Strings Attached ➤ Jay

|| After Hours

🎸

New York -

₊˚✧."Next stop to the club, I'm a dance whore
Kick drum, chew gum
Oh, God, I love New York"⋆｡𖦹°˚

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Friday nights felt lighter.

The shop closed at eight on Fridays. By seven-thirty, I was already tapping my fingers on the counter, checking the old clock above the register every two minutes like it owed me money. Dad pretended not to notice, humming to himself as he counted the till. Jay was off that evening — thank every guitar god — so I didn't have to deal with him trailing behind me asking for "just one touch" of my Strat like a lovesick ghost.

When the last customer — some dude who spent twenty minutes monologuing about The Smiths — finally left, I locked up so fast I nearly slammed the glass door into his ankle. Dad just laughed, tossing me the shop keys.

"Don't stay out too late," he said, voice warm with that familiar softness only he could pull off.

"Don't wait up," I shot back, already halfway out the door.

The Echo Room wasn't far. Tucked into the basement of an old building two streets down, it had once been a speakeasy, then a jazz bar, and now it was the unofficial headquarters for broke twenty-somethings who needed cheap coffee, a scratchy open mic, and somewhere the city noise couldn't quite reach.

When I pushed open the creaky door, the smell of burnt espresso and stale pastries hit me first, followed by the warm hum of a guitar amp being tested on the tiny stage at the back. Dim string lights zig-zagged across the ceiling, casting a golden glow that made everyone look softer, kinder — or at least more willing to spill secrets at 1 AM.

Minhee spotted me first from her corner table. She waved dramatically, nearly knocking over her iced latte.

"BYEOLIE!" she squealed over the quiet indie folk playing through the bar's speakers.

I groaned at the nickname but grinned anyway, slipping into the seat beside her. Nari was already there too, scrolling through her phone while sipping on a mug of something that smelled suspiciously alcoholic.

"You're late," Nari said, not looking up.

I poked her cheek with my index finger until she slapped my hand away. "Blame The Smiths guy. He cornered me for a TED Talk on Morrissey's tragic misunderstood genius."

Minhee made gagging noises. "I'd rather swallow glass."

"Same."

A voice floated over our heads before I could add more — low, warm, a little raspy at the edges. "He's still alive? The Smiths guy? I thought he moved to Busan to start a tofu farm."

I turned to see Jinwoo behind the counter, wiping down mugs with a rag that looked older than this entire building. Jinwoo was a year older than me — tall, wiry, with dark hair always shoved under a backward cap and an earring shaped like a tiny guitar pick dangling from his left ear. He'd been working the Echo Room's bar since he was nineteen. He knew everyone's secrets and pretended he didn't.

"Hey, Woo," I said, propping my chin on my palm.

"Hey, rockstar." He jerked his chin at the battered house guitar resting against the stool on the stage. "You playing tonight or just loitering?"

"I dunno," I shrugged. "Maybe."

Nari snorted. "You say that every time and then end up hogging the stage for an hour."

Minhee raised her hand solemnly. "I, for one, support her main character moment."

"Main character moment," Jinwoo repeated dryly, rolling his eyes. "You three are the reason I have permanent tinnitus."

"Love you too, Woo," Minhee chirped, blowing him a kiss.

He caught it dramatically and shoved it into his apron pocket.

After a while, I wandered up to the tiny stage when the regular open mic guy finished his half-hearted Mumford & Sons cover. I grabbed the house guitar — a scuffed black Fender that buzzed if you held the E-string too hard — but it was fine for practice.

The old mic squealed when I tested it. I adjusted the stand lower for my height, ignoring the couple in the corner who glanced up lazily.

I perched on the stool, fingers ghosting over the strings. The first few notes felt clumsy, then familiar — like muscle memory waking up after a nap. I started with a rough riff I'd been messing with at home, bending it into an old Arctic Monkeys hook, then slipping into my own melody. My voice came out soft at first, then louder, steady, filling the small room in a way that made the battered brick walls feel less tired.

Nari and Minhee clapped dramatically when I paused. Jinwoo leaned his elbows on the bar, chin resting in his palm, pretending not to listen but definitely listening.

I grinned between verses, feeling the static inside me shift, melt, burn off under the stage light's soft glow. Here, I didn't have to be the record store daughter or the girl babysitting a rich boy who wanted to buy her soul on strings.

Here, I was just... me.

When I finished, Jinwoo tossed me a thumbs up. "Not bad, Byeol. You'll put me out of business."

I hopped off the stool, my fingers buzzing with leftover adrenaline. "You'd have to pay me first."

"Touché."

Back at the table, Minhee shoved a latte at me. "Hydrate, star. You sounded amazing."

Nari nodded, unusually sincere. "You've got that edge tonight. More attitude."

I rolled my eyes. "Gee, wonder why. Must be the new store intern with the tragic rich-boy complex."

Jinwoo raised an eyebrow from behind the counter. "New intern?"

"Long story," I sighed, sipping the latte. "I hate him."

"You always say that when you're about to like someone," Minhee teased, bumping her shoulder into mine.

I choked on foam. "I will literally drown you in this latte."

She laughed so hard she nearly fell off her chair. Jinwoo just smirked, going back to stacking chipped mugs like he didn't just store that in his mental blackmail vault.

When it got late, I packed up my bag and hugged Minhee and Nari goodbye at the door.

"See you tomorrow, superstar," Jinwoo called, flicking the lights off behind the bar.

"Don't burn this place down, Woo."

"No promises."

Outside, the night air was crisp, city lights flickering like distant stage lights of a bigger show I hadn't been invited to yet. I tugged my jacket tighter around my shoulders and started the walk home, guitar riffs echoing in my head, drowning out every thought that sounded even remotely like Jay.

Tomorrow, he'd be there again — leaning on the counter, asking dumb questions, smirking like he owned the air between us.

But tonight was mine. Just me, my voice, and that quiet promise that I was more than a guitar behind glass.

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A/N: sillybillys i read over the first chapter...do u guys know that she has blue hair? bc im pretty sure i mentioned it somewhere...whatever she had dark blue hair. there u have it sillybillys