Work Text:
Jay was the 5th person in the group that released a cover. Jake knew Jay’s voice was pretty. He was a little baffled by how underrated his voice was amongst the fandom. Obviously, he’s not one to rank the members’ vocals but he knew that Jay had one of the most unique voices he has ever heard.
He still remembers I-LAND and how the others would always overlook his vocals. Maybe because Jay didn’t try to out-sing anyone. He wasn’t flashy. He didn’t chase high notes or belt unnecessarily. He sang like he meant it. Always steady, always composed. Jake used to think of it like velvet—smooth, rich, the kind of voice that wrapped around a song rather than wrestled it to the ground.
He’d always liked Jay’s voice. That was nothing new.
But this cover?
This cover ruined him.
He hadn’t even braced himself properly the first time he watched it. Jay had sent it in the group chat with a simple “hope you guys like it” and a smiley face. Jake clicked it out of habit. It auto-rotated to full screen. And then—within seconds—his heart started doing something strange.
The instrumental began with a soft guitar and the silhouette of Jay, dimly lit, already enough to make Jake sit up straighter. Then came the voice. Low. Controlled. Wrecked.
There was something about it—no, everything about it. The crackle in his tone when he reached the chorus, the way his eyes closed like the weight of the lyrics hurt to hold. His hands clenched in his lap, his jaw tensed, and by the end of it, his voice broke on the word "always” and Jake nearly forgot to breathe.
And he looked like a rockstar. Not in the loud, explosive way. In the haunting, cinematic way—like someone who’d been through it all and had nothing left to lose except the song in his lungs. The guitar strapped around his body made him look effortlessly powerful. His fingers moved over the strings like they belonged there, like they knew the shape of heartbreak. Every strum was deliberate, every note a confession. There was something almost intimate about it—watching Jay play like that, like it wasn’t meant for the world to see, like Jake had stumbled into something sacred.
It wasn’t just good. It was gutting.
It wasn’t just Jay singing. It was Jay pleading. To someone. To anyone. To no one. And Jake felt it. Like it was meant for him, even though he knew it wasn’t. He knew that—of course he knew that—but it didn’t stop the ache that bloomed in his chest or the way his ears buzzed when the last note dissolved into silence.
Jake watched it again.
Then again.
By the third replay, he’d plugged in his earphones. By the fifth, he was lying flat on his bed, phone inches from his face, volume cranked to full, eyes wide open in the dark.
It wasn’t just the sound. It was the whole thing. The way Jay looked—composed, elegant, intense. Hair brushed back just enough to show his face. Black shirt. No accessories. No distractions. Just Jay, vulnerable and honest and heartbreakingly beautiful.
Jake didn’t sleep that night.
He told himself he was just proud. That it was just admiration. That Jay had outdone himself, that it deserved attention, that it was normal to want to watch it a few more times. Just to catch everything. Just to appreciate it.
But the truth was: Jake couldn’t stop because something about it had snapped inside him.
And now it was all he could hear.
ꨄ
Jake woke up the next morning with his phone still warm against his chest and his earphones tangled somewhere between his pillow and the floor. He blinked up at the ceiling, disoriented, like he’d woken from a dream too intense to be real. But it wasn’t a dream. The cover was real. Jay had really sounded like that. Had really looked like that.
He didn’t even want to check his screen, already knowing exactly what video would be paused there mid-frame. Jay, head tilted slightly down, mouth open just enough to be singing something that had absolutely no business sounding that raw.
Jake groaned into his pillow, a muffled, embarrassed sound. He needed to be normal today. So, he did what any normal person would do: he shoved the phone deep into his hoodie pocket and padded into the kitchen like he hadn't just spent the entire night looping his bandmate's voice like some sort of unhinged fan.
Jay was already there, pouring coffee, hoodie loose over his shoulders and hair pushed back just enough to remind Jake—again—of the video.
Jake’s breath caught stupidly. For half a second he forgot how to act.
“Hey,” he said, voice hoarse. Then, quickly—casually, too casually—“The cover was nice. You did a great job.”
Jay looked up, a soft smile tugging at his mouth. “Thanks, man.”
Jake nodded, maybe a little too hard, like he was trying to affirm himself more than anything. He shifted from one foot to the other, reaching for a cup that wasn’t there, opening the fridge without looking, pretending like he had somewhere to be or something to do besides combust on the spot. Jay didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he just didn’t care to comment. Either way, he went back to sipping his coffee, and Jake took that as his cue to flee before he made it worse.
Later in the day, they had dance practice. The kind that made Jake feel like his bones had been replaced with concrete and his muscles were humming under his skin. He moved through it all on autopilot, too preoccupied with the leftover ache in his chest to fully engage. He barely looked at Jay. Couldn’t.
When they took breaks, Jake would drift to the side of the room, collapsing into the corner with his phone angled toward his chest. He was subtle about it—well, he thought he was.
But it didn’t take long for the others to notice.
“Jake,” someone called out, laughter in their voice. “You’re always on your phone lately. Found someone, huh?”
Jake blinked up, deer-in-headlights. “What? No. No.”
Another voice chimed in, teasing. “Then what is it? Why are you always glued to your screen?”
Jake scrambled for an excuse. “Just—uh. Just watching something. This show. It’s nothing. I mean—yeah. Just catching up.”
The lie tasted awkward even to him. He wasn’t even sure which show he was supposedly watching. It didn’t help that he couldn’t look at any of them in the eye, or that he immediately shoved his phone into his bag afterward like he’d been caught cheating on a test.
But no one pressed. They all just laughed and went back to whatever they were doing.
Jake let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
Still, when he sat down again, fingers itching, he found himself clicking the link once more.
He told himself it was just background noise.
But as soon as Jay’s voice came through his earphones again, rough and low and aching, Jake closed his eyes.
And let it wreck him all over again.
ꨄ
Jake woke up feeling unusually good. Like, suspiciously good. His body felt light, his mind uncluttered. There was that faint pressure behind his eyes that came from sleeping too hard, but it didn’t matter—he felt peaceful. Settled. Like something had finally clicked into place.
He stretched, yawned, and thought vaguely about how nice it’d be to wake up like this every day. No stress. No anxious thoughts chasing him the moment he opened his eyes. Just quiet.
He made his way to the kitchen, still a little slow, hair a mess, socks sliding across the floor.
Jay was already there. Alone.
Jake didn’t think anything of it at first. Just said a soft, “Morning,” as he passed by.
Jay jumped like he'd been electrocuted.
There was a clatter—spoon to floor, coffee splashing, Jay’s hand jerking like he hadn’t expected to see another living soul in the room.
Jake frowned. “Whoa. What happened?”
“You scared me,” Jay said quickly. Too quickly. Like the words had been waiting in his mouth, ready to be used.
Jake raised an eyebrow. “Okay…”
He moved to get the cereal, reaching over Jay, and didn’t think twice about the way he leaned in, the way their arms brushed. Didn’t think twice until Jay turned at the worst possible moment and Jake lost his balance.
He flailed.
And Jay didn’t move. Didn’t catch him. Just stood there watching as Jake flopped back onto the table like a poorly tossed ragdoll.
Jake groaned, rubbing his hip. “Bro. You could’ve caught me. What the hell?”
“You’re so fake.”
At that moment, Jungwon walked into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes like a disgruntled cat. “What happened?”
“Jay is being weird,” Jake said immediately, still sprawled and nursing his pride.
Jay shot back, “You’re being weird!”
Jungwon sighed like a man ten years older than his age. “I don’t care. Please, both of you, shut up. It’s too early.”
He shuffled toward the fridge and left them to it.
And just like that, the moment moved on.
But something didn’t sit right.
Jake felt it during rehearsal. During lunch. During every idle second that passed with Jay in the same room. Something had shifted.
Jay wasn’t looking at him.
No, that wasn’t quite right—Jay was looking at him. But not the way he usually did. Not the familiar, fond glance across the room. Not the subtle grin whenever Jake made a dumb joke. Not the teasing smirks or the dry remarks or even the eye-rolls that always meant I know you, I see you.
Today, Jay’s eyes just… skipped over him.
Like Jake was part of the furniture.
Like he was something to avoid.
It was subtle, sure. He still talked to Jake. Answered him when addressed. Didn’t act outright hostile or anything. But he kept standing too far away. Kept choosing spots at the opposite end of the room. During breaks, when Jake would slump in the corner with his phone and earbuds in, Jay would leave instead of sit beside him like he usually did.
The others noticed.
Sunghoon nudged him during water break, eyeing him curiously. “You okay?”
Jake nodded. “Yeah, why?”
Sunghoon shrugged. “Just feels like something’s off.”
Jake followed his gaze to where Jay was adjusting his shoelaces on the far end of the practice room. Alone. Not looking over. Not joining in on the group banter like usual.
“Yeah,” Jake muttered. “Maybe.”
Later, during dinner, Heeseung gave him the same look. One brow arched, like he was trying to figure something out. Like he knew something Jake didn’t. Like maybe Jake had missed a memo.
That night, Jake lay in bed with his phone on his chest, earbuds in, cover on loop. He was trying not to think about it. Trying to just listen, to let Jay’s voice fill the silence the way it had last night. But it was harder now.
He couldn’t stop wondering if Jay had found out. Could he have seen Jake’s screen? Has Jake ever left his phone on and unattended with the cover playing?
Jake’s stomach twisted.
Was he being creepy? Was that why Jay was acting this way?
He squeezed his eyes shut. No. He was being dramatic. Jay wouldn’t act like this over something like that.
Still, his thoughts looped just as much as the chorus did.
“I'll be there 'til the stars don't shine
'Til the heavens burst and the words don't rhyme”
He imagined Jay singing it again. Just like last night. Sitting on the bed beside him. That small, crooked smile. The calm in his voice. The warmth.
Jake felt his chest pull tight.
“And I know when I die, you'll be on my mind
And I'll love you, always”
He turned onto his side, phone pressed to his cheek, eyes unfocused.
It bugged him.
He kept replaying the morning in his head, trying to make sense of it. He thought they were fine. They were fine. Weren’t they? Jay had sat on his bed last night. Had smiled at him. Had sung to him.
Jake didn't remember everything from the night before, but he remembered enough. Enough to know that something had changed.
Had he said or done anything? He doesn’t know. All he knows is that he can’t be like that with Jay. It stresses him out, it feels like Jay is mad at him and Jake would never want that.
So, Jake made up his mind.
He knocked on Jay’s door once. No answer. Then twice. Then gave up and just opened it. Jay wasn’t there.
Jake turned around and nearly bumped into him in the hallway.
“Oh,” Jay said. His voice was low, unsure. “What’s up?”
Jake stared at him. “Come to my room for a second.”
Jay looked like he wanted to say no. But he followed.
Jake sat on the edge of his bed, arms crossed, watching Jay lean awkwardly against the doorframe like he didn’t know what to do with his limbs.
“Okay,” Jake started, voice level. “What happened?”
Jay blinked. “What do you mean?”
Jake tilted his head, narrowed his eyes. “Don’t play dumb. You’ve been acting weird around me all day.”
Jay shrugged. “I haven’t.”
“Jay.”
Silence.
Jake exhaled sharply, dropping his gaze for a second. “Okay. Got it.” He stood, like he was going to walk past him, brushing it off. “If you’re not gonna talk to me, whatever. Thought we were close, but—”
That hit something. Jay’s expression changed, fast. Guilt? Panic?
He stepped forward. “Wait—Jake, wait. It’s not—” He stopped himself.
Jake looked at him again, and this time, his voice was quiet, desperate. “Then just tell me. Please.”
Jay was quiet for a long beat. Then he leaned back slightly, resting his weight against the closed door.
“Do you remember what you said last night?”
Jake blinked.
So it was about that.
A strange, brief relief washed over him—because okay, maybe Jay hadn’t figured out how embarrassingly often Jake had been listening to the cover. Maybe this wasn’t about that particular obsession. But that relief lasted all of two seconds before it twisted into something else. Something tighter.
Because if it wasn’t the cover… then it had to be something he’d said.
Something he couldn’t remember.
He tried to piece the memory back together, squinting into the fog of sleep that had settled over everything. Jay had come into the room. Jake had been dozing off. There had been that soft back-and-forth, something warm in the way Jay spoke to him. Something—
“I remember telling you that I liked your voice,” Jake said cautiously.
Jay nodded once. His expression unreadable.
“I meant that,” Jake rushed to add. “I mean, everyone knows it. That your voice is—like—really pretty. That’s not just me saying it. I’ve always thought that.”
He wasn’t lying. Jay’s voice was still echoing in his ears. He could recall entire phrases from the cover, every shift in tone, every breath, every slight tremble. Of course he’d said that. He felt that.
Jay’s eyes flickered down, like he was bracing himself. Then he said, softly, “It felt different, hearing it from you.”
Jake stilled.
Something tugged in his chest—an emotion he didn’t quite know how to name yet. His breath caught just a little.
“But is that…” Jake paused, looking at him carefully. “Is that why you’ve been acting weird all day?”
Jay’s mouth opened, then shut again. He looked at the floor, then finally said, “You said something else too.”
Jake’s heart thudded.
“I—what did I say?”
Jay didn’t answer right away. Instead, he smiled—but it was the kind of smile people used when they were trying to protect themselves.
“It’s not important,” he said, shaking his head. “You don’t remember, so… forget it.”
“Jay—”
“It’s fine,” Jay cut in gently. “Really. We’re all good now.”
But Jake could see the way his shoulders were curled inward, the way his eyes didn’t quite meet his. Something inside him ached at the sight.
Because they weren’t good.
Not really.
And Jake had a sinking feeling that whatever he’d said—it had meant something. Something that maybe only made sense in the moment. Something that Jay had held onto, thinking it might matter.
Jake didn’t know what it was, but the silence it left behind felt heavy.
And now he had to decide whether to let it stay there.
ꨄ
Jake hadn’t meant to fall asleep so early, but the exhaustion of the day had crept up on him quietly—settling into his limbs, his mind, the space between his breaths. The kind of tired that didn’t fight you. The kind that pulled you under like a tide.
He didn’t even try to resist.
As usual, he’d plugged in his earphones before drifting off, thumb clicking on the same link it always did these days. Jay’s cover started to play—soft and slow and devastating—and something about it, as always, felt like home and heartbreak at the same time. He fell asleep to that voice in his ears. Hadn’t he been doing that for a week now?
And maybe that’s why the dream felt so real.
It wasn’t vivid in the way most dreams are. There was no surreal backdrop, no inexplicable shift of setting or logic. It felt plain. Honest. A hallway. Fluorescent lights. Just Jay and him, sitting side by side on the floor, knees bent, shoulders nearly touching. The air between them charged with something quiet and dense.
Jake had turned to him and said it like it was the simplest thing in the world.
I like you.
And the strangest part was how natural it had felt. Not rushed. Not terrifying. Just... obvious.
When he woke up, there was a stillness in his chest that hadn’t been there the night before. A fragile, floating sort of calm, like a snow globe that hadn’t been shaken yet. The memory of the dream clung to him throughout the morning, soft around the edges, but unshakably present.
It stayed with him all through breakfast, rehearsal, lunch. Even when the others joked around, loud and carefree, Jake caught himself zoning out. Replaying the words in his head.
I like you.
There was something so familiar about it. Like it wasn’t the first time he’d said it. Or maybe not the first time Jay had heard it.
And that’s when something clicked.
That’s when he remembered the night he’d fallen asleep with Jay standing by his bed, humming out a piece of his own song in that low, aching voice—and how Jay had asked him the next morning if he remembered what he’d said.
You said something else too… but if you don’t remember, then don’t worry about it. It’s nothing important.
Jake had brushed it off. He hadn’t thought twice. But now…
Now his chest was tight with the realization that maybe it wasn’t just a dream.
Maybe he hadn’t imagined it at all.
Maybe Jay was acting strange because of that night. Because of what Jake had murmured half-asleep, slurred into the quiet just before he slipped into unconsciousness. Because Jay had heard him.
And now Jake had no idea what to do with that.
ꨄ
Coming home after practice felt like a breath of air he hadn’t realized he needed. The others had scattered in the living room—Sunghoon, Sunoo and Heeseung in the kitchen, Jungwon on FaceTime with someone, Ni-ki upside-down on the couch for some reason. Jay walking to his bedroom, tapping at his phone like he didn’t have a single care in the world.
Jake’s pulse was elevated but he still walked over before he could overthink it.
“Hey,” he said casually, trying to control the way his voice wanted to shake. Jay had already sat on the floor to remove his stuff from his bag, he didn’t look up right away.
“Mhm?”
Jake lowered himself down beside him, crossing his legs on the floor. His heartbeat pounded a little too loud in his ears, and he hated how unsteady his hands felt.
“I had a dream about you last night,” he said, quiet, but not so quiet that it could be ignored.
That made Jay pause. He glanced over, brows raised slightly, expression unreadable.
“Yeah?”
Jake nodded once, slowly. His throat felt tight. “Yeah. I dreamt that I told you I liked you.”
He watched Jay’s face carefully, trying to read anything that flickered across it. But Jay’s expression barely changed. His mouth opened a little like he was going to say something, then closed again. A beat passed in silence. Jake hated the way the tension in his chest twisted.
He wasn’t sure why, but something inside him recoiled from the honesty of what he’d just said. So before Jay could respond, Jake smiled a little—soft, sheepish—and tacked on a quiet, half-laughing, “Funny, huh?”
Jay blinked once. And then something about his whole posture shifted—not overtly, but enough. His shoulders stiffened, like something small inside him had been pushed the wrong way. He gave a small, flat smile. Then looked down at his hands.
“Yeah,” Jay said after a second, voice light in that way that meant he was being anything but. “That’d be really funny.”
Jake stared at him. And this time, he noticed it—the edge in his tone, the way he didn’t meet his eyes. The way it hurt him, even though he was trying to act like it didn’t. Even though he was trying to play along. Like Jake had turned something fragile into a punchline.
It hit Jake like a wave: It really was what he had told him. That night. He’d told him he likes him.
And now Jake had just made it a joke.
And Jay had to pretend it was one.
Jay didn’t say anything.
He just looked at Jake for a second—long enough to let something unspoken flicker behind his eyes—and then turned away.
And that should’ve been fine. Jake should’ve let him go. Should’ve swallowed the lump in his throat, shaken it off like he always did. But something about the way Jay walked this time—it felt final. Distant. Not just I’m-going-to-the-kitchen distant. Not just I’ll-see-you-later distant. But something-is-about-to-change distant. And Jake couldn’t let that happen.
He didn’t even think. He just called out, voice too raw and too loud.
“Jay, wait—!”
Jay paused mid-step.
Jake’s feet were already moving before his brain caught up. He caught up to him in a few rushed strides, heart beating out of rhythm, hand nearly reaching out but stopping short. And when Jay turned, his expression unreadable, Jake blurted—
“No. No, it’s not funny. Jay, it was never funny. Never a joke.”
Jay blinked. Slowly. Carefully. But Jake didn’t give him time to respond.
“I meant it,” Jake said. “I meant it when I said I like you.”
His voice cracked on the word like, and now that he’d said it—really said it—he felt like something in him had split open.
He kept going. He had to. If he stopped now, he wouldn’t start again.
“That stupid cover of yours—God. You have no idea what it did to me. I’ve watched it so many times, it’s embarrassing. Like, I might actually be responsible for three million of the views at this point.”
Jay let out a small breath of surprise, maybe amusement, but Jake wasn’t done.
“And whenever the others were teasing me for being glued to my phone, for texting some imaginary girlfriend—it wasn’t that. I was just watching you. Over and over. Because the way you sang that song… it wrecked me, Jay. It made me feel things I didn’t even know I could feel. It made me realise how much I already liked you, and how much I never wanted to stop.”
Jay didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just looked at him like he was seeing something new. Something raw.
Jake dropped his voice now, softer. Like a secret.
“And this past week I’ve been falling asleep to it. To you. Every night. But that night—when you sang it to me, sitting on the edge of my bed like it was nothing? I wouldn’t trade that for anything. Not the fanciest video. Not a million replays. Nothing.”
He took a breath, shaky and uneven.
“I guess what I’m trying to say is… I like your voice, yeah. Everyone does. But it’s you I’m stuck on.”
Silence stretched thin between them.
Jay still hadn’t said anything. He was just staring at Jake, unreadable in that infuriating, devastating Jay way. And Jake—Jake was suddenly very aware of his own breathing. Of how fast his heart was pounding. Of how the moment that had felt so urgent just seconds ago now felt like a wire pulled too tight, about to snap.
He cleared his throat, eyes flicking away. “Okay, so now that I said all that and you’re… quiet… I’m starting to feel like I completely read the room wrong. Just forget I said anything, seriously, it’s fine, I—”
Jay kissed him.
No hesitation. No warning. Just stepped forward and kissed him like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Jake froze. Just for a second. Then he melted—completely, shamelessly—into it.
When they broke apart, Jay didn’t move back. He was close enough that Jake could feel his breath when he spoke.
“You’re such a fucking idiot.”
Jake blinked, dazed. “Wow. After all the compliments? That’s what you go with?”
Jay rolled his eyes, but there was a smile tugging at his lips. “Oh, shut up.”
He kissed him again. Slower this time. Softer. Like punctuation on something unspoken.
And then, as if nothing seismic had just happened between them, Jay stepped back and nodded toward the hallway. “C’mon. The others are probably wondering why we’re taking so long.”
Jake blinked after him, still trying to reboot his brain.
They stepped into the living room together where the rest of the members were already arguing over character choices. Jay plopped onto the floor like it was any normal evening. Then, without looking up from the controller in his hand, he said, “Soo… three million views, huh?”
Jake whipped around, eyes wide. “If you tell the others anything, I’m kicking you in the knees.”
Jay didn’t even flinch. Just leaned over and gave him one last peck on the cheek before flashing him a grin.
“Come on. I have to crush my boyfriend in Mario Kart.”
And then he was back to the circle of chaos in the middle of the room, like the entire world hadn’t just tilted on its axis.
Jake stood frozen for a second, lips parted, that dumb little smile starting to grow. He touched his cheek where Jay had kissed him and muttered under his breath, quiet but certain—
“…Boyfriend, huh?”
He turned and followed after him, heart a little lighter, chest a little fuller, warmth blooming in every step.
Then came a break in the noise. Just a beat of silence, like the universe paused for breath.
And in that exact moment, Ni-ki—quiet as ever but somehow still scandalized—whispered, “Did we all just see Jay kiss Jake?”
Sunoo, ever the truth-teller, didn’t even blink. “I think so.”
Jake sighed, letting his head thump gently against the back of the couch. “You know we can hear you, right?”
Ni-ki screamed, bolting upright. “SO IT WASN’T A GIRLFRIEND—IT WAS A BOYFRIEND?!”