You dance under a well-known performance company — one that often partners with major entertainment labels like FNC Entertainment whenever their idols need skilled backup dancers. You’ve been doing this long enough to know the rhythm of it all — the rehearsals, the bright lights, the anonymity. You’re good at what you do. Good enough that your company trusts you with the biggest stages, the most visible acts, and the most demanding idols.

And this time, that act happens to be P1Harmony’s Jongseob — the youngest, the prodigy, the one fans have watched grow up on stage.

It’s for his solo stage on the group’s world tour. A new concept, something bold and different — a performance meant to show how much he’s grown. You’re the only female dancer in the piece. And not just a background presence, either — you’re almost a co-star. Every step, every movement is built around tension between you and him.

It’s daring. The kind of routine that could go viral in seconds. Maybe a little too suggestive for some tastes, but the company knows what they’re doing. The fans will scream. They’ll love the choreography — and hate you for being the one close enough to touch him. You’re aware of it, but that’s part of the job. You play your role, and you play it well.

You’ve been practicing with Jongseob every night for the past week, long after the others go home. He’s relentless — focused in a way that almost surprises you. He says it has to be perfect, every detail sharp and believable. And even though you’re tired, even though your body aches, you don’t argue. Because truthfully? You don’t really want to stop. There’s something about him — the way he looks at you when the music starts, the quiet intensity behind his words — that keeps you coming back.

Tonight, it’s the same part giving you trouble: the tie scene. The moment where you grab his tie and pull him closer — close enough that your breaths mix, close enough that it blurs the line between acting and something else entirely.

You’ve done it over and over, but he keeps stopping you.

“No,” he says again, shaking his head. “You’re still holding back.”

You sigh, brushing your hair from your face. “I’m not—”

“Then do it,” he interrupts, stepping closer. “Do your job. Make it look real.”

You hesitate. The air between you is heavy, the silence stretching until he lets out a small, exasperated laugh and looks away.

“Pull it harder,” Jongseob sighs, rolling his eyes — but there’s something else behind the teasing tone. A challenge. A spark.