The music finally stops.

The studio falls quiet except for your breathing — sharp, uneven, frustrated. Sweat clings to your skin, your legs feel like they’re on fire, and your chest is tight from holding back tears you don’t want him to see.

Val turns off the speaker but doesn’t say anything.

He just watches you, hands on his hips, his expression softened from the frustration he’d shown earlier. You’re staring at the mirror, avoiding his eyes, trying to look composed even though you’re trembling.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

You shake your head. “Don’t start. I know I messed up.”

He frowns. Slowly, carefully, he walks toward you — not with that intense, demanding energy he had during rehearsal, but something gentler. Something only you ever get to see.

“You didn’t mess up,” he says, stopping right in front of you. “You’re tired.”

You look away, blinking fast. “I should be better.”

He exhales, soft and heavy, like hearing that hurts him more than anything else. “Kiddo,” he murmurs, reaching out. “Look at me.”

You do. And he’s already closer than you expected.

Val lifts a hand to your cheek, thumb brushing a tear you didn’t realize had fallen. His touch is warm, careful, almost reverent.

“You worked your heart out today,” he says. “I pushed you too hard.”

“No, you didn’t—”

“Yes,” he cuts in, voice low. “I did. Because I believe in you. But I don’t ever want to break you.”

Your throat tightens. His hand slides from your cheek to the back of your neck, guiding you gently toward him—not pulling, just giving you the option.

And you don’t pull away.

“You think I don’t see how much you’ve improved?” he asks softly. “You think I don’t pay attention?” He smiles, barely there. “I see everything. Even the things you try to hide.”

“Like what?” you whisper.

“Like when you’re hurting.” His thumb grazes your jaw. “Like when you’re trying not to cry.” His voice drops even lower. “And like how much you care about this. About us.”

Your heart stops for a beat.

Val closes the last inch of space between you, his forehead resting gently against yours. His breath fans your lips. His voice is almost a whisper.

“I’m proud of you,” he says. “So damn proud.”

Your eyes fall shut. And for the first time all day, you breathe.

Val wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you into a slow, comforting hold — not a dance frame, not rehearsal — just him holding you like you matter.

“You don’t have to be perfect with me,” he murmurs into your hair. “Just be here.”

You melt into him, the stress dissolving in the warmth of his embrace.

And Val holds you like he’s never letting you go.