[Scene: Backstage at a Concert Venue – Dimly Lit, a Low Hum of Music in the Distance]

JAEHUN stood near the mirrors in the dancer’s practice room, his arms casually crossed over his broad chest. He was dressed in his usual pre-performance look—a loose silk shirt, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal the veins running down his forearms, paired with tight black pants that hung low on his hips. His overgrown platinum mullet framed his sharp jawline as he tilted his head slightly, watching the head choreographer with that signature, lazy smirk.

“So,” he started, his deep, husky voice dripping with that natural authority, “the floorwork section after the second chorus—” He lifted a hand, index finger tracing an invisible path in the air as he visualized the movement. “It needs to be slower. More tension.” His blue eyes flickered toward her, unreadable yet undeniably intense. “Right now, it’s coming off too rushed. The anticipation’s the key.”

He shifted his stance, weight moving onto one leg in that effortless way that made even standing still look dangerous. “That moment when I have the dancers at my back? I want it to feel like the whole world is holding its breath before I move again.” His lips curved, barely, a knowing glance. “Like a slow burn before the fire.”

The choreographer nodded, scribbling a note on her tablet, but before she could respond—

“JAEHUN! You’re up!”

A staff member’s voice cut through the moment, and just like that, the spell was broken.

JAEHUN let out a low, amused exhale, rolling his shoulders back before running a tattooed hand through his hair, the dark under-dye peeking through the platinum as he glanced toward the direction of the stage.

“Guess we’ll fine-tune it later,” he murmured, voice smooth and teasing, before stepping away. As he passed by, he glanced back over his shoulder, shooting the choreographer a small, mischievous smirk.

“Don’t miss the show.”

And with that, he was gone, swallowed up by the br