#rkfeb19eval

the dance in itself is pretty lax, yoongi thinks. but he likes the beat of it, thinks the message of the song fits love enough for it to be a match. it gives jeongguk and yoongi a good chance to work together, an event he knows will be happening a lot; any time spent with the other he’ll take, because yoongi is greedy when it comes to jeongguk (but he won’t ever admit it outloud). practice is spent with idle joking, whispered talks and sweet glances when they can. they're still in a public setting, at work no less; but the time spent is nice and it feels easy, so it should have been a warning to what the day of the evaluation actually entailed.

and when they do start, everything is fine. jeongguk's voice is music when it hits the air, the beat of the song complimenting it nicely. the beginning of the dance doesn't have much dancing, so yoongi lets himself settle. and once it moves to his own part of the song the rap comes easy, the moves more sharp than his own chosen enjoyment, but not difficult to manage. he keeps his expression relaxed-- because yoongi does feel relaxed; even the eyes of trainers alike can't keep him from feeling at ease when he's dancing.

it's only when the music stops that yoongi allows surprise to color his features. the steps in his dancing stagger as he rights himself, and for a moment he's confused, eyes flickering from jeongguk to the watchful eyes around them. no one is surprised, some brief looks of amusement but they don't stop them, they don't do anything at all; panic scratches at his insides. jeongguk's voice falters and stutters a bit-- not sounding nearly as confident without the backing track. it takes a moment for them to figure it out again, but yoongi's mind is racing a mile a minute. trying to remember the counts, remember the placing. jeongguk doesn't even falter with the dancing-- easy and smooth so yoongi follows along with that, though he's much more clumsy, his movements a bit stilted without the music for a moment. it's difficult being caught off-guard and righting yourself, and yoongi doesn't have himself put together enough to execute it without looking like a fool.

he misses the first syllable of his part that starts up as they're in silence, cheeks and ears tinging red from embarrassment; from sheer humiliation. it's incredibly hard to keep on beat when the beat isn't there, and he tries so hard to imagine the song playing in his head; he's heard it so many times in practice, so many runthroughs he should be able to hear it in his sleep-- but his head is buzzing with white noise and his heart is beating a mile a minute. jeongguk's smiling and laughing everything yoongi twists and turns in the choreography, and he wants to laugh about it too. be amused and find humor in the situation, but the panic and anxiety is clawing at his gut, wishing, wanting to break out. and as the seconds tick down, the dancing gets easier-- but his live rapping struggles to keep up without the aid of the music.

at the very least, jinseok knows what his limits are.  of course he’s not going to be a great vocalist overnight, and picking ya as a potential song was actually a process of elimination.  of everything that he considered for the month, he feels like huta’s vocals, style, dance and rap are closest to what he’d be able to manage for a performance at the end of the month.

it takes a lot of work.  for a long time, he throws himself into focus on practicing for the performance because it helps to distract him from the other things that he doesn’t want to think about: the breakup, the fight with jinwook, the worry of his parents when he practically begged to spend a weekend back at home.  lately, jinseok’s been standing on a knife’s edge, trying to balance life and everything that comes with it.  thankfully with the appearance of jaehwan in his life, and being able to throw himself into practice like this, it helps to bury the storm for a time.  

he knows that he’ll have to deal with it eventually, but for now, jinseok works on his vocals.  he works on his dance.  he sweats, until he makes every move pop where it should and until his vocals don’t strain or give out while he dances.  then he sometimes stays with jaehwan, other times he goes home to sleep.

(  sometimes, he thinks of jaehwan when he practices and it makes it come a little easier.  )

performance day comes and he isn’t too worse for wear.  perhaps he’s not perfect because no one is going to be a main vocal in a month, but jinseok’s done enough practicing and enough polishing to give a solid performance.  that much he can give himself credit for, and he’s pleased with the results from this month.  hopefully, his coaches will say the same.

he’s a little confused though, about what the coach tells him.  he’s never not finished a performance, especially one for an evaluation so it’s a little hard to understand what they’d be reminding him for now.  jinseok still takes it in stride, and nods his head in agreement with a promise that he won’t let his coach down.  that he’ll show just how much he’s improved over the month, and give the performance that he wants to show.

the music plays, and things go off without a hitch - at first.  the amount of practice he put in makes things a lot easier, though that’s the same with anything: the more you work for something, the easier it’ll come to you.  the results you want will always show if you take the time to work for them.  

but then, things start to go wrong.  the backing track cuts out and jinseok honestly doesn’t even notice at first - the music still plays in his head and he moves along with it, so it takes a few seconds for him to realize that the audio isn’t playing in the background.  

but why should that matter? 

it’s starting to make sense though, why his coach told him he has to finish the performance no matter what.  after a simple and single quizzical glance upward, jinseok does as he’s told: he finishes the performance.  without the backing track, it’s a lot easier to tell where his vocals stand a little weak and clearly won’t match those of a polished singer, but he continues nonetheless.  where jinseok lacks in vocals, he still shines in dance and shines in rap - all of that hits well on key.

jeongguk’s genuinely happy when evaluations come around again, giving him the easiest excuse to spend more time with yoongi to work on the performance. he never really thought about the fact that they could end up in different companies, and their time spent together if few and far between because of it.

he’s also especially clingy towards yoongi in general lately, still suspicious that his parents are going to show up again.

he’d wrinkled his nose up at the fact that they had to sing or rap at first, not confident in his ability. he can sing, yes, but he still hasn’t taken the time to work on it very much. even during training he mostly focuses on dancing, always trying to stay ahead.

the song turns out to be rather easy, atleast from a dancing standpoint. the original singer, however, is leagues above jeongguk’s capability. his voice is higher, sweeter, and jeongguk has to lower the tone just to hit the higher notes during their evaluation. yoongi had given him praise during practice, so he can’t be that bad, the younger smiling thankfully at him for it.

jeongguk much prefers yoongi’s parts in the song to his own, enjoying the breaks in the dance to be able to just watch his boyfriend perform until it’s his turn again.

as soon as the build up before the chorus comes, the music is suddenly gone, leaving jeongguk completely flat footed as his body just continues with the dance like nothing happened. meanwhile, his mouth trips over the lyrics for a second before catching back up, smiling hard as he works through the pressure of having to finish their evaluation without any background music. it’s slightly awkward, since they hadn’t practiced it that way, and he’s trying hard not to stifle a laughter when he sees that yoongi is off beat as well, trying to just find amusement with the situation.

the look on yoongi’s features isn’t amusement though, and jeongguk’s smile is quick to fall from his face and replaced with a small frown, worried.

as they prepare, he encourages mingyu to engage in the choreographing process. he knows his boyfriend isn’t as confident as won wishes he was, but he doesn’t feel it’s fair to just tell mingyu what he has to do. he involves him in every step, every beat and eventually they come to a finalised piece that’s respectful of their need to sing and rap at the same time as dance and the lighthearted tone of the song. it’s by no means an intensive choreography ( at least not by won’s standards ) but it’s another he’s had a hand in creating and he’s almost embarrassingly proud of it by the time they stand in the practice room on the 24th. 

( especially given that they had less time than usual to prepare. he wonders why they’re holding the performances four days before the end of the month, but he supposes maybe there doesn’t have to be a real reason. maybe samsung just likes sundays. )

mingyu starts the song about ten seconds in, giving them chance to play around with their starting formation and act silly together before transitioning into consistent choreography once won comes in with his verse at around twenty-five seconds. he follows the beat in his head as mingyu raps, joining him for a little harmonisation here and there. even when mingyu takes the foreground, he continues the choreography in the back so he’s kept moving. ( honestly, even if he had chosen to stand still to allow mingyu to shine, he thinks his body would likely at least naturally and involuntarily follow his movements ever so slightly; won thinks it’s a dancer’s curse that he can’t stay still when music plays. ) 

자꾸 기분이 up 돼 생각만 해도 찡해 장난 아냐 no playing 확신이 들어

they join for the chorus, mingyu’s first verse following. maybe he’s a romantic but he’s always thought their voices matched well together, his deeper contrasting similarly to how baek yerin’s soft vocals do with san e’s more distinct, piercing rap. again, he’s probably biased but he thinks mingyu suits the song more than the original, san e often a little grating on his ears ( even more so since he found out what an ass he is but he can’t deny he really loves this song and baek yerin’s voice, regardless ). even when he’s fiercely rapping, mingyu’s voice brings him comfort, makes him smile as he continues into his verse. 

there is something going between me you me you me you me you it’s you and me you me you me you me you, it’s you and me you me you me you me you, it’s you and me and you.

they’re turning towards one another when the music cuts out. at first, he thinks it’s an accident, falters just in case, but then he remembers the instructions they’d been given going into this performance — execute your song to completion no matter the circumstances. now he understands what they’re evaluating; your ability to continue despite the disturbance. if his momentary hesitation counts, perhaps he’s already failed, but he quickly picks back up on the beat from mingyu’s unaffected rapping, clicking his fingers to mirror the beat he’d counted for them in their practices when creating and teaching the choreography. 

(so what)

I think I’m in love

자꾸 기분이 up 돼 생각만 해도 찡해 장난 아냐 no playing 확신이 들어

there is something going between me you me you me you me you it’s you and me you me you me you me you, it’s you and me you me you me you me you, it’s you and me and you

he doesn’t miss his cues after that, harmonising where he should and singing his single solo line just before the hook, their hands meeting in a fleeting romantic hold. truthfully, his assisting clicks probably help him more than they help mingyu. he is used to dancing with no music, but only alone. moving around mingyu isn’t as easy at full speed without the beat to guide him, even if mingyu continues to rap through his verses with ease. still, he’s determined not to mess this up, if not for himself ( he doesn’t know if he could live with the embarrassment of failing something so trivial; perhaps if they’d changed the song, he wouldn’t feel so guilty about faltering a little, but it’s not as if he can’t — and isn’t already — playing the song in his head in its absence out loud ), then for mingyu. if he messes up, there’s a chance mingyu will, too. it’s not like it’s so easy to continue to dance with won standing on his toes or bumping into his chest, after all. thankfully, he and mingyu have always had ( and built ) strong chemistry over the years and with small glances when they can, won knows he and mingyu are in sync enough to get through the rest of the song unscathed. he doesn’t wonder how this might’ve gone in a group, with so many people around you and trying to manoeuvre around anyone unsure or struggling and help guide them back onto the beat. he’s grateful mingyu is professional ( and talented ) enough to barely even react to the near silence in the room at the minute mark of their performance. his boyfriend continues to awe him, though won doesn’t think he’ll ever stop. 

he adds his own adlibs where he can, feels comfortable enough that they won’t disturb mingyu’s concentration, to help build the song back up again. it’s strange with no music; he feels all the space in between lyrics, feels the short seconds where they don’t move or are changing formation, calmly stepping back or forth or around one another rather than subtly as they dance. 

자꾸 기분이 up 돼 생각만 해도 찡해 장난 아냐 no playing 확신이 들어

there is something going between me you me you me you me you it’s you and me you me you me you me you, it’s you and me you me you me you me you, it’s you and me and you

after mingyu’s second verse and their third chorus, all that’s left is another repeat and the calming of the outro. though it might sound strange, won really enjoys the break down of the final thirty seconds. steadily losing layers of the track feels more natural than an abrupt ending or a fade in the last five to ten seconds at best. but mostly he enjoys it because it’s another chance for them to goof around with their choreography, with each other, smiles bright on their faces as they interact for the sake of the performance, matching the song’s playful vibe. ( just the words ‘me you’ have had won meowing on and off for the past two and a half weeks and that’s strange enough given that it’s only recently he even decided he liked cats. before, he’d have declared war on anyone who dared even compare him to the creature. ) 

자꾸 기분이 up 돼 생각만 해도 찡해 장난 아냐 no playing 확신이 들어

there is something going between me you me you me you me you it’s you and me you me you me you me you, it’s you and me you me you me you me you, it’s you and me and you

me you me you me you me you it’s you and me you me you me you me you, it’s you and me you me you me you me you, it’s you and me and you

and me and you and me and—

finally, they’re brought to silence and with a deep bow, they exit, won’s head held high. he’d ( hopefully understandably ) faltered a little when the music stopped, but there’s nothing he can about that now, and almost ( but quite ) as much as mingyu’s professionalism shone through in being unfazed by the change, won thinks perhaps his ability to get back on track so quickly is a sign of that professionalism, too.