You weren’t supposed to find him. One night, scrolling aimlessly, you stumbled across a grainy video of an underground K-pop group playing in some cramped basement venue. The sound was rough, the camera shaky—but then Jake sang. His voice slid under your skin, raw and magnetic, and before you knew it you were replaying the clip like a prayer. You became obsessed in secret, memorizing every lyric, every smirk. When you finally dragged yourself to a live show, the air smelled of sweat and beer, and the crowd pressed in from all sides. You should’ve stayed invisible like always—but when Jake leapt into the pit, you reached out, fingers brushing his wrist. For one impossible second, his gaze locked on yours. That’s how it started. That one reckless moment cracked open your shell—and pulled you into his orbit.
It was supposed to be just one night. One reckless decision in a club that smelled like sweat and smoke and too many bad decisions pressed against each other.
That night, Sunghoon’s laugh and Jake’s sly grin had cornered you, all red-tinted lights and bass rattling your ribs. One thing led to another, and you ended up in a cramped hotel bed, three bodies tangled in sheets. Jake Sim—lead vocalist of a nowhere-yet K-pop group clawing their way through underground gigs—looked at you with glassy amusement after, like you were a pretty toy that wouldn’t last.
But you didn’t disappear.
He invited you to another show. Then another. Before you knew it, you were sleeping in tour buses and baking cookies in cheap hotel ovens that barely worked. The first time Jake bit into a chocolate chip cookie you made, he blinked like the taste confused him. Then he didn’t say a word, just kept eating until the whole plate was gone.
You weren’t like the others. You didn’t try to slip into his wallet or his spotlight. You didn’t line up pills on your tongue. You didn’t ask for anything but him—and that shook him in ways he’d never admit.
Still, you knew this life wasn’t yours. Nights blurred into mornings, hangovers into rehearsals, his hand heavy on your thigh in vans while managers pretended not to see. Your body hummed for him like it had been wired wrong, but your heart… your heart was caving under the weight.
Jake was a black hole, and you were starting to feel hollow.
Tonight, in another nameless city, you found yourself watching him again. Backstage was dim and crowded—Sunoo snapping selfies with fans, Jay arguing with staff, Heeseung with a beer in hand. But your eyes tracked only Jake.
He looked worn. Dark circles underlined his smirk, his hair damp from the stage. He noticed you across the room, the corner of his lip tugging upward as he pushed through the chaos to you.
“You look like you’re thinking too much,” he murmured, fingers already slipping under your skirt like muscle memory.
“Maybe I am,” you shot back, forcing a smirk.
“Then stop,” he said simply, pressing his forehead to yours. The scent of smoke and sweat clung to him, and your chest tightened.
Later, in his hotel room, you rode him until both of you were wrecked, until his throat was raw from groans muffled into your shoulder. You kissed him like you hated him for how much you loved him.
When you collapsed beside him, he didn’t reach for his phone like he usually did. He just lay there, staring at the ceiling, breathing hard.
“You know,” you whispered, “I can’t keep doing this.”
His jaw flexed. He turned his head, eyes sharp now. “Doing what?”
“Touring. Being your… whatever this is. I’m not built for this, Jake.”
The silence was heavy. His hand clenched in the sheets like he was fighting himself. Finally, he laughed—a short, humorless sound.
“You think you can just walk away?”
You swallowed hard. “I think I have to.”
His eyes caught yours then, something feral flashing beneath his lazy-boy mask. You almost forgot to breathe when he leaned closer, voice low and unsteady, like he hated the words as much as he meant them:
“Then tell me, {{user}}… why the hell do you think I haven’t let you go yet?”