ᴠᴏᴄᴀʟ ᴅᴇʙᴛ ! ʜᴇᴇᴊᴀᴋᴇ
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۶۟ৎ ʙᴀᴅ ᴀᴛ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ʙᴀᴅ ɪɪ
۶۟ৎ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ! : ᴜꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ꜰᴏᴜʟ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ
۶۟ৎ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.81ᴋ
۶۟ৎ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: The humid air of Singapore only heightens the tension when Jake’s voice suddenly fails him, forcing him into a humiliating silence. With a three-night residency on the line, he’s left with no choice but to let Heeseung—the one person he can’t stand—step into his spotlight and claim his lines. Between viral TikTok edits and a bruising backstage confrontation, Jake realizes that being "saved" by his rival is a price his pride can’t afford to pay.
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The final leg of the flight was a blur of Sunoo’s giggles and the low hum of the jet engines. By the time the wheels hit the tarmac at Changi, the adrenaline had long since drained out of me, replaced by a heavy, bone-deep exhaustion.
Stepping out of the airport was like walking into a warm, scented embrace. The Singapore air was thick—humid and heavy with the smell of damp earth and tropical greenery, a sharp contrast to the crisp, dry chill we’d left behind in Paris. It felt lush, expensive, and somehow more suffocating than the crowd we’d just escaped.
When we finally reached the hotel, the room assignments were posted. My roommate: Sunoo.
“Are you kidding me?” I groaned, though there was no real heat in it. I threw my bag onto the nearest bed. “I have to deal with your skincare vlogs for the next three days?”
“Excuse you, my vlogs are educational,” Sunoo chirped, already testing the bounce of his mattress. “Besides, would you rather be stuck with Heeseung-hyung? I hear he’s in a mood.”
I stiffened at the name but forced a casual shrug. “Fair point. You’re the lesser of two evils.”
Despite the chill atmosphere of the suite, a cold knot of unease was tightening in my chest. I tried to swallow, but my throat felt like it had been scraped with sandpaper. We had a three-night residency starting tomorrow, and right now, my voice was barely a whisper.
“Sunoo-ya,” I said, my voice cracking slightly. “I think I’m in trouble. My throat is shot.”
Sunoo stopped mid-sentence, looking at me with a mix of pity and pragmatism. “Just mark the rehearsals and lip-sync the high notes. It’s a stadium tour, Jake. No one’s going to execute you for being human.”
“And get dragged to hell on Weibo and Twitter? Absolutely not,” I retorted, rubbing my neck. “I’ll be fine. I just need total vocal rest. No talking, no shouting, nothing until soundcheck.”
Sunoo let out a mischievous little laugh, his eyes glinting with that familiar fox-like energy. “Vocal rest, huh? Well, good luck with that. If you get desperate, you could always ask Heeseung-hyung to cover your harmonies. He’s the only one who can hit your range.”
“Knock it off!” I snapped, though the lack of volume in my voice made it sound more like a desperate plea than a command.
Sunoo just grinned, scrolling on his phone. “I’m just saying. If you can’t use your voice, you better hope your favorite hyung is feeling charitable.”
“He’s not my favorite.” I hissed, every word feeling like a serrated blade against my vocal cords. “Besides, I don’t need him. You can hit my range, Sunoo. You help me out.”
Sunoo didn’t even look up from his phone, his lips curling into a judgmental little smirk. “No thanks, I’ll pass. Figure it out yourself—maybe it’ll finally knock some sense into you.”
Silence fell over the room, heavy and awkward. My throat felt like it was being rubbed with steel wool, and I was starting to feel genuinely like shit. I was just about to close my eyes when Sunoo suddenly started laughing like a maniac.
“Yo, hyung!” Sunoo barked out, doubling over. I jumped, clutching my chest. “Yo, you have to see this. Seriously.”
“What now?” I rasped, shooting him a glare. “Should I call the mental asylum or are you going to share it with me?”
Sunoo was still laughing hysterically when he shoved his phone into my face. It was a TikTok—already sitting at half a million likes. It was a high-def, slow-mo edit of the Paris airport, set to some overly romantic ballad, focused entirely on Heeseung’s hand on my lower back as he navigated me through the crowd.
“I knew it!” I groaned. The ship edits were already surfacing like a plague. Heeseung didn't have to be that dramatic; he was such a shameless attention seeker.
Sunoo was laughing so hard he started coughing, but he still managed to read the caption out loud in a mocking, dramatic voice: “‘Heeseung guiding his omega wife through the crowd...’ Oh my god, Jake, they're calling you his wife! You’re the omega!”
“Shut up!” I snapped, but the lack of volume made me sound pathetic.
“Oh, my Heejake heart,” Sunoo teased, clutching his chest. “Look at the comments! 'The way he protects him...' 'Heeseung looks so possessive...'”
“Whatever!” I turned my back on him, burying my face in the pillow. I could still hear him giggling behind me until I finally passed out.
The next morning was a total disaster. I woke up feeling like I’d swallowed a handful of sand. No matter how much I gargled warm water or swallowed honey, the damage was done. This was officially the worst day of my life.
When we finally piled into the car for the drive to the stadium, the energy was chaotic. Sunghoon was already hyped, and Sunoo was still scrolling through his phone, probably looking for more edits. Jungwon, ever the diligent leader, started handing out snacks.
“Thanks,” I blurted out instinctively.
The word was barely out of my mouth before I realized my mistake. My voice didn’t just sound hoarse—it sounded like a dying engine. The car went dead silent.
“Hyung?” Jungwon asked, his brow furrowed in immediate concern. “What’s wrong with your voice?”
I shot a desperate look at Sunoo, pointing at my throat and then at him, signaling for him to do the talking.
“It’s been like that since last night,” Sunoo filled in, his voice dripping with fake drama. “He was too stubborn to say anything because he didn’t want to be a ‘burden.’ Too much of a hero complex, and look where it got him. He also wouldn’t seek help from his alpha husband Heeseung-hyung. How prideful.”
Sunghoon snorted, nearly choking on his water.
Jungwon sighed, rubbing his temples as he looked at the setlist on his tablet. “We need someone to fill in Jake-hyung’s lines. Especially the Shout Out bridge. We can’t let him strain it.”
“I’ll sub,” Sunghoon and Heeseung said in a chorus.
Sunoo let out a sharp, amused hum, his eyes darting between the two. “Wow. Choice of the day, Jake-hyung? The bestie or the husband?” Sunghoon caught the vibe immediately, a slow, playful smirk spreading across his face. “Oh, uh… actually, never mind,” he said, pulling back with a fake-innocent shrug. “Let Heeseung-hyung do it. They’re so ‘close’ lately, aren't they? Especially according to the entire internet. Besides, Heeseung can keep up with you in every department... and he's already used to taking care of you, right?”
Heeseung didn't say a word, but I could see that dark, triumphant glint in his eyes. He looked at me—knowing I couldn't even talk back—and the smirk he gave was pure evil. He wasn’t just covering my lines; he was revelling in the fact that I was finally silenced, forced to sit back while he took over my spotlight.
“Knock it off, you two,” Jungwon said, his voice firm enough to silence the giggling. “It’s settled then. Heeseung-hyung will sub in Jake-hyung's lines. And Jake-hyung, strictly no talking until the concert. Take it easy at soundcheck.”
I nodded, leaning back and closing my eyes, but the silence didn't bring any peace. I could hear Heeseung warming up his voice in the seat behind me, his scales perfectly smooth and resonant. Jungwon and the others joined in, their harmonies blending effortlessly in the cramped car. It sucked—being the only one silenced, stuck on the sidelines of my own life.
When Heeseung started humming my specific harmonies, I felt a surge of pure irritation. He wasn't just hitting the notes; he was doing it effortlessly, with that signature "Ace" polish that made everything he touched look easy.
Annoying.
I stayed silent, staring out the window as the National Stadium came into view. Even this early, fans were already lined up at the entrance, their lightsticks and banners glinting in the Singapore sun. I kept eating spoonfuls of honey from a small jar, praying that at least an ounce of my voice would return.
Soundcheck was even worse. Standing on that massive stage, feeling the bass rattle my bones while I barely mouthed the words, was humiliating. But what really set me off was Heeseung. Every time my parts came up, he overlapped his voice against mine—rich, stable, and loud. I knew he was just following Jungwon’s orders, but I could feel the smugness radiating off him from across the stage.
The second the soundcheck ended and we retreated backstage, I snapped. My voice was a shredded whisper, but I poured every bit of venom I had left into it.
“Seriously, what is wrong with you?” I rasped, turning on him the moment the staff were out of earshot. “I don’t need you playing hero for me every damn time. I hate that smug smirk on your face. You think you’re saving me? It’s pathetic.”
Heeseung stopped mid-stride, his jacket hanging loosely off his shoulders. He turned slowly, a dark smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“What’s wrong with me? I’m the problem now?” He let out a dry, mocking laugh. “I’m not the one who sounds like a broken gear, Jake. Be grateful I even agreed to help you.”
He trailed off, his expression shifting from amusement to something much more predatory. He strode toward me with purpose, not stopping until there were only a few inches between us. I could smell the faint scent of his cologne and the heat radiating off him from the stage lights. He was deep in my personal space. Damn it.
“You would’ve been cancelled before the first chorus if I hadn't listened to Jungwon-ah. Hmm?” he taunted, his voice dropping into a low, smooth register that made my skin crawl.
“No, I wouldn’t. I can handle it,” I retorted, my heart hammering against my ribs. He leaned even closer, his shadow looming over me, and I instinctively started backing away until I hit the cold surface of an equipment trunk.
“No, you won’t,” he whispered, his eyes locked on mine.
“Yes, I will.”
“No.”
“Yes! I don’t need you singing my lines for me. Leave me be.” I forced the words out, my throat screaming in protest.
I tried to shove past him to leave, but he was faster. His hand shot out, fingers clamping firmly around my arm, pulling me back toward him. The grip was strong—unyielding.
“You’ll need me,” he said, his voice echoing with a terrifying amount of certainty.
I looked down at his hand, then back up at his dark, challenging gaze. “Bet you I won’t.”
The others heard the commotion and immediately swarmed us. Jay was the first one to break the circle, his eyes darting between my hoarse frustration and Heeseung’s unbothered stance.
“What’s going on?” Jay demanded, his voice low and suspicious.
“Nothing,” I rasped, trying to play off the heat in my face.
“Nothing at all,” Heeseung chimed in, suddenly draping a heavy, possessive arm over my shoulder. I stiffened instantly. “Jake here was just telling me how great I am for subbing in for him. Right, Jakey?”
I immediately pried his hand off like it was made of lead. “That’s not it. I want Sunoo or Sunghoon—literally anyone besides this scumbag—to sub for me.”
I didn't wait for a reply. I turned on my heel and left, feeling Heeseung’s gaze burning a hole in the back of my neck.
A few hours later, the lights dimmed and the roar of the Singapore crowd filled the stadium. To my relief, my voice was holding up—not perfect, but enough to get by. I spent the night playing it safe, letting Sunghoon or Sunoo lean into the mic whenever they noticed me struggling. But the one constant was Heeseung. He never looked away. Every time I moved, his eyes followed, tracking my every breath like he was waiting for the exact moment I’d break.
By the time the Shout Out bridge arrived, I managed to pull it off. Barely.
Night two was similar, but by the time the third night rolled around, the humidity and the strain had finally won. I was waking up with a voice that sounded like a ghost. During the final show, the cracks started appearing. Sunoo was a lifesaver, jumping in to cover me so smoothly the fans barely noticed, but as the bridge approached, I knew I was done.
I glanced at Sunoo, a silent plea in my eyes. He gave me a sympathetic, pained look and shook his head slightly. He couldn't do it—his own throat was strained from covering me all night.
I swallowed my pride, a literal groan echoing in my chest. When the bridge hit and the spotlight found me, I lifted the mic reluctantly. But before I could even push out a sound, Heeseung’s voice was already there. It was rich, powerful, and perfectly on pitch.
I joined him, my voice a ragged shadow of his, swallowing every ounce of my dignity just to get through the song. I could feel his smug smirk without even looking at him. That infuriating, predatory gaze was everywhere.
When the concert finally ended and the adrenaline faded, Jungwon huddled us backstage.
“Good work, everyone,” our leader said, his face glowing with sweat and pride. “One stop left before the tour ends. I’m proud of all of you.”
The guys started cheering, the usual post-concert chaos erupting, but I felt a shadow fall over me. Heeseung.
Please don’t bring it up. Please don't bring it up.
“Told you you’d need me,” he whispered, his smirk practically audible.
“I didn't,” I shot back, my voice barely a thread. “You sang on your own. I didn't ask.”
“Yes, you did.” He stepped closer, mocking me. “You looked like a lost cat, Jake. Giving those desperate, pathetic eyes to Sunoo and Sunghoon. It was tragic.”
My blood boiled. I wanted to scream at him, but my throat wouldn't allow it.
“But hey, at least I helped,” he continued, tilting his head. “Don’t I at least deserve a thank you?”
“No.”
"Wow, how ungrateful," Heeseung murmured, his voice a smooth, low contrast to my jagged breathing. "But just so we’re clear? You owe me one."
"Like hell I do," I forced out, the words feeling like glass in my throat as I met his smug gaze with as much fire as I had left.
He scoffed, a short, dry sound, then turned toward Jungwon. “Jungwon-ah. Don’t wait up. I’m leaving early—I’ll be back at the hotel by sunrise.”
“Alright, alright. Be careful,” Jungwon said, waving him off. “Don’t let the fans see you.”
As Heeseung disappeared into the night, Jay let out a harsh breath, muttering under his breath, “Horny bastard.”
Sunoo caught my eye, drifting over with a playful grin. “How’s the throat?”
“It’s fine. It’ll heal,” I snapped.
“I thought you said you wanted Sunghoon or me subbing?” Sunoo snickered, leaning against a flight case. “But guess what? Only Heeseung-hyung can actually keep up with you when things get loud. You two are like a match made in heaven.”
“In hell, you mean,” Sunghoon interjected, walking past us with a towel over his head.
“Right, in hell,” Sunoo laughed. “You’re each other’s only fillers. If he’s gone, you’re there. If you’re gone, he’s the only one who fits. It’s an observation.”
“Whatever,” I said, trying to act like his words didn't hit a nerve. “I’m still holding you to that club outing after the tour. Don't think you're getting out of it.”
“Yeah, yeah, I haven't forgotten,” Sunoo said, already distracted by his phone.
That night, as I lay in the dark of the hotel room, Sunoo’s words kept looping in my head like a broken record. A match made in hell. If this was hell, then Heeseung was the one keeping the fire burning just to watch me squirm. It wasn't just the fact that he took my lines, or the way he looked at me like I was something he could just "fix" whenever he felt like it. It was the arrogance—the way he walked through life thinking everyone owed him a thank you, especially me.
I stared at the ceiling, my throat still burning, but my pride felt even worse. He thought he won because he caught me when I stumbled. He thought that grip on my arm and that "lost cat" comment made him the superior one. But all it did was solidify the one thing I knew for sure.
It didn't matter what the fans said or how well our voices blended on stage. I hated Lee Heeseung to his core. Not because he was better than me, but because he was the only person who had the nerve to act like I actually needed him.
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