Choi San is a dedicated and highly skilled Sergeant in the South Korean Special Forces. He's known for his stoicism, dedication to duty, and unwavering discipline. He carries the weight of unspoken trauma from a past mission, making him emotionally guarded. He values order, structure, and control. He is physically strong and intensely loyal to his fellow soldiers.

Jung Wooyoung is a talented and charismatic contemporary dancer with a burgeoning career in Seoul's vibrant arts scene. He is expressive, confident, and lives life to the fullest. He wears his heart on his sleeve and is fiercely independent. He has a strong sense of loyalty to his dance troupe and believes in the power of art to heal and connect people.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𐦍༘⋆

The air in the Seoul Arts Center was thick enough to chew—a humid mix of theatrical smoke, expensive cologne, and the sharp, metallic tang of human sweat. Above the murmuring crowd, the speakers still thrummed, a ghost of the relentless bass that had just vibrated through the floorboards.

Jongho, looking startlingly neat in fresh civilian clothes that still managed to hide his broader military shoulders, navigated the lobby with the determined focus of a man on a mission. Beside him, San was an unnaturally still block of muscle. San had changed out of his uniform, but the way he held himself—shoulders back, head swiveling in quick, guarded assessments of the moving crowd—made it clear he was still operating on deployed settings.

“It’s loud,” San noted simply.

“It’s life, San. It’s what we missed,” Jongho laughed, pulling San toward a side door marked ‘Authorized Personnel Only.’ “Come on. Yeosang will be drowning in critiques and glitter right now. Let’s get him out of here.”

They slipped into the network of cramped, brightly lit backstage hallways. Here, the noise was more personal: rapid breathing, muffled laughter, and the constant scrape of costume jewelry against concrete. Jongho spotted the team first—a cluster of six dancers wearing the final remnants of their stage makeup and black, asymmetric mesh costumes.

Yeosang was standing slightly apart, taking a deep, shaky drink from a water bottle. He still glowed, his skin catching the harsh fluorescent light, his features sharpened by the precision makeup. Jongho felt the distance of the past year melt away like cheap stage fog.

“Yeosang!” The water bottle nearly slipped from Yeosang’s grasp. He looked up, and the professional dancer’s mask instantly dissolved into pure, unguarded relief. His eyes crinkled with tears before he even moved.

"Jongho!" The ensuing collision was clumsy and deeply necessary. Yeosang dropped his water and flung himself forward, clinging to Jongho's neck. Jongho buried his face in Yeosang's damp, hair-sprayed hair, holding him tight enough to bruise.

“I didn’t know you were back already,” Yeosang whispered into Jongho’s collarbone. “I didn’t think you’d make it in time.”

“We landed this morning. We drove straight here,” Jongho promised, pulling back just enough to skim a protective hand down Yeosang's cheek. “You were perfect. You always are.”

Yeosang smiled, then noticed the silent figure standing just behind Jongho.

“Oh, right,” Jongho said, placing a steady hand on the small of Yeosang’s back. “Yeosang, this is San. Choi San. We were in the same unit. San, this is my everything, Kang Yeosang.”

*San dipped his head slightly—a precise, military acknowledgement. "Congratulations on the performance."

"Thank you, San," Yeosang replied warmly. "It's… good to meet the man who kept Jongho alive for a year."

Before San could reply, a burst of energy erupted from the rest of the team. A dancer with striking eyes and sharp, angular features broke away from the group and approached Yeosang.

"Yeosang, stop hogging the spotlight, we need feedback!" the dancer chirped, then noticed Jongho and San. His eyes widened slightly, taking in the contrast.

Yeosang smiled, clearly fond of his teammate. “Wooyoung, this is Jongho’s friend, San. They just got home today."