The studio smelled like caffeine, fabric softener, and floor polish—the usual perfume of early morning chaos. Rhea was already stretching against the mirror, humming a Celtic lullaby under her breath. Camille and Lulu were bickering over playlist control, and Nevaeh was halfway through a TikTok before breakfast. Aya and Yuna had claimed the piano in the corner and were already layering vocal harmonies for a bridge we hadn't even written yet.
Another day in TITAN.
Another full schedule. Dance drills. Vocal warm-ups. Songwriting blocks. Camera rehearsals. Media coaching. Language tutors.
But the second I walked in—I felt it.
That shimmer under my skin.
That hum like a livewire down my spine.
Dal is nearby, Dawn murmured lazily. Our boy is not far.
I bit my lip to hide the smile.
"Someone's blushing already," Rhea teased, dragging me into a stretch before I could answer. "Did you have a dream about a certain brooding idol last night?"
Camille looked up from her phone. "Jaerin, right? I mean, if I was paired with that voice and jawline on national TV, I'd be writing his name in my lyric book too."
I rolled my eyes. "Can we not talk about him every five minutes?"
"Why?" Lulu grinned. "You got his number?"
I smacked her with a throw pillow just as the vocal coach walked in.
The morning flew by in beats and scales. My vocal cords were still riding the high of yesterday's performance, but my body dragged behind. Every muscle ached. Every breath felt an inch too short. But the moment we started drafting lyrics for the second single?
I snapped into place.
Yuna laid the track down. Sparse synth. Metallic pulse. A little eerie.
Aya whispered, "Let's write it like a conversation with yourself. Like a moment where you know you've changed but you're not sure if it's better or worse."
"Yes," I breathed. "Yes, exactly."
The pen moved in my hand before I could think.
I've burned the bridge but I still smell the smoke
I run from the echo but I'm always the ghost
Tell me—does survival still count if you feel hollow after?
By lunch, we had a full verse.
But by break, I was already texting.
DWYN
The vending machine in B4 hallway is out of your favorite tea. Tragic.
JAERIN
Stop stalking my tea habits.
...Meet me in 10?
The hallway near the unused rooftop studio was always empty around 2:30PM. I slipped away after water breaks, hoodie over my head, ducking past two stylists and a confused intern carrying wigs.
He was already waiting. Hoodie up. Mask on. Back pressed to the wall like he was afraid of his own pulse.
"You're late," he said, voice soft. A smirk tugged at his mouth.
"I'm famous now. I have responsibilities," I teased, stepping into his space. "Also, I wrote about you in a verse today."
His eyebrow rose. "Should I be flattered or worried?"
"Depends. Do you think being called a ghost with a god-tier voice is romantic?"
He laughed. That rare, low rumble that always made my stomach tighten.
We didn't kiss. But our hands brushed.
His pinky curled around mine for just a second.
That was enough.
"I have to go," I whispered.
"Don't," he whispered back.
But I did.
We always did.
Because this—whatever this fragile, secret, soul-deep thing was—we hadn't named it yet.
Not aloud.
But I felt it in my throat every time I sang.
In the ache under my ribs every time we touched.
In the way my wolf practically pirouetted when his scent drifted too close.
Back in the studio, I melted into the group's chaos again like nothing had happened.
But I carried Jaerin's warmth with me.
A secret lyric written on the inside of my skin.
Something soft. Dangerous.
And utterly inevitable.
---------------------------------------------------------
By the time I got back to the practice room, my heart had mostly stopped sprinting.
Mostly.
Camille clocked me the second I walked in, brow arched. "You took exactly twenty-one minutes. Your record is usually seventeen."
I blinked. "Huh?"
Rhea grinned over her protein bar. "Camille's been timing your little vanishings. Like a science experiment."
Aya didn't look up from her notebook, but her lips twitched. "She's not subtle, you know."
"I—what even—?" I started.
Nevaeh cut in, flipping her braid over her shoulder. "Girl, just admit you've been sneaking off to see broody boy. We won't tell."
Yuna, who'd been stretching near the mirror, gave me a calm look. "We understand. We've all made time for gravity before."
I stared.
"Gravity?" I repeated.
"The thing that pulls you in," Yuna said. "Even when you try to resist it."
My mouth went dry. Because yeah. That's exactly what he was. Jaerin Seo was gravity in black hoodies and wary smiles. A low-frequency ache beneath my skin. The thing I wanted to lean into and away from all at once.
But I wasn't ready to explain that. Not out loud. Not yet.
So I shrugged instead. "I just needed air."
"Right," Lulu winked. "Air with dimples and stupidly good cheekbones."
Rhea flopped onto the couch dramatically. "If you don't kiss him by the next comeback, I will."
That sent a chorus of mock protests through the room, but I ducked my head and grabbed my water bottle, hiding the smile that was already giving me away.
The rest of practice passed in a blur of sweat, choreography breakdowns, and vocal retakes. We were prepping for a stripped acoustic stage next week—one mic, no smoke, no lights, just raw vocals and the truth.
Aya and I were working on the harmony for the bridge when she paused, notebook still in her lap.
"Your voice," she said quietly, "it shifts when you sing."
I froze.
"You don't force the high notes," she continued. "You let them carry you. That's what real resonance is. You're not just singing a song. You're... Feeling, living the notes and lyrics."
She looked at me then—not judging, just observing.
I nodded slowly.
And that was all she said.
She didn't pry.
She just picked up her pencil again, and we kept writing.
That night, the dorm buzzed with leftover adrenaline and snack wrappers. Camille was rewatching a fancam of our debut performance, muttering critiques under her breath. Lulu was journaling while applying glitter to her eyelids for no reason whatsoever. Rhea was half-asleep in her hoodie with her phone still playing a lo-fi playlist.
I sat on my bunk, headphones on, trying to piece together the chorus for a new song. Something slower. Softer. Something about stars and choices and standing on rooftops with the wrong boy who might be the right everything.
My phone buzzed once beside me.
JAERIN:
If I asked you to meet me again, would you?
I didn't reply right away.
Not because I didn't want to.
But because the answer had already taken root in me hours ago, when our pinkies brushed in the hallway.
When he whispered that he hadn't breathed right since.
DWYN:
Rooftop. 20 minutes. Bring tea.
I set my phone down.
My wolf stirred inside me, warm and waiting.
Dawn didn't need to speak this time.
I already knew.
Some things weren't meant to be overthought.
Only felt.
And I was finally done pretending I didn't feel everything.
The city breathed differently at night.
The air felt like velvet—cool, quiet, laced with neon haze. Rooftops in Seoul had this way of making everything else feel small. Like you could be honest here. Like the world slowed down long enough for you to finally catch your breath.
I was already waiting when I heard the door creak.
Soft footsteps.
Then silence.
I didn't turn around.
Didn't need to.
"Tea," Jaerin said quietly, setting two cups down on the ledge beside me. "As requested."
A small smile tugged at my mouth. "You listen well."
"Only to you," he said.
I turned then.
He looked tired, but not in the way he did on stage. Not the kind of tired that cameras could fix. He looked like he'd been fighting something in his chest for days, and tonight, it had finally broken through.
We stood in the dark, the only light from the city below, and the one glinting in his eyes.
"I didn't think you'd actually come," I whispered.
He let out a low breath. "I didn't think I could stay away."
I sipped the tea. Jasmine. Still hot. Still trembling a little in my hands.
"I told myself this was nothing," he said, voice quiet but sharp. "That the pull was just instinct. That I could ignore it. That I should."
"And now?"
"I'm failing and maybe falling."
My breath hitched.
"I fought it," he continued. "For weeks. Months. Because if I didn't... if I gave in..." He shook his head, voice trembling. "I've seen what the bond does when it breaks. I watched my mother die loving someone who moved on like she never mattered. I swore I'd never let myself become that weak."
"That's not weak," I said fiercely. "That's human."
"Exactly," he snapped. "But I'm not just human, Dwyn. I'm a wolf who was told mates were sacred—and then watched fate tear mine apart. I lost my faith in the moon. In destiny. In everything."
I stepped closer. "And now?"
He swallowed, jaw clenched, gaze burning.
"Now I hear your voice and forget how to breathe. Now I dream of your laugh and wake up from where Dal throws himself against the inside of my skin."
He looked at me like I was something he didn't want to need.
Something he couldn't survive without.
"My wolf loves you already," he said. "And I think the rest of me does too. I just don't know how to let go of the fear."
I didn't say anything.
Just reached up. Touched his hand.
He flinched. But he didn't pull away.
"I'm not asking you to promise anything," I said. "But I need you to know—this bond doesn't scare me. You don't scare me."
"You should," he whispered. "I ruin things. I leave. I push people away before they can do it first."
"I've been left before," I said, my voice a soft knife. "I've been rejected. By someone who said he loved me, then chose someone else. Someone who didn't fight for me."
He winced.
"I don't need a perfect mate, Jaerin," I said. "I just want someone who won't run when it gets hard."
He looked at me like I'd cracked something wide open in him.
"I don't think I can be that person yet," he said.
"Then start small," I whispered.
He blinked.
"Start with tonight," I said. "Start with tea. With sitting beside me. With not pretending that this isn't real."
He didn't answer.
He just stepped closer.
And our fingers laced together without thinking. Like they'd done this a thousand times before.
We sat there, knees brushing, city stretching beneath us, bond humming low and warm between our skin.
There were no promises.
No dramatic kisses.
Just quiet.