it’s strange. dante feels like he’s only just gotten used to a practice room that feels a little too large, relying on his own vocals instead of trading off with a more talented coworker when recording, all of the slight differences that came from the transition from a group to a solo performer. and now he’s thrown back into group rehearsals, if only temporarily, as they prepare to join the midas family in one of the biggest performances that the city has ever seen. he looks around the room, eyes glancing over the other men who are his teammates for one short song, and can’t deny… it’s sort of nice to work in a group again, in some ways. in others, it’s fucking awful.
he’s always been hard on himself, always holding his own performances to an impossibly high standard. the other members of this temporary team are surely no exception to dante’s discerning eye. he’s tired, they all are, but that’s no excuse to get lazy in practice. maybe it’s the exhaustion and the over-caffeination still buzzing through his blood but he doesn’t think twice before grabbing dodam’s elbow, pushing it up just an inch or two more. “look,” he points to their reflections in the mirror, then strikes the same move himself, elbow raised to the same height as the pose he just left dodam in. “your angles are off. pay attention.”
“you’re short but you still have to match the others visually.” dante fails to add how he knows such things; he’s short too. he had heard the same advice from the choreographers that bit boys used to work with. dante was even shorter back then, still just a kid going through puberty while many of his teammates were older and taller, certainly more dramatically so than the small gap between dodam and himself. “you should know this. you perform in a group regularly. why’s a soloist telling you to dance properly?” he continues to berate the other. one would never guess that they were friends of sorts behind the scenes, though dante rarely has soft words for anyone in his life these days regardless of the setting. it’s never seemed to bother dodam though, dante’s bitter tongue typically falling like water off a duck’s back. maybe that’s why he doesn’t even think twice about his tone anymore.
