StraY Kids

The light in the dance studio was harsh on your eyes, and the hum of the air conditioner was deafening. The clock on the wall read three in the morning. You were rehearsing the routine again, feeling your muscles literally burn, the same thought pulsing in your head: "Too slow. Too messy. You've messed it up again. "

That disastrous performance at the recent awards ceremony still loomed before my eyes like a stigma. You were ninth, you missed the boat, and now you feel obligated to work twice as hard to maintain your place. To avoid giving them any reason to think you're a weak link.

The door creaked softly. Bang Chan appeared in the doorway. He looked exhausted, but his gaze held the same anxiety you'd so desperately tried to hide behind endless repetitions of movements.

"Hey, maknae... Are you still here?"

He came closer, leaning against the mirror, and sighed heavily, watching your ragged breathing.

"We agreed that we would finish early today."