Work Text:
It’s already late when Jisung pushes through the doors of The Velvet Room, the air thick with laughter, cigarette smoke, and brass. The place hums with life — women in poodle skirts and heels spin beneath the low lights, their laughter spilling out like music. Men in sharp suits tip their hats, snapping fingers to the rhythm. Omegas, betas, alphas — all mixed together on one dance floor, sharing drinks and jokes like the world outside doesn’t exist.
That’s how it should be, Jisung thinks, tugging the brim of his fedora lower. He’s far from home — Malaysia had its own rhythm, its own bustling streets and market chatter, scents of lemongrass and fried snacks in the humid air — and he’s still adjusting to the brash, smoky glamour of an American club. Every laugh and shout, every tap of heels on wood, feels new, alive, and slightly overwhelming.
He’s here for his first night with the house band. The club’s owner, Christopher Bang — or “Channie” to anyone with a drink in hand — had posted about needing a new band member for his equality club downtown. Jisung had thought it was a joke, until he showed up for the audition and found a band made of everything polite society pretends doesn’t mix.
Christopher himself is an Australian alpha — honey-sweet scent and voice gentle and as seasoned as pistachio ice cream. Curls always falling into his face, shirt halfway open no matter the weather. The kind of man who swears like it’s punctuation and calls everyone mate even when he’s half-scolding them. He runs the place with a grin, a bottle, and just enough chaos to keep things lively.
His partner, Lee Minho, is all poise and precision — Korean alpha, the aura of masculinity, but the grace of a female feline. He smells of sugared citrus — clean, dangerous, impossible to ignore. He handles the books, the bookings, and half the broken hearts.
Behind the bar, Hyunjin works his magic — a tall beta with a alive laughter, a red velvet scent, and an accent that drifts between continents. He’s been everywhere, or so he says, and pours a drink like it’s an art form. Folks come here for the music, but they stay for his cocktails and the stories that follow.
Felix, a beta, handles the stage lights and crowd charm — all winks and drawls, perfume and powder, with a voice like honey on vinyl. He floats through the crowd as if born of spotlight — sometimes dancing, sometimes just being seen.
And Jisung — new blood, new nerves. A pianist from Malaysia with too much rhythm in his veins and a polite, careful way of studying everyone around him, trying to pick up the club’s pulse. Tonight’s his first night, and as always, his fingers itch for the buttons of some type of instrument.
“Aye, Jisung!” He hears his name come from the bar, whipping his head around. Standing near the brightly smiling bartender, Christopher stands with a drink and a crinkled-eye grin that always compliments his chest, which is peeking from the top of his silk cotton Cuban shirt.
Jisung beams, waving as he makes his way over, unable to hide his excitement in the eyes of such brilliantly positive people. “Channiee! Hey, man!” he cheers, nearly skipping through the crowd to go and greet the other, dodging swingers and drunken pairs as he throws himself in the alphas arms.
“Finally, you made it!” Chan claps him on the shoulder, gold chain catching the low lights. “My talented pianist. Seriously folks, I knew he’d be good, but mate… he blew us away every fuckin’ time he picked up an instrument.” He leans back, chest forward as the crowd of people around him laugh and ooh, like he’s introducing a new act to the world.
Minho steps quietly beside him, hands folded behind his back, voice calm but sharp. “We were all counting the hours,” he says, eyes flicking over Jisung with a small smile. His crisp white shirt and rolled sleeves catch the soft glow of the bar lights. “The club hasn’t felt right without you.”
Hyunjin drifts forward in his silk shirt, bright eyes teasing. “And I was dying to see you play again, darling. Don’t think I haven’t been keeping tabs.” His fingers hover over the piano for a second, brushing the keys lightly before spinning away, leaving a trail of cologne and something floral in the air.
Felix leans casually from where he’s perched on the bar, talking to some regulars, crooked grin in place. “Look at you, all polite and proper,” he drawls, accent also Australian but somehow weaving between continents. “I half expected you to be stiff tonight, but you’re glowing, eh?”
Jisung’s grin spreads without thought, his nerves easing as he waves, nodding. “I couldn’t wait to come back. I wouldn’t rather be anywhere else.”
“‘Course. You belong here, mate,” Chan says, nudging him lightly. “Always did.” Hyunjin twirls past, effortlessly placing a glass in Jisung’s hand before making his way back to the bar to pour a few more drinks and laugh at something his customers are talking about, intoxicated with alcohol and excitement.
“Tonight, we’re going to make some magic, aren’t we?” Minho’s smile deepens, pride faint but clear. “Let’s give them a show.” The club hums around them — laughter, music, chatter — and Jisung feels it all soak in, the warmth, the chaos, the family he’s already part of.
Chan hollers across the room, cutting through the hum like a flare:
“Aye, love! Our prodigy’s hea’ now! Enough with the jukebox, mate! Felix, darlin’!”
The blonde man—who seems to have been flirting with one of the regulars—gives Christopher a thumbs-up before bounding to the jukebox and flipping it off. He skips from behind the bar to climb on the stage.
“Jisung, mate.” Chan’s arm hooks over the pianist’s shoulder, drink in the other hand, cigarette balanced carefully between his fingers. “Let us show you something. Oi, ladies and gents, how about some live music, aye?”
The crowd erupts in cheers, whistles and hollers echoing through the room like a celebration.
“Hell yes!” Jisung laughs, taking the drink he’d been given and throwing it back in a flash as the crowd roars again. Joy buzzes through the air like a drug, and everyone is high on it.
The concoction Hyunjin had given him burns going down — in the best way. Jisung usually isn’t much of a drinker, especially because of his low tolerance, but he has a lot to get down if he wants to catch up with the crowd and staff alike.
“We need someone to sing a bit — show Sungie hea’ how we do things. Seungmin! Where’s Seungmin??” He twists, whipping his head around like he’s trying to pinpoint a certain someone within the vicinity.
Jisung raises an eyebrow, confused by a name he’s never heard as Chan slides away, peeking around the corner where the kitchen door is being pushed open.
Then, from behind the bar, a man glides into the room. At least — Jisung thinks — he’s a man. Gorgeous doesn’t begin to cover it: delicate, almost doll-like features softened by a warm smile, short hair tucked neatly, broad shoulders giving him presence. A single flower rests behind his ear, bright against the sweep of dark hair, catching the low club lights.
“Yes.” The voice is soft, almost a murmur, yet something in it commands attention. A small smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he glances at Chan, calm and fluid in every movement.
Chan beckons him forward, hand on his waist in a familiar, easy gesture. “J, mate, this is my main vocalist. A sweet piece of candy, isn’t he?” His grin is wide, teasing. “Aye, baby, why don’t you sing somethin’ for us?”
Candy is an understatement of the century. He looks like diamonds shining, in a different style of dress than the rest of the bar’s hosting pack. His clothing has frills and lace decorating his hips and tiny waist, like an omega who doesn’t work at a club of this caliber.
The head tilts slightly, flower brushing his cheek as he steps into the light. Every movement is deliberate, graceful, like water flowing over polished wood. Jisung’s breath catches without warning — the honeyed warmth of the voice, the effortless elegance, the soft curve of a smile and accent… it’s magnetic, impossible to look away from.
Seungmin pauses once his eyes land on Jisung, his small, sweet smile changing the slightest bit into something a little more mischievous — like he’s gonna bite him. Jisung’s mouth goes dry when the singer blatantly checks him out, his doll-like eyes doing a drawn-out, shameless once-over of his figure.
“Sure thing, sugar,” Seungmin hums to Chan, though his eyes never leave Jisung. “So tell me, sweetheart — does a real name and specialty come with those ripplin’ pectorals, or are you just for decoration?”
A part of the crowd around them laughs, like they’re used to Seungmin’s playful quips, and the pianist’s heart skips a beat.
“Ah– Jisung. I’m the new instrumentalist. Your–” he stutters over his words, swallowing to try and salivate his tongue a little, his loudly beating heart making it hard to focus on getting his words out properly. “Your accent– it’s–” he pauses, humiliatingly enough, his speech gives out completely when Seungmin’s smile spreads just a bit, like he’s taking pleasure in Jisung’s fumbling.
He hears Felix, Hyunjin, and Minho laughing nearby, though he can’t take his eyes off the piece of art in front of him. He knows it’s because of his gawking. Lucky for him, Chan — ever the sweetheart — takes mercy on him, even though he’s laughing as he talks as well.
“Minnie here’s from New Orleans. His real name’s Sky, but he moved to Korea for a while, where he met Minho. They both moved here together. He was away for a heat during your audition — sorry you two couldn’t meet sooner.”
Even with the explanation, Jisung’s unable to form words. The man’s omega scent is cinnamon — the baked kind — filling his senses with pheromones of amusement. Betas have both heats and ruts, and Jisung’s always been more prone to heats, but the feminine charm that Seungmin’s got is making the alpha side of his subgender claw at the bars of its enclosure. Something dominant and aggressive that he rarely experiences reaches for Seungmin like it’s calling his name.
“Minnie, baby!” comes a voice from the stage — it’s Hyunjin’s. He taps the mic two or three times, pulling the cord from around the stand, Felix standing a little further back on the stage, chatting with Changbin, a bouncer and musician who’s sitting behind the drums.
“We’re ready for you,” he sing-songs. Seungmin nods politely, Chan taps his butt twice, smiling as he makes his way to the stage.
“Go ahead, Minnie! Break a leg love!”
Seungmin nods once at him as he takes to the mic. The lights dim, and a few other musicians shuffle onto stage behind him as he adjusts the cord coming from the stand.
As everyone sets in place, the music begins playing, and the crowd whoops and cheers as Seungmin’s first words ring through the club’s space. It’s like an entrancement — couples pair up, even Felix and Minho take each other’s hands.
“Never met someone, quite like you,” he sings — slow, smooth, enunciated despite his accent. Seungmin recognizes the song, ‘Love You I Do’ by a member of a popular recording star. And the different when Seungmin sings it only serves to prove how well the omegas voice fits the genre.
His posture is straight where he stands behind the microphone, and immediately, Jisung is captivated. He leans into his hip, smiling like he’s in his element — in a way that seems to be nothing but pure quiet joy and chaos, as if he knows he’s driving the crowd crazy.
The song is a classic, powerful soul number with a backbone despite its smoothness. Seungmin perfects every run and harmony with an addictingly smooth tone — something about his voice boyish yet soulful, like a combination of his own omegan attributes and the sweetness of his origin. It’s addicting, and Jisung is hooked on the first note.
It’s inevitable, really, when Chan sets his glass down and everyone makes their way onto the dance floor. He laughs, overjoyed by everyone's unshakable need to suddenly be in the center and move. Like retro magic, there’s not a single wallflower in all of the club, everyone overcome with definition by dance.
They sway, sing along, hip, hop, drink — and Seungmin smiles in the spotlight, shaking his hips happily to the beat of the music. Jisung doesn’t think there’s a single face in the space that hasn’t got a smile on it, and any anxiety he had for the night is gone. It’s bliss — welcoming, open, musical bliss. He absolutely could not wait to get on stage.
Seungmin leans down into the crowd, caressing Jisung’s face where he stands near the edge of the stage as he belts out the finishing notes of the melody, a harmonizing string of runs that melts Jisung’s ears like ice cream.
When the song ends, the others usher Jisung up to the stage, and he climbs up without a second thought. Seungmin watches, dazzling under the attention like he belongs behind the mic in front of the crowd, and Jisung can’t help but smirk as he moves past, just getting a feeling of something forming between them as their eyes meet on his way to the piano.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” Seungmin’s sweet voice echoes through the space, his smile joyous and gorgeous in a way that makes Jisung’s heart skip a beat when he turns to look back at him, approaching him where he sits with a gliding strut of confidence.
“We’ve got a new musician with us tonight, ain’t that somethin’? What’s your name, hun? I heard you’re quite the all ’rounda,” he smiles, lowering the mic for Jisung to speak into.
“Han Jisung, beautiful. It’s a pleasure to be here.” He’s cheesing like he’s won the lottery when he looks up at Seungmin where he's standing next to him, taking his hand off of his shoulder to place a kiss on the back of the omega’s palm.
The crowd oohs and awes, whooping at the bold move — without a doubt teasing and gushing at the romantic gesture. But to Jisung, they’re just background noise. All that matters is the gorgeous man in front of him, who looks like he was made on purpose by the hands of goddesses.
“Oh, a flirt, I see.” Seungmin rolls his eyes, though his smile is as big as Jisung’s and his cheeks are dusted pink. He shoves Jisung’s fedora down into his face as he walks away, making his way back up to the stand in the front of the stage.
“Tonight’s Jisung’s first night performin’ with us, so let’s show him some love and make it a home for him, yeah?” The crowd erupts with hollers again — from the bar to the red sofas in the sections to the second floor, everyone is on their feet.
The piano rings out like a gunshot.
A few heads turn, then all at once, the crowd erupts — the entire club alive and moving under Jisung’s hands. The rhythm is alive, reckless, and he’s high off it, off the shared pulse of sound and sweat and heat. The rest of the performers, those who hadn’t been there for his audition, stare for a moment — startled, even — before laughter spills out and they join in, taking it as a challenge.
Seungmin’s eyes catch his, a flicker of brown under the low lights. His smile curves, lazy, deliberate. A step closer.The crowd is roaring, but somehow Jisung can still hear his own heartbeat.
Seungmin slides a hand through his hair, brushing it back from his forehead, the touch so gentle it nearly burns. Jisung’s hands don’t stop moving, though his eyes follow Seungmin like he’s under a spell.
Seungmin leans close to the mic, smirking as his voice cuts through the haze, smooth as honey. Then he steps away again, all grace and tease, sidestepping the cord as he makes his way across the stage to mess with Changbin — the audience losing its mind as he does.
And Jisung? He’s already gone.
The night goes on like a slow spin of vinyl, skipping only when the crowd gets too wild.
Seungmin’s voice drips off the mic, sweet as honey, smooth as a late-night confession. He moves through the haze like he’s got rhythm stitched into his bones — flirting with the crowd, teasing at the edge of the stage, eyes all half-lidded and soft when they fall on Jisung. Every touch is on purpose, every look a test. And Jisung? He’s gone. Done for. Hooked deep. His hands never stop moving on the piano, but his body’s bent to Seungmin’s will, following his voice like a guard dog to a whistle.
Chan’s in the back, laughing behind the drums, keeping the heartbeat of the room steady while hollering things like “That’s my baby singin’!” between cymbal hits. Felix dances with whoever he can catch — sometimes Minho, sometimes a regular — that blond head glowing under the lights as he laughs and spins, his shirt clinging to him like it’s part of the show. Minho slips in where he pleases, taking over on bass or swiping drinks, all sharp lines and soft eyes, his grin the only thing sharper.
Jisung’s high on the crowd now. High on the music, on the energy buzzing under his skin. The rhythm’s fast, but his chest’s faster. Every time Seungmin brushes past him, his pulse jumps — when a hand slides over his shoulder, when fingers graze the back of his neck, when Seungmin leans close just to whisper something he can’t even catch over the noise. It doesn’t matter. It burns anyway.
Then it happens — voices in the crowd get too loud, too sharp. Chairs scrape. A glass tips over.
Seungmin stops mid-note. His eyes lift quickly, mouth curved but not kind. He hops down from the stage, silk shirt glinting under the amber light. The crowd parts for him, they know better.
“Oh? Now I see you wanna go home, ah?” he muses, sweet as sugar, deadly as a switchblade when he raises a hand a Changbin behind the drums, who’s ready for his beckon. His doll eyes are intense now, though he’s in the crowd with his back to Jisung, he can tell Suengmin doesn’t like the extra drama brewing in a place that’s supposed to be home and carefree.
A few murmured apologies, some laughter, and the tension’s gone. Chan hits the snare just to fill the silence, Felix hoots from the bar, and Seungmin tosses his head, rolling his eyes as he climbs back up, with the help of Jisung’s wandering hands and thick biceps.
“That’s what I thought,” he mutters into the mic, and the crowd roars.
Felix starts handing out shots like candy. Jeongin peeks his head out from the kitchen, towel over his shoulder, apron still tied — only to get dragged into the noise. Minho grabs him by the hand, twirling him until they’re both laughing too hard to stand. Changbin’s got a customer by the collar near the door, grinning while Chan keeps drumming in his place through the chaos, like it’s all part of the song.
And through it all, Jisung keeps playing. His hands ache, but he doesn’t stop. Not when Seungmin sways back to him, voice wrapping around the piano like smoke. Not when their eyes meet again — soft, dangerous, knowing.
It’s not just music anymore. It’s a spell. One with retro smoking magic that doesn’t begin to fade until the suns peeking over the horizon outside.
By the time the last note fades, the sky’s gone dark blue through the blinds.
The crowd’s spilling out into the street — laughing, stumbling, clinging to each other like they can take the night with them. The hum of engines, the scrape of heels on pavement, the echo of a last “goodnight!” through the open doors.
Inside, The Velvet Room exhales.
Felix hums while he sweeps up cigarette buds and shattered glass, hips still swaying like the music’s never stopped. Minho’s sleeves are rolled high as he wipes down the tables, all quiet concentration. Chan’s stacking chairs with his hair sticking to his forehead, laughing low at something Hyunjin mutters while polishing glasses behind the bar. The jukebox’s playing something slow and tender now, something soft enough to land on tired hearts.
Jeongin’s in the kitchen, apron half-off, still grinning from the night. You can hear him through the half-shut door, teasing Seungmin about something.
Jisung sits on the stage with Changbin, tuning the piano strings that hummed half the night. His fingers ache, wrists sore, but he can’t stop smiling. He keeps glancing up — not at the mess, not at the bar, but at him.
Seungmin’s leaning against the counter, hair a little messy, voice low as he talks with Jeongin. The lamplight hits the curve of his throat, the soft lines of his face. He catches Jisung staring. Again. Doesn’t look away this time. Just smiles — small, knowing, sweet as sin.
Changbin notices, of course. He always does, and Jisung is starting to realize that about him. “Damn, you’re already gone for him, huh?” he says, leaning down from where he’s washing a saxophone, slapping Jisung’s shoulder with a grin.
“What? No, man, I’m just—” Jisung starts, already laughing, voice too high to be innocent.
“Uh-huh,” Changbin drawls, “Pal, you are looking at him like he’s a glass of water and you been walking through the desert. Just get his digits.”
Jisung groans, burying his face in his hands, shoulders shaking. His laughter carries across the room; bright, genuine, cutting through the slow quiet like the first beam of sunlight.
Changbin’s from the Americas, a cotton candy smelling beta who’s always been a musical performer according to Hyunjin, and he’s the one who teaches the whole pack the newest songs playing on the radio these days too. Jisung can’t help but laugh when Changbin wiggles his eyebrows at him, hitting him with his towel.
Across the bar, Seungmin’s breath catches. That laugh. That sound. It hits him somewhere deep, somewhere he didn’t know was empty until now.
Jeongin side-eyes him from the sink, smirking. “You keep messing with him like that, and he’s never gonna survive in this pack,” he teases, sliding a cup of tea across the counter. “Here. For your throat. You burned it showing off.”
Seungmin huffs, taking the cup. “I wasn’t showin’ off.”
“Uh-huh. And I along with every other customer tonight were not watching you flirt for four hours straight.” Jeongin is from the americas, raised in a church with a dream to be a priest. But one day, his non conservative friends brought him to The Velvet Room at an attempt to loosen him up, and somehow, he managed to get attached to his now pack members, and never left. Now he’s at the bar everyday after catholic school, cooking up a storm and dabbling in his dual life.
Seungmin rolls his eyes, sipping the tea to hide his smile. The steam fogs up the corner of the glass, the jukebox hums something about love, and the sunrise filters in pale and gold.
By the time the last glass is dried and the last chair stacked, the club’s gone quiet again — but not empty. It feels like something’s still echoing there. Something waiting. And when Jisung looks up one last time, Seungmin’s still watching him.
They trickle out one by one, kissing cheeks and giving farewells until it’s only Jisung, Minho and Seungmin left in the bar, the space cleaned up and the sweat dried on their skin by the time they finish closing.
“Sky.” Minho calls, approaching where Seungmin is sitting on the bar, finishing a second glass of tea. “Finish soothing you’re throat. Don’t forget to let Sungie out and pull down the shudders, I’m in the cadi, pup.” He says sweetly, squeezing Seungmin’s neck twice on his way past.
Seungmin hums, nodding as the alpha exits in his trench coat to fight against the morning bite, taking his sugary citrus with him. Seungmin looks across the space where Jisung sits, massaging his wrists and fingers which feel like they are about to fall off.
Seungmin downs the rest of his drink quietly, before going behind the bar and washing the cup out, placing it back in the kitchen to dry. He walks out, a fur coat on now, which contrasts with the developing warmth of dawn. The streets outside are still wet from last night’s mist, reflecting the first hints of sunlight. He moves with a slow, lazy grace, adjusting the collar as he makes his way past the rows of empty tables.
“You plannin’ to stay here ‘til next week?” Seungmin asks, voice low, teasing. There’s laughter in it, soft and smooth, the kind that curls around the edges of a man’s thoughts and doesn’t let go.
Jisung huffs a tired laugh, rubbing his palms together. “Just makin’ sure my hands still work,” he says, but it comes out breathier than he means it to. Seungmin tilts his head, amusement glinting in his eyes as he takes a few steps closer. “Mmh. They worked just fine tonight.”
Jisung looks down, a smile tugging at his lips and making his heart skip a beat. “Guess they did.” Seungmin stops in front of the bar, tilting his head at the beta playfully. “You played like the devil had his hands on yours. Had the crowd sweatin’.” His tone softens. “Had me sweatin’ too.”
That pulls Jisung’s gaze right back to him — the smell of cinnamon and tea and something richer fills the space between them. The silence stretches, held together by the faint hum of the jukebox, before Seungmin switches it off.
“I—” Jisung starts, but the words stumble somewhere between his chest and his throat.
Seungmin just smiles, soft and knowing. He reaches out — not quite touching, just close enough for Jisung to feel the heat from his fingers — and brushes a strand of hair off his forehead. “Don’t wear yourself out, handsome,” he murmurs, voice slipping like honey through smoke. “We got a whole week ahead of us. Come now, you’ve got to get some rest cause we gotta be back here tonight, I hope you can hack it.”
Jisung nearly stumbles over himself trying to get to the door, following Seungmin out. The omega waits for him, both Jisung’s pepsi scent and Seungmin’s cinnamon are tinged with nothing but joy, and love. For their job, for the atmosphere they maintained, and for lack of better wording to describe the brewing emotion they feel when they lock eyes.
He waits until Seungmin finishes locking up to go anywhere, watching with fiddling fingers as Seungmin struggles to pull the shudders down by himself. “Oh, please! Let me!” Jisung rushes forward, leeping to grab the bottom of the gate and snag it, effortlessly pulling it till it hits the ground, then the next, gently taking the locks from Seungmin and clicking them shut.
“Thank ya’.” Seungmin smiles as Jisung turns back to him, nodding. “My pleasure, Seungmin. I– I had a great time performing with you tonight.” he says, frantic in a way that makes Seungmin laugh in sweet little ha ha ha’s.
“Can I walk you to your wheels? Is that alright?” he tries, blinking his wide eyes at the omega a couple pleading times. Seungmin looks Jisung up and down again, once again—like he wants to bite him. “No.” he says simply, making the pianist deflate instantly. “Minho is waiting for me. But you sweet. I like you.” he says, reaching forward to comb Jisung's hair off his forehead again, who melts at the touch.
“Good day, Jisung.” he hums, retracting his hand. Then he turns, the fur brushing past Jisung’s knee as he walks to start towards the parking lot.
“Tch, ain’t that a bite?” Jisung says to himself, only after he can no longer see Seungmin.
The fog hangs low enough that the rising sun still cuts through in pale streaks, glinting off the slick street. Up and down the block, storefronts are waking up, metal shutters clattering open, lights flicking off and lamps being put out— the city starting its day while the kids are ending theirs.
Jisung’s still alive from the faded atmosphere, hip as can be with the rising sun. He skips through the fog on his way home, yahooing and jumping into the air, happy as a free bird. Not just because he loves his job — but because he met a gorgeous, captivating omega and the kind of pack he can’t wait to see again tomorrow.