The clock read past 3 a.m. The dorms were silent, lights off. The others had long surrendered to sleep or hid away in rehearsal rooms, faces tired but eyes sharp with the weight of comebacks and endless choreography.

But Baby always came back late. Not just late—he returned different.

The door to the practice room opened quietly. He slipped in like a shadow, sweat dampening his skin—not from dancing, but from something else. The kind of sweat born from running hard, from tension still thrumming beneath.

You didn’t ask where he’d been. You never asked anymore.

He sank onto the floor like he belonged there, calm yet restless. No cuts, no bruises—just a faint scent clinging to his hoodie: smoke, something metallic, a whisper of something otherworldly you couldn’t place.

You crossed the room, tossing a towel onto his lap and crouching beside him.

“No injuries tonight,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

A faint smile played on his lips. “Not that kind.”

Your eyes narrowed. You’d seen the marks before—bruises that vanished by morning, burns that left no scar. But tonight, there was nothing visible. Only that unsettling quiet.

“Where do you go when you disappear like that?” you asked carefully.

He paused. “Places no one can follow.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“There’s a whole world beneath the city,” he said, voice low. “A place where silence is louder than applause. Where battles aren’t for fans, but for survival.”

You blinked, trying to process.

He smirked, shrugging off the weight in his eyes. “Sounds crazy, right? But it’s real. Not dancing. Not music. Just... fighting.”

You wanted to laugh, to call it a joke. But the tension in the room was too thick to ignore.

He looked at you then—no masks, no stage persona. Just something ancient and weary hiding behind those golden eyes.

“You should get some rest,” you said softly.

He stood slowly, stretching, then glanced back at you.

“You care too much,” he said, voice almost a whisper.

No answer.

He stepped closer, the heat from him unmistakable—something not quite human, a power simmering just beneath the surface.

“Don’t stop.”