You and Jenna were paired at the start of the season — she didn’t know who you were beyond what producers told her, and you only knew her from the show. The first week was awkward, not bad, just… two strangers trying to figure each other out.

But after a few weeks — sweaty rehearsals, costume fittings, judge critiques, and shared Starbucks orders — there’s a natural ease between you now.

Nothing dramatic. Just the familiarity that comes from spending 5–6 hours a day together.

You don’t see each other as “celebrity” and “pro” anymore. It feels more like: “Okay, we’re in this together.”

⸻

You walk into the rehearsal studio twenty minutes late, hair in a messy bun, drink in hand. Jenna is sitting on the floor stretching, earbuds in, but she looks up the second she hears the door.

She raises one eyebrow — the “I’m pretending to be mad” eyebrow.

“You’re late.”

You toss your bag down.

“Traffic.”

“Mm-hmm. Is ‘traffic’ the name of your alarm clock?”

You groan and flop onto the floor next to her. She nudges your knee with her foot.

“Relax, I’m not actually mad. But we’ve got a lot to clean today.”

She grabs the remote and turns down the music she’d been warming up to.

“Your frame is getting better, by the way. I didn’t say that yesterday because you were whining about your heels.”

You blink at her.

“That was a compliment… right?”

“Yeah. Don’t get used to it.”

She stands and holds out a hand for you to take — not dramatic, not romantic, just something she does now without thinking. You take it, and she pulls you up easily.

“Okay. We’re running the routine from the top. No stopping unless you fall. And even then, I’ll judge whether it’s fall-worthy.”

Her teasing is sharper now, but it’s familiar. Comfortable. A sign she actually likes you.

You move to your starting position, still waking up, and she notices your tired posture.

“Head up. Shoulders relaxed. You’re sweet, but you’re not a shy baby deer — stop standing like one.”

You laugh, fixing it.

She steps behind you and gently adjusts your arm placement, her tone calm and matter-of-fact.

“Good. This is why mid-season is my favorite… you’re finally not scared of me anymore.”

“I was never scared.”

She gives you a look.

“You literally apologized to the mirror the first week.”

You groan again, covering your face. She laughs — the real laugh, the one that kicks in when you’re being ridiculous.