Page 29 of Idol Prize
Woo Jin chuckled. “Well, then whoever was in your bed with you sure does. Although, to be fair, it wasn’t really talking. More like moaning.” He quietly demonstrated, earning a pair of curious glances from Min Jun and Tae Woo.
Min Jae smacked Woo Jin’s shoulder. “Stop it. This isn’t the time to fuck around.”
“I’m not,” Woo Jin protested. “At least, not like you were in your dreams. Who was she? It sounded like she must’ve been very–” He paused for a knowing smirk. “–satisfying.”
Min Jae frowned. There was no way Woo Jin was telling the truth. He never moaned in his sleep. At least, not that he knew of. And he’d certainly not woken with that desperate, deeply unsatisfied feeling he normally had from dreaming about sex. Only morning wood, which was hardly unique to him. Mornings in his dorm room shared with three other guys usually felt like an obstacle course in a broom closet. And he was done being the butt of Woo Jin’s horny jokes.
“Is that why you spent so long in the bathroom this morning, Woo Jin? Because you heard me moaning?”
Woo Jin’s smirk vanished. “You wish. Why someone would ever be turned on by that flat, bony ass is beyond me.”
“We know you were jerking off in the bathroom,” Tae Woo said without turning back. “I could hear it from the room next door.”
“I’m not denying it,” Woo Jin protested. “Just that I was doing it to Min Jae.”
Min Jae playfully frowned. “What? I’m really not your type? I’m crushed, Woo Jin. Absolutely crushed.”
Woo Jin wisely let the matter drop before Min Jae could skewer him any further. The guy was crazy to think he could out banter someone like him. Someone who always had an answer, a comeback, or a putdown ready to counter the attacks of hyperstraight, hypermasculine assholes who didn’t even need to hide their morning masturbation routines because they had nothing else to hide.
But the accusation lingered. Not enough to rattle Min Jae. He was way too focused for that. But it wouldn’t have been the only time his mind–or his body–had betrayed him last night. Heglanced at Andy, walking a few steps ahead of them. Andy was always pushing the tempo. Never riding it. And his worn black t-shirt and too-dark black jeans did little to hide what was underneath them. The whole team was wearing black because Andy had suggested it since their costumes weren’t ready yet. But it had been Min Jae’s idea in the first place. An idea that Andy had somehow built upon to createForever, the dark, confident, and sensual twist onU & Me 4EVA. The promise no longer of lifelong romance, but eternal possession.
Min Jae didn’t mind Andy doing that. He actually welcomed it. Sure, he’d suggested Andy be their group leader because he was ranked number one. But that was only because he didn’t trust the rest of the team to understand the real reason. Andy had already won a group mission as his team’s leader. And, above all else, Min Jae wanted to win.
The mentors were already set up behind their temporary table before the auditorium’s stage. As usual, production had covered it in a light blue, Dream Boy Project branded tablecloth to remind everyone why they were all there. Min Jae needed no such reminding. He was officially on camera the moment he stepped foot in there, so he’d been in character since long before that.
“Good morning, Dream Boys,” Hwa Young said as they assembled on the stage. “As you know, this is your first mentor review for this mission. There’ll be no judging or ranking today. We only want to see what you’ve done so far and, hopefully, help you reach your goals.” She turned to Cipher. “You’ve already talked to them, yes?”
Cipher nodded. “They had some pretty ambitious goals for this song. If they’ve even pulled off half of what they’re planning, we’re in for a show.”
Hwa Young chuckled, grating on Min Jae’s nerves. Let’s get this going. She turned back to the stage. “Alright, then let’s stop wasting time. Andy?”
As the leader, it was Andy’s job to lead the introduction. He nodded. “Two, three–”
“We are Forever,” the team said, perfectly synched. “Because we’ll make you fall in love, and you’ll never forget.”
Hwa Young chuckled again, which was fine. She was supposed to then. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Andy gestured for everyone to get into first position, a five-pointed diamond spread to the corners of the stage, Min Jun at the downstage tip, Andy and Min Jae in the back. The beat hit a moment later. Gone was the bright synth melody, replaced with a slow sub-bass, throbbing like a heartbeat—Min Jae's idea, too. A heavily filtered vocal whispered the line "You and me..." just before the main beat dropped.
They shifted, slinking toward second position to a slowed down tempo as Andy sang the first verse. No bounce. This was a confident, dangerous strut, slowly converging on the center, their movements becoming more intertwined and suggestive as they got closer, in a slow, deliberate seduction. The first chorus was Min Jun’s, his pure voice providing the haunting melody. Tae Woo backed him with powerful, low-register harmonies throughout, giving the song a dangerous edge. Woo Jin dominated the second verse, giving over the bridge for more overall lines, his smooth, confident swagger selling the new, raw and possessive lyrics. Because the bridge was where they’d planted the magic.
It was Min Jun’s idea, after watching what he thought was the electric chemistry between Andy and Min Jae. Maybe it was, to some extent. Andy and Min Jae had been entirely pleasant and polite with each other, which was, frankly, more than either one of them deserved. But, after a few days watching, it was impossible not to notice how obviously pleasant and polite they were. Two sharks circling the edges of the tank, an alliance for only as long as they had bigger fish to catch. But Min Jae liked the idea, especially with the way the mentors had eaten up their killingpart duet in the signal song. Andy liked the idea, too. Probably for the same reason.
After Woo Jin's rap, the music stripped back to just the throbbing heartbeat bass. The others slipped to the back of the stage, where they’d become a shifting, backlit, silhouetted tableau in the darkness during the full performance. There was no spotlight to shine on Andy and Min Jae during the review performance, either. But they didn’t need one.
The air crackled with an unspoken tension, a magnetic force drawing them together. Their movements began subtly, a slow mirroring of gestures. Shoulders rolled, heads tilted, their gazes locked in an intense, almost predatory connection. Min Jae initiated a slow, deliberate circle, the shadow to Andy’s sun, their steps perfectly synchronized. Then, the dynamic shifted. Andy took the lead, his movements fluid and captivating, and Min Jae responded with a sharp, grounded power, their individual styles weaving together into something new and undeniably potent.
Their bodies drew closer, the space between them shrinking until only a breath remained. Riki and Hwa Young both gasped. The choreography demanded a trust that transcended mere professionalism. In a seamless transition, Min Jae’s strong hand found the small of Andy’s back, guiding him into a lean that defied gravity, their eyes never breaking contact. For a fleeting moment, suspended in the light, they were a single entity, a perfect balance of opposing forces.
Then, the vocal exchange began. Andy’s clear tenor, now laced with a dangerous edge. Min Jae’s deeper, huskier response. Their voices intertwined, a silken thread weaving a spell of dark seduction.
As the final line of their duet approached, they moved into the climactic pose. Min Jae’s hand slid from Andy’s back to cup the nape of his neck, his thumb brushing lightly against the sensitive skin there. Andy’s hands rose from Min Jae’s waist, slowly, to trace the sharp line of Min Jae’s jaw. Face-to-face, soclose their breath mingled, so much gravity even the light surrounding them seemed to dim. In that suspended moment, before the music exploded back into the final chorus, was something raw. Something real. A chemistry that reached far beyond the stage.
Or, at least, that’s what they’d planned. The critical response from the mentors was mixed.
Cipher leaned toward his mic stand on the table. “I commented before about how we’d be in for a show if you pulled off even half of what you’re planning. Well, half is what we got. And I was wrong.”
“Your vocals were impressive,” Riki shared. “And not just your singing. Your concepts. Your arrangements. Your harmonies. All were truly, truly breathtaking. The other teams have no idea what they’re in for.”
