Chapter 12
All of Min Jae’s planning, rehearsing, more planning, and more rehearsing weighed him down like the thud of a dropped mic.
Absolute. Deafening. His urge to escape had him longingly plotting the locations of all the emergency exits in Sky Village.
Just in case. But he still needed to breathe, to move without the watchful gaze of mentors or the constant attention of the so-called Dream Team.
He couldn’t escape by running away. But he could indulge in the one practice he truly commanded, a language his body spoke fluently.
The fluorescent hum in Practice Room One faded as Min Jae flicked off the overhead lights, leaving the vast space swallowed by a near-total darkness.
Only the faint spill of moonlight from the high windows–silver streaks slashing across the polished floor–remained, with the glowing, green and orange lights on the sound system controls, tiny stars reflecting in the mirror wall.
He stripped off his shirt, tossing it aside as he approached the colorful constellation in the corner.
He plugged in his thumb drive, filled with all the songs he’d used when practicing for the competition.
Plus, one more. That’s the track he cued up.
Ephemeral Echoes, an instrumental piece he'd discovered a few years ago.
A sweeping soundscape built on a haunting piano melody that surged into a crescendo of layered strings and a driving, almost desperate hand drum beat, wordlessly telling a story he felt deep in his bones, a narrative of longing and unspoken truths.
The song’s quiet opening notes escaped into the darkness, and Min Jae began to move.
A fluid, unrestrained outpouring. His body unfurled like a flag catching the wind, limbs stretching and reaching into the shadows.
He spun, a dark silhouette against the faint moonlight, each movement a whispered confession to the empty room.
His spine curved and arched, a willow bending in a storm, conveying a vulnerability he would never allow his face to betray.
His hands, usually precise and deliberate, flowed through the air like water, sculpting invisible shapes of sorrow and yearning.
Min Jae was a brushstroke on a canvas of night, a melody made visible. His leaps were moments of breathless suspension, defying gravity, trying to escape the very ground that held him. The turns blurred his form into a fleeting phantom, a murmur of emotion too raw to be fully seen.
As the music swelled, nearing its emotional core, Min Jae let himself go, eyes closed, releasing himself into the movement, drawn by a passion no longer entirely his own.
A phantom grasp met his outstretched hand.
An unseen force supported him in a turn, their imagined momentum flowing together.
His private monologue became a conversation.
And the presence that answered, in the silent language of muscle and bone, was unquestionably Andy.
Reveling in his waking dream, Min Jae bathed in the endless fountain of wondrous connection, movements real and imagined seamlessly swirling and intertwining.
A dance of perfect understanding, an unambiguous acknowledgment of the potent charge that pulsed between them.
The heat from Andy’s gaze, the rhythm of his warm breath.
So vivid, so real as the music surged to its peak.
They reached the final, breathtaking pose–a moment of perfect equilibrium, their forms impossibly close, their energy intertwined.
He opened his eyes, panting, the echoes of his shadow dance partner still vibrating in his muscles.
That was new.
Min Jae relaxed his posture, sweat pouring down his face and naked chest, expecting exhaustion but only feeling energized.
Refreshed. If that had been the real Andy, their bodies intertwined, their–no.
It wasn’t the real Andy. Only a figment of Min Jae’s much abused imagination, escaping from its carefully constructed compartment in his mind, wearing Andy’s face.
His solitary reflection, staring back at him in the moonlit mirror, was proof enough of that.
A reminder that the kind of connection he craved lived only there.
In his mind. And that’s where it would stay.
By the next morning, after a night of fitful sleep Min Jae mostly attributed to nerves around evaluation day, he’d moved on.
His morning routine centered him, pointing him on the day’s path with little thought to the shadows lurking in the deeper corners of his mind.
Shower and dress. Coffee and light breakfast. No time for a workout, since Team One’s evaluation was first on the schedule. Naturally.
Except, of course, those deeper corners weren’t always so deep as Min Jae wanted. And those shadows always had a way of lingering, popping back up when you least expected them.
“You know you were talking in your sleep last night?”
Min Jae snorted, knocking into Woo Jin’s shoulder as they walked toward the auditorium after their warm up. “I don’t talk in my sleep.”
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.
He glanced 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 create Forever, the dark, confident, and sensual twist on U & 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.”