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It started three months ago on a reddit snark page—Yeonjun saw it himself after a stupid late night deep dive on his google search results, a post about himself he hadn't seen before:

R/ChoiYeonjunSnark:

'Does anyone else think IMG is trying to imitate Beomgyu's success for Yeonjun? The first thing you see in the Vogue '73 Questions With Yeonjun' video is a photo of Beomgyu on his moodboard.'

↳ user782458: It's been known that Yeonjun is jealous of Beomgyu's success. There's a reason why they used to be seen everywhere, and now that Yeonjun is sooo much bigger they're nowhere to be seen. He was a leech and The Society finally picked up on it. Protect Beomgyu from that gold digger.

That could not be further than the truth, Yeonjun thought. They were nowhere to be seen because different agencies meant different schedules!

And anyway, why did it matter so much what they did? Didn't people have bigger problems to worry about?

Unfortunately for the both of them, the snark page made it to twitter. And once something made its way to twitter, you're fucked.

The press saw the hundreds of threads users made—saw the tiktoks, and the youtube videos, and the stupid substack thinkpieces that forced them to slowly drift apart. 

According to them, everything Beomgyu did was charity, everything Yeonjun did was spying. There was no way they could continue going out in public without the world peering in on them.

"That's just what being in the public eye is." his agency told him, denying his several requests to put out a statement. 

Deal with it. 

Don't adress it. 

Let it go.

Easier said than done, Yeonjun would say. 

Every time he walked a runway for a show, the first articles weren't just to praise him anymore; alongside them were the products of vulturish journalists, publishing side by side comparisons to see what part of Beomgyu might still be lingering in Yeonjun's form as he modeled a new collection. 

There was no way to disprove it either, because his agency was all for it.

It'll bring in more views!

More eyes means more money, you'll be open to more opportunities.

Don't you want to be successful?

They all profited off of it anyway, himself included. That didn't mean Yeonjun felt good about it. 

Tonight, after he wrapped up this final walk, Yeonjun planned on reclusing himself from the media: he'd give an interview at most, then let them jump at the photos of him on the way to the afterparty.

He wasn't really in the mood.

—

"Yeonjun-ah!" His manager calls out to him, breaking the model from his thoughts. "You should've been on standby, hurry up. What are you doing?" 

Yeonjun stumbles after the man, nearly tripping over his own two feet as he's pulled to line up for the closing walk of the show. His navy blue pants scuff against each other with every step closer to the runway, announcing his arrival before he could even be seen.

That was truly the least of his worries, however—the clamor of music, staff, and conversation of fellow models also on standby made it difficult to hear the final cue. Two models were waiting in front of him, one of which was already starting her final trek down the catwalk.

"I can't hear," Yeonjun murmurs, sticking his head out of the line in attempt to catch what was going on. For a nearly 6 foot man, it was difficult to see over all of these women in heels. Humbling for him, gratifying for them, he was sure.

"Fucking christ." A frustrated sigh leaves him as his manager hisses something Yeonjun still doesn't hear, yanking him forth another few steps. It's only when he hears the urgent call of, "Choi! Go! You're late!" that he tunnels his vision toward the path ahead of him and starts off toward the lights.

It's easy work, he's done this a good hundred times by now.

 I can do this in my sleep.

You've done this before.

You're a pro, Choi Yeonjun.

Nothing can touch you.

The show music blares in his ears as Yeonjun begins his strut down the path, baring the flash of cameras and the fresh buzz it brings along to his eyes, pounding in sync with the footsteps of himself and the two models sandwiching him. The eyes of the audience are on him like a second skin, predators that caught a body still warm and were waiting to see what they could pick off of it. 

Beomgyu said he would be watching tonight, and Yeonjun really hoped so. He hasn't seen the younger in a few months; schedules were really whooping Yeonjun's ass.

"You're amazing hyung!!"

"Let's gooo Y-J!!"

Yeonjun could hear it like a distant echo in his head. The cheery tone of his sweet Gyu, the only reason he's still doing this at all. It's difficult but Yeonjun fends off a stupid smile before it can break through his walls of defense. 

His footsteps recede back down the runway and the lights begin to fade on Yeonjun's back, he disappears behind the set and his shoulders slump around a huff of relief.

Praise erupts the moment he's back in the green room, cheers from his staff and team for another show well done.

Quick and easy, and just like that he's secured a fat fuckin' check.

But the incoming surge of 'Who Did It Better?' hung over his head like a recurring nightmare.

It was unfortunate, but inevitable.

Speak of the devil—Yeonjun's phone chimed beneath a pair of crumbled sweatpants in his duffel bag, vibrating with a slurry of messages from the very man Yeonjun was put up against: Beomgyu.

Beomie 💌 : hyung!!!

Beomie 💌 : I was able to watch your walk!

Beomie 💌 : i'm sorry i couldn't be there :(

Beomie 💌 : you look soo cool though! i loveee the furry hat thing they made you wear lmao

Beomie 💌 : u should steal it if they let u

Beomie 💌 : i'm sure you're busy but lmk when you see these plz. i finally have some free time to talk, down to facetime if you are. miss you.

Show days were always the busiest: the glam, the outfits, the press, all of it was a major headache. Even Yeonjun, who considers himself fairly seasoned in the industry, gets overwhelmed sometimes.

"Where is my shirt?" He calls out from behind a partition, where two MiuMiu staffs joined him and immediately snatched the outfit he'd just worn, away.

"We'll take that, thank you."

"Greedy much?" he grumbles, catching his after-party jacket from sliding off the hanger to pull it on.

Double denim with a chocolate brown belt, a matching button-up layered beneath the denim jacket, and a houndstooth bandana gracing his collar.

Hardly a breath after the clothes were settled onto his frame, Yeonjun found himself getting yanked out from the partitions and taken to the styling chair.

Why was everyone so god damn handsy?

"Oh—okay."

His hair is a mess, or so his stylist claims, and immediately he was back under the straightener and suffocating mist of hairspray. He'd been here for two hours before the show, it was a miracle his hair hadn't fried off yet. Then again, this woman likes to drown him in heat protectant before doing anything at all.

"Your hair is so stubborn, Yeonjun-ah," the woman chimes, spraying another wave over his head. "Won't stay in place."

"Maybe if you didn't throw ten pounds of wax into it, we wouldn't be here."

"Mm, and do you wish to look good for the internet, or not?"

"…Yeah." Yeonjun sank into his seat, lip caught between his teeth.

"Then hush, and hold your breath." Another spray, though this time on his face, as his makeup artist joined the waterboarding session to refresh his makeup with another round of setting spray on top.