The practice room was quiet, except for the faint hum of the air conditioner. Taehyun stood frozen in front of the mirror, clutching his script like it was a lifeline.
He had performed in front of thousands of fans before—singing, dancing, smiling until his cheeks hurt—but this was different. This wasn't choreography. This was intimacy.
And intimacy terrified him.
"You're too stiff," Seojun drawled, pacing slowly around him like a predator circling prey. He stopped just behind Taehyun, his reflection meeting his in the mirror. "If you act like kissing me is torture, the audience won't believe it."
"I'm not stiff," Taehyun muttered, though his body betrayed him—the rigid shoulders, the locked jaw, the way his fingers twisted around the paper.
Seojun leaned closer, his breath brushing the idol's ear. "Then prove it."
Before Taehyun could react, Seojun turned him around by the wrist, tugging him into position. The script called for a soft, tentative kiss. A moment of hesitation. Innocence.
"Don't think. Just feel," Seojun whispered.
And then their lips met.
It should have been a quick touch, a polite rehearsal. But Seojun's mouth lingered—warm, demanding, coaxing Taehyun into parting his lips.
Taehyun gasped, his heart hammering against his ribs. His fingers tightened on Seojun's shirt, pulling him closer without meaning to. Heat shot through him, leaving his knees weak.
When Seojun finally pulled back, his lips curved into a knowing smile. "Better. But you can't rely on me to lead every time."
Taehyun's face burned. "That… that wasn't acting."
"Wasn't it?" Seojun's gaze darkened, locking onto him. "Tell me, idol—do you want me to stop treating you like a scene partner… or do you want me to make you believe every line we say?"
Taehyun's breath caught. He didn't answer. He couldn't.
Because deep down, he already knew the truth.
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