#wn.live

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—

it hits harder than he expects placing second from bottom, and even more so when changmin goes home. seeing someone he’d watched work so hard leave is another reminder that no one is safe. regardless of age, skill level, upbringing, popularity — no one is safe. 

( except the producers’ picks, of course, but from the inside and being so painfully inexperienced socially, he can’t tell who they are, anyway, so for all intents and purposes, no one is safe. ) 

he can’t even bring himself to be happy for mingyu who placed higher than him ( where he rightfully belongs ) because even his team places sixth and sees a member go home and won doesn’t really understand. after three weeks, he thinks it should be obvious to him what they’re looking for by now but he doesn’t understand. it’s a knee-jerk reaction; to wonder what lacked from the whole package that is his boyfriend, and from himself who had been so proud of what he and his team had achieved. he draws a blank.

he wishes he could say it motivates him to do absolutely everything he can to be better in the following week, but maybe it’s just the timing of it all, but instead, he draws further into his shell, wonders things he hasn’t thought about since december as he listens to his group chat around him. 

instead, what motivates him, and what he wishes was his main driver for the week instead for its healthier repercussions, is his team. having sua’s familiar ( and reassuring ) personality around makes him feel safe, and junhoe’s fire sparks his own, pulling him momentarily out from behind his protective shield every so often to quip back a playful tease. he’d never met donghyun or guanlin before, but he’d seen their other performances, seen their names pop up online in comments he certainly shouldn’t be reading at three am when he can’t sleep. after a little time with them, he warms enough to pitch in a nod of the head when he agrees with something said in discussion and this is how they decide upon a song, having thrown around close to a million before settling on one he agrees is a strong enough release in its own right to give them a chance of at least grabbing attention. that seems like half the fight with so many contestants and groups at this point. 

having seen mingyu rarely come home the week before, he wonders if that’s the difference between eighth and sixth place, wonders if he didn’t do enough in the ceos eyes to help his team push towards the top. maybe he comes across as uninterested because he happily went home each night to see mingyu’s family and sleep in a comfortable, albeit cold and lonely bed. it’s difficult to persuade the others to let him stay behind, and one night in particular there’s nothing he can say to convince them to leave him once they all go over to sua’s for a sleepover. ( and when mingyu asks him to come home on tuesday, the guilt of evening thinking about saying no begins to eat him alive. ) nights he can, he sleeps on the practice room floor for a few hours a night, wakes up before the others can arrive and quietly shrugs if asked if he’d been here all night or what time he’d arrived. he doesn’t call sujin, not after seeing himself on television the sunday before; in fact, he barely even touches his phone at all, only to text mingyu back and turn off his alarms as he stretches out tired arms. 

halfway through the week, he decides this group is less familiar than his previous, even if he already knows half the members. they bicker more than he had seen in team g, particularly junhoe and sua’s unaligned perceptions of leadership. ( even somi, who he had started the week petrified of, had become someone he could at least make eye contact with for longer than ten seconds without trembling. ) luckily, they vibe well in performance mode from what won can tell. 

( but he doesn’t know a thing, really, does he? ) 

despite his uncertainty, and despite learning the choreography himself that week, he does his best to help those struggling. he’s not the most talkative instructor, but he is precise in his movements and patient in his teaching. he’s sat in on enough of the lessons at the studio he used to clean to know that getting frustrated doesn’t help anyone. some things take time, even if realistically, they don’t have too much of it. 

he just doesn’t want to be a bother, or worse; useless. 

he doesn’t want to be eighth again. 

another motivator for their success, strangely, is meeting sua’s beagle. in a week where won struggled to find anything that made him truly feel at peace, seeing the wagging tail of a new dog had made the brightest smile stretch his features. maybe it’s stupid, but it makes him feel a little more energised seeing the endless, carefree happiness of a pup. once, years ago when he was young, he had been like that. he doesn’t need to ask himself what happened, but he does ask himself why he can’t still fight to be now that things are better for him. why is he letting so many things drag him down? 

it’s not what they want to see, but why isn’t he just focusing on enjoying this opportunity? 

he smiles as they bow. “lo-o-ove scenario! hello, we are team beagle!” hearts shoot from each member towards the audience, a refreshing, cheerful change from how he’d felt the rest of the week. it takes more than overnight to change an entire mindset but standing on stage, knowing that this is the defining moment and afterwards, all the stress will be over for another week, he feels some relief, some peace. his fingers still tremble slightly with nerves, but there’s no lingering worry or upset. this is it. soon, hopefully, he’ll understand. 

it’s unclear if it’s his insecurities or truth, but he feels like he takes less of a role this week, the song feeling overall more balanced. there’s more rapping, for sure, though he doesn’t think the dance is as impressive ( though he also thinks that’s strategic given that this group isn’t as strong at the skill ). honestly, he practices the dance alone very little, finding it more beneficial to run through the performance in its entirety, singing as he moves, precise movements made in time to smooth vocals. 

once, before they start, he pats his chest, feels the small key against his skin remind him of why he’s here. 

나 살아가면서 가끔씩 떠오를 기억 그 안에 네가 있다면 그거면 충분해

his first line isn’t until almost a minute in, giving him time to feel comfortable with their synergy as a group. with tensions earlier in the week, he had worried silently for a little time if they’d be able to come together and appear a well-oiled machine by the end of the week but it became apparent quickly that regardless of disagreements, regardless of his shy nature worsening this week, they were all talented in their respective skills and loved to perform more than anything. that doesn’t mean anything for teamwork, really, but when their desires to go forth with the competition and their dreams outweighs whatever they might have bumped heads on ( and he knows this himself, as it’s something he struggles with internally, too ), they can come together surprisingly well to form a team that is as passionate as it is talented. 

besides, perhaps how easy it had been to choose a song last week, how easy it’d been to mesh together, was their downfall, as ridiculous as it sounds to him. the last thing this competition has reminded him this week is that anything is possible.

the beat isn’t particularly fast, and the dance isn’t particularly complex bar a few choice moments ( at least not for someone who’s been dancing as long as he has ), but he thinks it’s intricate enough to show the skill any dance takes to those who are only seeing snippets through a television screen, or who don’t know dance as well as the ceos and many of the other contestants here do. but it’s fun. it’s not a dance that takes itself too seriously, nor is it too far in the other direction either. the song itself is calm, but not boring; upbeat, but not overwhelming. he thinks the vibe of their performance, streetwear and all, suits their leader especially, even if he wouldn’t tell the oldest. 

( he’d never hear the end of jeon won complimented me, does he have a fever? after all. )

네가 벌써 그립지만 그리워하지 않으려 해 한 편의 영화 따스했던 봄으로 너를 기억할게

his next vocal part is the bridge once again, his second favourite part of the choreography that conveniently follows his favourite. it’s honouring getting such important parts of the vocals, though the pressure to do well isn’t as exciting. he’s lucky that his parts aren’t demanding dance-wise, allowing him full control over his voice and its stability in particular. his vocals are smooth and calming at their best and this is one of those times where he can really take advantage of that. 

he doesn’t forget what sua had taught them last week either; how to really flourish in front of the camera once it hones in on you, how to command attention when the time is right and you’re front and centre. he doesn’t forget the patience she’d taught him, and he doesn’t forget the passion junhoe had drawn out of them this week. he’s humble as a member of a team, something he couldn’t have expected always having lived in a world for so long that was only ever against him and never with. every time he feels the lens following him, he meets it momentarily to flash a confident gaze, the bright smiles of last week’s pinocchio not feeling as appropriate for this performance. maybe if he exudes confidence without taking a moment to consider that he feels it is what the ceos want to see. maybe. he’ll probably never know. 

우리가 만든 love scenario 이젠 조명이 꺼지고 마지막 페이지를 넘기면 조용히 막을 내리죠

then, they all come together. it’s a mix of voices, tones, but after so much practice, they match well in a light harmony that feels as wistful as the original’s. again, it’s a part of the song that doesn’t feel like it takes itself too seriously, their voices filling the stage with ease rather than forced perfection and their movements relaxed and free, as long as they end in the correct formation for the small parts of organised choreography in the final chorus and two-part outro. 

as a dancer, he feels like he should love this part allowing him to show off how naturally his body moves to a beat but the ‘disorganisation’ ( of course, they had practised it a million times, so it’s never truly freestyle ) of it all makes him nervous. it’s all too easy for one of them to bump into another, step on someone’s feet, and he has to resist the urge to look down at his feet to make sure that person isn’t him. forcing his head high, he sings along with the others, quietening his voice so his deep tone doesn’t stand out too much with those understandably higher. 

they’re so close to the end now that won can taste it, can taste the relief he’ll feel sitting down to watch the others ( until the stress settles in as he wonders where everyone will place, of course ). he jumps the final hurdle with revitalised energy, desperate to show a strong performance worthy of much higher than they had placed last week, if not for himself, then for sua. 

우린 아파도 해봤고 우습게 질투도 했어 미친 듯이 사랑했고 우리 이 정도면 됐어

finishing on the youngest feels like a strong decision, the young boy certainly the main appeal ( in his opinion ) of their group with his fresh, youthful visuals and aura.

as the instrumental behind them fades to silence, won thinks the cyclical nature of the song is his true favourite part of it all. it makes him feel like the end of their performance truly is the end; that there’s no more to do, that nothing feels incomplete. 

their team hadn’t been the most functional, a little tension present throughout, though given their third place in the fourth episode, he had started to wonder if that kind of conflict and discord was part of the golden recipe to success on this show. after all, it is ‘reality’ television above all else — had this been a competition not on the screens of hundreds of thousands, millions, maybe genuine teamwork would matter more. he’d grown fond of hyuna at a safe distance ( his heart is far too frail ) and formed an attachment to sana akin to the one he’d felt to sua after the first two weeks of team challenges ( to the point where when neither of their names are called with his, he has to fight a frown ), but overall, he’d had teams he meshed with better, felt more comfortable within, yet... first. 

he’s baffled. 

but life goes on. this competition doesn’t stop for anyone, much less for won to figure out what it is they want from him to secure himself a place with mingyu for their future, and in the blink of an eye, first place is replaced with next challenge and it doesn’t matter where they placed anymore because they’re all back on a level playing field. there’s no live rankings here, no top ten to maintain as they continue. each week, you’re either safe or you’re not and that’s all won tries to think about it — if he can make it to the next week, he’s one step closer to making their dreams come true. his shoulders carry the weight of a thousand hopes, a thousand expectations, but he carries them as well as he can. he doesn’t have any other choice. 

when they all meet for the first time, it’s easy to notice that these groups are bigger than ever before, even if only by a member or two. it’s noisier, easier for him to stay quiet without being noticed once discussions get under way. having junhoe there once again eases his nerves a little, but it’s difficult not to feel small surrounded by so many people. it reminds him of the jeon house, how he’d cower under the gazes of those around him, and a shiver runs down his spine. 

but despite how he punishes himself, he isn’t a pushover, is prepared to vote confidently for the song of their choices he loves the most, believes fits both their concept and skill sets best. it isn’t a fight at all, however, as they select ‘hurt locker’ with ease. 

( won’s reminded how straightforward it can be to make decisions when everyone complements one another or is patient enough to understand one another when they don’t. mingyu’s old basketball team had never been like that, his classes had never been like that with him, but mingyu’s family always had. his teams’ leaders always have. this week is no exception. ) 

when faced with the theme of ‘summer’, won’s immediate thought is girl groups. the season is always filled to the brim with upbeat bops, groups like sistar the summer queens and red velvet rapidly filling the hole in his heart they’d left when they disbanded with tunes like ‘red flavour’. it’s not hard to think of a hundred fitting songs but as they begin to piece together a performance, won thinks ‘hurt locker’ is their strongest choice. he doesn’t know anything about rap, but he thinks its own to be more impressive ( and certainly longer than the likes of sistar’s ‘shake it’, for example ) than a lot of his other considerations, giving taehyung a chance to shine. the dance itself isn’t too complicated for anyone less confident to nail in their short practice time with his and chungha’s help once they’d established positions and transitions together. the vocals are strong, varied enough for each member to have verses that suit their voices and abilities. he’s sure that out there in the endless library of summer songs there’s something that would suit them better, but for a week’s preparation time and such a varied group, won thinks they got lucky it popped up — that it’s as close to perfect as they could’ve gotten. 

once they start practising, the gradual progression from a struggling mess of a ‘cover’ to a full, confident performance is as rewarding as ever. learning the dance within the first hour and being able to, once again, assist others and better himself— god forbid all this comes to nothing for their future, won is grateful for the opportunities they’ve had to meet new people and develop new skills. before the mgas, he’d never worked in a team like this, never coordinated performances beyond solos and certainly never shared any of his more complex choreographies. his audition’s mashup dance had been the first time he’d even considered showing anyone else the dances he’d worked on himself ( and only because he felt so strongly that he needed to stand out; do something that made him feel deserving of a chance to show his full potential ). even only mingyu had seen his poetry, his lyrics, beyond the former written for school assignments. he’d grown to be a better teacher, more patient. working with people like junhoe who had little experience dancing before coming on the show had opened his eyes a little more, because even though mingyu hadn’t started dancing until fairly recently, it isn’t the same. showing the man he’s been in love with for years a few simple dance steps to ease him into things is nowhere near helping a playful enemy perfect an entire song’s choreography in barely seven days. 

that’s only the beginning of it; there’s so much more won knows that he doesn’t know, doesn’t realise — moments that have changed his outlooks, feedback from the ceos that has resonated with him even when it hasn’t been directed to him. he’s not sure yet if all of it is a positive influence, but that’s low on his priority list. after all, they have a summer bop to hone. 

working with chungha on tweaking the choreography early in the week and having junhoe around mean that the closer they come to the end of their allocated time, won comes more and more out of his shell. he’s not quite at the point of brazenly exclaiming whatever’s on his mind, be it weird and wonderful or genuinely helpful, but it’s enough that taehyung’s entrance once they’re standing on stage on friday doesn’t make his cheeks redden so hard in embarrassment anymore ( and it strikingly easy to withhold his giggles as he catches his coat ). it’s enough for him to remember how fond he’d been of somi in the first week and how easily his fears of her one day bringing a jar of honey to practice had withered away. 

“we are olympus!” they introduce, and once it’s his turn, he proudly exclaims, “I’m olympus’ demeter, jeon won!” with a deep bow. it’s a fun concept even if he doesn’t really know too much, if anything, about greek mythology. ( he’s not sure it beats the cute beagle, but he doesn’t think anything will. ) won’s knowledge is deep from many years of reading, but not vast. he knows so much about the things he wants to that little else has room to fit in — at least, that’s his excuse for constantly forgetting tidbits of important and trivial information mingyu tells him, forgetting to eat lunch back when he didn’t have the money to anyway. he’s a young boy with too much on his mind but in the heat of the moment now, in formation for the first beat, he forgets everything else: nothing is more important than getting this right. he has to get through; he has to get them their dream. 

he doesn’t have a singing part for a good forty-five seconds, allowing him to focus solely on the skill he shines most at. being towards the centre or front of the majority of this first minute or so of the performance means that even more so than ever, won can’t afford to make the silly mistakes he was making at the beginning of their practices. he wants to present himself as a strong, talented young man, charismatic just enough to stand out whilst blending in. at this stage of the competition, he thinks perhaps it should be more important than ever to steal the show but won doesn’t see any honour in it. these are team challenges, and besides, fighting to be the centre of attention hasn’t always done everyone favours. if it’s too much, you’re a brat, but if it’s not enough, you’re boring. won wants to stand out for being talented, for being a reliable, consistent and strong performer and for being human — not for making sure he’s always front and centre, always doing all the talking and commanding the cameras focus on him. he wants to see his whole group progress to the next stage, not just himself even if that is his priority ( in the most selfless way, because they’re doing this together; he and mingyu are doing this as a team even if they’ve always been placed against one another ). 

his movements are precise but not too sharp where they needn’t be. again, he wants to stand out as versatile, as able to adapt to fit any circumstances. when he stands beside junhoe, he doesn’t want his experience to make junhoe’s less more obvious, but when he stands beside somi or chungha, he doesn’t want his own talent to pale so much in comparison, so he adapts. he tailors his movements to their position transitions in a way that is barely noticeable when watching the group as a whole, that is subtle in a way that he’s only really learnt the full advantages of since he joined this competition. beforehand, he had only ever used this skill when singing as he dances, to ensure his voice is more stable particularly for the harder vocals, but now, he can use it as part of a team — as part of something much bigger and much more rewarding. 

있을 때 잘해 남자이길 바라 다신 전화하지 마

when he does finally sing, he takes a deep breath and keeps his voice even as he follows the slower choreography. he’s grateful that as he begins his first part especially, the first make it or break it moment, the movements he has to make are much easier to balance with his secondary skill; this isn’t a luxury he’s had throughout the competition but this late in the game, for it to be such a natural ( and well-known, as it follows the original ) calm, he thinks himself unbelievably lucky. 

of course, there’s still plenty of chances in the remaining two and a half minutes for him to fuck this up, to make a small misstep and topple to the ground or hit a flat note, but he has practised enough and believes in himself and his dream — their dreams, that of him and mingyu, and that of the team whose success rides in part on his shoulders, as his does on theirs — to get through this unscathed, and dare he say it, leaving an impression on the judges prominent enough to push them through to the next stage and to the end. 

내 맘이 닫혔어 oh no, bye, love

there’s another long gap between the chorus and the next time he sings, giving him plenty of time to adjust once more, to stabilise himself after his higher notes. it’s not a particularly easy song to sing by any means, especially in his naturally deep tone, but working together as a team has allowed him to find a pitch that works well for everyone, brings everything together in a way it should. that’s only natural when having a deeper male voice like his own cover a girl group song he’s always considered high, but it’s not a challenge he’s unfamiliar with or even remotely unwilling to tackle. to him, all-female songs are some of his favourites ( after all, all his bias groups are all girl groups; kara, t-ara, girls’ generation ) so over the years, it’s become instinct. 

regardless, once the chorus comes back around again, he tries to find that balance again between powerful vocals and careful dance moves. making sure he’s not only synchronised with everyone else but also with their hip and arm movements so key to the choreography, that he’s precise and smooth as he moves. 

(what you gonna do?)

내 맘이 다쳤어 oh no 늘 힘들 땐 내 곁엔 없었어

if he hadn’t been so determined, perhaps he’d have messed up the last chorus, the lyrics different to any previous. perhaps this would have been the moment everything had gone wrong if he hadn’t spent so many hours so far being shaped by this competition into whatever it is they want him to be. he doesn’t know it, and he certainly isn’t there yet — wherever there may be — but it can’t be denied that being in the mgas has changed him. whether it’s for better or worse will be something he’ll have to figure out once it’s all over, because for now, he can’t think of anything else but making it through each round, giving a performance he can ( secretly ) be proud of and forming bonds that will last beyond the finale. 

he’s caught up in the ‘moment’, lost in the opportunities and experiences the mgas have allowed him and mingyu to explore and he’s not going to let that go for anything. he will fight for them no matter what. 

he doesn’t miss a beat.

(what you gonna do?)

넌 이미 끝났어 oh no  다시 돌이킬 수는 없잖아

the song draws to an end with junhoe’s distinct vocals just after his own, their final positions and poses maintained for long enough for the camera to catch a close up of each of them just in case. his heart is pounding, his chest rising and falling at the speed of light, breathing heavy but beneath it all, there’s a sparkle in his eyes, a warmth in his body that tells him yes. you did it. you deserve this, you were born to do this and you will not let him down. 

given that the vocal portion of his initial audition hadn’t aired in the first episode ( though he had to admit, despite editing, he was incredibly happy with what had aired of him; he feels like he appeared a lot more composed than he usually does in real life, and the clips shown of his dancing were plenty to show he has potential here ), he decides on at least including singing in this performance. maybe it’s a little risky to focus on your weaker skill at such a vital moment but he thinks if he can find a way to leave an impression with it, that will make up for the gap in skill between this and his main. 

it’s not easy coming up with something, though. at first, he wonders if singing trot will make a difference, but after trying, knows pretty firmly that it’s probably something he should save for variety shows after debut ( should he get there; he doesn’t want to get his hopes up yet just because he got through the preliminary rounds ). then he wonders if an acoustic or stripped down version of a typically upbeat song would suffice but quickly remembers that any and all contestants who choose to play instruments will likely be doing the same and so he’ll only pale drastically in comparison. 

then it hits him ( thankfully not literally, and more thankfully not verbally because it’s six am and mingyu is still soundly asleep two or three foot away ) in the form of a recommended video: kara.

maybe that’s not entirely the idea, though being able to pay tribute on national television to one of his favourite groups of all time sounds like a pretty honouring experience, but it sparks something within him. no, he doesn’t speak any other languages, but he certainly can sing them. 

it’s not as impressive as being fluent, but after seeing so many groups expand into the chinese and japanese markets in the last few years especially ( and kara themselves having such a strong career in the latter ) means that any skill in the foreign languages is valuable. learning the language is also only easier if you already have a grasp on the common sounds, words and phrases, not to mention the written alphabet. being able to sing in japanese even if he can’t speak it  ( yet? ) is something at the very least — something to give him some kind of edge he didn’t believe he had before. 

as he waits, he wonders if the producers had purposefully assigned them their numbers, purposefully put him towards the end to force him to anxiously sit and rub his fingers together as a seemingly endless number of contestants stand on stage before him. watching others reminds him how inexperienced he is, particularly those like hyuna and sua who he knows have been here before. ( he had, after coming home from his audition, binge-watched the performances of alongside all the other third season contestants to get a better idea of what to expect this year. ) he’s sure many of the people standing up before him have at least had classes in their respective skills, or had somewhere safe to practice them if not. he’s sure many of them have been dreaming of this and preparing for this since they were in the womb, but he’s always used dance as an escape over anything else and he feels like it shows even if it probably doesn’t in the eyes of someone not trapped inside his own head. he can’t help but think everyone is painfully leagues above him as he quietly observes each one, takes care to keep a reasonably neutral yet contented expression on his face. every now and then, he can’t help but ‘wow’ in awe, but he knows that it only takes one misstep on shows like this for editors to make you ‘evil’. he’s sure he’ll slip up at some point, but while he’s thinking about it now, he remains careful. 

( when mingyu’s turn arrives shortly after his own, he’ll likely have the brightest, proudest smile on his face but he can’t help that and wouldn’t suppress it for anything. )

this whole experience is a lot more overwhelming that he expected it to be. truthfully, he hadn’t even expected to get through the preliminaries, not with the talent he saw in that practice room three weeks ago — not with the talent he’d arrived with. however, apparently the staff on the show saw some potential in him, whatever that may be for, and the very thought only makes him want to fight harder for this — for mingyu. 

he just has to hope what he’s prepared is enough to make an impression amongst the sea of far more experienced vocalists and dancers. no pressure. 

泣かないで　今日は旅立ちの日 しばらく会えなくても ずっとずっと友達だよね? みんなに出会えてよかった 進む道は違っても 夢はあきらめちゃダメ!

he takes a moment to suck in a deep, calming breath before the music starts. cutting in at eighteen seconds isn’t ideal even with the momentary reprieve in the bouncy intro choreography giving him a straightforward position in which to start his performance. it is the only way to fit the section he wants into the minute and a half time limit, though, strategically chosen to give him the comfort to more comfortably and confidently sing the first verse rather than tire himself out.

each move is made with precision yet a lightheartedness that makes his performance feel more what he likes to think is friendly. it has a vibrancy to it that matches well with his age, an enthusiasm that shows in the toothy smile on his face and nose scrunch you’d have to focus to see as he flashes peace signs over each cheek. it’s by no means an overly impressive choreography, at least not when considering what he’d done for his audition performances, but when paired with near perfect pronunciation and stable vocals ( so far ), he thinks he stands a decent chance. 

after all, a week isn’t enough time to do much of anything without foundations already set. he already loosely knew the chorus choreography and strongly new the corresponding lyrics. all he had to do was make sure he had the verse down and practice until his feet ache and his throat begs for a break. no biggie.

最後のチャイム　まだ鳴らさないで ずっと隠してたこの気持ち 伝えたい…深呼吸!

as the beat begins to pick up, so do his movements and his voice begins to lose a little of its stability granted by barely moving for the first half of his song cut. it’s no concern at the moment, and if he performs like he had in his final rehearsal last night, then it won’t ever be. as much as he knows mingyu doesn’t ever want to upset him, he trusts his feedback and his support with his entire heart. they might technically be against one another right now, but won is doing this with mingyu — not without, not against; with. if mingyu says he’s talented, then he should believe in that and believe in himself and for once, he does as he bounces around the new stage for the familiar faces around him. 

he recognises a few of the crowd, either from the airing of the first episode, the audition days or being the ceos of the big five ( holy shit ) but it’s easily, as he assumes for everyone else also, the last that take the most of his attention. he does his best to imagine his loving boyfriend is the only one in the audience, the one he has to make proud, and for the most part, it works. there’s a bright, warm grin on his face as he waves towards the start of the chorus; a grin that grows as he moves closer and closer to the end of his performance and the end of the butterflies fluttering around in his stomach. 

belatedly, he wonders if showing a ‘cuter’ side of himself had been a wise decision. he certainly handles it well, having spent nine years perfecting it directed at kim mingyu and his mother, and it certainly shows a versatility he’d wanted to highlight... now isn’t the time to worry about things like that, though. he’ll worry about that ( every night in the meantime ) on sunday when the episode airs. he’ll worry about that when he hears the feedback from the ceos and the viewers. 

( though something tells him looking up netizens opinions of him definitely isn’t a wise decision. )

バイバイバイ 涙拭いてサヨナラ ほら未来が手招いてる 一緒に過ごした　ハッピーデイズ! 時計はもう戻せないから ゆっくり前を歩いてゆこう 曲がりくねった道の向こう これからも続く　ハッピーデイズ! ありがとう　また会う日まで

with only a dance break left, he puts all his energy into his movements; making his transitions seamless and his enthusiasm just the right amount as to not be overbearing. 

at the end of it all, he’s happy with what he’s shown. perhaps it hadn’t been the most spectacular performance of the day ( of course, playing any instrument immediately leaves won in awe ), but he’s confident he’s done enough to see this through — to give the ceos a reason to believe in him and believe in his potential. 

to believe that jeon won deserves this. he deserves this. 

he deserves to dream. 

watching the other performances, he noticed that a great deal of people had choreographed their own dances specifically for this audition — or at the very least learnt a fresh choreography for a song that perhaps never had an official one or even those that do. he hadn’t come here with nothing but a copy-paste performance from an existing idol, but he certainly hadn’t created his own minute of fluid movements either. it makes him wonder if he should have; if this should’ve been his first attempt to share his more creative side. he’d tried his best in the past to create new things but showing anyone his amateur attempts at being a ‘professional’ is almost as nerve-wracking as he’s already established waiting here is. 

besides, maybe there’s no shame in playing things a little safe at this stage. maybe it’s better to show that you have potential and that you aware of your own strengths whilst pushing the basics. 

( now he’s just internally rambling to comfort himself. )

“jeon wonwoo.” 

he startles, rushes to his feet and to the centre of the space left for hopefuls to start their journey. he wonders if anyone here stood here ( before a panel of mga judges, he means, because he isn’t sure they held the auditions here last year ) before, but the thought just unnerves him so he pushes it aside. bowing, he wonders if he should introduce himself. he stands there a moment, silent before he panics and dashes over to the speakers to plug in his phone. a brief second plays ahead of the beginning of his dance; enough to give him chance to move back into place. 

(baby) 알딸딸한 게 뭔지 난 아직 모르지만 (baby) 너에게 취한 것 같아 

this would be his first chance to really show these critics what he was capable of. in the star bright audition, all he’d gotten to do was talk — something he isn’t too great at if it isn’t a spew of lies. being so honest to a camera had felt foreign but now standing in front of a group of professionals, he feels smaller than he ever has. won believes everyone’s insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but we can be significant to a handful of people we want to do beyond for. he hopes he can be significant enough to these people for them to remember his name at the end of the day, or at the very least, his performance. 

he dances smoothly, transitions visibly well-practised particularly as the two songs phase in and out of one another. the clip he’d taken of the song in order to take full advantage of the mashup aspect unfortunately meant that he was thrown straight into the chorus almost instantly, a very little pre-chorus warming him up for the dream girl portion of the dance. if he hadn’t spent the last week or so practising endlessly, he’d be more worried about having to start at such a strong pace but now it’s muscle memory, ingrained so deeply into his mind that he thinks he could probably do this in his sleep. ( but sincerely hopes he doesn’t, because he’d probably end up giving mingyu a black eye or something. ) 

it might look a mess to those around him, but he thinks the mix of the more mature ‘dream girl’ and the youthful vibrancy of ‘my first and last’ shows a little of the versatility he’d been so desperate to convey. he wanted to show that he was capable of more than just covering any old existing dance; that he had a special something to stand out from the crowd even if that something couldn’t be making his own choreography from scratch. 

smiling into his spin, he tries to lose himself in the music; forget the weight of this performance and the prying eyes watching him from every angle. the bridges of each song are his favourite and so much is obvious from the way he lights up. he knows his stage charisma isn’t without its obvious flaws ( as his regular charisma is, too ) but he can’t lie and say he doesn’t think it’s obvious that he’s plenty passionate about dance, too. he thinks with a little coaching, he can become better; show the world that he can grow and blossom into a beautiful butterfly from the cocoon he’s wrapped in right now. 

( maybe he’s trying to prove it to himself more than anyone else, but who isn’t what’s important, really. )

the last line hadn’t been the most obvious place to end his cover, being where the song hits its climax, but with the time restraints imposed by the audition, he didn’t have much choice. the track will loop back around any moment now, so he quickly bows in the silence. 

waiting for their turn isn’t quite as luxurious as how he hopes it will be in the future, but the informal stage before them is enough to create the illusion of stardom. it still feels like a small taste of his dream, hearing the pretty voices of the friends performing before them as they wait as if they’re on a music show ready for their debut stage, the lights when the sun sets bright enough to feel like spotlights— maybe he’s just a dreamer, but isn’t everything a little more fun when you let your imagination run wild? looking at it for what it was — a dimly lit, unprofessional and frankly, a little unsafe looking structure somewhat resembling a stage — was just boring. he didn’t want to be a buzzkill all the time. 

the breeze tickles at his skin as he bounces on his heels. he daren’t take another peek at the older’s face to see if he feels the same anticipation, lest he get caught with this pink tint to his cheeks that he can’t explain, but he likes to think that he’s as thrilled as he is to be performing together. music isn’t the only hobby they enjoy together; won semi-frequently reads to him, and musicals are their most watched movies. even their differing hobbies they share; won skateboards alongside mingyu as he jogs, sits comfortably studying as the older paints or draws— point is, the two of them match together well, but music feels (to won, at least) like the time they really bounce off one another the best. 

after all, they complement each other’s talents, right? with mingyu a rapper and won a singer, mingyu’s voice rhythmic and won’s smooth. won likes to think of mingyu as the lyrics, and himself the melody, but maybe that’s just his desperation to never be parted. lyrics need a melody, right? and a melody feels incomplete without lyrics. peas in a pod, two sides of the same coin, two halves of a soul, superhero and sidekick; maybe they’re all just won’s way of validating their friendship; to convince himself that mingyu won’t ever leave.

(he knows he won’t, but that doesn’t stop the fear from keeping him up some nights, as if he needed more things to stop him from getting the sleep he needs and deserves.) 

they take centre stage before too long, and that excitement is soon replaced by nervousness. he glances shyly at his best friend as the preparations are made, tightening his grip on his microphone. it’s not the first time they’ve done anything like this. it’d be a miracle if it were, considering how long they’ve known one another and how long they’ve been honing their talents, but it is the first time he’s gotten this unsettled by his side. 

ultimately, it’s a love song. a very soft, cute love song. in front of a crowd, no less. their behind-closed-doors renditions of ‘on my own’ are in an entirely different league to this, but he swallows his worries, takes one last lingering look at the taller boy and nods firmly. 

do it for him. I’m doing it for him. 

니 눈앞에 왔잖아 내가 여기 있잖아 너의 입술로 말을 해줘 say yes, say yes 나도 모르게 너에게 가고 있나봐 부는 바람에 내 맘 전할래 love is true

his unusual stage fright is gone as soon as the first word leaves his dry lips. he’s not as lively when he sings as he is when he dances, for obvious reasons, but his body sways delicately to the beat nonetheless. his deep voice is a stark difference to the original, but he makes it work, matching the gentleness of punch’s vocals. it’s not too challenging of a song for him, with no ridiculous high notes to contrast with his natural tone, so getting the feel of the track right is what’s most important to him. despite being the more talkative one of the two of them, won’s voice is softer, quieter, so he does his best to tap into that as he sings. 

introduction complete, he heaves out a silent sigh of relief as he watches mingyu transition seamlessly into the rap. sure, he’s biased, but he thinks mingyu’s rendition beats the original. it’s got a little more impact, a little more feeling— he almost misses his cue, lost in smiling fondly at the older like a lovesick puppy. 

maybe— maybe this song is a little more meaningful to him than he lets on. 

니 눈앞에 왔잖아 내가 여기 있잖아 너의 입술로 말을 해줘 say yes, say yes 나도 모르게 너에게 가고 있나봐 부는 바람에 내 맘 전할래 love is true

I need you

baby 너에게 하고 픈 말 내가 못다한 말 baby, baby, baby boy love is true

the backing vocals provided feel unnatural when paired with his own voice, but that’s long forgotten as mingyu jumps into his second verse. it isn’t that he isn’t concentrating on his own contributions to the performance, but how can he help being distracted by the talented boy by his side? his best friend is a masterpiece; the way he moves, the way he raps, the way he smiles. everything about him is art, and won is only human. everyone is watching the older boy, and rightly so. 

(won can admit he’s so drawn, he almost misses his cue again, though it’s begrudgingly, and certainly not to the boy himself.) 

니 눈앞에 왔잖아 내가 여기 있잖아 너의 입술로 말을 해줘 say yes, say yes 나도 모르게 너에게 가고 있나봐 부는 바람에 내 맘 전할래 love is true 

the bridge arrives faster than he expects it to, and suddenly, he’s left to complete the remainder of the song by himself. it seems unfair, both to mingyu and the audience, that he sing the majority of the track. wonwoo’s dream isn’t to sing or dance, it’s to sing or dance with the older; he’d give up every second of his time on the stage to see mingyu thrive. 

but then, he’s sure mingyu would say the same.

that’s what best friends do, right? support and encourage one another. best friends. forever. he smiles as he belts out the high note, sighing once he comes back down. 

내가 바라는 단 한가지 니가 내곁에 있어주는 것 니가 날 보며 웃어주는것도 내 얘길 들어주는것도 난 그걸로도 충분한데 you

'I need you.’ avoiding the older, he looks out over the audience. it’s not large; it’s just what he expects of any open mic event, though admittedly, he had wondered if, due to the festival being so popular, there’d be more. either way, he isn’t here to impress people, he’s here to have fun with his best friend. ”a late birthday present!” he had quipped when they arrived. he chuckles quietly between lines, quickly recovering. 

moving across the stage, he meets the older’s eyes as he sings, gesturing for him to meet him in the middle. he ducks his head down to hide that same pink tint to his cheeks as the song draws to a close and the backing track fades to silence. 

너를 보며 웃잖아 두 눈이 말하잖아 너도 이렇게 대답해줘 say yes, say yes 너라서 좋아 니가 날 울려도 좋아 너는 나의 모든 전부니까 love is true I need you baby 너에게 하고 픈 말 내가 못다한 말 baby, baby, baby boy love is true

“next time, we should do ‘start of something new’.” won giggles, hand covering soft lips. 

mingyu frowns, “no.” 

meeting everyone again on the fifth makes his heart race and his stomach flutter in a familiar way. even though their success here means nothing in the ground scheme of things, he can’t help but feel like it does. he can’t not feel how he did on the show when that’s all he associates with these four walls, this group of people. that’s not to say he’ll always think this way but the wound is still fresh — he hasn’t healed just yet. 

a single day isn’t really a lot of time to make sure they all still vibe well, can still do this seamlessly as they had two weeks prior but he supposes that’s all the companies are willing to give them. he supposes idols don’t get a lot of refreshers on old comebacks years into their careers when there’s so much to go over. the choreography is still understandably etched into his muscle memory but he misses his vocal cue a few times, particularly at first, too focused on the people around him. he helps a couple smooth out kinks that have come with not practising with a group for a while. ( and understandably so; he thinks if he hadn’t done so well, gotten the company that he wanted, he wouldn’t want to relive any aspect of the competition either. hell, he did all that and he still isn’t too enthused about all this. if it wasn’t such an incredible opportunity getting to perform on a music show before even debuting then he’d probably be a lot more reluctant, protest if he didn’t think it’d sabotage his newly signed contract. luckily, he doesn’t need to. his skin is thicker than most seem to think, and whilst he usually complains, there’s nothing to do so about this time around. it’ll all be over soon. )

early mornings still kill off a little bit of his soul each time; still make him question before he’s fully woken up if all of this is worth it ( of course it is but he hasn’t woken up enough to think clearly ). he inhales warm, fresh air as mingyu drives them to the m!countdown set. by the time they arrive, he’s not entirely awake but enough. his sleepy eyes see almost everything the stylists do to his hair and face, though there’s not really anything he could do if he saw something he didn’t like anyway. it’s not like they’re going to make him look like a clown, right? right? 

rehearsals are smooth. being stuffed into his stage outfit all day... isn’t so pleasant, but it does make him feel like a star for a few hours. he takes a deep breath, watches the world pass by around him whenever he gets a spare moment to think. the wait until 2pm for their recording feels like it’ll never end, but eventually, they’re being ushered onto the stage and within a blink of an eye, he’s dancing again like it’s the final and everything rests on this moment. in reality, all that’s on the line is his dignity, his pride, so maybe that’s why he cares so much — because for so long, his pride was all he had. he thinks about when this will be over and he can not think about the competition again until he’s healed. 

until he feels a little confidence again. 

he follows the cameras like he was taught, follows the choreography like his life depends on it, doesn’t miss his vocal cue any of the three times he’s to ‘sing’. lip-syncing is weird, feels kind of dirty, really, but he doesn’t have a choice. he sings along regardless; his mic isn’t on so it makes no difference. if anything, he thinks perhaps it makes his performance look more real. ( not that it’ll matter if someone else makes it obvious they’re pulling the public’s legs but he tries not to think about that either. ) he tries his best to enjoy it, keep a balance of a smile and a fierce expression on his face fitting to the more serious tone of the song. he stands front and centre as the second to last person to do so one more time and he thinks, it’s almost over. it’s almost time for a new beginning. 

standing on stage hours later with the rest of the performers is surreal. amongst them are actual idols, industry legends, and he’s there sharing a stage, breathing the same air. maybe one day this won’t feel so overwhelming, like the air has been rushed out of his lungs and stars have taken over his eyes. maybe one day, someone else will feel this way about standing ten foot from him. 

he doesn’t want any of the team to go home, he doesn’t want anyone in the competition to go home because everyone deserves this but he knows that’s not what mnet want, what the public wants. they want to see hopefuls rise above the carnage having their dreams crushed on this stage will cause and they won’t stop at anything to cause it. maybe he’d been thinking about it wrongly this whole time — an elimination wasn’t always putting out the fire within someone but instead igniting a new one much more ferocious than the last. still, that didn’t mean he wanted to experience it, knowing that his own success impacts much more than his own fire, but maybe understanding it a little better will make things a little easier at the end of this all if things don’t go their way. 

( he thinks back on december and decides that’s probably wishful thinking but it’s also all he has at the moment so he rides the wave regardless. ) 

when his name isn’t called, his heart drops for jinhee yet a sigh of relief passes his lips. mingyu’s team’s elimination hadn’t been announced yet but he had faith the older would make it through; it had only been himself that he’d worried for. it feels selfish to be glad a friend is going home because it means he can move onto the final stage but when he thinks about what this means to each of them, he knows they’d understand. he’ll be glad when this is all over and the feeling of being pitted against new friends is lifted from his shoulders. he isn’t the type to sabotage those he cares about ( something that he has thankfully grown into over the past year ahead of the show, otherwise perhaps he never would have made it this far ) but even the secret thoughts swimming around his head, quietly hoping someone else makes an error that pushes him through and stops him from disappointing his loved ones when his insecurities hit a new high... even then, he feels sick with guilt about the person he’s starting to re-become. he thought he’d left that behind, but perhaps being so disconnected from the person who keeps him grounded has weathered him over the past two months. 

thus, he’s grateful when the final group challenge is announced as boys vs girls. he’s a little bitter that the first time he gets to stand on stage with mingyu is their last chance to but he’ll take it over never any day. the song has been created especially for them and listening to it, won thinks it’s exactly what he expects — an emotional, romantic boy group bop with an airy electronic vibe. as a lover of high energy girl group songs it’s not entirely his cup of tea but given his strengths vocally, he feels blessed that this is the track the producers decided to give them. he doesn’t expect to have a lot of lines like he’s been lucky to have in the past, not with exceptional vocalists like bin in the group, but for the parts he does get, he wants to do his absolute best. 

hearing they’ll pick in reverse order doesn’t really fill him with much confidence, though. 

the ‘tell me’ team ranked a comfortable middle ground, so he’s at least glad he won’t be picking first and thrown around by higher ranked competent vocalists. when he sees he also ranked first within their team, he isn’t sure whether or not his second sigh of relief is for the fact that he’d done well when he had only just been filled with fear and self doubt or the fact that the only vocalist above him in that case was junmyeon, who he’s sure wouldn’t settle for the smaller vocal parts won is aiming for. he wants something that solidifies his presence in the song but allows him to mostly focus on the dance, allows those who are weaker dancers and stronger vocalists to have an equal chance as him to shine. maybe at this stage he should be indulging in mnet’s attempt to encourage them to sabotage one another and show not only that their passion for winning has no boundaries but also their true colours but it doesn’t sit right with won. pushing someone out when there’s going to be so many vocal spots available for the group to choose from feels dirty. 

for mingyu, however, maybe it’s double standards but he doesn’t feel any anxiousness as lower ranked members begin fighting for the top rap position immediately. there’s too many rappers left for them all to be happy and whilst he absolutely doesn’t believe anyone deserves their comeuppance for ranking lower, he desperately wants mingyu to get a position he’s comfortable in. he knows he’ll make whatever he gets his bitch but he can’t help the warmth in his chest yearning for him to be happy. but first, he has to choose himself, so he wanders over and fills in an empty spot — vocal 5. it’s exactly what he wants; he gets a pretty couple verse lines mid-song that he pictures having a more delicate choreography paired with them ( thus allowing him to make sure he delivers them stably and strongly ) and a later chorus part that should get him a few seconds as centre towards the end to hopefully make an impression that lingers in the mind of viewers. it’s perfect and it feels like fate that it had still been open for him when his time came. 

then, mingyu chooses. he moves another rapper from the first position and momentarily, won wonders why he hadn’t just taken the open second spot, but the more he thinks about it, the more he’s reminded that mingyu has always thought about things carefully. when mark steps up, won feels bitterness take over his body as he watches him reach for his card and knock him down to the second position, but a quick glance over at mingyu confirms his suspicions — he’d guaranteed himself a rapper position no matter what. 

so what is won in this relationship if mingyu is both the brawn and the brains? he smiles. 

their next step once the line distribution has been finalised is to meet in the practice room and learn the choreography from the show’s top choreographers. it’s the first time since the competition started ( and for a very long time outside of the competition, too ) that he’s learnt from a ‘true’ professional and the thought excites him but what excites him more is getting to wrap his arms around his boyfriend’s torso the moment they get a little downtime whilst they wait to get started. sleeping in the same bed the few nights a week they’d been home at the same time isn’t the same as getting to spend time with him awake and he almost cries like a god damn baby just being held again. there’s nothing overly intimate about their hug — mingyu doesn’t run his fingers through his hair and whisper comforts in his ear like they would if they were alone, in private — but it still feels that way all the same. if no one was watching, won would kiss him until there’s no air left in either of their lungs but he can’t so he settles for offering him a rare, wide smile full of genuine happiness. this team is so strong and he worries he might pale in comparison but with mingyu by his side, he starts to believe that he can do anything. 

learning the choreography isn’t too hard as a dancer. it’s strange learning from people rather than teaching or choreographing things himself, but he adapts quite quickly, already confident by the time the choreographers leave them to their own devices on the third day. instead, he spends his time helping others when they need it. he and changmin get along a little better this time, already knowing their differing energy levels and adjusting to one another as they practice the dance together and chat late at night when exhaustion starts to take over and breaks become more frequent for the older. he knows that after this, he’ll need to go out and practice his own performance, so he takes advantage of a little downtime to bond and recuperate. for the most part, he thinks everything is coming together well. it’s the first time he’s worked in such a big group and it’s inevitable that there are people he barely talks to because of just how quiet he can be but when it comes to the dance, he assists anyone he thinks he needs it in as careful a way as he can. it’d be all too easy to say a single wrong word and come across as patronising, so where he can, he after asks vocalists he helps to listen to his own vocals and give feedback. he tries not to help mingyu more so than anyone else because he doesn’t want to be accused of any kind of favouritism ( as true as it may be, but it can’t be helped; if his boyfriend wasn’t his favourite, he’d be more concerned ) so he savours the moments he does get to help him. it’s easier to get mingyu’s posture correct because he feels no hesitance tugging on his shoulder or pushing his foot with his own. it’s more comfortable because he knows mingyu won’t ever misunderstand his intentions or his tone. but he can’t settle for what’s comfortable all the time. he has to step out of his comfort zone and show that he deserves this as much as mingyu does — this is their shared dream and he has to earn it. last time he hadn’t done enough but he’ll be damned if he lets that happen again.

so he practices hard, gives it his all, lets his heart open up to help others and before he knows it, sunday is here and he’s done all his fittings, all his rehearsals, even his solo performance, and all that’s left is this final test. it’s his final chance to come together in harmony with a group and show the world what jeon won has to offer. 

모든 게 그대로 멈춘듯해 시간은 계속 흘러가는데

his first vocal line isn’t until a minute and a half in and he’s grateful because it means he can focus on his dancing. there’s a fine balance between powerful and adaptable in a performance of this size — he doesn’t want to look like he’s slacking or slipping, but he also doesn’t want to obnoxiously overpower weaker dancers. they’re supposed to be a team and any sign of anything other than unity will only make the performance begin to crumble and essentially hands the ceos a criticism to make at the end of the show as they announce all the final verdicts. he knows it’s impossible for anything to be perfect but he wants this to be close and that means finding that balance. he’d spent all week solidifying it and he thinks he has a good grasp on it, particularly in the moments when focus is on a smaller amount of members, whether that includes him or not. at the beginning of the song as they sit on their chairs as certain members sing, he subtly smooths his movements to make sure all the focus is kept on the member who’s chance it is to shine. when the moment after his own solo lines features only three of them, he doesn’t shy, particularly since the respective singers mostly stay stationary during their parts. that being said, he never sacrifices his talent. he is clear in his movements, expert in each step, but also aware of those around him in a way that’s far deeper than keeping an eye on formations. it’s something he’s learnt over the course of the show and it feels good to know that the growth he’s made since this all started is coming together in this final performance of the season. 

he doesn’t sing again until the last few seconds, so he continues to focus on his primary skill. as they work around one another, he’s reminded how grateful he had been for getting the part he wanted. as much as showing off a high adlib would benefit him ( if he did it right, of course ), there’s skill in picking what’s best for you and he’s not ashamed to admit he’d have picked vocals 6 or 7 with the same comfort and happiness because what he shines the brightest in is dance and all the extras that make him a good dancer beyond literal ability. singing is something he loves and adores but dancing is where his strongest talents lie and it’d be foolish to think otherwise. 

( he really doesn’t think he’d even make it through the performance if he’d have ended up in vocal 1 or 2, let alone to a contract at the end of all of this, or even the winner by some miracle. ) 

난 only you, keep it true, we’ve been through, please keep it to yourself.

난 only you, keep it true, we’ve been through, please keep it to yourself.

he doesn’t worry too much about his voice in the bridge, every member of the team ‘singing’ together. as long as his deep tone doesn’t ring out over everyone else and there’s no embarrassing cracks as he bounces into formation to dance tighter together ( and he doesn’t accidentally punch anyone else in the face or get knocked himself ), then everything will be fine. 

thankfully, they breeze through it with practised ease.

stand by me, stand by me, stand by me.

his second vocal part comes almost at the end of the performance and it’s simpler choreography being the second repeat of the ‘stand by me’ lines in the chorus helps him stay stable in the higher ‘by’ word of each line. not to mention he stands front and centre as the second to last person to do so. his hope is that it will help him remain in the minds of the ceos and three thousand people present in the audience and the many, many more watching the live stream at home. after this, all that’s left before the final results, the moment of truth, is their joint performance with the girls. truthfully, he likes the idea of getting to perform on one stage with all the finalists a lot — it feels like a climatic end to what has been a roller coaster of a competition. placing them all together will hopefully reveal how much each and every one of them deserves this. 

he continues to perform with all the passion in his heart until the very last second, his chest pounding and his breathing heavy as the crowd screams. this is the rush he wants. adrenaline pumps through his veins, keeps him up as they gather for the last time.