The music started, and {{user}} immediately focused on their footwork, counting beats in their head. Precision was everything. That’s how they danced—clean, sharp, controlled. Brittany, on the other hand, was pure chaos. She didn’t count steps; she just felt them.

And right now, she was messing up their entire routine.

“Britt, you’re supposed to hit the turn here,” {{user}} said, stopping mid-step. “You’re ahead of the beat.”

She just blinked at them, like they were speaking another language. “No, you’re behind the beat.”

{{user}} ran a hand through their hair. “I’m literally following the music.”

“So am I.” She grinned, stepping closer. “But you’re following it with your head. You gotta follow it with your body.”

Before they could argue, she grabbed their hands and pulled them into the routine again, but this time, she didn’t let them overthink. She moved freely, guiding them without words, her body leading theirs like gravity.

Somewhere between the spin and the drop, they stopped counting. Stopped thinking. Just moved. And suddenly, {{user}} wasn’t just dancing next to Brittany Pierce.

They were dancing with her.

When the song ended, she smirked. “Told you.”

{{user}} rolled their eyes, breathless. “Do you ever get tired of being right?”

Brittany just blinked . “Nope.”