It had been two weeks since the semester began. The first few days passed in a blur: orientation, new faces, introductions, and endless trips between the library, dorm, and classrooms. By the time Ben finally caught his breath, he was already in the third week.
In all that time, he had managed to avoid the dance studio. Avoid thinking about it, walking near it, or even glancing toward the Arts Wing. His schedule had kept him busy enough until it didn't. Now that the rhythm of university life had settled, the temptation crept back in. Every break between classes, every time he passed by the hallway lined with festival posters, he found his mind drifting to the studio.
But what finally broke his will wasn't proximity. It was curiosity.
One afternoon, his classmate Minho showed him a video from last year's campus festival.
"Look at this. This is from the cultural night last year," Minho said, grinning. "You won't believe how good the performances were."
Ben leaned over, watching dancers glide across the stage. They were synchronized, expressive, and confident, but one of them stood out. A tall guy at the center of the formation, moving with such control and presence that everyone else seemed to fade into the background. His movements were sharp and commanding, like they held weight.
"Who's that?" Ben asked before he could stop himself.
Minho laughed, clearly expecting the question. "That's Park Daniel-nim. He's kind of a legend here. His family is some bigshot and has industry ties, but he's crazy talented, too. I heard agencies were trying to recruit him even before he started college."
Daniel.
The name tugged at something in Ben's memory, but even without recalling where he'd heard it before, he understood immediately why Daniel had the reputation he did. His dance was beyond skill; it had soul.
Ben couldn't help watching the clip again that night, replaying the same few seconds until the rhythm seemed to echo in his chest. He knew it was a mistake, feeding that familiar longing, but the pull was too strong.
By the next day's class break, his resolve had already started to crumble. He told himself he was just walking around campus, stretching his legs. Yet, somehow, his path veered toward the Arts Wing. Even before he reached the door, he could hear faint music, the sound of synchronized steps, and laughter filtering through the corridor.
He stopped just short of the studio, heart thudding, and peeked through the half-open door. Inside, a group of students danced together, their movements clean and powerful. The energy in the room was magnetic. His foot started to tap along to the beat.
He tore his gaze away before he gave in completely, spinning on his heel and walking off quickly. But even as he left, he knew that wasn't the end of it.
That evening, when the campus had quieted and the studio lights dimmed, he found himself standing at that same door again. Only this time, it was empty and still.
His pulse hammered in his chest as he stepped inside. He pulled out his phone, opened a dance video he'd saved earlier, and set it down by the mirrors. The music began softly, and for a moment, his movements were uncertain. But a few seconds in, and the rhythm took over, and his hesitation melted away. His body flowed into the next, instinct guiding motion, emotion guiding form.
For those few minutes, it was just him and the song, and the feeling of being alive through movement.
That's when a low voice broke through the quiet.
"You're pretty good."
Ben stumbled, nearly tripping over his own feet. He spun around, pulse racing, only to see a figure leaning against the doorway, arms crossed.
The dim lighting threw soft shadows across his face. He was tall, nearly six feet, with messy black hair tucked under a beanie, warm brown eyes that glinted with mischief, and a playful smile tugged at his lips. Even with the faint dark circles under his eyes, he still looked striking.
Ben recognized him immediately. It was the same face he had spent the previous night staring at in that festival video. That performance had branded itself into Ben's memory.
Park Daniel.
Ben swallowed, feeling caught. "A-Annyeonghaseyo…"
Daniel smirked, stepping inside. "Annyeonghaseyo. Didn't think anyone would be here this late. It's usually just me."
Ben stared at him. "Oh."
Brilliant response.
Daniel chuckled at his awkwardness. "What year are you?"
Ben shifted, still recovering from the shock of being seen. "First year. Economics Department."
"Figures. Haven't seen you around." Daniel nodded toward the mirror. "You don't train with the others?"
Ben hesitated. "I only learned a little. I just dance as a hobby." He looked down, voice dropping.
Daniel raised a brow. "Interesting."
Silence settled between them, but, thankfully, it wasn't uncomfortable.
After a moment, Daniel leaned against the ballet barre, his voice casual. "You've got potential. Ever think of joining the team?"
Ben let out a short, breathy laugh. "Not really."
Daniel tilted his head. "Why not?"
Ben looked away. "Because I need to focus on my studies."
He had spent years convincing himself that this dream wasn't worth chasing. That all those contest in the high school was the end of it.
Daniel didn't push.
Instead, he stretched his arms and yawned. "Well, if you're planning to sneak in here at night, you should at least let me know. I usually have this place to myself."
Ben blinked at him. "You… don't mind?"
Daniel shrugged. "Nah. Just don't mess up the speakers." He grinned. "I was late today, had to help a dongsaeng get to the airport, but usually, this is my spot."
Ben didn't know what he had expected from this conversation, but it wasn't this. He had imagined Daniel, the popular senior and the campus legend, to be unapproachable, maybe even a little proud. But here he was, speaking with him so casually, like they were already acquaintances.
It was strange, but it didn't feel so impossible.
As Daniel turned to leave, he threw one last glance over his shoulder.
"If you ever change your mind…" His voice was easy, but there was something serious in his gaze. "You know where to find me."
And he was gone, leaving Ben alone with nothing but the steady pounding of his heart.
***NOTES***
Sunbaenim [선배님] or Sunbae (선배) is a Korean honorific referring to someone far more experienced than oneself or a senior within a particular context, such as the same school, company, or group.
Hubae (후배; 後輩) is a Korean honorific that refers to a junior or someone with less experience within a particular context, typically in a school or work setting.
Dongsaeng (동생) is a Korean honorific used to refer to close younger friends, acquaintances, or juniors. It is used for close, informal relationships and is not limited to blood relatives.
Annyeonghaseyo" (안녕하세요) is a Korean phrase for a polite greeting, generally meaning, Hello or Hi.