Chapter Text
The bassline hit Felix before the music did.
It thudded through the concrete walls, up the stairwell, into the soles of his polished boots. Each step down rattled like a warning, as if the underground itself wanted to shake him clean out of his comfort zone.
He hesitated at the bottom. The air changed here—thick with heat, damp with bodies pressed too close, sharp with cigarette smoke that snuck past the bouncers outside. The floor stuck slightly underfoot, syrupy with spilled beer, and the low ceiling dripped with condensation.
Felix had been in glittering venues, had walked red carpets that pulsed with flashbulbs, had stood in front of cameras worth more than this entire building. None of it prepared him for the crush of a basement packed shoulder to shoulder with strangers in leather jackets and ripped tights, hair sprayed into wild colors, eyeliner smudged from the humidity.
He was overdressed. Too clean, too precise—silk shirt buttoned high, blazer cut razor-sharp, boots shining like they belonged on a runway instead of a sticky floor. The crowd didn’t exactly part for him, but it rippled with side-eyes, little glances that clocked him immediately as an outsider.
And yet, he let Seungmin drag him further in.
“You’re frowning,” Seungmin said, monotone as ever.
“I’m not frowning,” Felix muttered.
“You are. You do it whenever you’re out of your comfort zone. Like, say, now.”
Felix slipped his hands into his pockets, trying not to touch anything he didn’t have to. “I could’ve just met him over dinner, you know.”
“Yeah, but then you wouldn’t experience the full package.” Seungmin’s mouth twitched—his version of a grin.
Felix raised a brow. “By full package you mean—?”
“Music. Crowd. Sweat. All the things that make Jisung hot.”
Felix wrinkled his nose. “I’ll take your word for it.”
That was when Jeongin appeared on Felix’s other side, holding his phone like he was already livestreaming this moment to the group chat. “You’re gonna eat your words. Seungmin’s boyfriend is actually talented. And attractive. Shocking, right?”
Felix shot him a look. “Don’t you have clothes to steam?”
“Already did. You’re welcome, by the way—you look rich enough to buy this whole building and burn it down.”
Before Felix could retort, the lights cut.
The basement plunged into darkness.
A roar split the air, rising sharp and frenzied, rattling in Felix’s ribs. Lights flickered to life—cheap strobes, too bright for a second, then cutting low again like the room was holding its breath.
The first figure strode out, guitar slung across his back, hair falling into his eyes. He grinned, wide and reckless, the kind of smile that dared you to follow him anywhere. He leaned into the mic, voice curling playful and sharp around a single “Let’s go!”—and the crowd screamed like they’d been waiting just for him.
“That’s Jisung,” Seungmin leaned close to murmur, voice low but proud, almost smug.
Felix flicked him a glance. The name mattered—Seungmin had been cagey for months, never once confirming or denying the mystery boyfriend. The way his eyes softened as he watched said more than words ever could.
But before he could respond, another figure took his place at the keys. Taller, shoulders loose with practiced swagger, settling onto the stool with an ease that said he’d done this a thousand times. Fingers brushed the keys and a quick cascade of sound slipped out, smooth and confident, sending the crowd into a new wave of cheers.
Then the drummer burst out, climbing onto his stool like he couldn’t wait another second. Shorter, all compact energy, grin flashing under the lights. He clicked his sticks together, fast, sharp, until the whole crowd was stomping in rhythm with him. The floor shook with every count.
And then—
The bassist.
He walked in last, unhurried, like the stage had been waiting for him. Lights caught in the short dark cut of his hair, in the silver chain snug against his throat. His tank clung damp to his chest, the strap of his bass sliding into place as naturally as breath. He didn’t play right away—he tested the strings, one low note, then dropped another one so deep Felix swore it pulled the air straight out of his lungs.
Felix froze.
He couldn’t stop watching—the flex of his arms, the sway of his hips with the rhythm, the curve of his mouth as he leaned toward the mic. Raw, alive, every movement loose with confidence.
Exactly his type.
Seungmin didn’t even look at him. He didn’t have to.
“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered, just loud enough for Felix to hear over the roar.
Felix blinked, still staring. “What?”
“You’re staring.” A sigh. “Of course it had to be him.”
The first chords hit, sharp and bright from Jisung’s guitar, his voice cutting through like it had teeth. Playful one moment, ragged the next—each lyric pitched like he was taunting the crowd into screaming louder.
Seungmin didn’t take his eyes off him. His lips quirked upward, a rare softness there. Felix almost smiled—he’d never seen his best friend look at anyone like that.
But then his gaze was pulled elsewhere.
The keys slid in, smooth and clever, twining around the guitar line like smoke. The keyboardist barely looked down, fingers skating across the instrument with careless confidence. When the lights strobed, his grin flashed sharp, one hand raised to hype the crowd without missing a note.
The drummer hit next, all energy, arms a blur. Every strike of the snare shook the floor, every cymbal crash ricocheted through Felix’s chest. He was laughing between beats, wild and alive, egging the others on with the kind of joy that turned the noise into something bigger.
And then—always, inevitably—Felix’s eyes dragged back to the bassist.
It was the way he moved. Unhurried, almost lazy, yet every note was deliberate, heavy, anchoring the others. He tilted the bass low on his hips, fingers running the strings with a confidence that made it look obscene. Head dipped, jaw taut, veins in his neck straining when he leaned into the mic for backing vocals.
Every time he did, Felix’s stomach dropped.
The chain at his throat caught the lights, his tank clung tighter as sweat darkened it, and his hair stuck damp across his forehead. He shifted his weight, body rolling with the rhythm, and Felix swore the bass wasn’t the only thing vibrating through him.
And then—worse—those sharp eyes kept cutting back to the crowd. Not scanning, not idly looking. Searching.
Every time, Felix felt them catch on him. Hold him. Pin him in place until he was the one who had to look away.
His fingers curled into fists inside his pockets, heart stuttering. He could hear Jeongin shrieking lyrics beside him, Seungmin clapping along under his breath, but the music was too loud, the bassist was too much.
Beautiful, in the rawest way. Dangerous. Exactly what Felix shouldn’t want.
He swallowed hard, throat dry, and forced himself to glance at Seungmin.
His best friend was staring at him. Flat expression, unimpressed, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he was holding back the words.
Sure enough, the second Felix met his eyes, Seungmin leaned in and sighed.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s what I thought.”
The last song unfurled like a storm, every note thrumming against the walls until the basement felt ready to split at the seams. The crowd was a living organism by then—sweat and sound and smoke tangled in a mess that made Felix dizzy if he thought about it too long.
His gaze should have wandered, maybe to the drummer’s manic grin or the way the keyboardist leaned into his mic with a taunt of a harmony. He even caught Jisung, Seungmin’s boyfriend, thrashing his guitar like he was wringing it for blood, voice pitched raw enough to scrape bone.
But Felix’s attention never really moved.
It stayed locked on him.
The bassist. The way his shoulders hunched low over his instrument, hips rolling with the rhythm like it was a private joke, hair plastered damp across his forehead. He wasn’t showy, not like Jisung, not like the others. His charisma lived in the quiet dominance of holding the spine of every song, letting the others crash and burn around him while he kept everything alive.
And then it happened again. Mid-song, mid-riff—his eyes found Felix.
Not a glance. Not a lazy sweep of the crowd. A direct lock, heavy enough that Felix forgot to breathe.
The grin that tugged at the bassist’s mouth was slow, deliberate, as if he knew what it was doing to him. Felix’s fingers twitched at his sides, the weight of the stare crawling down his skin until his entire body wanted to move—closer, reckless, indecent. For one wild second, he imagined dragging him down right there onstage, pressing him against an amp, and tasting that sweat-slick smirk until the music swallowed them both.
But composure mattered. And Lee Felix had mastered composure like a second skin.
He blinked, ripped his gaze away, smoothed the line of his shirt. Velvet, not leather. Poise, not chaos.
The song hit its final swell. Cymbals shattered, the keys glittered wild, Jisung’s guitar screamed, and the bass shook like the floor itself was alive. The noise peaked, then crashed out all at once, leaving the roar of applause to fill the vacuum.
Jisung bounded forward, practically shining despite the sweat dripping down his jaw. He leaned into the mic, breathless and grinning.
“Thank you, Seoul!” he shouted, the crowd screaming back louder than the amps. “We are—” He raised his guitar high over his head, holding the moment like a crown. “CREED!”
The name boomed through the room, echoed by chants from the pit. Someone threw a half-empty cup toward the stage, beer spraying in a glittering arc. Jisung dodged it like a pro, laughing into the mic.
“Nice try, asshole!” he jeered, earning another wave of cheers. “Before we wrap this up, show some love for the boys—”
He pointed first toward the keyboardist, who leaned into the mic with a cocky grin, fingers still tapping out a tease of notes. The crowd whooped back.
“On keys, BANG CHAN!” Jisung paused dramatically, letting the name ring out, the cheers swelling.
He swung next to the drummer, who twirled a stick in one hand and tossed it into the crowd with a wild laugh. The room went feral.
“On drums, SEO CHANGBIN!” Another wave of noise.
“And the man who keeps us alive on bass, HWANG HYUNJIIIIN!” Jisung turned toward the other side of the stage.
The bassist barely acknowledged the attention, just dipped his head with that same infuriating smirk, fingers brushing over the strings one last time to send a low hum through the amps.
The sound rumbled straight into Felix’s stomach.
“And you’ve got me—Han Jisung, main vocal and guitar!” He thrashed one final riff for punctuation before throwing both arms open, soaking in the adoration. “We’re CREED. You’ve been fucking amazing tonight.”
The crowd screamed back, a chaotic chorus of chants and whistles and shouts of their names. Jisung pointed randomly into the pit, laughing.
“You—yeah, you in the leather! Don’t think I didn’t see you trying to copy my moves. Not bad, but you need more hip.” The audience howled as Jisung shimmied exaggeratedly, guitar sliding dangerously low on his thighs. “Practice and maybe I’ll let you sub in next time.”
Hyunjin leaned into his mic. “That’s a lie, he’s a control freak.”
“Shut up, you missed a whole verse!” Jisung shot back, earning laughter from the crowd, who clearly lived for this messy back-and-forth.
Chan cut in, banging a single beat. “We’re getting kicked out if you don’t wrap it!”
“Fine, fine.” Jisung rolled his eyes but turned back to the audience, suddenly sincere. “Seriously—thank you. Underground shows don’t live without people like you showing up, screaming your lungs out. We’ll see you next time. Get home safe, don’t get arrested, and remember—” He grinned, voice lifting. “Louder is always better!”
The crowd lost its collective mind one last time, the sound deafening enough to rattle Felix’s ribs.
And just like that, the lights dimmed, the stage emptied, and the band disappeared into the back.
Felix exhaled, only now realizing how tight his chest had been wound. The smoke hung heavy, the room buzzing with the chatter of people already plotting their next drink, but it all felt muffled around him.
Seungmin, meanwhile, was grinning like a dog in heat.
“Come on,” he said, tugging at Felix’s wrist.
Felix blinked. “Where?”
“Backstage.” Seungmin’s tone was smug. “Perks of dating the star of the show.”
Jeongin perked up instantly, phone already halfway out of his pocket. “We’re going backstage? Oh, Minho hyung's gonna love this.”
Felix shot him a look. “You’re really going to snitch to my cousin?”
Jeongin grinned. “Snitch? I call it live reporting.”
Before Felix could argue, Seungmin had already bulldozed through the thinning crowd, dragging both of them with the stubborn efficiency only he had. They slipped behind the side curtain, down a narrow corridor that smelled of spilled beer and electrical wires, the hum of the crowd fading behind them.
The greenroom wasn’t glamorous. A couple folding chairs, amps stacked in the corners, condensation dripping down bottles on a makeshift table. The kind of place Felix would’ve sneered at if not for the adrenaline still buzzing in his veins.
And waiting inside—laughing, buzzing, wild with leftover energy—were the boys of CREED.
The door banged open before Felix could adjust. The greenroom was small, cramped, and humid with leftover stage sweat, but it pulsed with the same restless energy as the show.
Changbin was sprawled across a chair, still tapping his sticks against his thighs in restless bursts. Chan fiddled with cables on the floor, humming like his brain couldn’t turn the music off. And Hyunjin—leaning against the far wall, bass already propped to the side, hair damp and curling at the edges—looked like he hadn’t even broken a sweat.
“Minnie!”
The shout snapped Felix’s attention back. Jisung abandoned his guitar mid-wipe-down and practically launched himself across the room. His grin was so wide it might split his face.
To Felix’s shock, Seungmin didn’t dodge. Didn’t scowl. He just braced himself and let Jisung wrap him up, arms slung around his shoulders in a sweaty, graceless hug.
Felix blinked. What the hell?
Kim Seungmin—famously allergic to physical affection, the guy who once slapped Jeongin’s hand away for brushing his arm too long—was standing there in full acceptance while Jisung nuzzled into his hair like a golden retriever on caffeine.
Felix’s jaw fell open. Jeongin elbowed him gleefully.
“You’re witnessing history, hyung.”
Jisung finally turned his grin toward Felix, though he stayed firmly attached to Seungmin’s side. “So you’re the Lee Felix. High-class best friend I keep hearing about.”
Felix arched a brow, lips curling dry. “And you’re the rockstar who somehow snatched my best friend. Bold of you.”
“Guilty as charged,” Jisung laughed, triumphant, pulling Seungmin closer until Seungmin muttered something that sounded suspiciously like stop embarrassing me.
Introductions tumbled after that. Chan looked up from his cables long enough to wave, his smile bright but measured. “I’m Chan—keys. Ignore Jisung, he’s only tolerable on stage.”
“Lies,” Jisung shot back immediately.
“Facts,” Changbin chimed in, spinning a drumstick between his fingers. “Changbin. Drums. Don’t worry, I only break things when I’m paid to.”
Felix smirked. “Good to know.”
And then—last, inevitable—Seungmin gestured toward the bassist. “And that’s—”
“I know,” Felix cut in, eyes snapping across the room.
Hyunjin was already watching him.
The smirk was there again, lazy and sharp, mouth curved like he’d been expecting this. His gaze slid down Felix in a slow, deliberate sweep before crawling back up to meet his eyes.
“Oh?” His voice was a low drawl, sarcastic in a way that dared Felix to bite back. “Recognize me from somewhere? Or just from earlier—when you couldn’t stop staring?”
The words landed like sparks in a powder room.
Felix’s pulse stuttered, but his mouth was quicker. He tilted his chin, letting his tone drip cool and dismissive. “Funny. I was thinking the same about you.”
Hyunjin’s smirk deepened. “Maybe I was staring.” A step closer, the distance shrinking. “Didn’t think you’d notice.”
Felix held steady, though his fingers curled in his pockets. “Didn’t think you’d break character long enough to risk it.”
For a beat, silence ruled. Not awkward—electric.
Chan cleared his throat, trying and failing to mask a grin. Changbin mouthed a dramatic ooooh.
From the corner, Jeongin had his phone out again, thumb flying as he captioned the secret video: Hyung, your cousin is about to commit life-ruining choices.
Felix didn’t break eye contact. Neither did Hyunjin. The room might as well have fallen away.
The silence cracked first with Changbin, who slapped his thigh and let out a laugh so loud it rattled the bottles on the table.
“Holy shit, this is better than cable,” he crowed. “Do that again. Stare at each other more. Maybe kiss, I’ll grab popcorn.”
Felix finally blinked, tearing his eyes away long enough to roll them. “You’re insufferable.”
“Thank you,” Changbin said, grinning like he’d just won a medal.
Hyunjin, though, didn’t move. Still leaned back against the wall, still wearing that damn smirk. His eyes lingered like he was cataloging every twitch Felix made, every tiny falter in his composure.
It made Felix want to dig his nails into his palms. Or worse—close the space between them just to see if that mouth tasted as arrogant as it looked.
Jisung, oblivious or maybe just reckless, piped up with glee. “Oh my god, Seungmin, look at them. They’re flirting.”
“We are not,” Felix snapped, a beat too fast.
“Right,” Hyunjin drawled, voice low and amused. “Just a little mutual… admiration.”
Felix’s jaw tensed. “Admiration usually doesn’t look like a staredown mid-set.”
“Depends on the set,” Hyunjin countered smoothly. “Or the person.”
Chan buried his face in his hands. “Please. We just played a great show, don’t let it end with public horniness.”
That sent Jisung into a fit of laughter, nearly knocking Seungmin off-balance as he clung tighter. “He’s right, though! You saw it too, Min—your best friend was eye-fucking Hyunjin from the crowd.”
Seungmin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why do I bring any of you near each other?”
Jeongin, meanwhile, had tears in his eyes from muffled laughter. His phone vibrated as Minho’s reply popped up: If he does anything stupid, film it. I want evidence for the inevitable trial.
Hyunjin finally pushed off the wall, slow and deliberate. He didn’t close the distance, but the air shifted with the movement, heavier somehow.
“Well,” he murmured, head tilted, eyes flicking once more down Felix like a challenge, “if he was staring… can’t say I blame him.”
Felix’s heartbeat kicked so hard it hurt. But he kept his mouth curved in a razor-thin smile. “Careful. Velvet tears easy, remember?”
Hyunjin’s smirk sharpened. “Guess we’ll see how durable you really are.”
The others groaned in unison—half disgust, half delight.
“God, I hate it here,” Seungmin muttered, but he hooked his arm through Felix’s and tugged him firmly toward the door. “We’re leaving before someone makes this worse.”
“Too late!” Jisung called after them, laughter chasing Felix out of the room.
Changbin leaned close to Chan as they went. “They’re gonna combust, right?”
“Give it a week,” Chan said confidently, “Two, tops.”