The Main Game 

The blazing lights overhead momentarily blur, their silver brilliancy dulling into a hazy reddish purple. On screens that serve as mutable backdrops a night-time cityscape is stretched. Nine young men in black and white attire, fitted leather trousers and likewise tailored tops, exchange sardonic glances and confidently assume their positions - four pairs, one Jack. 

The music cues. Hey, Playboy... The crowd roars in rapture. Zhang Yixing and Oh Sehun set their inner timers to zero: the following three minutes and thirty-three seconds are theirs. 

The beat drops, the two begin their advance. Riding the rhythm with well-rehearsed precision, they swagger down the stage, Yixing on the left, Sehun on the right. Surreptitiously Yixing scans the younger's impeccably-wrought visage, spurred by the quiet intensity in Sehun's catlike eyes. The younger's inky eyebrows arch in recognition, signalling to the elder his notice has been marked. Yixing's cheeks dimple reflexively at Sehun's understated goading. He bites his lip, tips his head.

Contented, Oh Sehun sniffs and smirks. Lay-hyung, I've won the first round. 

This game they've been playing for seven years now, a game of subtle gestures, sidelong glances and oblique smiles. They play it when everyone is watching, their members, the cameras, the crowds. Exposure is their shield; it keeps them from breaking the rules, from making a foul. 

The rules...when did I set them? Why? He was only fourteen when Yixing first saw him, a pale, slender boy with puckered lips and unreadable eyes. He danced with contained sensuality, tempering himself the better to rouse the crowd of trainees that had flocked to the practice room to catch a glimpse of their newest rival in action. Seventeen-year-old Yixing had studied the novice with unblinking eyes, his mind like a faulty record incessantly repeating the same thought: This is dangerous. This boy, Oh Sehun, is dangerous. 

When he had completed the dance, calmly ignoring all who would have approached him, Sehun walked up to Yixing and with an expression whose equal the elder had never beheld, said: "Annyeonghaseyo. Oh Sehun imnida. Will you dance with me...hyung?" In his seventeen years of existence, Zhang Yixing had never wanted another living being as fiercely as he did Oh Sehun at that instant and he knew that the boy could sense as much. 

That was our first round, your first dare, Sehunnie. If I'd let you win it then, I wonder, where would we be now? 

The pre-chorus draws to an end. Their backs facing each other, the two ease into the push-and-pull choreography of the refrain. My heart is covered black, your place. They sweep towards each other, nearly touching, but not quite. Your heart is burnt white, my place. They dip their bodies low, curving their torsos to the words of course you can't get sick of this play and swaying their hips synchronically as the last replays four times. They turn, shake hands and repeat the sequence, unreservedly singing to the audience what they'll never dare tell one another: "My words are forgotten black, my base. Your words have vanished white, your trace. Of course you can't turn things around in this play."  

Time for round two, Sehun resolves as the song enters its second verse. This is his favourite part of the choreography, the "free" dance, wherein he can tease his older "brother" to his heart's content. The pleasure he draws from the act is inexplicable even to him. But the sight of his scrupulous hyung's cherubic face as it twists in conflicted desire quickens his pulse where few things can. 

There were twenty-odd trainees watching him outside the practice room that day as he danced, but the gravely observing foreigner, his dimples visible even while his mouth was pursed, was the only face Sehun saw in the crowd. Yixing stared at him as though he were a serpent and Sehun the charmer, utterly hypnotised. No one, male or female, had ever looked at Sehun with such patent want and unease in their eyes. You're so transparent, it's no fun at all, Sehun had wanted to chide the elder, but found himself intrigued by Yixing's unusual earnestness. In the end, to the general astonishment of the onlookers, he asked the boy, three years his senior, whether he would dance with him. Yixing's solemn reply earned him not only Sehun's regard, but a prime place in the younger's heart. "Always. If you're absolutely confident in your ability to keep up."

As their training continued, Yixing became a mentor of sorts to Sehun. Whatever potency he might have lacked beyond it, Yixing's dancing more than made up for. Powerful, fluent, precise, his ambition seemed to shape his every movement, his stubbornness to hone them. He taught Sehun persistence, humility and patience, not through patronising sermons, but through constant and tireless example. Of his eight would-be "brothers" Yixing was the first he called hyung. But this was during work hours. Once the practice had ended and the music had stopped, Sehun became the teacher and Yixing the hesitant student, forever dreading the next exam. 

So transparent, though you think you're clever about it... Yixing-ge, you're no fun at all really, but somehow...I like it. 

Sehun stands still, setting himself up like a trap, knowing Yixing will walk straight into it. This number calls for "fan-service" - a chance for those couples fortunate enough to have been paired up for the night's Playboy stage to flirt freely out in the open. The fans go crazy for it, seeing the objects of their fascination touching and teasing each other in supposed mock attraction. The irony never fails to amuse Sehun, yet he is grateful for the peculiarity of their Aerie's preferences. 

Yixing slides towards him, tapping the left side of his chest in time to the lyrics it's alright, it's alright, I know your heart, then the right side of Sehun's as the pre-chorus aptly concludes with the line it's alright, it's alright, show me all your secrets. Their bodies tauten slightly at the brief contact, the likes of which they rarely permit themselves offstage. Wishing it could last a little longer, they exchange a knowing smile and delve back into the dance. The second round ends in a draw.   

Next is the rap break, a twenty-four seconds long negotiation, at the end of which Yixing must determine whether tonight's victor will be his conscience or his heart. Sehun won't make it for him; the choice is always left in the elder's hands. If you want it, you must reach forth and take it, isn't that what you've always taught me, hyung? With a final baiting glance at Yixing, Sehun refocuses his attention on the crowd, trusting the song will take care of the rest. 

Yixing follows suit and turns to engage the fans. Employing his famous skills of improvisation, he effortlessly sketches his own little solo dance, while the rappers recite their lines. Anyone watching would surely think both Sehun and Yixing were altogether immersed in the performance. But the two know better. These seconds, these words always decide the match...

I've decided what to call you, just one kiss, that's all.

Whether it's your luck or misfortune that you've met a guy like me, 

Will be like a split road, yes, like whiskey you've swallowed by mistake;

I’ll make you hotter, more excited.

I’m bad, I like doing the things you tell me not to.

Like I said, the main game hasn’t even started yet.

Push and pull me even more,

I’m confident I will win.

Every day, I’m dealing with a new type of loneliness.

Sehun isn't alone in rapping it, yet it's his voice Yixing hears throughout the section - taunting, inciting, mercilessly daring him to choose, to act. If you want it, you must reach forth and take it. Resolute, he steps forward, extends his hand and gently caresses Sehun's furtively expectant face. Their eyes meet but only for a second, too brief an instant for either to gauge the other's state of mind. It's only when Sehun his lips and hangs his head that Yixing finally allows himself a smile. Tonight I win, he revels inwardly, never realising that Sehun is thinking to himself the same. Lay-hyung, you've lost again tonight.

They dance the final chorus, as always, back to be back, neither winners, nor losers, merely players in this endless game. Tomorrow they'll repeat it, settling for petty triumphs, a look here, a smile there. Playboys are often like that; they play for change, for cents and pennies, never pounds. They risk as much as they dare lose, gambling with others' hearts to keep their own intact. 

Credit to kpoplyrics.net for the English translation of EXO's Playboy.