Flashing lights everywhere.

Spotlight on stage day after day.

"Look how far ahead he is!! You need to practice more!"

"You need to have more muscle. Just look at Minho!"

Constant criticism left and right.

"Don't eat too much.”

“You HAVE to stay skinny!“

“People don't want to see a singer with baby fat!"

"Can you dance like him!? Rap like him?"

“Who’s going to set the trends in fashion this year? Minho or Key?”

Fanwars.

“You’re never going to top Minho.”

“Oppa, when are you getting your next set of fillers?”

“Key is f***ing ugly. No match for Minho.”

“Oppa, why are you getting fillers? You’re fine the way you are!”

“STOOOOP!!” Silence fell over the practice room.

Key panted, leaning onto his thighs with his hands. After a few breaths, he recomposed himself. “...I need a break.”

The choreographer sighed, then nodded. “Alright everyone. Let’s take five.”

All the backup dancers retreated to the side of the practice room for water. Key collapsed onto the couch by the wall to catch his breath.

How had he been doing this for six years? He had already established himself in the Kpop industry as a powerhouse and the representative of J.K. Entertainment. Critics raved over his demanding stage presence and unique artistry, the likes of which hadn’t been seen since BoA, the queen of Kpop herself. He sold millions of albums, sold out arenas, and entertained on popular variety shows.

And yet, the grind of the idol lifestyle continued on. For Key, the pressure was at an all-time high. He wasn’t just competing for the public’s attention; he was competing with another artist: one Choi Minho from T.M. Entertainment, the company’s main rival. He debuted just a few months after Key and quickly attracted media attention. Tabloids loved to compare the two, likely due to the timing of their releases. Had they debuted further apart, or in different generations entirely, the media likely would not have cared.

Key hated how they were being treated as competitors in a race. They had different styles and visuals. They could both bring something fresh to the music industry. No matter how many times Key tried to remind himself of this, the pressure still affected him. Even when he was giving 100%, he had to push harder to prove his worth.

It was less about art, and more about drama.

Everyone got up and practiced intensely for another four hours. Key nearly passed out in the car from the burnout. He leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes. He should have been used to this feeling of exhaustion, but today it was hitting him harder than normal. It was more than just fatigue; he was frustrated.

“You danced really well back there.” His manager spoke up from the driver’s seat. “Don’t beat yourself up. Today was hard, but it’ll all come together.”

All Key could do was sigh, too tired to even respond. He gave it his all, like always, and yet it never felt like enough.

He was hungry, too. His mouth salivated at the thought of making some delicious Penne Vodka at home. Sadly, he was on a diet that prohibited complex carbs, so he tried to distract himself with another thought -- something that didn’t remind him of the struggles of his job.

“Better than Minho?” Key asked sarcastically, not necessarily looking for an answer.

“Of course! He’s not a trained dancer like you.” His manager reassured.

“He’s not? He dances so well, though.”

“He probably learns well. But he’s not a natural like you. You’ll surpass him in no time.”

There it was again: the competition. Apparently, Minho was still ahead somehow of him. Instead of recognizing each of their individuality as entertainers, it was all about winning. All because at some point in the past, they promoted at the same time, and Minho won most of the awards on music programs. Key’s bosses saw it as a threat to their business and berated Key for not practicing hard enough.

Another time, their comebacks overlapped again, and Key won most of the awards. Did it matter to the higher ups? Obviously not. They cared about the money and investors. And they got their profit by constantly pitting them against each other.

It annoyed Key. His managers kept reminding him to pay attention to Minho’s strengths and evaluate them against his own weaknesses. It didn’t matter what Key could do right, just that there was always something that Minho did better.

It all frustrated him, but he couldn’t find a solution or a compromise. He remained silent for the rest of the drive home.

______________________________________

Key trudged up the stairs to his apartment. Normally, his two dogs, Comme Des and Garçons, would excitedly jump on him the moment he opened the door. Due to his busier schedule, he had left them in his parents' care, so he welcomed himself home to a silent living room.

Since he didn’t have to worry about refilling the dogs’ water or food bowls, he resigned to the couch, plopping face down and unleashing a tired groan. He was hungry, but also sleepy. He had a headache from dancing nonstop on little sustenance, and his limbs ached for rest. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, letting his mind wander.

He needed food, but couldn’t eat too much. His managers and superiors frequently checked in to make sure he was eating the right foods. They pushed him to become muscular like Minho, but that was near impossible without the right foods – specific foods that his company prohibited.

And even then, even with a rigorous exercise routine, he could only grow so much muscle. Key hadn’t quite figured out how to develop such large muscles. He heard from someone that Minho was quite athletic and exercised regularly. Outside of dancing, Key wasn’t the athletic type. Apparently, his dancers’ physique wasn’t enough to please the higher ups. He had to be skinnier than he is now, but also try to be buff. How would that work?

None of it made sense, yet that rhetoric was shoved in Key’s face almost daily.

What would Minho’s diet be like? Was it also limited due to his idol status? Or did his label allow him to eat more to maintain his good physique?

Why was he being compared to Minho so much? They couldn’t be more different from each other. What would this imaginary competition accomplish?

Perhaps that was the curse of being an idol. No matter how many records you broke, or how much influence you had, or how many venues you sold out, you would never be able to escape scrutiny. The comparisons never stopped. The public judged you no matter what you did to please them. You were never skinny enough, hot enough, or talented enough to keep them satisfied.

As much as Key wanted to sleep away these depressing thoughts, the violent growling of his stomach kept him awake. He pulled himself up and trudged to the kitchen to make himself a light dinner, along with a painkiller to ease the headache.

***THREE DAYS LATER, FRIDAY***

Key stared blankly in the mirror while his makeup team glammed him up for his performance. He was still burnt out from rehearsing nonstop, so he used this brief time in his dressing room to sit back and relax. Subconsciously, he was trying not to think about Minho.

As fate would have it, Minho and Key’s promotional periods once again overlapped. Minho’s mini album was announced to come out last month, but unspecified complications delayed the release by a few weeks. Lo and behold, they were now both performing at KBS Music Bank that day. Key figured it had to do with mismanagement from the label. He didn’t care to know the details, but it wasn’t that far-fetched. No company, not even those at the top, seemed to have their together when it came to managing their artists.

Just knowing that they were promoting together increased the pressure on Key. He had practiced until he nearly passed out, so it was pointless to worry about how well he would perform later. Quality was not the issue right now; it was his mere presence that weighed on Key. He had never met the guy before or even been within six feet of him. He didn’t know what his personality was like off camera or what kind of work ethic he had.

Perhaps the constant comparisons affected Key more than he realized, to the point where just the thought of Minho irked him. Up until now, Minho was the embodiment of everything Key lacked. Whenever he looked at him through pictures and videos, or listened to his songs, all Key could see were his own shortcomings.

It made him angry. It filled him with contempt.

A part of him knew that this hatred was misguided, and that nothing good would come of this negative mindset, but he did not know how to break out of it.

“Okay, you’re all set!” His makeup artist chimed, pulling Key out of his downward spiral for now.

He looked at himself in the mirror one last time, took a deep breath, nodded, and stood to head backstage.

The performance went off without a hitch. The short mental break he had back in the dressing room helped him sing on stage with a refreshed energy. After the ending fairy, he took a deep breath, relieved. He was able to smile proudly and genuinely as the fans applauded. Their cheers reinvigorated his love for performing. For four minutes, he got to dance confidently without having the competitive nature of the industry weigh him down. This is truly what being an entertainer was all about.

He walked back to his dressing room to cool down, both senior and junior artists congratulating him for yet another exhilarating performance along the way. He thanked every single one, relieved that outside of the media and company politics, most of the kpop idols were kind and supportive of one another.

Soon enough, the ending ceremony rolled around. It wasn’t until the finalists were standing on stage that Key realized that he and Minho were both runners-up for first place. Key had been so focused on his comeback preparations that he didn’t keep track of votes or streams, so he was caught off-guard when he was told to stand in the front, next to the MCs.

Minho stood opposite Key, to the left of the MCs from the performer’s view. This was likely the closest they had ever been to each other. To avoid another self-deprecating loop, Key focused ahead at the screen that displayed the votes, once again only seeing Minho through a screen.

Key took deep breaths as the numbers added up. It was too close to call. First, Minho led with physical sales. Then, the lead switched to Key with the number of streams. With each new category, the score flipped back and forth.

By the end, they were neck and neck, the screen frozen at 6546 votes for both singers. Who would win out for the night?

After a few more seconds passed, Minho’s score went up, a mere 324 votes securing the trophy.

Key knew to smile curtly and clap for his competitor. Truthfully, he wasn’t that upset; in fact, he felt an odd sense of relief from finally seeing the results. The anticipation for that first win died down and he could sleep more peacefully later.

After Minho gave his acceptance speech, Key simply bowed in his general direction and left the opposite way, along with a swarm of other idols. He changed out of his stage outfit and left with his manager.

After waving goodnight to the fans outside, he slumped in the seat, and his manager drove off with excitement. There was an exclusive nightclub that idols and their staff secretly frequented, typically after music show broadcasts. It allowed idols to mingle over drinks and let loose after work, without having to worry about fans, reporters, or company executives. Key frankly wasn’t in the mood to mingle, but he needed to destress with some alcohol, so he let his manager take him there.

Key downed some shots with his manager and labelmates while the DJs blasted EDM remixes. The celebrities jumped back and forth between the dance floor and the bar counter as the night went on, downing more shots and some bar snacks in between.

At some point, his manager went elsewhere, probably to mingle with some colleagues, leaving Key with the other singers. He smiled a bit, even chuckled – the first time he had laughed since the start of his comeback preparations. Outside of his job, he was an extrovert at heart and enjoyed interacting with others, but this time, the weight on his shoulders hadn’t quite worn off yet, so he couldn’t fully engage with anyone. He resorted to more liquor to loosen up his body and wash away the angst.

His limited diet from the last few weeks must have made the alcohol hit harder than usual, because Key started feeling a slight ache on the side of his head. That, combined with the deafeningly loud music, was making him dizzy. He figured that walking a bit would wear it out.

He sauntered over to the restroom, navigating his way through crazed drunks and couples aggressively making out. He stretched his hand out for support when he finally reached the wall. He took a moment to catch his breath and looked around to locate the restroom. As he turned his head, his gaze fixated on the weeping soul crouched by the corner. It took him a second to make out the face. He initially thought to ignore him, as he had been doing all day, but something in his buzzed brain compelled him to approach.

Key steadily made his way over. He leaned over slightly and gently patted the other’s shoulder. Minho raised his head, another tear streaming down his otherwise expressionless face.

This may have been the first time they even made eye contact, because Key never realized how big Minho's eyes were. All this time, Key would feel envy, anger, and frustration at the thought of his rival. However, as soon as their eyes met, those feelings of contempt vanished.

It was hard to pinpoint exactly what Key was feeling now. Something close to pity? Empathy? Awestruck from seeing this unfamiliar, vulnerable side of him?

Key gazed at him, as if his soft expression alone asked, Are you okay?

Minho blinked once slowly, then lowered his eyes as he raised himself up on one leg. Key lifted his hand from his rival's shoulder, letting it hover above as the other helped himself.

Minho scraped his tear away with the back of his hand. He was a bit taller, so he looked down at Key. Key still faced forward, but looked upward with his eyes to meet Minho’s gaze once more.

It was hard to get a read on his face. All Key could focus on were his deep brown eyes. They hadn't been this close to each other before, let alone chatted, and now they were within arm’s reach, unsure of what to say. While the lights flashed around them, the music pounding in their ears, they existed in their own bubble, focused only on each other.

Perhaps it was the drinks from before, or the music blasting in the distance, or some pent-up, unresolved feelings that couldn’t be pushed aside any longer, that led to what happened next.

It wasn’t clear who leaned in first, but soon enough, it wouldn't matter. Key instinctively raised his chin to meet Minho’s lips. It started with a gentle kiss, and then another, and it wasn’t long before a tongue slipped in.

Minho caressed Key’s jaw, while Key gripped Minho’s neck for support. A mix of confusion, frustration, and satisfaction powered each kiss. The warmth of each other’s breath kept them begging for more. Hands traveled across shoulders, beneath shirts, along their s. Key pulled to close the gap between them. Minho countered by stepping forward, pressing Key’s back up against the wall, forcing them to grind on each other. A warm sensation spread throughout their bodies. The music from the speakers drowned out their increasingly loud moans.

It happened so fast, yet the moment seemed to go on forever. There were still so many questions, so much that they didn’t know about each other; yet, somehow, it all made sense. Perhaps, in this brief moment where the walls had come down, they understood each other. They understood each other like no one else could.

It wasn’t long before they had made their way to Key’s apartment. Still intoxicated, the sounds of loud moans and sloppy kisses filled the air. Clothes were stripped and violently strewn across the floor. The two fell across the bed, still tugging at the other’s hair. Neither of them held back. They hardly looked at each other, but they felt their shared presence deeply. They felt it in the lips that traversed their chests, in the warm imprints left on their necks, and in every of the thigh. 

Perhaps they should have been more careful. Perhaps quieter. Any semblance of rational thought had left their minds back at the club. Key didn’t stop to think about the consequences, whether he had made a mistake or whether word of this would get out. He didn’t question it, because to him, it didn’t matter. The opinions of the outside world ceased to exist. For once, Key decided to self-indulge, embracing this newfound feeling of freedom and pleasure.

He didn’t have to think about tomorrow, just focus on now. Live in the moment, before it was lost forever.