#wn.eval

he doesn’t really do much preparation for whatever’s to come. you can’t really ready yourself for a surprise, but even with their hint to keep fit for this final week’s task, he doesn’t change any of his existing habits. after all, it’s not like a week is going to make any difference. if it’s something to do with strength, it’s not like lifting a few weights for seven days is going to suddenly make him as buff as captain america. he wouldn’t have any time to prepare if he were on a real variety show; even then they’d likely only let him know maybe a month in advance and that’s not much time to make any distinct changes either. he’d be going into whatever they threw at him as he is so it’s only fair that he does that now, too. 

( or maybe that’s just his excuse for being lazy. or maybe he’s just more interested in settling into his new home with his boyfriend. who needs variety skills when you can have stolen late night kisses? ) 

straight after this, he’ll be called away to do his scene for the royal boys opportunity, so he tells himself that’s what’s making him so nervous when they’re gathered for the final challenge. it doesn’t take long for everything to click into place, though. with a vest in his hand and a name tag ( frustratingly displaying his entire birth name, but again, beggars can’t be choosers ), it suddenly makes so much sense why they’d been encouraged to keep on top of their gym visits. 

running man.

he wonders momentarily who’d done the health and safety for this. how many pages had the risk assessment been? surely having all these trainees running around is a major hazard? not to mention that they’ve only been in this building for this month, how many of them are they going to lose just to honestly getting lost? as soon as won starts running, he loses track of where he’s going, where he’s been. every corridor looks the same when you’re trying to navigate anywhere, all the doors the same when you’re trying to find a suitable place to hide. that is the only way he’s going to survive this until the end, after all. won might have good stamina nowadays thanks to dancing, but he isn’t fast, he isn’t stealthy or sneaky. his chances of getting close enough to rip off someone’s name tag without sacrificing his own are slim, and eventually, he knows it’ll happen ( and hopes it does, because he doesn’t really want to be hiding here all day ) but he’d like to last in this competition a little while. if he can’t have a super interesting talent to do, at least he’ll have nailed the random play dance at the beginning of the month and not failed spectacularly here, too. he isn’t trying to prove anything, but it’d be nice for his crumbling ego. 

it feels like he’s there for centuries when only twenty minutes have passed. he doesn’t know what the status is of other trainees ( or how he will know — will they announce when there’s only a few people left? will the coaches roaming around know how long they have left? has this even been planned beyond their vests? ), but he anticipates that almost everyone is still in this. 

he waits a little longer, another ten minutes that feels like ten years before he ventures out. 

his first mistake, apparently, because within seconds, he spots another trainee at the other end of the hall. his fight or flight responses have never been excellent. only a year or two ago, he’d have fought immediately with snapped words and angry tones, but the other male is stockier than him and won has mellowed out since then, so he turns and runs in the opposite direction, knowing full-well that he won’t be able to outrun him. but maybe he can outsmart him. 

carefully, he weaves through the corridors, taking any turn he can to try and lose the other. it feels like another eternity ( have they even been playing for an hour yet? ) before he sees another trainee— or rather, the stars, as the two of them ricochet off one another and fall flat on their asses. it takes him a moment, but he soon comes to his senses and in perfect unison, they both reach for each other’s name tags. not willing to put up too much of a fight ( and knowing that he already has his fingers around the other trainee’s tag, too, so they’re both losing together ), he waits for the familiar rip as they both crown themselves winners yet losers of their battle. 

trudging back together to the gym isn’t too bad; the other trainee admits he, too, didn’t think he’d win and was just glad he got to take someone’s name tag in the game even if it meant his own elimination, too. won admits he himself lasted longer than he expected to, but that he’s grateful for the same reasons. and when they sit down, he doesn’t get too disappointed a lot from the coach watching over them in the gym, so maybe, just maybe, he’s a winner within himself this month, at the very least. 

realistically, it doesn’t make a difference when they perform these songs. they’re still performing them no matter what ( as far as he’s aware, though he wouldn’t put it past the companies to plan something like that ), so he should enjoy it while it lasts and worry about what it means when the time comes but it’s difficult to push it to the back of his mind. there’s enough going on in there already with all the changes he’ll be going through this month; trying to organise his thoughts is like trying to find a needle in a haystack. 

but that doesn’t mean he gives up either. if they only have a week, they only have a week, and he intends to utilise every second of it to nail this evaluation performance. 

for him, learning three choreographies in a week isn’t really that much of a challenge. he’s been dancing for long enough to be able to get the majority down in a single session, so he spends most of his time polishing things. ‘bad girl good girl’ nags at him the most as the days progress, with each time his knees hit the floor with a sting of pain. 

he’s misjudging the timing of the drop and he knows it but it’s hard to break a habit. the original artists drop down into a crouch and gently forward to their knees but won crashes straight to his knees, falters as he continues with the choreography and if it’s something he can’t shake soon, they’ll start to bruise and worse, he’ll do it in the final performance. 

otherwise, the dance comes to him in stages. it’s a girl group dance and a more fierce one at that but its femininity doesn’t bother him at all the way it seems to some idols. he’d even been complimented for it last year, for his ability to dance respectfully to female group’s dances ( though they hadn’t quite used those words, won interprets it as such — unfortunately, there’s far too many exaggerated covers out there for ‘comedy’ and won wants no part of it ). if anything, it gives him a sense of pride that maybe he can help others get over that perception of themselves, but maybe he’s thinking too hard into it. maybe he’s just trying to distract himself from the eight hundred other things he has going on at the moment. 

for the time being, it’s all won practises in his free time at training. as a group, they work together to perfect all three dances, formations, spacial awareness, synchronisation— they’re all at the forefront of their meetings together. in times like this, in the almost-silence of the practice room and himself humming the melody as he dances, he’s grateful to be alone. he loves the royal boys, but his own company is a comfort every so often that he misses having. he misses dancing out in the fresh air in a secluded area, his music turned down low so he wouldn’t disturb anyone. he misses wandering out late at night to offload stress and his worries, dancing under the moon and the stars ( even if he can’t see them in the city ). 

if he did that now, his knees would really be done for. 

admittedly, the extra tough gym sessions almost drive him crazy. his body aches all over, legs weak and arms hanging loosely by his sides once they’re finally released for the night to head back home. it’s not that won isn’t used to dancing all day — he is, and in all sorts of weather conditions, too — but instead that he isn’t used to building stamina so intensely. he isn’t used to the gym in general, choosing rather to do yoga for flexibility when he can. he knows that somewhere down the line, he’ll have to get used to it, a fit and at least toned idol a popular trend these days, but won hopes by the time his chances to be more public as a trainee ( or idol ), there won’t be so much pressure. 

once he sinks his teeth into the actual preparations and practice for mamma mia, he’s reminded that the issue isn’t so much singing whilst dancing, but singing so high. he’s not a stranger to either high notes or stability, but together is a slightly different story. on the mgas, when he’d needed to hit a particularly high note he knew he’d need his whole chest to nail, he’d slowed down the dance, come to a stop completely to focus on it, but the whole point of this challenge is that he can’t ( or shouldn’t ) do that. he’s supposed to show that he can sing a whole song from start to finish and dance the entire time without sounding like a deflating balloon with voice pitches and loss of breath. he knows he can do it — with the appropriate practice, of course — but it’s a little discouraging at the beginning of the month when his voice cracks on the seungyeon’s high note at the end of the bridge when he isn’t even dancing at the same time but still heavy breathed from the rest of the song. still, he doesn’t let it put him off. he already knows the dance, he already knows the lyrics, so he has plenty of time to work on seamlessly tying them together, bringing them to harmony. 

when the performance day rolls around, he feels pretty comfortable and confident in himself. letting it go to his head will only end in disaster but it’s hard not to a little when he’d not messed up in his run-throughs over the past week. it’d be about time ( and typical of his luck ) for him to screw up when everyone’s watching, but he tries to distract himself. 

personally, he thinks it’s a little odd to make them do this alone when it’s rare for any idol have to perform start to finish alone covering an entire song ( especially one not written for a soloist ), but he doesn’t question it. any excuse to perform kara, he’ll take. 

getting into position, he waits for the music to start before he shuts off his thoughts and focuses entirely on his performance. his expression is fierce at first, but soon softens as he reaches the first verse, the intense intro choreography nailed. for the most part, he follows the member singing. he’d had to make adjustments when he first learnt the song years ago to make it flow neatly for just one person, so he keeps them now, makes it harder on himself to stay stable so that if he does, it’s that much more impressive. 

hey play that music 오늘은 내가 가는데로 밤 향기에 이 분위기에 취할 수 있게 yeah

누구보다 나를 더 생각해 여왕처럼 나를 더 모실래 여기에선 하나같이 로마의 법을 따라따라 cherish me cherish me cherish me 멈추지 마

and for the most part, he does at full energy. the chorus is so much easier as even though they’re technically singing, the group coming together, won can get away with projecting his voice a little. it errs on the edge of shouting until the last words of each line, as he too sings, but it works because the song is so high impact. at least, he thinks it does and had always thought so watching his own recordings for mistakes. 

his only complaint is that once the chorus is done, it feels like the song is going too quickly because each verse between them is so short. 

hit the lights let’s go 모두의 party party party 맘마미아 오늘 이 밤의 밤의 밤의 시작이야 맘마미아 이렇게 불을 밝혀 줘

라빠빠리 라빠빠리 롬 라빠빠리 라빠빠리 롬 라빠빠리 라빠빠리 롬 시작해 it’s time to be ok

his english pronunciation is slightly off but he doesn’t think that’s something they’re really looking for here. he might not be saying quite the right syllables but whatever he’s saying, it’s loud and clear and that’s what’s important. his movements are sharp when they need to be, not too big but not too subtle. he tries his best to emulate the energy and vibe of the original, even if his voice is deeper. he hits as high as he can that fits with the overall key, stays in tune and pitch throughout. he’d spent most of his time practising working out when the best times are to take breaths, knowing that this song was not intended for one person to sing in its entirety. by now, it’s second nature. 

it’s so amazing 내가 돋보일 수 있는 걸로 조명아래 까만 실루엣 더 빛이 나게 yeah

누구보다 나를 더 생각해 여왕처럼 나를 더 모실래 여기에선 하나같이 로마의 법을 따라따라 cherish me cherish me cherish me 멈추지 마

suddenly, it’s the chorus again and he’s not tired but he can feel his breathing starting to waver. he knows he starts to become exhausted of singing the nearer he gets to the bridge, but thankfully, he’s saved by a long dance break between the second chorus and said bridge verse. it’s intense but it gives him time to even back out his breathing, get a few in before he has to start singing without a significant gap again. 

hit the lights let’s go 모두의 party party party 맘마미아 오늘 이 밤의 밤의 밤의 시작이야 맘마미아 이렇게 불을 밝혀 줘

라빠빠리 라빠빠리 롬 라빠빠리 라빠빠리 롬 라빠빠리 라빠빠리 롬 시작해 it’s time to be ok

not to mention the more stationary choreography— having to, for the most part, only move his arms for the time being means he can really hit seungyeon’s high note, really go for it when it matters. ( and no one can complain, because that’s how the original had been choreographed to allow the original performers to hit those notes, too. he understands the point of the challenge but if they get a break to show off, why can’t he have one, too? )

누구도 예상 못해 숨겨진 내 모습에 놀래켜 줄 널 사로잡을 뜨거운 이 밤 burn it up

without hesitation, he jumps back into the chorus, adrenaline pushing him through the remainder of the song, outro included, until the music stops and his heart pounds against his chest. he’s not quite lc9 level, but he’s proud of how he’d handled the performance; proud of managing to get all the way through without his voice cracking or stuttering over a syllable or dance move. perhaps the chorus wasn’t always the prettiest to listen to, his voice carrying a little as a shout, but given the nature of his material, of the whole group coming together to sing each line, he doesn’t think it’d matter if he, too, had a whole group beside him. maybe they’ll mind, maybe they won’t, but won doesn’t care either way. he’d loved performing kara, loved getting to honour perhaps one of his favourite songs of all time and nothing was going to bring him down. 

( except maybe next month’s evaluation; time will tell. )

hit the lights let’s go 모두의 party party party 맘마미아 오늘 이 밤의 밤의 밤의 시작이야 맘마미아 이렇게 불을 밝혀 줘

one by one, each camera topples into the next. a domino affect of what is probably far beyond millions of won crashing down the drain unceremoniously just as the door closes behind the last staff member. won’s initial reaction is to panic. if not because of the monetary value of the now broken goods, then because of the noise they had made as they smashed against the floor. they’re familiar sounds, the shattering of glass and the thud of a door as the coaches rush back in as the latch clicks. he’s thrown back to the chores, to the punishments, to how small he’d felt under a stern, disapproving gaze and more importantly, how long it’d been since he’d last experienced any of that. where he should feel grateful, he feels sad — sad that even after over a year, it doesn’t seem like he’s any closer to having healed, or to leaving all of it behind him. 

he can, unfortunately, understand the coaches’ immediate assumption that they are the blame. last the staff knew, the cameras were all perfectly aligned, watching them wait for their next instruction. they had been alone in the room, even if only for a second, so who else could there be to take responsibility? admittedly, it’s won’s instinct to do so — to hold his hands up and say yes, I did it even if he knows full well that he didn’t just because the punishment will always be worse if he argues. but this isn’t the jeon house. the coaches aren’t his parents. and as hard as it is to remember that in the heat of the moment, it’s the only hope he’s got. 

before he can even say anything, other members of the group are offering their apologies and trying to diffuse the situation — one even offers to pay to replace the broken cameras ( and won bitterly, but guiltily, thinks it must be nice to be rich like that, to be able to solve problems with money instead of a sharp tongue and expert persuasion — or long, fast legs sprinting in the opposite direction ). he wants to say that the footage on the cameras, which should realistically be salvageable though he is nowhere near an expert on anything technological, will prove their innocence as luna says, but he bites his tongue because he doesn’t know what he’s allowed to say. he doesn’t know the boundaries of what’s bad and what’s worse here like he always had at the jeon house. he doesn’t know what the lesser of two evils is; to speak up or say nothing at all. eventually, he manages a shaky, but sincere, apology and a soft, “luna’s right, none of us touched them, we promise,” in the hopes of not coming across as a completely spineless coward. 

when they return to sit with the other trainees in the waiting room, it seems there’s a heavy weight over everyone and won doesn’t usually notice things like that, so the fact that he does concerns him. a little while later and it’s revealed why, a late april fools prank, his shocked expression plastered all over the screens alongside every other person in this room’s. gotcha! won thinks it’s distasteful, but again, he bites his tongue. 

he barely registers what’s happening as groups are formed, and suddenly, he’s sitting with a group of girls ( most of which he only vaguely recognises, but that’s fine, he’ll gain a little confidence at some point this month to be able to talk to them freely ) waiting for their next instruction and truthfully, it feels like this month’s evaluation was made for him. he doesn’t know what dances the girls have in mind ( or if having him here makes a difference to what they would have chosen if he wasn’t ) but whatever it is, won already loves it. he’s already bursting with excitement, fingers tapping against his thigh in anticipation of what’s to come. 

he practices flashback, their chosen song ( and one that he adores and pounced on the second it was suggested ), at every opportunity. he asks mingyu to help him spot any mistakes he’s making, he even subtly runs through the movements in the canteen queue at lunch and dinner, desperately wanting more than anything to have the dance portion of the performance flawless by the end of the month. 

spotting the camera’s on him isn’t something he’s really at all worried about. after his experience on the mgas and joohyun teaching their group this very skill in the first group episode, he feels confident enough in his ability to push it to the back for now. he tries not to slack on it entirely, but recognises that it’s just as important to give the cameras a good show as it is to find the cameras. he doesn’t want them to be watching him intently if he’s going to mess it up constantly, after all. 

vocals, however, he does need to practice, especially at the same time as dancing, so that’s his next step once he feels comfortable with the choreography. he practices and sharpens his moves as he grows used to singing simultaneously, loosening himself as he hits the highest notes so he doesn’t sound shaky, or worse, cracks. it’s not easy and it takes most of the month to feel like he can really do it all the way through without error, but his group are reassuring, his boyfriend supportive, and by the thirtieth, won is ready to bring flashback to the samsung group’s many cameras, eyes trained straight forwards as they get into their starting positions. 

너무 지쳐 이러다 미쳐 내 마음 넌 몰라 ah ah ah

he doesn’t come in vocally until they’re almost at the chorus, but the choreography is active from the very beginning, giving him little chance to ensure he has enough breath in his lungs to confidently sing his lines. thankfully, plenty of practice help as he twists his head, finds a camera as his neck straightens back out and his hips shake to the beat. 

보이니 너 믿길 바래

the chorus always feels like it comes around quite quickly, but won forgets that this song is only a little over three minutes in total regardless. ( then he wonders how three minutes of dancing can be so physically exhausting, and how after school managed it in heels, but that’s not important when he’s trying to learn in practice. he has got to stop procrastinating all the time. ) he only has the one line in the chorus, but as soon as it’s over, he’s starting the second verse. 

love is like 거짓말이라 하던 sister 말이 바로 딱 사라져 tonight

after, he’s given a moment to recuperate, a little longer just dancing before he takes centre for the second chorus, sings the english lines with a slight lack of confidence he just can’t seem to shake. it doesn’t matter that they’re all relatively easy syllables, singing in a foreign language whilst dancing just makes him nervous. one or the other isn’t a problem, but mixing the two, especially with a choreography as intense at times as flashback’s, won just has to hope that he doesn’t make a silly mistake. he wouldn’t know if he did, far too lost in his own head, trying to focus on the dance instead of the lyrics. as long as he sings something that sounds vaguely like the lines, it’s okay. if he thinks about it too much, he might mess up both. 

bo bo bo boy I miss you baby uh uh uh bo bo bo boy I miss you baby yeah eh eh

eventually, he comes back in for the second half of the bridge, following the rap but introducing the dance break he’s adored since the moment he saw flashback for the first time. ( why had it taken him so long to learn this song? perhaps his old fears of learning ‘less cute’ girl group dances, or perhaps just others he loved more taking priority. he might never know, but better late than never. ) 

though it hardly matters with the formation, he feels honoured to be at the centre as they go through the break. he tries his best to meet the cameras he thinks are on him at each point he can, but with his head turned down so often, it’s hard to maintain contact. each time he straightens back up, the cameraman’s moved on, another focused on him to throw him off. he probably misses one or two in the short space of time, takes too long to find them, but he thinks he’s done well enough the rest of the performance for it not to matter so much here. maybe he’ll find out later, if they ask him to refresh the knowledge he gained from the mgas. ( he hopes not. )

들었니 내 맘 들리니 처음 느낌으로 돌아가

he would have preferred not to have another line after the dance break so he wouldn’t have to worry about trying to maintain stability in his vocals again and just focus on dancing with the power this song commands. it’s just one line, though, so he toughs it out and sings the best he can. it’s not as good as his first go at it in the first chorus, but it’s enough and he smiles as he leaves the camera’s attention, the cameraman moving to the next singer. 

보이니 너 믿길 바래

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. 

he wishes he could say he’s well rested and mentally prepared for what’s to come, but in truth, even just the dress rehearsals had taken it out of him. physically, no one would notice a difference because for the sake of a few minutes, won refused to allow himself to slack. he has enough energy to push through all this, but he hates the feeling of heavy eyelids and the fact that he’s looking forward to it all being over so he can go home. being out here, sharing a stage with freshly debuted and long-established groups should be, and is, an honour. he isn’t ungrateful for this opportunity, but seeing people around him drop like flies earlier in the week before they’d even flown out here forces him to the edge. he’s fidgety, beyond the point of tired because as much as he hoped he could, at least for a few days, sleep without mingyu’s comfort, he can’t. waking up every thirty minutes to an hour, it could be worse, but when won is so exhausted from everything else, it begins to stack. 

at first, he’d been excited. travelling beyond the borders of seoul is something he’s never done. when his birth family had gone on vacations, he hadn’t been invited, though a complaint never passed his lips. he took any chance to be apart from them, and if he didn’t fear what would happen when they finally got in, he’d have changed the locks while they were gone. 

that adrenaline rush had been short-lived when he realised the rooming arrangements, spending the next few days whining to his boyfriend about how unfair it is as if it’ll change anything. he ever tries to prepare himself for the suffering of snoozing cold and alone, and when it works, he feels a little of that hope and excitement return. 

it dies out again when they really get into the meat of their performance. as he watches the other trainees struggle with the dance standing front and centre, himself tucked at the back trying to guide their movements with patient teaching and watching one another in the full wall mirrors, he tries to swallow the disappointment settling in his chest. he might not be that familiar with jazz or contemporary, but he learns fast where dance is concerned— at least faster than those whose other talents far excelled their dancing skills. if so jisub has all these fantastic vocalists, why isn’t this dance-vocal performance at the very least? there’s comfort, sadly, in that other dancers are lumped at the back with him. outwardly, he doesn’t let it show, but whilst he isn’t jealous of those who got picked ( it isn’t their fault — there hadn’t been a sign-up sheet or anything ), he can’t help nagging thoughts creeping in. maybe he isn’t good enough after all. maybe he had only done so well in the mgas because he danced things he already knew, styles he had so much practice in. it could be as simple as not having been here long enough yet to be trusted to pull it off, but that doesn’t feed the narrative his insecurities have made for him — the one that launches him into his own thoughts, only ever pulled to the edge when interacting with others, as if they’re holding his wrist as his feet dangle over a dark, seemingly endless hole. 

he takes a deep breath. 

the concept itself, at least, he really likes. it’s a little cheesy ( but all the best things are — chick-lit, pizza ) playing on the company’s name, but he won’t ever pass up the opportunity to dress up like a prince. admittedly, he relates their costumes a little more to his favourite musicals and the way his eyes twinkle as he teasingly calls mingyu the phillip carlyle to his p.t barnum is more than enough to prove that. he messes with his collar far more than he should as their seniors finish up ‘tell me’ ( it’s so much better in person; far more so than his attempt on the mgas ). they’re up next and his palms are sweaty. he knows this choreography like the back of his hand; he could do it in his non-existent sleep if he wanted to, but there’s more faces out there than he had initially realised there would be, louder screams and more at stake. he just has to make it through this. adjusting his mask, he nods to himself, glances at his boyfriend for a last bit of luck and enters onto stage with the rest of the trainees. 

when the stage lights up, they’re frozen in place, a picturesque masquerade ball beginning with the chime of a familiar melody. ( he thinks he could hum this song in his non-existent sleep, too, though he can’t imagine that’d be as disturbing to see— or technically hear. ) ballroom isn’t his strength, even if he’d pretended it was at sujin and hyunwoo’s wedding, his hand on mingyu’s chest and mingyu’s on his waist, their remaining locked together at shoulder height. but as the speed picks up, so do their movements, twirls and jazz elements faded into the choreography. 

walking to the front of the stage isn’t difficult for anyone in royal’s trainee roster ( he hopes ), but the moment he reaches his position, ready to tear off his mask, he feels his stomach churn. what are the chances he pokes himself in the eye with its corner and must finish the rest of the dance with half his ordinary sight? what are the odds he throws it and it pitifully falls to the floor an inch from him and he immortalises himself as the royal boy who can’t throw for shit? ( unfortunately, scarily high. ) slender fingers reach for his mask. just like every rehearsal, he thinks, as he dramatically rips off his mask, launches it weakly like a frisbee, watching as it doesn’t knock out anyone in the front row nor flop sadly in front of him. maybe it doesn’t matter how the rest of the performance goes. ( it does. ) maybe he’s happy with that tiny, insignificant victory. ( he is. ) 

finally, his favourite part of the special stage begins. their style takes a much stronger jazz influence. though the centres might be the focus, it’s the trainees around them that continue the dance. ( nowadays, he’s seen this a hundred times, but at first, he’d thought the image of youthful soohyun — who can barely believe is over a year older than him — beside vibrant seonho — who he can absolutely believe is over three years younger than him, even if it makes him feel old — had been ridiculously sweet. they’re the kind of pair won can see as the leads in a music video or a full drama. he’d watch that. clearly, so jisub — or whoever had decided on this stage and its centres — agrees. ) 

it’s easier to focus on his own movements now, after so much practice, growing so used to the bodies moving around him that he instinctively doesn’t look at anyone or anything besides the crowd and the cameras. practising, he’d found his eyes wandering to the other trainees, looking for things he could help with or learn himself. now, he offers the crowd a small smile as he moves because despite all the thoughts that have been weighing him down, the insecurities and the upset, he is genuinely having fun on stage. it takes more than being pushed to the back to really dampen won’s enjoyment of performing, especially for a crowd, as a whole. even when the mgas took their toll on him, he felt elated as he finished up each round. 

unfortunately, it’s not long after he’s finished with the ‘best’ bit that he slowly exits the stage, replaced by established dancers that accompany hyoni as the stage fades into her recent release. forming their half circle around rose, he begins to step back, wonders how so much work over the past month or so can boil down to a little less than three minutes, but mostly—

fingers dance across his thighs as they ready themselves for the music to start. he wishes he could’ve fixed things before they had to stand here but he doesn’t have a time machine, doesn’t have the capacity to think about things clearly and efficiently. it’s difficult to know what to do when you only have two default settings: walls up, heart closed or sleeve pulled back, tears in his eyes. it’s difficult to know what to do when you don’t really know what you’ve done wrong even though you can feel in your heart that it’s something — it has to be something or he wouldn’t have slept cold all night, shivering even under the generous amount of covers mingyu had ( unknowingly, perhaps ) given him. if they can just make it through this, through both their evaluation performances, he can focus on figuring out what it is he has to do to regain mingyu’s trust, to make things right between them again. unfortunately, the answers can’t be found in books, in study guides and flashcards like every other question he’s ever had, but maybe he can find them in their synergy today. maybe he can dissect what’s missing between them when they’re dancing alongside one another, mingyu’s strong rap cutting through his softer vocals. 

이렇게 빠질 줄 상상도 못해봤어 넌 누구니 넌 대체 뭐니 메마른 마음에 단비처럼 니가 내려와 처음 느껴 이런 기분

니 눈짓 몸짓 하나 하나 날 유혹해 (baby come, baby come with me) 심장과 눈과 머리가 다 멈춰 섰어

they cut off the first 15 seconds to fit the song into the three-minute limit, but he still ends up starting regardless. the only difference is the force with which he begins, no lead up given to the first verse, but also no high to come down from. it doesn’t give him any chance to ease into things, to gain confidence before he has to master entire lines, but if he disconnects for the time being, it flows out with practised ease. it won’t start as the most charismatic performance he’s ever given, but it’s better than fucking this up, too. the very least he owes mingyu is his promise to nail these three minutes, to not make things worse. 

( he thinks he’s doing okay, but he’s not aware enough of his surroundings to know. ) 

우우우우 oh, pretty baby 우우우우 취한 것 같아 우우우우 making me crazy 우우우우 내 손 잡아줘

the choreography for the song isn’t at all hard for someone who’s dedicated so many hours of their life to the art. perhaps if it were a style he had never tried, a completely unfamiliar genre of song he had to vibe with first, then he’d have a harder time. any other time and he loves the looseness of the dance because it gives him a chance to mess around, let how well he and mingyu work together as a team but for now, he sticks to exactly what they’d practised, fingers forming perfect o’s as he sings along. mingyu’s first rap is coming up afterwards and won wishes there were more of it, more rap overall, to make the distribution between the two of them more even. unfortunately, his knowledge of rap songs is limited at best; he hadn’t known any retro-inspired songs with larger raps than this. at hearing the announcement of the evaluation task, his mind had first jumped to groups like kara and t-ara but those would be even less fitting for their skill set as a team. next time, they’ll find something that caters more to mingyu than him. they should be doing that more anyway; mingyu always bends to his will, isn’t it time he stopped being selfish and did something in return? 

뭐라도 좋으니 니 얘기를 해줄래 난 궁금해 널 알고 싶어 잔잔한 가슴에 바람처럼 니가 불어와 나 원랜 안이랬어

목소리 향기 하나 하나 날 자극해 (baby you, baby you so sweet) 숨결이 촉이 감각이 다 마비됐어

lost in his thoughts, he almost misses his vocal cue. dancing by now is written into his muscles, instinct even if his mind is miles away, but singing is still a much more conscious effort even for the bare minimum. like everyone else, he thrives when he’s focusing, when he’s got a steady balance of self-awareness and letting the music take over his body. today, that balance is a little disturbed. 

one glance at mingyu slaps him in the face, though. it doesn’t matter what the air between them is like at the moment; what matters is doing their best for their critical audience and for one another and making things right in the time ahead. he tries to forget things aren’t right for the time being, moulding himself around the way mingyu moves. it isn’t difficult; he’s been doing it for years, more so than ever in the last ten months, but it perhaps isn’t as natural as it should be. he hopes no one notices. 

우우우우 oh, pretty baby 우우우우 데인 것 같아 우우우우 making me crazy 우우우우 널 보고 있어

a second chorus and they’re already at the bridge, the time seeming like it’s flying at twice the speed now that they’re finally here performing. the sprinkles of english aren’t his strong point, his pronunciation letting him down a little here and there. he tries, though, he really does. he’d worried about it plenty over the month, determined to make their first duet as trainees as perfect as he possibly can. now, those concerns seem silly. 

네게 가는 길을 열어줘 나를 허락해줘 후회하지 않을 거야 내게 널 맡겨줘 oh baby

thankfully, after the bridge, there’s only one more chorus for himself following mingyu’s second rap. his high note had been clean enough, just about powerful enough though not comparable to the original. he isn’t as good as the soloist, that’s a given. he’s been training two months, focused on dancing most of his life, never had formal lessons until now — but he tries. all he ever does is try. isn’t that all he can do? 

once upon a time, he’d been thrilled to do this song with mingyu, the lyrics, albeit a little more physically driven than appropriate, fitting for how he feels about the older. any happy love song feels like it was made for them when he thinks of his boyfriend and maybe it’s because they’re so passionately in love with one another that this is so painful; that they’re having this moment of weakness. love isn’t just the dates, kisses and shared smiles, it’s every emotion amplified to its extreme. at least, it is to him. 

우우우우 oh, pretty baby 우우우우 데인 것 같아 우우우우 making me crazy 우우우우 널 보고 있어 내 손 잡아줘