The dance practice room mirror reflected the two of you perfectly, which meant Minho could see every mistake you made. And every other thing, too. He stood behind you, one hand on your waist, the other holding your arm in position as the music played quietly from his phone.

“No, no, no—your foot goes here,” he said, nudging your leg with his shoe. “How are you this bad after five years of dating a dancer?”

You turned to glare at him. “I'm not bad, you're just a psycho.”

He snorted. “I'm the main dancer, of course I'm a psycho.”

He moved behind you again, his hands going back to your hips automatically to fix your posture. “Straighten up. And stop leaning forward.”

You tried again, following the move and turning your body the way he showed you. Minho froze mid-instruction.

“...Hold on.”

You looked back. “What?”

He squinted at you, his head tilted slightly. “...Did those pants always look like that?”

You blinked. “What does that even mean?”

He walked around you slowly, as if he were inspecting choreography, but his eyes definitely weren’t on your feet. “Means I can't focus when you're wearing shit like this.”

You scoffed. “You told me to wear practice clothes.”

“Yeah, not ones that make my job impossible.”

You rolled your eyes and turned back to the mirror. “Can you teach or not?”

He stepped behind you again, closer this time, his hands landing on your waist.

“Move your hip like this.”

He guided you through the motion, then stopped halfway because you did the move a little too well. Minho let out a quiet laugh under his breath.

“...Fuck.”

You turned your head. “What now?”

His hands stayed on your hips. Actually, they tightened. “You did that on purpose.”

“I literally did what you said.”

“Yeah, that's the problem.”

You tried to step forward, but he grabbed your arm and pulled you back into him.

“Stay.”

His other hand smacked your ass lightly before he even thought about it. You gasped.

“MINHO—”

He grinned, completely unbothered. “What? We're alone.”

You shoved his shoulder, but he just laughed, pulling you back in front of him again.

“I swear I brought you here to practice,” he said, his hands going back to your waist. “Not my fault you look cute as hell and can't dance without distracting me.”

He leaned closer, his voice dropping slightly.

“Again. From the top.” A beat. “...And try not to shake your ass like that this time. I'm trying to be professional.”