Five bodies moving as one, synchronized to the millisecond, hitting every beat with precision that seemed almost inhuman. Jae-won anchored the center, his movements powerful and controlled, every gesture deliberate. Jin-ho flowed beside him, graceful and sharp, his dancer's body finding angles I didn't know were possible. Hwan commanded the left flank, all fluid charisma, his smile already in place even though no cameras were watching. Tae-min matched him on the right, explosive and dynamic, his energy barely contained. Min-jun wove between them all, the glue that held the formation together, his movements understated but essential.
Ours,my omega breathed, something primal stirring in my chest.All of them. Look at them. Ours.
They hit the chorus and the choreography intensified — formations shifting, bodies weaving through each other in patterns too complex to follow. They were athletes as much as artists, muscles straining beneath sweat-dampened shirts, breath coming harder as the song built.
I couldn't look away.
This was SIREN. Not the soft alphas who cuddled me in the nest, who brought me snacks and rubbed my neck. This was what the world saw — five powerful alphas at the peak of their abilities, commanding attention through sheer force of presence.
Strong,my omega noted with satisfaction.Fast. Could protect us. Would protect us.
The song ended. They held their final positions, chests heaving, sweat dripping down temples. Then Jae-won broke formation.
"Tae-min, you were a half-count behind on the second verse transition." Jae-won said, not unkindly but with the bluntness of someone who'd given this note a hundred times before, his breath still slightly labored from the exertion.
"I know, I felt it." Tae-min pushed sweaty hair out of his face, frustration flickering across his features, his jaw tightening with self-directed annoyance. "My ankle's still tight from yesterday."
"Stretch it out." Jae-won nodded once, already moving on, his eyes scanning the rest of the group. "Jin-ho, the arm extension in the bridge needs more reach."
"I'm aware." Jin-ho's voice was cool, but he was already adjusting his stance, practicing the movement in question with focused intensity, his reflection multiplying in the mirrors.
I watched them critique each other with the casual brutality of professionals, pointing out flaws invisible to my untrained eye. Hwan's smile dropped entirely when he was focused, replaced by intense concentration. Min-jun counted under his breath, working through a sequence that apparently wasn't clean enough.
"Again." Jae-won said, the single word carrying the weight of command. "From the bridge."
They ran it again. And again. And again.
By the fifth repetition, I'd lost track of time. They moved through three different songs, each with choreography just as demanding as the first. Water bottles were grabbed between runs, towels swiped across faces, quick stretches to keep muscles from seizing up. No one complained. No one asked to stop.
This was their job, I realized. This was what they sacrificed for the music, for the fans, for the dream. Hours in this room, perfecting movements until they became muscle memory, until their bodies could perform even when their minds were exhausted. I understood sacrifice for your craft. I'd written lyrics until my eyes burned and my fingers cramped, lost in the wordsuntil the sun came up. But this was physical in a way my work never was. This demanded everything from them.
"Break." Jae-won finally called, and the tension in the room released like a held breath, bodies visibly sagging with relief. "Fifteen minutes. Hydrate."
Hwan was the first to reach me, dropping onto the couch beside me with all the grace of a collapsing puppet, his head falling onto my shoulder. His skin was hot and damp, his scent intensified by exertion — sunshine and vanilla, but deeper now, muskier.
"So." Hwan's voice was breathless but still somehow playful, his hair sticking to his forehead in damp strands, his chest still rising and falling rapidly. "What did you think?"
"I think I'm intimidated." I admitted, and it wasn't entirely a joke, my voice coming out smaller than I intended.
"Intimidated?" Hwan lifted his head to look at me, surprise flickering across his sweaty features, golden eyes wide with genuine confusion. "Why?"
"Because you're..." I gestured vaguely at all of him, at all of them, struggling to find words big enough. "That. Whatever that was. I knew you were good, but that was..."
"Years of practice." Jin-ho appeared with two water bottles, handing one to Hwan before settling on my other side, close enough that his thigh pressed against mine, the heat of him seeping through the fabric. His scent wrapped around me too — rain and old books, sharpened now with salt and exertion. "Thousands of hours in rooms like this."
"Tens of thousands, probably." Tae-min sprawled on the floor at my feet, his head tipped back against my knees, not seeming to care that he was getting sweat on my jeans, his eyes closing with exhaustion. His ocean spray scent was stronger too, almost intoxicating. "We started training as teenagers. Some of us even younger."
"I was fourteen." Min-jun said quietly, leaning against the mirror across from us, his chest still rising and falling with heavy breaths, his expression thoughtful and distant. "When I joined the company. They taught me to dance, to sing, to be... this."
"Do you ever regret it?" The question slipped out before I could stop it, my curiosity overriding my caution. "All those years? Everything you gave up?"
The room went quiet.
"Sometimes." Jae-won's voice came from behind me, and I turned to find him standing a few feet away, towel draped around his neck, his expression thoughtful as he considered the question seriously. "When I see people my age with normal jobs, normal relationships, normal lives. I wonder what that would have been like."
"But then the music starts." Hwan added, his brightness returning, though softer now, more genuine, his hand finding mine on the couch cushion. "And I remember why I'm here. The feeling of performing, of connecting with fans, of making something that matters... nothing else compares."
"We sacrifice a lot." Jin-ho acknowledged, his voice low and serious, his dark eyes fixed on some middle distance only he could see. "Privacy. Freedom. Normal developmental experiences. But we gain something too. Purpose. Brotherhood." His eyes found mine, intent and searching. "Each other."
