The morning sun filtered through the high, narrow windows of Practice Room 4, casting long, geometric shadows across the polished floor. The air was cool and smelled of industrial cleaner and the faint, lingering scent of cedar. Vivian entered with a quiet, hesitant step, her sneakers squeaking softly against the wood.
Corvus was already there. He was mid-stretch, his blonde hair tied back into a small, messy knot at the nape of his neck. Sweat glistened on the back of his neck, catching the morning light like dew. He looked up the moment the door clicked shut, his sharp eyes instantly finding hers.
"You're early," he remarked, his voice steady and devoid of the coldness she had come to expect from everyone in this building.
"You too," Vivian replied. She stood by the door for a moment, the weight of her reality pressing down on her until she saw him reach for his bag.
A silence followed—a gentle, awkward silence that stretched between them like a thin wire. It wasn't the suffocating, jagged silence she shared with Soryeon; this was something unfamiliar, something that didn't feel like a threat. Without a word, Corvus walked over and handed her a fresh bottle of water.
"…Thank you," she whispered, her fingers brushing his as she took the bottle.
They moved to the center of the room, standing at opposite microphones for their vocal rehearsal. The track began to play, a haunting, mid-tempo melody that required a delicate balance of power and vulnerability.
Vivian began her verse, her voice airy and ethereal, but as she reached for a sustained high note, her tone thinned. There was a slight, audible crack—the sound of a voice pushed too hard by a body that was exhausted.
Corvus stopped the track immediately. The silence that followed was heavy.
"You're straining here," he said, stepping into her personal space. He didn't touch her—he seemed acutely aware of how she flinched at sudden movements—but he raised his hand, gesturing toward her chin. "Breathe from here—not from your throat."
Vivian blinked, her heart hammering against her ribs. She was surprised by the clinical gentleness in his tone. He wasn't criticizing her to belittle her; he was helping her survive the song.
"…Okay," she breathed.
She closed her eyes, focused on the grounding weight of her breath, and tried again. This time, the note soared, clear and resonant, filling the corners of the studio. When she finished, she looked at him. Corvus was smiling—just a small, corner-of-the-mouth smile that felt warmer than the studio lights.
"There you go. Better," he said.
Vivian quickly lowered her gaze, feeling a strange, prickling heat rise to her cheeks.
Far above the practice rooms, in an office that overlooked the city like a fortress, Baek Soryeon sat in a high-backed leather chair. He wasn't looking at the view. His focus was entirely on the tablet in his hand, his thumb scrolling through the various CCTV feeds of the building.
He stopped at the feed for Studio 4.
"…Tch."
On the grainy, high-angle screen, he watched Corvus step behind Vivian to adjust her posture, his hand hovering near the small of her back but never quite making contact. To a stranger, it was professional. To Soryeon, it was an intrusion on his property.
"Getting friendly, aren't we?" he muttered, his jaw tightening. With a sharp, violent motion, he snapped the tablet cover shut, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the empty office.
Back in the studio, the intensity of the morning gave way to a short break. Vivian sank to the floor, her legs shaking as she began to stretch her hamstrings. A shadow fell over her, and a protein bar landed in her lap.
"…I didn't ask for—" she began, looking up at him.
"You didn't eat breakfast," Corvus interrupted, his voice matter-of-fact as he sat down a few feet away.
Vivian froze, her fingers hovering over the wrapper. "H-How do you know?"
Corvus leaned back on his elbows, watching her. "You look like someone who forgets meals," he said simply.
A small, unexpected sound bubbled up in Vivian's throat—a laugh. It was her first real laugh in over a year, a sound that felt alien to her own ears. Corvus looked at her, visibly stunned. In that moment, with her eyes crinkling and the sunlight hitting the copper tones in her hair, her smile was breathtaking.
The moment lingered, a fragile bridge between two lonely people, until Vivian reached for her phone on the floor. At the exact same time, Corvus reached for his towel.
Their hands brushed. It was only for a second—a fleeting point of contact—but a jolt of static electricity seemed to snap between them. Both felt the heat of it. Corvus pulled back instantly, his expression clouded.
Vivian's eyes widened, her breath hitching.
"Let's… get back to work," Corvus said, clearing his throat and standing up abruptly.
The afternoon practice became an intense blur of movement. They moved through the choreography with a newfound precision, their reflections in the mirror moving as a single entity. Their breaths began to sync, the huff-huff of their lungs creating a rhythm more intimate than the music.
During a complex turn, Vivian's heel caught on the edge of a floorboard. She slipped, her balance tipping dangerously.
Corvus was there before she could hit the ground. He caught her by the waist, his arms strong and protective. He held her just one second too long—a heartbeat where the world outside the room ceased to exist.
Vivian's heartbeat spiked, thundering in her ears. She could smell the faint scent of salt and peppermint on him. He stepped back quickly, his face flush with embarrassment as he cleared his throat again.
As the session finally ended, Vivian wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. Corvus watched her, his expression soft and thoughtful.
"…You improved a lot today. You pushed through," he admitted.
"Because you helped me," Vivian replied, her voice soft.
Corvus hesitated, looking at her with an intensity that made her want to hide and be seen all at once. "Can I… give you a nickname?"
Vivian blinked, taken aback. "A nickname?"
He studied her face—the way her wide eyes were currently filled with a cautious wonder, the softness of her cheeks, and the way she held herself as if she expected the sky to fall.
"…Bear," he said quietly, almost shyly.
"Bear? Why?"
"You look soft," Corvus explained, his voice dropping an octave. "But you endure everything. Stronger than people think."
Vivian's breath caught. The words pierced through the armor she had built, reaching a part of her that had been cold for a very long time. "…No one has ever called me something like that," she whispered.
Corvus smiled gently, a look of profound understanding in his eyes. "Now someone has."
Vivian walked out of the practice room and into the cold, clinical hallway, her hand instinctively rising to her chest. Her heart was beating too fast, a frantic rhythm that terrified and exhilarated her.
Inside the studio, Corvus remained standing, his gaze fixed on the door she had just exited.
[Something fragile had begun. Something dangerous. Something impossible to stop.]