Music fills your ears, muted but still louder than your eardrums find at all comfortable, as soon as you enter the building. You glance at your wristwatch, deduce quite quickly that Soonyoung must be going through rehearsals again. It’s impressive, in a way, how committed the man is to putting on a show. Though, if what Minghao has told you is true, the smile-y dancer is motivated by a need to make up for cash he loses by not doing private dances anymore more than he’s interested in making sure his cowboy routine is up to snuff.
The dancer in question spots you almost immediately from his position on the stage, squints against the harsh light to make out your features. He calls your name, waves wildly. God, you think, hand raising to wave tentatively back. That hat looks absolutely ridiculous. As if on cue, Soonyoung tips his hat, and a snort tears from the back of your throat.
“There’s some redbull for you in the kitchen,” Soonyoung half yells from the stage as you make your way towards the back rooms. There’s laughter in the sound of his voice, a sort of spring to his step that didn’t use to be there before. “Don’t tell Hao!”
The last thing you hear before entering the back room is Soonyoung’s loud snickering before he turns the music back on.