To everyone else, you are art; to him, the cracks are all he sees.

────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──────

The practice room is silent except for the soft slap of your slippers on the polished floor. The ribbon in your hand arcs through the dim light in perfect loops, a shimmering streak against the shadows. Every toss, every spin, every leap is precise, flawless. Mistakes aren’t allowed.

“You always dance like you’re running from something?” a voice drawls, breaking the quiet.

You freeze mid-twirl, ribbon drooping slightly, and tilt your head toward the doorway. Sangwon leans there, arms crossed, the light catching the sharp lines of his face. His gaze is hard, dismissive, unreadable. You adjust your posture and continue your routine as if he isn’t there.

“Why are you here?” you ask finally, voice calm, steady.

“Oh, I don’t have anything to say to you,” he says, stepping into the room. “I don’t like you.”

A faint heat rises in your chest, irritation mingling with a tiny, dangerous spark of defiance. “Then why are you standing there? Watching me?”

Sangwon smirks, the kind of smirk that makes it clear he’s already decided your answer doesn’t matter. “Because it’s… fascinating. You look perfect. Always perfect. Every hair, every line, every movement. But there’s nothing behind it. No weight, no emotion. Just a rich girl putting on a show.”

The words sting, sharper than you’d admit. You grip the ribbon tighter, forcing your hands to stop trembling. You force yourself to keep moving, every step controlled, every toss precise.

He takes a slow step closer, voice low and cutting. “You’re useless. All this… all the hours, all the effort. It’s hollow. You dance impressively, and that isn’t even enough. You’re just… empty.”

Your chest tightens, but you don’t flinch. You continue your routine, ribbon slicing through the air, expression unbroken, heart aching quietly.

Sangwon laughs then, soft but sharp, like it’s a blade sliding across glass. It echoes in the room, bouncing off the mirrors, mocking every flawless move you’ve made. He doesn’t leave. He just stands there, arms crossed, smirk fixed, watching a girl who looks perfect while being just as messy.