act: sanctuary ༄ @tyuninthemirror - Tumblr Blog

— if you don't know: c.bg

— pairing: dj!beomgyu x dj!fem!reader — genre: angst, fluff — word count: 14875 — disclaimers: cheating, mentions of food, insecurities self esteem issues. lowkey slowburn? my inaccurate mentions of dj related things, pls forgive me. — synopsis: you and Beomgyu are rivals, partners, maybe more... until someone else asks you to become someone you’re not. when the music stops and you begin to push everyone away, can you find your way back? — series masterlist

— author's note: i do think it's unfair that i'm putting out another beomgyu fic... but i just couldn't stop myself. day 14 of choi beomgyu making me feel things this 2026. this definitely longer than most that i have, and it should've been broken into 2, but tbh there was nowhere to cut it. T T

Bass pulsed through you as you slid the crossfader, dropping your secret weapon track. You smiled. Here, you were untouchable.

As your fingers danced across the equipment with practiced precision, you caught sight of Beomgyu leaning against the bar, eyes locked on you, that familiar challenging smirk playing at his lips.

You turned the volume up, letting the beat drop with perfect timing. The crowd erupted, hands shooting into the air, bodies swaying in unison to your command.

From the corner of your eye, you could see Beomgyu straightening up, his drink forgotten as he began moving closer to the DJ booth. He always did this, watched you with that intensity that was half admiration, half competitive fire.

You pretended not to notice, focusing instead on the next transition, but the awareness of his gaze sent a thrill through you that rivaled the bass pulsing beneath your fingertips.

Beomgyu stood at the edge of the stage now, nodding along to your beat, analyzing your technique while trying to look casual about it. He ran a hand through his dark hair, mouthing something to himself that was probably a mental note for his own upcoming set. Always studying, always planning how to one-up you.

"Last track coming up," you announced into the mic, your voice cutting through the music with confident authority. "Make it count!"

The crowd roared in response, and you launched into your finale, a remix you'd been perfecting for weeks. It was bold, unexpected, showcasing your signature style while incorporating elements that would make even the most jaded clubgoer take notice. As you built toward the climax, you allowed yourself a quick glance at Beomgyu.

His eyes had widened slightly, caught off guard by your choice. You couldn't help the satisfied grin that spread across your face. That was exactly the reaction you were hoping for. Surprise him, challenge him, make him work harder when it was his turn. That was your unspoken game.

The final beat dropped, and the club became a sea of movement and sound. You raised your arms, absorbing the energy of the moment, letting the applause wash over you like a physical force. This was why you did it. Nothing compared to the rush of controlling a room.

As the track faded out, you removed your headphones with a flourish, bowing slightly to the appreciative crowd. Sweat glistened on your skin, evidence of the energy you'd poured into every second of your set. You gathered your USB drives, preparing to make way for the next DJ. For Choi Beomgyu.

Beomgyu was already climbing the steps to the booth, that perpetual confidence radiating from him like heat. His eyes met yours, challenging and playful all at once.

"Not bad," he said, voice raised just enough to be heard over the ambient club noise. "But you might want to take notes for the next hour." He tapped his temple with one finger, grinning.

You scoffed, crossing your arms. "Notes? Hope you brought a pen, because you'll need them more than I will."

"Always so sure of yourself," Beomgyu replied, setting up his equipment with practiced efficiency. "That's cute."

"It's not being sure of myself," you countered, leaning against the booth. "It's just knowing you're not as good as you think you are, Gyu."

The people closest to the booth had started to gather, watching your exchange with amused interest. This was part of the show—the two rival DJs, your verbal sparring as much a performance as the music itself.

Beomgyu laughed, the sound warm and genuine despite his competitive words. "We'll see about that. Maybe tonight's the night I finally convince you otherwise."

"I doubt it," you said, but you couldn't help matching his smile with one of your own.

A girl at the front called out, "You two should just make out already!" causing a ripple of laughter and wolf whistles.

You rolled your eyes dramatically, but felt a flush creeping up your neck that had nothing to do with the heat of the club. Beomgyu, never one to miss a beat, blew a kiss to the crowd.

"Business before pleasure," he quipped, then turned to you with a wink that felt more private than his public persona usually allowed. "Though some things are worth waiting for."

The comment caught you off guard, and for a moment, the practiced banter faltered on your lips. Before you could recover, Beomgyu had slipped on his headphones and was addressing the crowd.

"Y/N just set the bar pretty high," he announced, gesturing toward you with a theatrical flourish. "So I guess I'll just have to shatter it. You ready?"

The crowd responded with enthusiastic cheers, and you used the moment to compose yourself, sliding back into your confident persona.

"Don't hurt yourself trying," you called out, backing away from the booth.

As you made your way through the crowd, several patrons patted your back, complimenting your set. You acknowledged them with nods and smiles, but your attention was divided—part of you already listening critically to Beomgyu's opening track, another part replaying that wink, that comment that seemed to hint at something beyond your usual rivalry.

Behind you, Beomgyu's music began to fill the space, different from yours but undeniably skilled. You could hear how he'd picked up elements from your set, not copying, but building on what you'd created while adding his own distinct style. It was like a conversation through sound, and despite yourself, you were impressed.

At the bar, you sipped your drink slowly, watching how Beomgyu leaned into the music rather than driving it forward. His fingers traced gentle patterns in the air, eyes half-closed as he coaxed the crowd rather than demanded their attention. Yet, equally magnetic, the crowd swayed to his rhythm as they had to yours, undeniable skill in his performance.

Beomgyu caught your eye across the room and tilted his head slightly, a silent acknowledgment. You raised your glass in return, a toast to your worthy opponent. The rivalry between you pushed you both to be better. Neither of you would ever admit it, but you needed each other in this strange, competitive dance you'd created.

And if sometimes that dance felt like it might lead somewhere beyond professional respect.

You pushed through the crowd toward the bar, your body still humming with the afterglow of your set earlier. The familiar sight of Beomgyu perched on a barstool, two drinks already ordered, made you smile despite yourself.

This had become your ritual over the past year, competing on stage, then dissecting each other's performances over drinks. He pretended it was just to keep tabs on his rival, but you'd noticed how his eyes followed you across the room, how he always seemed to have your favorite drink waiting.

"Right on time," Beomgyu said, sliding a glass toward you as you claimed the seat beside him. "I was starting to think you might be avoiding me after the way I outshined you tonight."

You rolled your eyes, taking the drink, a whiskey sour with an extra cherry, exactly how you liked it. "In your dreams, maybe. Did you even see how the crowd reacted to my last transition?"

"I saw them react more enthusiastically to my opening," he countered, but his eyes held that gleam that told you he was more impressed than he'd ever admit.

Taehyun, the bartender passed by, giving you both a knowing look. The staff had grown accustomed to your post-set debates, the way you circled each other with words sharp enough to cut but never quite drawing blood.

"Donghyuck said your technique is improving," you remarked, referring to one of the club regulars who fancied himself a music critic. "Though he also mentioned you still rely too heavily on those dramatic drops."

Beomgyu laughed, the sound warm and genuine despite your jab. "Donghyuck wouldn't know a good drop if it hit him in the face." He leaned in slightly, the subtle scent of his cologne mingling with the lingering sweat of performance. "Besides, I saw you nodding along when I mixed in that new track."

You took a sip of your drink to hide the smile that threatened to emerge. "Professional curiosity. I was analyzing what not to do next week."

"Sure," he drawled, clearly not buying it. "That's why you were practically dancing at the edge of the floor."

Heat crept up your neck, you hadn't realized he'd noticed you during his set. You'd thought yourself safely anonymous in the crowd, free to appreciate his skill without feeding his ego. The fact that he'd spotted you, that he'd been aware of you even while performing.

"You almost made me sweat tonight," you said, changing tactics. "Almost."

His eyes darkened slightly at your words, his fingers tapping a restless rhythm against his glass. "Next time I'll turn up the heat," he promised, voice dropping lower. "See if I can't get more than 'almost' from you."

The double meaning hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of you seemed to breathe. This was the delicate line you danced around, the rivalry that sometimes felt like it might catch fire and become something else entirely.

The moment stretched, taut with possibility, before you broke it with a light laugh. "Big talk from someone who had to borrow one of my transitions just to keep the crowd engaged."

Beomgyu relaxed back into the familiar territory of competition, but something lingered in his expression—a flash of disappointment, perhaps, at the return to safer ground.

"I didn't borrow it," he protested. "I elevated it. There's a difference."

A group of clubgoers passed behind you, one of them calling out, "Killer sets tonight, both of you!"

You raised your glass in acknowledgment, using the interruption to reset the energy between you and Beomgyu. This was comfortable, the playful antagonism, the professional respect beneath the teasing. Anything more complicated might disrupt the balance you'd carefully maintained.

"Speaking of killer sets," Beomgyu said after taking a sip of his drink, "that remix you closed with. Was that new? I haven't heard you play it before."

You nodded, secretly pleased he'd noticed. "Finished it last week. I was saving it for a night when I knew you'd be watching."

"So you admit you plan your sets with me in mind?" His smile was triumphant, as if he'd caught you in a confession.

"I admit I enjoy knocking that smug look off your face," you countered, but there was no real bite to your words.

He laughed again, raising his glass. "To worthy adversaries, then."

You clinked your glass against his. "To keeping each other honest."

As you drank, you caught his gaze lingering on you a moment longer than necessary. Sometimes, in quiet moments like this, you wondered what it would be like to let the pretense drop. To acknowledge the current that ran beneath your verbal sparring. But then what? The rivalry between you was comfortable, defined. Anything else would be uncharted territory.

"So," Beomgyu said, setting down his glass, "Yeonjun mentioned there's a new venue opening next month. Apparently, they're looking for resident DJs."

"Oh?" You perked up at this information. New venues meant new opportunities, new audiences. "Where did he hear that?"

"His roommate knows the owner." Beomgyu swirled the remaining liquid in his glass. "I was thinking of checking it out. Thought you might be interested too."

There it was again, that hint that perhaps he wanted to see you in contexts beyond your established battleground. "Are you suggesting we scout it together, or are you just warning me of your next conquest?" you asked, keeping your tone light.

"Can't it be both?" he replied, his smile softening into something more genuine than his usual cocky grin. "We could grab dinner before, make a night of it. Strictly professional, of course."

Your heart did a strange little skip that you chose to ignore. "Of course," you echoed. "Wouldn't want anyone thinking the great Beomgyu actually enjoys my company or anything scandalous like that."

"Perish the thought," he agreed, but his eyes said something different, something that made your skin warm in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol or the club's heat.

You finished your drink, setting the glass down with a decisive click. "Text me the details. I'll see if I can fit it into my schedule."

"So generous of you," he teased, but you could tell he was pleased.

You checked the time, 3:00AM. As you stood to leave, he caught your wrist lightly. "Same time next week?"

It was such a simple question, yet it carried the weight of ritual, of something that had become important to both of you. Something neither of you was quite ready to name.

"Where else would I be?" you replied with a casual shrug, as if the answer were obvious, as if you hadn't rearranged gigs before to ensure you'd be at the same club on the same night.

He released your wrist, his fingers brushing against your pulse point in a touch that felt deliberate. "Goodnight, Y/N."

"Goodnight, Beomgyu," you said, stepping away before you could do something stupid like linger in the moment.

As you made your way through the club toward the exit, you felt his eyes following you. You didn't look back, but knowing he was watching made you hold your head a little higher, put a little more confidence in your stride.

Whatever this thing was between you, it could wait for another night. For now, the game was enough.

You leaned against the brick wall outside the club, the cool night air a relief before you start your set. You'd stepped out, needing a moment away from the pulsing lights and crushing bodies.

That's when you saw him—Eunseok, with his sleek black car parked at the curb, looking exactly as he had in college: confident, untouchable, and staring directly at you.

Your heart stuttered in your chest, memories of unrequited feelings rushing back as he approached with that smile that had once consumed your thoughts.

"Y/N?" His voice was just as you remembered, smooth and assured. "I thought that was you."

You straightened up, suddenly conscious of your appearance—the edgy outfit you wore for performances, your hair slightly damp from exertion. "Eunseok. It's been a while."

"Too long," he said, his eyes traveling over you with new interest. "You look different. Good different."

A compliment from Song Eunseok, the guy who'd never spared you more than passing attention in college despite your obvious crush. You tried to ignore the flutter in your stomach. "What are you doing here? This doesn't seem like your scene."

"A friend mentioned this place had the best DJ in the city," he replied, stepping closer. "I didn't realize he meant you."

Beomgyu slipped into the club as bass pulsed through the doorway. The familiar sensory assaults of lights, heat and, noise washed over him, but he froze mid-step. Through the glass, near the far wall, under flickering neon, he saw you. Not alone.

A stranger stood opposite you, leaning in too close. Beomgyu took in the man's appearance with a single glance—tailored blazer, slicked hair, gleaming watch, pristine shoes. Everything about him screamed privilege, wealth, and a world far removed from the one Beomgyu shared with you.

Beomgyu's chest tightened as he watched you tilt your head toward the stranger, offering a laugh he'd never seen before, it looked soft and restrained, nothing like your usual uninhibited sound. When you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, the gesture struck him as foreign. You were never self-conscious, especially not around him.

He tried to shake off the strange twist in his gut, telling himself it was nothing. Just surprise at seeing you with someone so different. That’s all it was.

So why couldn’t he look away?

“Hey,” Karina called out from behind the bar as Beomgyu approached, her hands deftly pouring a vibrant neon blue liquid into a shaker. She glanced up briefly before returning to her task. “You’re late.”

“Yeah,” Beomgyu muttered distractedly, his gaze still fixed on you and your companion through the window near the bar. “Who’s Mr. Rolex?” He nodded toward where you stood with the stranger.

Karina followed his gaze as she began shaking the cocktail with practiced ease. Her sharp eyes narrowed slightly as she recognized the man beside you. “Song Eunseok,” she said flatly. She poured the electric-blue cocktail into a martini glass before sliding it across the counter to a waiting server.

Beomgyu frowned. The name sounded vaguely familiar but not enough to place it immediately. “And I’m supposed to know him because…?”

Karina smirked faintly as she reached for another glass. “That’s his Maserati parked outside,” she said dryly, jerking her chin toward the curb visible through the window.

Beomgyu snorted softly but didn’t reply, his jaw tightening as he watched Eunseok lean in closer to say something else to you.

Karina’s voice softened slightly as she continued, glancing back at Beomgyu with something like sympathy in her expression. “College Y/N would’ve killed for this moment,” she said quietly, almost to herself. “Four years she spent hoping that guy would notice her. And now…” She gestured toward where Eunseok stood beside you like he owned the space around him. “He shows up out of nowhere just because her name started popping up on flyers all over town.”

“Funny how success changes people’s perception,” Karina added bitterly before turning back to her work.

Beomgyu’s fingers curled around the edge of the bar as he watched you laugh again at whatever Eunseok had said this time. His grip tightened subconsciously when Eunseok reached out casually to touch your arm during his next sentence, a move so smooth it made Beomgyu’s stomach churn.

Outside, beneath the buzzing glow of the club's logo, you were trying to process Eunseok’s sudden reappearance in your life. It felt surreal, like stepping into an alternate timeline where everything you’d once wanted had finally fallen into place, except it didn’t feel quite right anymore.

“I’ve got a race this weekend,” Eunseok was saying, his tone light yet calculated as if testing your interest. “Nothing serious, just some local guys trying to prove they’ve got more horsepower than brains.” He chuckled softly at his own joke before continuing smoothly: “You should come watch.”

You hesitated, shifting your weight slightly from one foot to another. “I usually have gigs on weekends,” you replied cautiously.

For just a fraction of a second so fleeting it might’ve been imagined, Eunseok’s charming smile faltered before returning full force.

“This DJ thing, is it serious?” he asked casually, though there was an edge beneath his words that made your skin prickle uncomfortably. “Or is it more of… I don’t know, a hobby?”

The question hit like a slap disguised as a handshake, polite on the surface but condescending underneath. Your posture straightened instinctively as irritation flared in your chest.

“It’s my career,” you said firmly, meeting his gaze head-on.

Eunseok blinked once before backpedaling smoothly without missing a beat. “Of course! I didn’t mean anything by it! it’s just these late nights must be exhausting.”

Before you could formulate a response, the door behind you swung open with its familiar creak, and Beomgyu stepped out into the cool night air.

“Y/N,” he called evenly as he approached—not loud enough to interrupt but loud enough for both you and Eunseok to hear clearly. His dark eyes flicked briefly between the two of you before settling on yours with an unreadable intensity.

“You’re up in fifteen,” he informed you calmly but with an undertone that suggested urgency, or maybe annoyance? It was hard to tell.

“Thanks,” you replied quickly, grateful for both his timing and his presence even if neither made sense right now. Turning slightly toward Eunseok while gesturing toward Beomgyu beside you. “Eunseok, this is Beomgyu.” Then back toward Beomgyu. “And this is Eunseok, an old friend from college.”

“Fellow DJ,” Beomgyu interjected smoothly as he extended one hand toward Eunseok, not too eagerly but not dismissively either—as if daring him not to take it seriously.

Eunseok's hand met Beomgyu's after a slight pause. The handshake was brief, his expression coolly indifferent as he withdrew.

“Nice meeting you,” Eunseok said flatly before turning back toward you with what could only be described as deliberate disregard for Beomgyu’s presence altogether. “We should catch up properly after your set—without distractions.” The pointed glance accompanying those last two words wasn’t subtle either.

You hesitated briefly under both their gazes before nodding reluctantly. “Sure, I’ll find you afterward.”

Eunseok smiled triumphantly, not bothering anymore to hide how pleased he seemed and leaned forward slightly, just enough to press what should’ve been an innocent kiss onto your cheek but lingered long enough instead for territorial implications.

As Eunseok walked away toward his car, Beomgyu remained rooted beside you silently watching.

You felt the weight of Beomgyu's gaze. "Old friend?" he asked, his tone carrying a forced levity that didn’t match the gravity in his expression. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards, but the smile was shallow, fleeting. His playful facade was paper-thin tonight.

“Something like that,” you murmured, your voice quieter than you intended. “We haven’t talked in years.” Your words felt like an offering, but whether it was meant to reassure him or yourself, you couldn’t tell.

Beomgyu nodded, his usual playful demeanor subdued. "We should head in. Can't have my rival missing her set. Who would I show up then?"

His attempt at normalcy should have been reassuring, but something felt off. The easy rhythm between you had shifted, though you couldn't quite pinpoint how or why.

Later that night, after your set had ended and the adrenaline still buzzed faintly in your veins, Beomgyu spotted you across the dimly lit room. You were seated at a corner table with Eunseok, and although the music thumped around him in waves of bass and melody, it seemed like all sound faded as his focus zeroed in on you.

You’d changed since your performance, a bold stage outfit swapped for something casual yet strikingly you. Confidence radiated from the way you carried yourself, even in the smallest gestures: the tilt of your head as you listened to Eunseok speak, the curve of your lips when you smiled in response.

Eunseok leaned in closer to you, one hand resting lightly on your arm as he spoke. Though his touch appeared casual, there was an air of possession in the gesture that made Beomgyu’s jaw tighten. He couldn’t hear what Eunseok was saying over the music’s relentless pulse, but he didn’t need to—the way Eunseok looked at you told him enough. His expression was cool and assessing, like someone appraising a rare artifact they were considering acquiring rather than someone genuinely enthralled by the person before them.

Beomgyu turned back to his equipment with a sharp exhale through his nose, forcing himself to focus on untangling cables and adjusting dials. But no matter how much he tried to occupy his hands and mind with work, his eyes kept drifting back toward your table.

Yeonjun appeared at his side then, carrying a box of gear and catching the direction of Beomgyu’s distracted gaze almost immediately. He smirked knowingly. “So that’s him? The famous college crush?”

Beomgyu blinked at him, caught off guard. “You know about him?” he asked, trying to sound indifferent but failing spectacularly.

“Winter mentioned it earlier,” Yeonjun replied with a shrug as he set down the box. “Apparently Y/N used to be pretty hung up on the guy back in the day before she got all badass and started blowing up online.” He shot Beomgyu a pointed glance. “Guess he finally noticed now that she’s got fans.”

Beomgyu’s hands stilled on a mixer knob mid-twist. A faint frown tugged at his lips as he processed Yeonjun’s words. “What’s his deal anyway?” he asked after a moment, trying and failing, to keep his tone casual.

“Rich kid who likes fast cars and faster women,” Yeonjun said bluntly. He leaned against the booth with arms crossed over his chest, watching Beomgyu closely as he continued. “He’s got this whole street racing thing going on. Apparently makes bank off it on top of daddy's money.” He paused for effect before adding dryly, “Also has a reputation for dropping girlfriends as soon as they stop being fun or start asking for anything real.”

Beomgyu’s frown deepened into something darker. His gaze flicked back toward your table where Eunseok was saying something that made you laugh, not just a polite chuckle but a full-bodied laugh that lit up your face in a way that twisted something deep in Beomgyu’s chest.

“I don’t get it,” he muttered under his breath.

Yeonjun raised an eyebrow. “Don’t get what?”

“What she sees in him,” Beomgyu admitted reluctantly.

Yeonjun studied him for a moment before replying. “Maybe it’s not about what she sees in him,” he said carefully. “Maybe it’s about what she doesn’t see in someone else.”

Beomgyu stiffened slightly at the implication but didn’t respond.

Later still, behind the bar while grabbing water just before his set, Taehyun glanced up from pouring drinks as Beomgyu approached. “Usual post-set drinks for you and Y/N?” he asked casually, already reaching for two glasses.

Beomgyu hesitated for half a second too long before shaking his head. “Just one tonight,” he said finally, forcing an air of nonchalance into his voice that didn’t quite land.

Taehyun followed his gaze toward where you and Eunseok were seated at another table now, closer than before, and frowned slightly before setting down the second glass without comment.

“Next time,” Taehyun said simply when Beomgyu turned away with his drink in hand.

Beomgyu could feel the absence of your usual post-set ritual like a phantom limb as he took his place behind the DJ booth once more.

As he began spinning tracks again under flashing lights and vibrating basslines, he caught sight of Eunseok leaning close to whisper something into your ear while gesturing dismissively toward the booth where Beomgyu stood.

Your smile faltered briefly, a crack so small most wouldn’t notice, but Beomgyu saw it clear as day even from across the room. Something protective flared hot inside him, then, a surge of frustration and something else entirely fueling every beat drop and transition in his set until sweat dripped down his temple and adrenaline coursed through every note.

When it was finally over and he looked up again from behind the booth, he saw Eunseok guiding you toward the exit with one hand resting low on your back, a touch far too familiar for Beomgyu’s liking.

“You’re staring,” Taehyun said flatly beside him once more, a shot in hand.

“Just wondering why Y/N would waste her time on someone who doesn’t get what she does,” Beomgyu muttered without thinking.

Taehyun gave him a long look, calm but sharp enough to cut through layers of denial. “Maybe ask yourself why it bothers you so much.”

Beomgyu had no answer for that. At least, none he was ready to admit out loud. He watched you disappear through the exit with Eunseok, and the club suddenly felt emptier, the music hollow without your presence to challenge him, to push him to be better.

It was just professional respect, he told himself. Just the natural concern for someone whose talent he admired. Nothing more.

But the ache in his chest suggested otherwise.

Beomgyu's name lit up your phone screen for the third time. You watched it vibrate against your palm before pressing decline, the unanswered call hanging between you like smoke.

From the driver’s seat, Eunseok glanced sideways at you, his hands steady on the wheel but his jaw tightening ever so slightly just enough for you to notice. His expression was calm, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of something sharper, something probing.

“The club again?” he asked, his voice carefully casual, though it carried an undercurrent of disapproval that only someone who knew him well might catch.

You nodded, attempting a nonchalant shrug as you stared out the window. “Yeah. Just Beomgyu asking if I’m coming tonight.”

Eunseok’s fingers drummed lightly against the steering wheel, an idle rhythm that seemed more deliberate the longer it went on.

It wasn’t loud, but in the silence of the car, it felt deafening. “You know how I feel about those late nights,” he said finally, his tone measured but firm. “We have the charity gala tomorrow morning. You need to be rested.”

“I know,” you murmured, your voice quieter than you intended. You unlocked your phone again and quickly typed out a message: ‘Can’t make it tonight. Something came up.’

Your fingers hesitated over the send button for a fraction of a second before you pressed it, the words disappearing into the void of excuses you'd sent lately.

Four cancellations in three weeks. Each one was easier to compose, but harder to send without that nagging pang of guilt twisting in your gut. A guilt that Beomgyu’s inevitable silence always amplified.

Across town, in the dimly lit DJ booth perched above a sea of neon lights and writhing bodies, Beomgyu felt his phone vibrate against his thigh. He pulled it out with one hand while adjusting a slider with the other, his movements practiced and fluid. When he read your message, though, a familiar weight settled in his chest, heavy and cold.

He locked his phone without replying and slid it back into his pocket. The small rectangle felt heavier than it should—a reminder of something missing rather than something gained. He exhaled through his nose and turned back to his equipment, forcing himself to focus as he adjusted levels and queued tracks for his set.

Taehyun appeared beside him moments later, casually tossing a water bottle onto the table before leaning against it with crossed arms. “No Y/N again?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he scanned Beomgyu’s face for a reaction.

Beomgyu shook his head without looking up from his controls. “Something came up,” he replied flatly, mimicking the air quotes you hadn’t included in your text but that he could practically hear anyway.

“That’s what? Four times now?” Taehyun pressed, tilting his head as if trying to gauge whether this conversation would go anywhere productive or if Beomgyu would just deflect like usual.

“She’s busy,” Beomgyu said automatically, though even he could hear how unconvincing it sounded. “People have lives outside of this place.”

Taehyun hummed thoughtfully but didn’t push further, retreating back into the bar as if sensing that tonight wasn’t the night to dig deeper.

As Beomgyu adjusted another slider and scanned the packed dance floor below him, a familiar face approached the booth. Yeri, a regular who always made an effort to chat him up despite rarely getting much in return. She leaned against the edge of the table with an expectant smile.

“Hey,” she called over the music. “Where’s your other half tonight?”

Beomgyu blinked at her question, caught off guard by her choice of words. “What?”

“Y/N,” she clarified with a grin. “You two are always up here together or trading sets or whatever you call it.” She laughed lightly before adding, “It’s kind of your thing.”

He forced a smile he didn’t feel and shook his head. “Flying solo tonight.”

Yeri's face fell slightly, genuine disappointment softening her features. "Oh," she said, voice trailing off. She glanced at the empty space beside him where you usually stood.

"It's just when you two are up there together, it's like…" Her fingertips tapped against her drink, searching for words. “Like you just click up there. Like watching two halves of something come together perfectly.”

Before he could respond or correct her assumptions, she was gone again, swallowed by the thrumming crowd below.

Beomgyu stood there for a moment longer than necessary, staring at nothing in particular as her words echoed in his mind. Two halves. A phrase that should have felt flattering instead landed like a punch to the stomach because he couldn’t bring himself to deny it entirely.

Later that week, he tried again, sending a casual text: ‘New track dropping tonight. Thought you might want first listen before I blow everyone's minds.’

When your text came hours later, just as Beomgyu was preparing to leave his apartment. Simple and devoid of its usual spark, he stared at it for longer than he wanted to admit: ‘Sounds good. Can’t make it though. Have fun.’

No playful teasing about him hyping himself up too much. No sly promise to show him up next time or challenge him to top whatever track he was working on now. Just indifference.

Beomgyu frowned at the screen before typing out a reply, and then deleting it. He tried again and erased that too before finally settling on something neutral: ‘Everything okay? Not like you to miss so many nights.’

The dots indicating you were typing appeared almost immediately. Then disappeared. Then reappeared. Until finally: ‘All good. Just busy with other stuff.’

He stared at those two words, ‘other stuff’, for far longer than was reasonable or healthy before locking his phone and shoving it back into his pocket with more force than necessary.

Beomgyu's jaw clenched. "Other stuff," he muttered, the words bitter on his tongue. His eyes fixed on the ceiling, hand raking through his hair as the empty apartment absorbed his silence.

The edge of the mattress dipped beneath him as he collapsed onto it. He shouldn't look. He knew he shouldn't. Three minutes of stillness passed before his hand betrayed him, reaching for the phone again.

Your Instagram stories appeared: you in an unfamiliar plain black dress among suited strangers, Eunseok's racing promos, and your tight smile beneath his possessive arm.

Beomgyu scrolled frantically, searching for any hint of turntables, any flash of equipment, any echo of the passion that once defined you. Nothing of you remained. Three months back, he found it: your last music post, buried under Eunseok's carefully curated life.

Two weeks later, you returned to the club. Beomgyu spotted you immediately but hesitated. Was it really you? The bold colors were gone, replaced by conservative black. Your makeup was barely visible under the strobes. You moved differently too, head slightly bowed as you navigated the crowd, all your sharp edges sanded down to something unrecognizably softer.

According to Ningning, you were rarely home these days. Just quick stops for clothes before disappearing again, Eunseok always waiting. Karina and Winter had filled Beomgyu in, voices tinged with worry; the four of you had always been close in college, and it hurt to watch you fade from your own life.

Winter intercepted you near the bar before Beomgyu could move closer himself, and though he couldn't hear their conversation over the pounding bassline echoing through every corner of the room, he could see enough in your body language to guess its tone: concern etched into Winter’s features; deflection written all over yours.

When you finally made your way toward him, your steps hesitant, it felt like watching someone approach a stranger rather than an old friend or rival.

“Stranger,” he greeted lightly when you reached him, though there was an edge beneath his casual tone that neither of you acknowledged directly yet both understood implicitly. "I was starting to think you'd found another rival."

"Hey," you replied, your voice softer than he remembered. "Sorry I've been MIA. Things have been different."

"Different how?" he asked, studying your face, searching for traces of the fire he was used to seeing there.

You glanced away. "Just busy. Eunseok's world is… it's not like this. There are expectations."

Beomgyu’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly at the mention of Eunseok’s name. He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that seemed casual but was anything but.

"Expectations that don’t include being yourself?" The words slipped out before he could stop them, sharp and direct like a needle piercing skin.

Your head snapped up at that, your eyes locking onto his with a flicker of something raw—anger? Defiance? Pain? It was hard to tell because just as quickly as it appeared, you smothered it, dropping your gaze once more. "I’m still me," you said quietly, though even you didn’t sound convinced. "Just evolving, I guess."

"Y/N!" Giselle, a regular from the club approached with a beaming smile, her excitement palpable even over the music thrumming around you both. Her eyes lit up like she’d spotted a celebrity. "Please tell me you’re playing tonight? Last month when you two were trading beats back-to-back—oh my God—the whole floor went wild! I still have videos on my phone." She fumbled with her device before thrusting it toward you eagerly.

On the screen played a clip from weeks ago. Your hands flying over the controls with precision and ease while Beomgyu leaned in close beside you, both of you laughing as your fingers collided over the same slider.

You forced a polite smile as she showed off the clip. "Not tonight," you said gently but firmly, shaking your head. "Just stopping by to say hi."

Giselle’s face fell slightly, her disappointment clear as she glanced between you and Beomgyu. "That’s too bad," she said wistfully. "You two are seriously the highlight of the weekends here! So much chemistry." She hesitated for half a beat before adding with a sly grin, "Are you sure you’re not dating?"

Heat rushed to your cheeks at her suggestion, and for a moment, you looked genuinely flustered, an expression Beomgyu hadn’t seen on you before. You cleared your throat awkwardly. "We’re just colleagues," you corrected quickly then softer. "…Friends."

"Well, whatever you are," she said with a shrug before heading toward the bar, "It works."

As she disappeared into the crowd, an uneasy silence settled between you and Beomgyu once again. The rhythmic pounding of bass filled the space where words should have been.

Beomgyu opened his mouth as if to say something—anything—but when he caught sight of your expression—your eyes downcast and shadowed with something heavier than fatigue; your shoulders slightly hunched as though bracing for impact, he stopped himself short.

"Are you at least still making music?" he asked instead.

You hesitated. "Eunseok thinks DJing isn't sustainable," you said, eyes fixed on something distant. "He wants me behind-the-scenes. Studio work. No late nights."

Beomgyu blinked at you in disbelief as though struggling to reconcile what he’d just heard with everything he knew about you, the person who used to live for nights like this, who thrived in front of an audience, whose entire being seemed to come alive behind those turntables.

"Since when do you let someone else decide what to do with your talent?" His words came out sharper than intended, a mix of frustration and hurt bleeding into his tone.

"It’s not like that," you said quickly, but there was no conviction behind your defense this time. You rubbed at the back of your neck awkwardly before continuing in a quieter voice: "He just wants what’s best for me."

"And you think what’s best for you is giving up the one thing that makes your soul light up like nothing else?" Beomgyu shot back, but even as he spoke those words aloud, he regretted them instantly when he saw how they hit you.

Your lips parted slightly as though to respond, but then closed again just as quickly when no words came forth.

"…I should go," you murmured after a long beat of silence so heavy it felt suffocating. "Eunseok’s waiting outside."

Beomgyu's fingers twitched at his side, but he remained rooted in place as you turned toward the exit.

"Y/N," he called, just loud enough to cut through the bass. You paused, glancing back.

"If you ever want to play again—I'm here," he said simply.

Something flickered behind your eyes—gratitude? regret?—before the strobe lights washed it away.

"Thanks," was all you said softly before disappearing into the crowd without another word.

Beomgyu watched you go, the protective instinct he felt at war with his respect for your choices. He picked up his phone, scrolling to your conversation, typing and deleting several messages before settling on: ‘Miss your sound in the mix. It's not the same without you.’

He hit send, then turned his attention to the equipment, channeling his frustration and worry into the one language that had always connected you.

Eunseok's phone buzzed on the coffee table. Again. And again. The name "Sieun" flashed with each notification. You weren't one to snoop, but your eyes caught the preview anyway: ‘Can't wait to see you tonight. Wear that shirt I like.’

Your stomach dropped. The casual intimacy of a stranger's words turned your blood to ice.

Your hands trembled as they hovered above the phone. It could be innocent, you told yourself, clinging to that hope even as it unraveled before your very eyes. But deep down, your heart already whispered the truth, its voice small but steady like a warning bell ringing in a storm.

The apartment felt airless, suffocatingly so, as if the walls were closing in. The sleek lines of the furniture and the spotless surfaces suddenly felt oppressive, their perfection mocking you. You reached for the phone almost without thinking, your fingers brushing against its cool surface as if it might burn you. He’d never bothered to hide his passcode from you, a gesture you’d once interpreted as trust but now saw clearly for what it was. Arrogance. He didn’t think you’d ever have a reason to look.

With three swipes, the truth unfolded on the screen like a slow-motion train wreck. Weeks of messages between Eunseok and Sieun painted a picture you couldn’t bring yourself to imagine before now. Your chest tightened as your eyes scanned the texts, each one cutting deeper than the last.

'You deserve someone who matches your class, not some wannabe DJ.'

Your breath caught in your throat. The words seemed so clinical, so detached, as if she were critiquing an outfit rather than dismantling your worth.

'When are you going to tell her? It’s been almost two months.'

Two months. The phrase echoed in your mind like a cruel refrain. Two months of lies, of stolen moments he hadn’t earned, of him smiling at you while his phone buzzed in his pocket with her messages. You had canceled gigs for him, reshaped your style for him, reshaped yourself for him—and all the while, he’d been carefully constructing an exit plan.

And then there were his replies—those were worse than anything Sieun could have written.

'I know. I need someone who understands my world better.'

'Soon. She’s not what I thought she’d be anyway.'

The air left your lungs in a rush. Not what he thought you'd be? The phrase struck a nerve so deep it was almost primal. You set the phone down carefully as if it might detonate.

For a long time, you just sat there, staring at the immaculate apartment that now felt more like a stranger's museum than a space where you had lived.

Nothing here reflected who you were before Eunseok entered your life like some gilded promise. No trace of your music equipment, no vibrant splashes of color that defined you. Even the photos on his shelves were curated with precision: him at races, with sponsors, with colleagues—all glossy and soulless.

Your eyes drifted toward the mirror by the door. The woman staring back wasn't someone you recognized. She wore your face but none of your essence—lips tinted pale pink instead of bold red, hair tamed into smooth waves, clothes blending into beige walls like camouflage in a battlefield where individuality was unwelcome.

When had this happened? When Eunseok convinced you it was time to 'grow up', was this what he meant? Not recognizing yourself?

Your gaze shifted again, landing on a stack of event flyers neatly placed on the counter. Eunseok’s face dominated each one. You remembered now: how he’d nudged you to post about his races, how he’d smiled when your followers boosted his engagement metrics overnight, how he’d kissed your forehead when brand reps began sliding into his DMs.

It clicked all at once, the timing of everything. He hadn’t ended things earlier because he still needed you. Your audience, your connections, you.

The sound of keys jangling at the front door broke through your spiraling thoughts like a shard of glass slicing through fabric. You stiffened but didn’t move from where you sat on the couch. The phone remained exactly where he had left it.

Eunseok walked in with his usual casual elegance, setting his gym bag down by the door before crossing to greet you with a perfunctory kiss aimed at your cheek. You turned your face away instinctively, and he paused mid-motion, frowning slightly.

"Something wrong?" His words were clipped, not concerned but inconvenienced, as though whatever was bothering you might derail his meticulously planned evening.

You looked up at him then, really looked at him for what felt like the first time in forever. The man standing before you wasn’t just flawed, he was hollow in ways you hadn’t allowed yourself to see before now.

"Who’s Sieun?" The question came out steadier than expected.

His reaction betrayed him immediately. Surprise flickered across his face before slipping into resignation so quickly it made your stomach churn. There was no guilt there, no panic, just annoyance that his secret had become your problem.

"You went through my phone," he said flatly.

"You left it unlocked," you replied evenly, though anger simmered just beneath the surface of your voice. "Her messages were popping up every five seconds, I didn’t exactly have to go looking."

He sighed heavily as though you were being unreasonable for noticing his betrayal. "It’s complicated," he said finally, a weak excuse that only served to stoke the fire inside you.

"Complicated?" You stood abruptly, unable to contain yourself any longer. "You’ve been seeing her for two months while I’ve been what? A placeholder? A marketing strategy?"

His jaw tensed as if bracing for impact but still refused to meet your gaze directly. "Don’t be dramatic," he muttered dismissively.

"Dramatic?" Your voice rose. "You don’t get to call me dramatic after everything I’ve given up for you! My music, my friends—hell, even my identity! And for what? So you could decide I wasn’t ‘refined’ enough for your world?"

Eunseok winced at that but recovered quickly, his expression hardening into something colder, more calculated.

"This," he said, his hand flicking in your direction like you were an afterthought, as though the weight of your presence and everything this confrontation represented was nothing more than a minor inconvenience to him, "Is exactly why we don’t work. You’re too much."

His words hung there, casual and bored, as if he'd rehearsed this a hundred times. It cut through you with surgical precision, severing the illusion that he had ever truly seen you or valued what you'd given.

You stared at him, mind racing for something to grasp onto, but instead found clarity emerging from the fog.

"You’re right," you said finally, the words rolling off your tongue with surprising lightness. And then, a laugh escaped. Soft at first but growing louder as it filled the sterile space. It tasted foreign and familiar all at once, like freedom rediscovered. "I am too much—for you."

His expression shifted ever so slightly at that, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before being buried beneath his usual mask of control. He opened his mouth to respond but seemed to think better of it, his jaw tightening instead.

But you weren’t done. Not yet.

"I gave up everything for you," you said. Your voice wavered, betraying the emotions swelling inside despite your determination to stay composed. "Wasn’t that enough?"

Eunseok’s gaze softened. Not with empathy but with something worse. Pity. That subtle tilt of his head, the faint downturn of his lips, it made your stomach churn. "No," he said simply, his tone devoid of malice but heavy with finality. "I’m done trying to make this work."

The sentence hit you like a slap, but beneath the sting came an unexpected feeling of relief. It rose in your chest, small at first, then expanding with each breath until you couldn't ignore it anymore.

"Done," you repeated, the word strangely light on your tongue. "Just like that."

He didn't flinch, just leaned against the counter with practiced ease, physically removing himself from the emotional debris between you.

"Sieun understands my world," he said suddenly, his voice calm but clipped, as if offering an explanation would somehow absolve him. "She’s elegant, cultured-"

"Boring," you interrupted. The word slipped out unbidden, a blunt edge cutting through his carefully chosen defense. Your laugh followed, sharp and unrestrained, echoed through the too-clean apartment like an unexpected guest at his curated evening.

His eyes darkened instantly, warm brown hardening to black as he stared at you with barely concealed irritation. "This is exactly why it was never going to work," he said coldly. "You don't understand what it means to belong in certain circles."

You raised an eyebrow, not out of surprise but incredulity. Wasn't that just like him? To reduce life to neat boxes and social hierarchies? The thought made your laughter bubble up again, louder.

"I understand perfectly," you said once your laughter subsided. Your hand brushed against your beige sweater. Bought because he'd once called it 'sophisticated' on someone else, and the gesture brought unexpected clarity.

"I just never wanted to trade my soul for a seat at your table," you continued, meeting his gaze without flinching. "Some things matter more than whatever you told me 'growing up' means, like enjoying your life! Being passionate about what you do!"

He scoffed at that, a short, dismissive sound that felt more rehearsed than genuine, and waved a hand as if brushing aside your words entirely. "Pretty sentiments don’t build security or status," he said flatly.

"And what about Sieun?" The question came before you could stop yourself. "Does she know she’s just another acquisition? Another box checked off on your perfect-life checklist?"

For once, Eunseok didn’t have an immediate response ready and in that brief hesitation lay all the confirmation you needed.

"You should go," he said finally when no retort presented itself.

"Gladly." You moved to gather your things, the few possessions you'd brought to his immaculate space, only to realize how little of yourself you'd allowed here. A toothbrush. A few change of clothes. Nothing that truly represented who you were.

As you reached the door, a sudden thought made you turn back. "Did you ever actually like me? Or was I just a challenge? The girl who used to be beneath your notice suddenly making a name for herself?"

Eunseok hesitated, and in that pause, you had your answer.

"I thought so," you said softly. "You didn't want me. You wanted to conquer me. To prove you could have anything—anyone—you set your sights on."

"That's not fair," he protested, but the defense sounded hollow even to his own ears.

"No, it's not," you agreed. "But neither was making me feel like I had to erase myself to be worthy of you." You took a deep breath, meeting his eyes directly. "I'm done disappearing for people who don't appreciate what I am."

You walked out, closing the door firmly behind you. In the hallway, you leaned against the wall, waiting for tears that never came. Each step away from Eunseok's apartment peeled away another layer of heaviness from your shoulders.

On taxi home, you pull out your phone and Airpods, opening your music app. Your thumb hovered between your classical playlist—the one Eunseok approved—and "MY MIXES," untouched for months. You pressed play. The bass hit like electricity, foreign yet familiar.

You stand across the street from the club, hands jammed into your jacket pockets to hide their trembling. It’s been three days since the break up with Eunseok, and tonight you’ve at last summoned the nerve to return to the place that once felt more like home than anywhere else.

For seventy-two hours you’ve cycled through the same exhausting loop. Anger that blazed in your chest at his betrayal, and humiliation that curled in your stomach. You hated how casually he’d tossed aside everything you built together with that smug line about “finding someone more suitable.”

Worse was realizing how willingly you’d let him clip your wings, convinced that leaving your passion and trading it for business circles and fake smiles was the right path of adulthood.

The night you returned home, Ningning knew something bad had happened, but you promised you’d fill her in later, begging her not to mention anything to your friends for the time being. There was a lot you needed to sort out, not just your feelings, but the relationships you were close to losing if you hadn't already.

You draw a shaky breath and step off the curb. Each footfall drags memories behind it—Eunseok’s disapproving frown when he dropped you off, his subtle digs at your friends, his dismissal of what this club meant to you. But tonight isn’t about him. Tonight is about reclaiming something you surrendered too easily.

Your outfit is a tentative return to your old style: black ripped jeans, a vintage band tee, and the metallic jacket he once called “trying too hard.” Your eyes are red-rimmed, not from heartbreak but from rage at yourself for ever giving him that power.

As you reach the entrance, a tall, familiar figure steps out from the alley.

Beomgyu looks up from his phone, blinks in surprise, then straightens. He takes a hesitant step toward you, concern softening his features. “Y/N?” His voice cuts through the night air. “Are you okay?”

That simple question so direct yet spoken with genuine care nearly broke whatever fragile composure you’d pieced together on your walk here. You swallowed hard against the lump forming in your throat and forced yourself to answer.

“Not really,” you said finally, your voice rough and barely above a whisper. “But I will be.”

Beomgyu’s expression shifted again, equal parts hesitance and determination as he took another small step closer. He moved slowly, almost cautiously, as though afraid one wrong move might send you turning away into the night.

“Do… do you want to talk about it? Or not talk about it?” His lips quirked upward briefly in an awkward half-smile before adding softly, “I can do either.”

A small, broken laugh escaped you. "When did you get so accommodating? Happened to the guy who lived to challenge everything I said?"

His smile widened slightly at that, a flicker of his old mischievous self breaking through, but there was something gentler in his eyes now as he replied, “He’s still here. Just on pause while his friend is hurting.”

Friend. Beomgyu said it but the word hit harder than expected, both warming and stinging in equal measure.

"Eunseok and I broke up," you said, the words tumbling out before you could rethink them. "Or more accurately, I found out he's been seeing someone else for months. Someone more 'his standard.'" You made air quotes around the phrase, trying to sound detached even as your voice wavered.

Beomgyu’s brow furrowed, surprise flashing to indignation. He inhaled, jaw clenching. “His standard?” he repeated, incredulous. “ What does that even mean?”

You offered a hollow shrug, shoulders slumping. Your voice dropped to a whisper. “I guess I’m not it.”

His expression darkened. He curled his fingers into fists, then slowly let them fall open, knuckles paling. “I’m sorry he made you feel like that,” he said, his tone low and protective.

You looked past him at the flickering club entrance, eyes stinging. “I changed everything for him. My music, my style, my personality... To fit his image. And he cheated.”

Beomgyu didn’t hesitate. He met your gaze fiercely. “He’s an idiot,” he said. “A complete fool who never deserved you.” The conviction in his voice was like armor around you.

“Ning said you’ve been asking about me,” you said after a beat, shifting the conversation slightly but not entirely leaving behind the vulnerability of the moment. Your voice softened as you spoke, almost hesitant now. “Checking if I was okay.”

Beomgyu’s ears flushed faintly at that, an unexpected splash of color against his otherwise composed demeanor, as he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah, well…” He trailed off for a second before attempting a nonchalant shrug that didn’t quite land. “The club’s been boring without someone trying to outdo me every night.”

His attempt at lightness brought a faint smile to your lips despite everything. Still, there was no missing the concern lingering beneath his words or the way his eyes searched yours like he was trying to gauge just how okay—or not—you really were.

You studied him, tilting your head. Something shifted between you, unspoken but understood. For once, you let yourself feel grateful he was the solid ground when everything else had crumbled.

"Thanks," you said finally, your voice quieter but steadier than before. You weren’t sure if it was enough to convey everything you wanted to say but Beomgyu nodded anyway as if he understood perfectly without needing further explanation.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he replied simply, but there was warmth in his tone that lingered long after the words themselves had faded into the night air.

"I missed it," you confessed. "More than I let myself admit. The music, the energy, the…" You hesitated, then finished softly, "The way I felt when I was here. Like I mattered. Like what I created mattered."

Beomgyu took a step closer, close enough that you could see the flecks of amber in his dark eyes. He seemed to be fighting some internal battle. His hands twitched at his sides as if he wanted to reach for you but was holding himself back.

"Your music matters," he said, voice dropping low enough that only you could hear.

His fingers tapped nervously against his thigh. "Everything he tried to,” He stopped himself, jaw tightening. "The fire in you that he wanted to put out? That's exactly what makes you you."

Something caught in your chest, the raw certainty behind them. After months of Eunseok's subtle corrections and disappointed sighs, here was someone seeing all your jagged edges as strengths.

"I almost didn't make it past the door," you confessed, gesturing vaguely toward the club entrance. "Just wanted to stand here and remember the feeling."

"This place remembers you," Beomgyu said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a small flash drive, turning it over once in his palm before extending it. "I was going give this to Ningning. Every drop, every transition, every time you made this place erupt. I saved them all," His hand trembled slightly. "For when you needed reminding."

You stared at the small device in his palm, a lump forming in your throat. While you'd been busy trying to erase yourself for Eunseok, Beomgyu had been preserving the very parts of you that you were letting go.

"You recorded my sets?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He shrugged, looking almost shy. "I told myself it was to study your technique, find your weaknesses. But really," He met your eyes. "I just thought they were too good to be lost."

With trembling fingers, you took the flash drive, your skin brushing against his palm. "Thank you," you said, closing your hand around it like something precious. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," he replied. Then, with a hint of his usual playful challenge, he added, "But if you want to thank me properly, you could get back behind those decks sometime. The crowd misses you. The music misses you." A pause. "I miss you."

The last three words hung between you, weighted with meaning neither of you was ready to fully examine. You clutched the flash drive tighter.

"I'm not sure I'm ready to perform again," you admitted. "I feel out of practice. Out of touch with myself."

Beomgyu's gaze softened, the neon lights from the club sign catching in his dark eyes. "The turntables will wait," he said simply. "Tonight, next week, whenever. That corner of the booth? It's still yours. Always has been."

His words landed softly, without hooks or conditions attached. You inhaled sharply, feeling your ribs expand around something that had been compressed for too long.

Eunseok had been all deadlines and benchmarks. Be quieter by Tuesday, dress better by Friday, become someone else entirely by the end of the month. But here was Beomgyu, holding the door open without checking his watch, saying you could walk through whenever you were ready.

"He didn't deserve what you gave," Beomgyu said softly, as if reading your thoughts. "The Y/N I know, she's fierce. She's unstoppable. Don't let him take that from you."

You stared at the small device in your palm, then up at Beomgyu's face, the same face that had challenged you across countless DJ battles, never once suggesting you turn down your sound.

Something inside you cracked open, and tears spilled down your cheeks, washing away months of careful restraint.

"I'm going to need some time," you said, swiping at your face with your sleeve.

"Take all the time you need." Beomgyu shifted his weight, then gestured toward the club door. "We could just sit in the back corner. Winter keeps that booth empty on Thursdays anyway."

You considered the offer, tempted by the comfort of his presence, but shook your head. You had taken enough from him tonight. "Not tonight. I need to listen to these first."

Beomgyu nodded, hands sliding into his pockets. "Another time, then."

As you turned, the bass from inside vibrated through the sidewalk beneath your feet. You'd taken three steps when his voice caught you.

"Y/N?" You looked back. "He was wrong about you. You were never too much. You were never too much to me."

You smiled, a small, fragile thing, but the first real smile in weeks. "Goodnight, Beomgyu."

"Goodnight, Y/N."

You linger on Beomgyu’s text, reading it twice: ‘Took a night off from the club. Want to grab food? No pressure, just thought you might want a change of scenery.’

For a week, you’ve been replaying your old sets on the flash drive he gave you. Now, your thumb hovers over the reply, a flutter in your stomach. This isn’t just a DJ thing, or a networking move. It feels different, almost like a real friendship. Maybe even more. Before you can overthink it, you text back: ‘Yes. Tell me when and where.’

His answer pops up right away: ‘Bang’s Diner on 8th. 10pm? It’s nothing fancy, but they make the best pancakes in the city.’

Pancakes for dinner. You grin. Eunseok would’ve rolled his eyes at the idea, demanded reservations somewhere “elevated.”

You quicky reply and then spend the next hour rifling through your closet, suddenly unsure what fits the mood, a habit you picked up hoping to please Eunseok.

You end up in black jeans and your old oversized sweatshirt, the one that always felt like home. Pulling it on is like breathing out after holding your breath for months.

The diner's neon sign bathes the sidewalk in blue and pink as you walk up. Through the window, you spot Beomgyu already at a booth, scrolling his phone, hair tousled, t-shirt simple. Something about how relaxed he looks lets some of your nerves slip away.

When you pushed open the door, the bell jingled overhead. Beomgyu looked up, his face breaking into a genuine smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. He waved you over, tucking his phone away as you slid into the booth across from him.

"You came," he said, and something in his tone suggested he hadn't been entirely sure you would.

"I came," you confirmed, shrugging off your jacket. "Hard to resist the promise of the city's best pancakes."

A waitress approached, pen poised over her notepad. "What can I get you two?"

"Chocolate chip pancakes, extra whipped cream," you said without hesitation. "And a chocolate milkshake."

Beomgyu raised an eyebrow, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Same for me, but make it a strawberry milkshake."

As the waitress disappeared into the kitchen, Beomgyu's eyes crinkled at the corners. "I haven't seen you order dessert for dinner since before…"

The words hung in the air. Your fingers twisted the paper napkin in your lap. "He thought sugar was basically poison. Said my skin would break out."

"And tonight?" Beomgyu's voice was casual, but his eyes watched you carefully.

You straightened your shoulders. "Tonight I'm remembering what it feels like to actually want something and just have it."

His smile spread slowly, reaching all the way to his eyes. "There she is. The girl who used to steal whipped cream straight from the canister at afterparties."

You flush at what he said. Had he been paying that much attention all along?

"So," you said, changing the subject, "A night off from the club. I don't think I've ever known you to voluntarily miss a set."

"The world won't end if I take one day off," he replied with a casual shrug. "Besides, Yeonjun's covering for me. Said it was about time I had a life outside those four walls."

"And is this it? Your life outside those walls?" you asked, gesturing between you.

The question held more weight than you'd intended, and Beomgyu seemed to consider his answer carefully. "Part of it," he finally said. "The part I've been wanting to explore more."

Before you could unpack that statement, your food arrived. Towering stacks of pancakes drowning in syrup and whipped cream, alongside milkshakes topped with cherries.

You took a bite and closed your eyes in bliss. "Oh my god," you groaned. "Why have I been eating cold salads when this exists?"

Beomgyu's laugh rippled across the table, warm and genuine. You felt your shoulders drop an inch. "I can't believe you gave up this for rabbit food," he said, gesturing at the pancake stack with his fork. “I should’ve shoved pancakes in your face when you dropped by."

"You should have," you said, taking another decadent bite. "It would have saved me months of misery."

"Would you have listened?" he asked, suddenly serious. "If I had told you he wasn't right for you?"

You paused, the fork halfway to your mouth, considering the question. "Probably not," you admitted finally. "I had to figure it out for myself."

"Yeah," he said softly. "I figured that was the case. Still wish I'd tried harder though."

His face softened, and his eyes met yours with an open vulnerability that sent a gentle flutter through your chest. You asked softly, "What made you stick around when I was becoming someone else?"

Beomgyu swirled the straw in his milkshake thoughtfully. "Because I watched you disappear," he shared, holding your gaze. "Every week, more of you faded away. Your style shifted; even your entrance into a room changed." He drew a deep breath. "And it hurt, not just for me but also for you. I saw it in your eyes, you weren't happy."

His honesty struck you deeply, leaving a lump in your throat. "I thought I was doing what was right," you murmured. "Growing up seemed like becoming more mature, more refined. I thought that's what being an adult meant."

"But growing up isn't about losing yourself," Beomgyu countered gently. "It's about embracing who you truly are."

You looked at him, throat tight. With Eunseok, you'd suffocated your passions under the guise of maturity. Now, across from Beomgyu who simply saw you, the mistake was painfully clear.

In that diner filled with the hum of low conversations and the faint clinking of cutlery on porcelain plates, the soft gleam of neon lights outside spilled colorful reflections onto the table between you two.

The conversation shifted to lighter topics, music you'd both been listening to, stories from college, dreams you'd set aside but were reconsidering. You laughed until your sides hurt, finally breathing in your own skin again.

"Remember that time Yeonjun tried to crowd-surf at that tiny venue and ended up crushing that table?" Beomgyu asked, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

"And the owner made him work as a barback for a month to pay for it?" you finished, nearly choking on your milkshake. "God, I haven't thought about that in ages."

"Those were good times," Beomgyu said, a fond smile playing on his lips. "Before everything got so complicated."

A comfortable silence fell between you, broken only by the sounds of forks against plates and the muted jukebox playing some '80s power ballad in the background.

"Hey," Beomgyu said suddenly, setting down his fork. "There's this park a few blocks from here. People busk there sometimes, even at night. Nothing fancy, just street musicians doing their thing. Wanna check it out after this?"

You hesitated only briefly before nodding. "Yeah. That sounds perfect, actually."

The night wrapped around you both as you walked, each step toward the park feeling like a step back into your own body. Just you and Beomgyu, walking side by side, occasionally bumping shoulders as you navigated the sidewalk.

The park was small but alive with energy, a guitarist playing in one corner, a small crowd gathered around a beatboxer in another. Fairy lights had been strung through the trees, casting a soft glow over everything.

"This is beautiful," you said, turning in a slow circle to take it all in.

"Yeah," Beomgyu replied, but when you looked at him, he wasn't looking at the park. He was looking at you. "You're more relaxed now. More like yourself."

Your shoulders relaxed as you exhaled. "It's like I've been wearing shoes two sizes too small. I forgot what it felt like to just breathe."

Beomgyu's eyes caught the fairy lights above as he watched you. "Remember that set you played at SM last year? When the power went out and you kept everyone dancing with just percussion?" His voice softened. "That's who you've always been, someone who finds a way, who makes magic from nothing."

You ran your finger along the rough wood of a nearby bench. "I’m done trying to impress people."

"Thank god." Beomgyu said, the corner of his mouth lifting.

The cooling night air went unnoticed, as you and Beomgyu strolled through the park. Drawn to an intimate crowd, a guitarist strummed a familiar melody from your own performances. As you prepared to mention this to Beomgyu, someone across the path seized your attention.

Instinctively, your body tensed. Eunseok, immaculately dressed as always, his arm wrapped around a slim, elegant woman who could only be Sieun.

Your stomach dropped, a cold wave of anxiety washing over you. Of all the places in the city, on all the nights, how was it possible that he would be here? You unconsciously took a step closer to Beomgyu, your hand reaching for his arm without thinking.

"What's wrong?" Beomgyu asked, immediately alert to the change in your demeanor. He followed your gaze across the park, his body tensing when he spotted Eunseok. "Is that—"

"Yes," you confirmed, your voice tight. "And I'm guessing that's Sieun with him."

Sieun was everything you'd imagined, petite, perfectly styled, wearing an outfit that screamed tasteful wealth. She looked like she belonged in a glossy magazine spread, not a casual park where people performed on street corners.

Beomgyu's hand found the small of your back, warm and steady. "We can leave if you want," he offered quietly. "There's another exit on the far side."

The offer was tempting. But something in you had shifted. Perhaps the comfort of a full stomach, or Beomgyu's laughter still echoing in your ears. Running away suddenly felt wrong.

"No," you decided, straightening your shoulders. "I'm done letting him dictate where I go and how I feel."

Beomgyu's smile was equal parts surprised and proud. "Alright then," he said, his hand still steady on your back. "Lead the way."

It was too late for avoidance anyway. Eunseok had spotted you, his casual stroll with Sieun redirecting toward your position. You watched him approach, noting how he straightened his already perfect posture, how his grip on Sieun tightened slightly, subtle posturing that you recognized from your months together.

"Y/N," Eunseok greeted, his voice smooth and controlled. "What a surprise."

"Eunseok," you replied, proud of how steady your voice sounded. "It is, isn't it?"

His eyes flicked to Beomgyu, then to where your arm had looped through Beomgyu's, a gesture you weren't even aware you'd made. A faint, condescending smile touched his lips.

"Didn't take you long to move on, huh?" Eunseok said, the words casual but laced with judgment.

You felt Beomgyu tense beside you, but before he could speak, you found words rising to your throat, sharp and clear.

"Didn't take you long to find someone who'd let you decide who she should be," you replied, your tone cold but strong.

Eunseok's carefully composed expression faltered for just a moment. Beside him, Sieun shifted uncomfortably, her eyes darting between the three of you.

"I'm Sieun," she offered into the tense silence, extending her hand with practiced politeness. "You must be Y/N. I've heard about you."

You shook her hand briefly, wondering exactly what she had heard. "I'm sure you have."

Eunseok cleared his throat, clearly eager to regain control of the situation. "We were just taking a walk before heading to the Black Label Gallery opening," he said, name-dropping the exclusive event you knew he'd been angling for an invitation to for months. "Didn't expect to find you in a place like… This."

You felt the familiar twist in your stomach, that subtle reminder that the parks with street musicians and fairy lights weren't sophisticated enough for someone like you. Or at least, the you he'd tried to create. The you who'd learned to quietly walk out of a restaurant with Eunseok screaming at the waitress for not giving him a VIP section table.

"Funny," you said, meeting his gaze. "I was just telling Beomgyu how much I missed places like this.”

Beomgyu’s arm brushed yours, grounding you. "The musicians here play what they feel," he said, eyes steady on Eunseok. "That's why Y/N belongs here."

Eunseok’s gaze flickered to him, cool. “And you are?”

“Beomgyu. We met at the club.” He kept it flat. “I DJ too.”

Eunseok’s lips thinned. “Right. The club.” He made it sound like a bad word. “Well, glad to see you’re keeping yourself occupied, Y/N.”

You bit back a smile. “Not just occupied. Happy, actually. But happiness wasn’t really your thing, was it?”

Sieun tugged at his sleeve, anxious. “We should go, Eunseok. The gallery—”

He hesitated, wanting the last word. “Yeah. Good luck with your music. Hope it works out.”

“It will,” you said, meeting his eye.

Something unreadable flickered across his face. He just nodded, stiff, and steered Sieun away, hand on her back, like he owned the place.

You watched them walk away, Eunseok's back rigid with what you recognized as controlled anger. Only when they were out of sight did you realize you were trembling slightly.

"You okay?" Beomgyu asked quietly.

You took a deep breath, assessing yourself. The anxiety was there, but beneath it was something stronger, a fierce pride in having stood your ground. "Yeah," you said, and meant it. "I really am."

Beomgyu led you to a nearby bench, away from the main paths. You sat in silence for a moment, processing what had just happened.

"You were amazing," he finally said, admiration clear in his voice. "The way you stood up to him. I don't think he was expecting that."

"I wasn't expecting it either," you admitted, a small, incredulous laugh escaping you. "A week ago I would have apologized for existing in his presence."

“What changed?”

You glanced down, thumbing the edge of the bench before you met his eyes, raw and real. “He never wanted me. Just the version he could fix.” The truth stung coming out. “You saw the mess and didn’t flinch.”

Beomgyu’s lips parted, something flickering there. Hope, maybe, or something heavier. “Y/N—”

Sudden panic rose in your chest, not at what you'd said, but at what might come next. After months of Eunseok, after the raw wound of discovering his betrayal, after only just beginning to find yourself again—you weren't ready. Not yet.

"You're a really good friend, Beomgyu," you said quickly, the words feeling simultaneously true and wholly inadequate. "I don't know what I would have done without you these past few days."

You saw it happen, the slight dimming in his eyes, the small shift in his posture as he absorbed the word "friend" and what it meant. But to his credit, Beomgyu recovered quickly, his smile returning even if it didn't quite reach his eyes.

“That’s what friends are for,” he joked, too soft, the edges frayed. “Plus, someone’s got to keep your transitions in check.”

You laughed, grateful for his willingness to step back, to give you the space you needed even if it wasn't what he wanted. "Excuse me? That's debatable. I distinctly remember schooling you on your transitions last month."

"That was a fluke," he countered, falling easily back into your familiar pattern of competitive banter. "I was distracted that night."

You both laughed, but the silence after felt different. Full of things unsaid. The night air pressed cool between you, the city smudged with flickering streetlights and music in the distance.

Later, as he walked you home, neither of you spoke about what almost happened, or what you’d almost said. But his shoulder brushed yours, steady and close, and for the first time in months, you didn’t feel alone.

A few days after the park, Beomgyu texted: ‘Taehyun’s birthday at the club this Saturday. Everyone’s asking if you’ll be there.’

You stared at the screen, nerves and excitement tangling in your chest. Returning to the club meant facing everything you’d left behind head on, and the doubt crept in. Did you still have it? You almost replied with an excuse, then settled on, ‘I’ll think about it.’

Almost instantly his reply came: ‘Come by tomorrow? Got some new tracks to show you. And an idea.’

The next night, you found yourself at his door, heart pounding louder than your knock. He greeted you with that big, easy grin, the apartment smelling like ramen, cables and records covering every surface.

“So what’s this idea?” you asked, dropping onto the couch.

He perched across from you. “B2B set. You and me. Trade off like we did for that Halloween party last year.”

You hesitated. “I’m rusty, Gyu. It’s been ages.”

He rolled his eyes. “You could DJ in your sleep. Besides,” He held up a flash drive. “I’ve lined up your favorites, even remixed a few. All you’ve got to do is show up.”

You stared at your hands. “What if I can’t pull it off? What if they’ve all moved on?”

He squeezed your fingers, his calluses rough and reassuring. “You’re not forgotten. Winter says people ask for you every night. Come on. Let’s practice.”

Over the next three days, you found your rhythm again in his bedroom-turned-studio.

Saturday night, you stood in front of your closet. This time, you didn’t reach for anything muted. Leather jacket. Ripped jeans. Boots that made you feel invincible.

At the club, the bouncer’s grin said it all. “Been too long, Y/N!”

Inside, the crowd’s cheers followed you all the way to the bar. Winter slid you your usual. “Told you this place missed you.”

Beomgyu found you just before your set, eyes shining with approval. “Ready?”

You hesitated, but he grinned, easy and confident. “If you freeze, I’m right there with you. We’ve got this.”

Backstage, your hands shook as you set up. “Remind me why I agreed to this?” you whispered.

He nudged your shoulder. “Because you’re not done. And neither am I.”

The lights hit, the crowd roared. Beomgyu started, then handed you the reins. Your hands moved on autopilot, and the rush came flooding back. You didn’t just remember—you lived it.

Behind the decks, you and Beomgyu moved like dancers in perfect sync. His hand brushing yours as you reached for the mixer, your eyes meeting in silent communication before a transition. Each track flowed seamlessly into the next, your musical conversation drawing the crowd into something electric and alive.

Halfway through, you caught him watching you, pride in his eyes. He mouthed, “I told you.”

You grinned, your chest light.

When it ended, you were breathless, sweat-soaked, grinning like a maniac as the club erupted. Beomgyu hung back, watching you surrounded by friends and fans. Something in his gaze was different. Warmer, unguarded.

It was obvious now. He’d never wanted to outshine you. He just wanted to share the light.

The post-performance high still hummed through your veins as you helped Beomgyu pack up the equipment. The club had thinned out slightly, though Taehyun's birthday celebration was still going strong near the bar. Your hands moved automatically, coiling cables and sorting USB drives, muscle memory returning as if it had never left.

Occasionally, someone would stop by to compliment your set or express joy at your return, and each time, you found yourself smiling without the self-consciousness that had plagued you for months.

"We should take this stuff to the back room," Beomgyu suggested, lifting a case of equipment. "It's quieter there. Plus, I think Yeonjun brought some celebratory drinks."

You followed him through the service corridor to the small room that served as both storage and a break area for staff and regular performers. The sudden relative quiet was a relief after hours of thundering bass. You sank onto the worn leather couch, letting your head fall back, eyes closed.

"I forgot how exhausting it is," you murmured. "In the best possible way."

Beomgyu set down two bottles of water on the small table, opening one and handing it to you. "You were incredible tonight. Like you never left."

You took a grateful sip, studying him over the bottle's rim. He looked tired but exhilarated, his hair damp with sweat, eyes bright with residual adrenaline.

You watched him in this moment of unguarded authenticity and felt something shift beneath your ribs.

"I wouldn't have come back without you," you admitted quietly. "I probably would've just kept drifting. Trying to forget this part of me."

Beomgyu shook his head. "No. You would have found your way back eventually. You're too good not to."

"You have more faith in me than I do," you said with a small laugh.

"Always have." His reply was simple but loaded with meaning.

The music thumped distantly through the walls as you twisted the water bottle in your hands, trying to find the right words. Beomgyu leaned back, stretching his long legs out, waiting. “Can I ask you something kind of dumb?” you said, not looking at him.

He nudged your knee under the table. “Since when do you ask for permission?”

You huffed out a laugh. “Why do you care so much? About me coming back. My music. All of it. Really.”

You asked a similar question a few nights back at the park, but you needed to hear that assurance again, and maybe to pick up the conversation you were too scared to have, but couldn't wait anymore.

He didn’t answer right away. You could hear the faint clink of glasses from the bar, someone laughing too loud nearby.

"I could give you a lot of answers," he said finally. "That the club wasn't the same without you, that your music pushes mine to be better, that as rivals, we need each other to improve." He paused, his gaze finding yours, steady and serious in a way that made your pulse quicken. "They'd all be true, but none of them would be the whole truth."

You snuck a glance at him. “So what is it?”

He scratched the back of his head, looking suddenly younger, almost shy. “It hurt, watching you fade out for that guy. Not just because you changed or you stopped showing up. But because I… I missed you. The real you.”

You looked at him, heart pounding.

He swallowed. “And because I’m an idiot who’s in love with you.”

The words hung in the air between you, changing everything. You stared at him, stunned into silence, your mind racing. You had a feeling he had feelings for you, but you didn't expect the big L word.

“You’re what?” you whispered.

He gave a helpless little shrug, smile crooked, eyes too open. “Yeah. For a while now. Why do you think I recorded all your sets? Why I checked on you every time you canceled? Why seeing you with him hurt so much?"

You were silent, the truth slotting into all the places in your memory you hadn’t wanted to look at before. “I thought you just liked the rivalry. Or maybe the bragging rights.”

“At first, yeah,,” he chuckled. “When you were gone those few months, I finally understood what life was going to be like without you around… And I realized I wasn’t ok with that.”

You sat silent, his words settling into the locked rooms of your heart. After Eunseok had tried to reshape you and found you lacking, the idea that someone might love your actual self felt impossible. It was a ridiculous thought, seeing has you never had these doubts before being with him.

Love? Choi Beomgyu loves you? You thought you loved Eunseok, but you were wrong. So what's love?

"Say something," Beomgyu prompted softly, the faintest tremble in his voice betraying his nervousness. "Even if it's that you don't feel the same. I just needed you to know."

You looked at him. At the boy who'd challenged you from the first day, who pushed you to be better but never different. Who had seen you disappear piece by piece and had kept faith that you would return. Who had given you space when you needed it, support when you asked, and truth when you were ready to hear it.

You let out a shaky breath, blinking fast. “I don’t… I’m still a mess, Beomgyu. I’m still figuring shit out after everything.”

He held up his hands, palms open. “I know. You don’t owe me anything. I just couldn’t pretend anymore.”

You looked at him, nerves and hope tangled up inside you. “You’re such an idiot,” you said, your voice barely steady.

He grinned, half-embarrassed. “Yeah, but you like me anyway.”

“Maybe I do,” You sniffed, rubbing at your eyes. “How long?”

He gave a crooked smile. “Remember last summer? That night you closed with that wild ‘Unknown’ remix—the one with the violin? Crowd went nuts.”

You nodded, warmth flickering at the memory.

“That’s when I knew. I couldn’t look away.”

You swallowed, that moment blooming in your chest. “You never said anything.”

He shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Didn’t seem like you wanted that from me. We had our thing—rivals, right? Then you started seeing Eunseok, and well, the timing always sucked.”

He hesitated, softer now: “And honestly, I never wanted to be another guy telling you how to live. You deserve better than that.”

His honesty hit you right in the sternum. So simple, so gentle.

“I don’t know what I want,” you admitted.

He nodded. “Yeah. So be a mess. I’ll be here. Rival, friend, whatever you need. No pressure.”

You tried to smile, a little shaky but real. “Thanks. For not looking away, I mean. Even when I did.”

He squeezed your hand, eyes warm. “Hard not to notice you, Y/N. You kind of take up the whole room.”

Something inside you eased. You reached for him, fingers twining with his. Not a promise, just a start.

After a beat, you laughed. “We should get back. Taehyun will kill us if we miss cake.”

Beomgyu grinned, but didn’t let go. “Want to do one more set? Like old times?”

You grinned right back. “Try to keep up, Gyu.”

He laughed, and you felt lighter than you had in months. As you walked out, hand in hand, it struck you. Maybe you didn’t have everything figured out, but that was okay. With him, it felt less scary. Maybe even like freedom.

Back on stage, you caught his eye across the decks. Your old rhythm was there, but something new pulsed beneath it. He mouthed, “Ready?”

You nodded, grinning. “Hope you can keep up.”

His answering smile was all challenge and affection.

As the music pulsed around you, you realized you weren’t afraid anymore. You’d found your place—right here, right now—side by side with Beomgyu, exactly as you were.

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