Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I watch one act after another leaves the stage. Waiting for my turn. I hear the host announce the last person before it’s me. I walk back to my room looking at myself in the mirror. It’s all the same, my curls long cascading to my hips, my make-up bright, maybe a tad bit too much and the dress. A new one hugging my curves like a second skin, in red with a pink hue, red shining like all the little stars in the sky. My manager just got it for me, he thought the black one was too boring and people should see me or more like my body. It feels like it. I don’t give it a second thought as he opens the door and waves me out. Same routine every night I enter the stage and look at the closed red curtain, keeping me hidden from my audience. It’s still a wonder to me how I ended up here in this bar. The curtains open swiftly, people applauded, some whistled. I always perform the last act of the day and it seems like the crowd loves it.

I’ve been here for the past two months now, singing every night, trying to make a living off of it. Slowly the double bass starts to erupt and mixes with piano and saxophone. My voice starts to harmonize with the music as I swing my hips to the beat while holding the microphone with both my hands, long delicate fingers wrapping around it, holding it as if it were the most precious artefact I owned. I spare occasional glances at the crowd, peering down past the blinding spotlight. People danced along, others sat there drinking god knows what watching me. It’s like every evening I sing; they dance and get drunk and have the time of their life, maybe even get some. I start to move the mic on one hand, walking through the club as I sang the lyrics to the song I played on repeat in my head days prior this evening, my voice blaring as I hit low seductive notes as I walk past the customers dancing along through the tables.

Some new faces, some usual ones, nothing really special. I sway back on the stage again, pacing around in rhythm while singing, smiling and twirling around. Dancing with the saxophone player or going back to the center. Looking at the couples dancing in front of me. The air is heavy with the smell of cigars, yet undoubtedly you’d never miss the hue of alcohol beneath it all, but it’s out of the ordinary. As the next song moves along the lights dim and the atmosphere feels electric. The bartender at the bar mixing drinks, people leaving, others coming in. All in motion and I myself feel like a moving picture at the wall, framed by watchful eyes. No one really pays attention to me besides the horny corndogs that believe they will get some.

I close my eyes. Enjoying the moment, singing as the rhythm slows and my voice deepens. After my bridge I open them to watch the people but come to a hold. Dark eyes looming over my figure, like I’m the only shiny thing of interest in the room. Noticeably dark red hair that stood out in the crowd, sharp jawline and the eyes of a predator bore into me, eyes that made one look like feeble prey. Sharp features mark his pretty face, not even once does he break eye contact, the way he looks at me is almost hypnotizing. I pay this stranger no mind and keep singing and singing endlessly it seems. I muster up the courage to look away keeping my voice stable while feeling his eyes watching my every move. I begin to wonder. Has he been here the whole night? Why haven’t I noticed him before? Surely he’s a new customer, otherwise I’d recognize him on the spot. Subconsciously my eyes dart to him more than I’d like to admit, his leather jacket framing his broad shoulders, a tattoo to which one couldn’t pinpoint the exact design upon first glance wrapped his neck, he’s too far away from the stage for me to properly see the design that piqued my interest.

As I come to an end the music stops and people applaud, I leave the stage and music comes from the music box, filling the room, its 1:30 am and people now enjoy more of a rather less performative time being to occupied with themselves. As I walk into my room, the scent of fresh flowers hits me immediately. Lawrence always brings me one after every performance—every single night. He walks in right behind me.

“Thank you, Lawrence,” I say with a soft smile.

“Of course, my dear. You were wonderful—as per usual, but that dress you’re wearing...” He wore a nonchalant mask most of the time, but his micro expressions never escaped me. I saw the glint in his eyes. “Astonishing. If I may say so myself, I did a fantastic job.”

He pulls me into a tight hug almost instantly, and I grin—more to myself than to him.

“You’re spoiling me,” I chuckle.

“Obviously. You’re my diamond. Without you—goodness, I don’t even want to imagine it.”

He ruffles my hair affectionately. “Now go change. Then we’ll grab something to eat before you head home.”

He left the room, warning me to hurry up, but I couldn’t help but feel the swell of pride in my chest and stand there for a minute, processing my emotions.

I like Lawrence. He really is the best.

But I can’t help wondering how long he’ll keep doing this.

He’s nearly thirty. His girlfriend works at the bar. They’re probably thinking about marriage, about kids. A whole future together. Something permanent.

Even though this is just my workplace, I still like to look presentable—nice, even, offstage. So: knee-high boots, a black leather skirt, and an off-shoulder top in deep green. Paired with my dark red curls and some gold jewelry, I look normal. Not extravagant but not underdressed either.

I sling my bag over my shoulder, take the flower, and close the door behind me. “Finished. Let’s go,” I say, smiling at Lawrence, who’s waiting for me just outside.

He looks at me and smiles “Beautiful as always, I told Madeleine to whip something up I hope it’s okay.”

I nod a bit exhausted and sit down on a bar stool. Madeleine walks out behind the bar with a plate of food. Lawrence wife’s beauty is unmatched, she’s a real redhead not like me with my dyed dark curls, her blue eyes always smiling so friendly she feels like home every time I talk to her. The two of them practically adopted me. About six months ago I moved in with them and have been living there ever since, working in a little bookshop until Lawrence brought me here. “You are the best” I say as Madeleine hands me a plate.

“For you always, papillon” she mused, French accent prominent along with a wide smile spreading across her face.

I watch her walk away as my eyes land on something, rather someone – the guy I saw from the stage chatting with a girl, she’s pretty. I smile to myself, it looks more like a monolg from her side than a conversation—I froze as soon as he caught me glancing at them, I felt exposed.

My heart just jumped out of my chest.

I returned back to my plate in an instant before I knew it.

The mere picture of his eyes in my head sent shivers down my spine. I was so deeply rooted to my thoughts that I didn’t even register Lawrence talking to me. Is it possible that a picture tattoos itself into your mind?

Chapter Text

It doesn’t! In the morning the only thing I can remember is his red hair, and only because it resembled the colour of mine.

With the afternoon coming around my mind wandered elsewhere and the man who once plagued it had been temporarily cast aside.
I managed to get out of bed, cleaned my fish tank and met up with Rosie.

She moved here for love — her boyfriend, all starry-eyed. We booked a flight, she settled in with him, and I just... drifted until eventually I found somewhere to land.

Absently Rosie talks about what to get for her Boyfriends Birthday – Does she even notice the hatred her boyfriend feels for me?; each time when the three of us meet up, his demeanor shifts dramatically, catching a nasty attitude all of a sudden and mistreating my friend at the same time. There are many terms I like to use to describe these types of pitiful excuses for men, preferably I like to stick with “bastard”, but nothing would ever please that misogynistic asshole…….

She’s blinded by his display of affection. How I wish she would come to her senses, but no matter how many times I warn her, she doesn’t seem willing to listen. How could she be so naive and believe in her little fairytale.

There surely are better things I can imagine than spending my free evening at his Birthday dinner –

“I’m just gonna get this for him” I say and point at a Perfume.

A disapproving look from her side makes me reconsider my idea.

“Just get him money and some sweets, that’ll make him happy. He wants to get this expensive Computer you know - God, I hate it but if it makes him happy…….” I stopped listening after that.

Picking up things here and there we walk through the streets. The sun shining way to bright for a day like this.

“I believe I have everything I need.” she announces “so imma head back, I need to start cooking dinner before he gets home, be ´punctual you know he hates it if someone is late” – no Rosie he only hates when I’m late – “oh and his friends are coming as well obviously, so wear something nice, will you!”

“Don’t worry I will” I smile and hug her.

I watch her walk away until she disappears among the people in the streets.

Agitated. That’s the fitting word. All I feel is agitation.

He can cook himself and also get this crappy ass presents for himself – please just let him fall in a ditch and let no one find him ever again. He’s better left alone for all eternity. I can’t bear to see his shitface again and pretending that he’s such a loving person, only because of Rosie. The least I can do besides warning her about that scum is try to pretend everything is fine for her own happiness. Although I know playing pretend isn’t a permanent solution, it’ll do for the meantime until I can make her see what kind of a horrible person he is.

I’m greeted with the sight of Madeline rushing through the little flat as I enter, seemingly in a hurry.

“Madeline?” I ask as she rushes past me.

“Sorry Hun, I’m in a hurry my shift starts earlier, and I need to drop something off at my parents before I go, lets talk later mh” she stops mid track and tenderly lays a hand on my cheek for a short moment.

I nod and watch her zoom out of our home, leaving me to stand alone in the hall.

Lawrence seems to be gone already, judging by the peace and quiet of our house so I have the flat to myself. Deciding to blast the music through the building while getting ready my eyes catch the red marked day on the calendar. Saturday. I completely forgot about it. A Show – rather my Show. The whole evening. It’s in two days, so nothing I shouldn’t be too worried about. I’ll have plenty of time to whip something up.

The hours pass like seconds, and I make my way to the announced birthday party. I decided to just put on what I had yesterday after work on – as if I would put some effort in it for this prick.

It seems that they invited more people than I expected. I force a smile on my lips at the sight of Oliver’s face; Rosie’s Boyfriend opens the door.

“Happy Birthday” I say happily and hand him the card with money and chocolates, “Rosie told me you want a new PC I hope this helps.”

“Thanks” he says and lets me in “She is in the kitchen.” With that he leaves me standing in the hallway. Polite as always – could’ve at least been a bit happier.

“Hey, you need help” I ask softly as Rosie prepares food alone in the kitchen.

Cute little appetizers lined up perfectly. Straight out a Pinterest picture. Everything she did looks like it, and it’s obvious she did all by herself.

“Rosie” I speak up again before she can even answer me, “you should’ve told me your hosting the dinner and not him I would’ve helped you. Go get ready I finish here up.”

She looks up at me “I’m not hosting, he is I just thought I do something nice for him.”

“When he hosts, he should be able to make the food himself you’re not his servant for god’s sake” I feel my voice raising a bit.

“He told me he’s happy that you came, really…. So imma get changed than thanks” as quickly as she changes the topic, she leaves the kitchen leaving me behind.

The sheer amount of food ready to be served laying around the kitchen. I quickly finish the last touches and then wait till Rosie comes back.

It’s like I time traveled, my mother preparing food for the whole family, my father sitting around somewhere chatting. I stand by the side helping from time to time or doing homework. My mother used to say – always be the best no matter in what – I didn’t read much into it but now, she was in a constant competition with my aunts and its exhausting. I want nothing more than to escape such a life. Here I am helping an ungrateful ass to have a great birthday.

“Rosie, can you bring the drinks out” asks Oliver as he walks in, but stops as he sees me standing there.

“She’s changing, why don’t you bring them out” I say polite smiling at him, “I’ll help you even.”

I can see his concentration not to say anything rude to me. “You don’t have to help me you are my guest, why don’t you sit down in the living room with the others ill finish up here”

His face screams resentment but I just nod and leave him.

The living room is packed. People talking over each other, laughing too loud, already tipsy. Rosie and Oliver bring in trays, and like vultures, everyone dives in. I slip onto the couch next to a tall man — buzzed blonde hair, sharp eyes. He’s deep in conversation with the man beside him — dark-haired, muscular, confident in that careless way.

Neither of them notices me sit, or so I think — until the blonde one turns toward me.

“How do you know Oliver?” he asks, casually. I nearly choke; my mouth still full. Swallowing quickly, I force a smile.

“Uhm… I’m a friend of Rosie’s. I moved here with her,” I explain. “And you two?”

“We don’t really know him,” the dark-haired one answers. “Met him a few days ago through a friend. He said we should come. So… here we are.”

“So, you know him as much as I do,” I laugh softly.

“My name is—” I begin, but before I can finish, Rosie’s voice cuts through the noise.

“Evie, would you be able to help me, please?” Her voice is tight, and when I look up, I see the distress painted all over her face.

Without a second thought, I stand and follow her out of the room. The two guys blur into the background — though, I’ll admit… they were very fine.

“Rosie. Rosie, what happened?” I ask as we step into a quiet, empty room. Her back is to me, but I can already feel it — something’s wrong. Not just tonight. Something deeper.

She falls on the bed and breathes loud out. I approach her slowly and sink down next to her. Starring at the ceiling we lay there in silence.

Comforting silence is not consuming or pressed just like a fluffy blanket laying on top of us.

“Do you think I am to much?” she breaks the silence.

“Too much? Why?” I turn to her frowning.

She shrugs “I He…. I know you don’t like him. Its pretty obvious and still you do everything for me.”

“You all I have left here remember. My Parents are surely still mad at me for leaving and I believe I soon will be a burden for Lawrence and Madeline. And I love you Rosie” I give her a smile.

“He hits me, I know he doesn’t want to its subconscious it just happens when we fight but still. Sometimes I like to think that he’s just with me because I do everything for him. It’s like I never get anything back. But don’t say anything to him. He would get mad at me I beg you.” Her voice is barely above a whisper as she speaks.

I knew it. I knew it. – My mind spiraling again – happening way to often in the past few days. But I always had the gut feeling that he abuses her.

“Rosie break up with him. Hes such an asshole he doesn’t deserve you. Let’s move together somewhere” I say looking at her.

“He loves me. I know he does but it will take a while till we get that fixed. He tells me he is working on it. I know he means no harm. He loves me. He really does.” I turn away from her not able to look her in the eyes. How can she love such an ass.

“Why are you telling me all that now.”

“I needed to get it off my chest for once. Let’s go back out or he wonders where I am.”
I follow her out, but I feel sick. I stand in the doorway looking as he hugs her, and they talk with some friends of his. I walk back to the entrance and take my jacket.

“I think I’m heading home. It’s getting late” I say to the two of them and they turn to me. “I would be pleased if you two would come Saturday to my show” I smile polite.

“Your show” says a voice behind him – the blonde from earlier.

“Yeah, I sing in a jazz club. Not far from here actually” I explain.

“I know which one you mean. A friend of mine was there yesterday he must have seen you.” And suddenly something shifts in the way he looks at me.

“We'll come.” Rosie intervenes “Text me when your home okay.” She hugs me a goodbye and I smile at her, Oliver and the blond guy whoms name I didn’t catch.

Quickly I make my way home the thought of leaving Rosie with him consuming my mind.

Chapter Text

I in fact did not text her when I came home. I sunk down on my bed, being awake most the night and stared up at the ceiling of my room. Lawrence peeked inside my room once him and Madeleine came back from work. I pretended to sleep, not feeling in the mood to talk to anyone.

Anger consumed my mind. Oliver knows he’s a bad influence on Rosie, that makes everything even worse. He’s aware that he’s dragging Rosie down with him and has the audacity to lack empathy towards her. Was it wrong of me to come here and leave home. I haven’t visited that train of thought in a while. When we first came here my mind had pangs of conscience. My parents……

Strict – wanted me to attend med school to become a surgeon just like my father. It was never my dream to step in my father footsteps, I never agreed to any of that, they never bothered asking me for my opinion on the matter, or what my dreams even were. I didn’t want to and when Rosie told me she met this guy and made plans to move away, I saw my opportunity and didn’t hesitate to take it. Now here I am, the last time I spoke to my mother was roughly three months ago, unsurprisingly she scolded me for leaving their house, that I had ‘ruined’ my family. I didn’t bother talking to her since. I wept for days after the encounter with my mother and didn’t leave my room for a significant amount of time. Madeline and Lawrence didn’t know what to do with me at first and then I started to sing.

I’d like to say everything was doing better since then, but I saw the way Rosie progressively changed. It pains me to know she didn’t see what I saw, she never took notice of the change within her. Then again the devil Oliver brings her to her wits end, having someone like him next to her. It’s no wonder she changed as a person, being pushed to her limits she obviously doesn’t have the time to spare to herself and grow awareness towards her own problems. Her self care was lacking more and more, each time she spent her time with that nuisance. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d be the reason she dies one day, to which I pray never happens. She’s very dear to me, the first person to see me for being…just me. She’s my truest friend of all time, I don’t think I’d be the same if I lost her one day. This was the constant reminder that my life wasn’t perfect. Not yet at least and I still have a lot to work until it is.

I can never go back home and that’s okay I’ve come to terms with it.

The Bar is empty as Lawrence, and I enter. 9am, he wanted to practice with me for the whole day, the whole routine to make everything perfect. I must be perfect, if not I won’t be noticed.

Albert, the elderly owner of the bar, idly sits on his signature leather armchair, just watching.

“We do as planned, you sing the lyrics we put playback on, you dance and sway through the crowd. Around 3pm the others will arrive, and we do everything once like planned with instruments and you have to change beforehand. Albert got a dress for you, it’s stunning.” Announces Lawrence and my eyes find Alberts.

His looks don’t resemble his wits. He is way too smart and the way he looks at me. Intimidating.

“Yeah” I say hoarse, voice tight, eyes glued to him. If I do wrong, there is no doubt, he’ll kick me out.

“The dress belonged to my wife – she was a beauty just like you. We build this bar together and while I served, she sang. I’m sure you’ll do her dress honor won’t you sweetie.” He says laid back. I can only nod. His smirk only widens and as the music starts playing, I start.

“Evangeline! Keep your tone. The notes you are waving!” Lawrence scolds me. Pressure building, he never calls me by name, and I search his eyes. They’re concentrated on me and how I do.

“Start over. You know the songs!” He presses replay and music starts again, and I do as told. I sing, trying to keep my voice stable as I dance through the empty chairs and tables.

Alberts smirks prominently on his face. Hes enjoying this tho it creates doubts in my mind. Am I good enough for this or does he smirk because of my mistakes?

I keep singing concentrating solely on myself and nothing else. Four hours later we are through, and I sink down on a chair. Exhausted.

I look up as Albert stands in front of me handing me a glass of water. I take it and chug it down.

“You have potential you know. Don’t be so shy about it embrace yourself. We already know that the people love your voice and be grateful for the opportunity I give you.” He still smiles wide but this time with more trust in his eyes. It makes me wonder how he keeps going without his wife.

“Thank you, Albert, I can’t describe how thankful I am that you’re giving me the chance to do this.” I say truthfully.

“But I have some advice. While singing look at the people, act like you are trying to seduce them be a seductress and show what you have otherwise it will quickly be boring.” He explains but before I can say anything Lawrence comes back with some food, and I smile at him.

“I’m gonna take a smoke before we eat. You want one?” Albert offers me.

Shaking my head I answer, “I don’t smoke but thanks.”

“Smart girl, it’ll do no good for your voice” with that he leaves.

Lawrence sits down opening the bag. The smell of fresh food fills the room and my stomach rumbles.

“I’m starving” I chuckle and help him set the table.

“Don’t take him too seriously okay” Lawrence says, and I raise a brow confused.

“Albert, he’s really nice if you get to know him some more. This is the first time he ever lets anyone have their own show.” He smiles proudly and the weird feeling from earlier creeps in my stomach again – stage fright.

I just nod feeling a lump in my throat.

As Albert comes back, we start eating. Listening to Albert and Lawrence chat about the bar and customers while the panic for tomorrow rises in me.

“You good sweetie?” I look up at Lawrence.

“Yes, just enjoying the food, Thank you again.” I give him a reassuring smile, not letting my uncertainty show on the surface.

I don’t even hear his answer, but he doesn’t seem to notice, and I go back to eating. Soon after the musicians arrive and set everything up for the upcoming event.

Tomorrow feels impossibly far away—like weeks, even months—but the nerves make it feel like it's already here. My leg bouncing under the table and my hands slightly shaking. I ball them into fists to conceal my nervousness.

“Let’s get you dressed, shall we?” Albert gives me a bright smile. I nod in response and follow him.

There it is, hanging on my mirror. A black velvet dress with a lace corset. It looks old but elegant, quite fitting for what we’ve planned.

“Wow” I find myself speechless at the mere sight of the garment in front of me. I wonder how it would look once I put this dress on, hugging my curves just in the right places, highlighting my hips, that I can imagine for a bit longer until I make it become reality.

I get pulled back on track from my thoughts once I heard a chuckle from Albert.

He must’ve caught on with the way I scanned the dress up and down in awe. He gave me a knowing smirk, as if letting me know he has the same opinion on the garment before us. And of course it’d bring more costumers in but never mind that.

“It’s beautiful Albert. I couldn’t possibly wear it. What if I ruin it...” I look at him with uncertainty as the fabric of the dress slips through my finger like liquid silk.

“My, this dress was made to be worn, and I know for a matter of fact that this dress will complement your beauty ever so more, not like you need to enhance the beauty you were already blessed with but the more the merrier. And besides, my wife wouldn’t want it to rot in her closet, it’ll make her happy to know it has been passed on from one beautiful lady to another.” Albert gazes at the dress for a good minute, appearing to be fond of the memories it stirred back to life in him.

“I’ll wait for you outside and I expect you to wear it with confidence and grace!” He leaves me alone and I take the dress in.

I believe I’ve barely seen anything as beautiful as this.

Slowly I carefully put it on. Gracefully it lays itself on my curves and I feel unrecognizable, I expected it to look too good on me and God, I sure as hell look tempting.

I look like those wealthy women especially when I put the pearls on and style my hair up.

I turn to the mirror, admiring the woman in the reflection.

Once I opened the door for Albert to come see his smile only widened. “It suits you like a second skin. You look marvelous, I knew this was a good idea. Come well do the whole show one last time before tomorrow, if you’d be a dear.” His hand placed on my back as he guides me back on the stage.

I catch Lawrence eyes, and he looks at me smiling wide approving.

“Let’s get started!” He shouts, “this must be perfect it’s the last practice before tomorrow’s show, I want everything to be perfect.”

And I do as told. The musicians start and I soon set in with them. My voice blaring through the empty bar.

I must admit I rather sing to none than to some. It is calmer and more peaceful than watching the people. People gambling, laughing, cheating and lying to themselves.

Mostly rich people. It’s unimaginable how they act if they can benefit from it. Kissing up to someone. You might as well drop to your knees for them.

The worst thing are especially the ones that think they’re better than yourself. When they look at me with pity even though I am their entertainment for the night.

I dance along the tables, smiling wide pretending it’s packed with people to get the vision. Needing to impress bigger people so maybe I can get a contract and make something bigger for myself. I imagine what my mother would say if she knew I sing in a bar for a living. Would she be proud? Probably not, but that’s something for later to worry about.

We finished at around 10pm. Everything progressed smoothly, except for a minor crash out from Albert, and I feel a bit better about the upcoming day.

Together Lawrence and I strolled home. A light drizzle slowly started to soak our clothes. We don’t talk, exhaustion heavy in the air. I look forward to my bed, and my cold pillows. I believe Lawrence has similar thoughts to mine.

As we arrive home, he hugs me good night and disappears in his bedroom. Madeleine is probably sleeping already, judging from the silence in the apartment. I quickly change and fall directly into my bed, sinking in my mattress, only to be welcomed by my cold pillows that I yearned for not too long ago. It doesn’t take long until I drift into a world of slumber and heavy dreams.

The morning came sooner than I’d like to admit and so I open my eyes. The rain is now pouring heavily on the streets. I recall a few bad dreams and curl up, clinging to the comforting warmth of my blanket. The music I put on quietly fills the room and I close my eyes yet once more.

The previous nervousness is now completely gone and replaced with anticipation. Surely it will return later but for I’ll enjoy this moment. The sound of the rain mixing with the music is almost harmonious.

A text from Rosie telling me how excited she is for tonight pulls me out of my haze. I reply quickly and put my phone away.

Lawrence and Madeline are already awake. I can hear their muffled footsteps through the door and their hushed words. An unusual morning. Looking at the upcoming event.

“Morning sweetheart” Madeline says as she walks in. I appreciate the way whenever she addresses me by that nickname with her accent. I bet she knows it works its magic through me. “I brought some coffee. Keep sleeping if you like. Lawrence and I will get some groceries do you need anything?”

“I’m fine thank you” I smile at her—like always. I can’t help it; she just radiates warmth and paternal love I rarely got to receive.

I wave her goodbye as she closes the door behind me.

I lie in bed for hours. I've done that too often these past few months—bed rotting, they called it. They feared I'd get depressed after the call with my parents. I feared it too. I couldn't bear to think about it for days; it was all-consuming. I cried myself to sleep, couldn’t stand, couldn’t do anything—too weak for it all. Heartbroken by my own mother and father.

Though I wish I hated them I can’t I love them – too much.

A picture on my nightstand of my parents and my twin brother at our graduation. It’s beautiful and I love reminiscing on that day. It meant a lot to me because my parents told us that we could do what we liked for our future. How could I be so wrong.

The last time I talked to my brother was the day I left. He tried to persuade me to stay. He surely is studying law right now from what I can remember. He went no contact with me completely…….

He promised to support me no matter what. I bet my mother brainwashed him.

I feel my heart aching at those thought, tears pricking at my eyes. I decide to take a bath to get my head free from those thoughts and focus on tonight.

Watching the tub fill with water my thoughts drift away. Emptiness eases in my mind as the room fills with the scent of roses and my body dives into the comforting warmth of the water. The music playing in the background is relaxing and the water makes me drowsy, and my eyes start to feel heavy.

My thoughts wandering to the evening, to my evening I suppose. Excitement and fear mingled in my stomach once more. I pressure myself way too much to be the perfect puppet on stage, I know that. I didn’t learn it another way – what is good in relation to perfect.

Deep in thoughts I start to drift away in the comforting warmth and the hours past like mist at dawn.

It takes me longer than expected to climb out of the tub. For a while, I just stand there, still damp, facing the mirror. I let my eyes trace the lines of my body, quietly taking it all in. I've always carried a few insecurities — I was never as slim as the girls around me. It took time, and a little gentleness, to begin loving myself.

In the kitchen I find Lawrence and Madeleine deep in a conversation, I sit myself down to them while taking an apple.
“Are you alright?” Lawrence asks, giving me a smile.

I just nod while biting into the apple.

“Oh, I’m so excited for tonight I can’t believe he really made you do a whole show.” She squeals while grabbing my cheeks. Squishing my face together.

“You’re right, I can’t describe how grateful I am for this opportunity” I say “I know its rare and a big opportunity. I never believed I’d landed here when I came here.”

“Considering you’ve been singing under a management for two months this is really impressive. I’m happy to have you. “Lawrence excitement radiating off him.

“I just wish my parents, and my brother would be as approving as you guys” I say as I give them a weak smile.

The mood shifts in an instant and when I look up again, sympathy is written all over their faces. “Don’t look at me like that its completely fine. I came to terms with it. Besides I’m way happier with the two of you” I smile at them and take their hands. “We get it. I mean, Evangeline, don’t overthink it,” Madeleine says gently. “Sooner or later, they’ll reach out again. I’m sure they miss you just as much. They love you — sometimes families just need time to work through things.”

I swallow hard. “I know… you’re right.”

Still, hearing my full name like that feels strange. Evangeline. It barely feels like me anymore — more like a distant version of who I used to be. A name that echoes with memories, with a past I’ve worked so hard to outgrow. Sometimes, it reminds me of the weight I carry — of how I’ve been seen, misunderstood, or even unwanted.

That’s why I cherish the nicknames. They feel like warmth. Like someone reaching out and seeing me now, not then. They remind me I’m loved, not as who I was, but as who I am.

Shortly after, we make our way to the bar. The air outside is crisp, with low clouds hanging like a grey veil over the city. The sun has already begun to set, casting long shadows on the pavement as twilight settles in. Madeleine and Lawrence chatter lightly ahead, their voices warm and easy, but I trail beside them, quiet — my thoughts tangled and nerves rising with every step.

I’ve never really been one to struggle with stage fright. I’ve always felt strangely at home under the lights. But tonight… it’s different. The weight of this moment settles deep in my chest, pressing down like gravity.

As we step inside, the familiar glow of the bar wraps around us. Albert is already there, coordinating with the staff, his hands animated and eyes scanning the room. The place buzzes with the electricity of preparation — cables coiled like snakes, instruments being tuned, glasses clinking behind the bar.

He catches sight of us and beams. Madeleine peels off quickly with a cheerful goodbye, slipping behind the bar to start her shift.

Albert approaches me, placing both hands gently on my shoulders. “Are you ready?” he asks, his voice brimming with excitement.

I manage a nod, though my voice comes out quieter than I expect. “A bit nervous, to be honest.”

His grin widens. “Nerves mean you care. Let’s do a quick warm-up and get you into your dress. Oh — and some big friends of mine said they’ll be here tonight. Also, I heard some of the Black Horizons are coming. You know them? Local rock band, pretty big name around here.” His words tumble out quickly as he leads Lawrence and me through the back hallway and into my small backstage room.

The warm-up goes better than I expected — apart from me bursting into laughter at Albert’s exaggerated attempt at hitting high notes. For all his grumpy theatrics, he really is a sweetheart beneath it all. There’s something steady and comforting about his presence.

Once we finish, he and Lawrence leave me alone, giving me space to breathe. The silence is welcome — it’s just me and the hum of anticipation now.

As I slip into my dress, I feel myself begin to settle. Madeleine peeks in for a second, and her eyes widen. For a heartbeat, she’s speechless, then she grins, rushes over, and plants a kiss on my cheek before disappearing again, wordless but glowing.

I turn back to the mirror, taking myself in slowly.

Stage outfits always do this to me — like they unlock a different version of who I am. Not someone pretending to be more, but someone fully revealed. The fabric catches the light just so, and for a moment, I don’t see the nerves or the noise. I see possibilities.

About twenty minutes before showtime, Lawrence slips back into the room and sinks into the couch with a soft sigh, watching me as I apply the final touches of makeup in front of the mirror.

“It’s packed out there,” he says after a pause, his tone light but full of meaning. “I think even more than usual. But you know what? They’re just here to have a good night — like always. Except tonight, they get a little extra. Something beautiful to witness.”

He pours himself a glass of water, then offers it to me instead. “And you don’t need to stress. It’s just another night, really. You sing — like you always do. Maybe a little longer this time, but still… you. And in the past two months, you haven’t missed a single note. Not once.”

I meet his eyes in the mirror and give a faint smile, though it wavers. “Thank you, Lawrence. Honestly. I don’t know where I’d be if it weren’t for you and Madeleine. You two saw me at my lowest and didn’t even hesitate. You gave me a home, a chance… a place to breathe again. A way to stand on my own.”

He stands then, and his arms come around me in a gentle, grounding hug. “You were always meant to shine, Evangeline. We just helped dust off the light.” I flinch at my name, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

The hallway to the stage is dim, the sound of the crowd muffled but unmistakable. My heart pounds louder than any footsteps. When we reach the side of the stage, he gives my hand a final squeeze and leans in close.

“Breathe,” he whispers. “You’re not proving anything tonight. You’re just sharing something beautiful — like always.”

And then I’m alone, standing just behind the curtain. The air feels thicker than usual. It hums with expectation, with silence waiting to be broken. I’ve stood here so many nights before… but this night is different.

This time, it’s my name on the board. My voice setting the tone. My stories wrapping around this crowd like warm smoke.

And I remind myself: I’ve done this before. I know how to hold a room in my hands. I know how to sing the truth of who I am. I’ve earned this.

So, I straighten my spine. I breathe in deep.

This moment is mine.

The curtain glides open like a secret being told. A hush spills over the room as the bass begins to hum, low and slow — a heartbeat waiting for mine to match it. Then the saxophone curls through the air, silky and warm, and the spotlight slips down onto me, kissing my skin like it’s been waiting all night.

I smile — sweet, slow, a little wicked. The kind of smile that says, come closer, but only if you dare.

Then I sing. Soft at first, a whisper draped in velvet, then rising — teasing, lingering, caressing the melody like it's made of something honeyed and dangerous. Every note I release feels like a sigh in the dark, delicate but deliberate. I don't have to ask for their attention — I already have it. I can feel it, wrapped around me like perfume.

The room glows — golden candlelight flickering over crystal glasses and polished tables, soft laughter melting into the music. I move across the stage with the kind of sway that isn’t hurried, like I know time bends for me tonight. My dress catches the light just right — hugging curves, flowing like liquid silk. I wink at a man near the bar, and his drink stills midair. A woman near the front bites her lip. My heels click gently, rhythmically, like the sound of secrets.

I glide down from the stage and into the room, weaving between tables like a ribbon caught in a breeze. I twirl, spin, laugh — not just for show, but because I’m drunk on the moment. People watch me with wide eyes and lazy smiles, and I watch them back, letting my fingers trail lightly over shoulders or backs of chairs as I pass.

Madeleine catches my eye from behind the bar, mouthing, “You’re killing it.” I blow her a kiss.

I perch at the edge of a card table, my legs crossing slowly as I keep singing. A playful smile tugs at my lips while the players pretend not to be distracted. One man drops his hand entirely. I giggle into the next verse. I’m not here to steal their chips — just their attention.

Then, Albert sweeps into view, beaming. He offers me his hand like we’re in some old romantic movie. I take it — fluttering my lashes, letting my fingertips linger on his. He spins me, and I twirl into his arms, still singing, still floating. He holds me like he’s proud — like I’m his shining star tonight. And I am. I see it in the way he looks at me, like he knew all along.

The music builds, the air thick with cigar smoke and stories waiting to happen. People are dancing now — clinking glasses, moving closer, brushing hands. The whole room feels hazy and golden and just a little wild. And me? I’m right in the middle of it, glittering like a dream you don’t want to wake from.

When I make my way back to the stage, something catches my eye. Albert, at the bar, talking to three sharply dressed men in crisp suits. They're clearly someone — maybe someone important. They’re listening closely, occasionally glancing toward me.

Albert looks up, and for a second, our eyes lock. He smiles — proud, excited, like he’s already imagining what’s next. And my heart does a little flip.

I try not to let hope bloom too fast — but it’s hard. I’ve never been good at keeping my heart guarded. I’m a hopeless romantic, after all — all soft songs and stardust and maybe, just maybe, tonight’s the start of something big.

The band slips into a sultry rhythm, and I lean into the mic like it’s a secret. My voice is honey again, warm and slow, sweet enough to keep them close. I close my eyes and let the music take me.

Tonight, I’m not just performing. I’m glowing.

I watch the crowd as I often do, a quiet smile curling at the corners of my lips. For two hours, I pour every ounce of myself into the music, my voice weaving through the smoky haze of the room, my body moving effortlessly across the stage. Then, something shifts—something familiar yet electrifying.

Across the room, two men sit, their eyes locked on me with an intensity that cuts through the murmur of the bar. Even seated, they command the space with an almost magnetic presence. One has sleek black hair cascading just past his shoulders, the strands catching the dim light like silk. His broad shoulders stretch the fabric of his shirt, a tattoo teasing from beneath a rolled sleeve. A piercing glints beneath thick brows—a subtle promise of wildness beneath the composed exterior.

Beside him, taller still, sits a man whose silver-gray hair, parted perfectly in the middle, falls with a careless elegance. His face is sharp and marked with subtle metal—rings glinting along his ears, a lip piercing catching the low light, adding a rough edge to his otherwise aristocratic features. His gaze is sharp, electric, as if he’s both a storm and the calm that follows.

Our eyes meet—his smirk slow, deliberate—and my pulse stutters. It’s déjà vu all over again, the same intoxicating pull from a few nights ago. I slip off the stage, the melody flowing through me uninterrupted, my voice steady, unwavering.

The crowd shifts around me, lost in their own worlds, except the solitary souls whose eyes flicker with interest as I glide between tables. My movements grow more fluid, more charged—each step a silent invitation, every sway a subtle promise. I pause in front of the taller one; he blocks my path with a casual authority.

I look up, the depths of his eyes pulling me under as I keep singing, forcing myself to hold perfect control despite the heat rising in my chest. His hand extends—a bold, unspoken command—and I accept it without hesitation.

Still singing, his fingers find my waist, firm and steady, guiding me onto the polished dance floor. The spotlight follows us, but I don’t falter. His hands trace slow, possessive circles at my hips, sending shivers of warmth rippling through me. He leans in, that same wicked smirk playing on his lips, daring me to surrender—yet I hold the song, the melody my anchor.

His touch drifts along my side, teasing, electric, lingering just long enough before he pulls away, only to watch his friend join in with a mischievous grin. The black-haired one steps forward, broader than I remembered, the fabric of his shirt stretched tight over sculpted muscles. His eyes gleam with an almost ethereal light, brow piercing catching the shadows, tattoos like whispered secrets crawling from beneath his sleeve.

Without breaking stride in my song, he spins me effortlessly, a swift, teasing twirl that sends a thrill racing up my spine. The way they move around me feels like a carefully crafted dance of power and desire—deliberate, almost cruel in its teasing.

“My friend was right,” the smaller one breathes, his voice low and smooth, “you are divine, my dear.” His words brush against me like a caress as I pour everything into my performance, refusing to let the melody slip.

I glance at him, caught in that smirk again—half challenge, half invitation.

“We hope to meet again,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the back of my hand, his touch both gentle and claiming.

I stand at the center of the room, the song rising and falling through me as the two men retreat into the shadows. Lawrence appears in my vision, his smile warm but insistent, signaling me back to the stage. I glide across the floor, every note, every breath consumed by the music.

The mysterious energy of those two lingers in my veins, a heady mix of danger and desire, and as the night stretches on, I keep singing—lost in the moment, as if this could last forever.

Chapter Text

The rest of the evening passed smoothly, and in a dreamy haze, I slipped into bed—though not without noticing that Rosie never showed up.

It wasn’t until morning that I began to dwell on it. The sun was just rising, casting a warm, amber glow across the street, turning the world into something soft and surreal, like a painting still in the process of being finished. I walked slowly, letting the quiet of early morning wrap around me like a blanket. The air was still cool, but light was spreading fast, gilding rooftops and sidewalk cracks.

I pulled out my phone and dialed Rosie’s number. It rang. Once. Twice. Then straight to voicemail. A sigh escaped me as I tucked the phone back into my pocket, frustration knotting with a growing sense of unease.

Still, as I kept walking, my thoughts drifted back to the night before. A smile crept across my face despite myself. He had said that some important people had noticed me—his words, full of weight and mystery. That maybe they’d reach out soon. That this could actually turn into something real.

And then those two men—strangers, yes—but there was something about them. Something stirring. They had lit a spark I hadn’t realized I was missing, like they saw something in me I wasn’t even sure existed. Enlightening, in a strange and unexpected way.

First, I didn’t caught the vibration of my phone – to deep in thoughts but as I finally pick up Rosies voice comes out.

“You called me, everything fine?” she asks promptly without a greeting.

“I was wondering about you. Is everything fine with you? I mean you said you would come but you didn’t.” I answer worry etching my voice.

“I was busy! Should’ve told you sorry about that. Let me make it up to you. Oliver and I are going to this club tomorrow, join us” She offers.

“I don’t know I’ll think abo- “I begin before she interrupts “Great then its settled, well pick you up see you tomorrow” – and with that she hung up.

Like nausea it feels – the confusion and the gut feeling that something is wrong. What shall I do – surely, I can’t force her to tell me. Not able to shake the unsettling feeling off I keep walking. I often do to get a free mind.

Stopping at the little coffee shop on the corner, I slipped inside, grateful for the familiar scent of roasted beans and warm pastries that clung to the air. A soft hum of conversation filled the space, blending with the hiss of the espresso machine and the occasional clink of ceramic cups.

I joined the queue, rocking slightly on my heels, scanning the chalkboard menu even though I already knew what I’d get. As I reached the front and opened my mouth to order, another voice spoke at the exact same time.

We both paused.

The man beside me glanced over, a flash of surprise on his face before he offered a sheepish smile. “Ah—sorry, I thought I was next in line. Go ahead.”

There was a gentleness in the way he spoke, his voice low but polite.

“No, no—it’s fine. You go ahead,” I replied, gesturing for him to take the spot. I stepped back slightly, suddenly more aware of him now that he was standing so close.

We waited side by side for our drinks, and despite myself, I studied him from the corner of my eye. He was taller than me, though not towering, with a solid build that carried quiet strength. His dark hair was cut neatly, falling just slightly over his forehead, and it framed a soft, round face that contrasted with the toughness of his outfit—a black leather jacket hugging his broad shoulders and tapering neatly at his waist.

His expression was calm, composed, but not cold. There was warmth in his features that softened his appearance—especially in his cheeks, which were full and smooth, the kind that might puff up when he smiled or laughed. His lips were plush, and his brows naturally arched, giving him a slightly serious look even when relaxed. His eyes, deep and dark, held something thoughtful behind them—curious, like he was quietly observing the world rather than trying to command it.

He could have looked intimidating, with that frame and jacket and the stillness of his posture. But he didn’t. Something about him felt approachable—kind, even. Like someone you’d hesitate to speak to at first, then be surprised by how gentle he was.

“So… you come here often?” he asks, and I turn to him, slightly startled.

“Wait—were you talking to me?” I ask, blinking in surprise.

He laughs softly. “I mean, I could have been talking to myself, but that’d be a little sad, wouldn’t it?”

A small laugh escapes me. “Yeah, no—of course. Sorry, I just didn’t expect… I mean, yeah. Sometimes. When I’m out for a walk.” I pause, then add, “I used to work here, actually.”

“Cute,” he says, and I can’t tell if he means the place or the memory. “This is kind of my go-to spot. Funny I’ve never seen you around before.”

I just shrug, not sure how to answer that.

“I’m Jongho,” he says, extending a hand.

I take it, his grip warm and steady. “Evangeline.”

His smile deepens for a moment—like the name means something to him. Or maybe I imagined it. Either way, it’s gone almost as quickly as it appeared.

Then, as if timed perfectly, both our names are called. We grab our drinks and step out of the shop together.

“Mind if I walk with you for a bit?” he asks politely, falling into step beside me.

I shake my head, smiling. “Not at all. I’m heading this way.”

“You’re not from here, are you?” he asks, glancing sideways at me as we walk, his tone casual—but there's a thread of curiosity woven through it.

“I’m not, no,” I say, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I moved here about six months ago.”

“What for?” he asks, genuinely interested.

I let out a quiet breath, unsure how to compress it all into a neat answer. “Ah—so many reasons. Life things. Stuff I needed to get away from, and stuff I was hoping to find. Honestly, it’s a way-too-long story for a walk with coffee.”

He chuckles, his eyes crinkling slightly. “Fair enough. And me?”

I glance at him with a playful tilt of my head. “What’s your story then, mystery man?”

“I’ve lived here my whole life,” he says, shrugging it off. “Nothing special.”

But there’s a flicker—barely noticeable—in his expression. Something unreadable behind his eyes, like the words didn’t quite match the truth. The kind of look people get when there’s a past they’ve made peace with on the surface but still feel pressing underneath. He offers no more, and I don’t push.

“So,” he shifts gears, his voice light again, “what do you do?”

“I sing,” I answer, a little hesitant. “Nothing big—it’s just at this little bar. My friend kind of pulled me into it.”

There’s a nervous laugh in my throat, and I reach up to rub the back of my neck, suddenly self-conscious.

But when I glance at him, his expression has changed—just slightly. His features still, and something almost calculating flashes across his eyes, like puzzle pieces clicking into place.

I frown, tilting my head. “Something wrong?”

He blinks once, then the look is gone—replaced by that easy smile again. “No, nothing at all. Just… you sing. That’s impressive. I’ve always had a soft spot for a sweet voice. I bet yours is marvelous.” He mused.

His voice is warm, but there's something about the way he says it—too smooth, almost knowing, this man sure possessed a silver tongue—that puts me slightly on edge. Still, I force a soft laugh, brushing it off.

“I wouldn’t say marvelous,” I say, chuckling as I lift my coffee for a sip, “but thank you.”

As I take the drink, I watch him out of the corner of my eye.

His posture is relaxed, hands tucked into his pockets, but his gaze is focused ahead—too focused. Like his mind is elsewhere now. Like he’s working through something I’m not privy to.

There’s this odd silence between us for a minute—quiet but not uncomfortable. And I can’t help but wonder ‘does he know something I don’t?

Before I can ask him what he does, his phone rings. After exchanging a few words on the phone, he says his goodbyes and leaves me standing.

“Strange man” I mumble to myself while walking back to the apartment.

And then I see them—Rosie and Oliver—just as I round the corner.

They’re standing in the middle of the street, not caring who watches, their voices raised and sharp, slicing through the morning air. Rosie’s arms are flying, her face twisted in frustration, and Oliver’s jaw is tight, eyes narrowed as he throws his words back at her like stones.

They're fighting. Loudly. Publicly.

For a second, I stop in my tracks. My heart kicks up, and instinct pushes me a step forward. Should I go to her? Step in? Try to calm things down?

But something—hesitation, maybe pride—tugs at my sleeve. I freeze.

It’s not my business. That’s what I tell myself. Not my scene, not my relationship, not my place.

Except… that doesn’t sit right either.

How can I think that? She’s my friend. Or at least I thought she was. We've laughed together, shared secrets, shared silence. And now I’m watching her argue in the street like she’s a stranger on a screen.

Still, my feet don’t move.

I stand there a moment longer, watching them fall apart in real time—voices overlapping, Oliver shaking his head, Rosie throwing her hands in the air like she doesn’t know what to do with her rage. The rawness of it is uncomfortable, like I’m intruding on something private and fragile, even though they’re not hiding it.

People pass by, glancing, frowning, not stopping. Just like I’m doing.

And then I turn.

I turn and walk away.

My boots hit the pavement a little too hard as I go, like I’m trying to drown out the shouting behind me. I tell myself again it’s better this way. No drama. No taking sides. No messy explanations.

But the words ring hollow.

Because as I walk farther, that same unsettling feeling begins to curl in my chest—the same one I thought I left behind months ago when I moved here. That creeping, nagging sense that something’s off. Wrong. That I should’ve done something.

Maybe I’m not as disconnected as I pretend to be. Or maybe I’m just good at convincing myself it’s okay to walk away when things get uncomfortable.

Either way, I don’t look back.

Even though my mind is still tangled up with Rosie and Oliver—those sharp voices echoing in the back of my head—it somehow drifts back to Jongho. I kick myself a little for not asking for his number or anything. What if I never see him again? If he really is a regular at that coffee shop, maybe it won’t be long before I run into him again. I just have to make the effort to go there more often.

I shake my head to clear the thoughts and keep walking, and when I spot a small fish shop tucked between a bookstore and a bakery, I decide to stop in. The scent of saltwater and fresh plants greets me as I step inside, and I smile at the familiar, calming smell.

I pick out a few more fish to add to my tank—something bright, something that will swim happily alongside the others. I pay the shopkeeper and cradle the little plastic bag carefully as I head home.

Once inside, I kneel by the tank and gently transfer the new arrivals into the water, watching as they scatter among the plants and decorations. Eight fish now glide silently in the glass world perched on my dresser, darting between smooth stones and waving green leaves. I watch them for a moment, feeling the quiet peace, they bring me, the steady rhythm of their tiny movements a balm to my restless mind.

Just then, Madeleine walks in, leaning against the doorframe. She watches the fish with a soft smile.

“Cute,” she says simply, eyes sparkling.

I can’t help but laugh quietly. “I could never keep them all alive,” I admit, rubbing the back of my neck sheepishly. “I always worry they won’t last.”

Madeleine nods knowingly. “They’re delicate, but maybe that’s what makes them special. You care enough to keep trying.”

Her words linger with me as I glance back at the fish—tiny, fragile, but somehow full of life. For a moment, I feel a little less lost.

“Did you talk to Lawrence?” Madeleine asks, her eyes flickering with something like excitement.

I shake my head, puzzled. “No, why? What’s going on?”

She bites her lip, trying to hold back a smile. “I think he has some really good news for you… but I promised him I wouldn’t say a word. Oh, it’s going to make you so happy,” she says, her accent growing thicker as she gets more animated.

Curiosity sparks, and I lean in a little. “Is he home now? Can I talk to him?”

“No,” she replies, shaking her head. “He’s out with Albert, doing… well, I honestly don’t know what exactly. But he said he’ll be back tonight.”

Her secretive grin stays on her face, and I can’t help but wonder what Lawrence could be up to—and more importantly, what good news he might have for me.

But then, before she can stop herself, the secret bubbles out.

“A company asked about you,” Madeleine blurts, eyes wide with excitement. “They want to know if you’d be willing to work for them—or, more likely, sing for them. Maybe even make your own single.”

She suddenly claps a hand over her mouth, like she just spilled a secret too soon. “Ah, I shouldn’t have said anything!”

I can’t help but laugh, the thrill of the news flooding through me. “You mean it? Really? Oh my gosh, that’s… that’s amazing!”

Without thinking, we both squeal, caught up in the moment and the rush of possibility. It feels like the whole room is buzzing with new energy, and for the first time in a while, I dare to hope.

“They saw you and immediately went to talk to Albert about it,” Madeleine says, her eyes sparkling. “Gosh, isn’t that just amazing?”

For the rest of the day, we flop down on the couch, totally wrapped up in daydreams about me becoming a world star. We imagine everything—from flashy concerts to screaming fans and red carpets.

“It’s like, what if this really happens?” I whisper, feeling butterflies in my stomach.

Madeleine giggles and nudges me playfully. “You could totally do it! I mean, who wouldn’t want to be your number one fan?”

We burst into laughter, our dreams feeling just close enough to reach, like bubbles floating on a summer breeze—light, bright, and full of possibility.

Chapter Text

The rest of the day slipped by in a haze of waiting.

I kept glancing at the clock, listening for the sound of the door, hoping to hear Lawrence’s familiar voice float through the hallway. But time kept ticking, and by the time he finally walked in, it was nearly 11 PM. His coat was half slipping off his shoulder, hair tousled from the wind, and he looked completely exhausted.

“Hey,” I said softly, standing up from the couch where I’d been dozing off.

He gave me a tired smile but didn’t stop moving. “Sorry—so late. I’ll tell you everything tomorrow, promise,” he mumbled before disappearing into his room.

I stood there for a moment, the silence settling around me. A little pang of disappointment tugged at my chest. I had waited all day, heart in my throat, imagining what he might say. And now… nothing.

I sighed and padded back to my room, pulling the covers around me as I sank into bed. I told myself not to overthink it, but it was hard to quiet my thoughts. Eventually, sleep found me.

When I woke up the next morning, still a little groggy, I found Lawrence already awake—waiting for me at the kitchen table, coffee in hand and a soft look on his face.

“You’re up,” he said, straightening a little as I walked in.

“I am,” I replied cautiously, taking a seat across from him. “You said you’d tell me today.”

He nodded, a grin slowly spreading across his face. “I did. And you’re going to want to hear this.”

I leaned in, my heart picking up pace.

“So,” he began, “after your performance the other night, there were a few people in the room who... well, let’s just say they weren’t expecting you. But once you started singing, they couldn’t look away. Completely mesmerized.”
My breath caught slightly.

“One of the producers turned to Albert right after and asked who you were. They said you’ve got something—something real. They want to meet you. Like, officially.”

I blinked, stunned for a second. “Wait… like a meeting? With who?”

“They’re setting it up now,” Lawrence said, excitement lighting up his voice. “A real sit-down. You’ll get to talk, sing, maybe even show more of what you can do. This could be something big, Evangeline.”

My hands trembled slightly as I wrapped them around the warm mug in front of me. I didn’t even know what to say.

I looked at him, eyes wide. “This is… wow. I don’t even know what to think.”

He laughed. “Then don’t think. Just breathe. You earned this.”

And suddenly, the weight of last night’s disappointment melted away, replaced with something so much lighter—hope.

The ringing of my phone disrupted our conversation. I grab my phone and look at the display to see who called me.

“It’s Rosie– I need to take this.” I say before excusing myself and picked up.

A loud Rosie blared from the other line, seemingly happier than the last time I saw her. “You are still coming with us today, right?” she asks without greeting me first..?

“Yes, where are we going again?” I ask her, perplexed a bit by her happiness.

She takes a while to answer. I could feel the silence stretch to the point where it felt awkward.

“Ya, we’re going to this club. Oliver found it, it’s not far from your bar, I’m sure you’ll like it. We’ll pick you ap at nine~!” She declares and I can only answer with okay before she hangs up.

“What’s up?” Lawrence asked, noticing the concerned look on my face.

“Oh, nothing. It’s just Rosie—she wants me to go to this club with her and her boyfriend Oliver,” I replied.

He frowned slightly, having picked up on my skepticism. “You sure you want to go?”

I nodded, even though deep down I wasn’t feeling up to it. But it felt easier to go than to explain why I didn’t want to.

“Where is it? I can pick you up if you want to leave,” he offered gently.

Before I could answer, Madeleine appeared behind him, slipping her arms around his waist and resting her head on his shoulder.

“Where are you going, sweet one?” she asked, her usual warm smile lighting up her face.

“I’m not exactly sure,” I admitted. “Rosie just said it’s a club near our bar. Oliver found it. But you don’t have to pick me up—if anything happens, I’ll give you a call, don’t worry.”

“A club?” Madeleine’s eyes lit up. “Ah, I would love to go to one again. Lawrence, we should go, non? Like when we met. It was so sweet.”

“Wait—how did I not know you two met in a club? I thought it was in Paris?”

“It was in Paris,” she said, beaming. “I was working in this little coffee shop—so lovely, really. I adored it. And one night, my coworkers and I went to a club near the Eiffel Tower. That’s where I saw him. We danced together and not even once did we exchange a word! It was like our bodies dancing amidst the colourful lights did all the talking for us.” She laughed softly. “And then the next day, he came into the café and asked for my number. We went on a few dates, and now…” She gave a happy little shrug. “Here we are.”

Her accent slipped in lightly—soft vowels, a slightly rolled r here and there—just enough to make her words feel like a breeze from somewhere warm and far away.

“I think it’s some kind of rock bar. I don’t really know,” I said with a small shrug. “Oliver listens to that kind of music.”

Lawrence shifted slightly in Madeleine’s arms, and I caught a flicker of something in his face. His posture stiffened, just barely, and his eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

“Rock club, you said?” he repeated. “Near the bar?”

“Yeah... why? Is there something wrong with that?” I asked, confusion settling in.

He paused, just a beat too long, before answering. “No. Just… be careful.”

But as he said it, I saw the glance he shot toward Madeleine—quick, unreadable, but charged with something unspoken. She didn’t say anything, just held onto him a little tighter, her smile too faltered ever so slightly.

“Sorry– what did you say?” I ask confused.

“Nothing don’t worry about it. I need to head out. I am supposed to meet Albert” Lawrence says.

“Oh, I’m coming with - I need to visit my parents anyway.” And before I can say anything the both of them left.

I blink at the door, perplexed how suddenly they left. “Weird” I mumble.

With a Carefree mind I spend my day in the apartment. Excitement mingled deep in the pit of my stomach for the upcoming meeting with said producers. Not a bad thought of the evening bothering me.

The beams of the sun illuminated my room while I changed. The pink accents of the sunset beamed through the window of my dimly lit room as I rummaged in my closet in search for an outfit for what felt like an eternity. I land on the deep purple satin skirt—lush, moody, and just the right amount of dramatic. It clings and flows like liquid shadow, catching flashes of light when I move. I throw on my black top—simple but sharp—and pull on my worn-in black boots, the kind that have seen late nights and loud music. The contrast is deliberate: soft and fierce. My gold jewelry stands out like fire against the darkness, bold and bright, catching eyes without trying. My red hair is wild and untamed, the kind of red that doesn’t ask permission. And with my cat-eye liner sharp enough to cut glass, the whole look comes together like a quiet rebellion—polished, powerful, and just a little dangerous.

The cars on the street faintly come through my window while I sit on the edge of my bed, waiting for Rosie. From time to time a bird flew by and eventually the sun has set.

And even though I try to not let it get to me I start to worry about what Lawrence might have meant. What did I say to make him stiffen up? Or is it about the club that I have yet to discover? Why did he act so distant suddenly?

Then the doorbell rings and I get dragged out of my thoughts.
Greeted by jittery Rosie, I hug her back. Oliver stood behind her, I don’t give him the satisfaction of a greeting as he himself only nods to me.

Together we make our way. Rosie yapping like her life depends on it, filled the awkward atmosphere between the three of us. I know I’m still hurt that she didn’t show up to one of the most important nights in my life, but it seems that she doesn’t feel any remorse towards it, so I just push my feelings away to enjoy the night ahead.

As we enter the club were immediately met with a loud bass from the music. It pumps though my body as we wait in line of the cloakroom. Disrupting every thought, I could possibly have.

“I’m so happy you came with us. It’s going to be so much fun. Like the old times when we used to go out together.” Excitement radiating off her.

A phoney smile on my lips I agree with her as I give my jacket away. It’s packed as we enter the main floor. A long line at the bar, people crowded together on the dance floor dancing to the music. In the corner I even see two people fighting – no one seems to care really tho. A big stage looms ahead, fully rigged: guitars, drums, bass… The odour is different than anything ever in the little jazz bar. Heavy with sweat, cigarettes and a slight sting of weed and beer fills the room. We push through the throng of bodies, the music growing louder with each step until we reach the bar and Oliver orders three drinks.

While waiting for the drinks Rosie leans against Oliver. I stand next to them not saying a word, not wanting to disrupt the moment. I felt myself slipping into my own head and what my mother would say if she knew I was here. Hell - she probably would get a heart attack. She always had a problem with everything that wasn’t classical music. And this, Loud heavy Rock music would send her god knows where. A hint of a smirk on my lips at that thought.

As quickly as the thought comes it goes because Rosie hands me the drink and we make our way to a little table by the wall.

“So, you two go here often?” I asks her.

“Not really. From time to time. Oliver has some friends here. You met them if I recall. At his Birthday.” She states and confusion forming in my mind.

“I don’t know” I shrug “I didn’t met anyone I believe” my mind swept clean.

“No, I’m pretty sure I saw you chatting with them. Mingi and San.” She declares.

I shake my head not really sure “Beats me sorry really” I simply answer her, and she scrunched up her nose and grimaced.

“Maybe there here tonight. They are in this band you know. They are kind of famous around here. For the locals at least. Oliver” she screams over the music to him. “Are they here tonight?”

“Who?” He asks confused.

“Black Horizon? That’s the band name, right?” – Black Horizon – Ive heard that name before, but I cannot recall were exactly.

“I don’t know I haven’t talked to Yeosang in a while, and I haven’t seen Mingi or San since my birthday. Why babe?” he asks and pulls her closer by her waist.

She mumbled something I couldn’t really understand and then kissed him deeply on the lips. Completely forgotten by the two I let them stand by the Wall making out.

The atmosphere is completely different than the one I usually am confronted with. People are standing everywhere – barely any seating options and if there are they’re already occupied. More rowdy people, jumping around screaming and laughing. It’s like a new world from the one I know. Well-mannered people gambling, whispering, slow dancing and making business in the slow steady music I enjoy bringing to them. A complete opposite. Dare I admit that I enjoy this, people for once behaving like themselves and not putting a mask on to impress the one they surround themselves with.

I watch Rosie making out with Oliver like nothing else is in her mind – to be fair there probably isn’t a single thought. I put the glass down on the bar counter and mingle between the people. I dance a bit here and there and soon get used to the crowd and everything else in the club. But then a guy moves into my view a bright smile on his lips.

Cocky and cheeky. A slight smirk creeping on my lips as I lean my head to the side as he walks closer to me.

“What a delight to my eyes” he says leaning down to me so I can hear him.

I raise a brow. “You think” – I eye him up and down “You’re not so bad yourself”

“May I dance with you beautiful” he asks and I just nod. He takes my hands, and we move together through the crowd. The rock music is blasting.

“How come that such a beauty is here, all alone?”

“Who says I’m alone?” I smirk as his face drops for a few seconds. “Do you see the couple over there” I say pointing to Rosie and Oliver still making out. He follows my finger and nods.

“So, no Boyfriend” he says pulling me against him the cocky smirk ´displayed on his face again.

“No, no boyfriend” I answer wrapping my hands around his neck while we keep dancing.

A satisfied “good” leaves his lips as he guides me.

I study his face. His playful yet piercing eyes looking at me like a black velvet lit with flame. But something caring and warmth hid beneath it. His sharp teeth boyish smile with his full lips looking plump but so soft. A silver ring marking his bottom lip. And an eyebrow piercing bringing his eyebrows out. The silver complemented his tanned skin, and I look down on him again. A tattoo on his arm and I slowly go over it with my finger.

“You like what you see” he whispers hoarse close against my ear.

I meet his eyes again “don’t get ahead of yourself” I grin running my hand through his blond hair that gives him a hint of softness.

“Oh, but how can I not when such a stunning angelic person lays her eyes upon me” he says drawing circles on my hips.

“You’re a charmer” I chuckle.

“I just know when something or someone is worth it.”

“How can you be so sure that I am” raising my brow again at his statement.

“Darling believe me I know” he whispers closer to my ear now. And I breathe sharply in.

“Would you mind telling me your name beautiful” he asks slowly going with a hand along my jaw.

“Evangeline. My name is Evangeline” I whisper almost not audible by the loud music. “That’s a splendid name for a glorious woman like you. I’m Wooyoung.” he introduces himself
“Let’s go get a drink yeah” he offers a hand on the small of my back. He leads me to the bar orders two drinks and brings us to a secluded area where not a lot of people are.

“Sit with me will you” his hand offering me the free space next to him on the couch.

Slowly I sink down – some guy from the bar bringing our drinks and I get the feeling that me must be more important than he let on till now.

“I know you” he simply says looking at me.

“You know me?” I ask, bafflement written over my face. “How?” And within seconds my guards are up again, and something twists in my stomach. How could I let myself get so distracted by him not even thinking about anything. Hes a stranger, how could he know me. From the bar? Has he seen me singing? Surely not I would remember, wouldn’t I?

"Sorry—that was a bit abrupt. I probably should’ve started differently. I didn’t just come over to make small talk.

I’m part of the band Black Horizon."

There it is again—that name that rings a bell but refuses to stick.

"Maybe you’ve heard of us? You’ve already met a couple of the guys, I think. They’ve mentioned you before. They really loved your voice. And, well..."

He pauses, glancing at me with something unreadable behind his eyes.

"We were wondering if you’d be interested in collaborating. On a track. Maybe something for our next release."

A song. With me.

Wait—I’ve met them? Rosie mentioned two. Or more? I can’t remember. My mind’s still trying to catch up when he brushes a strand of hair behind my ear again.

“You don’t have to decide now,” he says softly, his voice close to my cheek. “Just enjoy the night with me. I only brought it up because... well, they asked me to. But we don’t need to let a beautiful evening go to waste.”

He pulls a small card from his pocket. “I’ll give you my number. If you decide you’re in, just text me.”

“The hell, Wooyoung—everyone in this club can tell you’re completely smitten,” comes a voice from behind.

A boy drops down onto the couch beside him with the ease of someone who knows he’s welcome anywhere.

“Yeosang,” Wooyoung mutters, clearly annoyed. “I was just telling her.”

“And planning to hand her your number? Thought the captain told you to give his.”

He offers me a small card, glancing at me with amused eyes.

“I’m Yeosang. Nice to finally meet you, Evangeline. I’ve heard a lot—mainly about your voice. I’d love to hear it in person sometime.”

His words are smooth, but there’s a hint of warmth behind them.

“If you’re thinking about Wooyoung’s offer, that’s the number to call.”

With a little smile, he stands and disappears back into the crowd, leaving us in the hush of the dimly lit corner once more.

A bit baffled I look at Wooyoung. “Sorry about him. I promise he’s different once you get to know him.” He tries to explain.

“You’re smitten by me” I ask smirking.

He rubs his neck avoiding my eyes and I laugh. “You are omg”

“Yeah, well maybe a bit. You are sweet you know, and I don’t know okay.” He says a bit defensive and take a sip of his drink.

“So, what instrument do you play? Or do you sing?” I ask him truly curious.

“I play Electric- Guitar. Pretty cool right. We perform here often. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of us before” He states.

“I never said I haven’t heard of you before” I retort back.

“You didn’t have to it was written all over your face. You are pretty easy to read if I may say so.” He chuckles and I cannot help it so smile myself.

“Sorry to disappoint you but I have heard of you before.” I declare “My friends earlier are friends with some of the band, and I heard the name somewhere else before. I just can’t place were actually.”

“Yeah, I know, you are the friend of Olivers Girlfriend. But I wouldn’t go as far and call him our friend. Hes just someone we – well we met on the way” he says hi voice changing.

I raise a brow. “You are not a fan of his” I observe pretty obviously.

“Not really. He can be a real douche and sorry for saying it that way, but I believe your friend is pretty stupid to be with him. No good comes from him.”

“I’ve noticed. I’m not a fan of him myself so don’t worry. I won’t tell a soul.” I grin at him. "Good" he smirks "Do you smoke" he asks while getting a pack of cigarettes out but before i can answer someone else interrupts.

“Wooyoung why don’t you introduce your new friend to us.” A new voice says.

When I look up, I’m met with a red-haired guy. And then I recognize him. It’s not some red-haired guy. It’s the guy I saw a week ago while performing. The one that looked at me like I’m a moth in the light. The red hair is still as vivid as before, bold and striking. Bringing his piercing eyes and sharp jawline out. Delicate lips formed to a smile that has something devilish with it. Hes eyeing me with the same intensity as before and I feel like my heart stops for a second.

Chapter Text

And thus I met Hongjoong. He’s not as tall as I imagined but the way he’s sitting in front of me just screams authority. I have to admit I am a little intimidated by him. He explained everything. The scariest part? He’s been watching me for weeks. How come I haven’t noticed him before? And again, I question myself, am I truly that blind? I haven’t decided what I should do. Should I sing for him? It sounds like a huge opportunity… but is it really?

I watch him, he opens his legs in a manspread and sat there with a drink in his hand. A smirk on his lips as he watched me think.

“You know what? It seems like we won’t get anywhere today. Wooyoung gave you my number just call me when you decided yeah.” The way he leans forward while saying it does something to me, and I only nod somehow too incoherent to speak.

“Aren’t you a pretty thing” he chuckles and my face drops.

“Excuse me” disgust painted all over my face, „what did you just call me?” My voice is sharp and low.

“Sorry – is something wrong?” he asks leaning his head to the side, his smirk only grew by the second. Anger simmers beneath my skin. I cross my legs and rest my hands gently on my lap, a silent attempt to mask the storm building inside me.

“If you want to work with me you have to respect me. I won’t be someone you can toy around with.” I press out as politely as possible.

For a second he doesn’t say anything, and the music fills my ears. I wished that Wooyoung would’ve stayed with us or anyone else for that matter.

“You have my utmost respect, love. Don’t ever say otherwise, okay.”

I instinctively lean back, unsettled by the sudden weight in his voice. My eyes stay locked on him. He doesn’t flinch — if anything, his expression softens.

“So,” he says, casually now, “you smoke?”

The question throws me off.

“No,” I reply, simply.

“I thought so. Come with me, will you?”

He rises to his feet and looks down at me. That tilt of authority returns, casual and effortless.

I stand quickly, refusing to let him tower over me like that — refusing to give him that kind of power.

“God you pretentious asshole” I say, and he steps closer.

“Feisty - Join me dear get to know me and tell me how shit I am afterwards” he says leaning down a hand on my cheek the smirk still complimenting his face.

His hand wandering over my arm to the small of my back as he steps closer.

I shake my head laughing slightly in disbelief. “Smoking kills your voice and at the end of the day you.” I state.

“Then watch me kill myself. It seems like you would enjoy it” his teeth showing while smiling at me and everything swanky gone.

His hand dips a bit lower and my breath halts which doesn’t goes unnoticed by him. “I know you want to – You don’t have to tell me.” He whispers in my ear the warmth of his breath hitting me – even in this hot ass club a shiver jolts down my spine. And he withdraws chuckling.

“Come darling” with that he leads me out. I watch him light the cigarette and take a drag. Feeling like in a dream I watch him. The Cigarette between his fingers. How his lips welcome the smoke and leave his lips again. Soft he takes it in while staring out in the dark. My eyes never leave him.

I feel like I should hate him. No — I definitely should.

But there’s something about him that draws me in.

And I can’t look away.

He’s… mesmerizing, somehow.

And when he catches my eyes, he smiles — not smug this time, but friendly. Almost disarming.

Almost. He lifts the cigarette slowly, holding it between two fingers, and angels it toward me. Not a word, just an invitation.

I meet his gaze — unblinking — and lean in.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. He just holds it there, steady and patient, waiting for me to close the distance. His fingers are inches from my lips, and I swear I feel the heat of his skin even before the smoke.

I take the drag.

His eyes are on me — only me — watching the way my lips part, how the smoke curls between them.

The taste is bitter and harsh, burning down my throat. I cough, losing it immediately, doubling forward just slightly. It’s humiliating, but he doesn’t laugh this time.

A low chuckle vibrates from his chest as his hand — the one not holding the cigarette — lands on my back, rubbing in slow, calming circles.

“Easy,” he murmurs, his breath close to my cheek. “Didn’t mean to break you.”

I manage a laugh, rough and short. “You could’ve warned me.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he says, voice low, teasing. “Besides… you looked good with it.”

I arch a brow. “Choking?”

He smiles, all heat and mischief. “No. Submitting.”

I blink — startled by the boldness. My breath catches somewhere between my lungs and the lie I want to tell. His fingers brush a little lower on my back. Not enough to cross a line, just enough to blur it.

“You’re enjoying this,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Very much.”

His hand with the cigarette lifts again, hovering near my mouth — silent invitation, again.

I shouldn’t. But I do.

Another drag. This time slower, smoother. My eyes stay on his the entire time. His fingers are steady, his gaze unreadable, lips parted just slightly like he’s imagining it’s him I’m breathing in.

I exhale the smoke between us, letting it curl in the space that’s grown far too small.

“Better,” he says, low and pleased.

“Still not impressed,” I lie.

“Then stay,” he says, offering the cigarette again, “and let me change your mind.”

The second drag goes down smoother — or maybe I’m just distracted by the way he’s watching me. Not with judgment. With interest. Like he's studying every inch of me for sport.

“You learn fast,” he says, voice dipped in that low velvet tone of his, amused. Almost like he’s impressed.

I glance at him from the corner of my eye. “You say that like it’s a compliment.”

He leans in a little, the corners of his lips curling. “Would you prefer something dirtier?”

I laugh — short, breathy. “You don’t even know me.”

His fingers brush a loose strand of hair behind my ear, slow and deliberate. “Not yet.”

That shiver again — it betrays me.

He’s close. Too close. And not close enough.

The cigarette still lingers between his fingers, a trail of smoke drifting past us like it’s part of the game too. He doesn’t offer it again, just holds it like a prop, something to keep his hands busy while his eyes do the heavy lifting.

“Are you always this straight forward with strangers?” I ask, crossing my arms just to keep them from reaching for him.

“Only when I like what I see.”

“And do you like what you see right now?” I counter, lifting a brow, daring him.

He grins in return, eyes flickering more to my lips before returning to mine.

“I think you already know.”

The air between us thickens, electric. He steps in closer, until there’s almost nothing left between our bodies but heat and tension.

“You should go back inside,” he murmurs, but his voice doesn’t sound convinced. “Before I forget I’m supposed to be professional.”

I tilt my head, eyes locked on his. “Is this you being professional?”

A smirk. “You haven’t seen me being unprofessional yet.”

The way he says it is a promise.

Or a threat in disguise.

And I’m not sure which one I want more.

“There you are Evy!” I turn to the sound of my name.

I see Rosie approaching, she seemed to be in a rush. Her hair was all messed up, like she has been part of a fight.

“Help me!” and she drags me by my arm urgently “he messed up BIG TIME I don’t know what to do, I need your help”
I look at her confused, not wasting a second thinking about Hongjoong as she drags me trough the club. And due to that I didn´t notice him following us.

From afar I can hear the turmoil. As we approach the circle opens and then I see it. Oliver beating down on someone. I look over the crowd trying to spot the security staff.

They drag him out. He resists, kicking around him and even hitting some people. Shocked I stand there just observing as someone holds Rosie back not to follow him.

After a minute I turn to see Wooyoung and Hongjoong standing behind Rosie, trying to calm her. But all I see is red. Irritation in my mind.

“WTF Rosie” I almost scream at her, “The hell was that.”

“He – I don’t know I didn’t even see the Guy and then in a Whip he was all over him.” Tears filling her eyes, but I don’t care.

“Rosie this can’t continue” I say looking deep into her eyes while holding her shoulders, “He is a danger for you, please break up with him. We’ll manage but you can’t get yourself in such danger any longer. I can’t bear to see you with him any longer.”

“NO” she exclaims and backs away, “you don’t understand. He is good to me. He loves me.”

And with that I snap, anger consuming my mind “He is ruining you. Can’t you see? You’ve gotten worse since we got here. I barely recognize you. God, are you truly that stupid?

She looks at me, her chest heaving and eyes wide open like I just slapped her. My words slowly sinking in confliction written over her face. She opens her mouth for a second but closes it again.

“Let him go drop him. You will find someone better. WE can move in together and live like we actually planned.” My voice calmer and I take a step closer.

She doesn’t respond but looks down.

“I hate you” she mutters and my head whips to the side as I suddenly feel a stinging sensation of a slap on my cheek.

Moments pass before I process what she just did. I stare at her in disbelief.

Without another word she runs away. I want to run after her, but my feet seem to be stuck. Not able to move, I look after her.

I don’t hear Hongjoong talking to me and only get dragged out of my haze as he lays his hand on my shoulder. I barely registered his touch; it was only once he searched for my eyes that I came back to myself.

The eyes that longed so worryingly for me felt like gravitational pull and I found myself staring at one pair of brown irises.

“There she is.” But I leave him standing, within seconds I’m in front of the club looking for Rosie, hoping to sort things out. But I don’t see her.

“Come back inside. She is gone.” Hongjoongs voice behind me and I turn to him.

“Was I too hard on her?” I ask him but he shakes his head.

“No – but it’s normal to have disagreements you will sort it out don’t worry.” He takes my hand and leads me back into the club.

The crowd went back to their business acting like nothing even happened.

“I shouldn’t have left her alone.” I mumble.
He didn’t seem to hear me and leads me to the bar. I sit down on a stool, my mind spiraling like crazy, thoughts tangled with adrenaline and something dangerously close to curiosity.

“Here,” he says, handing me a glass.

I take a sip — sharp biting. The alcohol hits hard, but I don’t care. I welcome the burn.

He leans one arm on the bar, watching me over the rim of his own glass, eyes half-lidded and glinting beneath the club lights.

“You’re not scared of a little heat, are you?”

I lift my chin slightly. “You wish.” And by the end of the drink everything except him seems forgotten.

That makes him grin, slow and crooked. He signals the bartender again, this time holding up two fingers — no questions asked.

Two shot glasses appear between us. Clear, dangerous.

“Let’s loosen you up a bit,” he murmurs, sliding one toward me. His fingers brush mine, deliberate.

“Careful,” I reply, curling my hand around the glass. “You might not like me loose.”

“I think I’d love you loose,” he says, voice low, thick with suggestion.

We clink.

We shoot.

The burn rips down my throat and I let it settle in my chest, replacing the nerves with something warmer, heavier.
Another round. Then another. I stop counting.

His hand finds my waist before I know it — firm, coaxing. “Come on,” he says, voice rough, words laced in invitation.

“Let’s dance.”

I don’t answer. I just let him pull me toward the floor, into the chaos of the crowd, where the bass is a heartbeat and the music is pure sex.

A heavy rock track takes over the room — thick guitar riffs and a woman’s voice screaming something filthy through the speakers. The lights strobe red and violet, shadows melting and twisting like bodies in heat.

And then he’s on me.

His chest brushes mine, slow and teasing. One hand slips to my hip, the other hovers near the small of my back like a threat.

We move — together — the rhythm dark and dirty.

My body rolls into his, and he matches it with dangerous precision, like he’s been studying me for hours. Every sway of my hips earns me a little more pressure from his hands. Every brush of his thigh against mine makes my breath catch.

His mouth finds my ear, his lips barely ghosting across my skin. “You feel that?”

“Yes,” I breathe, but it’s not enough.

I grind closer. The space between us disappears like it never existed. His fingers tighten, guiding me, daring me to keep going.

“Fuck,” he murmurs. “You dance like you’re trying to ruin me.”

I tilt my head, my lips brushing his jaw. “What if I am?”

He groans softly, and it vibrates against my neck — a raw sound swallowed by the pounding beat around us.

“You’re playing dangerous,” he warns, voice thick.

“So, stop me,” I whisper. But he doesn’t.

He pulls me tighter instead, one leg sliding between mine, his hand now dangerously close to the curve of my ass. We move as one, slick with heat and rhythm.

His lips hover near mine — not kissing, not pulling away either. Just staying there, making me ache for it.

The music swells.

Everything pulses.

And we keep dancing — messy, slow, sinful — until there’s nothing else in the room but the two of us.

His hand gripping my waist like his life depends on it and his breath hitting my neck.

“Evangeline,” he murmurs, and a shiver runs down my spine like a wire pulled tight.

“Mhmm,” I hum, eyes closed, letting myself fall into the warm gravity of his body — into the space where the music fades and only his touch remains.

He moves with me like he knows every curve, every pause in my breath. His thigh slides further between mine, guiding my hips with an easy rhythm that feels both instinctive and deliberate. I melt into him, my palms pressed against the firm lines of his chest, feeling the way his heartbeat matches the pounding bass around us.

“You’re dangerous,” he says against my ear, voice like velvet laced with smoke.

“So are you,” I whisper back.

His nose brushes my jaw, his lips hovering at the edge of my skin, not quite touching — torturing.

“But you like it,” he adds.

I open my eyes, barely, catching the way he’s watching me — like he’s trying to memorize my face in this exact moment. His gaze flickers down to my mouth and lingers there.

“Say it,” he dares.

“I like it,” I say softly, breathlessly. “I like you.”

That’s all he needs.

His hand slides from my waist to the small of my back, pulling me tighter. Our bodies fuse together, the friction undeniable. His mouth grazes mine — the softest brush, barely there — and still, it sends heat flooding every inch of me.

I exhale, lips parting. His do too.

But he doesn’t kiss me. Not yet.

“Not here,” he says, his voice rough, barely audible through the thick fog of lust and rock and sweat.

I blink, trying to anchor myself. “Then where?”

He leans in, lips brushing the shell of my ear.

“I’ll show you.”

Then he pulls away, just enough to take my hand again, and leads me through the blur of bodies, out of the pulsing lights and toward somewhere darker. Quieter.

Somewhere the tension between us can finally explode.

Chapter Text

He leads me into a massive house I can barely make out in the dark — tall ceilings, quiet halls, everything hummed with that eerie stillness rich people seem to collect like art. His hand rests dangerously low on my back, warm, steady, and unmistakably possessive. Not in a way that unsettles me— but in a daring way.

The moment the door clicks shut behind us, I feel the weight of it all shift. The night, the drinks, him. Us.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches me. His eyes scan my face like I’m a puzzle he’s dying to pull apart. It should make me nervous, but instead, I feel my lips curl into a knowing smirk.

“What?” I ask, slurring just a little — enough to make it obvious we’ve both had too much.

“You look like trouble,” he murmurs, his voice dipping lower. “The kind that sneaks up on you.”

I take a lazy step toward him, fingers trailing down the front of his shirt, drunk confidence guiding my movements. “You brought me here, didn’t you?”

“Guilty as charged.” He steps closer, the space between us folding like paper. “Want a nightcap, or do you want me to keep pretending this is innocent?”

I laugh softly, i could feel something stirring up deep within me, whatever it was it was up to no good. “You’ve never pretended.”

He raises a brow, already walking us toward the kitchen, his hand grazing mine. “One more shot,” he says, grabbing a bottle off the counter. “For courage.”

I lean against the island, eyes half-lidded as he pours. We’re both flushed and loose and far too comfortable for two people who’ve just met. He hands me a glass, brushing his fingers over mine — way more than necessary.

“To bad decisions,” I whisper.

He clinks his glass to mine, grinning. “To ones we’ll regret slowly.”

The tequila burns beautifully. I hiss out a little, and he watches me like it’s the most seductive thing he’s ever seen.

The silence after is thick — intimate — like the air itself wants something from us.

“You’re staring again,” I say, stepping around the counter, closer.

“You like it,” he replies, no hesitation.

I don’t deny it.

Before I know it, he tugs me gently toward the living room. The music from the car must still be playing — heavy rock, slow and dark and pulsing through the walls.

“Dance with me,” he pleads.

“We already did.”

He pulls me flush against him anyway. “Did we?” he murmurs against my jaw. “I don't remember you being this close.”

My breath catches as his hands slide down my sides, settling at my hips, thumbs digging in lightly through the fabric of my dress. I move with him, slow and uncoordinated, the alcohol making everything lazy, sensual. The music becomes our rhythm, our excuse.

His thigh pushes between mine, firm and unapologetic, and I don’t move away.

“You’re playing with fire,” I murmur.

“Baby,” he breathes, lips brushing my cheek. “I’m the one who lit the match.”

I tilt my head back, letting the tension stretch like taffy between us. My hand rests on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart — fast and loud, just like mine.

“Do you always bring girls home after dancing?” I tease, fingers inching toward his collar.

“Only the ones I want to wake up thinking about,” he replies, dead serious.

I don’t know who leans in first, but suddenly our lips are inches apart. His breath is warm, tinged with tequila and temptation.

“Are you gonna kiss me or keep trying to charm me to death?” I whisper.

He smirks. “Why not both?”

And then his mouth crashes into mine — drunk and hungry and messy in the best way. His hands tighten on my waist as I curl into him, heat blooming between us with every movement.

The music blares on, and we move to it — grinding, pulling, tasting.

Tonight isn’t about decisions.

It’s about giving in.

And god, I want to fall.

His lips move against mine with a kind of hunger that feels almost desperate — like he’s been holding back all night and finally let himself crack. His hands at my waist tighten, pulling me impossibly closer, and I melt into him, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

The room spins a little, or maybe that’s just him.

He tilts his head, deepening the kiss. It’s not neat, not careful, nor calculated— it’s impulsive, almost primal with the way he clashed our lips together, and the taste of tequila still lingering on our tongues as they fought for dominance.

His thumb grazes my jaw, anchoring me to him. It’s dizzying, the way he touches me — now not rushed anymore, but like he’s trying to memorize the shape of my mouth, the sound of my breath, every tiny reaction I give. He took it all in, savoring each and every detail.

When we finally pull apart, it’s only by a mere inch. We’re still breathing each other in, his forehead rests against mine. The silence buzzes.

“That,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, “felt inevitable.”

My lips tingle, still swollen from the kiss, and I can’t bring myself to step back. “Maybe it was.”

He smiles — the kind that could undo a person. “You’re dangerous.”

“Then why do you keep pulling me closer?”

“Because I’ve never liked playing it safe.”

His hand brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch suddenly tender, and it startles me more than the kiss did. There’s something beneath the bravado — something he’s not saying.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I whisper.

“Like what?”

“Like you mean it.”

He leans in again, this time slower, lips ghosting over mine without pressure — just a promise. “What if I do?”

My breath catches again. And this time, I kiss him first. Knowing he doesn’t at least for now.

But I don’t care. His lips never leave mine, and I let myself get lost in the way he kisses me — firm, possessive, as if the world outside this room no longer matters.

With a swift motion, he kicks the door shut behind us, the sound echoing softly in the dim space. I barely register it. His hands are on me again, guiding me backward, step by slow, dizzy step until I feel the edge of a table press into the backs of my thighs.

Then — one smooth motion.

His arm sweeps across the surface, scattering whatever was in the way. The quiet crash of objects falling to the floor barely registers before he lifts me up, placing me on the table as if I weigh nothing.

He moves between my legs, the heat of him pressing close. His mouth returns to mine, fiercer now— hungrier. There’s no hesitation in the way he kisses me this time. It’s all raw want and breathless tension.

His hand slips to my thigh — slow, like he’s daring me to stop him. I tense, and he notices. Of course he does. A smirk tugs at his lips, and he doesn't break the kiss — just deepens it, like he's feeding off my hesitation.

I pull back just enough to catch my breath, our mouths brushing as I speak his name. “Hongjoong.”

His eyes are half-lidded, dark and unreadable. But his hand? It answers for him. A gentle squeeze, firm enough to send my heart into a sprint.

“You like playing with fire,” I murmur, watching the flicker of something wild dance across his expression.

He leans in close, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Only when it looks like you.”

The words set something off in me — heat, nerves, curiosity — all tangled up. His fingers toy with the hem of my skirt, but he doesn’t push further. Not yet. He’s testing limits, reading reactions, and clearly enjoying every second of it.

I tilt my head, giving him access as his mouth finds my neck. The soft scrape of teeth, the press of lips — it’s maddening. I feel myself slipping, just a little, into the moment. Into him.

He kisses a path along my skin, lazy and indulgent, until his mouth is hovering just over mine again.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers.

I don’t. I can’t.

Instead, I press my forehead to his and breathe, “You first.”

And just like that, he laughs — low and breathless — before kissing me again, slower this time. No rush, no pressure. Just the tension stretching, coiling, as if both of us know: this doesn’t end tonight. Not really.

His hand itching upwards. Instinctively I try to close my legs but am met with his hips and I feel a smirk on his lips.

I let him touch me, not remembering when the last time was, that I was so intimate with someone. I never just slept with someone because I wanted too – at that matter, I only slept with one person in my life.

Dragged out of my thought as he bites down on my neck slightly I sharply breath in. He pushes my skirt up and his finger grazes my panties.

My hand squeezes his shoulder and he looks at me, asking for approval and I nod. His finger caressing my clothed core, while his other pushes my legs apart. Slowly he makes his way down my neck.

“Let me get lost in you” he whispers as he pushes my shirt up to cover my breast in kisses, while he teases me slowly dipping a finger under the fabric.

My breath picking up and I watch him till he kneels in front of me. His dark eyes capturing mine. In a trance I look at him, his eyes never leaving mine as he kisses and bites up my thigh.

Leaving a trail of bite marks up my thigh before he pulls down my slip. Giving me a last glance for approval till he presses his lips at my core. A chocked sound escaping my lips and I hear him chuckle as he licks a up between my lips, his finger digging into my thighs.

I gasp as he pushes a finger inside me while sucking at my sensitive bud. “I could drown in you” he breathes and gently circles my clit with his thumb. A gasp escapes my lips as he suddenly slides in another digit, without warning me first.

My hands clenched into fists in his hair, urging him closer. I moan softly as he picks up pace.

“Hongjoong” his name slips out of my lips involuntarily and he hums in response which makes me clench my thighs or at least I try to no avail.

His tongue pushing inside me eating me out like it was his last day on earth. I couldn’t hold back, moans spilled from my lips like a chant and if anyone else lives with him, they’ll surely hear the echoes.

My orgasm slowly built up, almost reaching its peak.

My body couldn’t help but desperately pull him closer, reach out to him and search for more friction, more stimulation, more just to get over the edge and feel bliss.

That’s when I was suddenly robbed of my orgasm as he stopped in his tracks, holding still for just a moment. He was teasing me – a whine escaped my lips as he pulls back looking up at me with glee.

“Is someone getting impatient?” he asks smirking.

Barely touching me he circles my entrance again– that signature cocky smirk crossed his face again.

“Yes, please give it to me…” I mumbled, feeling overwhelmed under his touch.

The best I could do was to look down at him in my hazy mind.

“I couldn’t hear you, love” he pressed on further, not letting me win so easily.

“Do you really want it?” He asked, this time he locked his eyes with me, sounding serious all of a sudden, his voice echoed in my mind, he paused his movements yet once more and maintained intense eye contact.

“Please, yes please” I say my voice firm.

More eager he presses his lips against mine and props me open with three fingers while he sucks me. I moan as my orgasm builds up once more.

My eyes fluttered shut as I let him devour me, feeling better than anything else I had for the past years.

My hips bucked forward and as my orgasm crushes over as me my head lolls back. He let me ride out my orgasm and continued licking, not wasting a single drop. His tongue pushed inside me. He licks his finger clean before coming up and kissing me again. I taste myself on his lips as his tongue seeks entrance to my mouth. He picks me up and sits down on the couch, so I straddle his lap.

His hands clamped on my ass while he passionately kissed me. Squeezing it – I feel his hard on through his pants and started to grind on him. He groaned in response, closing his eyes.

“Fuck- “he hisses and kisses my neck again.

“Let me ride you” I whisper still catching my breath - his face in my hands.

He unclips my bra with one hand and held me for a moment, he waited for me to take the lead. Overwhelmed with satisfaction I fully took off my bra and tossed them aside.

“Yes love, please do.” he murmurs almost pleading his eyes darkening. I carefully climb off of him, kneeling in front of him, slowly unbuckled his pants as if I had all the time in the world, this will be payback for edging me earlier.

I slowly unzipped his pants, maintaining eye contact with him as I did so and how delectable he looked, struggling under my touch, desperate for my touch alone.

I pushed his pants, along with his boxers down, ignoring the fact that his member greeted me, his angry red tip right in front of my very own eyes. I look at it, bigger than I imagined it would be.

I look up at him, only to catch him gaze down at me. Something sparkled in his eyes.

His right-hand brushed strands of hair out of my face, slowly I lick a strip down his length and his hand tightens ever so slightly.

“Come here” he says, voice sounding hoarse and gently pulls me up to sit in his lap.

“Condom.” I inquire, and he pulls one out of the table standing by the couch and glides it down his length.

I took a hold of each side of his shoulder and steadied myself on his thighs, positioning myself right above his eager member while I carefully sink down on him, his hands guided me in the process.

He stretches me open and a slight pain stung through my body. Bit by bit I sink on him till he fills me completely.

I look down at him as he rests his hand on my cheek. A weird feeling emerges within me, something more than a potential one – night – stand mixing up in myself but before I can continue my thought he interrupts me.

“Go on love.” He coaxes and his grip tightens on my hips, grounding me in some way.

I nod my eyes never leaving his as I start to move my hips. His mouth opens and a low groan escapes his lips.

Slowly I adjust to him as I start to pick up pace, both of us panting in unison.

His irresistible moans intoxicated my mind even more and my head falls back as he twisted my right nipple between his fingers. Which doesn’t make it easier to keep my pace. Sloppy I move my hips back and forth, up and down, moaning louder as he takes my left breast into his mouth and pushes himself up.

“You’re so beautiful” he whispers against my skin as he moves to the other side. “Doing so good for me”

Gripping his shoulders, I ride him harder, grinding down with every roll of my hips until he lets out a growl — low and guttural. His mouth closes around my nipple, and when he bites down, just enough to sting, a moan slips from my throat, raw and desperate. I gasp his name, fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more — of him, of this.

He groans against my skin, the vibration sending another jolt through me. My body trembles, teetering on the edge again, and he knows it. His hands roam my back, my hips, guiding me in rhythm with the slow, punishing thrusts I deliver. Each movement feels like we’re burning together — sweat, skin, breath, all blurring into something intoxicating.

“Come for me, love,” he murmurs, his voice thick and hoarse with desire. He leans back slowly, his breath hot against my skin, guiding me gently as if sensing my hesitation. His strong hands hold me steady, steadying the rhythm when I falter, his touch firm yet tender.

His finger circles my clit again, slow and deliberate, sending waves of pleasure pulsing through me until I feel like I might shatter. My head falls against his shoulder, breath hitching as he pushes deeper inside, each movement hitting all the right spots that make my body tremble.

I cling to him, lost in the heat of the moment, the world narrowing down to just us—our ragged breaths, the soft sounds we make, and the way our bodies move in sync. He whispers my name, low and desperate, and it drives me higher, a fire igniting inside that burns away every doubt and fear.

With every push, every touch, he pulls me closer to the edge, and I surrender completely—letting go, free and unguarded in his arms.

My body twitches again as the waves of my orgasm roll over me, a soft, choked moan falling from my lips. The pleasure courses through every inch of me, warm and overwhelming, but he doesn’t slow down. His hands grip my hips, steady and sure, as he keeps pushing inside me, chasing his own release.

Breathing heavy and uneven, I ease myself down to straddle him, heat pooling between us as I start to move slowly once more, finding a rhythm. His hands hold me in place, guiding me with firm, steady pressure. I lean forward slightly, pressing my chest against his as our bodies move in sync.

“Good girl,” he says quietly, almost as if surprised by how well I’m taking him, and the words slip out easily, like a small praise meant just for me.

The way he says it makes me smile, and it’s enough to send a fresh wave of heat rushing through me. I keep moving, riding him gently, my nails digging into his shoulders as I ride the waves building inside me again.

His breath brushes against my neck as he leans in, lips tracing soft kisses that make me shiver. I tilt my head back, letting the sensation wash over me, lost in the steady rhythm of our bodies.

With every movement, he pulls me closer to the edge again, his hands roaming my back and hips, holding me tight. The sounds of our breathing fill the room—heavy, ragged, and intimate.

Then, with a low groan, his own release crashes over him, and I feel him tense beneath me. We collapse together, breath mingling, skin slick with sweat. His arms wrap around me, holding me close as I rest my head on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart.

And then his lips are on mine once more, slow and deliberate, moving with a tenderness that makes my heart flutter. I close my eyes, losing myself in the softness of his kiss, the warmth of his breath mingling with mine. But just as I begin to settle into the moment, his hands wander lower—tracing the delicate skin between my legs once again—as if he somehow sensed I was still aching, still close just moments before.

“Let me one last time,” he whispers, his voice low and pleading, full of need and something almost vulnerable. My breath hitches, words tangled in my throat, but without hesitation, I nod. The world narrows down to him, to the slow slide of his finger slipping inside me once more.

He moves carefully, circling and pressing in ways that make my breath hitch, my body instinctively responding. Every touch sends sparks through me, every movement pulling me closer to that edge I thought I’d already crossed. My hands grasp his arms, holding on as the tension coils tighter and tighter inside me.

His lips trail down my neck, warm and urgent, and I shiver beneath his touch. The room is filled with the sounds of our breathing, quiet moans, and the rhythmic movement of his fingers coaxing me toward release again.

Time seems to stretch and collapse all at once, each moment heavy with anticipation and raw desire. I’m lost in the waves building inside me, riding the tide as he brings me closer, his touch both gentle and insistent.

Then, with a sudden, breathtaking rush, I come undone again—harder this time, every nerve ending ablaze. My body trembles against his, my moans spilling freely as he holds me steady, grounding me through the storm.

He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, his own dark and shimmering with need, raw and unfiltered. There’s a softness in that gaze too, a quiet tenderness that makes my breath catch. His pupils dilate, flickering with emotion, as if he’s searching me, trying to memorize every flicker of feeling written across my skin. I feel exposed and safe all at once—like I’ve been seen in the most vulnerable, beautiful way.

Slowly, almost reverently, he presses his lips back onto mine. The kiss is deep and lingering, slow to start but growing more urgent as his hands move to cup my face gently. His thumbs brush over my cheekbones, tracing the curve of my jaw. His breath mingles with mine, warm and steady, sending shivers down my spine. It’s a kiss that speaks of promises and quiet devotion, one that anchors me after the storm of sensations we just shared.

Eventually, he pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against mine. His voice is a low murmur, rough with desire and something softer, “Come with me.”

He takes my hand, fingers entwining with mine, strong and reassuring, and leads me to the bathroom. The soft light casts gentle shadows on his face, highlighting the slight stubble on his jaw and the way his eyes darken when he looks at me. It’s intimate, private—this moment between us after everything, when the world feels like it’s shrunk down to just the two of us.

He moves with care, gentle hands helping me clean up, wiping away the slick warmth of sweat and desire with soft cloths. His touch is tender but sure, every stroke deliberate, as if he’s trying to soothe more than just my skin—like he wants to erase every trace of tension, every lingering ache. His fingertips linger on my thighs, tracing slow, feather-light circles that make me shiver despite myself.

When he hands me fresh clothes, there’s a quiet kindness in his eyes. The shirt is soft and oversized, sliding easily over my skin, and the pants are loose and comfortable. I change quickly, feeling wrapped in his care, a sense of belonging settling deep inside me.

We move back to his bedroom, the air thick with a warmth that hasn’t quite faded. The sheets on his bed are cool and inviting, a sharp contrast to the heat still pulsing through my veins. He pulls me down beside him, his arms immediately wrapping around me like a protective shield. The press of his body against mine is grounding, a steady anchor after the rush of sensation and emotion.

His chest rises and falls beneath my cheek, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothing in its consistency. My own breath begins to slow, the adrenaline ebbing away to be replaced by a profound, gentle exhaustion. I feel safe here, held in the quiet aftermath of passion and tenderness.

His fingers begin to trace slow, lazy patterns along my back—soft circles, delicate strokes that say more than words ever could. Each touch is a whisper of affection, a quiet promise that he’s here, that he’s not going anywhere. The way his hands move makes my skin tingle, every nerve ending alive to his presence.

His voice, when he speaks, is a low murmur, like a secret shared between just the two of us. “Sleep well, love,” he says, the words a soft caress, a benediction.

I nestle closer into his arms, feeling the warmth of his body seep into mine. The exhaustion I feel is not just physical—it’s the kind of tired that comes from giving yourself completely, from trusting someone enough to be vulnerable. My eyelids grow heavy, my breathing slows, and the world outside his room fades away.

Even as sleep pulls me under, I remain aware of his gentle touch, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the quiet safety of being held. The softness of the sheets, the warmth of his skin, the scent of him—it all wraps around me like a comforting cloak.

And just before I drift off, I feel his lips brush my hair, a final, tender kiss that lingers long after the night has quieted.

In this moment, nothing else matters—only this quiet intimacy, this shared breath, this promise of more to come. And with that thought, I finally surrender to sleep, knowing I am cherished, wanted, and deeply, completely safe.

Chapter Text

“What’s with her?” Mingi asks, annoyed, leaning back with his hands behind his head.

I glance at Jongho sitting next to him.
With her... Yeah. What is with her?
I slump down in my chair by the desk, eyes drifting to the monitor showing the samples for our new song.
Her — Evangeline.

“You two haven’t heard her sing before.” I say, trying to dodge the question.
She could be of use to us…beneficial even — not just for our popularity in the music industry.

Her red curls fell over her shoulders, the way her eyes analyse the room mid performance... and the look on her face one we locked eyes a couple days ago. I know I caught her attention, and the thought alone enlightens me.

“She’s pretty, yes — and polite, I told you that. But your obsession is getting out of hand. She’s all you think about,” Jongho declares.

I whip my hand around. “The two of you said she’s hot, so stop acting like I’m the crazy one.”
“We never said yo—”
“You didn’t have to,” I cut Mingi off.

“Think about it. She got real attention the night Yunho and Seonghwa went there — they even mentioned something about a record label being interested. Imagine our chances if we make a song with her. She could bring us the attention we deserve, and we want that.

“And besides her pretty voice, I bet we could get some fun out of a new friend. You and San were swooning over her after that douche’s birthday,” I say, looking at Mingi.

He shrugs. “Yeah, I said she was pretty — not that I wanted to write her a love song and tattoo her name on my neck,” Mingi scoffs.

“You’re not wrong about the attention she brings, but don’t lose your head over it. We’ve been burned before, remember?”
“It’s not a love song. I want her vocals. I want her to give it her all on our next album and bring that record label here.”

Irritation flares in my chest.
I stare at them, anger coiling in the pit of my stomach.
Why can’t they see what I do?
Yunho and Seonghwa saw it. They felt it — the same thing I did.

“She’s coming tonight,” Mingi says suddenly from the door.
I whip my head toward him.
“Oliver told me — he said he’d bring his girlfriend and her friend. Try your luck... but I wouldn’t go straight at her. She might recognize you.”

With that, he leaves the room. I turn to Jongho.
“I wish to know what’s so good about her voice. I really do. It can’t be that good – you’ve been talking for days about her. It feels like you’re going mental.
Just remember what happened the last time we opened ourselves up for a girl.”

I walk around the small studio for what feels like hours after they leave, alone with my thoughts.

I have to consider it, yes... but something about her just draws me in.
I need to have her — to make her—
No.

I need to concentrate. I need to push us forward — to get out of here and make us big.
No distractions.
No girls.
No more losing myself.

“I like the idea. Don’t listen to the two of them,” Seonghwa says from behind, admiring the view of the city through the window.

“Mingi is just afraid we’ll fight again, and Jongho doesn’t really care — you know that. Ask her. Test her. Then we decide. Let’s not throw away a possibility.”

“Mingi says she’s coming tonight,” I say, watching him for a reaction.
Nothing.
I know he’s smitten with her — all three of us are, after hearing her sing.

I wouldn’t mind sharing her between us. I bet she’s feisty—
I clench my fist.
I shouldn’t think that way.
“Let Woo and Yeosang handle it,” Seonghwa suggests. “Wooyoung’s been going on for days about wanting to meet her — because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut. Besides, he’ll charm her in no time.”
I furrow my brows slightly.
“Wooyoung? I don’t know. He’d try to get into her pants, and you know that. It wouldn’t get us far.”

“And you haven’t thought about that?” he retorts.
Of course I have — her, sparkling in the dim light of the stage, drawing all eyes on her just by standing there. Like light to moths.
But as soon as the thought came, I shook it off.

“You know I have. But I told you — I can’t. Not anymore. Business, and nothing more,” I say, my voice flat, controlled.

“To hell with it, Hongjoong. You’re not a saint — never have been — so don’t act like one now. It’s completely normal to feel attraction. Not every person is cruel,” he says, stepping in front of me, strands of hair falling across his face.

“Want me to remind you?” he grins, grabbing me by the collar and crashing his lips onto mine.

A reminder of everything we’ve been through. What we’ve done.
Anchoring me.
I kiss him back — harsh, messy, teeth clashing.

His hand fists my shirt as I pull him closer.
He pulls back — cheeks flushed, lips swollen — and smirks.

He knows he’s awakened something in me.
“Thank me later, Joong,” he says with that cocky grin, and leaves.
Only on thing swirling in my mind – I needed to have her.

I spot her the second she steps into the room.
The purple skirt — a tad too short, clinging to her in just the right places — a bold choice that somehow still manages to look innocent.

Provocative in the way a question can be whispered instead of shouted.

Are you Evangeline?
Innocent? Maybe. But there's something calculated in the way she scans the room. Her eyes land on faces like they’re options. Like she’s trying to decide who’s worth her time.

And then they find Wooyoung. Of course.
He’s already moving toward her, flashing that ridiculous smile he knows works on everyone. His voice is smooth, practiced.

And just like that, she’s smiling back.
Naïve girl. Too easy to get to.

She leans in when he talks, laughs when he touches her elbow like they’ve known each other for more than ten seconds. I watch her tilt her head, those wild curls catching the low light. Like fire.

She should put her guard up more. People like Wooyoung — people like me — we know how to get under skin.

How to make you feel seen, only to disappear when it suits us.

But maybe she likes the attention. Maybe she’s not naïve.
Maybe she knows exactly what she’s doing.
Still.

She should be more careful.
She doesn't know this world yet. Doesn't know us.

Slick with his touches - what did I expect Wooyoung is just smooth in that way.

“See he does good – he will get her to agree you know that.” Seonghwa coming up behind me.

“I know you what you think but just a bit more time – see Yeosang does the work” He whispers into my ear nipping at my ear lope.

“You think she will agree” I ask my voice low.

“I think if you do it right she will give you everything –“a pause he studies my face – my eyes fixed on her. “Did I rile you up?” he chuckle.

Hell, you know what you did Seonghwa.
As soon as Yeosang left I take my chance.

“Wooyoung why don’t you introduce your new friend to us” silky smooth leave the words my mouth and I watch those pretty eyes roam my face.

Chapter Text

The morning light slips through the curtains in slanted ribbons, warm and golden rays of the sun shone across the sheets.

It creeps gently across the room, as if even the sun knows not to disturb what’s here — this fragile moment hanging in the stillness between sleep and waking.

His arm is draped across my waist, heavy and possessive in its own quiet way, like he forgot the night ended and refused to let me go.

His chest was pressed against my back, solid and warm, and I can feel the slow rise and fall of his breathing, steady as a tide. It feels grounding.

Each exhale fans against the nape of my neck — warm, rhythmic, and just real enough to keep me from slipping back into sleep.

I lie still, not wanting to wake him. Not wanting to break the illusion.

It feels like a dream. The kind you wake from too quickly and try desperately to hold onto before it fades into morning light.

But the weight of him is real.

The soreness in my thighs, the way the sheets are tangled between our legs — all of it lingers like the aftertaste of something sweet and unexpected.

Last night feels like it happened somewhere far away from here, like a story I stepped into for a few stolen hours.

And now it’s morning, and everything is still and quiet, but not empty.

I shift slightly, just enough for his grip to tighten, instinctive, half-asleep.

He murmurs something — too low to make out, words melted into the remnants of sleep — and buries his face against my shoulder.

His nose brushes my skin. I could feel him smile on the nape of my neck.
My heart aches a little at that.
There’s a peace in the room I didn’t expect. No chaos.

No sharp thoughts rushing in to tell me this was a mistake.

Just silence, and the warmth of another body, and the slow, delicious hum beneath my skin that hasn’t quite worn off from the night before.

I close my eyes once more.
Let myself breathe him in — his scent, faint traces of cologne and sleep and skin.

Let myself believe, just for a minute, that nothing outside this bed exists. No past. No questions.

No weight hanging over us.
Only this.
Him.
Me.

The sun inching higher behind the curtain, and the quiet understanding that something changed last night. Maybe not everything. But something.

And that something is curled up around me, his fingers twitching slightly where they rest against my stomach, his heartbeat a slow echo against my spine.

I never thought I’d find comfort in something like this — tangled sheets, slow breaths, a man’s arm slung over me like I belong there. It should feel messy. Temporary.

Like something I’d want to forget in the morning light.

But it doesn’t. It feels… terrifyingly safe. Suspiciously peaceful.

“Do you think this is weird?” he mumbles against my neck, his voice still husky and laced with sleep.
I let the question settle for a beat, then glance back at him.

“A little, if I’m honest,” I say softly, “you don’t?”
His eyes are still half-lidded, but I can feel the small twitch of a smirk at the corner of his mouth. He presses his forehead gently into my shoulder.

“Maybe. I don’t know,” he says after a pause. “It feels... good. Too good. And that’s what makes it weird.”

His fingers begin combing lazily through my hair, slow and rhythmic. There’s something comforting in the absentminded way he does it — like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. Like it’s natural.

“Was it your first time?” he asks, his voice a low murmur that buzzes against my skin.
My breath catches a little. I hesitate, then answer honestly.

“Yes… and no,” I whisper. “My first one-night stand — yes.”

He pulls back slightly, just enough to look at me. His brow creases, lips part like he wants to say something, but doesn’t.

He studies me for a second longer, thumb brushing over the side of my face. Soft. Thoughtful. Conflicted.

I speak before he can ask. “I’ve never done this — the whole... wake-up-next-to-someone thing. Not like this. Not without knowing what comes after.”

I laugh, a little bitterly, mostly to fill the silence. “I’m not great at casual. I thought I was. But now I’m just lying here wondering if this is already over.”

His expression shifts — something like guilt, or surprise, or maybe both.
I look away.

“I know you guys want the song. And maybe last night was just... convenient. A good moment. But I don’t do well being just a means to an end.”

Silence.

The hand in my hair stills.
Then, quietly, he says, “You weren’t.”
I swallow. “You sure?”

His arm tightens around me again. “I don’t sleep with people for business. I’m not proud of everything I’ve done to get where I am, but that line — I haven’t crossed it.”

His voice is quiet. Honest. “You weren’t convenient, Evangeline.”
I nod, but the doubt doesn’t entirely leave me.

Because sometimes it’s not about what they say — it’s about what happens after the words. After the morning fades.

After he goes back to his band. His music. His world.

For now, I let his warmth wash over the ache of not knowing.
Let myself stay a few minutes longer in the silence before the questions grow louder.

Before he pulls away — or doesn’t.
And I wonder, not for the last time, if the comfort I feel in this bed is real.
Or just borrowed.

“Let me tell you something — if you accept my offer, you call me in the next two weeks. And for now… we just enjoy the morning.”
He smiles, pulling me closer, his hand spreading warm across the small of my back.

I close my eyes and melt into him, listening to the steady beat of his heart, the distant chirping of birds outside the window, the occasional creak of the old wooden house settling.

It smells like morning — warm cotton, the faintest hint of cologne on his skin, and something sleep-soft that makes me want to stay wrapped in him forever.

For a few minutes, I let myself believe this is safe.

Then the world starts to slip back in.
There are footsteps down the hallway — someone probably heading toward the kitchen.

A door shuts somewhere on the floor below. Laughter echoes faintly from outside, probably one of the others already awake and on the phone.

The reality hits me: we’re not alone in this house.

He lives here. With seven other guys. All band members. All watching.

And I’m still in his bed, tucked under his arm like I belong here.

I shift slightly, pulling the sheet with me as I sit up. His arm follows me instinctively, reluctant to let go.

He blinks up at me, hair a tousled mess, his expression unreadable under half-lidded eyes.

“You getting up already?” he mumbles.
“Yeah,” I say, brushing my hair out of my face. “Before someone barges in and finds me like this.”

He chuckles. “They won’t. They know better.”

Still, I stand. The hardwood floor is cool under my bare feet, and I wrap the sheet tighter around myself as I cross to the far side of the room.

His space is big, warm-toned, lived-in — too many guitars, half-stacked lyric notebooks, wires, a speaker setup, and a giant mirror leaning against one wall.

It feels like him.

Creative chaos. A world I’m still only peeking into. He watches me from the bed, propped up on one elbow.

“You okay?”
I nod slowly. “Just… thinking.”
About the offer.
About whether last night happened because I sang.

Because I was useful.
I glance back at him, his eyes sleepy but focused, and the knot in my stomach tightens a little.
“What?” he asks softly.

I pause. “Nothing. I just— I don’t usually do this.”

He quirks a brow. “One-night stands?”
I smile faintly. “Yeah. First one, actually.”
He leans back against the headboard, stretching with a lazy grin. “Then I’m honored.”

I roll my eyes, but there’s this unbearable heat coiling up in my chest I don’t want to name.

He gets up a few moments later, pulling on a hoodie and low-slung sweatpants, and walks past me with a hand grazing the small of my back.

“Come on,” he murmurs. “There’s usually coffee in the kitchen by now — but we’ll have to fight Mingi for the last drop.”

I follow him down the hall, quiet, aware of how foreign this house still feels. Half-closed doors, someone’s music playing softly from another room, the smell of toast drifting in from the kitchen.

I wonder if they all know.
If I’m the next story told between smirks and shrugged shoulders.

If I’ll be remembered… or if I’m just another muse that wandered in offstage.

He grabs two mugs and pours the coffee, handing me one with a wink before heading to the fridge.

“You hungry?” he asks. “Wooyoung made waffles yesterday, might be leftovers. Or I could whip something up if you like?”

I nod, more grateful than I expected.
We stand in the middle of the kitchen — his oversized shirt now hanging from my shoulders, coffee in hand, morning sun spilling through the windows — like we’re some version of normal.

But beneath the hum of it all, I still wonder.
Was last night about me?

Or just… my voice?

And when he said, “call me,” did he mean me?

Or the girl who could help sell a record?
I take a sip of the coffee — it’s a little too bitter — and let the warmth distract me from the question I’m too afraid to ask out loud.

He brings me a plate of waffles — golden, slightly crisp on the edges, still warm like they were made not too long ago.

The scent of butter and syrup floats in the air as he sets the plate beside me on the counter, grabbing a fork and handing it over with a crooked smile.

I perch on the edge of the kitchen island, sheet still loosely wrapped around me, one of his shirts draped off my shoulder.

The mug of coffee is warm in my hands, grounding me.

I take another sip, the bitterness mellowing now that the steam has cooled.

He moves around the kitchen with a kind of sleepy confidence, familiar with the space, the rhythm of it.

It’s not spotless — there’s a stray dish in the sink, a half-empty bag of chips near the microwave, and someone’s half-written grocery list stuck to the fridge with a magnet shaped like a guitar pick — but it’s lived in deafening silence, somehow.

His back is to me as he opens the fridge again, bending slightly, rummaging through containers.

The soft fabric of his hoodie hangs loose off his frame, and the early light slipping through the window highlights the slope of his neck, the mess of his hair, the stillness of the morning that hasn’t been broken yet by the full chaos of the house.

It feels domestic.
And so impossibly foreign.

I take a bite of the waffle, the syrup sticking to my lip, sweet and indulgent. The warmth of it spreads through me slowly — part hunger, part comfort, part confusion.

I feel like I’m in someone else’s morning.
He turns around, and grins like he’s caught me in the act.

“Good?”

I nod, chewing, then swallowed.
“Really good. Did Wooyoung actually make these?”

He laughs, coming closer and leaning one hip against the counter beside me.

“Believe it or not, yeah. He gets weirdly domestic when he’s stressed.”

I glance down at the plate, another bite halfway to my mouth.
“Should I be worried that the waffles came from a breakdown?”

He grins. “Not unless you want to psychoanalyze your breakfast.”

I hum softly, setting the fork down, and take another slow sip of coffee.
I watch him over the rim of the mug — the ease in his stance, the way his fingers drum softly on the counter, like he’s still riding the high of last night.

Or maybe he’s just always this effortlessly calm.
“I don’t think they know I’m here,” I murmur, more to myself than to him.

He glances toward the hallway, then back at me. “They probably know. But no one’s gonna say anything.

They’re not assholes.”
I nod again, unsure why that doesn’t really settle anything inside me.

He leans closer, nudging his hand against my knee, his voice softer now. “You okay?”
I want to say yes. I almost say yes.

But something in me flickers — like a warning, or just doubt pretending to be logic.

“I just…” I shrug. “I’m not used to mornings like this. I mean, we barely know each other, and here I am eating waffles in your shirt while seven other people try not to acknowledge it.”

He looks at me for a long moment, then leans his forearms on the counter beside me. “You’re not just anyone, you know?”

“Maybe not,” I reply. “But part of me still wonders if last night happened because you actually wanted me, or because you think I’m going to help you land a deal.”

He doesn’t respond right away. His gaze flicks to the counter, then back to me. No denial. No easy reassurance.

“That’s fair,” he says finally. “But if it was just about the deal… I wouldn’t be here making you waffles.”

He didn’t make them — but somehow, I let it slide.
I look down at my coffee, then at him again.
“Two weeks, huh?”
He nods. “No pressure. Just… call me. If you want to.”

I nod slowly.
And take another bite of the waffle.
Still warm. Still sweet.

Still unsure if I’m eating my way through something real — or just the aftertaste of a night that ended a little too beautifully.
“And I’ll call you - to meet - without strings” he smiles.

I was standing in the kitchen, absently stirring the last dregs of my coffee when the door creaked open behind me.

I turned around, my breath catching slightly.
To my surprise, it was someone I recognized — Jongho.

“Jongho?” I asked, blinking in confusion. It was unexpected to see him here, in this quiet, private space.

I remembered him clearly from the coffee shop — calm, observant, with that quiet intensity in his eyes. He smiled, that easy, genuine smile that seemed to soften the room.

“Evangeline.”

There was something in the way he said my name, like it belonged somewhere — like he’d been hoping to say it again.

“You…you live here?” I asked, still processing. “Yeah,” he nodded, stepping further into the kitchen. “I’m in the band with Hongjoong and the others.”

He motioned casually toward the corner of the room where Hongjoong was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching us with an amused smirk playing on his lips.

Hongjoong’s eyes met mine, and he smirked knowingly — like he was in on a secret.
I suddenly felt a bit awkward, perched on the counter, still wearing Hongjoong’s oversized shirt from earlier.

It was soft and slightly too big, swallowing my frame in a way that made me feel exposed yet strangely comforted.

The fabric smelled faintly of him, mingled with the scent of something fresh and familiar from the kitchen.

My cheeks flushed as I shifted, feeling the weight of their easy camaraderie wash over me. Jongho’s presence was calm but magnetic, and Hongjoong’s quiet confidence filled the space between us.
I wasn’t sure if it was the shirt, the sudden closeness, or the way these two knew each other so well — but I felt a flutter of something I hadn’t expected.

“Small world, huh?” Jongho said with a chuckle, breaking the moment.
I nodded, still a little breathless. “Yeah… it really is.”

Hongjoong pushed off the counter and stepped closer, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “You look good in my shirt, by the way.”
I looked down at the fabric, then back up at him, blinking in surprise.

“Thanks,” I managed, my voice softer than I intended.

Jongho chuckled again. “Don’t let him tease you too much. He’s like that — all charm, all the time.”

The three of us stood there in the kitchen, the faint hum of the fridge and the distant city noise outside wrapping around us like a quiet soundtrack.

For a moment, everything felt easy.

“I should probably go,” I said, brushing a hand through my tangled hair.

“My roommates are probably worried about me—I haven’t even texted them.”
The words came out with a soft breath, somewhere between an apology and a boundary.

Hongjoong took a step closer. “Stay a bit, please,” he said, voice low and coaxing.

There was something about the way he said it—casual, but not careless. He wasn’t pushing. Just… inviting.

I offered a small, shy smile. “I don’t want to interrupt whatever you’ve got going on.

And I have some things I need to take care of.” My fingers brushed over the edge of the counter as I slipped down, landing lightly on my feet. His shirt—still hanging off me—felt far too noticeable now.

Without waiting for his reply, I turned and made my way back toward his room. The apartment was quiet, but I could still sense Jongho’s presence in the kitchen. He didn’t follow, but I felt his eyes on me until I disappeared down the hallway.

Hongjoong followed. The soft fall of his footsteps matched mine, and as soon as we stepped into his room, his hand found my waist again. His touch was easy, confident—almost instinctive.

I paused, not leaning into him, but not stepping away either.

“Just for a little bit,” he murmured, his voice low near my ear. “Didn’t we have a great night?”

I turned to face him, the familiar smirk already playing at his lips—the same one from the night before, full of heat and confidence and something else just beneath it. That cocky charm again. Dangerous in a different light.

“I’ll call you,” I said softly, meeting his eyes. “No pressure. Okay? Nothing to worry about.”

His expression faltered for a second, and then he stepped in a little closer, one hand sliding up from my waist to gently tilt my chin toward him.
“Just… one more thing,” he said quietly, gaze dropping to my lips.

I didn’t move. My breath caught—not because I was unsure, but because I felt the weight of the moment hanging in the silence between us. And then he leaned in.

The kiss was warm, unhurried. Not demanding, not too deep—just a gentle brush of lips that lingered for a breath longer than it should have.

His hand at my waist tightened slightly, and I let myself kiss him back, just for that one moment.

Then I pulled away, slowly, my fingers brushing his chest as I stepped back.
“I should still go,” I said with a half-smile, already reaching for my clothes.

“But… it was a good night.”
He watched me without speaking for a second, eyes darker now but still calm.

“I’ll wait for your call,” he said finally.
I nodded, dressed quietly, folded his shirt, and left it on the bed.

Then I glanced at him one last time before stepping out of the room—his expression unreadable now, but the energy between us still hanging in the air.

And then I was gone. Lawrence picked me up not long after I called, his car pulling up beside me like a lifeline I didn’t realize I needed.

The moment I slid into the passenger seat, silence settled over us like a heavy blanket.

The drive home was eerily quiet, the only sound coming from the low hum of the engine and the occasional whisper of tires against pavement.

“I should’ve called. I’m sorry,” I said after a long stretch, my voice low.

He didn’t respond right away. His fingers tightened slightly on the steering wheel, his jaw shifting before he finally answered. “It’s okay,” he said, though his tone told me it wasn’t. “But we’ve worried sick, you know?”
“I know.” And I did.

The guilt had been creeping in the entire way out of Hongjoong’s place, and now it sat heavily in my chest.

The silence returned for a beat, until he spoke again, more quietly this time. “Was it… great at least?” There was the smallest hint of a smile playing on his lips, an attempt at lightness that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

I looked at him for a moment, then let out a small breath. “Yeah. Yeah, it kind of was.”
And with that, I told him everything.

Not just the surface-level stuff. I told him about the night out, the rush of music and smoke, how Wooyoung pulled me into their orbit like gravity.

I told him about Hongjoong—how sharp he was, how he looked at me like he already knew things I hadn’t said out loud. I told him about Rosie and the argument that followed, about how lost I’d felt and how impulsive everything became.

As I spoke, I watched the way his posture shifted. At first, he listened silently, his eyes fixed on the road.

But when I mentioned Hongjoong by name, or even just hinted at Black Horizon, his knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. A muscle ticked in his jaw. He didn’t interrupt, but I saw it all—the way his whole body tensed like a bowstring pulled too tight.

I didn’t ask. I wanted to. But the weight in the car was already heavy enough, and something in me told me he wouldn’t answer if I did.

When I finally finished, we were pulling into the familiar street that led home. For a second, it felt like neither of us wanted to be the first to speak.

“Thanks for coming to get me,” I said quietly.
He just nodded. “Always.”

But I could still feel the tension radiating off him—quiet, restrained, and unspoken. Like whatever history he had with the names I’d mentioned was something I’d just scratched the surface of.

As the car rolled to a stop outside the apartment, I stayed still for a moment, hand on the door handle but not opening it. My thoughts were louder than the silence between us.

Was Hongjoong really honest with me?
The question came uninvited, sharp and sudden. I remembered the way he touched my waist, the teasing smirk, the quiet intensity in his eyes.

It all felt so real last night—electric even—but now, in the light of morning and with Lawrence beside me, the edges blurred.

Was I just caught in something bigger than I understood?

Should I even make the song with them?
That offer still lingered like a half-open door. A part of me was tempted—no, pulled—toward it.

Toward the fire in Hongjoong's voice when he spoke about music, the way the band seemed to breathe in sync.

But what if it was more than just music? What if getting involved meant stepping into something I couldn’t back out of?
And Lawrence… why did he react like that?
The way his jaw clenched.

The way he stiffened at Hongjoong’s name. It wasn’t just concern, it was personal. Like there was history he hadn’t told me about—something buried deep and unresolved.

I finally opened the door, stepping out into the cool air, but the weight of those questions followed me. Lingering. Unanswered.

Chapter Text

Two weeks passed in a haze—though honestly, it felt like two months with how much had happened.

Hongjoong texted me a few times asking to meet but I couldn’t do so in my right mind, feeling like I would fall for a charade.

Instead, I started to hang out with Wooyoung and Jongho – I’d like to say we have become friends and in the time I met the whole band and even saw them perform. Different from what I usually listen to and what I know from the bar.

I haven’t talked to Rosie since the evening. She hasn’t called – nothing – like we never were friends.

Horrible – that’s how I feel. I went to her apartment, but she never answered. I called her, and she never picked up her phone.

It’s like she disappeared.

Even though guilt plagues my mind my time is consumed by something else.

Somehow I manage to land that record deal and have been singing for the past two weeks almost nonstop in the little bar to impress various highly important people. Lawrence and Albert glowed with pride.

I even have been in a record studio to get first impressions.

To my surprise everyone there told me to agree to the offer of making said song.

Lawrence and Madeleine don’t seem to pleased by it.

And myself? I don’t know - I feel like I know nothing.

I’ve spent the entire day sitting in this cozy little café tucked away at the corner near my apartment, nursing one cup of coffee after another. The hours have quietly slipped by as I’ve sat by the window, aimlessly scrolling through my phone, occasionally glancing up to watch people pass by, lost in their own routines. The soft hum of conversation, the gentle clinking of cups, and the faint aroma of roasted beans have been my only company as I drift through the day, doing nothing in particular, yet somehow letting it all slip away.

Some messages from Wooyoung and Jongho, telling me to decide and that it would be okay if I decline.

But would it be?

I haven’t talked to Hongjoong willingly.

I decided to avoid him.

To handle it like it was nothing – like a one-night stand.

I pick my phone up and start dialing the numbers before putting the phone away.

Hesitant – could it be that big of a chance for me? Or is it nothing.

Way too many questions swirling in my mind.

But what if it leads to something – this could bring me all the focus I need to take off.

To make music my work and life and what if I ruin it by not taking this once in a lifetime opportunity?

Publicity stunt and I get it, but I feel such comfort in befriending them the possibility of something changing is just too big.

I did call, in the end.

Will I regret it?

Maybe.

Probably.

Surely, somewhere down the line, I’ll look back and wonder what I was thinking. But right now? I don’t know.

Everything feels like it's floating—uncertain, suspended in a place where decisions don’t feel real until consequences arrive.

Hongjoong had sounded happy when he answered—too happy, actually. His voice lit up with surprise and excitement in a way that made my stomach twist.

I couldn’t decide whether I was flattered or frightened by it. And now here I am, standing in front of the house, phone still warm in my hand, debating whether to knock or just… turn around and disappear.

The house looks bigger than I remembered. Not just physically, though the scale does feel almost intimidating now—but emotionally.

The weight of it. The potential. The risk. How did I let something that felt this massive slide by me the first time? Sure, it was dark the night I first came here, but I couldn’t have been that distracted. Or maybe I was.

Before I can knock or ring the bell or even take a step back to gather my thoughts, the door flies open with surprising energy, and Seonghwa is suddenly in front of me.

Smiling. Beaming, actually. “There you are!” he says, pulling me into a hug like we’ve known each other for years, like I hadn’t ghosted half of them for days on end.

His embrace is warm and easy, the kind you don’t realize you needed until it’s already happening.

“I can’t believe you agreed,” he says as he lets go and steps aside to let me in.

“I was positive you were too unsure about it. But trust me—it’s gonna be great. I promise.”

His enthusiasm makes me chuckle under my breath. It’s genuine, a little infectious, and a little overwhelming. “So enthusiastic,” I murmur, brushing past him as he closes the door behind me.

He leads me down a hall I only vaguely remember, and into a sunlit kitchen that smells like citrus and something sweet.

Light filters through the wide windows, catching flecks of dust in the air. It’s surprisingly homey, not what I expected from a place tied to so much emotional weight.

“Would you like something to drink?” Seonghwa asks, already halfway to the fridge. “We just made lemonade, or…” he pauses, glancing toward the door that leads to a small patio, “would you rather have a smoke? I was about to head out for one before I saw you standing there.”

I study him for a second. He looks...fulfilled. Happier. His usual composure is still there, but now softened by a kind of relaxed ease I hadn’t noticed before. It suits him.

“Why not?” I shrug. “Let’s go.”

We step out onto the patio where the afternoon sun spills across the worn wooden deck, and the soft rustle of wind through leaves fills the silence between us.

The garden below is small but wild, full of mismatched flowers and overgrown herbs. It’s beautiful in an unkept sort of way.

Seonghwa hands me a cigarette and lights it for me without a word. I take it without hesitation, even though I told myself I’d cut back.

It’s become a bit of a habit, honestly. Smoking.

When I’m with Wooyoung, it’s automatic. When I see Jongho, the same. Even that one time with Yunho, Yeosang, and San—same thing. One cigarette to loosen the edges. To feel less. Or maybe to feel something.

Maybe I should be worried.

Maybe it’s a warning sign.

But at the same time—one cigarette won’t kill someone, right?

So I take a drag and let the smoke curl into the air as Seonghwa leans against the railing beside me, both of us watching the sky stretch wide above us.

“I’m glad you came,” he says, quietly this time. No performance, no cheer—just honesty.

And for a second, I almost believe I made the right choice.

“Hongjoong just got out the shower give him a few minutes” he puffs the smoke out.

I watch him. His mouth welcoming the smoke.

How much he might smoke a day? Surely too much.

“Yeah” is all I answer while taking a drag.

“You’ve been avoiding him” he doesn’t ask he states his eyes bore into me. Taking me in more than they should.

“I - maybe a little yeah” I simply say meeting his eyes in an instant.
Suddenly his finger ghost over my cheek – firm but soft.

Hes closer – too close?

“Don’t” he whispers.

I look up at him. His finger gripping my chin.

“What?”

“I like you, you’re sweet and most of the others like you – if you ever ignore him I’ll make sure you’ll regret it” his voice so low only I can hear him.

Unwillingly something tingles in me, but I make a step back. He says he likes me and threatens me in one breath?

Impressive …. kind of.

I nod slowly and a smile spread across his face.

And then it’s gone – the tension like it never happened.

Hongjoong stepping out the house greeting me with a hug.

He looks good like Seonghwa strands of hair cover his face. Damped, the Shirt clinging to his skin.

“You don’t believe how happy I am you agreed.” He smiles and lighting a cigarette for himself.

“I think this is such a big opportunity for each of us.” Joy radiating off Hongjoong and he shifts on one leg to another taking another drag

I can only smile. Silence settles over the three of us.

It’s awkward somehow.

I glance at the two and see them exchanging looks.

“Come tonight, with us to the club” I bet the others would be happy if you join.” Seonghwa suggests.

Once I saw them - about a week ago I went in the club with Lawrence and Madeleine. They wanted to see before them before they wanted me to agree.

They do like Jongho he’s been over at our place a few times and played cards with us all night.

I would love to see them actually- I like their music it’s something different and seeing them play has something euphoric about it.

“Okay why not” I smile.

“Great then it – “

“So you came,” someone says behind me, his voice smooth and teasing, threaded with amusement as he cuts Hongjoong off. “I suppose that means you agreed.”

I turn toward the sound, already recognizing the voice before I see him.

San leans casually against the frame of the terrace door, arms folded across his chest, one ankle crossed over the other. The faint light from inside casts a soft glow on his face, catching the glint in his eyes. There’s something effortless about the way he holds himself—relaxed, confident, as if the world always bends just slightly in his favor.

“Surprised?” I ask, lifting a brow.

He grins, all teeth and charm. “Not even in the slightest. I knew one of us would persuade you eventually.”

His tone is smug, but in a way that’s more playful than arrogant. Still, I can’t let him have the last word.

“Don’t be too sure of yourself,” I shoot back, crossing my arms over my chest but unable to suppress the smile tugging at my lips. “It definitely wasn’t you who convinced me. Actually, now that I think about it… none of you really did.”

San raises an eyebrow, amused. “No?”

I shake my head. “Nope. I just decided on behalf on some really trustful people”

“Hmm,” he hums, stepping off the frame and walking a little closer. His movement is lazy but deliberate, like a cat stalking across sun-warmed stone. “That’s worse. Now we won’t get credit.”

I laugh under my breath, but then he’s standing in front of me—and I can’t ignore the way his shirt clings just slightly to his chest, the way the fabric shifts as he moves. His physique is obvious even through the softness of his clothes: toned arms, strong shoulders, a body that looks like it’s used to movement, to rhythm.

He’s handsome. Unquestionably. Easily one of the most attractive men I’ve ever seen, and unfortunately, he knows it.

He watches me for a second, as if reading every thought on my face. Then he says, with a casual shrug, “No, but I trust Hongjoong enough that he picks a great voice for our music.”

I tilt my head slightly. “That so?”

He nods, all confidence and calm. “Yeah. He’s picky as hell. So if he says you fit, then you do.”

“Don’t be too sure,” I reply, voice soft but pointed. “I haven’t proven anything yet.”

“You showed up,” he says simply, and there’s a rare moment of sincerity in his tone. “Sometimes that’s the hardest part.”

For a second, the teasing edge disappears, and I see something quieter behind his eyes. Understanding, maybe. Or memory. But just as quickly, he blinks it away and smirks again.

“Well,” he says, stepping back toward the terrace, “you’re in it now. Might as well enjoy the ride.”

I follow him with my gaze, something stirring in my chest that I don’t have a name for yet. Excitement. Anticipation. Maybe even a little bit of fear.

“What do you mean by ‘trustful’? I thought you didn’t know that many people here,” Hongjoong asks, eyeing me with casual curiosity—but there’s something sharper behind his words, like he’s testing me.

I shrug, keeping my tone light. “Oh, just some people.”

It’s vague. Intentionally so. I don’t know why, but I don’t feel like mentioning the record deal. Not yet. Maybe I’m being paranoid. Maybe I just don’t want to see how they’ll react. I’m not even sure if they’re signed under a label themselves. For now, it feels safer to hold that part back.

I glance at Hongjoong again, watching the way his eyes drift away from me, landing on Seonghwa as they exchange a few words. My mind wanders as their conversation flows in the background, their voices muffled by the hum in my own head.
Do I regret what we did?

I don’t think so.

It was a great night—undeniably. But in the broader context of what’s to come, was it really that smart? Getting involved like that, letting my guard down this early? Probably not. But maybe I’m just overthinking it. I do that. I always do that.

Hongjoong’s gaze flicks back to me. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a subtle shift in his posture. He’s not convinced by my answer, but he doesn’t push. That, in itself, says something.

Instead, he stubs out his cigarette on the edge of a stone ashtray by the balcony rail, then gestures toward the house. “Let’s discuss a few things beforehand.”

His voice is calm, clipped. There’s a kind of quiet authority in it that makes me follow without question. We leave the terrace behind and step into the warm, dim interior of the house. The hallway is quiet, carpet soft underfoot, the walls lined with abstract paintings and dim gold lighting. It smells faintly of cedar and something floral—subtle, expensive.

He leads me into is his room. It’s cleaner than I expected. Minimal, but lived-in. A couple of instruments lean in the corner—a guitar, a MIDI keyboard, a few tangled cables. A sleek desk sits near the window, scattered with notebooks, a laptop, and a couple of half-used pens. He pulls out the chair and sits down, motioning for me to do the same across from him.

I sit. The air feels different in here—more focused. The casual teasing from earlier is gone. There’s a flicker of something more serious in his eyes now, something deliberate.

“We’re not just messing around anymore,” he says, folding his hands in front of him. “If you’re really stepping into this with us, there’s some stuff you need to understand first.”

Something in my chest tightens, but I nod.

I knew this was coming. Still, hearing it aloud makes it all feel heavier. More real.
“Alright,” I say quietly. “I’m listening.”

“Okay, good,” Hongjoong says, his voice firmer now. “Firstly—I trust you. We trust you. But you’ve got to trust us too.”

He leans in slightly, his eyes locked on mine—not harsh, but unflinching. “We’re making a good decision here. And you could benefit from it, in ways you might not even see yet.”

He pauses, like he’s debating how much to say. Then adds, more deliberately, “I bet some record labels are already circling you.”

My jaw tightens slightly. He’s not wrong. I can feel the curiosity stirring around me lately—messages, vague invitations, promises dressed up as interest. But I haven’t told them. Not yet.

“But this,” he continues, “this isn’t just about business. You have to trust us—especially me.”

There’s a moment of silence, heavy with meaning. I don’t think it’s arrogance. It’s more than that. Responsibility, maybe. The weight he carries behind the scenes, even when he plays it cool.

I glance at him and suddenly see him in my mind—sitting at this very desk, late at night, headphones on, eyes narrowed in concentration as he fine-tunes tracks and pieces together moments from scattered ideas. Hours of unseen effort. It hits me then how much of himself he’s poured into this.

And that’s when the doubts creep in.

I’ve only been in the industry for three months. Just sealed my first deal. Everything still feels new, raw, exciting—but fragile. Like one wrong move could crack it all open. And the last thing I want is to mess it up, especially with people who might actually become friends. Maybe more than that, eventually.

Hongjoong stands and crosses to the shelf, pulling a single sheet of paper from a folder. He walks back over, holding it out to me.

“The rest is in this contract,” he says. “Read it. If you agree, sign it.”

I take the paper from him carefully, my eyes scanning the neatly formatted text. I can feel his gaze still on me, but he doesn’t rush me. Doesn’t speak.

I start reading. Slowly. Carefully.

There’s a soft hum of a bassline coming from another room, the faint scent of coffee lingering in the air, and the quiet tap of his fingers drumming against the desk as he waits.

In the end, I signed it.

Obviously, I did. Why wouldn’t I?

But as the pen left the paper, a flicker of doubt still echoed in the back of my mind. Not loud enough to stop me—but loud enough to linger. Still, Hongjoong looked ecstatic, practically glowing with satisfaction as he took the contract from my hands. Something in his posture relaxed, like he’d been holding his breath this whole time.

He insisted on walking me home. I didn’t argue.

The evening air was warm, buzzing faintly with the sounds of the city winding down for some and just starting up for others. When we reached the building, he introduced himself to Lawrence and Madeleine. They were polite enough—friendly on the surface—but I could feel it. That subtle stiffness. The look in their eyes that said they weren’t thrilled about my connection to him.

Not that it mattered. Not anymore.

Once in my room, I moved quickly—changing clothes, redoing my makeup with slightly trembling hands, brushing out my hair. Part of me was buzzing with anticipation, the thought of seeing them perform live again. The energy, the crowd, the music pulsing through the walls like a second heartbeat.

But under that excitement, something else pressed against my ribs.

Rosie.

I haven’t seen her since… that night.

I don’t know what she’s heard, or what she’s thinking. But I owe her a conversation—maybe even an apology. I hate the idea of tension hanging between us, especially with everything else unfolding so fast.

I check myself in the mirror one last time, trying to decide if I look more confident or just nervous in better lighting. Probably both.

Grabbing my jacket, I head for the door.

Tonight’s going to be a lot.

But I think I’m ready.

Chapter Text

Hongjoong is still there.

Leaning against the front door of the building, half-hidden by the shadows cast from the flickering streetlamp overhead. The night is quieter now—just the low hum of distant traffic, the occasional breeze rustling through trees, and the soft click of my shoes as I approach.

For a moment, I think I’m seeing things. But no—he’s really still here.

“I thought you left,” I say, pausing a few steps away. I tilt my head, trying to read his expression in the dim light. “Why are you still here?”

He doesn’t move right away. Just exhales slowly, cigarette dangling loosely between two fingers, the tip glowing briefly as he takes a final drag.

“I didn’t leave,” he says, voice low. “I waited. But figured I shouldn’t hang around inside. Didn’t want to bother your roommates.”

There’s a pause.

He shrugs once, gaze drifting to the street. “Obviously they aren’t that pleased by me.”

I frown at that. “They’re just… cautious. Protective. It’s not personal.”

His mouth curves into a tired smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It always feels personal.”

I step closer, arms folding loosely across my chest—not defensive, just thoughtful.

“You didn’t have to wait, you know.”

“I know.”

“Then why did you?”

This time, he looks at me.

“A girl shouldn’t walk around alone at night,” he says, then adds with a shrug, “Besides, we’re headed the same way. I figured I’d tag along.”

“I’m not heading to the club. I need to look after something”

“Then I’m coming with”

He motions for me to lead the way and falls into step beside me. His steps light almost soundless in the empty night. The only thing breaking the silence was the grind of soles on pavement.

“So, where we heading?” Carefree he strolls next to me, his hand in his pocket while he hold his jacket over his shoulder with the other.

“You remember my friend—the one I fought with? Back when… well, you know when.” slight blush creeping on my cheeks as I mention the night we slept together.

The corner of his mouth slightly twitching. “Yeah I remember” he says his voice having a hint of amusement in it.

At his tone, something inside me eases.

He doesn’t seem to treat the night like it’s a big deal—so why should I?

Maybe I’m the one who’s been making it feel awkward all along.

And so, I tell him.

That she hasn’t returned my calls. That she hasn’t opened the door, even when I knew she was home. I admit I’m worried, and I hope I’ll see her at the club tonight.

Hongjoong listens quietly, his expression shifting—genuine concern softening his features.

It’s clear he’s not just being polite. He’s really listening.

When I finally pause, he nods and says gently,

“That’s good. I believe talking is the only way to solve things. I hat unspoken tension.. I suppose that were we are heading am I right?”

“Yes – I don’t know how often I came here in the past two weeks”

We stand in front the building of Rosies flat and wait that it opens after I rung the bell.

The buzzer echoes into the silence.

We wait.

And wait.

No answer.

I try again, pressing it longer this time.

Still nothing.

Hongjoong shifts beside me, not saying anything, but I can feel the weight of his presence—steady, patient.

“She’s home,” I whisper, not even sure how I know. I just do.

He doesn’t question it.

“I’m sorry,” he says instead. “Some people need longer. It doesn’t mean it’s over.”

I nod slowly, my eyes still on the door.

But something in my chest tightens anyway.

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay – she will come around” he tries to sooth my thoughts his hand slowly rubbing circles on my back.

“I just hope I bump into her in the club tonight or something like that”

We gives me sad smile and starts walking to the club. I follow him suit.

As we turn the corner away from Rosie’s building, the tension hanging in the air begins to thin. The streetlights cast long golden beams onto the sidewalk, and our footsteps fall into a slower, more relaxed rhythm.

“You know,” Hongjoong says after a beat, “I thought about learning to juggle once.”

I glance at him, confused. “Juggle?”

He nods solemnly, then flashes a sideways grin. “Yeah. I figured if this whole music thing doesn’t work out, I could always join the circus.”

I blink at him. Then laugh—really laugh—for the first time in what feels like days. “You? In a circus?”

“Absolutely. I could wear the little hat. Maybe a sequin jacket.” He gestures dramatically, like he’s painting the image in the air. “They’d call me ‘Captain Chaos’ or something.”

“You’re ridiculous,” I say, still smiling.

He shrugs. “It’s a gift.”

The air is lighter now, the weight on my chest easing as we walk under the soft glow of another streetlamp. A gentle breeze brushes past, carrying with it the distant sound of bass echoing from the direction of the club.

“Do you always do that?” I ask.

“Do what?”

“Crack dumb jokes to make people feel better?”

He slows just a little, hands back in his pockets. “Not always. Just when it matters.”

There’s something about the way he says it—quiet, sincere—that makes me glance at him again. His expression is softer than usual. Honest.

“Well,” I say after a moment, “Captain Chaos, you’re doing a great job.”

He pretends to tip an invisible hat. “Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all night.”

I roll my eyes, but the warmth in my chest stays. As we near the club, the pulsing music grows louder, a steady rhythm that seems to sync up with the beat of my heart. People mill around the entrance, and I can already see a few familiar faces inside through the smoky glass windows.

“Are you nervous before going on stage?” I ask, tilting my head toward him. “I mean… you’re never alone up there, but still.”

He smiles softly, hands still tucked into his pockets. “I was, at the beginning. We all were. You rehearse, you prepare, but there’s always that moment just before—right when the lights go down—where your heart’s racing and you wonder if the crowd will feel what you feel.”

He pauses, thoughtful, watching a group of people laugh their way into the club.

“But now…” he continues, “it’s routine. In a good way. Like breathing. Except the stakes feel higher because every show has to feel new. Every lyric, every note—we’re not just performing, we’re proving something. Especially to ourselves.”

He glances at me, something earnest behind his eyes. “But I love it. I really do. It’s everything I ever wanted. There’s nothing else I’d rather be doing.”

I watch him for a moment, surprised by the honesty in his voice. It’s not rehearsed, not said for effect. He means it.

“And one day,” he adds, his voice quiet but sure, “I hope we’re as big as the others. Not because I want the fame, not really. But because I want our music to matter. I want it to reach people the way music reached me when I needed it most.”

That last part lingers in the air between us—soft, real.

I smile, the nervous energy in my stomach shifting into something steadier, warmer.

“I think it already does,” I say gently. “Reach people, I mean.”

He looks at me for a second, then nods, as if tucking those words somewhere safe.

“Come on,” he says with a breath of a grin. “Let’s go break the walls a little.”

And with that, we step through the door, into the noise, the lights, and the heat of everything waiting just beyond the stage.

He leaves me by the bar after ordering me a drink—something citrusy and cool, with a twist of lime—before disappearing backstage to get ready with the rest of the band. I watch him go, the weight of the moment settling over me like warm fog.

I sip slowly, letting the music and conversation around me blur into background noise. The club is alive—bodies swaying, laughter rising above the bass-heavy playlist that fills the air while the stage is still dark. Lights flicker above the crowd, casting blues and purples over excited faces.

Then, the lights dim. A single spotlight lands on the stage.

A man with a gruff voice and a wireless mic steps into the glow, his energy electric. “Alright, people! You’ve waited long enough,” he booms. “Make some noise for the one, the only, the marvelous and loud—Black Horizon!”

The room erupts. Cheers and whoops echo off the walls as the crowd surges forward, packing tighter in front of the stage. Glasses clink. Someone whistles. The energy is infectious.

Jongho is the first to step up to the mic. He gives a small wave and a shy smile that somehow feels more intimate than any flashy intro could.

“Hey,” he says, his voice clear and steady. “We’re Black Horizon. Thanks for being here tonight.”

The room hushes just enough to hear him.

“We’re gonna start with something new. Hope you feel it as much as we do.”

And then the first notes hit—deep, rhythmic, alive.

The lights burst to life as the rest of the band falls into place. Seonghwa’s fingers slide over the keys with quiet precision. Mingi nods in time with the beat, bass in hand, eyes closed for a breath before the drop. San’s body moves like he’s already in the music, every note sinking into his bones.

And then Hongjoong and yeosang appear—calm, confident, owning the stage without demanding it.

The crowd moves as one, drawn in by the sound, by the presence.

From my spot at the bar, I can’t help but smile. I’ve heard them before—but tonight, it feels different. Maybe because I know what it took to get here. Maybe because now, I’m part of it in some small, quiet way.

And just like that, the night begins.

I catch the gaze of Wooyoung a few times between songs—he’s near the side of the stage, not performing tonight but fully in his element. Every time our eyes meet, he flashes me a wicked grin, the kind that says you’re not getting out of here without dancing at least once. His energy is magnetic, like always. He points at me during a particularly wild moment in the song, and I roll my eyes, laughing into my drink.

The music swells again—bolder, heavier. The beat reverberates through the walls, the floor, even through my chest. It’s like the air itself is alive, pulsing with bass and adrenaline. The crowd responds like a wave, jumping, shouting, clapping. Drinks are raised. Hands are in the air. The lights strobe in sync with the drums, casting flashes of color over shining faces, over the blur of movement.

I can’t take my eyes off the stage.

Hongjoong’s voice cuts through the thick sound, clear and fierce, pulling the crowd in with each lyric. There’s something so raw about the way he performs—like he’s bleeding emotion into every note, yet still holding just enough back to leave you wanting more.

Jongho’s vocals soar next, effortless power behind each line, and the harmonies wrap around each other like a storm.

And there’s something electric about the way San moves—like he’s dancing with the music rather than just playing it, his entire body caught in the rhythm. He throws his head back, drenched in sweat, and the crowd cheers even louder.

People are moving in every direction now—swaying, jumping, hands in the air. Someone bumps into me and mumbles an apology, but I don’t mind.

Because suddenly, I don’t feel like I’m just watching anymore.

I feel part of it.

As the final chorus of their second song kicks in, I find myself mouthing the words—without even meaning to. It’s one of the unreleased tracks I’d heard them practicing once in passing, and now it’s alive, fully born in this room filled with noise and color and people.

The lights flash again, then dim for just a second—Hongjoong holds out his mic and lets the crowd scream the last few words.

And they do.

Loud and unified and wild.

For a second, I forget about everything else.

About Rosie.

About the silence at her door.

About the ache in my chest.

All I know is the music, and the pulse of the crowd, and the strange, unexpected comfort of belonging.

And when the lights come up just enough for a glimpse, I spot Hongjoong glancing toward the bar.

His eyes find mine.

And in the chaos of it all, he smiles.

A last time I look over the crowd as my eyes catch something.

Rosie.

It’s like my heart stutters mid-beat.

She’s standing near the edge of the crowd, tucked against Oliver, his arms wrapped casually around her waist. She’s smiling—really smiling—eyes closed, swaying slightly to the music like nothing’s wrong. Like nothing ever was.

I drift toward her in a daze, half-aware of the music, the lights, the people brushing past me. The crowd parts and closes around me like waves, but I barely feel it. I'm floating—disconnected—until I’m just a few steps away.

She doesn’t see me.

I stand frozen in the middle of the motion—everyone else dancing, moving, living—and I’m just… still. Like a stone in the current, anchored by something heavy in my chest. I can’t look away.

She laughs at something he whispers into her ear, tilting her head back, her hair catching the neon glow of the stage lights.

It should be a relief—to see her happy. Alive. But all it does is knock the breath out of me.

The music blares, vibrating in my chest, but it feels distant now. Muffled. Like I’m underwater.

She still hasn’t seen me.

I take a step back, then another. Maybe I shouldn’t have come. Maybe this was a mistake.

Then—her eyes flick up.

They meet mine.

For a second, the world seems to pause. Her smile falters. Her body stills, even though Oliver keeps swaying behind her, unaware.

We just stare at each other.

No words. No gestures. Just a split-second flash of something—shock? guilt? sorrow? I don’t know.

Then she looks away. Not down, not sheepishly. Just… away.

Like I’m a song she doesn’t want to hear anymore.

I don’t realize I’m shaking until someone bumps into me from behind. I blink, startled, grounding myself again in the noise and sweat and motion of the club.

From the stage, Seonghwa’s voice soars into a bridge, smooth and raw, and Wooyoung shouts something into the mic that makes the crowd scream. The room explodes with energy—but all I feel is the echo of that look.

I turn away before I can change my mind.

Back toward the bar. Back toward safety.

But the warmth of Hongjoong’s gaze catches me before I can get too far. He’s leaning against the wall near the edge of the stage now, his eyes already on me.

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t nod. He just watches—calm, steady, like he knows. And somehow, I’m grateful he doesn’t say anything.

But I stop in my tracks as I feel a hand on my shoulder.

I turn slowly—and there she is.

Those doe-brown eyes I’ve met so many times before.

Eyes I know like my own reflection.

Only now, they’re rimmed in something softer. Remorse. Uncertainty. A quiet plea.

“Evangeline,” she breathes, barely audible over the pulse of the music. “Can we talk?”

My chest tightens. For a second, all I can do is stare.

But then I nod—once—and let her lead the way.

We push through the crowd, past swaying bodies and spilled drinks and flickering lights.

The door closes behind us, muffling the sound to a dull thump.

Fresh air rushes into my lungs, sharp and cold.

It bites at my skin, a contrast to the heat that’s been prickling beneath it all night.

Rosie stops just outside the alleyway, near the side of the building.

She wraps her arms around herself, and for the first time, she looks small.

Not the storm I’ve always known her to be, but something softer—fractured at the edges.

“I didn’t know how to talk to you,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “After that night… everything just felt—off. And I didn’t want to say the wrong thing.”

I swallow hard. “So, you said nothing?”

She winces. “I thought maybe it would fade. That we could go back to how we were. But then every day that passed, it got harder. I messed up.”

Silence stretches between us, but not the kind that chokes.

Just space. Honest, necessary space.

“I missed you,” I admit, finally. My voice steadier than I expected. “You didn’t have to disappear.”

And for a second, I think she’s going to cry—but she doesn’t.

Her eyes glisten, and her mouth twitches like she’s fighting the urge.

I light a cigarette, the flame catching for a moment before I take a slow drag. I don’t look away from her.

“I didn’t want it to escalate like that,” I say quietly.

She exhales shakily. “I didn’t wanna slap you,” she blurts. “Everything was just… so overwhelming. Oliver yelling, you showing up and scolding me—god, I know you were just worried, but I couldn’t handle it. I snapped.”

She runs a hand through her hair, her voice trembling. “I’m so sorry. I know it was my fault it escalated.”

She pauses like she’s waiting for me to walk away.

But I don’t.

The silence stretches between us, thin and electric. I take another drag, watching her through the smoke.

“It’s okay,” I say after a moment, the words slow and rough around the edges. “But I hate that you avoided talking to me. That part really hurt, Rosie.”

She flinches, her arms wrapping tightly around herself like she’s trying to hold something in—maybe the guilt, maybe the regret.

“I know,” she murmurs, eyes flicking up to meet mine. “I know, and I’m sorry. I just… I didn’t know how to face you. Every time I thought about reaching out, it was like there was this wall I couldn’t get through. And then too much time passed and I started thinking maybe you didn’t want to hear from me anymore.”

I sigh, the tension softening in my chest, just a little. “That’s not how it works. You’re my best friend, Rosie. Even when I’m mad, I still care. I still wait.”

She nods, swallowing hard. “Can we just—can we forget about it?”

Her voice cracks a little on the last word, like she’s not even sure that’s what she deserves.

I study her face in the dark. The cold air bites at our skin, but it’s the space between us that feels sharpest.

“I don’t want to forget it,” I say finally. “But I do want to move past it.”

Her eyes go wide, and she steps closer. “Really?”

“Really.”

She lets out a shaky breath and then, without asking, pulls me into a hug. It’s hesitant at first—then tighter, more desperate, like she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she lets go.

“I missed you,” she whispers.

I nod against her shoulder. “I missed you too.”

For a while, neither of us speaks. The music from inside the club thumps faintly behind the walls, a distant heartbeat to the stillness between us.

“Since when do you smoke?” she asks, raising a brow as I take another drag.

I glance down at the cigarette between my fingers like I’m just now noticing it. “Since I needed something to do with my hands.”

She gives me a look—half amused, half disapproving. “That’s not a good reason.”

I shrug. “Didn’t say it was a good reason.”

She steps a little closer, eyes still on the cigarette, but there’s no judgment behind them—just curiosity. “I thought you hated the taste.”

“I do.” I blow the smoke away from her. “But sometimes it’s not about that.”

She watches me for a second, then shakes her head with a small laugh. “You’ve changed.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Because I smoke now?”

“No,” she says, nudging me lightly with her elbow. “Because you talk like someone in a sad indie movie.”

That makes me laugh—really laugh—and it breaks something open in both of us. The tension loosens, the weight lifts just a little.

“Well,” I say, flicking the cigarette onto the pavement and stepping it out, “maybe I’m just trying to keep up with my dramatic best friend.”

She smiles, and this time it reaches her eyes. “Then you’re doing a pretty good job.”

A silence settles again, but this one is softer, easier. The kind of silence that doesn’t need to be filled.

“I don’t wanna go back in just yet,” she says after a moment, voice low. “Can we stay out here a bit longer?”

I nod, leaning against the wall beside her. “As long as you want.”

“You got close with the band, didn’t you?” she asks suddenly, her voice careful, almost casual—but not quite.

“A bit, yeah,” I say, shrugging like it’s no big deal, even though it kind of is.

She watches me for a moment, lips pressed together like she’s weighing her next words.

“How did it happen?” she asks, tilting her head, her tone still light—but there’s something sharper underneath it. Curiosity, maybe. Or caution.

I hesitate, fingers tightening slightly around the cigarette between them. Then I exhale, slow and deliberate.

“Well… uhm… after our fight that day… I sorta slept with Hongjoong.”

Her eyebrows lift just a little, but she doesn’t speak right away. Just looks at me, blinking once. Twice.

“You sorta slept with him?” she repeats, the corner of her mouth twitching.

I let out a small, embarrassed laugh. “Yeah. No—okay, not sorta. I did. I don’t know, it just… happened. We got drunk and one thing led to another.”

Rosie’s eyes widen just slightly, a mix of surprise and something else—curiosity maybe—but not judgment.

“This was that night? The night I left the club?”

I nod slowly, looking anywhere but at her face. “Yeah. You were gone. I was a mess. He stayed with me, we had a couple drinks at his place, and I guess the silence turned into talking and the talking turned into… that.”

She doesn’t say anything for a second, just studies me with that unreadable look.

“Was it… weird after?”

I exhale. “Honestly? Yes. I went no contact with him for two weeks”

Rosie bites her bottom lip, then sighs through her nose. “And now?”

“Now it’s... calm. He’s there. I don’t know what we are, but it’s not uncomfortable. I didn’t expect that from him. We are just friends and partner somehow I guess”

She nods slowly. “I guess I’m not surprised. He always struck me as someone who only does things when he means it.”

That makes me smile, just a little.

“Are you mad?” I ask her finally, the question catching in my throat.

She shakes her head. “No. I’m not mad. I just hate that I wasn’t there when you needed someone—and that someone else had to be.”

I step closer. “You’re here now.”

And this time, she doesn’t look away. “Yeah. I am.”

She shifts closer, a nervous smile tugging at her lips. “I thought about coming by your jazz bar—Oliver and I. Tomorrow, is that okay?”

There’s something tentative in her tone, like she’s testing the waters, hoping I’ll say yes, hoping for a chance to bridge whatever’s come between us.

I swallow, feeling the weight of everything unsaid hanging in the air. But I nod, trying to sound casual even though my heart’s caught in the moment. “Yeah, of course.”

She smiles then, relief softening her face, and for a second, it feels like maybe this night isn’t the end after all.

It wasn’t the end yet. After we walked inside, I made sure to greet Oliver, though the smile I gave him felt tight, stretched thin by the weight of everything unsaid between us. I forced myself through polite small talk, the kind that felt like a performance—necessary but hollow. Every word I exchanged reminded me that I was doing this for Rosie, because she cared about him deeply, and I wanted to respect that, even if my own feelings were tangled and raw. Oliver’s easy charm, the way he laughed at things I barely heard, the way he looked at Rosie—it stirred something inside me, something I wasn’t ready to confront. But for her sake, I bit it back, nodding and smiling, trying not to let my irritation show.

The air inside the club was thick with heat and energy. The scent of sweat and perfume mingled with the faint sharpness of spilled drinks and stale smoke. The crowd swayed in waves around us, bodies moving in time with the music, pulsing and alive. Black Horizons had just finished their set, and as their last notes faded, they disappeared backstage, leaving the stage empty but humming with the echoes of their sound.

Soon after, Wooyoung and San emerged from behind the curtains, their faces flushed with adrenaline and excitement. They moved toward the dance floor with ease, as if the music was part of their blood. Without really thinking, I found myself pulled along, drawn into their orbit. Before I knew it, I was pressed between them, their bodies close, their hands occasionally brushing mine. There was a strange comfort in it, the way they anchored me amid the chaos, a silent reassurance that I wasn’t alone. I was hyper-aware of their touch—the light graze of Wooyoung’s fingers on my waist, the way San’s hand rested briefly on my shoulder—and I let myself fall into the moment.

The music surrounded us, loud and relentless, its rhythm driving us forward. The crowd was a sea of faces, blurred and indistinct, but here in this small pocket of movement, I felt a fragile sense of belonging. I let the tension I’d been carrying slip away, just for a little while, carried off by the beat and the warmth of their presence. It was a brief escape, a pause from the complicated web of emotions that had been twisting inside me since Rosie came back.

Rosie was close by, dancing with Oliver. I caught her eye for a moment and saw the joy there—the same joy I wanted to protect, no matter how tangled things between us and Oliver had become. I didn’t speak to Oliver much after that, barely more than a polite nod. The old resentment lingered like a shadow, but it didn’t matter now. What mattered was that Rosie was here, that we were together in this moment, even if everything else was messy and unresolved. So I kept dancing, letting the music take over, letting Wooyoung and San hold the space around me. For once, I let myself breathe, even if just for a little while.

“Did you enjoy watching us?” Wooyoung’s grin was wicked as he leaned in close, his warm breath brushing against my ear. “Or were you too distracted?”

I glanced up at San, whose cheeks were flushed—not just from the alcohol, but maybe from the heat of the moment too. His eyes twinkled with mischief.

“He asked you something, love. Don’t leave him hanging,” San teased, giving me a playful shove.

I smirked, feeling a spark ignite somewhere deep inside. “Maybe I was just waiting for a better question,” I shot back, letting my eyes linger on Wooyoung’s, daring him to take the bait.

Wooyoung chuckled, clearly amused. “Oh, I can do better than that,” he whispered, his fingers tracing a slow, teasing line along my arm. “But first, I want to see if you can keep up.”

San laughed, spinning me lightly around. “Careful, love, or you’ll have us both wrapped around your finger.”

I bit my lip, eyes glinting with challenge. “Oh, but I thought I already have.”

They laughed—Wooyoung’s grin turning a little sharper his lip piercing sparkling in the light of the club, San’s flushed cheeks curling into a smirk. The teasing felt familiar, but there was a new edge to it, something lighter, looser, almost daring.

Wooyoung nudged me gently, voice low but teasing. “Careful, you’re making it hard to keep my focus.”

San’s hand brushed my waist, casual but charged, and the heat of it surprised me. It wasn’t the first time they’d touched me like that, but tonight it lingered differently—like the space between us had shifted just a bit.

I caught their glances, quick and almost hidden, the kind of looks friends give when there’s something unspoken hanging in the air. But no one said a word. Instead, the music swelled, and they pulled me back into the rhythm, closer this time.

I let myself fall into the moment, aware of the way Wooyoung’s shoulder pressed lightly against mine, and how San’s laughter was softer, warmer than usual. We’d been friends for a shortntime, but the easy boundaries that had always kept us in place suddenly felt thinner, more flexible. Like maybe tonight, things could be different—without having to say it out loud.

San’s fingers rest at the small of my back, barely there at first—just a brush, like a question he doesn’t dare ask aloud. But when I don’t move away, he lets his hand settle, firm and warm through the fabric of my dress. Not claiming, exactly. Just… anchoring.

It doesn’t feel like an accident.

The crowd around us is a blur of limbs and lights, music thumping in waves through the walls and into our bones. But between us, something different vibrates—quieter, tenser. A current passing from one glance to the next.

Wooyoung steps in from the other side, his presence felt before I even see him. His knuckles brush against mine as he reaches for his drink, the contact brief and deliberate. He holds my gaze over the rim of his glass, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re quieter than usual,” he says, his voice low but playful.

I raise a brow, feigning innocence. “Am I?”

“Mm.” He leans in slightly, the space between us disappearing like fog on a mirror. “Usually you’ve got a comeback. Or at least some sharp remark.”

San’s thumb starts to trace a slow, barely-there circle at my waist. I try not to react, but it sends a wave of heat crawling up my spine. I glance at him, and he’s already watching me—his eyes half-lidded, a lazy smile tugging at his lips, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“You okay?” he asks, tone light. But there’s something in it. Curiosity? Concern? Or maybe something else entirely.

“I’m fine,” I manage. My voice feels like it belongs to someone else.

But truthfully, I’m not sure what I am. There’s a strange hum inside me now—like I’ve stepped into a conversation that’s already been happening in silence, and only just realized I’ve been part of it all along.

Then my gaze drifts across the room—only for a second—and lands on Hongjoong dancing near the back of the crowd. He’s laughing at something Seonghwa said, his body loose and easy. Seonghwa leans in, hand brushing Hongjoong’s arm, and there’s a closeness there that makes me tilt my head.

“Are they a thing?” I ask, half to myself.

San and Wooyoung both pause. Not long, just enough.

Wooyoung lets out a small breath, his grin turning a little tight. “They’ve... hooked up,” he admits after a moment. “But, you know, it’s complicated.”

“Messy,” San adds.

“Not bad, though,” Wooyoung finishes. “Just… not what it looks like from the outside.”

There’s a charged silence between the three of us. I nod slowly, unsure what to say next. But the moment doesn’t stretch awkwardly. Instead, it shifts again, like we’ve passed through some unspoken checkpoint.

When I turn my eyes back to Wooyoung, his expression has changed. Still playful, still that signature glint—but there’s something else behind it now. A question he doesn’t say aloud. A challenge, maybe.

And then San moves.

Just a little—stepping in closer so my back brushes against his chest. It’s gentle, nonthreatening, but it traps me between them in a way that makes my breath catch.

I could step away. I could turn and laugh it off.

But I don’t.

Wooyoung leans forward, his mouth brushing close to my ear. “You’re not as unreadable as you think, you know.”

“Oh?” I lift my chin. “And what do you think you’ve read?”

“That you like the attention,” he says smoothly. “That you like being in the middle of things.” His voice drops a notch. “Between us.”

I freeze—not because I’m offended, but because he’s not wrong. He says it like he’s speaking a truth I hadn’t even admitted to myself yet.

And San, still behind me, murmurs, “You make it easy.”

My mouth opens, then closes again. Because what do you even say to that?

They’re not joking anymore. Not entirely. There's still that teasing edge, that familiar camaraderie between us—but layered now with something new. Something more.

I can feel Wooyoung’s fingertips ghost over my wrist again, featherlight, like he’s waiting for permission. San’s palm stays firm at my waist, grounding me, like he knows I might drift off without it.

Everything in their body language has shifted—attuned, focused, a little more deliberate. Not possessive. Not forceful. Just present. They’re waiting for something. Watching me.

And suddenly I realize: they aren’t just flirting for fun tonight.

They’re asking—with touch, with closeness, with a silence louder than words—if I might want what they do.

Not separately.

Together.

I exhale slowly, adrenaline buzzing beneath my skin.

“This isn’t usually how nights like this go for me,” I say, voice quieter than I intend. But my mind shortly wanders to the night with Hongjoong.

“Good,” San says, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Then maybe it’s time for a different kind of night.”

Wooyoung hums in agreement, his thumb lightly tracing over my knuckles. “Besides,” he adds, “you’ve been through enough tension lately. Thought we could offer a little… relief.”

There’s that grin again, but it’s softened now, less cocky and more sincere.

And what surprises me most isn’t their boldness.

It’s that I don’t feel cornered.

I feel… seen.

Desired.

Safe.

Even as the moment drips with tension and suggestion, there’s a tenderness beneath it—a care in the way they touch me, a patience in the way they wait. It isn’t about control. It isn’t a trap.

It’s an invitation.

And somewhere, underneath the bassline pounding through the club and the dizzy warmth of too many drinks, I realize that something between us has changed. Even if its only for this moment.

Wooyoung’s lips ghosted over my shoulder a shiver sending down my spine at the cold metal, a whisper of heat against my skin, while San’s fingers slipped briefly under the hem of my shirt, tracing a teasing line that made my breath catch. I sighed softly, closing my eyes, letting myself melt between the two of them. The crowd pulsed with the beat, but I was caught in a bubble where nothing existed but their presence—warm, magnetic, and overwhelmingly close.

Wooyoung’s hand rose slowly, brushing the side of my face with a featherlight touch that sent an unexpected thrill racing through me. The music throbbed around us, but his breath was the only sound I registered. When his lips brushed mine, it was almost tentative, like he was asking for permission in a language words couldn’t speak. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, a wild rhythm that matched the flashing lights above.

I didn’t pull away. Instead, I leaned into the kiss, letting my lips part just enough to meet his. The softness of it startled me—no rush, no urgency—just a slow, deliberate press of lips that spoke volumes in their silence. San’s hand slid from my waist to my lower back, steadying me, grounding me, his eyes locked on mine with an intensity that made me dizzy.

The warmth of them, the closeness—the way their bodies pressed just right, squeezing me gently between them—made every nerve in my body tingle. It was the kind of closeness that wasn’t just physical; it was charged, electric, like we were all three caught in a moment that had shifted the rules without any warning.

Wooyoung pulled back just enough to let me catch my breath, his lips lingering against mine for a heartbeat longer before his grin crept back onto his face—cocky, knowing. San, equally bold, let his hand slide lower, fingers brushing the small of my back, the contact light but deliberate. The air between us thickened, the music weaving around our bodies as if playing just for us.

I opened my eyes slowly, the crowd around us fading into a blur of colors and shapes. My gaze locked with San’s, and in it, I saw a spark that mirrored my own hesitation and desire. Wooyoung’s smirk softened into something more vulnerable, a silent question hanging in the air: What now?

The dance floor shifted beneath us as they moved in sync, framing me between them. Their bodies pressed close, their heat radiating, and I realized how much this moment was about more than just a kiss. It was a conversation without words—a shift from friendship to something more, something that hadn’t been named but was now impossible to ignore.

Wooyoung’s fingers trailed down my arm, his touch light but certain. San leaned in again, his breath warm against my cheek, and for a second, I was lost in the tension between us. The music surged, and our movements became a fluid dance, slow and deliberate, each touch and glance heightening the charge.

I could feel the unspoken invitation in their closeness, the way their hands lingered, the way their eyes sought mine in the dim light. It was a delicate balance—teasing, tempting, and thrilling all at once. My heart raced, caught between excitement and uncertainty, but the warmth of their presence was impossible to resist.

“Are you sure about this?” San’s voice was low, rough, just a whisper against my skin.

I swallowed hard, the question hanging in the air like a promise and a challenge. “I don’t know,” I admitted, voice barely audible. “But I want to find out.”

Wooyoung smiled, his lips brushing my temple. “Then let’s take it slow,” he murmured.

And slow it was. Their hands moved with purpose, exploring without rushing, tracing the curve of my waist, the line of my neck, the soft skin just beneath my collarbone. The dance was intimate, a delicate interplay of give and take, teasing and testing.

Their closeness was overwhelming and intoxicating. I was caught in the warmth of their bodies, the gentle pressure of their touch, the way their gazes never wavered from me. It was a moment stretched thin with possibility, hanging between the familiar and the unknown.

As the song reached its crescendo, Wooyoung pulled me closer, his lips meeting mine again—this time more certain, more demanding. The kiss deepened, a slow burn that sent sparks flying through my veins. San’s hand found my hair, his fingers threading through the strands as he joined the kiss, soft and exploratory, the three of us tangled in a moment of unspoken desire.

When we finally broke apart, breathless and flushed, the room seemed to hold its breath with us. The music swelled around our private bubble, but I knew nothing would ever feel quite the same again.

“Fuck it,” I muttered, voice low and raw, the words slipping out before I could stop them. “I don’t wanna take it slow.”

My hand curled like a claw in Wooyoung’s thick, dark hair, tugging him closer, pulling him deeper into the kiss. His breath hitched, a sharp inhale that echoed the fire burning in my veins. Without breaking the kiss, my other hand reached for San, fingers threading through his shirt as I kissed him harder—more urgent, more desperate.

San responded instantly, his hands sliding from my waist to my back, then bolder, tracing the curve of my ribs, fingertips exploring with new confidence. The subtle restraint that had held them just moments ago shattered like glass, replaced by raw need.

Wooyoung’s lips parted beneath mine, teeth grazing softly as if daring me to take this further. His hand moved to my neck, fingers curling around the nape, pulling me closer still, deepening the connection between us. The heat from their bodies pressed against me was unbearable—every nerve ending ignited.

The music throbbed in my chest, every beat syncing with the quickening rhythm of our breath and heartbeats. Around us, the club blurred into nothingness. The crowd, the flashing lights, even the sound faded until there was only the heat of their touch, the taste of their lips, and the electric charge coursing through my skin.

San’s fingers slid lower now, tracing the edge of my hip with bold, teasing strokes. He didn’t just want to touch; he wanted to claim, to mark the space where we existed together in this moment.

Wooyoung’s hands weren’t far behind, roaming my back, mapping the lines of my spine through the thin fabric of my shirt. His lips left mine only to trail hot kisses down my jawline, nipping gently before capturing my lips again, harder this time.

I was caught between them, pressed tight, sandwiched in a delicious tension that threatened to break me apart. Their hands and lips were no longer tentative; they were possessive, urgent, pulling me deeper into this shared flame.

My fingers tangled in Wooyoung’s hair as I pulled him closer, then shifted to wrap around San’s neck, pulling him forward so his lips crushed against mine. The kiss was fiery, desperate—an unspoken declaration that this was no longer just a game or a tease. We wanted more. We wanted everything.

For a moment, time stood still—three bodies moving in perfect harmony, lost in the rush of sensation and the thrill of crossing a line that once seemed so clear. Our breaths mingled, heavy and ragged, and I could feel the raw need radiating from them, matching my own.

But even in the fire, there was a strange tenderness—an unspoken promise that no matter where this went, we’d face it together.

When they finally pulled back, just enough to let me breathe, Wooyoung’s eyes glittered with mischief and something deeper—something softer. San’s grin was slow, confident, and his touch lingered, like he wasn’t ready to let go.

I swallowed hard, heart pounding. “So,” I whispered, voice thick with desire and something like hope, “we’re really doing this?”

Wooyoung’s smirk deepened. “You don’t have to ask.”

San leaned in, brushing his lips against my temple. “You already know.”

And with that, Wooyoung’s hands slid lower, tracing the curve of my hips before he gently pushed his legs between mine. The movement was deliberate, slow, grounding me in the moment. Almost immediately, San mirrored him, following suit so that my back was pressed firmly against his chest, his arms wrapping around my waist like a protective hold.

I froze for a heartbeat, breath catching in my throat. The heat of their bodies pressed against me was overwhelming — the smooth warmth of San’s chest, the solid strength of Wooyoung just beneath me. My heart hammered fiercely, each inhale sharp and uneven.

Wooyoung’s hand slid up to cup my cheek, thumb stroking softly while his lips hovered just inches from mine, teasing, testing. San’s breath ghosted over my neck, warm and inviting, sending shivers down my spine. His fingers traced lazy circles along my side, the touch light but charged with promise.

I felt utterly trapped between them, sandwiched in the most delicious way — every nerve alive, every sense heightened.

“Tell me,” Wooyoung murmured, voice low and husky, “do you want this?”

San’s lips brushed the shell of my ear. “Don’t be shy. We’re right here.”

My breath hitched, my eyes fluttering closed as I tilted my head back to expose my neck, offering myself to their touch without hesitation. The steady pressure of their bodies anchoring me made the world fall away—just us, the pulsing music, and the electric heat between our skin.

Slowly, Wooyoung’s lips met mine again, this time softer, searching. The kiss was gentle, coaxing, full of that teasing promise from before but tempered by something deeper—patience and care. San’s hands slid up beneath my shirt, fingers warm and bold against my skin, sending waves of heat crawling through me.

I couldn’t help the small gasp that escaped me as their touch intensified, their closeness overwhelming but intoxicating.

Wooyoung’s hand moved from my cheek down to the back of my neck, pulling me even closer, deepening the kiss. San’s mouth found the sensitive spot just below my ear, nibbling lightly, his hands exploring the curve of my waist and lower back.

My fingers clenched in Wooyoung’s hair again, tugging gently as I melted into the sensation of being held from both sides, pressed so closely that every breath, every move, felt shared between the three of us.

The music throbbed through the floor beneath us, each beat syncing with the rapid flutter of my heart. I was dizzy, lost, and exactly where I wanted to be.

San’s hands tightened on my waist, guiding my hips to roll slowly against Wooyoung’s, the friction sending a jolt straight through me. I could feel the hard line of San pressing insistently against the curve of my ass, a bold, unmistakable reminder of how close we were—how electric the air had become.

My breath hitched as San’s fingers dug gently into my sides, steadying me while his other hand slid lower, tracing the swell of my hip with a teasing boldness. The heat of their bodies was relentless, surrounding me on every side, like I was caught in a perfect storm of sensation.

Wooyoung’s lips trailed from my mouth down to my jaw, leaving a hot, lingering kiss that made my pulse race. At the same time, San’s breath whispered against my neck, sending shivers down my spine.

Time seemed to slow, every tiny touch amplified in the dim, pulsing light of the club. I was caught—no, willing—between two sets of hands and two warm bodies, the closeness overwhelming and intoxicating.

I pressed back harder into San, letting out a soft, breathy sigh, my fingers tangling deeper in his hair. San’s grip on my waist tightened just enough to pull me flush against him, his hips shifting to mirror the motion, the two of them moving in perfect sync beneath me.

Their presence was a silent promise—an invitation wrapped in bold touches and heated glances.

I could feel the weight of their desire pressing into me, both possessive and tender, teasing the edges of my sanity. A slow moan escaped my lips, shaky and raw, and deep in the pit of my stomach, a tight knot began to form, twisting and pulling at every nerve.

“Is someone getting needy?” Wooyoung teased, his breath warm against my skin as his lips brushed my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

San’s voice followed, low and urgent, “Be a good girl and come for us.”

Their words wrapped around me like a spell, heavy with promise and command. I could feel their eyes on me, hungry and expectant. Wooyoung’s hand tightened slightly at my waist, grounding me even as my mind spun.

“We wanna hear you,” Wooyoung said, his tone both coaxing and possessive, his lips grazing the shell of my ear as he spoke.

The heat between us was suffocating, the music fading into the background as my senses narrowed to just the two of them—their touch, their breath, their voices. I trembled, caught between the thrill of anticipation and the ache of want.

My body responded before my mind could catch up, hips pressing back into San’s steady hands as Wooyoung’s fingers traced fiery patterns along my skin. The knot in my stomach tightened until it felt like it might burst, and I gave in, letting out a breathless, shaky sound, a whispered surrender to the moment.

I shake my head, biting my lip as reality flickers back through the haze. We’re still in public — barely a foot away from dozens of other bodies lost in the music, the flashing lights, the blur of heat and sweat. The bass is deafening. The air thick.
They seem to get it right away.

Wooyoung’s eyes flick toward San, something silent passing between them. The intensity doesn't fade, but it shifts — sharp edges softening into something more controlled, more deliberate. San’s hand tightens around mine, just once, before he starts guiding me through the crowd. Wooyoung falls in step behind, one hand pressed low on my back, steady and protective.

We slip through a side door near the stage — one I hadn’t noticed before. A dimly lit hallway stretches beyond it, quieter, cooler. I can still feel the music pulsing through the walls, but it's muffled now, distant. Another turn, and suddenly we’re in a small, dark room tucked just behind the main stage — probably a storage or green room. It's empty, the walls lined with forgotten gear and heavy velvet curtains.

The moment the door shuts behind us, the energy between us changes again. It’s quieter now — not just in sound, but in atmosphere. No more eyes. No more limits.
My breath catches.

Wooyoung moves first, slow but sure, stepping in front of me with that same grin that never quite reaches his eyes when he’s serious. “This better?” he asks, voice low, rough.

I nod, swallowing. My back brushes San’s chest again — familiar now, grounding. His hands settle on my hips, fingers splayed out like he's already memorized the shape of me.

“I just didn’t want to put on a show out there,” I murmur.

Wooyoung’s lip quirks, the glint of his piercing catching the dim light. “Fair,” he says, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from my face. His knuckles trail down my jaw, then linger at my throat, featherlight. “But here…” he trails off, letting the unfinished sentence hang in the air like a dare.

San leans in, his breath warm against my neck. “Here, it’s just us.”

I don’t respond. I don’t have to. They’re both watching me — not just waiting, but reading every shift in my breath, every flicker of hesitation. There’s something tender in their hunger now, something patient beneath the want.

Wooyoung’s hand finds mine, and he lifts it slowly, guiding my fingers to the cool metal of his lip ring. He presses my touch to it gently, letting me feel the contrast — soft lips, sharp steel.

“You like that?” he murmurs, eyes locked on mine.

Chapter Text

You like that?” he murmurs, eyes locked on mine.

Incoherent to form a word in my mind I slowly nod. But before I can even process it Sans hands are already on me slowly and deliberate moving under my shirt. Sharply I breath in and close my eyes.

“Use your words, love” he murmurs right by my ear peppering kisses along my neck. Sucking at a sensitive spot with makes me squirm in his hold.

Wooyoung’s eyes fixed on hand moving under my shirt as he palms my breast trough my bra.

“Yes” I whine into his touch.

“That’s all I wanted to hear” Wooyung’s voice laced with want as he crashed his lips on mine. Swallowing the moan escaping my mouth.

Together we move to the leather couch in the middle of the room. Planted in between the two I feel Wooyoung’s chest against my back as he pulls me on his lap. My lips interlocked with Sans, pulling him closer by his neck.

“This wont change anything will it” I whisper against his lips. Breathing heavy as I pull away.

My eyes meeting those of the once before me.

“Of course, not Evie” Wooyoung soothes me while slowly caressing my cheeks. “Do you have doubts love?”

I shrug “A little, I suppose.”

“Don’t. We do this often. The both of us and we are still friends, right Sannie?” Wooyoung smiles.

“It’s just to get lose a little and you seem to enjoy it don’t you” San smiles at me his eyes a mere line on his face.

“Yeah” I chuckle and lay a hand on his cheek.

He dibs his head forward and our lips meet. Slow and passionately his tongue asks for entrance and I open my mouth. His tongue exploring my mouth, Wooyoung’s hand slowly rubbing my thighs inching upwards while pushing my skirt up.

His finger ghosting over my clothed core. “May I?” he whisper and I desperately whine into Sans mouth. Pressing his thumb on my clit, I pull apart from San, cheeks flushed red.

“You’re so pretty for us. Let us ease you will you” San asks once more for reassurance and I sigh a Yes as my lips meet Wooyoung’s.

As San loses his shirt Wooyoung’s finger goes through my wet folds and I moan into his mouth.

“So wet for us already” he coos against my lips. Without a warning he turns me on his lap and I find a kneeling San in front of me. A smug look on his face as he looks up at me. He kisses up my thighs while Wooyoung attackes my neck, pulling my hair into a bun. With a swift motion he pulls my skirt down together with my panties. As he licks up my folds I throw my head back on Wooyoungs shoulder.

He cups my breast circling my nipples while Sans tongue presses on my core and moans spill from my lips.

As I look down at San, I see the big tattoo he has along his spine. The moon circle from top to bottom. Its beautiful.

I gasp as he pushes two finger inside me without warning. I feel him smirking as he circles my clit with his tongue. Wooyoung swallowing my moans with a searing kiss demanding entrance with his tongue. His hard on prominent on the curve of my ass and as I start moving on him San and Wooyoung both let a groan out.

A knot building deep in my stomach and my movements getting sloppier San adds a third finger and my head feels hazy. My breathing heavier as Wooyoung kneads my breasts under my shirt.

With closed eyes I lean against him, letting myself fall into their touch. My moans growing more ecstatic as he eagerly eats me out. In a blizz I come undone for him and he pushes me trough my orgasm. Eating me out like he hasn’t eaten for days.
I whine as he doesn’t stop. My legs closed automatically around his head.

Wooyoung whispered praises in my ear while San doesn’t stop. His tongue plunged deep into my core, savouring every moment.

“Please,” i whine “I can’t..”

Slowly he pulls aways, holding my thighs in his hands squeezing them. A drunken haze over his eyes.

Before I can process anything, his mouth finds its way back on mine. Tasting myself on his tongue as he seeks entrance pulling me off Wooyoung’s lap. He quickly loses his shirt in the process.

In a mere blink of an eye, I find myself kneeling infront of Wooyoung who gently caresses my face.

“You don’t have to”
“But I want to.”

Softly I hook my fingers under his boxers , tugging them down with careful slow precision. His breath hitches for a moment and I can feel the way his muscles tensing under my touch.. His hard member springs free the second I pull down his boxers, the tip flushed red already leaking precum.

His eyes locked on mine. He seemed to be holding himself back, for now.

I trail a path of feather light kisses along his lower stomach down to his V line, deliberately avoiding where he wants me most. His skin twitches delicately beneath each press of my lips, his hand finds its way to the back of my head, fingers carefully threading through my hair.

He lets out a low hiss, a sound full of restraint. Pulling me back by my hair his eyes met my coy gaze. I had him right where I wanted.

“Are you gonna be trouble, love?” he asks through short gasps, though the slight curl of his lips didn’t go unnoticed, he enjoyed being teased like this. San sat right next to him, watching the scene unfold while palming himself through his boxers.

I shake my head and a chuckle rumbles in his chest. His thumb going over my bottom lip. “Go on the sweetheart”

With that I lower my head on him slowly taking his tip in my mound. The salty taste of precum on my lips. I lick along his slit and feel his hand tighten in my hair, careful enough for it to actually not hurt me.

My eyes met his as I take him completely, suppressing my gag reflex in the process and in return his mouth slacks open, letting out a low uncontrollable moan.

With a steady pace I start bobbing my head up and down. His moans filled the room. But soon enough others follow and as I look up again my eyes fall to San. Stroking himself to the view of us, his eyes fixed on me or rather my mouth, mouth agape, boxers seemingly long gone.

Picking up my pace Wooyoung becomes a whining mess under me. Whimpering as he pushes me more down on to his cock.

“Fuck” he moans “I’m going to come.”

And with that he shoots down my throat, his head thrown back strands of hair in his face, mouth open as moans spill from him like a mantra.

My mind is a hazy mess, brain reduced to mush, once he pulls me off his cock and clashes his lips on mine pulling me on the couch with ease, as he slowly recovers.

San’s Hands wrap around my waste, circling it in a soothing motion.

“Do you want us both?”He whispers close to my earlobe, sending shivers down my spine.
Clenching my legs by the thought of it alone, I hum out a desired Yes.

“Good” Wooyoung’s cocky smirk returning as he cradles my face.
“But Condom” I demand, looking at the two and they nod.

San pulled me on his lap steading me. His eyes met mine, silently asking for consent before I lower myself on him. A low moan escapes from my lips as I sink deeper on him, I could feel him stretching me open.

Wooyoung caresses my back encouraging me to move on him. San’s hand on my hips guided me.

“You sure you can take us both?” Wooyoung asks, seeming worried for a second.
“Yes” I moan, my breath picking up again.

San’s hand pulled me down into a kiss while Wooyoung slowly stretched my core along San. A light yelp escaped my lips, my eyes fluttering shut. Deep in my mind I hear the two praising me.

You’re doing so well.
You look so pretty like this.
You’re so good for us.

But I’m too far gone in the sensation of being filled so much. Moans spilled from my lips with no sense of restraint left in me. Their hands on me soothing the pain, making it turn to pleasure.

The room filled with the moans of the three of us as Wooyoung’s thumb finds my clit and starts to circle it.

My head lolled forward onto San who kissed my temple.

Their pace picking up.

“Come for us love, we want to feel you” he whispers in my ear.

Slowly biting into his shoulder as the knot starts to form deep in my stomach once more. With a last flick on my clit, I scream out as my orgasm crashes over me. Stretching as they both continue to pound into me chasing their own release.
I felt myself close my eyes, feeling hazy in the aftermath.

Wooyoung comes back quietly, a glass of water in one hand and a pair of damp towels in the other. He moves with a kind of gentleness that contrasts the intensity from earlier — like the heat between us has cooled into something softer, more grounding.

“Here,” he murmurs offering me the glass of water as he crouched down in front of me. San is still holding me against his chest, one arm wrapped protectively around my waist, his other hand gently combing through my hair as if to calm the chaos still racing through my body.

I take the glass of water with, my eyes meeting Wooyoung’s. There’s no teasing in his gaze now. Only warmth. Only care. He helps me hold the glass, fingers brushing over mine for just a moment too long.

“You okay?” he asks softly, eyes scanning my face like he’s searching for any sign of discomfort. I couldn’t help but smile at him.

I nod, still too breathless to form word. San’s chest rises and falls steadily behind me, and I can feel the way his breathing is trying to match mine — like he’s grounding both of us at once.

“You did so well for us, love.” San praises, pressing a kiss to the side of my head, his lips lingering for a beat. “You were perfect.”

A small, unexpected laugh slips from me, half shy and half exhausted. “I feel like I just ran a marathon.”

Wooyoung chuckles quietly. “Yeah, but you looked damn good doing it.”

He gently wipes my skin with the warm towel, not saying anything more. His touch is slow, unhurried, focused. San adjusts the blanket someone must’ve pulled over us, and I let myself sink into the warmth of them both.

The room is quiet now. The thrum of the club beyond the walls is muffled, distant. It's like we've slipped into our own little bubble, tucked behind the chaos.

“You’re safe here.” San says after a while, almost like a promise. “With us.”

Wooyoung hums in agreement, lying down next to us on the couch, one arm slung over my legs lazily. “And you’re not going anywhere tonight. No way we’re letting you walk out after that.”

My chest swells, something tender stirring under my ribs. I nod again, more certain this time. “I wasn’t planning to.”

We stay there for a while. No rush. No words. Just skin cooling down, hearts slowing, breaths syncing. At some point, I don’t know when exactly, my eyes flutter shut.

And soon, I find myself falling asleep between the two of them on the couch. Dressed in comfy spare clothes they had and tangled between them, silence settles over the three of us. Not awkward. Not tense. Just warm, heavy, and safe.

But as my eyes open in the morning their not met with the once I spend the night with.

“Good morning dove.” Seonghwa smiles pulling a strand of hair out of my face.

Chapter Text

“I don’t like this”

“You can’t change it”

I take a last glance at the door of the lounge room. The door shut and not a single noise emerged. Always weird to see the club this empty. Especially now that the sun is filling everything in a bloom of light.

“But Sannie, we never let anyone alone, especially not a friend.”

He pulls his leather jacket over as we make our way out the club in the early hours. I stare at his back as I follow him.

“She is not alone – Seonghwa is there for her”

I huff before answering him.
“Why are you being like this now. You know it’s not right, think about it. What if you wake up next to someone other than me after we did it?”

“I know what you mean Wooyoung but still…we will make it up to her.”

“If she is not mad at us – I really like her, she is a great friend I don’t wanna dump it just because we left her alone after sleeping with her. We made her vulnerable” I pout.

“How about we just check up on her after we talked to Hongjoong.” He gives me a light smile but it does nothing. I just give him a glare in return.

In slight disbelief about his behavior, I murmur a yes and get in the passenger seat of his little fiat.

My mind still consumed by the thought of you lying there – in the backstage room sleeping soundlessly while Seonghwa is watching you.

I love Seonghwa but something about this just doesn’t sit right with me.

Wishing it was me, you would wake up to like San and I did with so many girls before. But never with a friend. It was stupid of us surely but what can we do now. You just sounded so cute when you let Hongjoong eat you out. I knew I wanted you then. Didn’t care in which way – but I knew I wanted to be the one dragging those pretty sounds out of your mouth.

“I would have made her breakfast.”

“I know that Wooyoung and I know that you really care for her but it’s not like you two have known each other for that long now, so don’t exaggerate.”

“No but that is exactly why – this may have broken her trust in us. And I don’t want that, I like her and you do to she is our friend. And I can’t even text her because I forgot my phone.”

“Okay Wooyoung let me tell you this – I aint happy about this either. I feel fucking bad if you wanna know but what else can we do? Seonghwa will take great care of her and you know that. He always does and this happened on our account because we both forgot the meeting with Hongjoong and those guys from from Stardust & Vine. It’s a surprise that Seonghwa said hell stay with her. So please stop whining around, it’s still early and we didn’t get much sleep anyway.” San says angered, but guilt swayed in his voice.

I look out the window, it’s so early that it’s still a little foggy outside.

People are on their way to their jobs in tux and coffee in their hair.

“He’s smitten by her – that the only reason he is staying with her” I declare knowing the elders intentions.

“Seonghwa?”

“Yes”

“What makes you think that?”

“He acts all weird around her. Don’t you remember when Yunho and he came back after seeing her sing. Matter of fact I think they both are.”

“I remember” he hums eyes fixed on the street.

“And they fought about her, Hongjoong and Seonghwa I mean. Because Seonghwa thinks we should keep our distance now that we work with her. Especially because Velvet Haze Records are interested in her.”

“And how on earth did you find all that out.”

“They fight really loudly and our walls aren’t the thickest, you know.” I grin at him.

“But how did you find out hes smitten by her”

“The way he looks when someone talks about her. It’s like with Mingi – you can see that Mingi doesn’t like her just because of this friend you two made and the thinks he told.

But Seonghwa always gets so different when she is around. Don’t ask me to describe it I cant but you have to look for it and besides I think Seonghwa is mad that they both slept with each other.”

“I don’t know Woo. You’re talking nonsense.”

“I bet you ,he brought her something to wear and will take her to get breakfast. He always does this remember the one time he picked you up when you slept in the lounge room. He brought coffee and clothes for you to change into. – I bet you he brought something” I smirk turning to him as we come to a hold.

“I don’t bet, hun and besides Seonghwa’s feelings are his” he say going with his hand through my hair and I lean into his touch before he left the car. “But the way you talk about her it seems like you might have a little crush” he adds before closing the door.

“I don’t I can assure you that”

“I don’t blame you – she’s pretty”

I quickly followed him up the stairs and into the elevator.

“Even I think I would fall for her if she batted her lashes for me” he chuckles, and I cross my arms.

“I think we would be better of as friends - all of us”

“I think for that it is a little too late now don’t you think” he ends the conversation before exciting the elevator.

The meeting passes by quickly, and I feel like I slept with my eyes open through the whole thing. Something about a clever idea and trying to get popularity trough god know what but what exactly must have slipped my mind.

I look up to only find my friends sitting at the table – everyone else must have gone.

“Where has Seonghwa been?” is the question that snapped me back to reality.

“I don’t know I send him to get San and Wooyoung and he never came back” Hongjoong answers Yeosang truthfully.

“He waited there” San simply answers.

“Waited for what exactly?”

“Well for Evangeline to wake up - he told us to go and that you would just tell him everything later and well that he would stay with her.”

Hongjoong slowly nods processing the news.
“Well, what can I say” he says clapping his hands together.

“So, the two of you also slept with her.” Mingi states rather than asking and raised a brow. I feel my cheeks heating up but San only gives him a nonchalant nod.

“So she is either a Slut or trying to get something from us”

“Don’t call her that” and to my surprise I wasn’t the only one saying that. I look at Jongho who seems just as shocked about himself.

“Mingi we know you dislike her but she’s our friend. I believe you must trust our judgment and somehow have to find a way to come clean with it. If I recall correctly your dislike is based on vague thinks you heard so don’t hold a grudge” Hongjoong says calm. But its obvious that deep down something stirs in him. “So let’s go home.”

After regaining my phone and several tries of reaching you I gave up. Knowing San also called I start to worry a bit but finding comfort in the thought that you are maybe just to occupied with Seonghwa and that’s how I find myself knocking on the studio door where Hongjoong is working inside.

He smiles as he sees me and gestures to sit down on the couch behind him.

“I suppose you are not here to talk about our next album am I right?” he smiles knowingly.

“I worry”

“I know”

“I feel like an asshole”

“I mean you sure are one in some way”

“But Seonghwa will take good care of her”

“Of course he will, you know him”

“I kind of feel like I failed her as a friend”

“Now you’re just overthinking it she will come around, she likes us”

“She ignored you for two whole weeks after you two slept together”

He chuckles
“That she might did but now we get along just great.”

“Seonghwa told you we should keep our distance from her.”

“He was mad at her because she ignored me – I fear tho she had a valid reason. I would ignore me after I slept with me and gave her the chance to make a song with us. Seems like a trap.

Woo don’t think to much really. She likes us and if you explain it to her she will understand.”

I agree and make my way out the room before he calls me on more time.

“Wooyoung?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t mention Stardust & Vine Records to her”

“Why?”

“Just don’t”

“Okay– I won’t”

Seonghwa seemingly way to happy for my liking as he comes back. And it seems like im not the only one that bothers it as quickly after I hear him and Hongjoong fighting in the Studio.

“I thought you said we should keep our distance”
Hongjoongs voice comes muffled throught he door.

“I said that when she ignored you. Besides you only see an opportunity in her to gain more popularity.”

“You told me to take this chance didn’t you. You said I should gain her trust and you said I should offer it to her. You said all this. So don’t you dare push this on me now” Hongjoongs voice now loud and clear.

“I said all that but I never said that you should sleep with her. I meant fun like gosh you are such an asshole sometimes Hoongjoong. Don’t you think its to late now. You cant continue with this she is our friend now.”

Continue with what?

“Wooyoung and San slept with her; you slept with her what else – if you continue this manic plan, you will destroy her.”

“I told myself to not get attached anymore. If you do that’s your problem. First comes the band then everything else – you seem to forget that. Its written in your eyes Seonghwa you are head over heels for her.”

“I am not”

“You sure are, but you can’t change things now anymore. It’s set”

Seonghwa storms out the room, not even seeing me stand there as he rushes past me and disappears in his room.

Chapter Text

The big couch in our lounge room was crowded. Jongho, Yeosang, Yunho, Mingi and San squeezing themselves on it. Tired of our set - it was okay we did better. My eyes falling on upon Hongjoong who’s sitting in the armchair beside it looking like hes sleeping.

The crowd went crazy as always, but I only watched you. The way you danced along with the crowd and then disappeared.

I don’t know where you went, and I am certain you did not come back. Did you leave? Maybe but why would you after we invited you. You are too polite to just leave without a proper goodbye. You are just too polite for a lot of things. I noticed.
But still – I understood why you ignored Hongjoong till you made up your mind. It doesn’t sit right with me tho – he should have kept his distance - not sleep with you because it obviously creates confusion in such matter.
I would be confused – I am confused when I truly think about it. About Hongjoong the way he talks about you and the things he has planned. It doesn’t add up.

I didn’t even notice that I was staring at him but then he opened his eyes and gave me a smile.

“You okay Hwa?” he asks tilting his head to the side.
“Just a bit tired” I answer him truthfully.

“We’re going dancing does someone wanna come” Wooyoung asks leading San out the room.
The others join them except Yunho and Hoongjoong.

“What’s the matter with you two these days” Yunho strikes up the conversation.
“What do you mean?” we ask in unsion.
“You have been acting weird around each other - I thought you finally but all difference aside and sorted your fight out. Shouldn’t we be happy that Evie agreed to make this song with us. Couldn’t it be a big opportunity for both of us. It could bring us all some recognition.”

“Yeah well, we must figure out where she stands - you know we have the meeting with Stardust and Vine Records tomorrow. We should prepare you to do the song and move on. Nothing more:”
“What do you mean where she stands” Yunho’s face drops confusion written all over it as he looks at Hongjoong.

“Drop it Hongjoong we talked enough about this” I say and stand up.

“You told- “

“I wanna dance will you come with” I say and hold my hand out for him.
He sighs and takes it.
“Yunho?”

“I’m going home” he says and with that we leave him in the lounge room.

“You have to find out a weak spot of hers” he whispers into my ear as we dance together. He must have noticed the way I look at you dancing there in the middle. Between Wooyoung and San – How their hands caress you how you let them touch you.
“We should keep her little” he whispers kissing down my neck and then your eyes meet mine.

“Hongjoong” I whisper as his hand caresses my sides. “Stop being like this you found a liking in her”
I stopped dancing - that visibly irritates him.

“You’re so stuck up these days, really going on my nerves. She’s just a little pawn in our game and till we gain what we want we keep her as little as possible “
I followed him into the hall.

“Hongjoong please – it doesn’t have to turn out like last time”
“And what if it does – we both know what’s going on in there” He points at the lunge room where you disappeared inside with Wooyoung and San.
In my mind crosses the image of you laying between them. Quickly I shake that thought of and Hongjoons intense eyes meet mine.

“I will not lose this time. I don’t care what I must do and even if it hurts. I’ll bring us forward not matter what. And don’t you dare interfere”
With that he leaves me standing in the hall. The door shuts loudly behind him and then he’s gone. I don’t know how long I have been standing there.

“Hwa?” Yeosang appears behind me.
“You going home?” I ask him.
“Yeah – just on my way out. You look tired wanna come aswell?”
I nod and follow him out of the building. Before the door falls shut I take a last glance back.
“The others still inside?” I break the silence.
“San and Wooyoung I think – I saw them dancing with this girl you all make a fuss about. What’s her name again?”

“Evangeline”

“Ah yeah that’s her name. And Jongho and Mingi I don’t know lost them in the crowd that’s why I wanted to leave.”
I give him a silent nod.

I couldn’t sleep – not even a bit. Or so I think.
Around 2 am I went to the bathroom. As I past Yunhos room I hear him playing video – games screaming something into his mic.

At 3 am I make my way to the kitchen for a glass of water. As I pass the studio, I see the lights still on. Hongjoong probably inside working. I paused thinking about talking to him.

In the end I did not and around 4 am as I passed again to get something to eat the lights were out. He probably went to sleep. I peeked inside to check, and it was empty. So, I went back to my room and just sat on the bed looking out the window.
I must have fallen asleep somewhere in between because around 11 am a loud knock on my door wakes me.

“Get up” Hongjoong says as he looks inside.
“What time is it” my voice groggy.
“8 and Wooyoung and San aren’t back. Go get them we have the meeting in two hours with Stardust and Vine Records.” At that he leaves without saying another word.
I groaned and let my head fall back into the cushion. Of course they aren’t back. Idiots.

Deciding to take my bicycle I slowly drove down the earie quite streets. It’s unusually quiet for Thursday morning. The streets filled with fog and the clouds looming over the city like they’re gonna swallow it whole.
Taking the back door to get inside the club where some staff are still cleaning the floor.
I make my way down the hall and stop in front of the lounge room. My hand hanging over the handle but I’m hesitant to walk inside.
What will I find once the door is open?
Will you be naked? What will the room look like? Does it have to be cleaned? Who thinks like that I ask myself. Does it have to be cleaned? Surely if the others wouldn’t do it so I would have to. Ugh no.
I shake my head and then push open the door.

And you lay there. On our leather couch. On the couch we laugh together, get drunk together, relax after a stressful set together.
Wooyoung and San often bring here girl. That I know but somehow, I never thought they would do it with a friend. How foolish of me to think that way. I remember the time it was me once tangles between the two of them. But how long has it been since then three or four years?

We had a different couch then. One that wasn’t made of leather and not as big. I remember it was torture to sleep on it. Way to little space for three people. In no matter what position.
How often did any of us bring someone here they pick up. I wonder why tho why did Hongjoong bring you to our home and not here. Where you lay now.
Wooyoung pulling you against his chest. His head in the crook of your neck. Sans arm swung over the two of you. Holding you in a embrace as your face is against his chest.

I nudge him but nothing.

“San” I whisper “Wooyoung, you need to wake up.”

A groan is the only response I get. But after a minute of me sitting there watching them Wooyoung lowly awakes.
“Seonghwa” he yawns stretching himself. “Good morning.”
He seems not even surprised in the slightest to see me.

“You two forgot about the meeting today didn’t you” I ask him, and realization settles into him.

“Oh, shit yeah sorry I well we totally forgot. Sannie wake up” he whispers shaking San who rolls over trying to get more sleep.
But as he opens his eyes and looks at me, he’s immediately awake.

“OH, shit Seonghwa! Why are you here” He sits up going with his hand trough his black hair.
“Hongjoong send me, you two forgot about the meeting. He’ll be angry if you don’t attend.”
They murmur something while getting up.

“How could we forget” Wooyoung says while rummaging for two new shirts for him and san in a box we brought here once with fresh clothes.
“I don’t know but hurry up”
“But what should we do we can’t just leave”
“What do you mean we can just leave” San stops washing his face to look at Wooyoung.
“We can’t leave Evie alone.”
“We have to the meeting is important.”
“But Sannie you know this is wrong.”

“I’ll stay” I interrupt the two.
“You” Wooyoung says skeptical raising a brow.
“Yeah me – I mean Hongjoong can just tell me later what happened. It wont be that big a deal if only one of us is missing. And if you don’t show up, he’ll just get angry again. “I explain.
“I don- “
“Okay thank you Seonghwa we owe you one.” San interrupts Wooyoung and drags him out.

And with that we are alone. I look around the room. Nothing seems out of place as if the previous activities never happened. From time to time a water droplet falling from the sink. Making the only sound in the quiet room. The table with the chair by the wall. Still empty bottles on it. And in the middle of the room this big couch. The couch where all of us slept at least once. Behind it is the big box of clothes we usually wear for our sets.
I stood up and searched for some pants and a shirt. I sit back down laying the folded clothes next to me. Watching you sleep. Your red hair covering the cushions as your face. The shirt they must have given you clinging to your figure. It must be one of Yunhos as it is way to big for you covering almost to your knees. You are barely covered in the blanket and my fingers are itching to just pull it over you.
In the end I pull the blanket over your shoulders, so you are covered whole. You stir in your sleep but don’t wake.

I stand up

I look at the floor

I take my shoes off

I round the couch

I stand by the window and look out

I stand by the oven and look inside the fridge

I’m going back

I sit back down

And I do it again. And again. And again.

I don’t know how often I did but I forgot how often.
Around 10 pm a sound comes from you. And I look up.

“Good morning dove” I whisper and brush a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Seonghwa?” she whispers her voice, still tired and raspy.
“Have you slept well?” I give her a slight smile.
“It was okay” she says sitting up visibly confused.

“I know you didn’t expect me here, but I’ll explain everything when you’re properly awake”
I watch you toss and turn till you finally sit up brushing your locks out of your face. She looks around the room realizing where she is.
“I don’t have anything to wear” she states.
“I brought you something. You can freshen up over there” I say and point at the sink giving her the clothes.

“Thanks” she mumbles and walks over to the sink. Turning to me once more for reassurance that I aint looking. And so, I turned around to let her get ready.
“Thank you Seonghwa” she says as she walks in front of me.

“You can call me Hwa” I say looking at her in the top I chose for her. One of mine I like to wear when we go on stage. Clinging to her figure. Delightful is all that I can think of her. Is all I see. How beautiful she looks in my clothes.
“The Jeans are a bit to tight to” she says looking down at herself.

“Should I look for something else?” I ask her.
“No no they are completely fine. I like them. I wanted to get flared pants for quite some time.” She smiles looking down at herself.
“You look beautiful.” And she blushes at my statement, but I can do nothing else then admire her in the shy way she stands in front of me.

“So where did Wooyoung and San went” she asks uncomfortable to even start the topic.
“I’m sorry they had to leave. It was just Hongjoong sent me because we have a meeting, and they seem to have forgotten it. I said I would wait. So, you wouldn’t have to wake up alone.” I give an apologetic smile, but it seems like my answer doesn’t please her too much.

She only nods and then sits down next to me.
“You, okay? Does anything hurt?” I ask and look at her.
“Yeah, thank you.” She smiles at me. “You have really ordinary eyes did you know that?”
“Ordinary?”

“Yeah – so black like the night consuming everything and letting nothing escape”
I raise a brow my lip quirking into a smirk. Her face blooming in a light red and she avoids my eyes.

“I’m sure they will text you as soon as they can”
“I am sure they will”
Silence settles over us and we both stare at the wall.
“Why you?”
“What why me” I ask and meet her eyes?
“Why would you wait for me. You don’t even like me”
“Who said I didn’t like you?”
“You threatened me just yesterday”
“Ah yeah I did” I chuckle dryly “But that doesn’t mean I don’t like you”
“Sounded like it”
“I’ll prove you otherwise. You hungry?”
“A bit I suppose”
“Then let’s get breakfast”

She was hesitant to get on my bike. But eventually she did.

We drove down the street to a little café I like to go to. She holds onto my shoulders hesitantly, afraid to hurt me.

“I never did this?” she says while I round a corner.
“Did what?”
“Rode a bike like this. It feels like in a movie” and I can hear her smile.

Yeah, it must look like it. Like two teenagers in a rom- com. I smile at myself at that thought.

The air fresh but with the fog gone the sun starts to peek out. And after some time, she seems to relax as her hold on my shoulders loosen up a bit.

“When will we be there?”
“Just around the corner”
And she hums in acknowledgment.

The café is almost empty, the faint hum of an espresso machine filling the air like a background melody.

Only a few tables are occupied—two students bent over their laptops in a corner, and an older gentleman slowly stirring his black coffee, staring at nothing in particular as if lost in thought.

She chooses a seat by the window, where the light is soft and forgiving, painting the wooden tables with golden strokes.

“It’s so beautiful here,” she sighs, settling into her chair. Her gaze drifts outward, where the morning sun plays tricks with the glass, and the street beyond looks like it belongs to another world.

“It’s my favorite café,” I say, sliding into the seat across from her. “I like to come here often before work. It soothes my thoughts.”

The café isn’t large—in fact, it’s rather small—but the abundance of hanging plants gives the illusion of coziness rather than constraint.

Ivy trails down from shelves, potted herbs line the windowsills, and the faint smell of mint and lavender lingers in the air. The interior, dressed in shades of earthy brown and leafy green, feels less like a business and more like someone’s beloved living room.

The mismatched chairs, the shelves of secondhand books, even the slightly crooked picture frames—all of it breathes life and warmth.

“I get why,” she says, looking around. “It feels like you just walked straight into a tree.”

I chuckle at her comparison. “Yeah, I guess it does.”
Her eyes return to me, and for a brief moment, she studies me with an intensity that makes me shift slightly in my seat. Then, a small smile spreads across her lips.

“So, do you know what you want?”
“Not really. What do you usually take?”
“Depends on what I’m in the mood for.”

She hums softly, turning her attention back to the menu card in her hands. Her brows furrow in concentration, and I catch myself watching her a little too closely—the way she bites her lip when she’s thinking, the way her hair falls into her face only for her to tuck it back behind her ear.

In the end, she orders pancakes with fruit but firmly requests no whipped cream, repeating it twice as though it were the most important part of the order. To drink, she chose a chai latte, her tone gentle but decisive.

When her drink arrives, she cradles the cup like a treasure, breathing in the spices before taking a sip.

Her eyes flutter closed, and when she opens them again, the smile remains. “I may steal your spot,” she teases.

“I’d love to share it with you.”
Her gaze lingers a little longer than necessary. “You’ve never brought someone else here?”

“Only once, with Yunho, but that was some time ago. I don’t know if the others come here much.”
“Well, thank you, Seonghwa—” she pauses, correcting herself, “—Hwa, I mean, for taking me here. It’s peaceful.”
“It’s my pleasure.”

For a while, we eat in silence. Her fork cuts into the pancakes with a kind of delicate precision, and I can’t help noticing the way she arranges the fruit on top before taking each bite.

There’s a bit of sauce at the corner of her mouth, and I have to physically restrain myself from reaching across the table to wipe it away.

“How come you make music?” she asks suddenly, her eyes flickered up to meet mine.

I hesitate, caught off guard by the directness of the question. “I don’t know. It started back in high school. I was in a band, just playing around with friends.
But then it turned into something more—I wanted it to be my job. In college, I met Hongjoong and the others, and…” I trail off, searching for the right words. “And then it all came together somehow.”

“And how come you guys built a band?” she presses, curiosity lighting up her face.
“Hongjoong suggested it. We were all involved in music one way or another, and we just… agreed. It wasn’t easy at the beginning. We all worked two, sometimes three jobs, just to make ends meet while still playing gigs. But eventually, people started noticing us. We got small jobs here and there, and now… well, now we’re somewhat known. At least around here.”

She chuckles. “More than somewhat. A lot of people know you. You’re kind of a big deal.”

Her laughter is contagious, and I can’t help but smile.
“But what about you?” I ask, leaning in slightly. “How did you find your way to music?”

Her expression changes. The light dims, and her playful tone slips away. “Oh, that’s a long story.”
“We have time, don’t we?” I offer, though I don’t want to push too hard.

“I suppose we do,” she says softly. She takes another sip of her latte, holding the cup tightly, almost like it’s giving her strength. Her eyes close briefly, savoring the warmth, before she sets the cup down.

“It all started when I moved here. What has it been? Six, maybe seven months now? I moved with Rosie, my best friend. At first, I had a hard time finding a job, and things felt… impossible. But then I met Lawrence and Madeline. They were like family from the start. I moved in with them, and they introduced me to the jazz bar where they work. About three months ago, Lawrence asked if I wanted to sing for him. He even offered to manage me. That’s how it started.”

I tilt my head. “So you hadn’t sung before?”
She shakes her head. “Not really. I mean, only for myself. Never like this.”

“You have a great voice,” I say sincerely. “I really enjoyed listening to you the other night.”

Her cheeks flush faintly, but her eyes drop to her plate.
“May I ask,” I continue cautiously, “why you moved here?”
That’s when the air shifts. She stops eating, her fork resting still. Her shoulders curve inward, and I immediately know I’ve touched something tender.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, Evangeline,” I add quickly.
She looks up, her eyes glistening. “It’s not that. Just… could you keep it to yourself, if I tell you?”

“Of course. Anything you want.”
Her breath comes heavy, almost shaky. “Well, I like to think it’s because of my graduation. My parents told me and my twin brother we could do whatever we liked. But what they meant was… whatever they approved of. Doctor, lawyer, psychologist—you know the list. I wanted something different. Something artistic.
They didn’t agree. When I told them I wanted to move with Rosie and build a new life somewhere else, they… lost it. They didn’t stop me, but they cut me off. No contact.
Not even from my brother. I tried calling a while ago, but it just turned into a fight with my mom. She said I was ruining their pride, ruining my life. Ever since then… nothing.”

Her voice grows quiet, fragile. Tears threatened to spill, and without thinking, I reach across the table and take her hand. She looks at me, startled, but doesn’t pull away.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
She forces a smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. The silence that follows feels heavy, filled with unspoken things. She eats the rest of her meal quietly, and I don’t push. Some things don’t need words.

When we finish, I excuse myself to pay. She doesn’t move, doesn’t even look up as I walk to the counter. Her mind seems miles away.

“Hey,” I say gently when I return, placing my hand on her back, “let’s go.”
She blinks, then stands. “Thank you for the breakfast.”

“You’re welcome. Want to go for a walk? Get some fresh air?”
She nods. Without another word, we step outside.

The city feels alive—the chatter of vendors, the rustle of leaves, the distant sound of a street musician playing guitar. But between us, silence lingers. She leads the way, and I follow, content just to be near her.

After a while, I say quietly, “I once didn’t talk to my parents, too.”
She glances at me. “Why?”
“They didn’t agree with my career choice either,” I admit. “Music wasn’t exactly what they dreamed for me.”
“And how did you fix it?”
“I talked to them. Explained everything. It wasn’t easy, but eventually, they understood. Maybe you should try again.”

She scoffs lightly. “If I call my mother again, she’ll go berserk.”

“You never know until you try.”
“You think I should?”
“If you want. I can be with you when you do it. So you won’t feel alone.”

Her lips part slightly, as if she wants to argue, but instead she just nods. Her fingers fidget absentmindedly, twisting at her sleeves as we walk.
Minutes pass in quiet companionship. Then, suddenly, she stops.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”

“I’ll call my parents. Maybe… maybe things are different now. Maybe they’ll be proud that I’m doing something.” Her voice trembles with uncertainty, but also hope.

“Are you sure?”
She nods again. “Let’s find a bench.”
We sit down, and she pulls out her phone, staring at it like it’s both a weapon and a lifeline.

“This is crazy,” she mutters.
“What is?”
“All of this.” She gestures vaguely at me, at the phone, at the world. “Sitting here with you. Telling you everything. I thought you didn’t even like me, and now you’re the one encouraging me to call my parents.”

I give her a small smile. “Sometimes we get the wrong impression of people. Maybe this is how it’s supposed to be. Destiny.”
“Do you believe in destiny?”
“Sometimes. Other times, I think it’s just coincidence.”

She looks down again, thumb hovering over the screen. “Should I really call?”
“That’s up to you. I can’t decide for you.”
“I miss them,” she whispers, almost to herself.

And as she lifts the phone to her ear, I can feel her whole body trembling beside me
The silence stretches like a wire pulled too tight. Her thumb hovers above the call button for what feels like an eternity before she exhales sharply, as though forcing herself into the plunge.

She presses down, lifts the phone to her ear, and the dial tone begins. Each ring is a hammer in her chest.
Then—
“Hello?” A woman’s voice, sharp, clipped, the kind of tone that can cut through walls.
Evangeline swallows, her voice hoarse when it finally escapes. “Mother… it’s me. Evangeline.”

I see her throat tighten as she speaks. Every syllable feels dragged out of her body like it doesn’t want to leave.
There’s a pause. No greeting, no warmth. Just silence.

“I—I wanted to tell you something.” Her voice drops to a whisper, almost as though she’s reverting to a child again, small and nervous under her mother’s gaze even though miles stand between them.

A muffled sigh echoes on the line. “Go on. Quickly. I don’t have much time.”
Evangeline squeezes her eyes shut, steadying herself. “Yeah… I’ll make it short. I promise.”

Her free hand clutches at the sleeve of her sweater, twisting the fabric until her knuckles turn white.
“I found a job,” she says.
Another long silence. Then, the cold reply: “A job? What kind of job? Don’t tell me it’s another one of your silly part-time things.”
Her lips tremble. “No. Not like that. A real job. Please, listen to me.” Her voice cracks on the word please, like a dam straining against water.

She inhales shakily, rushing forward before her mother can cut in again. “I sing. But not like you think—not karaoke, not fooling around. I sing in a jazz bar. And it’s more than that. I got signed, Mom. I’m under a label. I—I have a record deal. This could bring me out, this could be something—”
“Stop.”
Her mother’s voice slices through her words. “Singing? Evangeline, how many times must we go over this? That is not a career. That is not a future.”

“Mom, didn’t you hear me?” Tears spring to her eyes, spilling before she can stop them. “I said I have a record deal. People believe in me here. For once, someone believes in me.”

On the other end, the woman scoffs. “Record deal? Those are nothing. A scam. You’ll throw your life away chasing nonsense while your brother—”

Her voice falters. “Aren’t you proud of me?” The question comes out so quiet it nearly drowns in the noise of the café behind us, but I hear it clear as day.

Her plea is a knife.
The line goes still, as though her mother has stepped back, but then the coldness returns. “Your brother is engaged.”

Evangeline stiffens, a visible flinch. “Engaged? To whom?”
Her mother’s tone softens for a moment, but not for her daughter. “A lovely girl. Smart, from a good family. Someone who will take care of him and carry our name with dignity.”

Evangeline’s tears fall harder now, splashing onto her jeans. “And me? Do I not matter? I’m your daughter too.”

“You matter, but you’re… misguided. And you can still fix this. Come home, Evangeline. Enough of this nonsense. We’ll find you a proper program, maybe law, maybe medicine. Something respectable. Something that won’t shame us.”

Her breath shudders. “Shame you? Do you really think I’m shameful?”
“I think,” her mother replies coldly, “that you are making choices that embarrass your father and me. Singing in bars like some… entertainer. Living with strangers instead of your family. Do you know what people would say if they knew?”

Her knuckles go white around the phone. “I’m happy here. Can’t you hear that in my voice? Can’t you hear that for once in my life, I’m happy?”

Her mother’s voice grows sharper. “Happiness doesn’t last. Stability does. Respect does. Do you think your silly jazz songs will feed you when you’re thirty? When you’re forty? When your looks fade?”

“Stop!” she bursts out, her voice breaking loud enough that a passerby turns to glance at us. She shakes her head violently, tears streaming freely now. “Stop talking about me like I’m nothing. Like I’m a failure. I’m not a failure.”

On the line, there’s a pause, then a sigh. For the briefest moment, the hardness cracks. “Evie… you could come home. We could fix this. We could still have the daughter we dreamed of. Don’t waste your life.”
Her shoulders shake. She whispers, “The daughter you dreamed of isn’t me.”

Silence stretches long enough to choke us both. Then, her mother’s voice grows cold again. “Tell me where you are. I’ll come get you. We’ll bring you home before you ruin yourself further.”

“No.” Her answer is immediate, desperate. She wipes her face with the back of her sleeve, shaking her head over and over. “No, you can’t bring me back. I won’t tell you where I am.”

“You’re being ridiculous. I am your mother!”
“And I’m your daughter!” she cries out.
“Your daughter who wants to sing, who wants to breathe without suffocating. Why can’t you see me, Mom? Why can’t you just see me?”

Her mother doesn’t answer, only the sound of her heavy breathing through the line.
Evangeline squeezes her eyes shut, trembling. “I’m staying here. I won’t come back. I won’t let you drag me down again.”
“You’re throwing everything away.”

“I’m building something,” she whispers fiercely, though her voice quivers. “It may not be what you wanted, but it’s mine. And if you can’t be proud of me… then maybe I don’t need your pride anymore.”

Her mother gasps, like the words struck her, but before anything more can be said, Evangeline pulls the phone from her ear. Her thumb hovers, hesitates—her whole body frozen in the battle between wanting her mother’s love and needing to protect her own heart.

Then, slowly, she presses end call.
The screen goes black.
Her hand falls into her lap, still clutching the phone, knuckles trembling. Tears roll silently down her cheeks, one after another, until she bows her head, shoulders curling inward.

“I’ll hang up now,” she whispers, though the call is already dead. “Goodbye, Mother.” /p>

Her body shakes, but she doesn’t sob. The tears fall silently, the kind that carve valleys inside a person rather than release them.

I sit beside her, helpless, my hand hovered before I finally rest it gently on her back. She doesn’t flinch. She just leans, barely, her weight pressing against me like she’s too tired to hold herself up anymore.

“It’s okay” I whisper pulling her against me.
Quietly sobbing she sits there in my arms. I let her and it seems like the minutes draw by slower and slower.
She doesn’t move. And I don’t either. People walking by glancing at us. But she doesn’t notice. I let her cry it out silently waiting for her to start the conversation not wanting to push her.

“I shouldn’t have called” she sniffles.
“Don’t say that. It’s so rare to achieve what you did in such a short time. Be proud of yourself and don’t listen to her. I embrace her. She lays her legs over mine and I feel my heart stop for a second. But now isn’t the time for that.

“Should we get some ice cream?” I whisper tilting her chin up with one finger.
Her eyes were a little puffy filled with tears. I carefully whip them away with my hands.
“Ice cream sounds nice” she smiles.

“I know just the place”
“You seem to know everything don’t you” and she giggles as I swat at her with my arm.
“I lived here for my whole life of course I know the best spots.” I hand her a tissue, and she wipes her face clean.
“It’s my treat.”

“You already treated me to breakfast hwa.”
“And now I’ll treat you to ice cream.”

In silence we eat the ice cream, though it doesn’t feel like the heavy, awkward kind of silence—more like the quiet hum of two people learning how to breathe in the same rhythm.

She sits across from me at first, but as the small ice cream shop begins to empty out, we slide into the same booth, shoulder to shoulder, sharing the same strip of light from the neon sign outside.

Her cone drips slightly on one side, and she laughs when she notices, tongue darting out to catch it before it runs down her hand.

I watch her with an attention I can’t disguise, though I try to pretend I’m occupied with my own scoop.

She hums faintly, some tune she must know by heart, and the sound is so light that it threads itself between the clinking of spoons and the faint radio music playing overhead.

She seems to enjoy it in a way that feels so pure, so unguarded, like a child tasting summer for the first time.
Her eyes close briefly as she licks the sweet cream of the cone, and when she opens them again, the light from the sign casts a soft pink glow over her face.

Her leg brushes against mine beneath the table. It’s almost nothing—a shift, a casual movement—but I feel it like a spark running through me. She doesn’t pull away. I don’t think she even notices, or if she does, she hides it well. But my stomach flips in somersaults, excitement whirling like a storm.

What have I gotten myself into?
Do I really feel something for her? I tell myself I don’t know. I tell myself it’s too early, too fragile, that this is just the thrill of novelty, the afterglow of a shared day. And yet, somewhere beneath the tangle of denial, a small voice whispers yes.

Still, I cling to something safer. Friends. We’ve become friends today. That’s enough.
When the cones are finished and only sticky napkins remain on the table, she leans back with a sigh, eyes shining in the neon light. “I think I should head home,” she says softly.

The words tug at something inside me, a reluctant sadness that today might be ending. “I’ll drive you,” I offer quickly, not wanting the moment to scatter too soon.

She tilts her head, a mischievous smile curling her lips. “Yeah—with your fancy car?”
I smirk. “Don’t underestimate my beloved bike. It brought us here, hasn’t it?”

Her laughter spills out, airy and genuine, and for a moment it feels like the whole street outside must be brighter because of it. “Fair enough. I’ll trust your wheels of glory.”

We left the little shop, stepping into the Sun. The world is still warm from the sun, the pavement holding the memory of the sun, though the sky now melts into soft shades of lavender and gold.

The air carries the scent of flowers from the florist down the street, mingled with the faint salt of the sea carried on the breeze.

I didn’t notice that so much time had passed.
As we walk back toward the café where I left my bike, her arm swings lightly at her side, brushing occasionally against mine. I want to take her hand, but the courage isn’t there—not yet.

“I enjoyed today,” she says suddenly, her voice thoughtful. “Even though there were some downs.”
I glance at her, surprised by her honesty. She’s looking ahead, but the corner of her mouth lifts, betraying the truth of her words.
“Likewise,” I reply, letting a smile play on my lips.

We reach the bike. I adjust the handlebars, and she stands watching, her hair catching the last of the light like strands of bronze. She climbs on behind me without hesitation this time, her arms sliding around my waist in a gesture so natural it nearly stops my heart.

The warmth of her embrace settles against my back, light at first, then firmer as I start to pedal.

She hums again—maybe the same melody from before, maybe a new one—and the vibration of her voice against my spine feels almost unreal.

We move through the streets, the sun low enough now to paint long shadows that stretch like ribbons. The wheels hum, the pedals turn, and everything feels slowed down, dreamlike, as though we’ve wandered into some old film reel where the world itself is conspiring to be romantic.

The city, often so loud and frantic, seems gentler tonight. Children chase each other near the park, their laughter echoing in the distance. A couple walks hand in hand across the street, pausing to kiss under a lamppost.

The breeze tugs at the edge of her shirt, and she leans more fully against me, her cheek resting between my shoulder blades.
I think: This isn’t real. This can’t be real. I’m living inside a movie right now.

The rhythm of her breathing matches mine. The warmth of her arms, the light pressing of her chest against my back—it’s all too much and not enough at the same time.
She hops off gracefully when I stop, brushing her hair from her face as she steadies herself.

She looks up at her home with a soft exhale, then turns back to me.
“Thank you again for everything today,” she says, her tone sincere. “Really.”
“You’re welcome.” My voice feels heavier than the words, as though I’m trying to pack into them all the unspoken things I’m not ready to say.

She turns toward the door, her figure already framed by the lamplight, when suddenly the thought erupts inside me: If you don’t ask her now, you’ll regret it.
Her name escapes me before I can stop myself. “Evangeline.”

She pauses, turns back. “Yeah?” A smile still lingers on her lips, soft and unguarded.
The world seems to fall away—street, lamppost, twilight—until there’s only her.

My chest tightens, my palms sweat, but I gather what courage I can, feeling for all the world like a boy on the brink of a confession he’s dreamed of and dreaded at once.

“Would you like to go out with me?”
The words hang in the air, fragile, trembling, like a glass about to shatter. My heart hammers so loud I wonder if she hears it.
For a breathless second, I expect hesitation, the careful smile of someone letting you down gently. But instead, her eyes soften further, her smile widening in something unmistakably genuine.

“I’d love to, actually.”
It feels as though the night exhales around me, relief washing over like a wave. I almost laugh from the sheer weight that lifts.
“Next Thursday?” I ask, still clutching at courage, still unsure how much I can trust this miracle. “Does that sound good?”
“Sounds lovely.”

“I’ll pick you up at eight, okay?”
“Great.” She tilts her head slightly, almost shy, though the smile never leaves her. “Bye, Hwa.”
And with that, she turns and disappears behind the door, leaving me rooted to the spot, the echo of her voice lingering in the air.

I sat there on my bike for a long time, staring at the closed door, the memory of her arms still warm around me. My heart is racing, my mind a whirlwind, but my lips curve into a smile I can’t erase.

I beam as I drive home. Feeling like I couldn’t contain my happiness about the turn of events. But it doesn’t last for long.

As I enter the studio Hongjoong sits at his desk working like always.

“Where were you?” he asks coldly.
“Sorry, I missed the meeting. But I thought someone should stay with Evangeline. Imagine is she would wake up there all alone. But tell me how it was?”

“So, you just decided to stay with her. And why are you here this late. She surely didn’t sleep till now.”
“I took her out”

“Ah wow such a gentleman today Seonghwa. Did you at least find something out anything of value for us.” his voice filled with venom.
“No I did not” I lie thinking about her parents.

“Liar. You’re a joke”
“Fuck you” I say angered.
He stands up towering over me.
“You are making all this just more complicated.”

“I am not , you are you are making everything worse with your stupid plan.” I stood up - were only inches apart.
“I thought you said we should keep our distance” he says mockingly.
“I said that when she ignored you. Besides you only see an opportunity in her to gain more popularity.”

“You told me to take this chance didn’t you. You said I should gain her trust, you said I should offer it to her. You said all this. So don’t you dare push this on me now.” He’s shoving his finger into my chest while screaming at me.

“I said all that, but I never said that you should sleep with her. I meant fun like gosh” I feel a loss of words. “You are such an asshole sometimes Hongjoong. Don’t you think it is to late now. You can’t continue with this she is our friend now.”

He just looks at me coldly, not saying anything.
“Wooyoung and San slept with her you slept with her what else – If you continue this manic play, you will destroy her.”
A faint smile on his lips.

“I told myself to not get attached anymore. If you do that’s your problem. First comes the band then everything else – you seem to forget that. It’s written in your eyes Seonghwa you are head over heels for her” he scoffs.
I feel little.

“I am not” I state knowing that’s a lie.
“You sure are, but you cant change things now anymore. Its set.” He lightly gives me a pat on my cheek and enraged I storm out of his room. Slamming my door shut as I enter it. This idiot.

I lay in my bed angered about what happened as Yunho came in.
“So, you two fought again” he observes as he lays down beside me.
“How did you come to that conclusion” I scoff.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you two were screaming the whole house down.”
“I am so lost Yunho” I say snuggling up to him “I don’t know what to do.
I wish I could tell you but Hongjoong will just go crazy.”
“Wanna loosen up a little?”

“Not today – just let us lay here like this.”
He hums and I close my eyes. “Mingi is talking to him right now.
“Well then it will just turn out way worse then before. I don’t get why he holds such a grudge against her.”

“Me neither – I tried to talk to him about it, but he just blocks off every time.”
“So Wooyoung and San slept with her huh?”
“Seems like it.”
“You don’t think it will end like last time, do you?”
“I don’t think so. She is to nice. Just because she sleeps with us doesn’t mean something bad will happen”

“Can I tell you something?”
“Sure you can tell me everything Yunho.”
“I think I got a little crush on her” he admits.
“You’re not alone” I admit and we keep laying there in silence.

Chapter Text

As soon as I stepped through the door that night, the light of my phone lit up like fireworks. Dozens of missed calls and texts blinked across the screen—San, Wooyoung, both of them relentless. The sheer number of notifications made me laugh a little, though more from relief than anything else. It calmed me, oddly, knowing they cared enough to worry, to check in when I’d been lost in my own world.

But the truth? By the time I got home, my thoughts weren’t occupied by them, or by anything else. I was euphoric, unable to keep still, unable to breathe properly without feeling my chest burst from joy. Seonghwa asked me out. The guy I thought who hated me.

The words played on a loop in my head, like the chorus of a song I never wanted to end. My hands trembled with the urge to tell someone—anyone—immediately. I didn’t even change my shoes before blurting it out to Lawrence and Madeline, who were lounging in the living room.

“Seonghwa asked me out,” I announced, breathless, my cheeks burning as though the confession itself was a dangerous spark.

Lawrence nearly spilled his tea. Madeline’s face split into the widest grin I’d ever seen. “My, my!” she said, clapping her hands together like she had been waiting for this moment all along. Lawrence doesn’t seem to pleased by it tho.

Her reaction only fanned the fire in me. I couldn’t stop smiling, couldn’t stop pacing, couldn’t stop myself from pulling out my phone and dialing Rosie. She deserved to know first—she’d been there since the beginning, through all my fears and tangled doubts. When she picked up, I didn’t even greet her properly.

“Rosie,” I gushed, “Seonghwa asked me out.”

The squeal that followed nearly deafened me, but it was the happiest sound I could’ve asked for. “Evangeline! That’s so sudden. I’m so happy for you. Tell me everything. Every word. Every look. Every detail.”

And I did. I told her about the breakfast, ice cream, the bike ride, the way my heart nearly gave out when he called my name before I walked inside. I described the nervous quiver in his voice when he asked, the way his eyes held mine like I was the only person alive. Rosie listened with the kind of excitement that only best friends know how to give, filling the silences with giggles and dramatic sighs.

That night I went to bed with my heart racing, hugging my pillow as though it could hold onto the warmth of his voice. Sleep didn’t come easily—I kept replaying the moment, wondering if it had really happened or if I had dreamed the whole thing.

It’s been a week since then. A week of stolen smiles to myself, of humming when I thought no one was listening, of catching my reflection in the mirror and seeing a girl who looked lighter somehow, freer.

Now, it’s only two days until the supposed date. Two days. My stomach knots every time I think about it, a mix of nerves and anticipation. What will I wear? Where will we go? What will we talk about when it’s just the two of us, not cushioned by the safety of cafés and bike rides?

I try to keep my mind from spiraling, but there’s been little time to sit with myself.

Every day has been packed, my calendar crammed from morning until night. If I wasn’t practicing at the bar—going over songs, adjusting my voice to the room’s acoustics—I was meeting with Hongjoong to fine-tune the song we’re working on together. His dedication is endless, and his notes keep me sharp, but sometimes I catch myself zoning out, thinking of something entirely different, something that smells faintly of espresso and feels like warm sunlight on my back.

Other times, I’ve been swept up in meetings with Velvet Haze Records. They’re thrilled about my progress, pushing for more, always more. There are contracts to review, schedules to set, photoshoots to plan. Every meeting feels like a hundred little decisions balancing on my shoulders.

And while all of this excites me—because how could it not? This is everything I once dreamed of—it also drains me. My body is tired, my voice raw, my hands trembling from the endless rhythm of working, performing, and planning.

Some nights I come home and collapse straight onto the couch, not even bothering with dinner. Madeline drapes a blanket over me, Lawrence leaves tea by my side, and I lie there staring at the ceiling, willing myself to recharge.

In the rare quiet moments, though, my mind always drifts back to him. To Seonghwa. The thought of Thursday keeps me going, like a star in the distance pulling me forward.

But with that anticipation comes fear. What if I’m not enough? What if he realizes I’m too messy, too complicated, too consumed by my own chaos?

I shake the thoughts away, but they return at odd hours—during warm-ups at the bar, during pauses in conversation with Hongjoong, even during the stillness of early morning when the city hasn’t woken yet.

Rosie tells me I’m overthinking, that I should let myself enjoy this. She’s right. But old habits die hard, and I’ve spent so long bracing myself against disappointment that I don’t know how to relax into happiness.

Still, the memory of his smile that night—soft, almost relieved when I said yes—has a way of silencing the doubts, at least for a little while.

Sometimes, when exhaustion weighs on me, I close my eyes and imagine what Thursday will feel like. I imagine the sound of his voice when he greets me, the way the evening light might paint his features, the subtle gestures that say more than words ever could.

And I let myself believe, if only for those quiet seconds, that something good is really waiting for me.

Finally, I caught a break after what felt like months of running myself ragged. One meeting ended earlier than expected, and instead of filling the space with more tasks, I let myself come home, drop my bag, and collapse straight into my bed.

The sheets smelled faintly of lavender from the detergent Rosie had insisted I try, soft and cool against my skin. I lay there, soaking in the silence, when Wooyoung appeared like a shadow slipping into the room. Without even asking, he flopped onto the bed beside me, head finding its home on my stomach like it had always belonged there.

“You’re heavy,” I teased, though my fingers were already threading through his hair, stroking absentmindedly.

He hummed a low sound, eyes shut, clearly comfortable. “Better than any weighted blanket,” he mumbled, his voice muffled.

I let out a laugh, the kind that loosened the tension still clinging to my chest, and for a while we stayed like that—quiet, calm, like the world had finally pressed pause.

Then, of course, Wooyoung had to ruin it.

“Are you excited?” he asked suddenly.

My hand paused in his hair. “For what?”

“The date with Seonghwa.”

There it was. Casual as anything, tossed into the air like it was nothing, even though my stomach fluttered instantly at the words. I let a smile creep across my face despite myself, my fingers resuming their gentle rhythm.

“Yeah,” I admitted softly. “I am. It’s my first date with someone in… a long time, actually.”

Wooyoung cracked one eye open, smirk tugging at his lips. “Knew it. You’re glowing already. Disgusting.”

I laughed, smacking his shoulder lightly. “Shut up.”

Before he could make another comment, the door banged open.

“Lawrence let me in!” Rosie’s voice rang out before I even saw her. She tossed her bag down dramatically and immediately threw herself onto the bed without hesitation.

The mattress dipped, jolting Wooyoung, who groaned. “Does no one knock anymore?”

“No,” Rosie said simply, wiggling into the space beside me. “So. How long do we have before you abandon us again?”

I glanced at the clock, sighing. “Two hours. Then I have to head to the bar.”

“Two hours,” Rosie repeated, grinning. “Plenty of time.”

“I should tell Lawrence not to let you two in anymore,” I teased, giggling as I said it. “Clearly, I get no peace.”

Both of them gasped in mock offense, sitting up as though I’d just committed a crime.

“You wound me,” Rosie declared, clutching at her chest.

“Unbelievable,” Wooyoung added, shaking his head dramatically, still sprawled across me like an overgrown cat.

Their theatrics made me laugh so hard I nearly had tears in my eyes. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. You can stay. Happy?”

They exchanged triumphant grins before settling back down, the room falling into the kind of easy chaos only they could bring.

“So,” Rosie said suddenly, eyes glinting with mischief. “What will you wear for your date?”

The word hit the air like a spark, and immediately Wooyoung perked up, his head snapping up from my stomach like a dog hearing the rustle of food packaging.

“Yes,” he said, clearly delighted. “This is what I’ve been waiting for.”

I groaned, covering my face with my hands. “Oh my god, not you too.”

“Of course me too,” Wooyoung said, sitting cross-legged now, far too interested. “This is important. Your first date in forever, with Seonghwa of all people? You can’t just show up in whatever. We need strategy.”

“Strategy?” I asked, peeking through my fingers at him.

Rosie nodded sagely, her expression mock-serious. “He’s right. This is a mission. Clothes make the statement before you even speak.”

“Do you guys hear yourselves?” I laughed, but they were already conspiring, eyes gleaming like they’d been waiting for this moment all their lives.

“Seonghwa will probably take you to some fancy restaurant,” Wooyoung mused, propping his chin on his hand like he was some kind of expert. “He’s really chic in that way. Like… elegant. Hard to believe, I know, but I’ve lived with him long enough to know that.”

Rosie tilted her head, intrigued. “Elegant, huh?” She grinned. “I can see that. He gives off that polished vibe. Everything in its place, every button fastened, every hair perfectly styled. I bet even his socks match his mood.”

I burst out laughing at the image. “Socks matching his mood?”

“Absolutely,” Rosie insisted. “You can’t tell me he doesn’t own at least ten pairs of perfectly coordinated socks. Like if he’s feeling serious, navy. Playful, maybe a checkered pattern. Romantic, deep red. Am I wrong?”

Wooyoung groaned and buried his face in the blanket. “Oh my god. You don’t even know how right you are. He literally folds his socks with military precision. It’s terrifying. Meanwhile, I just shove mine into the drawer and hope for the best.”

I smiled, picturing Seonghwa’s tidy, deliberate way of moving. It wasn’t hard to imagine him being that meticulous. Still, hearing it from Wooyoung made it sound less intimidating and more… endearing.

“So if he’s so elegant,” Rosie said, poking Wooyoung in the shoulder, “what’s your prediction for this date? Give us your insider scoop.”

Wooyoung perked up at the challenge, eyes narrowing like he was about to drop classified intel. “Okay. Scenario one: he takes her to that little rooftop place he likes—you know, the one with the view of the whole city. Romantic, quiet, perfect lighting for his stupid perfect face.”

“Wow,” I muttered, rolling my eyes though my cheeks were heating.

“Scenario two,” Wooyoung went on, ignoring me, “he pulls a total plot twist and takes her to something casual. Like a late-night ramen shop or one of those hole-in-the-wall places only locals know. Because he’ll want to show he can be chill, not just fancy. But then, of course, he’ll still somehow look like he walked out of a fashion magazine.”

Rosie sighed dreamily, clutching a pillow to her chest. “Okay, but that actually sounds perfect. Like a movie.”

I hid my face in my hands, groaning. “Why are you both like this? It’s just one date!”

“Correction,” Rosie said, raising a finger. “It’s the date. The first one. The one that sets the tone for everything after. You can’t downplay this.”

Wooyoung nodded sagely. “Rosie’s right. You’ll thank us when you’re telling this story years from now.”

“Years from now?” I scoffed, though my chest fluttered with nerves I tried to push down. “You two are getting way ahead of yourselves.”

They only smirked, satisfied with themselves.

Rosie leaned closer, eyes sparkling. “Still, you have to admit it’s nice. Being asked out, having something to look forward to. Doesn’t it make all the stress feel a little lighter?”

I paused, my hand still in Wooyoung’s hair, and nodded slowly. “Yeah… it does. It feels… different. Like I’m allowed to just be excited, you know? Not for work or music, but for… me.”

For a moment, the room softened, their teasing quieting into something warmer. Rosie smiled knowingly, Wooyoung’s head nestled back against me as if to say he understood without words.

Then, of course, Wooyoung broke the mood with a dramatic gasp. “Wait—what if he brings flowers?”

Rosie squealed. “He would! He totally would. Roses, maybe. Or lilies. Something classy.”

I threw a pillow at them, laughing as they dissolved into giggles. “You’re both unbearable.”

“But you love us,” Wooyoung said, muffled by the pillow he hugged to his chest like a shield.

I couldn’t argue with that.

“What if it doesn’t go well?” I finally whispered, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. My fingers stilled in Wooyoung’s hair, and I stared up at the ceiling as though the answer might be written there. “I mean… we’re still making this song together. What if it’s awkward? What if it ruins things?”

Wooyoung cracked one eye open, studying me with that mixture of annoyance and affection only he seemed capable of. “Don’t,” he said simply.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t spiral. Don’t overthink. It’ll be fine. Actually—” he pushed himself up on one elbow, serious for once—“it’ll be great. Trust me.”

I wanted to believe him, but worry still tugged at my chest. My mind was already drawing up scenarios of uncomfortable silences, of unfinished lyrics sitting between us like a wall, of me ruining something fragile before it even began.

But then the room shifted. A hush, subtle but deep. Rosie had gone quiet too, lying back against the pillows with her eyes closed, listening but not interrupting.

And that’s when I noticed it—the world outside the window had changed.

“It’s snowing,” Rosie murmured softly, her voice almost reverent.

All three of us turned our heads toward the glass. Tiny flakes drifted down in slow spirals, the first ones of the season. They clung to the edges of the streetlights, caught in the golden glow, and for a moment, it was as if the entire city had paused just to watch.

We sat there in silence, Wooyoung’s shoulder pressed against mine, Rosie’s arm brushing my foot, and the snow fell.

My worries didn’t vanish completely, but they softened. There was something about watching snow—the way it blurred the noise of the world, muffled everything into quiet. It reminded me that not every answer had to be figured out right now.

Wooyoung’s voice broke the silence, gentler this time. “See? The universe is literally giving you a sign. Snow on the week of your first date? That’s, like… cinematic. You’re fine.”

I laughed quietly, shaking my head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously right,” he countered, leaning back against the headboard. “Trust me, Seonghwa’s not gonna let one date ruin anything. He’s too… careful. Too thoughtful. If anything, this is going to make your music together better. You’ll see.”

Rosie smiled without opening her eyes, her voice soft. “Besides… even if it doesn’t go perfectly, it’s still a memory. One more story. Isn’t that what music is about anyway?”

The snow kept falling, and for once, I didn’t feel like I had to answer right away.

“You guys coming tonight?” I asked, breaking the comfortable quiet. My voice sounded lighter than I felt, almost as if saying the words could keep the mood from dipping too far.

“I am,” Wooyoung answered immediately, stretching his legs out across the bed like he owned the space. “With Sannie, Yeosangie, and Jongho. We’ve got the night free, so we figured, why not visit you at work? You know—moral support. Or,” he smirked, “to distract you while you sing.”

I rolled my eyes, but the corners of my mouth curved up anyway. “As long as you don’t shout my name in the middle of a ballad.”

“No promises,” he teased, laying his head back on the pillow.

“I can’t,” Rosie said suddenly. She was scrolling lazily on her phone, her body draped across the end of the bed like a cat. “Oliver and I are gonna go meet his parents.”

Something in my chest tightened. Parents. The word sat heavy between us, and before I even realized I was speaking, I asked, “Did you talk to your parents recently?”

Rosie’s eyes flicked up from her screen, and in that single look I could already tell she knew. Knew the weight of the question. Knew how my voice betrayed me. A knot tightened in my stomach, pulling hard.

“I have,” she said softly, careful. “They’re fine.” She paused, studying me for a beat before asking, “And you? Did you talk to yours?”

Her voice had that gentle edge, the one that felt like she was tiptoeing over shards of glass. Walking on eggshells, trying not to crack the silence around my wounds.

I forced a small nod, though the lump in my throat made it feel heavier than it should have been. “I did, actually.” The words came out clipped, harsher than I meant, but I couldn’t pull them back. “Went like expected.”

Neither of them said anything right away. Wooyoung shifted slightly, his fingers tugging at the seam of my blanket, like he was grounding himself in the silence. Rosie’s phone screen dimmed as she set it down beside her, giving me her full attention.

“But…” I shook my head quickly, eyes darting away toward the snow still falling outside the window. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

The room fell still. Not uncomfortable, exactly, but weighted. Like the air had thickened, full of things left unsaid.

Wooyoung broke it first, his tone softer than his usual playful one. “You don’t have to,” he said, leaning just slightly closer. “Not until you want to.”

Rosie nodded in quiet agreement, her voice gentle. “Yeah. We’re here, but… only if you feel ready.”

I swallowed hard, the knot in my stomach loosening just enough to let me breathe again. Their presence—unassuming, patient—was enough for now. I didn’t need to dig into the ache tonight.

And outside, the snow kept falling, silent and steady, as if it understood everything we didn’t say.

Together with Lawrence, Madeleine, and Wooyoung, I walked toward the bar. The streets were still slick from the earlier rain, and every passing car left trails of light in the puddles. Neon signs buzzed overhead, their reflections glowing across the wet pavement, and the faint hum of city chatter seemed to follow us as we went.

Lawrence was talking about some obscure movie he had watched again the night before, gesturing wildly with his hands, while Madeleine teased him with sarcastic comments that only made Wooyoung laugh harder. It was strange, the way they had warmed up to him so quickly. Of all the members of Black Horizon, it was Wooyoung who had captured their attention. They leaned toward him when he spoke, hanging on to even his simplest stories, as if he were effortlessly magnetic.

And yet—despite their fondness for him, the band as a whole remained a careful subject. Whenever the name “Black Horizon” was said aloud, the air seemed to shift. Especially with Hongjoong. They avoided him entirely, their voices faltering, their expressions tightening for just a second before they moved on. I still couldn’t place why, and I didn’t push.

In front of the bar, San, Jongho, and Yeosang were already waiting. San greeted us like we hadn’t seen each other in years, practically bouncing on his feet as he pulled Wooyoung into a hug. Jongho’s smile was quieter but just as warm, while Yeosang stood with his hands in his pockets, his calm gaze sweeping over us. Greetings overlapped—laughter, teasing, voices tripping over each other in the night—before Albert waved us all inside.

The bar smelled of warm wood and whiskey, of coffee and the faint sweetness of old smoke. The golden light spilled across the tables, reflecting against bottles lined neatly on the shelves. It wasn’t a grand stage, just a small platform tucked into the corner, but for me it was everything.

The evening moved smoothly, smoother than I had expected with so many familiar faces scattered among the crowd. I sang my usual set, the songs that had slowly become pieces of me. Each word carried a little more truth than I could ever speak in conversation, and each note felt like exhaling a secret I had been holding all day.

Onstage, I forgot myself. The microphone was steady in my hand, the warmth of the lights wrapped around me like a blanket, and the soft hum of the piano guided me. I danced without meaning to—small steps, spins, the tilt of my head as the music lifted me higher. This little bar was home, more than any other place had ever been. And for that, I was endlessly thankful to Albert, who had trusted me with the stage.

But something had changed since the record deal. I felt it again tonight—eyes on me, sharper than the rest. Someone was sitting at the back, half-hidden in the shadows, watching. Not a casual listener, not a fan. Their attention was different, steady, unbroken. Sometimes it was the same face, sometimes not. Always in the corner, always writing something down.

It was the day before the date, and somehow Wooyoung had taken full control of my life—or at least, my wardrobe. He had marched into my room with the determination of a stylist preparing for Fashion Week, already announcing that I couldn’t be trusted to pick out something “worthy of Seonghwa’s impeccable taste.”

So now, I was sitting cross-legged on my bed, sipping the iced drink Wooyoung and Jongho had brought me on their way in, while the two of them treated my closet like a treasure chest. Or, in Wooyoung’s case, like a battlefield.

“You have so many clothes and yet nothing to wear,” he muttered dramatically, tossing a shirt over his shoulder. It landed in a small growing pile on the floor.

“Be careful with that,” I said, laughing into my straw. “Some of us actually fold those.”

Jongho, seated comfortably beside me with his own drink, let out a low chuckle. “This is what he does with his own wardrobe too. Don’t be fooled—he’s pretending to help, but he just wants to play dress-up with you.”

“Exactly!” Wooyoung’s head popped out from between two hangers, a mischievous grin on his face. “And you’ll thank me later. Seonghwa’s going to take one look at you and fall harder than he already has.”

I groaned, hiding my face in my hands. “Can we not talk about it like that? It’s just a date. A normal date.”

Jongho leaned back against the headboard, one eyebrow raised. “Normal? With Seonghwa? Please.”

The way he said it made me laugh, though my stomach twisted with nervous anticipation. I hadn’t been on a real date in so long, and the thought of it made me both excited and a little terrified.

Wooyoung, meanwhile, was fully in stylist mode. He held up two outfits in quick succession—a sleek button-down with tailored trousers, then a soft sweater with dark jeans. “Do you want to look like you’re about to be on the cover of a magazine,” he asked, waving the button-down for emphasis, “or do you want to look effortlessly approachable?”

“I want to look like myself,” I said, though it came out more like a plea.

“Yourself, but better,” Wooyoung insisted, eyes gleaming with the kind of determination that meant I wasn’t getting out of this alive. He tossed the sweater onto the bed as if it were already disqualified. “I talked to him, you know. He told me where you’re going.”

I froze, mid-sip of my drink, narrowing my eyes at him. “You what?”

Wooyoung shrugged innocently, like he hadn’t just admitted to conspiring with Seonghwa behind my back. “Casual conversation. He mentioned it. Don’t glare at me—I’m trying to help you.”

“Traitor,” I muttered, pressing the rim of the cup to my lips again to hide my smile.

“Not a traitor,” he shot back smugly. “An ally. And trust me, you don’t wanna be underdressed for this place.”

“Jongho, back me up here,” I said, turning to him desperately.

Jongho leaned back against the headboard, thoughtful, and then, to my horror, he nodded toward Wooyoung. “He’s right. You don’t want to look like you just threw something on. A chic dress would do it. Like the ones you wear when you perform, maybe.”

I nearly choked on my drink. “Et tu, Jongho?”

He just smirked, the corner of his mouth lifting as he took another sip. “I’m only being honest.”

Wooyoung clapped his hands together in triumph, already diving back into my wardrobe. Hangers clinked and swayed violently as he dug through. “See? Even our resident truth-teller agrees with me. You need something with presence. Think effortless glamor. Think subtle drama.”

“I don’t want to perform at dinner,” I protested, hugging the pillow in my lap like a shield. “I want to eat food without worrying about whether I look like I’m about to break into a song.”

Wooyoung pulled out a dress and held it up against the light, ignoring me entirely. It shimmered faintly, soft but striking. “This one,” he announced, pressing it to my chest like he was already visualizing the entire outfit. “Tell me you don’t see it. It’s elegant, flattering, and—most importantly—it says I know I’m amazing without even trying.”

Jongho tilted his head, examining me with a critical eye. “He’s not wrong.”

I dropped my head back against the wall with a dramatic groan. “You two are unbearable.”

“You love it,” Wooyoung said brightly, grinning as if my suffering only fueled him further.

Jongho chuckled lowly, his voice calm in contrast. “It’s just one night. Let him dress you up. Worst case, Seonghwa is too stunned to eat.”

“Not helping!” I shot him a look, though the edges of my lips betrayed me, twitching upward despite myself.

Wooyoung draped the dress carefully across the bed, smoothing the fabric with almost reverent hands. “Trust me. Tomorrow, when he sees you, you’ll thank me.”

“This one is even better,” Wooyoung declared, his voice pitched with the kind of excitement that meant he thought he’d found the one. He yanked another dress free from the cluster of hangers, holding it out in front of him like he’d just pulled a sword from a stone.

It was different from the first—lighter, a deep purple instead of midnight blue, with fabric that caught the lamplight and shimmered faintly, almost mischievously. The cut was sharper too: a clean neckline that dipped just enough to hint without fully revealing, and sleeves that skimmed down the arms before tapering neatly at the elbows. The skirt was shorter than the first dress—falling just above the knee, enough to show a teasing amount of leg but not so much that it crossed into bold territory.

“It’s elegant,” Wooyoung explained, shaking the hanger for emphasis, “very Seonghwa—but not too long. It’s got just the right amount of sophistication.” His grin sharpened, eyes flicking to me with devilish delight. “And just short enough that it could count as a little slutty. But classy-slutty. The good kind.”

“Wooyoung,” I groaned, covering my face with my hands.

Jongho, of course, didn’t miss a beat. He leaned forward, eyeing the dress critically before letting out a low hum. “He’s right,” he said, voice maddeningly calm. “It’s got… balance. Not screaming for attention, but it’ll keep his eyes on you the whole night.”

I peeked out from between my fingers, cheeks warming under their combined stares. “You two act like I’m auditioning for some movie instead of going on a simple date.”

“That’s exactly what it is,” Wooyoung countered with a triumphant nod. He draped the red dress carefully across the bed, smoothing the fabric down with reverence. “This is main character energy. Seonghwa won’t know what hit him.”

Jongho smirked, finally breaking into quiet laughter at my expression. “She’s doomed,” he said, taking another sip of his drink.

“Ey!” I exclaim, swatting the air as Wooyoung dives into my jewelry box with the kind of focus usually reserved for life-or-death situations. Chains jingle, bracelets clatter, and by the time I blink twice, he’s already got one of my favorite rings balanced on his pinky and a pair of earrings pinched between his teeth so he can keep rummaging.

“Wooyoung!” I groan, throwing myself back against the pillows. “Could you at least ask before raiding my stuff?”

“Ask? Babe, this is fashion triage,” he replies dramatically, pulling out a necklace and holding it up to the light like it’s a holy relic. “If Seonghwa is taking you out, you can’t show up looking like you picked your accessories in the dark. Trust me.”

Jongho, who’s been quietly nursing his drink beside me, nearly chokes on his laughter. “He’s not wrong,” he says, raising his brows at me. “It’s painful to admit, but he has an eye.”

I roll my eyes, watching as Wooyoung tosses one of my bracelets onto the bed before hopping up with one of my heels in his other hand. “And shoes! Don’t think I didn’t notice these collecting dust. Why are you hiding them? These are perfect.”

I grab a pillow and smack him square in the shoulder, but he just grins wider, clearly enjoying himself.

“You’re insufferable,” I mutter, but my lips betray me with a small smile.

“Correction: I’m a hero,” he smirks, now holding the earrings up to my face with all the seriousness of a stylist at Paris Fashion Week. “And by the end of tonight, you’re gonna thank me.”

Jongho snorts again, shaking his head. “This isn’t styling. This is chaos.”

Wooyoung gasps dramatically. “Fashion chaos, darling.”

“Well, I need to head out. I told Mingi to pick him up from the gym. Have fun tomorrow, Evie,” Jongho said, giving a quick wave before slipping out the door. We both waved back, and for a moment the apartment felt quieter, softer somehow without his presence.

Wooyoung let himself fall into the nearest chair with an exaggerated groan, grabbing my drink from the nightstand and taking a big, satisfying sip. “Ah… finally,” he said, leaning back and letting the weight of the day settle into the chair.

I watched him for a moment, a small laugh escaping me. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

He smirked, holding my drink like a trophy. “Ridiculously right,” he replied, stretching his legs out. Then his gaze shifted toward me, sharp and curious. “Hey, what’s on your mind?”

I hesitated, swirling the ice in my glass. “Do you think this is a bad idea?” I asked finally. “I mean… the date, now… truthfully. With the collab coming up, and… well, Hongjoong.”

Wooyoung’s brow lifted, and he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “Why would it be a bad idea?” he asked gently, but there was a playful lilt to his voice, like he already knew he’d convince me otherwise.

I sighed, fiddling with the rim of my glass. “I don’t know… I just… what if it complicates things? I mean, we’re working on the song together, and Hongjoong… I don’t know, he’s… tricky.”

Wooyoung chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Evie, it’s a date. You’re not signing contracts or negotiating royalties here. You’re living a little. If it’s worth it, nothing else will matter. Trust me.”

I let out a long breath, trying to untangle the knot of nerves in my stomach. Maybe he was right. Maybe I was overthinking. “Yeah… maybe I’m just overthinking.”

“Exactly,” he said with a triumphant grin, leaning back and lifting my drink in a mock toast. “Now, let’s focus on what really matters—getting you looking flawless tomorrow. Fashion crisis number one: solve it.” “You wanna sleep over?” I asked, glancing down at him as he crouched by my jewelry box, already rifling through the tangled necklaces and rings like a kid in a candy store.

Wooyoung’s head popped up, eyes lighting with a grin. He nodded enthusiastically, his energy contagious. “Absolutely,” he said, then immediately dove back into the box, muttering, “Someone has to make sure you don’t accidentally pick out mismatched earrings for tomorrow.”

“Just come here and cuddle,” I giggled, patting the spot beside me. “We can figure the rest out tomorrow—it’s not that big a deal.”

Wooyoung froze for a second, a necklace dangling from his fingers, then dropped it back into the jewelry box with a dramatic sigh. “Fine, fine. You win,” he said, but there was a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he padded over to the bed.

He flopped down beside me with absolutely no grace, bouncing the mattress and making me laugh even harder. “Smooth,” I teased, pushing at his shoulder.

“Hey, I’ve been working all day, let me be comfortable,” he protested, curling up against me without hesitation. His head found its usual place on my shoulder, and his arm snaked lazily across my waist. He smelled faintly of cologne and the coffee he practically lived on, familiar and grounding.

“See? Isn’t this better?” I murmured, running my fingers absentmindedly through his hair.

He hummed in response, already relaxing against me. “Mmm… yeah. Jewelry can wait. This is definitely better.” His voice had softened, that playful edge replaced with something quieter, more vulnerable, like he only allowed himself to be this way when it was just the two of us.

We lay there in silence, the kind of silence that wasn’t heavy but warm—like a blanket. I could hear the faint sound of snow against the window, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and suddenly, tomorrow didn’t seem so terrifying anymore.

“Don’t stress, Evie,” he whispered after a moment, barely audible. “You’re gonna be amazing, no matter what. Date or no date.”

I smiled to myself, letting the comfort of his words sink in, and pulled him a little closer. “Thanks, Woo.”

“I have a question tho.”

“What is it?” I asked, glancing at him.

“It’s about Rosie. I mean… how did she even meet Oliver?”

“Oh, Oliver.” I sighed, rolling onto my side as if the name itself carried weight. “Yeah, it’s kinda weird. It was two years ago. He showed up at one of her parents’ gallery openings—don’t ask me why, I honestly don’t know what he was doing there. But they met, they talked, and somehow he convinced her to fly over here and… move in with him.”

Wooyoung frowned. “You don’t like him.”

I let out a small, humorless laugh. “Well, I think I made that pretty obvious. I know he’s a dipshit. But Mingi likes him, and that’s why he doesn’t like me, right? He makes it so clear. The first time I met Oliver he was nice—like San, all warm and charming—but then it changed. Overnight, almost.”

“Well, I don’t know…” Wooyoung scratched his head, clearly uncomfortable with the subject.

“It’s okay,” I cut in quickly, though my voice betrayed me. “I don’t really care. But yeah, it’s ridiculous, tbh. I hate Oliver.” The words left my mouth sharper than I meant, but once they were out I couldn’t stop. “He changed Rosie so much I can’t even describe it. She’s not… she’s not the same Rosie I grew up with. The way she talks now, the way she thinks—sometimes it feels like she’s a different person entirely. But she loves him. God, she loves him so much.”

I swallowed, a knot tightening in my chest. “And because she loves him, I can’t say anything. Not really. If she’s happy, I should be happy for her. Right?”

Wooyoung’s expression softened, his eyes flickering between concern and the kind of frustration he only ever showed when he wanted to protect me from myself. He didn’t answer right away, and the silence said more than words could.

“Why did you ask tho?” I tilt my head at him, curious.

“Oh, well, um…” He trails off, his fingers drumming against his knee like he’s buying himself time. His eyes flick up to mine, then away again, suddenly so un-Wooyoung in the way he avoids my gaze. “I just… I noticed how different Rosie is when he’s around. And how you look at her sometimes. Like you miss her.”

I blink, caught off guard. “I… I do miss her,” I admit quietly, my voice softer now. “She used to tell me everything. Every tiny detail of her life, the good and the bad. Now it’s like… like there’s this wall between us, and Oliver is the one who built it.”

Wooyoung sighs, leaning back in the chair, eyes heavy with thought. “I asked because I care. And because… I don’t want you to feel like you’re the only one who sees it. I see it too. San does, even Jongho does. We all just don’t say anything because Rosie seems… happy.” He shrugs, lips twisting. “Or at least she looks happy.”

I stare down at my hands, his words sinking into me like stones in water. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? If she looks happy, then what right do I have to tell her I think she deserves better?”

There’s a pause. Then Wooyoung leans forward, voice steady, almost firm. “You always have the right, Evie. That’s what loving someone means—even if they don’t want to hear it.”

“I’ve known him for a long time now,” Wooyoung says slowly, his tone more serious than usual, “but not really knowing him, you know? I’ve seen him around, heard things here and there… and, well, I know he’s a shady guy. Let’s just say it that way. Women always left him quickly, like there was always something off. But Rosie… Rosie seems to have stuck.”

His words hang heavy between us. I can feel my chest tighten a little, a knot forming in my stomach. “That’s exactly what worries me,” I admit softly. “She’s not the type to… cling like that. Not unless she’s completely wrapped up in someone.”

Wooyoung nods, running a hand through his hair, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Yeah. And that’s the part that makes me uneasy. Oliver—he doesn’t inspire loyalty, not the good kind. It’s like he knows how to hold people just long enough before they slip away. But with Rosie… maybe he found her weakness. Maybe he’s holding on tighter.”

I swallow, staring at the ceiling for a moment before whispering, “She doesn’t even feel like herself anymore. Sometimes when I look at her, it’s like she’s… performing. Like she’s trying to prove to me—and maybe even to herself—that she’s fine.”

Wooyoung looks at me then, really looks, his eyes soft but firm. “And you hate watching that.”

“More than anything,” I say, my voice trembling just a little.

“Have you ever loved, Wooyoung?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

He seems to freeze at that question, the playful spark that usually lives in his eyes dimming in an instant. For a moment, he doesn’t move at all, his hand still resting near mine, his gaze fixed somewhere on the floor as if the wooden boards might give him an answer he can’t find in himself.

Finally, he exhales, a long breath that sounds heavier than he meant it to. “That’s… a big question, Evie.”

“I know,” I murmur, studying his face. The way his jaw tightens, the faint crease in his brow—he’s not brushing it off this time.

He leans back in the chair, fingers drumming restlessly against the armrest. “I’ve cared for people. Deeply. I’ve felt things so strong they kept me awake at night, had me writing lyrics that I never showed anyone. But love?” He pauses, biting the inside of his cheek. “If I did, it didn’t last long enough to prove itself. Or maybe I was too scared to call it that.”

I tilt my head, curious. “Too scared?”

Wooyoung lets out a bitter chuckle. “You know how it is in our world. Everything feels like it has an expiration date. Relationships, connections… sometimes even friendships. And I don’t know if I could survive giving all of myself to someone, only to watch them walk away.”

His honesty stings in a way I didn’t expect. “That sounds lonely,” I whisper.

“There was this girl once,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost regretful. “And she… destroyed us…”

“Us?” I ask, my brow furrowing, curiosity and concern mixing together.

He doesn’t answer, just shakes his head, a faint, wry smile tugging at his lips. “Let’s sleep. You have a big day tomorrow,” he says, the tension in his tone breaking as suddenly as it came.

Before I can respond, his fingers are on me, tickling me mercilessly. I squeal, wriggling on the bed, trying to escape his playful assault.

“Wooyoung! Stop!” I laugh, gasping for air between giggles, but he just grins wider, clearly enjoying every second.

“Not a chance,” he teases, his voice full of mischief. “You were way too serious for ten minutes, Evie. I can’t have that happening before your big day.”

I roll onto my side, trying to hide, but he corners me gently, still smirking. “See? Life’s better with a little chaos,” he whispers.

I laugh again, finally surrendering, letting him calm down and drape an arm over me. The bed creaks softly under us, the apartment quiet except for our heavy breaths and faint hums from the heater.

Soon, the room fell silent except for the faint hum of the heater and our steady breaths. Wooyoung’s arm draped over me like a protective shield, his warmth seeping into me, calming the last traces of nerves from the day. I could feel the rise and fall of his chest against my side, the gentle rhythm lulling me into a sense of ease I hadn’t realized I’d been craving.

The soft glow from the streetlights outside filtered through the curtains, painting delicate patterns on the wall. I let my mind wander for a moment, thinking of the day ahead, but the tension that usually came with anticipation was replaced with comfort, anchored by the steady presence beside me.

His breathing deepened, slow and even, and I realized he had already fallen asleep. I smiled quietly, brushing a loose strand of hair from his face. The corner of his lips twitched slightly, a remnant of his playful energy from earlier.

I shifted carefully, curling closer into the warmth of his body, letting the mattress dip beneath our weight. The world outside faded away, the apartment shrinking into a cocoon where nothing mattered except this quiet, shared moment.

Minutes passed—or maybe hours—and eventually, my eyelids grew heavy. The last thought in my mind before sleep claimed me completely was a soft, contented gratitude for this strange, comforting closeness.