Electric Touch

Prompt: The trainee dance room was buzzing — sneakers squeaking, choreography counts echoing off mirrored walls. Pop music pulsed from the speakers, the volume just low enough to let out-of-breath girls shout counts and corrections at one another. Yeji adjusted her ponytail, sweat sticking to her neck. It was just another day in the JYPE basement — same mirrors, same burning legs. She didn’t expect anything new. Then the door opened. A girl walked in with a duffel bag slung over her shoulder, black cargo pants, loose white tee, minimal makeup, but presence — like she knew exactly where she belonged in the room. Her gaze scanned the space once before settling on the instructor. Her name was Ryujin, they were told. New recruit. Rumor was she’d been scouted straight off the street. Yeji barely noticed anyone breathing — including herself. There was something about her. Not beauty — not just that. It was her confidence, the way she didn’t shrink under everyone’s stares. The way she looked back. Yeji’s heart kicked. She blinked hard, like she could shake it off. It had to be nerves. Training stress. Nothing else. “Alright, everyone — partner warmups,” the instructor called out, clapping twice. “Pair off.” Yeji looked around. Her usual partner was already with someone else. Before she could move, Ryujin stepped up next to her. “You got a partner?” Ryujin asked, voice low, kind of raspy, casual like she wasn’t new. Yeji shook her head. “No. Uh—yeah, let’s go.” (They moved to the far end of the studio. The air smelled like sweat, dust, and mint from someone’s open Tiger Balm jar. Ryujin sat cross-legged, stretching. Yeji joined, stealing glances.) “You just started?” Yeji asked. “Technically. But I’ve been training on my own for a while,” Ryujin replied. “JYPE’s just the official start.” “Cool. You don’t look nervous.” “I am. I’m just good at faking it.” (Yeji snorted. The sound surprised even her. She didn’t usually laugh with new people.) The instructor shouted again, and they moved into warm-up poses. As Ryujin reached across Yeji’s back to assist her stretch, their hands brushed. Just for a second. Yeji flinched. Ryujin raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. Just shifted into the next move. (Yeji’s inner monologue: What the hell was that?) (Ryujin’s inner monologue: Oh. She felt it too.) Change it, however you want and make it longer if you need to or want to