Chapter Text
Violet Pulse always felt different at closing. Not empty, just softer. Like the club exhaled once the doors locked and the music finally let go.
Jungwon wiped down the bar methodically, even though his feet ached and his shoulders felt like they’d been holding weight all night. Glitter clung stubbornly to the floor. A trace of perfume lingered, sweet, musky, faintly floral, something that felt more like safety than excess.
The last drag number had ended an hour ago. The crowd had thinned in waves: the loud ones first, then the lingering couples, then the regulars who helped stack chairs and say goodnight like this place was a second home.
Because for some of them, it was. For him, too. Violet Pulse wasn’t perfect. It was still a bar in a city that pretended tolerance was the same as acceptance. But inside these walls, Jungwon didn’t have to flatten himself or watch his hands when he laughed. Being openly, visibly gay wasn’t a risk here. It was ordinary. And that ordinariness felt like oxygen.
One of the queens laughed backstage as she peeled off her wig, makeup smudged, confidence lingering even after the performance ended. It made Jungwon think of Sunoo, of course it did. We should try drag, Sunoo had said once. Just once. For a YouTube video.
Jungwon had never said yes. He’d never said no, either. He could picture it easily: Sunoo fearless and radiant, committing completely. Sunoo was always like that, bright, audacious, choosing joy so loudly it became contagious. Jungwon admired it. Loved it, even. He just didn’t always have the time, or the space, to be that brave.
He flipped the stools onto the counter, muscles moving on autopilot. The neon hummed low, violet bleeding into blue, casting everything in that familiar glow that made people look braver than they felt. Jungwon liked nights here. Liked that quiet didn’t mean invisible. Liked that softness and strength weren’t treated like opposites.
By the time he shrugged into his jacket and stepped outside, it was just past 2 a.m. The city had thinned into something gentler, streetlights pooling gold on wet pavement, cool air waking him up. He breathed it in, grounding himself.
Home, he thought, and the word still felt strange. The house was lit when he arrived. Not brightly. Just… alive. Music drifted faintly inside, muffled laughter too. Jungwon paused with his keys in hand, heart hitching at the realization that he was walking back into something instead of collapsing into silence.
He slipped inside. Shoes off. Jacket hung carefully, like he didn’t want to announce himself too loudly to a house still learning his rhythm.
Down the hall, Sunoo’s laugh rang out, sharp and delighted, followed by Riki’s dramatic shouting.
“NO—THAT’S NOT FAIR—”
“You ALWAYS pick that character—”
“I DO NOT—”
A game, then. Streaming, probably. Jungwon smiled despite himself. At least that part made sense. He turned toward the kitchen, never the stairs and that’s when he noticed the light.
Jay sat at the table, laptop open, the screen casting sharp white across his hands. Sleeves rolled up. Hair pushed back like he’d done it without thinking. No jacket now, no edge from earlier, just a worn black tee clinging in that effortless way that made it obvious he didn’t need layers to look intentional. Rings caught the faint kitchen light every time his fingers moved. An empty mug sat nearby, long since cold.
Jungwon clocked it all before he meant to.
Jay had always been attractive, he’d known that even at thirteen, all sharp smiles and too-big confidence, but this was different. Quieter. Settled. The kind of good-looking that came from growing into yourself instead of performing it. Like he’d stopped trying to be seen and somehow became impossible to ignore. He looked comfortable. Not guarded. Waiting.
“Oh,” Jungwon said softly, before he could stop himself.
Jay looked up immediately. Not startled. Just attentive, like he’d been listening for that exact sound. “Hey,” he said. “You’re home.”
Something about the ease of it caught Jungwon off guard. This morning, Jay had been stiff, all pauses and half-thought sentences, like he didn’t quite know where to put himself around Jungwon yet. Now he looked relaxed. Like the house had already folded Jungwon into its rhythm.
“Yeah,” Jungwon replied. “Sorry. It ran late.”
Jay shrugged, easy. “It usually does, right?”
Jungwon nodded, eyes dropping back to Jay’s hands, the steady confidence there. He wondered, briefly and stupidly, when Jay had learned to look like this without trying. And worse, how he’d never stopped noticing.
He needed a safe question. Something neutral. “Where’s Heeseung?”
Jay’s mouth curved faintly. “Asleep.”
Jungwon’s chest tightened, just a little. “Oh. I thought I heard music earlier.”
“Yeah,” Jay said, glancing back at the laptop. “We were in his room. Just talking. Listening to stuff. He crashed pretty hard.”
The image landed wrong. Not bad. Just wrong in the quiet way things were when you weren’t part of them. Of course Heeseung would fall asleep easily once someone stayed with him. Of course Jay would be the one to stay.
Jungwon nodded again, slower this time. He felt stupid for noticing the ache at all. He’d left four years ago. He didn’t get to come back and feel displaced by friendships that had kept going without him.
Then he caught it. Beneath the coffee and detergent. Smoke. Not fresh. Not strong. Old enough to have settled into fabric, to linger without announcing itself. “You smoked?” he asked, before he could stop himself.
Jay blinked once, then exhaled. “Yeah. Earlier. Just one.”
Jungwon nodded like that explained everything, even as his mind filled in the rest. The balcony. The quiet. Music low. Two silhouettes close enough to share warmth. Jay leaning into the railing, cigarette glowing faintly. Heeseung there too, easy and familiar, passing it back like it was nothing.
He hated that his thoughts went there. Not because it had to be true, but because it felt believable. Because closeness left traces, even when it wasn’t meant to. He swallowed, forcing the image away. “You should be nicer to your lungs,” Jungwon said lightly, even though it wasn’t a joke. “They’re kind of important.”
Jay huffed a quiet laugh. “You always say stuff like that.”
Because you always scared me, Jungwon thought. Because you mattered. Because I never learned how to stop caring.
He didn’t say it. He just nodded once, pretending the jealousy hadn’t settled low and stubborn in his chest, pretending his mind wasn’t being cruel and fast and unfair. He didn’t get to feel like this. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop him from feeling it anyway.
Jay’s fingers paused over the keyboard. One last click, save, export. He leaned back and shut the laptop with a soft, definitive thud, like he’d reached a stopping point whether the work was finished or not.
“Okay,” he said, glancing at his phone as it lit up again. And again.
Jungwon noticed the vibration, the faint twitch of Jay’s mouth. “Busy?”
Jay snorted. “Jake discovered the concept of a Friday night.” He flipped the phone face-down. “There’s apparently a party. Or five.”
“You going?” Jungwon asked, before he could talk himself out of it.
Jay shrugged, easy but thoughtful. “Probably not. I work later. And honestly…” He glanced around the kitchen, then back at Jungwon. “…I was planning on staying in.”
There was something deliberate in the way he said it. Not pointed. Just honest.
Jay stood, stretching, the worn black tee pulling slightly across his back before settling again. “You still need to set up your room, right?”
Jungwon blinked. “I mean… yeah. But it’s late.”
“So?” Jay said. “It’s technically Saturday morning. That doesn’t count.”
Jungwon huffed a quiet laugh. “You really don’t mind?”
“I wouldn’t offer if I did.”
The certainty in that made Jungwon’s chest tighten in a new way.
“I can help with the bed. Maybe the desk,” Jay added. “At least the basics. You’ve been on your feet all night.”
Jungwon hesitated. This was how it happened, wasn’t it? Quiet offers. Shared tasks. Familiar gravity pulling him closer before he decided if it was safe.
“…Okay,” he said softly. “Yeah. That would help.”
Jay nodded, unsurprised, and grabbed Jungwon’s abandoned bag from the counter. Their fingers brushed when he handed it over. Brief. Accidental. Neither of them commented.
They walked down the hall together, steps matching without thinking. The weight of everything Jungwon hadn’t said pressed at the back of his throat. The dance team. Leaving. The things that had broken quietly when he was fifteen. He didn’t know how to talk about it then. He wasn’t sure he did now.
His room was exactly what he’d left it as. Boxes stacked and half-opened, labeled in careful handwriting. A bed frame spread across the floor like a puzzle abandoned midway. Desk parts leaned neatly against the wall. The mattress stood on its side by the window, still wrapped, like it wasn’t convinced it belonged here yet.
Jay took it in without comment. “Bed first.”
He dropped to the floor, fitting frame pieces together with easy confidence. Jungwon hovered for a moment, then crouched to pass him screws.
Jay worked steadily. No rushing. No sighing. No sign it was an inconvenience.
“So,” Jay said after a bit, casual but intentional. “Nursing.”
Jungwon blinked. “…Yeah.”
“I always thought it fit you.”
“Yeah?” Jungwon breathed.
“Yeah. You were always good at staying. When things got hard. When it mattered.”
The word stayed lodged under Jungwon’s ribs. Staying. Jay didn’t say leaving or four years of silence, but the space where those things lived hummed anyway.
“My grandma,” Jungwon said after a beat. “She was sick for a long time. Toward the end, there was this nurse who took care of her.” He swallowed. “She didn’t fix anything. She just made it less scary.”
Jay slowed, listening, not stopping his hands.
“She talked to her like she still mattered,” Jungwon continued. “Even when she couldn’t really talk back. I used to watch that and think… that’s it. That’s the part that matters.”
He didn’t say the rest. About his mom. About home cracking. About leaving feeling less like a choice and more like survival. Jay didn’t ask. He stayed there on the floor, fitting the bed together piece by piece, like he understood that sometimes staying quiet was the help.
“I want to be that for someone,” Jungwon said instead. “Just… make people feel safe. Comfortable. A little less alone.”
Jay nodded once. Not pitying. Not surprised. Just understanding it the way he always had.
“That makes sense.”
The simplicity of it made Jungwon’s chest ache.
“I became a CNA at eighteen,” Jungwon added quietly. “Started working right away.” A pause. “It felt better than waiting. Better than standing still when everything else was falling apart.”
Jay’s mouth curved faintly. “That tracks.”
Something loosened then. Not absolution, but permission. Like staying hadn’t always meant staying in one place. Like leaving hadn’t meant he didn’t care.
They worked in silence after that.
Not empty. Not demanding.
Jay moved steadily, lowering the mattress into place, handing Jungwon screws when needed, letting him hold things that mattered. The bed didn’t wobble once it was done.
And still, Jungwon’s mind betrayed him.
Does he still dance? Did he ever hate me for leaving?
The questions crept in slowly, unwelcome but familiar.
“Do you—” Jungwon started, then stopped.
Jay looked up. “Yeah?”
Jungwon shook his head. “Never mind.”
Jay didn’t push. He just went back to tucking the sheet tight, careful and practiced, like he knew how to make a space feel permanent instead of borrowed.
Jungwon sat on the edge of the bed when they were done. The mattress dipped and held.
“I can sleep here,” he said softly, surprised.
“Good,” Jay said, leaning back against the wall.
There was something warm in his tone that didn’t ask for anything.
Jay moved to the desk pieces next, crouching to sort through them like it was the most natural next step. Wood panels. Metal legs. Screws laid out neatly.
Jungwon took that as permission.
“How were your classes?” he asked. “This semester, I mean.”
Jay glanced over his shoulder. “Busy. Good, though. Apparel construction’s kicking my ass in a fun way.” A beat. “Work’s been a lot too.”
“Super Madde?” Jungwon asked.
“Yeah. Controlled chaos.”
That made sense. Felt right.
“So why two jobs?” Jay asked lightly. “School on top of that—it’s a lot.”
Jungwon huffed. “I don’t have to. I just… want to.”
Jay paused, listening.
“The facility’s three days. Violet Pulse is three nights,” Jungwon said. “The club keeps me connected to music. To people. And the facility… keeps me grounded.” A pause. “It’s heavy sometimes. But I like knowing I made something easier for someone.”
Jay’s expression softened.
“I keep everything structured,” Jungwon added. “Schedules. Lists. If you’re organized enough, you can handle almost anything.”
“Almost,” Jay echoed, smiling.
“Except,” Jungwon said, glancing at the half-built desk and unopened boxes, “rooms. And feelings.”
Jay huffed a quiet breath. “Yeah. Those usually mess you up the most.”
He went back to the desk, slower now, like he didn’t mind the conversation lingering. Like he wasn’t in a hurry to fill the quiet.
Jungwon watched him again. The ease of him. The confidence that hadn’t dulled, only sharpened. The way he belonged in the space without trying to claim it.
Jay noticed. He always had.
“You know,” he said, not looking up, “you’ve always been like this.”
“Like what?”
“Passionate,” Jay said simply. “You commit. To people. To work. To whatever you decide matters.”
Something warm and fragile tightened in Jungwon’s chest. He didn’t ask if he had mattered too. The question hovered anyway, unfinished, humming between them.
Jungwon turned back to the bed, smoothing the fitted sheet into place, stacking pillows with more care than necessary. He reached for the small box at his feet and pulled out a string of fairy lights, testing the cord between his fingers.
Jay watched for a second before speaking again.
“So,” he said, casual but curious, “how are your classes? Anatomy. Micro.”
“Hard,” Jungwon admitted. “But… good hard.”
Jay leaned back against the desk frame. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Jungwon said, looping the lights along the headboard. “Anatomy’s mostly foundations right now. Cells. Tissues. How everything fits together. It sounds simple until you realize how much you have to know just to explain one thing correctly.”
“That already sounds like too much,” Jay said.
Jungwon laughed softly. “It kind of is. Especially because at work you can’t afford to mix it up. Directions, planes—if you say the wrong thing, you could scare someone. Or hurt them.”
Jay’s brows knit. “That’s a lot of pressure.”
“It is,” Jungwon said. “But it makes sense to me. There’s a logic to it.”
“And micro?”
“Chaos with rules,” Jungwon said. “You can’t see most of it, but it affects everything. Learning it makes me feel… less helpless.”
Jay’s interest caught immediately. “That’s kind of sick,” he said. “In a good way.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” Jay said, warming to it. “The structure. The layers. How everything connects.” He gestured as he spoke. “That’s the cool part.”
Jungwon watched him, quietly undone by the way Jay talked when he cared.
“I’m working on a concept right now,” Jay added, catching himself. “Not literal anatomy, but… structure. Where tension lives. How the body informs movement.” He paused, then glanced around the room. “…Anyway. This looks really good. For a first night.”
Jungwon followed his gaze. The lights. The bed. A few prints taped to the wall. Not finished, but his. “Thanks,” he said. “It doesn’t feel empty anymore.”
Jay nodded. Then, almost like an afterthought, he added, “And, uh… I like your hair.”
Jungwon froze.
“The color,” Jay clarified. “It suits you.” Softer now. “Always has.”
Four years collapsed into that sentence. Not erased. Just… folded.
“Oh,” Jungwon managed. “Thanks.”
Jay didn’t linger. He picked the screwdriver back up and went back to tightening the desk, humming quietly, like kindness was something he offered and then stepped away from so it wouldn’t feel like pressure and that more than anything, undid Jungwon.
Jay hadn’t pushed. Hadn’t asked for explanations. He’d just stayed. Built the desk. Made the room livable. Standing there, Jungwon let himself believe, just for a second, that caring again didn’t automatically mean losing everything.
Jay cleared his throat lightly. “You should go get cleaned up,” he said, nodding toward the hallway. “Desk’s basically done. I’ll tighten the rest.”
“You don’t have to, hyung—”
“I know,” Jay said gently. “But I will. You’ve been on your feet all night.” Then, like an afterthought, “And you can actually wear your own pajamas tonight. Not Sunoo’s.”
Jungwon laughed before he could stop it. “How did you—”
“You were wearing Hello Kitty pants yesterday morning.”
“Oh,” Jungwon groaned softly. “Right. Yesterday.”
Jay grinned. “Go. I’ll be done by the time you’re ready for bed.”
Jungwon hesitated, just long enough to show he didn’t want to leave yet, then nodded. “Okay. Don’t disappear.”
Jay looked up, warm and steady. “I won’t.”
That was enough. Jungwon turned toward the hallway before he could overthink it, the quiet reassurance settling in his chest as he stepped away. The lights were low and warm, Sunoo’s idea of vibes, washing the walls in amber and making the house feel lived in instead of passed through.
He padded down the hall and froze when the noise hit. “I AM LITERALLY BEING ROBBED—” Riki’s voice rang out.
“You drove off the edge,” Sunoo laughed brightly. “That’s consequences.”
Jungwon leaned into the doorway just enough to be seen.
Riki was slumped half off the bed, controller loose in his hands, losing badly. Sunoo sat beside him, posture perfect, eyes shining toward the camera like it wasn’t nearly three in the morning.
“Hey,” Jungwon said softly.
Sunoo lit up. “Wonnie!”
Riki waved without looking away. “Hyung, tell him he cheats.”
“You drove off the edge,” Jungwon repeated, smiling.
“Traitor,” Riki groaned.
Jungwon’s gaze lingered on Sunoo, bright and grounding, the kind of presence that filled silence without demanding anything from it. “I’m glad you’re still up,” Jungwon said gently. “But you should sleep soon.”
“It’s the weekend,” Sunoo protested.
“And you’re both exhausted,” Jungwon replied, calm and firm.
Riki perked up. “Define exhausted.”
Jungwon pointed at him. “You.”
Sunoo laughed. “Okay, one more round.”
Jungwon sighed, fond. “I mean it. Go to sleep.”
“Yes, mom,” Riki teased.
Jungwon stepped back before they could pull him in, already imagining Heeseung’s reaction if he knew Riki was still awake. It could go either way. The bathroom was mercifully quiet. Jungwon brushed his teeth, washed his face, let the warm water pull him back into himself. He changed into his own pajamas, soft and familiar.
When he returned to the hall, the house had settled. The noise from Sunoo and Riki’s room was distant now, no longer demanding attention. For the first time that night, Jungwon felt ready to sleep.
As he turned toward his room, a small hope followed him. He hadn’t checked. Hadn’t asked. But he still imagined it, the desk finished, Jay still there, humming softly like he’d promised.
The desk lamp was on. Jay stood exactly where Jungwon had left him, tightening a final screw, phone in one hand. Relief loosened something in Jungwon’s chest.
The desk was nearly finished, solid and aligned. Jungwon’s monitor sat centered on top, cables tucked neatly away. Jay hadn’t been asked. He’d just noticed.
Jungwon crossed the room quietly and sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped beneath him, steady and real. Home. Enough for tonight.
Then the phone buzzed. Once. Jay didn’t look at it. It buzzed again. He sighed, glanced at the screen, grimaced at the name, and answered, turning slightly away. Not hiding. Just managing. “Jake,” Jay said flatly. “Why are you calling me right now.”
Jungwon couldn’t hear the reply, only the muffled spill of it, loud and emotional enough to bleed through the speaker.
Jake. Jay’s friend. The loud one. The one who used to belong everywhere at once. Jungwon had crossed paths with him a handful of times back then, always orbiting Jay, easy to laugh with, impossible to miss. The last he’d heard, Jake had moved back to Australia at sixteen.
“No,” Jay said immediately. “Absolutely not.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Why would you even think right now is a good idea.”
Jake’s voice rose again.
Jay’s gaze flicked toward the hallway, where Heeseung slept, then back down. “People are asleep,” he said, quieter now. “Or about to be.” Jungwon heard it for what it was. Not a fact. A boundary.
“And you’re not driving anywhere like this,” Jay added, firmer. “I don’t care how close you think it is.” A pause. “Tomorrow’s fine. Daytime. When you’re sober.”
Jungwon’s fingers stilled against the blanket.
“Jake,” Jay said again, steady now, “you don’t need an excuse to see him.” Another pause. “Go home. Sleep it off. We’ll deal with the move tomorrow.” A beat. “…Yeah. I mean it.”
He ended the call. The room settled back into quiet. Jay set his phone face-down on the desk, jaw unclenching like he’d just let something go. “Sorry,” he said. “Drunk Jake.”
Jungwon smiled faintly. “I gathered.”
Jay huffed. “He gets sentimental. Especially about Sunghoon.”
The name landed cleanly. Sunghoon. Jungwon knew it from screens, from late-night curiosity, from recognizing a face before he’d ever seen it in real life. Pretty-eyed. Emotional. The kind of famous that made people fall a little bit in love on purpose.
Sunoo is going to lose his mind. The house was about to gain a famous actor, and Jungwon could already picture the spiral. The plans. The inevitable vlog titled WE LIVE WITH WHO???
For a moment, he almost forgot that Sunghoon wasn’t just a face on a screen. He was someone Jay knew. Someone Jay worried about. Someone Jake was calling about at three in the morning. And then, unhelpfully, a mortifying memory surfaced. Jungwon at seventeen, typing furiously at two a.m., convinced no one would ever read it. Soft, self-indulgent fanfic about fictional characters who looked suspiciously like his childhood crush’s famous friend.
He buried the thought immediately. “Oh,” Jungwon said instead, carefully neutral. “Right.”
Jay nodded, checking the time. “I should probably go get him before he decides this is a great moment to show up unannounced.”
Jungwon glanced toward the hallway. “He’s… not okay, is he?”
Jay sighed. “No.” A beat. “He gets like this when he’s drunk. Emotional. Spirals fast.” Then, drier, like it was just fact, “It usually ends with crying in public. Or him deciding three a.m. is the perfect time to reorganize Sunghoon’s life.”
That earned a real laugh from Jungwon.
Jay grabbed his jacket, shrugged it on, then paused in the doorway. “You’re okay?” he asked. “Bed’s set. Desk’s basically done.”
Jungwon nodded. “Yeah. I’ll finish the rest tomorrow.”
Jay lingered, not uncertain, just reluctant. “I won’t be long.”
“I know,” Jungwon said, surprised by how sure he sounded.
Jay met his eyes once more, warm and unguarded, then slipped out, the door closing softly behind him.
Jungwon sat with the name he’d just heard. Sunghoon, said in Jay’s voice like it belonged to real life, not a screen.
Down the hall, Riki and Sunoo’s voices rose and fell again, muffled now, softer. The house was still awake, but the chaos had dulled its edges.
Jungwon looked at the desk. The monitor centered. The lamp left on. The cables tucked away. Small, careful choices. Proof that Jay had been paying attention. And then his mind drifted, warm and tired, back to Violet Pulse. A queen laughing as she peeled off her wig, glitter smudged, smile still bright. Sunoo daring him again, grinning like bravery was easy. Just once. For fun.
Jungwon smiled into the quiet. Maybe one day he’d say yes. Maybe one day he’d have the time, or the energy, or the courage to be seen like that.
Tonight, he didn’t need big bravery. The room held. The bed was solid beneath him. The house breathed, settling around its people. Jungwon lay back and let himself go heavy. Not alone. Not invisible. Just… here.