Chapter Text
Headlights, on me
Race you to sixty
I’ve been a fool
But strawberries, and cigarettes
Always taste like you
Strawberries and Cigarettes,
Troye Sivan
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This is the most tense hallway Jake has been in his life—and he’s been to exam rooms before.
Auditionees wait in chairs lining the walls, tapping feet, mumbling to themselves and to each other. It fills the air, like a hum—winding him up in his seat at the end of the row. Despite it all, the guitar in his hands feels light.
He stares at the marble floor; at least then, he won’t stare at the girl who’s gone bright red, clutching a ukulele. They’re probably mirroring poses.
You’ve got this. He interlocks his index fingers over the guitar bag handle. You made it here, and you’ve got this.
The fire in his veins doesn’t go away. It leaves him cold and hot at once. It doesn’t show on his face—at least he isn’t sure it does.
Creak.
The door swings open and someone comes in; the cars outside pass by with a whoosh through the crack, going quiet again when it closes.
Jake looks to his left without thinking and—oh. He knows that face—they even talked once or twice.
“Oh, Jake—hi.” Soobin sits right beside him, and Jake waves back despite the short distance.
“Small world.” Jake laughs.
“Right?” Soobin shrugs a black bag off his back, resting it on his lap. “Didn’t think I’d know anyone here.”
“Me neither.”
Jake chose a fairly small cafe to audition for—nothing major for a first try. But then again, the fact that he’s here at all?
More major than major.
The weight of it hits him again.
Jake’s knee starts jumping, fingers fidgeting. Maybe he should’ve bought a fidget cube. Or a rubik's cube, for that matter. (Never mind the fact that he’s never used one in his life.)
“How’s college?” Soobin shifts in closer, Jake’s guitar poking him on the thigh, then it’s gone. “Still physics?”
Right, some people still think that.
“On paper, sure. But not really. I started a minor in music though—best decision ever.” He pats his own legs. “How’s life been since you graduated? Great or a nightmare?”
“Somewhere in the middle.” Soobin shrugs. “Applying around, auditioning here and there.”
“Sounds busy—hope it works out.”
“Thanks, me too.”
The audition room door opens, a guy comes outside with a slow drawl and his hands in his pocket. Another dude gets up and walks in after him like clockwork.
The room doesn’t get any less tense.
Soobin leans back slowly, then suddenly sits up again—a slight wince on his face, like he wants to say something.
“Sorry if I’m prying but… last I heard from Jungwon, your parents wouldn’t let you do music.”
Oh? Did the news travel that far?
Jake laughs—a nervous laugh. He remembers telling Jungwon that—or something close to it about two years back.
“They insisted on physics,” he’d said.
Jungwon must’ve read between the lines.
“I kinda moved out?” Jake gives a wry smile. “Well, I fully moved out—went no contact too…”
He shrugs.
It was pretty quiet, one brown box after another—ripping posters off the wall and staring too long at the tape that wouldn’t budge.
The room was small—hidden memories tucked away with old physics books and number T-shirts.
He wondered if the memories would speak to him—tell him that he should stay to make Mom happy. Or so Dad would stop looking at him like he understood, but didn’t.
Dad hadn’t stopped him from leaving. Jake still isn’t sure why.
Even then, he knew then that none of it would speak anymore. Not the family portrait in the living room or the stars he painted on the ceiling. Nothing.
His throat still swells when he thinks about it sometimes.
Because that was his best decision. It comes right after applying for a music minor. He had written it in his journal, reread it every morning for months.
One day he might just make a list of all his good choices in life, show them to his future kids or something.
“Shit, really? That’s awesome.” Then Soobin pauses. “Am I allowed to say that’s awesome or…”
“Hell yeah. Definitely awesome.” Jake shakes his head. “Think we’ll be called up soon?”
“Doubt it.” Soobin hums. “They’re still so many seats before us.”
Jake glances ahead—counts the chairs. “True—why did I even ask?”
“Nerves—probably. But we have plenty of time.” Soobin shifts back again. “Talking will probably make it pass faster.”
“Then we may as well, right?” Jake laughs again.
Soobin joins him, finally leaning back for real this time.
“I’ve been thinking about going all-in on music too,” Soobin says. “But I don’t know if I could ever make a choice that big.”
Jake tilts his head.
“Like—you moved out. That’s huge.” Soobin looks at him. “How’d you do it?”
Jake blows his hair out of his face, smiling without meaning to.
“Honestly? I don’t even think the old me could’ve done it.”
He pauses.
“Back then I didn’t talk this much. Didn't feel like I could. So it’s kinda a long story.” Jake rubs the back of his neck. “You don’t mind?”
“Of course not—and we have time.” Soobin points to his imaginary watch.
His words have a comforting edge to them—the kind of warmth that reminds Jake of a certain someone and an acoustic guitar.
He grins.
“It’s a mess.” Jake slumps back, watching the real clock tick on the wall opposite them.
“But I guess it started the day I lied. Two years ago.”
A harmless one, really.
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Jake sits at the dining table with his parents. It’s five p.m.
Dad scrolls on his tablet, barely touching his dinner. Mom piles vegetables onto Jake’s plate like he’ll suddenly become malnourished if she stops.
And Jake? He pokes at his rice, waiting for the right moment. He knows what he wants to say—he’s practiced it in the mirror. Casual, dry—sheepish.
Still, the words sound flimsy in his mouth.
“I got invited to a party earlier today,” he says.
It already sounds terrible.
Mom doesn’t look up from her plate. “What kind of party?”
“Just…a school one. Nothing big.”
Except it is really big—Jake only knows a sixteenth of the people going. If so much.
She sighs, glancing up at him and then away. “You know I don't like sending you those things. Which friends will be there?”
Shit. Damage control.
He clenches his free hand under the table. His face stays blank—he makes sure of it.
“Um… Sunghoon, Jungwon—”
“I thought I told you to stop hanging around them. That Sunghoon is always so…loud—”
Here they go again.
He’s already told her that Sunghoon has been with him through everything—since they were kids. Jungwon literally invited him to a study group.
She rambles anyway.
Jake thinks hard—of a name that will put her at ease. One she’s sure to know.
It comes too easily.
“The guy who topped his class last year is going too,” he says. Jake’s never spoken to him in his life. “You know, Lee Heeseung. We saw his name on the exam board…remember?”
Lucky for him, they never specified what department Heeseung topped in.
Either way, it seems to stop Mom mid-sentence, face instantly easing. She puts her chopsticks down—eyes him long and hard.
It’s almost like she knows he’s a liar—like she knows this party will be big and loud and drunk, with sweaty bodies swaying in flashing lights.
His chest caves in, and his appetite dries up.
“When is it?” She asks.
He stares at the white table cloth—casually says, “Tomorrow night.”
“Very well. You’d better be back before eleven.”
“Okay.” He nods. “Thanks. I will be.”
The whole time, Dad says nothing.
✩ ♬ ₊.🎧⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
Jake drums his fingers on his open textbook, scribbling formulas into his spiral notebook. His handwriting changes every time he turns the page. Jungwon’s soul would leave his body if he saw.
Not that Jake’s going to show a future journalist his trainwreck of notes.
They’re in the library right now. Jake, Jungwon and Sunghoon. It’s a wednesday—one of the only days their schedules line up this semester.
Jungwon types on his laptop, glasses huge on his face. Sunghoon’s on his phone, and Jake still doesn’t know how he studies on a screen that small without straining his eyes.
They’ve been like this for an hour.
Jake finishes up his last equation and caps his pen. He leans onto one hand—tries to sound as nonchalant as possible. No stuttering, no weird vocal inflection. Just a fact.
“I’m coming to the party later. I sorta forgot to say…”
Sorta forgot, if mentally cataloguing five different tones to use counts as forgetting.
Sunghoon instantly looks up—the phone goes face down onto the table. “Your mom said yes?”
“Yeah. It worked out somehow...”
He doesn’t mention how long he thought about the way she looked at him—how he considered telling her he wouldn’t go just to make it go away.
Jungwon glances at Jake, just briefly. “Hm. Are you sure you want to?”
Jake furrows his brow—only slightly. “What do you mean?”
He looks to Jake’s notebook—where it’s now pressed into his sleeve, getting crumpled. “You just seem tense.”
Jake leans off the table and smoothes the notebook out.
“D-don’t I always look like that?” Jake gives a sheepish laugh.
He wishes it were a lie.
“Well, not for long. We’re drinking tonight.” Sunghoon picks up his phone again, grin mischievous. “Prepare yourself.”
“Stop encouraging him to get smashed. Be hungover by yourself.” Jungwon goes back to typing.
Sunghoon huffs, folding his arms.
Jake smiles wider—or he tries to. “I’ll be careful.”
In more ways than one.
That’s when soft footsteps get a little louder—Sunoo swoops in, taking the empty seat next to Jake. He sighs with his whole body like a dying star, resting his bag on the table.
“Guys, I wanna switch majors.”
Jake gives up on his formulae—closes his book. “Mr. Choi kept you guys overtime again or?”
“Yes—exactly that.” Sunoo groans, flopping dramatically into Jake’s side.
Jake pats his head like he always does.
Sunghoon sneaks Sunoo a look. “Come join me in Dance then. It’d be fun.”
“No way, why would I want to see you everyday?” Sunoo says, even though his ears go red.
Jungwon snorts, but Jake holds back his own.
Everyone knows Sunoo is an actor to a fault.
Sunghoon puts his hand over his heart, tilting his head up. “Everybody hates me.”
“Anyway,” Jungwon says. “Jake’s coming to the party later.”
Sunoo sits up, sparkles in his eyes. “No way—tell me it’s real.”
“Uh, very real?” Jake says.
“And you won’t try to plot your escape again? Because I’m not helping with that tonight.”
“I won’t…”
With a generous sprinkle of probably.
Sunoo claps his hands together. “Good. We need the whole survival squad there.”
They all get quiet after that. Jungwon types. Sunghoon scrolls. Sunoo stretches out and yawns—like he’s preparing for bed, then takes out a novel. Jake picks up his pen again—writes the same formula twice then crosses it out, zoning out into the distance.
That’s when he sees him.
A group walks by on the far side of the library—laughing about something Jake can’t make out. Heeseung’s at the center, loose purple hoodie, guitar bag slung over his shoulder. It’s got stickers all over it.
His smile lands easy. His walk, relaxed.
He looks like someone who always knows what to say—like he’s never been told no.
He doesn’t see Jake.
For what it’s worth, thanks for your name. Jake thinks.
Of course, Heeseung doesn’t hear him either.
✩ ♬ ₊.🎧⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
The two hours before the party go a little like this:
Dad drives him to Sunghoon’s house without much fanfare. Jake stares out the window at car number plates in streetlights. Dad tries to type up a message inconspicuously, even though he shouldn’t be on his phone at all.
They don’t talk. Not purposefully. Not exactly.
Jake’s not even sure what to call it anymore.
Eventually, they arrive at his stop. He gets out the car onto Sunghoon’s lawn and bends down to wave his dad through the window. The air is cool—autumn slowly sweeping in with the smell of earth.
“Don’t get too drunk,” Dad says—like it’s their secret. “You know how your mother gets.”
“Right.”
Like a buckle snapping into place, they lock into a stilted agreement. An understanding of sorts.
Jake nods.
Dad nods back, pulling the windows up, then driving off. Jake watches their number plate fade into the dark.
The rest happens like usual. He knocks on Sunghoon’s door—Sunoo answers before anyone else and drags him in. His eyeliner is sharp—lips glossed, shining and ready for the night.
Jake looks down at his own plain beige hoodie and washed out jeans. He doesn’t know if anyone notices as they get through the living room.
Sunghoon’s mom hugs him tight when she sees him—says he can take any snack he wants from the pantry.
And like usual, he says he’s alright while Sunoo guides him into Sunghoon’s room. It’s spacious—and the cleanest place Jake has ever seen. Ridiculously so.
Sunoo closes the door behind them; Sunghoon is holding up two jackets to his white T—staring into the full-length mirror.
“Jakey, which one looks better?” He glances at Jake briefly. “We need a dealbreaker.”
It’s a washed out jean jacket versus a dark button up. Hard choice. Probably the button up though—goes better with white. Knowing Sunghoon, he’d wear it open, sleeves pushed up to his elbows.
But what if Jake’s wrong for assuming?
“Hm… maybe the darker one?” Jake says.
“Button up it is,” Sunghoon sighs, like he already knew.
Sunoo whoops and twirls, landing on the bed. His crop top rides up a little. “Told you.”
“You shush,” Sunghoon mutters.
Jake watches them—at the way Sunghoon pauses when he catches Sunoo’s gaze in the mirror.
Jake looks away, pretending not to notice. Instead, he sits on the gamer chair and spins once.
“Jungwon’s probably already waiting there—we should hurry.” Sunghoon puts the jacket on. “You gonna change?”
It takes Jake a moment to realise he’s talking to him. His face twitches. He doesn’t let it turn into a wince.
“I-I was just planning to go like this.”
A pause.
They both stare at him like he said he likes sardines on pizza. Jake rubs his neck and tries to smile. Mom had been watching him like a hawk when he left. He hadn’t even managed to sneak the clothes he actually wanted to wear into the duffel bag he actually wanted to bring.
Sunoo suddenly stands up. Sunghoon instantly starts rummaging through his closet—passing a knowing glance Jake’s way.
“We’re remedying this right now.” Sunoo puts his hands on his hips.
The next few minutes pass like a sandstorm.
Jake gets black slim-fit jeans thrown at him, and three different tops. The jeans fit just right. But Sunoo and Sunghoon argue over the three shirts like a married couple. All varying levels of revealing styles that make his stomach swoop.
Though… not in a bad way.
Sunghoon leaves the closet door open.
Now, jeans on and shirtless, Jake takes a peak inside. There’s a truckload of white—just as much black. But one shirt catches his attention instantly—eyes brightening up.
He pulls it off the rack and runs his hand along the fabric. It’s not what he’d usually wear. He doesn’t even know if colour would suit him but—
“Guys,” he says.
They stop mid fight, gazes snap to him.
Jake holds it up, timid. “What about this one?”
It’s sorta similar to what he planned to wear.
Sunoo’s grin goes wide, Sunghoon folds his arms.
“Fuck yes,” they say in sync.
That’s how Jake is standing in front of the mirror now—red wine mesh top, jeans with a chain clipped to the belt. He’s even got a smidgen of eyeliner on his waterline—Sunoo’s liptint.
He holds up a silver necklace to his chest and hums.
Is this too much? It’s probably too much—
As if reading his mind Sunghoon nudges his shoulder. “Literally put it on if you want to.”
Jake bites his lips, puts it on.
It… looks good. All of it.
Something mom would never let him wear. But Jake tries to shake the thought from his mind.
“What about shoes?” he asks.
Sunghoon slides a pair towards him—black boots, thick-soled and a little scuffed up at the heel. He slips them on.
They fit.
He feels… breezy. The almost-good kind. Beside him, Sunoo and Sunghoon high five. And then he joins in—so now they’re all highfiving.
“You look so hot,” Sunoo beams, nudging him.
“Yeah,” Sunghoon says, slower. “Red really brought you out.”
Jake smiles—really smiles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks…”
Maybe he’ll be able to believe it tonight—maybe he’ll have fun.
Maybe he won’t waste the night.
✩ ♬ ₊.🎧⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
Jake can hear the music before they even get to the house, the ground floor windows flashing in colours bright enough to make anyone puke.
Jungwon leans on the porch railing, eyes snapping up when their shadows creep up the stairs. He’s probably been doing that for the past twenty minutes.
“You’re late,” Jungwon says, looking them all up and down.
“Fashionably.” Sunghoon smiles.
“Heh. I’ll give you guys that.” Jungwon tilts his head towards the door, jacket falling off his shoulder. It’s black like his choker. “Let’s go.”
They walk in single file, still squished together. Jake stays close to Sunghoon’s back. The bass is in his chest—he can feel it through the floor. And when they open the door and slip in?
Pandemonium.
Jake would describe going in as stepping into water—except the ocean at least has a shore. This is like stepping right off the Titanic into the deep end.
The flashing lights inside pass so fast they’re barely there. Bodies push him side to side—it’s hard to stand still. Someone’s yelling over the music, someone else spills a sweet syrup near his feet. He almost stumbles back.
It smells like sweat and oreos. A horrendous mix; Jake won’t be able to have cookies for the next five years.
Sunghoon’s already moving toward the kitchen. Jake follows, not sure where he should go. It’s either that, or evaporating.
The kitchen is more empty—marginally. There’s a cooler on the floor; the vibration is still under his skin when Sunghoon opens it and scoops ice out. Jungwon gets the red cups—and Sunoo, the juice from the fridge.
Jake feels like he’s a cog from a different machine—one that doesn’t quite run here as he watches them move with ease.
A cup lands in his hand. Sunghoon pours the alcohol and Sunoo, the orange juice.
“Guys—don’t put too much,” Jungwon reminds them.
Jake smiles, but he may be wincing.
He takes a sip. It’s sweet, with a slightly bitter undercurrent to match.
It leaves tiny pinpricks on the way down his throat.
Sunoo raises his own cup and the rest of them follow, Jake lagging behind.
“To us being hot as hell,” Sunoo says.
They clink and knock it back.
Afterwards, he tries to lean back against the kitchen counter—bumps into a moving body instead. A pair of girls cackle too loudly nearby—one of them throwing him a glance. There’s hair in her face, lipstick smudged on her chin.
He tugs his mesh top down a little.
That look could mean anything. From judgement to attraction to a passing stare.
He locks onto the one that starts with J.
Maybe he shouldn’t have worn red. Maybe he looks less good and more like a try-hard. But Sunoo has good taste, and Jungwon would tell him if he looked bad—right?
Right?
“All good?” Jungwon asks, refilling his own cup.
Jake takes another sip. “Yeah. Yeah, just hot.”
The flavour is worse. Watery and bitter-y and oranges. The zing feels like it's crawling through his blood.
He pokes around in his pocket—pulls his phone out.
1 missed text.
[Mom]: Are you at the party?
Jake swallows, shoving his phone into his pocket.
It still feels like it’s in his hand, so he takes it out—checks it again.
A second message pops up. He turns off the screen, hand tightening around the cup.
Laughter erupts from the hallway. Someone stumbles into the doorframe like the Tower in tarot.
There’s a shout of “Shot o’clock!”
Sunghoon cheers. Sunoo yells something back.
Jake takes one more sip—it burns again. And then—
“I’ll be back,” he says, to no one in particular.
He slides his cup onto the counter, slides through the kitchen door. Even that cup lingers in his hand as a phantom sensation.
It’s a sea of bodies, all caged in—but looking free.
Jake pushes through them, mutters apologies—wincing when a guy almost dances right into him.
Maybe mom knew he wasn’t cut out for this. She’ll take one look at him and say I told you so when he gets home tonight.
Jake doesn’t know how to party. It may as well be a foreign word.
His head pounds, breath shallow. It’ll turn into a headache soon.
He spots the back door, yanking it open and closed behind him.
The air is instantly more breathable, as refreshing as the glowing pool lights out back. There are even fewer people here than in the kitchen.
It’s still not quiet enough.
He keeps walking.
He makes a turn around the house—spots a shadowy corner by a shed. In movies, this is the place people come to get murdered.
Jake hopes his fate is greater than that.
He steps closer anyway.
The corner’s already half-filled—with smoke, and someone standing just behind it.
For a second, Jake startles—until the figure shifts, just slightly, and exhales.
The smoke spreads out, curling into the light, grey on black. Like static.
Jake freezes.
Of course.
Of all people, it’s Lee Heeseung. Standing like a ghost in the coolness, in a cloud of his own second hand smoke.
He didn’t think that Heeseung would actually be here.
Jake takes a step back. But Heeseung looks up just then—catches his eyes through the tendrils.
Jake could make a run for it, but he doesn’t move—weighs the options in his head.
Either he stands here with the guy whose name he used to come to this party… or actually go back to the party.
They stare at each other for another beat.
Jake waves stiffly. “Um. Uh… do you mind if I—”
He gestures vaguely to the ground near the wall. (Hopefully, he doesn’t look plastered.)
Heeseung shrugs, something unreadable in his expression. “Free country.”
Jake comes closer—slides down the wall of the shed onto the ground, palms against the concrete.
Sunghoon is gonna kill him for sitting here with these pants. He can already hear the gasp. The dramatic hand to chest. “Those pants cost—” oh boy. That’s future-Jake’s problem.
If he can get rid of most of the dust stains, no one will know. He’d hate to upset Sunghoon.
Heeseung exhales.
So does Jake—for different reasons. But the air isn’t fresh at all.
Still, it’s quiet.
And… not a quiet Jake feels the need to fill.
It just is.
Heeseung looks at him for a second, holding up the cigarette. “Want one?”
Jake shakes his head, trying to smile again. “Nah, I’m good—really. But thanks…”
Does he sound rude for declining?
“Cool.” Heeseung takes another puff.
Jake didn’t even know he smoked.
This wasn’t the Heeseung from the library. That guy had a group. A guitar. A perfect smile. This one just had a smoke.
If mom knew this, she’d have a heart attack. The thought is so random—so ridiculous, that Jake chuckles. Then he covers his mouth, gaze snapping to Heeseung again.
“Something funny?” Heeseung asks.
He doesn’t sound mad—but Jake doesn’t test his luck.
“Not you,” He says quickly. “Just… life’s the greatest irony. I just realised that. All of a sudden.”
He should've stopped talking two sentences ago.
Heeseung huffs something that might be a laugh. Or maybe Jake imagined it. Either way, he doesn’t move or look away.
“Your name’s… Jake, right?”
Jake blinks at him, leaning further back into the wall. “Yeah, that’s… me.”
How the hell do you know who I am? He almost asks.
What comes out instead: “Am I supposed to ask who you are or… tell you your name?”
The question he thought of would’ve been better—everyone knows who Lee Heeseung is.
Another huff. “I’ll save you the trouble. I’m Heeseung.”
Yes, exactly.
“Right. Uh, nice to meet you?”
“Likewise.”
They don’t say anything else.
Heeseung glances toward the house.
“You going back in?”
Jake shrugs. He said he wouldn’t waste the night but here he is. He should just own it. Night-waster Jake. Just another Tuesday.
“Eventually.”
Neither of them moves.