Chapter Text
As everything else in his life, Sunoo treated getting ready like it was a performance.
He sat cross-legged on Jungwon’s bed, surrounded by clothes that absolutely did not belong to him, holding up two different tops with a thoughtful hum. “This one says mysterious. This one says accidentally hot without trying.”
“I am not trying to be either,” Jungwon said from his chair, tugging a clean sweater over his head. “I’m just going out for a drink.”
Sunoo’s eyes flicked to him. “You say that, but you chose the sweater that makes you look like you belong in an indie coming-of-age film.”
Jungwon paused, then looked down at himself. Paint-stained jeans, worn sneakers, hair still a little wet from just coming out of the shower. He hadn’t thought much about it, just grabbed what felt comfortable.
“That’s literally just my normal clothes,” he muttered.
Sunoo smiled in a way that made Jungwon deeply suspicious. “Let’s see about that.”
The bar Sunoo suggested was louder than Jungwon expected, not exactly chaotic but the floor was full of people. Warm lights glowed low against brick walls, casting soft shadows that made the space feel intimate despite the crowd. Conversations overlapped, glasses clinked, laughter rose and fell in uneven waves. It felt lived in, like a place where people came to forget about their problems for a while.
Sunoo grabbed a table close enough to the stage that Jungwon could feel the vibration of the music through the floor before the band even fully settled in.
And then they started playing.
Jungwon’s attention snapped forward almost instantly.
The vocalist stood at the center, eyes closed, voice steady and rich, pulling the room into silence between beats. Behind him, the drummer moved with focused precision, sharp and controlled, while the guitarist anchored the rhythm with practiced ease standing slightly to the side.
Jungwon’s breath caught.
He recognized him before his mind could fully catch up.
Same hair, the green at the tips catching the light like it had been meant to. Same posture, relaxed but confident, guitar slung low against his body like it belonged there. The slit in his eyebrow was unmistakable, even from this distance.
His heart gave a strange, uneven beat.
“That’s him,” Jungwon said quietly.
Sunoo leaned closer. “Who?”
“The guy,” Jungwon replied, eyes fixed on the stage. “From the art supply store. The one I told you about.”
Sunoo’s gaze followed his curiosity sharpening. “The annoying one?”
“Yes,” Jungwon said, then paused. “The pretty one.”
Sunoo made a small impressed sound. “Oh.”
Jay looked nothing like he did behind the counter. There was no apron, no polite smile meant for customers. Here, he played like the music was an extension of his body, fingers moving with ease, shoulders loose, fully present. He smiled once during the chorus, quick and genuine, and Jungwon felt something shift deep in his chest.
And then his eyes drifted to the bassist.
Jungwon frowned.
Wait.
He leaned forward, squinting. The familiar tilt of the head. The way he tapped his foot in time. The face he saw every morning in their dorm room, usually half asleep and asking if Jungwon had seen his charger.
“Sunoo,” Jungwon said slowly. “That’s Jake.”
Sunoo blinked. “Your Jake?”
“My Jake,” Jungwon confirmed, disbelief creeping into his voice.
Sunoo stared harder. “Okay. I knew he played bass. I did not know he played bass with your art store boy.”
Jungwon barely heard him.
The realization settled in quietly, but heavily. Jake was not just in a band. Jake was in this band. With Jay. With the same Jay who teased him over paint colors and lingered too close over the counter. The worlds Jungwon had kept neatly separate suddenly overlapped in a way that made his chest feel tight.
Jay shifted closer to the vocalist during the next song, their shoulders brushing as they shared a glance and a grin, practiced and familiar.
Jungwon wrapped his fingers around his glass, grounding himself.
He had thought Jay belonged to a small corner of his life, confined to aisles of paint and fleeting conversations. Seeing him here made that assumption feel naive. Jay was larger than that. Louder. More present.
And definitely more real.
Sunoo glanced at him, expression softer now. “You okay?”
Jungwon nodded, though he wasn’t entirely sure it was true. “I just… didn’t expect this.”
Sunoo smiled. “Looks like your distractions are infiltrating everywhere you go.”
Jungwon didn’t answer. His eyes stayed on the stage, following the movement of Jay’s hands on the guitar, the way his face softened when he played.
For the first time in days, the pressure of his unfinished painting faded into the background while something else was taking shape in his head instead.
They stayed at the table longer than Jungwon expected.
Song after song bled into the next, each one different enough to keep his attention on the band while Sunoo rambled at his side. Sometimes the songs were heavier, sometimes softer, always threaded together by the same energy that pulled the room inward. Jungwon found himself learning Jay’s habits without meaning to. The way his fingers lingered on certain chords. How he tilted his head back when the vocalist belted a higher note. How he stepped closer to the edge of the stage without realizing it, like the music guided him forward.
Sunoo ordered another round of drinks, sliding one toward Jungwon with a knowing look that he chose to ignore. The glass was cool in his hands, grounding. He took a slow sip, eyes still fixed on the stage.
When the band finally paused, murmurs filling the room again, Sunoo nudged him gently. “Come on,” he said. “You live with one of them. We’re not staying with the fans here.”
They weaved through the crowd together, slipping past conversations and laughter until the noise dulled into something distant. The backstage area was smaller than Jungwon imagined, cluttered with instrument cases, cables, half-empty water bottles. It smelled faintly of metal and sweat and something electric.
Jake spotted them first.
“Jungwon?” His face lit up in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
Sunoo laughed. “That’s what we were planning on asking you.”
Jake pulled Jungwon into a quick hug before stepping back, eyes bright. “You never said you knew this bar.”
Jungwon swallowed. “I didn’t know you were in a band.”
Jake blinked, then grinned. “Yeah, that checks.”
He turned, already pulling Jungwon further in. “Guys, this is Jungwon. My roommate. The artist I told you about.”
Introductions blurred together. The vocalist smiled warmly, offering a quick compliment about Jungwon’s sweater. The drummer nodded politely, reserved but kind. Somewhere off to the side stood a younger boy, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, watching everything with quiet curiosity.
“This is Jay’s brother,” Jake added, gesturing toward him. “Riki.”
Riki dipped his head slightly, lips quirking into a small smile. “Hi.”
Jungwon returned it, feeling oddly aware of his own heartbeat.
And then there was Jay.
Up close, it was almost disorienting.
This was not the boy behind the counter asking him about paint brands. There was no apron, no careful politeness for customers. Jay stood taller here, shoulders relaxed, leather jacket hanging loose over his frame. The green in his hair looked sharper under the lights, vivid against the black eyeliner lining his eyes. It framed his gaze in a way that felt almost animalistic, something wild and deliberate.
Jungwon’s chest tightened.
He had seen Jay in fragments before. Smiles, teasing glances, the curve of his hands resting on the counter. This version of him felt complete in a way that made Jungwon’s pulse race. His heart beat faster than it had any right to.
Jay noticed him then.
For a moment, his expression shifted. Surprise flickered across his face, quickly replaced by something softer, more intent. His eyes lingered, like he was making sure Jungwon was really there.
“Look if it’s not the art boy,” Jay said.
It was simple. There was a playfulness behind his words but it felt just as real as all the other times he teased him at the store.
Jungwon nodded, suddenly aware of the paint stains still faintly marking his fingers. “Sunoo dragged me out.”
Sunoo scoffed. “You’re welcome.”
Jay smiled at that, eyes never fully leaving Jungwon. “I’m glad you did.”
The words settled between them, quiet and charged.
Jungwon wasn’t sure how long he stood there, heart still racing, taking in the way Jay moved so easily in this space. He knew, with a strange clarity, that he would never see him the same way again.
But for once, the feeling didn’t scare him.
They drifted to the corner almost without meaning to.
It was quieter there, tucked away from the center of the room where Sunoo was already deep in conversation with Jake and the others. Laughter rose and fell in waves, but it felt distant, like background noise that no longer demanded Jungwon’s attention.
Jay leaned back against the wall, leather jacket creasing softly at the shoulders. Up close, the details felt sharper. The faint sheen of sweat at his collarbone. The dark liner framing his eyes, smudged just enough to look lived in. The green in his hair looked darker here, almost deep teal under the low lights.
Jungwon took another sip of his drink. He was not drunk. He was very aware of that. But there was a pleasant looseness settling into his limbs, a warmth that made the edges of things blur in a way that felt kind instead of overwhelming.
“So,” Jay said, eyes glinting. “You never told me you were into live music.”
“I didn’t know you were in a band,” Jungwon replied. “You left that part out.”
Jay laughed quietly. “I figured it was more fun to let you discover it.”
Jungwon rolled his eyes, though the gesture lacked its usual bite. “And how was I supposed to find that out?”
“Well, you are here, aren’t you?” Jay said, voice low, amused. “In my very impressive backstage.”
Jungwon glanced down, then back up. “Mhm, you look different here.”
Jay tilted his head. “Different how?”
Jungwon hesitated, words getting tangled somewhere between thought and honesty. He blamed the drink. Or the lights. Or the way Jay was watching him like he was more important than all the other girls waiting for him outside.
“Like this is where you belong,” Jungwon said finally.
Something in Jay’s expression shifted. Nothing too dramatic, just quiet enough to fit the conversation.
“I could say the same about you,” Jay replied. “You don’t look like someone who belongs in store aisles choosing paint for an hour.”
Jungwon smiled despite himself. “That’s because I’m stressed.”
Jay’s gaze softened. “Yeah,” he said. “I noticed.”
They stood there for a moment, the space between them comfortable in a way that surprised Jungwon. Jay was still flirty, still leaning a little too close, still smiling like he knew exactly what he was doing. The difference was that Jungwon did not step away this time.
Another sip. Another glance. Another heartbeat he became too aware of.
“You flirt too much,” Jungwon muttered.
Jay’s grin widened. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Before Jungwon could answer, a voice cut through the moment.
“Jongseong,” the vocalist called from across the room, already halfway amused. “Are you planning on joining us on stage or should we start without you?”
Jay sighed dramatically, not moving right away. “I’m busy, hyung.”
“Uh-huh,” his friend replied. “Just admit you don’t want to leave.”
Jay glanced back at Jungwon, eyes warm, almost reluctant. “Guess I have to go earn my keep.”
Jungwon nodded, suddenly aware of how close they were standing. “You should.”
Jay lingered another second, then smiled. “Don’t disappear.”
“I won’t,” Jungwon said, surprised by how easily the words came.
Jay pushed off the wall and headed back toward the stage, pausing only once to look over his shoulder. Jungwon watched him go, heart still beating a little too fast, the imprint of his presence lingering like a color he had not known how to name before.
For the first time, the distraction did not feel like something to resist. It felt like something to lean into.
Jungwon returned to his table at the bar just as the lights shifted again.
The second set began without much warning. The drums came in first, steady and grounding, then bass, then the guitar threading itself through everything else. Jungwon wrapped both hands around his glass and lifted his eyes to the stage.
Jay found him immediately.
There was no hesitation in it. No scanning the room. His gaze locked onto Jungwon like he had been searching for him the second he stepped back under the lights.
Jungwon’s breath stuttered.
He told himself he was imagining it. That this was how performers looked at a crowd, sweeping their attention across faces, picking random points to anchor themselves. It was easier to believe that.
Except Jay did not look away.
Not during the chorus. Not during the quieter bridge when the lights dimmed further and the room fell almost silent. Not even when he shifted positions and stepped closer to the center of the stage. His eyes kept returning, deliberate and steady.
Jungwon’s skin felt hot.
A pulse climbed up his neck, settled behind his ears. The thrill of being watched pressed into him from the inside out. He had never liked attention. In critique sessions, he preferred when people focused on the work, not on him. But this felt different. It was not invasive. It was intentional.
And it was too much.
He took another sip of his drink just to have something to do with his hands and mouth. The glass trembled slightly. He hoped no one noticed.
Jay’s mouth curved into a faint smile mid-song, subtle but unmistakable. It made something twist low in Jungwon’s stomach.
The performance blurred around the edges after that. Jungwon heard the music, felt it in the floor and in his ribs, but his awareness stayed fixed on the line of Jay’s shoulders, the flex of his fingers against the strings, the way his eyeliner sharpened his gaze into something almost feral.
When the final song ended, applause erupted through the room. Jungwon exhaled, only then realizing he had been holding his breath for a long time.
The band stepped off the stage, disappearing behind the same narrow doorway that led backstage. But this time Jungwon did not move.
A new group began setting up, adjusting microphones and tuning guitars. The spell shifted as the atmosphere began changing with it. Conversations picked back up and the room returned to normal volume.
Sunoo slid in beside him at the table, practically vibrating. “Did you see him?” he asked, already answering his own question. “The blond one backstage. He gave me his number. He was so tall. Like unfairly tall. I’m considering climbing him.”
Jungwon nodded automatically.
“That is not the reaction I deserve,” Sunoo complained, elbowing him lightly. “Are you even listening?”
“Yeah,” Jungwon murmured, eyes fixed on the doorway. “Tall.”
Sunoo narrowed his eyes but continued anyway, describing cheekbones and shoulders and the exact tone of the guy’s laugh. Jungwon caught fragments of it, enough to respond with the right hums and half-smiles.
In reality, his attention moved between his drink and the backstage entrance in a restless loop while his anxiety spiked without warning.
It sat high in his chest, sharp and buzzing. What if Jay did not come out? What if he did, but walked straight past him? What if he treated him the same way he did in the store, easy and detached, like none of that eye contact had meant anything?
Jungwon hated how much he cared.
He pressed the cool glass against his palm, grounding himself in the sensation. The bar felt smaller now. Louder with the lights harsher. And every second waiting for Jay to come out of that door stretched beyond imagination.
Sunoo was still talking, laughing at his own commentary, when Jungwon’s gaze snapped back to the doorway.
It had opened.
And Jungwon stopped breathing all over again.
Jay stepped out from backstage like the air shifted to make room for him, jacket slung over one shoulder now, hair slightly mussed from the set. He was laughing at something one of the guys said, head tilted back, throat exposed in the warm light.
He looked lighter. Unburdened. There was no trace of the polite retail smile Jungwon had grown used to, no careful tone shaped for customers. This was easy. Effortless. Jay moved like he belonged exactly where he was, like the stage had been built around him instead of the other way around.
Jungwon’s chest tightened in a way that felt less like anxiety and more like recognition.
So this is what it means, he thought. To know where you fit in the world.
Jay belonged under bright, forgiving lights. Not under fluorescent panels that buzzed faintly above neatly stacked sketchpads. Not behind a counter that dulled the sharp edges of him. He belonged where sound filled his lungs and people leaned forward to listen.
Jungwon wondered, quietly and almost shyly, if maybe Jay could help him find something like that for himself.
And before he could stop the thought, it deepened.
Wherever that place was, he hoped it would be close to him.
The group approached their table in a wave of laughter and half-finished jokes. Jake reached them first, clapping Jungwon lightly on the shoulder.
“Can’t believe this is your first time seeing me perform,” he said.
“You didn’t even tell me you were in a band,” Jungwon replied, nodding toward the stage.
Jake grinned. “Fair.”
Sunoo wasted no time. “You guys were insane,” he declared dramatically. “I felt emotions I wasn’t prepared for.”
Sunghoon, the drummer laughed at that, thanking him with an exaggerated bow, while the vocalist Heeseung just gave a small nod, quiet but pleased. Compliments bounced back and forth easily, the energy still high from the stage.
Jungwon met Jay’s eyes once more.
Up close again, without the barrier of distance, he looked softer. The liner was slightly smudged at the corners now. A faint flush warmed his cheeks. There was a quiet satisfaction in his expression, like he had poured something out and felt lighter for it.
“You stayed,” Jay said.
“You asked me to,” Jungwon answered.
Their friends continued talking around them, the conversation flowing naturally, but Jungwon felt like he was standing in a smaller circle carved out just for the two of them.
It was getting late. The bar had grown quiet again as the next band settled in. Someone suggested another round. Sunoo shook his head.
“We should probably head out,” he said. “I have projects to finish tomorrow.”
There were groans but no real protests. Chairs scraped against the floor. Jackets were grabbed.
Jay lingered near Jungwon as the group shifted toward the exit.
“You live close, right?” he asked.
Jungwon nodded. “A few blocks.”
“I know Jake is not going home tonight,” Jay continued, glancing briefly at the others. “And it’s getting late.”
There was a pause. Not awkward, just enough to give him the courage to ask.
“Can I walk you home?” Jay said finally.
The question settled gently, without bravado.
Jungwon felt his pulse climb again, soft and steady this time.
“For safety,” Jay added, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “And maybe because we didn’t have much time to talk before.”
Jungwon swallowed, then nodded. “Okay.”
Sunoo caught his eye from a few steps away, eyebrows shooting up in silent triumph. Jungwon ignored him.
They stepped out into the cool night air together, the door closing behind them with a muted thud. The street was quieter than the bar, the noise fading into the distance as they started walking side by side.
For once, Jungwon did not feel the urge to pull away from the moment. He let it unfold gently step by step.
The noise from the bar dissolved behind them as they turned onto a quieter street, footsteps falling into an uneven rhythm before slowly syncing without either of them noticing.
Jay still carried traces of the stage with him. A faint sheen along his neck. The lingering heat of adrenaline in the way he rolled his shoulders once, like his body had not fully come down yet. But with each step, his breathing evened out. His voice, when he spoke, had lost its edge from the performance.
“So,” Jay said, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, “what did you think?”
Jungwon glanced sideways. “About what?”
Jay gave him a look. “The show.”
Jungwon let out a small breath. “You were good.”
Jay’s eyebrow lifted. “Just good?”
Jungwon felt heat creep up his neck. He hated how easily Jay pulled reactions out of him.
“You were more than good,” he corrected, softer now. “I didn’t know you were like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like… that,” Jungwon repeated helplessly, gesturing vaguely. “Confident. Loud. Like you belonged there.”
Jay’s expression shifted. Something steadier replaced the teasing.
“I do belong there,” he said simply.
“I know,” Jungwon replied. “That’s what I mean.”
They walked a few more steps in quiet. The pavement was slightly uneven, forcing them closer together for a moment before drifting apart again. Jungwon could hear his own breathing, the soft scuff of their shoes.
“What about you?” Jay asked. “What’s your thing, besides visiting me at work?”
Jungwon huffed faintly. “Fine arts.”
Jay nodded. “I figured.”
“You did not.”
“I did,” Jay insisted. “You look like someone who thinks too much about details.”
Jungwon chose not to unpack that.
“I paint,” he said instead. “Mostly. Some sculpting.”
“And the blue obsession?”
Jungwon hesitated, then decided not to hide behind sarcasm this time. “Final project. It’s worth almost half my grade. My professor said he’s looking forward to it.”
Jay winced in sympathy. “No pressure.”
“Exactly.”
“What kind of music do you listen to when you work?” Jay asked after a moment.
“R&B,” Jungwon answered. “Or classical. Depends on my mood.”
Jay turned to look at him fully. “That tracks.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you look like someone who loves slow music.”
Jungwon tried not to smile. Failed.
“What about you?” he asked.
“Everything,” Jay said. “But I grew up on rock. The classics. Stuff my dad used to blast in the car.”
He nudged Jungwon lightly with his shoulder. “I will make you a playlist.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know. I’m doing it anyway.”
Jungwon looked down at the pavement, unable to hide the small curve of his lips. “I expect top tier song recommendations, then.”
Jay grinned. “Obviously.”
Silence fell between them again, but it felt different from the quiet Jungwon usually filled with anxious thoughts. It was not empty. It was full of shared space. Their footsteps. The distant hum of a streetlight. The faint rustle of leaves shifting in a mild breeze.
In that quiet moment Jungwon realized something. Jay was not flirting like he usually did.
Not in the loud, exaggerated way he did at the store. There were no dramatic lines, no playful exaggerations. His voice had softened. His words came slower, more considered. He walked close enough to feel present, but not so close that Jungwon felt cornered.
It made something inside him warm up.
They reached the front of Jungwon’s dorm sooner than he wanted.
Jay stopped near the entrance, turning to face him. Under the dim outdoor lighting, the green in Jay’s hair looked darker, almost muted. Up close, without the noise of the bar or the stage lights, he seemed cuter somehow. Even with the smudged eyeliner.
“I’m glad you came tonight,” Jay said quietly.
“I am too,” Jungwon admitted.
The honesty surprised him. It did not feel forced. It simply slipped out.
For a second, neither of them moved. The air felt charged but gentle, like something fragile hovering between them.
Jungwon noticed how calm Jay seemed now. The wild energy from earlier had settled into something steady. His eyes were attentive, patient.
The contrast hit him all at once.
The boy who leaned across counters with teasing smiles. The guitarist under bright lights. And this version, standing outside his dorm in the quiet night, speaking softly like there was nowhere else he needed to be.
The entrance light above the dorm flickered faintly, casting a soft glow over the concrete steps. Jay shifted his weight, hands still tucked into his jacket pockets. “So,” he said gently, “is the project really just about the right blue?”
Jungwon blinked.
He could lie. He usually did when conversations veered too close to something personal. But the night had softened him. The music was still echoing somewhere inside his ribs. And Jay was looking at him like he genuinely wanted the answer.
“I thought it was at first,” Jungwon admitted. “I kept thinking if I found the right shade, everything would fall into place.”
“And?”
“And then it didn’t.”
Jay nodded slowly, not interrupting.
Jungwon stared at the pavement between them. “I think maybe I was using that as an excuse. It’s easier to blame a color than to admit I don’t know what I’m trying to do.”
The words felt fragile leaving his mouth.
Jay stepped a little closer, not enough to overwhelm him, just enough that Jungwon could feel his presence more clearly. “You looked like you knew exactly what you were doing tonight though,” he said.
“I wasn’t the one on stage.”
“No,” Jay replied softly. “But you were watching me there, and it mattered.”
Jungwon swallowed.
He hesitated, then forced himself to meet Jay’s eyes. “It did.”
There was no teasing in Jay’s expression now. No exaggerated grin. Just attention.
“You know, you guys have real chemistry,” Jungwon continued, voice quieter. “You and Jake. And the others. It feels… natural.”
Jay’s lips curved slightly. “It is. We’ve been doing it a long time.”
“I could tell,” Jungwon said. “You look free up there.”
The word hung between them.
Jay’s gaze softened. “It’s the only place I don’t need to overthink.”
Jungwon huffed a faint laugh. “Must be nice.”
“Painting isn’t like that for you?”
“It used to be.”
Silence again. Not heavy. Just thoughtful.
Jay pulled one hand from his pocket and dragged it through his hair, pushing the green strands back. “You know,” he said, almost shyly, “maybe you’re not missing the right color.”
Jungwon tilted his head.
“Maybe you just haven’t found the part that makes it right yet.”
The statement landed somewhere deep. Jungwon felt his heartbeat pick up, but not from nerves. From recognition.
“And what if I don’t find it?” he asked.
Jay smiled faintly. “Then you paint your way anyway, until you do.”
The simplicity of it made Jungwon’s chest tighten.
For a moment, they stood there just looking at each other. The distance between them had shrunk without either of them acknowledging it. Jungwon could see the faint smear of eyeliner near Jay’s lower lash line, the small crease near his mouth from smiling earlier.
Jay lifted his hand slightly, hesitated, then let it fall back to his side. The almost-gesture sent a warm current through Jungwon’s stomach.
“I should let you go,” Jay said quietly. “It’s late.”
Jungwon nodded, though he did not step back.
“Text me about that playlist,” Jungwon said, surprising himself again.
Jay’s smile returned, softer this time. “I will.”
He took a step backward, then another, still facing him. “And Jungwon?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad you saw me like that tonight.”
Jungwon’s throat felt tight.
“I’m glad I did,” he answered.
Jay lingered one second longer before finally turning and walking down the path, hands back in his pockets, shoulders relaxed.
Jungwon stayed where he was until Jay disappeared around the corner.
Only then did he exhale.
His heart was still racing, but not in panic. It felt alive. Awake.
When he finally climbed the stairs to his dorm room, the thought that followed him was quiet but steady.
Maybe he had been chasing the wrong shade of blue. Or maybe, what he needed had nothing to do with the color at all.