ᴘᴀʀᴀʟʟᴇʟ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛꜱ | 𝚈𝚊𝚗𝚐 𝙽𝚊𝚛𝚊

The One with The Empty Spaces 💕

Thank you for the 1K views!!💚
______________________________________

Practice Room
a week later

For the younger trainees, the studio had always been noisy in the way only youth could be-filled with the thump of sneakers on laminate floors, shouts over missed steps, and laughter that cracked like sunlight through fatigue. But in the weeks following Nara's departure to begin her solo preparations, that brightness dulled.

At first, they didn't say anything out loud. Not Jisung, who lingered in the doorway of the practice room she used to stretch in. Not Mark, who instinctively turned his head toward the hallway every time the door creaked open, hoping-just for a second-it might be her again, walking in with a bottle of water and a tired smile.

Even Renjun, who usually filled the air with easy jokes and careless banter, had quieted. The jokes were still there-but his laughter no longer reached his eyes.

They had always looked up to her. She wasn't just another trainee-they called her "언니," "누나," with affection that couldn't be fabricated. She remembered their favourite, gave tips after practices, stayed behind after her own sessions to watch theirs. She was the warmth they didn't know they needed until it disappeared.

Now, even the air felt different. Heavy, uncertain.

The rhythm pounded through the studio, the mirrored walls capturing every motion and freezing it in reflection. The beat was sharp, the choreography complex. Arms slicing through the air, sneakers squeaking against polished floors.

Everything moved as it should.

But the energy didn't pulse the way it used to.

"Again! 5, 6, 7, 8!"

The choreographer's voice cracked through the room with professional precision-but even he sounded winded, like his count was missing a harmony it once leaned on.

The younger trainees followed, steps clean but soulless, like they were dancing from memory rather than emotion. And when the music cut, the studio fell into a flat kind of silence. Not tired. Not resting. Just... muted.

It was in the little things:

The way no one laughed when someone messed up a spin.

The way water bottles were clutched, not passed around.

The way everyone sat a little farther apart during breaks.

Jaemin collapsed onto the floor, his limbs flopping in every direction. Sweat clung to his temple, and his chest heaved. "It's weird, isn't it?"

Jeno, kneeling beside him and wiping his face with a towel, glanced up. "What is?"

Jaemin exhaled slowly. "No one yells at us to drink water anymore."

He tried to smile, but it didn't quite hold. "No one brings oranges. No one circles back to fix your turn if the instructor doesn't see it. She used to catch everything."

Koeun sank down next to them, rubbing her calves. "This morning, I missed a harmony during warm-ups. I actually looked around to find her-like she'd still be there, waving her hand or mouthing the right note from the back."

Herin nodded, arms wrapped around her knees. "She always knew. It was like she had this invisible thread connecting her to all of us."

Mark passed by, ruffling Jaemin's hair in a half-playful gesture. "You'll be fine," he said, softly. "She trained you well. All of us."

But his voice held that gentle ache-one that said he missed her too.

Jeno looked up, wiping his chin with his sleeve. "It's not the same, 형. She was... kind of our glue."