Another World

31

The city was alive with anticipation, the streets humming with chatter as fans made their way to the concert venue. Beomgyu walked among them, his steps slow but purposeful, his heart thrumming in time with the excitement around him. The towering arena loomed ahead, its bright lights and neon banners shining against the night sky, each one screaming the name Denial.

Beomgyu tightened his grip on the ticket in his hand, its edges soft and worn from where he had repeatedly unfolded and refolded it since it arrived. The ticket felt like gold to him—not because it was hard to get (though it was), but because of what it represented. Denial wasn't just any artist to Beomgyu. He was the artist. His voice, his music, his lyrics—they weren't just songs; they were stories. They were emotions Beomgyu hadn't realized he needed to feel, whispers that had found him in his loneliest moments and held him close.

And Daniel's music felt like him.

It was an odd, unshakable thought Beomgyu couldn't explain. Maybe it was the way the lyrics spoke of longing, of missing something—or someone—so deeply it ached. Or maybe it was just his heart playing tricks on him, desperately trying to fill a void left by a memory that still haunted him. A memory of someone whose name he whispered only in dreams.

"Yeonjun..."

The syllables danced on his lips for just a moment before he shook his head, shoving the thought away. This wasn't the time to reminisce about something that had been stolen from him years ago. He was here to enjoy the music, to lose himself in the moment, to let the weight of his world fall away.

The arena was packed when he finally stepped inside, the energy crackling in the air like static. Fans held glowing signs and lightsticks, shouting Daniel's name in unison as they waited. Beomgyu found his seat near the middle of the crowd, his heart pounding with anticipation.

The lights dimmed suddenly, and the screams swelled into a deafening roar. Beomgyu's breath caught as the stage came to life, glowing with vibrant blues and silvers. A figure emerged through the mist, clad in black, a shimmering silver mask concealing his face. The crowd erupted.

Daniel.

Beomgyu's heart skipped a beat as the first notes of the opening song reverberated through the arena. The voice that followed was low and rich, smooth yet aching, each word dripping with emotion. Beomgyu closed his eyes for a moment, letting the music wash over him, and the strange feeling returned—a deep, gnawing sense of familiarity.

It wasn't just the voice. It was the way Daniel moved, the way he held the microphone like it was his lifeline, the way his body leaned into the music as if he was baring his very soul. Beomgyu opened his eyes, his gaze fixed on the stage, his chest tightening with every note.

The concert was everything he had hoped it would be. Song after song, Daniel commanded the stage, weaving tales of heartbreak, yearning, and love that transcended time. Beomgyu found himself smiling, cheering along with the crowd, and for the first time in years, he felt... lighter. Like something was healing inside him.

By the time the encore rolled around, Beomgyu's voice was hoarse from shouting, his hands aching from clapping. The crowd begged for one more song, and Daniel didn't disappoint. He stepped closer to the edge of the stage, his voice softer now, his words directed straight into the crowd.

"This song is special," he said, his voice amplified through the speakers but somehow still intimate, like he was speaking only to Beomgyu. "It's for someone who once meant the world to me. Someone I'm still searching for."

Beomgyu's chest tightened, his fingers gripping the edge of his seat. The first chords of the final song began, and his heart clenched painfully. The melody was familiar—too familiar. It was a song he'd heard before, years ago, in another world, sung by someone he thought he'd never see again.