Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
KEIRA
The practice room smelled like him.
I noticed it the moment Hwan pushed open the heavy door, his hand warm at the small of my back as he guided me inside.
Sunshine and vanilla, layered over the faint scent of exertion and polished wood floors.
The room was massive — wall-to-wall mirrors reflecting the afternoon light streaming through high windows, a state-of-the-art sound system built into the walls, wooden barres lining one side like a ballet studio.
"This is where the magic happens." Hwan spread his arms wide with that characteristic brightness, his copper-brown hair catching the light and his dark eyes sparkling with something that looked like genuine excitement.
"Well, this is where we sweat until our muscles scream and then do it all again.
But 'magic' sounds better for promotional purposes. "
I huffed out something close to a laugh, still hovering near the doorway. The space felt too big, too exposed. Mirrors everywhere meant I couldn't hide from my own reflection — from the uncertainty in my grey eyes, the way I kept touching my neck where Jae-won had scented me yesterday.
"It's huge." I took a few tentative steps inside, my sneakers squeaking against the polished floor. "I expected... I don't know. Something smaller."
"We're lucky." Hwan was already moving toward the sound system, his body loose and relaxed in a way that seemed effortless.
He wore simple practice clothes — black joggers, a white t-shirt that clung to his shoulders — and even in something so basic, he looked like he belonged on a stage.
"Most groups share practice spaces. But after our second album hit, the company gave us our own.
Said it was an 'investment in our brand' or whatever corporate speak they used.
" He glanced back at me, a dimple appearing in his left cheek as he grinned.
"Really it just means they can work us harder without scheduling conflicts. "
I drifted closer, drawn by his warmth despite my nerves. The bond pulsed gently in my chest, responding to his proximity. It had been doing that since I'd woken up this morning — a soft, insistent hum that seemed to grow stronger whenever he was near.
"So what exactly are we doing here?" I hugged my arms around myself, trying to mask my anxiety with casual curiosity. "I should warn you, I can't dance. At all. My coordination is... questionable."
"Everyone says that. And everyone's wrong.
" Hwan's grin widened, something mischievous flickering in his expression as he pressed a button on the sound system.
A familiar melody began to play — SIREN's latest pre-release track, the one I'd been working on lyrics for.
"I'm not going to teach you choreography. I just want to show you something."
He moved to the center of the room, his posture shifting.
One moment he was Hwan — bright, casual, almost boyish in his enthusiasm.
The next, he was someone else entirely. His spine straightened, his chin lifted, and his eyes found their focus in the mirror across the room.
I watched the transformation happen like watching water freeze into ice — the same substance, completely different form.
Then he started to dance.
I'd seen SIREN perform. I'd watched countless videos while working on their lyrics, studying their movements for inspiration.
But this was different. This was Hwan alone, no backup dancers, no carefully choreographed group formations.
Just him and the music and his body moving like it was made of liquid gold.
Every movement was precise but fluid. His feet barely seemed to touch the ground.
When the chorus hit, he executed a spin that should have been impossible, landing in perfect position with his arms extended and his chest heaving.
The golden amber bond flared bright in my chest, and I felt something I hadn't expected.
Pride.
Not my emotion — his. Bleeding through the incomplete bond, raw and vulnerable.
He was proud of this, proud of what he could do with his body, proud of the art he created through movement.
And beneath the pride, there was something else.
Something that tasted like fear and exhaustion and the desperate hope that someone would see him — really see him — beyond the performance.
The music faded. Hwan stood in his final pose for a moment, then dropped his arms and turned to face me. His cheeks were flushed, his breathing slightly elevated, and his eyes were searching my face for something.
"That's the new comeback choreography." His voice came out a little rough, vulnerable in a way I hadn't heard from him before. "The full version. We've been working on it for three months."
"Hwan..." I stepped closer without deciding to, my feet carrying me toward him like he was magnetic north. "That was incredible. I've never seen anyone move like that."
"Most people say that. But they're talking about the idol. The performance. The brand." He tilted his head, studying me with an intensity that made my breath catch, his dark eyes suddenly serious beneath the playful surface. "You're not, are you?"
"I'm talking about you." The words came out before I could second-guess them, fierce and certain in a way that surprised me. "The way you feel when you dance. I could... I felt it. Through the bond."
Something flickered across his face — surprise, vulnerability, hope — each emotion chasing the next like clouds across the sun.
"You felt that?" His voice was barely above a whisper, and I watched his throat work as he swallowed.
"Pride." I said it quietly, holding his gaze. "And something else. Something heavier." Hwan was silent for a long moment, his expression shifting through something I couldn't quite read. When he spoke again, his voice had lost some of its brightness, settling into something more real.
"The thing about being the sunshine is that everyone expects you to shine.
All the time. No clouds allowed." He moved to the barre along the wall, leaning against it with his arms crossed.
The pose was casual, but I could see tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers gripped his own biceps.
"I'm the one who lightens the mood. The one who makes everyone laugh.
The one who never has bad days because bad days aren't on brand. "
I crossed the room to stand beside him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body, close enough to smell vanilla and sunshine mixing with the salt of his recent exertion.
"That sounds exhausting." I kept my voice soft, not wanting to spook him now that he was finally being real with me.
"It is." He said it simply, like he was stating a fact.
The sky is blue. Water is wet. Being endlessly bright is exhausting.
"The company calls me the 'visual' because of my face and my dancing.
But really, I think they keep me around because I'm useful.
I can turn any interview around, defuse any tension, make any fan event feel special.
" He paused, his jaw tightening as he stared at their reflections in the mirror across the room.
"Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I just..
. stopped. If I let myself be sad or angry or tired in front of people. Would they still want me?"
"Your pack would." The words came out with more conviction than I expected, and I saw his head turn sharply toward me.
"You think so?" There was something almost desperate in the question, a crack in the sunshine mask that let me see the fear underneath.
"I know so." I reached out, my fingers brushing against his forearm before I could stop myself.
The contact sent a spark of warmth through me, the bond humming with approval.
"I saw how they look at you. How Jae-won checks on you when he thinks no one's watching.
How Jin-ho saves you the last piece of whatever Min-jun bakes.
How Tae-min follows you around like you hung the moon.
" I paused, letting the truth settle between us like something solid and real.
"They don't love you because you're bright.
They love you because you're you. The sunshine is just a bonus. "
His eyes went glassy for a moment, and I watched him blink rapidly, fighting back something that looked dangerously close to tears. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.
"No one's ever said that to me before." His voice came out rough, cracked around the edges like he was holding himself together by sheer force of will.
"Then everyone else hasn't been paying attention.
" I squeezed his arm gently, feeling the muscle tense and then relax under my touch.
The moment stretched, warm and fragile and real.
Then Hwan let out a shaky breath and pushed off from the barre, his energy shifting from vulnerability back to something lighter — but not the forced brightness from before.
This was genuine. Relief, maybe. Or the beginning of trust.
"Okay." He clapped his hands together, the sound sharp in the quiet room.
"Enough of me being emotionally compromised in my own practice room.
I promised to show you something, and I haven't delivered yet.
" He held out his hand, palm up, an invitation that made something flutter in my chest. "Dance with me? "
I stared at his outstretched hand like it might bite me, my heart rate picking up. "I told you, I can't—"
"And I told you everyone says that." His smile was back, but warmer now, gentler, reaching his eyes in a way the stage smile never quite did. "I'm not going to teach you choreography. I just want to move with you. No pressure, no performance. Just... feeling the music together."