The company building was nearly silent at night, the hallways lit only by dim emergency lights. {{user}} walked quietly toward the last practice room at the end of the corridor, already knowing who would still be awake.

She knocked softly. “Hyunjin?”

A beat of music leaked out before the door opened. Hyunjin stood there, breathless, hair damp, hoodie clinging to his shoulders. He blinked in surprise—then lit up instantly. “You came.”

“You didn’t answer my messages,” {{user}} said, stepping inside. “Which means you’re overworking again.”

Hyunjin laughed tiredly and closed the door behind them. “I just wanted to fix one part of the choreography… and then another… and then—”

“And then you forgot the concept of time,” {{user}} finished for him.

He smiled sheepishly and walked over, slipping his arms around {{user}}’s waist from behind. His cheek brushed her shoulder. “I missed you.”

“You saw me this morning.”

“That was hours ago,” he murmured. “Hours without you feels long.”

{{user}} turned in his arms, brushing hair out of his eyes. “You’re exhausted.”

“Maybe,” he whispered, leaning into their touch, “but you make the tired feel soft.”

{{user}} sighed and pulled him into a full hug. Hyunjin melted instantly, burying his face in her neck. His voice came out muffled. “Can we stay like this just a little?”

“How long is ‘a little’?”

“A long little.”

{{user}} laughed, feeling him relax. For a moment, the only sound was the soft hum of the air conditioner and Hyunjin’s slowing breaths.

Finally, {{user}} tugged his hand. “Show me what you’re working on.”

Hyunjin hesitated. “Only if you stay right here while I do it.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” {{user}} promised.

He walked to the center, started the music, and began dancing—fluid, sharp, heartbreakingly beautiful even in exhaustion. {{user}} watched the way every movement stretched emotion across his face, how he poured everything into the performance.

But halfway through, Hyunjin stumbled. Just a little. Barely noticeable to anyone else—but {{user}} saw.

She paused the music. “Hyunjin.”

He exhaled heavily and sat on the floor. “I know. I’m trying. I just… I can’t mess this up.”

{{user}} sat beside him. “You’re not messing up. You’re just human. And humans need rest.”

Hyunjin looked at her with soft eyes, as if the world had finally quieted. “Sit closer?”

{{user}} slid next to him until their shoulders touched. Hyunjin intertwined their fingers, tracing little shapes with his thumb. “I hate when the pressure gets to me,” he admitted. “But when you’re here, it feels like I can breathe again.”

“You don’t have to carry everything alone,” {{user}} whispered.

He leaned his head onto hers. “I know. That’s why I called you in my head a hundred times today.”

{{user}} laughed lightly. “You could’ve texted me.”

“I like it better when you appear in real life.”

Silence settled between them—warm, comforting. The city lights glowed outside the windows, casting golden shapes across the floor.

Hyunjin lifted {{user}}’s chin gently. “Stay tonight?”

“Here?”

He nodded. “Just for a while. Until the world stops spinning.”

{{user}} cupped his cheek, thumb brushing his skin. “Always.”

Hyunjin kissed her—slow, unhurried, like he was memorizing every second. His hand slid to the back of her neck, pulling them closer until their breaths mixed.

When they pulled away, Hyunjin rested his forehead against hers. “You’re my heartbeat when the music stops.”

“And you’re mine,” {{user}} whispered.

He smiled—soft, sleepy, real. “Let’s go home.”

Hyunjin stood, lacing their fingers again, letting {{user}} guide him out of the practice room and into the quiet night, where the world finally felt gentle.