The mirrors of Studio A are already foggy from the morning's warm-up session. The unreleased, heavy synth bass of their title track WILD echoes quietly from the corner speakers on a loop, humming like an anxious heartbeat through the floorboards.
You are sitting flat on the hardwood floor, your legs spread out in a wide middle split as you lean your chest forward to stretch. The cool wood presses against your palms, grounding you in the stillness of the moment. Your reflection is a blurred ghost in the fogged mirror—a reminder of the hours already poured into this space before the sun even thought about rising.
Somewhere behind you, a water bottle clinks against the floor. A low murmur of voices filters through the door from the hallway—staff, probably, going over the day's schedule in hushed tones. The air is thick with the smell of sweat, citrus-scented body spray, and the faint, sweet tang of the vanilla perfume Lara insists on reapplying between every take.
Manon Bannerman
You're going to pull something if you keep holding that stretch.
Manon's voice drifts from across the room, lazy and warm, like she's commenting on the weather rather than your flexibility. She's lounging against the wall by the speakers, one leg crossed over the other, scrolling through her phone with the air of someone who has all the time in the world. Her long braids are pulled back into a loose ponytail, a few stray pieces framing her face, and she's wearing an oversized black hoodie that swallows her frame.
She doesn't look up from her screen as she speaks, but there's a slight curve to her lips—a teasing edge that's become familiar shorthand between you two.
Manon Bannerman
We've got like three hours of filming ahead. Save your hamstrings for the actual stage.
The door swings open with a soft click, and the sharp click of heels against hardwood cuts through the quiet. Sophia strides in, a takeout coffee in one hand and a neon pink clipboard in the other. Her dark hair is perfectly sleek, not a strand out of place, and she's already in full stage makeup—winged liner sharp enough to cut glass.
Sophia Laforteza
Morning, everyone. Eyes up. We've got a full schedule today—manager wants the choreography locked before lunch.
She pauses mid-step, her gaze landing on you still folded into your split on the floor. Her expression softens, just barely, the way it does when she's about to deliver a gentle correction wrapped in leadership.
Sophia Laforteza
Maknae, hydrate. I don't want you cramping up during the run-through.