← Back to overview

Jjej

Shadows of Green and Silver

The adrenaline from the stage was still humming through Dayoung’s veins, but the atmosphere backstage had shifted from the electric chaos of the performance to the high-stakes social maneuvering of the after-party. The VIP lounge of the Seoul Summer Vibe Festival was a sanctuary of dim lighting, expensive champagne, and the crème de la crème of the industry.

Dayoung had changed out of her crimson latex bodysuit into something only marginally less provocative: a sheer, floor-length black slip dress that clung to her curves, with a slit that climbed dangerously high up her thigh. She held a flute of sparkling water, her eyes scanning the room for a familiar tattooed silhouette. Jay had been pulled away by a group of producers the moment they arrived, leaving her to navigate the sea of idols and executives on her own.

"That was quite the performance, Dayoung-ssi. I think the internet is actually melting as we speak."

Dayoung turned to see Minho, a lead dancer from a rising boy group who was known for his visuals and his flirtatious reputation. He was younger than Jay, mid-twenties, with a sharp jawline and a smile that he clearly practiced in the mirror.

"Thank you, Minho-sunbaenim," Dayoung replied with a polite bow, though she didn't miss the way his eyes traveled down her dress. "We just wanted to do something memorable."

"Memorable is an understatement," Minho said, stepping closer, effectively cutting her off from the main flow of the room. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a confidential murmur. "The way you moved... I’ve seen a lot of choreographies, but you have a certain—how do I put this?—natural rhythm that most idols lack. It’s very distracting."

Dayoung laughed, a light, social sound. "It’s all just practice and good lighting."

"I don't think so," Minho countered, his hand reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from her shoulder. His fingers lingered a second too long on her skin. "I’ve been working on a new project, a performance video for my solo debut. I was thinking of someone with your... assets. Maybe we could grab dinner and talk about a collaboration? A real one, where you’re the center."

Across the room, the air seemed to drop ten degrees.

Jay Park had been pretending to listen to a CEO talk about NFT integration in music, but his internal radar was locked onto Dayoung. He had seen the way Minho approached her. He had seen the way the younger man was leaning into her personal space, and he had definitely seen the hand on her shoulder.

Jay’s jaw tightened. He wasn't a man who lacked confidence, but there was something about the way Minho was looking at Dayoung—like she was a prize to be won—that lit a slow-burning fuse in his gut. To Jay, Dayoung wasn't just a talented hoebae or a beautiful woman. She was *his* Dayoung-ah. She was the girl who called him 'Oppa' with a specific, breathless reverence that he guarded like a treasure.

He excused himself mid-sentence, ignoring the confused look on the executive's face. He moved through the crowd like a shark through water, silent and purposeful.

"Is he bothering you, Dayoung-ah?"

The voice was like a low-frequency rumble of thunder. Dayoung jumped slightly, turning to see Jay standing right behind her. He didn't look at Minho; his eyes were fixed entirely on her, dark and unreadable. He stepped into the small gap between them, his chest nearly brushing her arm.

Minho straightened up, his flirtatious smirk faltering under the sheer weight of Jay’s presence. "Oh, Jay-sunbaenim! I was just telling Dayoung-ssi how much I enjoyed the stage. We were discussing a possible collaboration."

Jay finally shifted his gaze to the younger idol. It was a cold, predatory look that made the 'sunbaenim' title feel like a mockery. Jay reached out, his hand sliding firmly around Dayoung’s waist, pulling her flush against his side. It was a blatant, possessive claim.

"Collaboration?" Jay repeated, his voice silky and dangerous. "That’s funny. Dayoung’s schedule is pretty packed for the next year. I’ve made sure of it."

Minho blinked, the territorial vibe coming off Jay being impossible to ignore. "I see. Well, it was just a thought. I’ll leave you two to it." He bowed quickly and made a hasty retreat into the crowd.

The moment he was gone, Dayoung felt the tension in Jay’s hand increase. He didn't let go of her waist. Instead, he leaned down, his lips brushing against her temple.

"What was that?" he muttered, his breath warm against her skin.

Dayoung suppressed a smile. Seeing Jay like this—agitated, protective, and clearly jealous—sent a thrill through her that was more intoxicating than any champagne. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and innocent. "He was just being nice, Oppa. He said I had 'natural rhythm.'"

Jay’s eyes narrowed. "I’m sure he did. I’m sure he was looking at your 'natural rhythm' the entire time he was touching you."

"Are you jealous?" she teased, her hand coming up to rest on his chest, feeling the frantic thrum of his heart. "It was just a conversation."

"I don't like the way he looked at you," Jay growled, his hand sliding lower, his thumb hooked into the silk of her dress. "And I definitely don't like other men thinking they can just walk up and touch what’s mine."

Dayoung’s breath hitched at the word *mine*. "I didn't know I belonged to anyone."

Jay’s grip tightened, and he began to lead her toward the exit of the lounge, ignoring the curious glances from other guests. He didn't stop until they were in a quiet, dimly lit corridor that led to the private parking garage. He pushed her gently against the cool stone wall, his body boxing her in.

"Don't play with me, Dayoung-ah," he said, his voice dropping into that deep, authoritative register that always made her knees weak. "You know exactly whose you are. After what happened on that stage? After how you looked at me?"

Dayoung tilted her head back, her pulse racing. "You were busy with the producers. I was just being polite. Do I need to ask permission to speak to people now, Oppa?"

The use of the honorific was like throwing gasoline on a fire. Jay’s eyes darkened, his pupils blowing wide until they were almost entirely black. He leaned in, his nose brushing against hers.

"Maybe you do," he whispered, his hand moving from her waist to her neck, his thumb tilting her chin up. "If you’re going to wear a dress like this and look at other men while they flirt with you, then yes. You need to remember who you’re going home with."

"And who am I going home with?" she whispered back, her heart hammering against her ribs.

"Me," Jay said, the word a finality. "Always me. I’m thirty-nine years old, Dayoung. I’ve seen everything this industry has to throw at me. I don't have time for games. I want you to look at me, and only me. Do you understand?"

Dayoung felt a shiver of pure heat race down her spine. The dominance in his tone wasn't cruel; it was an intense, focused adoration that made her feel like the only woman in the world. She reached up, her fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.

"I understand, Oppa," she said softly. "I wasn't looking at him. Not really. I was just waiting for you to come and find me."

Jay’s expression softened, but the intensity didn't fade. He leaned down, burying his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the scent of her perfume and the lingering musk of the stage. "You’re going to be the death of me. That dance... I could barely breathe. And then to see that punk hovering over you..."

"He’s just a kid," Dayoung soothed, her hands moving down to his shoulders.

"He’s a kid who needs to learn his place," Jay muttered against her skin, his lips grazing her collarbone. He pulled back just enough to look her in the eye. "I want you to stay in my sight for the rest of the night. No more 'collaborations' with anyone who isn't me. Is that clear?"

Dayoung smiled, a genuine, glowing expression. "Crystal clear."

Jay sighed, the tension finally leaving his shoulders, replaced by a predatory sort of hunger. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his car keys. "Good. Because I’m done with this party. I’m taking you back to my place, and we’re going to talk about that 'natural rhythm' of yours in private."

He took her hand, his fingers interlacing with hers in a grip that was firm and unyielding. As they walked toward his black SUV, Dayoung felt a sense of triumph. She loved the way he claimed her, the way he stepped into the role of the older, protective man who wouldn't let anyone else near her.

They reached the car, and Jay opened the door for her, but before she could slide in, he caught her waist one more time, pulling her back against him.

"One more thing," he whispered into her ear, his voice sending a fresh wave of goosebumps over her skin.

"Yes, Oppa?"

"Don't ever let another man touch your shoulder like that again. If you want to be touched, you come to me. Only me. Understood?"

Dayoung turned in his arms, her eyes shimmering with mischief and desire. She stood on her tiptoes, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his jawline. "I think I can manage that. As long as you keep your promise about the weekend."

Jay’s smirk returned, the wicked, confident look that the world knew him for, but this time it was reserved only for her. He swatted her lightly on the hip—a playful, possessive gesture that made her gasp.

"Get in the car, Dayoung-ah," he commanded softly. "Before I decide to skip the drive and just have my way with you right here in the garage."

Dayoung didn't need to be told twice. She slid into the leather seat, watching as Jay walked around to the driver’s side. He moved with the grace of a man who knew exactly what he wanted and exactly how to keep it. As the engine roared to life, the low vibration echoing in the concrete space, Dayoung knew that the real performance was only just beginning. The stage had been a spark, but Jay’s jealousy had turned it into a wildfire, and she was more than happy to let it burn.