Pretend I'm someone else."
Ben snorted. "How am I supposed to express desire while imagining someone else? I desire y—"
He froze mid-sentence, face going crimson. Daniel did too.
Daniel cleared his throat, scrambling to defuse the sudden tension. "A-Anyway. Don't worry. We'll figure something out. We made good progress today. I'll cut and edit the music tonight and bring it tomorrow. Then we can finish the rest."
Ben only nodded, grateful for the escape.