The dance studio was quiet except for the soft hum of the air conditioner and the faint scuff of sneakers on polished wooden floors. The mirrors lining the walls reflected the sharp, synchronized movements of Stray Kids as they rehearsed their latest choreography. He was at the center, as always, pushing himself harder than anyone else.

She stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching with a mix of pride and fondness. The studio lights highlighted the sheen of sweat on his forehead and the determined set of his jaw. Christopher Bang—Bangchan—was tireless, his focus razor-sharp. Yet there was something else in his expression today, a flicker of something softer when his eyes occasionally found hers in the mirror.

Eight years. Eight years of grueling practices, missed meals, and sleepless nights, all shared under the harsh lights of studios just like this one. They’d grown together, evolving from ambitious rookies to a well-oiled team. And yet, as familiar as they were, there were moments like this that caught her off guard. The way he looked at her sometimes felt like it held the weight of every unspoken word, every fleeting touch.

The music cut off abruptly, and the members collapsed onto the floor, groaning about water and breaks. Chan stayed standing, running a hand through his damp hair, his breathing labored but his energy unyielding. His gaze found her again, not through the mirror this time, but directly—steadfast, unflinching.