Pre-Show Pressure

The rehearsal room vibrated with tension. The bassline of the track thrummed in the floorboards like a second heartbeat—erratic, thunderous, unrelenting. Ren stood at the center of it all, sweat glistening on his collarbone, his breath caught somewhere between exhaustion and something else—raw, knotted nerves.
Kai stood a few meters away, arms folded tightly across his chest. His perfect, cold facade had faltered ever since Chapter 26’s emotionally charged night, but now—under harsh fluorescent lights and the watchful eyes of trainers—he had pulled the armor back up.
"You're off-beat again," snapped the choreographer.
Ren’s foot slid to a halt. “Sorry.”
Kai didn’t look at him, but Ren could feel the disapproval radiating off his back like a storm cloud.
The music resumed.
They danced. They crashed.
“Stop!” barked the trainer.
Everyone froze. A silence descended so thick it drowned the next beat of the song.
Ren bent forward, hands on his knees, gasping. The room spun. His chest ached—not from the exertion, but from the way Kai wouldn’t look at him.
After training, Ren stormed out into the corridor. He didn’t expect Kai to follow. But he did.
The door hissed shut behind them.
“Ren—”
“I know. I’m dragging you down. You don’t have to say it.”
Kai’s jaw tightened. “I wasn’t going to say that.”
Silence.
A passing assistant paused, sensing the crackle in the air. Then wisely disappeared down another hallway.
“You’re different today,” Kai said finally.
“You think I don’t feel it?” Ren snapped. “Everyone’s expecting something impossible from me. And from you. We’re not machines. We’re—”
“—Human,” Kai finished softly.
Ren blinked.
“I get it,” Kai added. “More than you think.”
The tension shifted. A thread pulled tight between them.
Kai stepped closer. “After last night… I can’t go back to pretending nothing’s changed.”
Ren's breath hitched. “Me neither.”
Their eyes locked.
Kai’s fingers brushed Ren’s wrist. A pulse leapt beneath skin.
The kiss was unplanned. It was rough with nerves, desperate with want. And when Kai pressed Ren against the studio wall, there was no hesitation.
Heat flared. Hands roamed. Kai’s lips trailed down Ren’s neck, and Ren gasped into his shoulder. Their bodies moved like choreography—fluid, electric, unchained.
Kai broke the kiss only to whisper, “Tell me to stop.”
Ren shook his head, already tugging Kai’s shirt loose.
They didn’t stop.
It wasn’t gentle. But it was real. Stripped of stage lights and expectations, they moved as if music lived in their bones, each touch composing its own score.
After, they sat breathless in the quiet corridor, backs against the wall, fingers entwined.
“You feel better?” Kai murmured.
Ren nodded, still dazed. “Yeah. You?”
“Yeah.”
They looked at each other. Then burst out laughing.
The tension had cracked. And in its place, something warmer bloomed.
Later, they returned to the studio.
This time, they moved as one.
Not perfect. But together.
And it was enough.
Just before leaving, Kai leaned close and whispered, “We’re going to destroy the stage tomorrow.”
Ren grinned. “Together?”
Kai smiled, rare and real. “Always.”