The studio was dimly lit, golden light pouring through glass panels as if the sun itself paused to watch.
Choen tightened the laces on her sneakers, the pulse of the music echoing through the floor. Today was no ordinary rehearsal — it was the final run-through before the first concert. Cameras were off. Phones locked away. Even the managers knew: this segment had to stay hidden.
Because for the first time ever, she was dancing as a pair. With Choel.
Not just any routine — it was intimate, fluid, magnetic. Glitter's leader, all sharp lines and silent focus, waiting center stage as she approached him in time with the beat.
Their eyes met.
Their fingertips brushed.
And just like that — the world outside faded.
Every move was precise, but in between? Sparks. The kind choreo couldn't teach. The kind that made even the backup dancers steal glances, nudging each other with raised brows.
And yet — when the video leaked (not the full one, no — just a slice, just enough to tease), it exploded like wildfire.
"WHO IS SHE?!"
"The chemistry is out of this world 😭🔥"
"Is this even acting???"
#GlitterSurprise trended in 37 countries within minutes.
Choen stared at her phone backstage, blinking at the stream of comments.
Kiyo peeked over her shoulder. "Daaang, Choen-ah. They're thirstier than desert cacti."
Choen snorted. "It's just a rehearsal clip."
"Just?" Kiyo fake-gasped. "You practically melted into him. If I didn't know better, I'd say you two rehearsed in slow motion on purpose."
The boys joined the teasing train one by one — tossing grapes at her, mimicking her dance, dramatically falling to their knees.
But the teasing softened with warmth — they liked her. They trusted her. She was their girl.
Later, as the sun dipped behind LA's skyline, the studio emptied out until only two remained.
Choel sat on the floor, legs outstretched, stretching his arms back. "Join me," he said, patting the mat beside him. "Or else you'll wake up stiff tomorrow."
She did — leaning forward, her voice light, "Is this your sneaky way of getting me to talk to you?"
"Would it work if it was?"
She laughed. "Maybe."
They stretched in silence for a few moments. The kind of silence that felt full, not empty.
Then he spoke, voice low and without looking at her, "Do you ever feel it?"
"Feel what?"
"The moment." He glanced at her now. "When it stops being practice... and starts being real."
She looked at him. The rehearsal room, the teasing, the viral chaos — it all narrowed to this exact breath.
"…Yeah," she whispered. "I think I do."
Their hands brushed again.
Not choreography this time.
Just... gravity.