I woke up to the sound of rain tapping against the window.

For a second, I thought it was still night — the room was dim, washed in that bluish early morning light that made everything look softer. Renji was still asleep across from me, lying on his side, one arm curled under his pillow. His hair had dried in messy waves overnight, a few strands falling across his face.

It was strange how quiet everything felt. The twins weren’t yelling, Jiahao wasn’t already on the phone with someone, and Geon hadn’t turned on music yet. Just the rain and Renji’s slow breathing.

I sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. My muscles ached — every inch of my body felt heavy after yesterday’s dance practice and recording. I glanced at the clock.

6:12 a.m.

Practice started at eight. We’d need to leave by seven-thirty.

Renji shifted a little, letting out a quiet sigh, and his eyes fluttered open. For a second, he looked confused, like he didn’t know where he was. Then his gaze landed on me, and his expression softened.

“You’re up early,” he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep.

“Couldn’t go back to sleep,” I said. “My legs feel like they’ve been set on fire.”

He chuckled softly, sitting up and stretching until his joints cracked. “You did good yesterday. Better than I expected.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Was that supposed to be a compliment or a diss?”

“Both.” He smirked, standing and grabbing his towel. “Come on. If we’re late, Jiahao will start giving one of his speeches about professionalism.”

“God forbid,” I muttered.

Renji threw me a look over his shoulder as he headed toward the bathroom. “I heard that.”

The door clicked shut behind him, and I slumped back against my pillow, staring at the ceiling. The warmth from last night still lingered somewhere under my ribs — that quiet moment before we fell asleep, when he’d brushed the hair from my face. It was so small, so insignificant, yet it kept replaying in my head like a broken record.

I sighed, dragging a hand down my face.

This was getting dangerous.

A few minutes later, the sound of the shower stopped. Renji emerged, hair damp again, steam following him into the cool air. He threw his towel over a chair and glanced at me.

“Your turn,” he said.

I got up reluctantly. “If I collapse during warm-up, tell them to debut without me.”

“I’ll tell them you died a hero,” he said flatly, and for some reason, that made me laugh.

By the time I came out of the shower, the dorm had started to stir. I could already hear the twins bickering in the kitchen, Geon’s voice rising above them, and the faint clatter of plates — Jiahao, probably trying to make breakfast for seven half-dead idols again.

Just another morning in chaos.

But as I passed Renji’s bed, he looked up from tying his shoes and met my eyes for a brief second — and I swear, there was something in that look. Something quiet and lingering, like an unspoken thought neither of us knew how to voice yet.

I looked away first.

By the time we reached the practice room, the rain had stopped, but the sky was still heavy and grey — the kind of weather that made you want to stay in bed forever. Unfortunately, idols don’t get weather days off.

“Alright, warm-up first!” Jiahao clapped his hands, trying to sound enthusiastic but failing halfway through the sentence. He looked like he hadn’t slept either.

The twins were lying flat on the floor, limbs spread like starfish.

“We are warming up,” Boom said.

“This is floor yoga,” Bang added.

Renji stepped over them without hesitation. “You two look like corpses from a low-budget zombie movie.”

“I feel like one,” Boom groaned.

The choreographer replayed the first verse for what felt like the twentieth time, shouting counts over the music. “Five, six, seven, eight! Geon, your shoulder! Renji, sharper! Minjae, don’t just survive — perform!”

I was trying. I really was. But by the third run-through, my lungs had declared mutiny and my brain was melting.

At one point, Yujun missed his mark and crashed into Jiahao, who stumbled forward and accidentally smacked Geon in the face with his arm.

The music stopped.

Everyone froze.

Geon stood there in silence, blinking.

“...Did you just hit me?” he asked slowly.

Jiahao panicked. “It was an accident! Physics happened!”

Renji snorted behind me, immediately trying to cover it up with a fake cough. That made me lose it too, and soon the entire group was laughing while Geon tried to look offended but failed miserably.

“Alright, alright, focus,” the choreographer said, trying not to smile. “You’re debuting in three weeks, not filming a sitcom.”

Three weeks.

The reminder hit hard. Even in the middle of the laughter, that number hung in the air like a countdown.

We kept going. Again and again. By afternoon, my shirt was drenched, my hair plastered to my forehead, and every muscle in my legs screamed for mercy. Jiahao’s water bottle slipped out of his hands mid-move and rolled dramatically across the floor, earning an exasperated sigh from Yujun. Boom and Bang had resorted to taking turns lying down whenever the instructor’s back was turned.

“I’m pretty sure my soul left during the second chorus,” Boom said.

“Mine left before we even started,” Bang replied.

Renji glanced at them with his usual deadpan look. “If you two die, I’m taking your parts.”

“You’re not even sorry about it,” Boom accused.

“Nope.”

That got a tired laugh out of everyone — even the choreographer cracked a smile before restarting the track.

By evening, the air in the room was thick with sweat and music. The mirrored walls reflected seven exhausted versions of ourselves — moving almost in sync, almost polished, almost there.

Renji caught my reflection in the mirror once. Our eyes met briefly, both of us breathing hard, sweat glistening under the harsh lights. For a split second, his mouth curved into the faintest grin — just a flicker — but it gave me enough strength to keep pushing through the final run.

When the music finally stopped, we collapsed in a heap of limbs and groans.

Jiahao spread out on the floor like a martyr. “If someone asks, tell them I died doing what I love.”

“Lying down?” Yujun muttered.

“Yes.”

Renji threw a towel at him. “Shut up and drink water.”

I lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling, the pounding in my chest slowly evening out. Despite the pain, the fatigue, the chaos — I couldn’t help smiling. The choreography wasn’t perfect yet, but it was ours. Every movement, every mistake, every laugh. It all started to feel real.

Debut was coming fast.

And for the first time in years, I wasn’t afraid of what was coming next.

By the time we dragged ourselves back to the dorm, it was already dark outside. The hallway lights buzzed faintly overhead as we kicked off our shoes and scattered like the walking dead. Someone — probably Jiahao — mumbled something about ordering fried chicken, but no one had the energy to respond.

I went straight to the bathroom, letting the hot water beat down on my shoulders until my skin turned pink. My muscles screamed in protest, but it was the kind of pain that reminded me I was doing something real again. When I stepped out, the dorm was quiet except for the faint sounds of someone’s phone playing music in another room and the twins arguing about who should fold the laundry.

Renji was already in our room when I walked in. He sat cross-legged on his bed, scrolling through his phone, hair still damp from his own shower. A small desk lamp threw warm light across the room, painting everything in soft gold and shadow.

He looked up when he heard the door click shut.

“Hey,” he said simply.

“Hey.” I dropped onto my bed, towel still around my neck. My body felt like lead, but my mind wouldn’t stop racing. The choreography was still looping in my head — the counts, the transitions, the sharp lines we still hadn’t perfected.

“Today was brutal,” I muttered.

Renji snorted. “You call that brutal? Wait until the MV shoot. That’s when you’ll start seeing God.”

“I already saw him halfway through the second chorus.”

He smiled faintly, and the small curve of his mouth made something twist in my chest. He set his phone aside, stretching his arms before leaning back against the wall. For a moment, we just sat there in silence — the kind that wasn’t uncomfortable, just… heavy with the day.

“You did well today,” he said finally.

I blinked. “You think so?”

He nodded. “You caught up faster than I thought you would. Your timing’s solid. You just need more stamina.”

“Thanks, coach.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I just don’t want you collapsing during debut promotions. I’d have to carry you.”

I chuckled, then winced as my back protested. “You’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Just tilted his head slightly, eyes catching the lamplight in that unreadable way of his. “Maybe.”

Something about the way he said it — low, casual, but almost too deliberate — made my heart stutter. I looked away, pretending to fuss with my towel, but I could feel his gaze lingering.

Outside, a car passed by, headlights sweeping briefly through the blinds. The shadows moved across his face, and for a second, the world felt smaller — just the two of us, the faint hum of the air conditioner, and the shared silence stretching between words.

“You should rest,” Renji said eventually. “We’ve got another long day tomorrow.”

“I know.”

He turned off the lamp, the room sinking into soft darkness, broken only by the glow from the city outside. I lay down, pulling the blanket up to my chest.

A moment later, I heard his bed creak. Then quiet. Then, softly —

“Night, Minjae.”

I hesitated, then smiled into the dark. “Night, Renji.”

The silence after that felt different. Not awkward. Not heavy. Just full — like there were things neither of us were ready to say yet, but we both already knew.