[Minwoo’s point of view]

I closely observed SATURN as they handed their handcuffs to the dancers behind them. Hunter, the youngest member, fumbled and almost dropped the prop. We’d have to do it again once the run was done. I wanted it perfectly done before ending that session.

My sight zoned in on Yejun. He had to put his cuffs away with stealth so the viewers wouldn’t notice. At first, I would smirk every time he struggled to do the challenging task. I eventually felt bad because he was frustrated with his failure. From my intuitiveness, I could tell Yejun was the type to be hard on himself for not being successful.

Most times, it was the result of prolonged, emotional abuse by someone else, whether by parents, work, teachers, coaches, etc. When curiosity tickled me, I scolded myself for wondering about Yejun’s backstory. I wasn’t a therapist. They were his skeletons in the closet. I had my own to deal with, so I had no room to get tangled in a mess that was not mine.

Thankfully, Yejun became better yesterday. Something clicked like an “aha” moment mid-practice. He had a rough time at the beginning, but he could finally do it with ease. If it wasn’t for him being a sneaky little snake, I would have been proud. Well, maybe I felt a smidge of pride for his hard work. It was the result of my pushing and pushing. I could tell he had grown.

“Bondage” was approaching the end where the instruments picked up before fading out.

Yejun reapplied the cuffs with ease. The song finished with him on his knees in the center. For that part specifically, I asked him to give the camera an expression like he was damaged beyond repair by the relationship.

It was not a happy song. In some ways, the lyrics didn’t have to be about a lover. They could be about family or the people you are generally close with. The heart-wrenching words symbolized a connection too difficult to leave, to abandon, to give up from the past. I knew that sort of relationship very well.

The anguish Yejun currently had on his face as he was held captive by SATURN was too real. He could be a great actor. It even made me feel—Sorry. I started thinking unnecessary thoughts again.

Or maybe he knows it too…

The clock chimed five times, signifying it was 5:00 P.M.

“Uh, gather around, gather around,” I said as I motioned for them to sit. After they were in a half-circle, I looked down at Hunter and asked, “You know I saw that mistake, right?”

He nodded, scratching his sweaty temple.

“You’re lucky I have plans after this or I would’ve demanded another run despite the time. Just wait until Monday,” I warned.

Some of them were defeated by what I had said. I sighed. My brain scattered to say something more inspiring. I needed to remember that their plates were full of other things and not just dance.

“I’m impressed by how well you adapted this week. Switching from a happy boyfriend theme to a sexy, bad-boy concept isn’t easy. I’ll give you credit for that. There are some details we need to make sharper such as the body rolls. Week two is for improving “Bondage,” then moving on to a B-side track. If you keep doing what you’re doing, you’ll win all of those award shows that I can’t name. Please get some rest this weekend, go buy a drink if you’re of age, and use protection when you find a hookup. You’re dismissed.”

SATURN smirked at my pep talk. They weren’t used to such jokes.

“Yejun, do you have extra time? I have some recommendations on how to improve your turns,” I lied.

I needed an excuse to keep him after.

“A-ah,” Yejun stuttered from being called out. “It’s fine, I can stay.”

He turned to the other members who were ready to go and said, “I’ll meet you at the dorm later.”

The boys said their goodbyes. Tae was the last to leave. He stared at Yejun before letting go of the door. What an odd guy. I hoped SATURN’s leader didn’t suspect anything.

I reached into my backpack next to the speaker as the slam of the closing door echoed. Then I chucked a can at Yejun. The item went flying at his face. His eyes went wide before he caught it. He glared at me before reading the label.

“Hair spray?”

“Black hair spray,” I corrected. “It’s from a costume store. Do you think you can just show up with all that pink? I’ve seen the recent fan photos. I even went out of my way to read what fans said about you in comment sections. Everyone associates you with it right now.”

I saw his hesitation and added, “It’s temporary. The color will wash out after one rinse.”

He threw the can back at me. For a second, I thought he was going to deny my simple request.

“Can you do it for me?”

“Sure. Let’s do it in the showers. You’ll need to take your shirt off.”

Yejun’s face turned red. I swore I saw smoke steaming from his flushed skin. I then realized what I said. It sounded so dirty that my own face grew hot.

Did someone turn up the heat on the thermostat?

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

It was laughable. We danced to “Bondage” without embarrassment, yet that was enough to boil our insides. How ironic.

“R-right.”

Yejun looked at the mirror to avoid my equally uncomfortable gaze. I wanted to know what sort of things he was thinking of to get that reaction, but it was a professional setting. There would be no locker-room talk there. Just because I was off the clock at work didn’t mean I could act like an idiot. I still represented SCORPIO.

To be safe, I poked my head into the hallway to check for any people. Down the hallway were the showers next to the company workout gym. The last thing we needed were rumors about us. Alone. Together. They’d get the wrong idea and spread a scandal. The company would force me to take an unpaid leave until it was settled. Plus, I didn’t even know if Yejun swung that way. I, however, was open to any person I could bond with. You wouldn’t see any judgment from me.

Focus, Minwoo, focus. The challenge starts in two and a half hours.

No one was there. Once 5:00 rolled around, most people on that side of the building booked it to go bar hopping. The office workers on higher floors always did overtime. That wouldn’t affect us.

“Let’s hurry,” I whispered.

We quickly ran to our destination and got lucky that no one was using any of the shower stalls. After locking the door, I put on latex gloves so my hands wouldn’t get black.

“Shirt off, sir.”

I pulled the glove so it would make a loud snap sound on my wrist like a mad scientist. It was easy to tease Yejun. The shy rosiness spread to his shoulders.

Is he going to be this red on stage too while swaying his hips in front of thousands of screaming fans?

I wrapped a gym towel around his bare shoulders. The fluffy cloth gave my blessed eyes a scolding lecture.

Look away, you pervert, it seemed to say.

I thoroughly sprayed small sections to cover up the pink. It took longer than I anticipated. The texture became brittle. People would assume he had fried his hair from overdyeing it.

As Yejun checked out his black hair, I texted Donghyun. We were supposed to go meet SCORPIO at his house, but we’d be late even if we left at that very second. I’d have to introduce Yejun at the spot where the challenge was being hosted.

Minwoo: Can’t make it. I’ll meet you at the place.

Donghyun: See you there. Work?

Minwoo: That… and other things.

Donghyun: Kekeke

“Did you drive to Triple-X?” I asked Yejun, putting my phone away.

He glanced at me in the mirror as he said, “No, I don’t have a car. Our dorm is a street over from here.”

I forgot that idols lived in dormitories for the first five or so years after debuting. Occasionally longer. When a group lived together, it was easier to manage them. You didn’t hear this from me, but I believed the main reason was to control their daily lives. Dating. Eating. Heck, maybe even sleeping. Welcome to the dark side of this industry.

“Let’s take my car then. Wear your mask and hat. Did you bring a change of clothes? Something your fans won’t recognize you in if the battle is recorded? Taking videos and pictures isn’t allowed without permission, but it happens sometimes.”

He held up his bag and answered, “Yep. ‘Poor people clothes’ as you so gently worded it.”

After he switched into a less noticeable outfit—or rather, ditched the rich brands that would have dancers question his social status—we walked to my secondhand, convertible, yellow, European car in the employee parking lot. Yejun gazed at the compact vehicle and then back at me with a raised eyebrow.

“What? I like small cars.”

“Nothing, nothing,” he said and shrugged. “I just expected a new supertruck imported from the States.”

“And waste money on a bank loan and gasoline in this economy? Ha,” I scoffed as we strapped in. “Convenience store?”

He looked at me questionably then asked, “What?”

“I don’t know about you, but I need nourishment. We need our energy and calories to grow up big and strong.”

I held up my biceps and flexed them. Yejun was amused.

“Yeah, I suppose. We are growing boys.”

Finally, someone who went along with my bad jokes.

“That we are.”

The little engine revved. I put it into gear.

“Let’s break all the laws, criminal, criminal,” I sang a currently popular radio song.