*Haeun's perspective

The clock ticked past midnight, and the echo of my sneakers squeaking against the polished floor filled the empty practice room. My muscles ached, sweat drenched my hairline, and yet, the mirror reflected every misstep, every flaw.

I had gone through the choreography a hundred times, but my body refused to listen. The intricate footwork in the second verse? A disaster. The spin into the high kick? A nightmare. I slammed my hands onto my knees, trying to catch my breath. The fear of staying in B-rank hung over me like a storm cloud. If I didn’t nail this by the week’s evaluation, I’d be invisible when the cameras started rolling.

I pressed play on the music again, gritting my teeth. One more time.

“Still here?”

I spun around, startled. Kim Jihoon leaned against the doorway, a towel slung over his shoulder. He was an SM trainee—a rising star of this competition, with a sculpted body and a jawline so sharp it could cut glass. He was a shoo-in for debut, and the subject of gossip by many of the other female trainees. I couldn’t deny it—he was handsome.

“Yeah,” I replied, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face. “I can’t get this choreography right.”

He stepped into the room, his presence suddenly overwhelming in the quiet space. “Want some help?”

I hesitated, glancing down at my phone where Joonie’s message from earlier sat unread. But I needed this. “Sure,” I said softly, feeling a twinge of guilt already.

He walked over, watching as I replayed the steps. “You’re stiff on the transitions,” he said after a moment. “You need to relax your shoulders and let the movement flow.”

I followed his advice, trying again. It wasn’t perfect, but it felt smoother. I turned to him, surprised. “That… actually helped.”

He grinned. “Told you.”

I tried the next section, but the tricky spin into the kick tripped me up again. Frustrated, I cursed under my breath.

“Here,” he said, stepping forward. Before I could protest, his hands gently gripped my waist from behind. My breath caught as he positioned me. “You need to engage your core more—like this.” His voice was low, close to my ear.

His hands guided me through the motion, and I followed, the movement suddenly clicking into place. But I couldn’t focus. My skin burned where his fingers lingered, and the closeness sent a rush of heat to my cheeks. When I glanced up into the mirror, his gaze wasn’t on my form—it was on me.

“I, uh… I should practice this on my own,” I stammered, stepping away quickly. “Thanks for the help.”

He nodded, his smirk softening into something unreadable. “Anytime.”

The next week, we kept crossing paths. He seemed to always be around, offering tips or cracking jokes to lighten the mood during our grueling schedule. I tried to keep things professional, but it was hard to ignore his charm—or the way his attention made me feel.

When we took a group photo after practice one day, he slipped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer. It was innocent enough—or at least that’s what I told myself. I didn’t think twice before sending it to Joonie as part of a batch of photos from training, my exhaustion clouding my judgment.

The fight that followed was brutal. Joonie’s accusations, his jealousy—it all made me feel suffocated. But more than anything, it made me question myself. Was he right? Was I getting too close to someone I shouldn’t?

The next morning, my frustration still lingered. During a break, he noticed my mood immediately. “You okay?” he asked, leaning against the wall beside me.

I shook my head. “Just… personal stuff.”

“Boyfriend?” he guessed, his eyes narrowing slightly.

I nodded, too tired to deny it.

He tilted his head, studying me. “Must be hard for him, seeing you here, surrounded by… competition.” His words carried a double meaning, and the intensity of his gaze sent a shiver down my spine.

That night, a knock came at my door, waking me from my exhausted slumber. Bleary-eyed, I opened it to find him standing there. He had clearly showered; he wore a clean hoodie and shorts, his dark hair damp and ruffled.

“I thought you could use some company,” he said softly, his smile gentle. “I brought snacks.” He held up a bag of chips and chocolate.

"You can't be here! If they find you on the girls' floor, you will be kicked out of the competition!" I gasped, glancing down the hallway to make sure no one was watching us. "You should go before they catch you."

He stepped closer, leaning in, his breath warm against my ear as he whispered, “Then let me in before they catch us.”

Something about his voice sent a shiver through me. The danger of it all, the risk, was thrilling in a way I couldn’t quite explain. Against my better judgment, I stepped aside, letting him into my room. As I shut the door behind us, the gravity of what had just happened hit me. My heart raced with excitement, fear, and something else—something I didn’t want to acknowledge.

We stayed up late into the night, sitting cross-legged on my bed as we talked. He told stories about his time at SM Entertainment, made me laugh with his impersonations of the other trainees, and surprised me by being a caring listener when I opened up about my own struggles.

The conversation flowed effortlessly, but there were moments when the air between us felt heavy with something more. A lingering touch here, a lingering glance there. When he accidentally brushed my hand while reaching for the bag of chips, the contact sent sparks through my skin. Our eyes met briefly before I quickly looked away, embarrassed.

As the clock approached 3 AM, exhaustion began to win out over our conversation. I yawned widely, struggling to keep my eyes open.

“I should go,” he said, gathering the remnants of our midnight feast. “We still have morning practice tomorrow.” He hesitated then, as if he wanted to say something else.

I watched him quietly, the words trapped in my throat.

He finally spoke. “Haeun… you’re an amazing girl. And your boyfriend is lucky to have you.”

His words hung between us, heavy with meaning. I felt a flutter in my stomach, a confusing mix of guilt and anticipation. Without thinking, I leaned forward, standing on my toes as I kissed his cheek softly.

Or at least, that's what I intended, for he turned his head in surprise, and his lips met mine instead. The kiss was brief and unexpected, a moment frozen in time where the lines blurred between right and wrong.

He stared down at me, his eyes dark, unreadable.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, stepping back. “I didn’t mean…”

He didn't say anything, just stood there, silent, his eyes never leaving mine.

I tried again, the words stumbling over each other in my haste. "Jihoon, I... I shouldn't have done that." I looked away, unable to meet his intense gaze. "We can't. I have a boyfriend." But my voice lacked conviction, even to my own ears.

He stepped closer, gently tilting my chin up with his fingers.

“Haeun,” he said softly, his thumb brushing across my bottom lip, “It's fine. You must be tired, hmm? Let’s not think too much of it.”

He released my chin, and stepped away, as if nothing had happened. He smiled, a boyish grin that must have captured the hearts of every girl he ever met.

“I’ll see you in practice tomorrow,” he said before slipping out of the room, the door closing softly behind him.

I sank onto the bed, my heart pounding in my chest.

What had I done?