The rehearsal room smelled faintly of energy drinks and liniment. By the second day of joint practice, the excitement from the previous introductions had faded, replaced by a heavier tension. Everyone was tired, sore, and on edge. The camera crew had returned, their boom mics like hovering vultures, capturing every breath, glance, and accidental touch.
Yuna laced up her sneakers on the bench, eyes fixed on the mirrored wall where the crew was setting up. Every click of the camera lens sounded like a heartbeat. Her heartbeat.
Today, she and Kai had to rehearse a duet moment — a near-embrace at center stage before spinning apart.
She hadn't spoken to him since their hallway exchange yesterday. Not because she didn't want to — but because she didn't know how to. Something about him threw her off balance, and she didn't like not having control.
Kai arrived late — not dramatically, but just enough that everyone noticed. Hoodie up again, as usual, his expression unreadable.
"Warming up now?" the choreographer called out. "Kai, Yuna, we're starting with your part."
Yuna stood, palms slightly damp. She avoided Kai's eyes as he approached. They took their marks.
"Start of chorus," the assistant cued. "And... play."
The music surged through the room. They moved closer, choreographed footwork bringing them to center. Their hands hovered — never touching — but supposed to give the illusion of a lovers' closeness.
Yuna reached out too early. Kai stepped too late.
Their timing clashed, and they stumbled slightly apart.
"Cut!" the choreographer yelled.
Yuna exhaled sharply. "Sorry."
Kai gave a forced smile. "No, my bad."
They reset. The camera zoomed in. The crew whispered.
Again, the music began.
Again, they failed to sync.
"You two look like awkward mannequins," the choreographer groaned. "I need emotional connection, not a press conference."
Laughter bubbled around the room. Yuna felt her cheeks burn.
She glanced at Kai, who rubbed the back of his neck.
"Maybe we should—"
"Try again," she cut him off, determined.
This time, she forced a smile as they moved. But it didn't reach her eyes. He didn't either. The moment that was supposed to look romantic looked like two strangers trying not to spill coffee on each other.
After the third attempt, they were given a break.
Yuna collapsed onto a mat near the corner of the room. Her muscles ached, but worse than that was the embarrassment. She buried her face in a towel.
A bottle of water appeared beside her.
She looked up. Kai.
"Peace offering," he said, sitting beside her.
She hesitated, then took it. "Thanks."
He exhaled slowly. "I'm not usually this stiff."
Yuna smirked. "You looked like a malfunctioning android."
He chuckled, and for a second, the tension broke.
"I think we're just... overthinking," he said. "Too aware of the cameras. And each other."
Yuna nodded. "Maybe we just need to pretend none of this matters."
Kai raised an eyebrow. "You think it doesn't?"
"No," she admitted. "But I think pretending might help."
He looked at her, something soft settling in his gaze.
"Okay. Let's pretend," he said.
She smiled, and this time, it wasn't forced.
---
The next run-through was better. Not perfect. But smoother. Less robotic.
Still, when they held their positions, eyes locked for that split-second before the breakaway spin, it wasn't just choreography. It felt like something else.
Unspoken.
Undeniable.