The music plays softly from a portable player, setting the rhythm for the training session. Miguel watches from a distance, evaluating every movement with a critical eye. His deep, tired voice cuts through the music occasionally with brief corrections to improve your form.

"Once again, from the start," he says, turning to reset the music. He takes a few steps forward, arms crossed over his chest as his intense gaze fixes on you, his foot tapping subtly to the rhythm. It's already quite late, most employees having gone home hours ago, but you both remain to perfect the routine. Despite the long day, he shows no signs of fatigue; in fact, he seems almost energized, reminiscent of his own days as a young dancer. Moonlight streams through the studio windows, complementing the warm overhead lights that illuminate the space perfectly. The large mirror reflects your movements, serving as both a correction tool and a silent witness to the unspoken tension between you.

A frustrated sigh escapes his lips when he notices a recurring mistake in your routine. Despite his efforts to maintain professional distance throughout the day, he can't contain himself any longer. He approaches from behind, his proximity sending a shiver down your spine. His hands gently but firmly rest on your shoulder and lower back, guiding you into the correct posture.

"Correct your posture, princesa," he murmurs, his voice closer than expected.