Chapter Text
The practice room was finally empty, the fluorescent lights dimmed to half after the last trainee shuffled out around 11:30 p.m. Sophia Laforteza lingered, as she usually did. Not because she thought she was better than anyone– just because there was always something to fix. A sharper turn in the choreo. A breath control issue in the bridge. A facial expression that felt forced when she watched the playback.
She wiped her face with the hem of her oversized tee, ponytail coming loose, strands sticking to her neck. The mirrors showed a girl who looked tired but determined: dark circles under her eyes from late nights, but posture straight, ready for one more run-through.
Three weeks into The Debut: Dream Academy, and the pressure was already suffocating. Twenty girls. Endless evaluations. Cameras everywhere. Sophia kept reminding herself why she was here– to make her family proud, to prove she belonged, to debut no matter what. She wasn't the flashiest, but she was consistent. Diligent. That's what her mom always said: “You're the one who keeps going when everyone else stops, anak.”
She restarted the Mission 1 track, counting herself in under her breath.
The door opened quietly. Sophia didn't startle– she recognized the footsteps.
Marquise stepped in, holding two iced Americanos like always. She was in her usual post-practice look: baggy hoodie, bike shorts, red hair braided messily. She set one coffee on the floor speaker near Sophia without a word, then leaned against the mirrored wall, watching.
“You're still here,” Marquise said softly, no teasing edge. Just observation.
Sophia paused the music, catching her breath. “Couldn't get the footwork right on the second verse. Felt off.” She gave a small, self-deprecating smile. “You know how it is.”
Marquise nodded. “I do. You looked solid earlier, though. Coaches were nodding during your part.”
Sophia shrugged, cheeks warming a little. “They nod at everyone. Doesn't mean much.” She picked up the coffee, taking a grateful sip. “Thanks for this. You didn't have to.”
Marquise shrugged back, mirroring her. “I was grabbing one anyway.”
They'd fallen into this routine a couple weeks ago. Late-night practices overlapping. Shared silence turning into conversation. Conversation turning into… more. It started one night when Marquise had stayed to help Sophia with a tricky transition, hands on her waist to adjust the timing. The touch lingered. Then a kiss– quick, testing. Then another night, another kiss, hands wandering. No big declarations. No “what are we?” talks. Just comfort. Release. A way to unwind in a place that never lets you breathe.
Most of the other trainees knew, or at least guessed. The knowing glances in the hallway. The way Marquise would drop by Sophia's spot during breaks with an extra water bottle. No one said anything outright– everyone had their own secrets, their own stress-relief. As long as it didn't reach the coaches or producers, it stayed quiet.
Sophia liked it that way. Low pressure. Easy.
Marquise stepped closer now, brushing a loose strand from Sophia's forehead. “You okay? You seem… quieter tonight.”
Sophia leaned into the touch just a fraction. “Just tired. And thinking too much about tomorrow's group run. I don't want to mess up the formation again.”
“You won't.” Marquise's voice was steady. “You're always prepared.”
Sophia laughed softly. “Trying to be.”
Marquise's hand slid to the back of Sophia's neck, thumb brushing gently. “Come here.”
They met halfway– slow kiss, familiar now. No rush. Sophia's hands found Marquise's waist under the hoodie, warm skin against her palms. It was easy to lose herself in it for a minute: the taste of coffee on Marquise's lips, the way she sighed into Sophia's mouth like she'd been waiting all day.
They broke apart when air became necessary. Marquise rested her forehead against Sophia's. “Better?”
“A little,” Sophia admitted, smiling small.
Marquise tugged her toward the stacked mats in the corner. “Sit with me for a sec. Before you kill yourself on that choreo again.”
They sank down together, backs against the wall. Marquise stretched her legs out, Sophia curling hers up. For a while they just sat, shoulders touching, sipping coffee in a comfortable silence.
“You missed part of practice today,” Sophia said eventually, not accusing– just stating. Marquise had come in twenty minutes late after a scheduling mix-up with wardrobe for promo shots. The group had to rework lines on the fly.
Marquise winced. “Yeah. Sorry about that. They pulled me for extra fittings. I texted the group chat, but…” She trailed off. “I know it threw things off.”
Sophia nodded slowly. “It did. A little. But we managed.” She paused. “Just… try to make it on time if you can? Everyone's stressed.”
“I will.” Marquise squeezed her hand once. “Promise.”
Sophia believed her. Marquise wasn't careless– she was just pulled in a lot of directions. Modeling gigs on top of training. It wasn't her fault the schedule was brutal.
They kissed again, slower this time. Hands roaming gently– Marquise's fingers tracing Sophia's collarbone, Sophia's sliding up Marquise's back. Clothes stayed on mostly; it was late, and they both knew better than to risk too much. But it was enough. Warm. Grounding.
After, they fixed hair and clothes, and shared the last of the second coffee. Marquise stood first, offering a hand to pull Sophia up.
“Get some rest,” Marquise said. “Big day tomorrow.”
“You too.” Sophia hesitated, then added quietly, “Thanks for staying.”
Marquise smiled – soft, genuine. “Anytime.”
She left first. Sophia waited a few minutes, then followed.
Back in the dorm, most lights were off. Sophia slipped into her bunk quietly. Across the room, Daniela was awake, phone glow lighting her face. She glanced over, eyebrow raised in that familiar, knowing way.
“Late practice?” Daniela whispered.
Sophia gave a tired nod. “Yeah.”
Daniela smirked faintly but didn't push. “Get sleep, Soph. You need it.”
Sophia murmured agreement, pulling the blanket up. She stared at the ceiling, body still buzzing faintly from Marquise's touch. It was nice– simple. No complications.
But something nagged at her, small and unnamed.
Tomorrow, a new trainee was joining.
Manon Bannerman.
Visa delays had kept her out for weeks; now she was finally arriving. The producers had hyped it during dinner– extra catch-up sessions, special evaluations. “High potential,” they'd said. “Worth the wait.”
Sophia didn't know why it made her stomach twist a little. She'd never met the girl.
Maybe it was just the disruption. Another person to integrate. More adjustments to formations. More competition.
She rolled onto her side, closing her eyes.
She was here to work. To improve. To debut.
The rest could wait.
***
Morning came too soon– 7 a.m. call time. Sophia was up early, stretching in the hallway, reviewing notes from yesterday's feedback.
The group gathered in the main practice room. Coaches chatting, music testing.
At 7:12, the door opened.
Manon walked in.
Tall, poised, dark hair loose and wavy, trainee sweats fitting like they were made for her. She smiled– warm, a touch shy– and bowed slightly to the room.
“Hi, everyone. Sorry I'm late starting… thank you for having me.”
Her voice was soft, a little accented over perfect English.
The choreographer clapped once. “Manon! Welcome. We'll get you caught up quickly. Take a spot in the back for now; we'll adjust as we go.”
Manon nodded, moving to an open space. She caught eyes with a few girls– small smiles, quick hellos. When her gaze landed on Marquise, Marquise gave a friendly wave. Manon waved back, then laughed quietly at something Marquise mouthed across the room.
Sophia watched from her spot near the front.
She told herself it was nothing. Just polite.
But Manon picked up the warm-up stretches fast– clean lines, natural grace.
During the first run-through, she shadowed the choreo accurately even without full instruction.
Sophia focused on her own marks. Sharp. Precise. Modest effort, maximum result.
But she noticed.
How Manon's presence shifted the energy– subtle, but there.
How Marquise glanced over during water break, grinning at something Manon said.
Sophia's grip on her bottle tightened, just a fraction.
She shook it off.
Took a breath.
She was fine.
They all were.
But the quiet spark was already there– small, flickering, impossible to ignore forever.
***
The main practice room felt smaller with twenty-one bodies in it now.
Sophia arrived at 6:45 a.m., the earliest she’d ever managed. She liked the quiet before the chaos – the soft hum of the air conditioning, the faint echo of her own footsteps on the sprung floor, the way she could run through warm-ups without anyone watching. She stretched in the corner near the mirrors, rolling her shoulders, breathing deep. Yesterday’s coffee with Marquise still sat warm in her stomach, a small comfort she tried not to overthink.
Today was the first full group evaluation since Manon’s arrival. Mission 1 choreography run-through, followed by individual feedback and a mini-ranking discussion. The coaches had warned them last night: “We’re watching how you adapt. Flexibility matters.”
Sophia knew what that really meant.
Adapt to the new girl, or get left behind.
She finished her stretches just as the others started trickling in. Lara first, yawning and waving. Megan next, already humming the chorus under her breath. Daniela arrived with two protein bars, tossing one to Sophia without asking.
“Eat,” Daniela said. “You look like you’re about to faint.”
Sophia caught it, smiling faintly. “I’m fine. Just… focused.”
Daniela raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. She knew Sophia well enough by now – knew the quiet intensity that meant I’m nervous but I won’t say it out loud.
Marquise came in a few minutes later, hair still damp from a quick shower, hoodie zipped halfway. She caught Sophia’s eye across the room and gave a small, private nod – nothing obvious, just enough to say I see you. Sophia nodded back, then looked away before anyone noticed the tiny flush creeping up her neck.
Manon was one of the last to arrive, slipping in at 7:08 with an apologetic half-smile. She’d tied her dark hair into a sleek ponytail, trainee sweats rolled at the ankles, and carried a small notebook tucked under her arm. She bowed quickly to the coaches, then found a spot near the back row.
The choreographer clapped once, sharp. “Alright, everyone. Full run-through. Positions as we practiced yesterday – Manon, you’ll shadow Lara for now until we lock in the final formation. We’ll do three takes, then feedback. No talking during. Go.”
They took their marks.
Sophia was center-front for the opening eight counts – the part she’d drilled until her calves ached. She felt the familiar adrenaline spike as the music started: heavy bass, sharp synths, the kind of beat that demanded precision.
The first run was clean. Mostly.
Manon shadowed well – mirroring Lara’s movements with surprising accuracy for someone who’d only had one day. But on the transition into the pre-chorus, when the group split into two diagonal lines, Manon hesitated half a second. Lara adjusted instinctively, stepping wider to cover the gap. The formation held, but it looked off – stretched, uneven.
Sophia caught it from the corner of her eye.
Second run: better. Manon anticipated the split this time, but her timing on the shoulder roll was a fraction early, throwing off the girl behind her. Another small ripple.
By the third run, the coaches were murmuring to each other.
When the music cut, the choreographer crossed her arms. “Okay. Notes. Overall stronger than yesterday, but we’re still seeing adjustment lag. Manon – you’re picking it up fast, but we need you locked in yesterday. The rest of you – stop compensating. If someone’s off, let it show. We need to see the weak links.”
Sophia’s stomach twisted. She knew what was coming.
The main vocal coach stepped forward next. “Formation talk. We’re locking this today. Manon, move up to the third row, center-left. Lara, shift right. Sophia – you’ll take the front-center adjustment. Everyone else, slide accordingly.”
Sophia blinked. Front-center was her spot – the one she’d earned through weeks of clean runs and quiet consistency. But she didn’t argue. She just nodded, stepping forward as the group reshuffled.
Manon moved into her new place – directly behind Sophia now, close enough that Sophia could smell the faint citrus of her shampoo when she turned her head slightly.
They ran it again.
This time the lines were tighter. Manon matched the tempo perfectly. But on the big drop – the part where everyone dropped low and popped back up – Sophia felt the air shift behind her. Manon’s arm brushed hers on the way up, accidental, barely there.
Sophia faltered. Just a millisecond. Her knee wobbled, recovery quick, but the coaches saw.
“Sophia,” the choreographer called. “What was that?”
Heat flooded Sophia’s face. “Sorry. I lost my balance for a second.”
“Focus. We can’t afford slips in the front.”
Sophia nodded tightly, jaw set. She didn’t look back at Manon. Didn’t want to see if the other girl noticed.
Feedback dragged on. Individual comments. Manon got praise – “Quick learner, strong stage presence, keep building stamina.” Sophia got “Clean as always, but don’t let distractions pull you out of it.”
The word distractions landed like a slap.
Practice ended at noon. The group scattered – some to lunch, some to vocal booths, some to collapse in the dorm lounge. Sophia stayed behind, pretending to review notes on her phone. Really, she just needed a minute to breathe.
Footsteps approached.
“You okay?” Manon’s voice – soft, careful.
Sophia looked up. Manon stood a few feet away, water bottle in hand, expression neutral but not cold.
“Yeah,” Sophia said. “Just… processing.”
Manon nodded slowly. “I know the adjustment threw things off. I’m sorry if my timing messed with your run.”
Sophia’s instinct was to brush it off – it’s fine, happens – but something stubborn rose instead. “It’s not just your timing. It’s the whole reshuffle. We had it locked before.”
Manon didn’t flinch. “I get that. I’m trying to catch up as fast as I can.”
“I know.” Sophia exhaled. “I just… we’re all on a razor’s edge here. One slip and–” She stopped herself. “Never mind.”
Manon studied her for a second. “You’re the one who always stays late, right? Fixing things for everyone.”
Sophia shrugged, cheeks warming again. “Someone has to.”
A small smile tugged at Manon’s mouth – not mocking, almost fond. “Yeah. Someone does.”
She hesitated, then added quietly, “I’m not trying to make it harder. I just want to be here. Really here.”
Sophia met her eyes – hazel, steady, a little vulnerable under the confidence. Something in Sophia’s chest loosened, just a fraction.
“I know,” she said again, softer this time. “Just… give us time to adjust too?”
Manon nodded. “Deal.”
She turned to leave, then paused. “You’re really good, by the way. Like – scary good. I watched your parts yesterday. You don’t miss a beat.”
Sophia blinked, surprised. “Thanks. You’re… not bad yourself.”
Manon’s smile grew, small but real. “High praise.”
Then she was gone, ponytail swinging as she disappeared down the hallway.
Sophia stood there longer than she meant to, replaying the conversation. The way Manon had looked at her – not challenging, not pitying. Just… seeing her.
She shook her head, grabbed her bag, and headed to the dorm.
Marquise was waiting in the hallway outside their shared floor, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed.
“Rough morning?” she asked.
Sophia sighed. “You could say that.”
Marquise pushed off the wall, falling into step beside her. “Want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“Want to not talk about it in my room?”
Sophia glanced at her – the easy smile, the familiar warmth. Relief washed through her.
“Yeah,” she said. “I do.”
They slipped into Marquise’s room – small, cluttered with skincare and lyric notebooks. Door closed, lights low. No words needed.
Marquise pulled her in first – gentle kiss, hands on Sophia’s waist. Sophia melted into it, letting the tension drain out through touch. Clothes came off slowly. Hands moved with quiet familiarity. It was soft today, unhurried – Marquise’s mouth on her collarbone, Sophia’s fingers in red hair, the kind of comfort that didn’t demand anything back.
After, they lay tangled under the thin blanket, breathing steady. Marquise traced lazy circles on Sophia’s stomach.
“You’re thinking too hard again,” Marquise murmured.
Sophia huffed a small laugh. “Always.”
“About the evaluation?”
“About… everything.” Sophia paused. “Manon’s good. Really good. And it’s messing with my head a little.”
Marquise propped herself on one elbow, looking down at her. “You’re allowed to feel that. Doesn’t mean anything bad.”
Sophia searched her face. “You’re not mad?”
“Why would I be mad?” Marquise’s voice was gentle. “We’re not… we’re just this. You know that.”
Sophia nodded, but the knot in her chest didn’t fully loosen.
They stayed quiet for a while. Marquise eventually got up to grab water, leaving Sophia staring at the ceiling.
She thought about Manon’s smile in the practice room. The way she’d said you’re scary good like it was a fact, not flattery. The accidental brush of arms during choreo that still lingered on Sophia’s skin like static.
She closed her eyes.
It was nothing.
Just adjustment stress.
Just survival-show pressure.
Nothing more.
But when she finally drifted toward sleep – Marquise’s steady breathing beside her – the last image in her mind wasn’t red hair or familiar hands.
It was dark waves in a high ponytail, hazel eyes that saw too much, and a quiet voice saying deal.
The spark flickered again.
Smaller than yesterday.
But brighter.