Milo:

We’d just hit the final pose of the dance routine for our new upcoming single, and I was seriously out of breath. Sweat poured down my face, my shirt sticking to my back as I tried to catch up with my breathing. My legs felt like they were made of lead—no, worse, like they were about to give out any second. We must’ve run through that number at least fifty times today, and I was seriously done with it.

But my knee, the one that had been giving me hell for months, was holding up. It didn’t feel perfect, but it wasn’t screaming at me either, so I’d take it. Maybe this meant I could get back to normal. Whatever that even meant anymore.

“Alright, that’s it for today,” Hwan-seok called out, his voice echoing through the studio. Our choreographer wasn’t one to go easy on us, but even he knew when enough was enough. “Good work, everyone.”

A wave of relief went around the room as everyone started to scatter, heading for the exit. Most of the guys were already half out the door, ready to crash somewhere that wasn’t covered in mirrors and sweat. But I hung back, letting them go ahead. I needed a minute to myself.

Before I could fully catch my breath, Kwan appeared by my side. He had that familiar, concerned look in his eyes, the one I’d seen so many times since my injury. “You good, man?” he asked, glancing down at my knee. “You’re not overdoing it, are you?”

I forced a smile, trying to brush it off. “I’m fine, hyeong. Knee’s holding up better than I expected today.”

Kwan didn’t seem entirely convinced, his gaze lingering on my leg for a second longer. “You know you don’t have to push it, right? There’s no rush. You’ve still got time.”

“I know,” I replied, giving him a reassuring nod. “But I’m good, really. Just trying to get back to normal.”

He studied me for another moment, then nodded. “Alright, just… don’t be a hero. We all want you back, but not at the cost of you getting hurt again.”

He clapped me on the shoulder before heading for the door, leaving me with a small sense of gratitude.

Kwan didn’t have to keep checking on me, but he did. It wasn’t just the knee—he was always the one who made sure everyone was okay, mentally and physically. I was lucky to have someone like him around, someone who cared enough to look out for me even when I was stubborn about it.

I sat down against the wall, scrolling aimlessly through my phone while trying to cool off. Before I even realized it, I was back on Instagram, checking again for any sign of Orla. Still nothing. Same as always. I knew it was pointless, but I couldn’t stop myself. She’d left this weird mark on me, like a song stuck in my head that I couldn’t shake.

I typed her name into the search bar again, even though I’d done it a dozen times already. Scrolling through endless profiles felt ridiculous. How could I even find her? I didn’t have her last name or a clue what her handle might be. It felt like chasing a ghost.

“Still on that, huh?” Yoo’s voice startled me as he plopped down next to me. He glanced at my phone and smirked. “Man, you’re really hung up on her, aren’t you?”

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I groaned, locking my screen. “It’s not like that,” I said, knowing full well it was exactly like that.

“Sure it isn’t,” he teased, nudging me with his elbow. “You’ve been searching for her nonstop. You’ve got it bad, bro.”

“It’s just… I don’t know. She seemed different,” I admitted, running a hand through my hair. “I can’t explain it.”

Yoo’s smirk softened. “Hey, if it’s meant to be, it’ll happen. And if not, there’s plenty of fish in the sea. Don’t stress too much.”

“Yeah, maybe,” I said, though his words didn’t sit right. “Plenty of fish in the sea” always sounded like an excuse, like settling for something less. What if Orla wasn’t just another fish? What if she was the one who stood out? Letting her swim away didn’t feel quite right.

Just as Yoo finished speaking, the door to the studio creaked open, and Daiki strolled in, water bottle in hand, his expression smug as usual. He took a long sip, eyeing the both of us.

“Who are we talking about?” Daiki asked, leaning against the wall like he had all the time in the world. “A girl? Wait—does Milo have a girlfriend now?”

Great. Just what I needed. My whole body tensed up, and I gripped my phone tighter. The last thing I wanted was to discuss Orla—or anything personal—with Daiki. Things between us were already weird, like some unspoken competition that had gotten worse after I told him about the drama. Giving him even a sliver of information felt like handing him ammunition.

“Not your business, Daiki,” I muttered, hoping he’d drop it.

Of course, he didn’t. That wasn’t his style. He pushed off the wall, a smug grin spreading across his face like he’d just found a new toy to play with.

“Don’t be shy, man. You? A girlfriend?” He laughed, shaking his head. “I didn’t think you had time for that. You’re juggling our comeback, that drama, and whatever else. How are you even managing?”

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to stay calm. He wasn’t wrong—I was stretched thin—but hearing it from him? It hit a nerve.

“I’m managing,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

Yoo, ever the peacekeeper, jumped in. “Relax, Dai. Milo’s got a lot going on, but he’s handling it. Don’t worry about him.”

But Daiki wasn’t done. “You know,” he started, “people are saying you only got that part because of the fame. Not because you’ve got any real talent.”

There it was. The jab I knew was coming. Ever since I’d broken the news about the role, this had been Daiki’s attitude—sulking and petty, always finding ways to undermine me. Sure, I didn’t have years of professional acting experience, but I wasn’t completely clueless either. Back in high school, I’d spent a good chunk of time in the drama club, picking up the basics. It wasn’t much, but it wasn't nothing. Still, Daiki’s constant digs were grating. What was he so bent out of shape about, anyway? It’s not like he had even tried out for the part. So why turn this into something so personal?

I clenched my jaw, refusing to let him see how much his words stung. “Don’t worry about me, Daiki. I’ll handle it.”

He shrugged, his tone fake-casual. “Right. Wouldn’t want the group’s reputation taking a hit if you were to mess up on such a big stage.”

Before I could bite back, Yoo stepped in with a sharp look. “Alright, that’s enough, Dai. We’re all stressed, and this isn’t helping. Let it go.”

Daiki raised his hands. “Fine, fine. Whatever. I’m done here anyway.” He turned and strolled out, still wearing that stupid smug look on his face.

As soon as he was gone, I exhaled.

Yoo gave me a sympathetic pat on the back. “Ignore him. You know he doesn’t mean half the stuff he says. He’ll cool off eventually. So let’s go grab some food. You’ve had enough crap for one day.”

I nodded, grabbing my bag. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

As we headed out, I couldn’t help but wonder if this whole thing with Daiki was really just about the role or if there was something else going on. He's not usually like this and his attitude was seriously throwing me off.

I pushed off the thought as I glanced down at my phone again, hoping—just hoping—that maybe this time, there’d be something from Orla.

Still nothing.