The basement vocal rooms at the agency had no windows, making it dangerously easy to lose track of time. It was past two in the morning, and the hallway was dead silent, save for the muffled, repeating loop of a piano track coming from Room 3.
Rami pushed the heavy acoustic door open, intending to retrieve the notebook she'd left on the piano console hours earlier. Instead, she stopped dead in the doorway.
Ahyeon was leaning against the mirror, her head tucked into her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent, exhausted breaths. The backing track for their main debut piece was playing on a continuous loop, but Ahyeon had clearly stopped singing a long time ago.
Rami didn't speak immediately. She crossed the room with quiet, measured steps, walked over to the audio interface, and tapped the spacebar. The instrumental cut off mid-measure, leaving only the sound of Ahyeon's unsteady breathing filling the small room.
Ahyeon flinched at the sudden silence, quickly wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her oversized hoodie before looking up. "Rami-sorry. I didn't know anyone was still here. I was just... working on the bridge."
"You've been in here for four hours," Rami said, her voice low and even. She didn't sound angry, but there was an immovable weight to her tone that instantly commanded the room. She walked over to where Ahyeon stood, stopping just a foot away. "Your voice sounds strained. You're pushing from your throat instead of supporting from your core because you're tired."
"I have to get it right," Ahyeon murmured, looking down at the floor, unable to meet Rami's eyes. "The producer said the transition needs more control. If I can't hit it consistently-"
"Look at me."
The command was quiet, but absolute. Ahyeon hesitated for a fraction of a second before lifting her gaze.
Rami stepped closer, closing the remaining distance between them until Ahyeon was trapped between Rami's tall frame and the wall mirror behind her. Without a word, Rami reached out, placing one hand flat against the center of Ahyeon's lower back and resting her other palm firmly against Ahyeon's stomach.
Ahyeon's breath caught in her throat. The heat of Rami's hands burned right through the fabric of her shirt, forcing her to freeze in place.
"Inhale," Rami instructed softly, her dark eyes locked onto Ahyeon's. "Don't lift your shoulders. Push against my hand."
Ahyeon tried to comply, taking a breath, but the stress of the night made her chest rise tightly.
"No," Rami said smoothly, her grip on Ahyeon's waist tightening just enough to command full focus. She leaned in a fraction of an inch closer, her voice dropping into a low, persuasive cadence. "You're overthinking. Stop trying to control everything and just let me direct it. Again. Inhale."
This time, anchored by the firm, uncompromising pressure of Rami's hand, Ahyeon let her guard down. She closed her eyes and breathed deep into her diaphragm, feeling Rami's palm rise with the movement.
"Better," Rami murmured against her ear, a hint of satisfaction trailing through her words. "Now sing the first bar of the bridge. Don't force it. Just let the air carry it."
Ahyeon opened her throat, the note coming out far smoother, richer, and more grounded than it had all night. The sheer relief of it made her body go soft, her weight instinctively leaning back into the steady support of Rami's frame.
Rami didn't pull away. She kept her hands exactly where they were, maintaining her absolute grip on Ahyeon's posture and rhythm. "See? You don't need to strain. You just need to follow my lead."
Ahyeon nodded weakly, completely captivated by the calm, dominant presence enveloping her. The exhaustion was still there, but the panic was gone-replaced entirely by a quiet surrender to Rami's direction.
