Chapter Text
The hum of the studio's machinery, a familiar drone to Jaehyun, a four-year veteran of the Korean music industry, usually brought him comfort. He'd even snagged an 'Artist of the Year' award once—a testament to his undeniable talent and the devotion of his fanbase, a formidable achievement for a soloist in a red sea of boy groups. A fan base that he knows is half based on his looks: The sharp jaw, the charming dimples, the perfect gym body with long legs, and the healthy black hair he insists on keeping in an industry obsessed with bleach.
But today, that hum felt more like a low thrum of discontent. His producer, Minjun, was cycling through demos, each one blurring into the next—generic K-pop hooks, forgettable ballads, tracks engineered for the charts but devoid of soul.
"Next," Jaehyun sighed, running a hand through his perpetually artfully disheveled hair, the kind that looked casual but had taken an hour to perfect.
Then, a new track began. A slinky bassline, a piano whispering secrets, a voice—a demo vocal, thin but filled with an undeniable yearning. It was a jazzy, sexy love song, something born in the smoky corners of a late-night Gangnam club, it spoke of long nights the way he likes them and whispered promises . Jaehyun felt a strange pull, a recognition that transcended the simple melody. This wasn't a song for the masses; it was a song for him.
"Who wrote this?" he asked, leaning forward, the apathy finally gone from his voice.
The producer shrugged, eyes still on the mixing board. "MCK. A ghostwriter. If you pick it, the credit's yours."
"No," Jaehyun murmured, shaking his head slowly, a strange mix of fascination and unease churning within him. "This is... too much. Who is this person?"
Minjun held up his hands. "Look, Jaehyun, I'm telling you, it's a ghostwriter. They've done work for a few big names, always anonymously. The deal is, you take the credit, they get paid, no questions asked. They're a machine, pumping out hits."
"A machine doesn't write like this," Jaehyun countered, the demo still playing, the singer's voice, though not his own, echoing feelings he'd only ever considered his deepest secrets. "This isn't just talent; it's... intimacy."
Before Minjun could queue up another generic track, Jaehyun stopped him. "Is there anything else from this anonymous writer?"
Minjun scrolled through the playlist, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. "Yeah, actually. One more. A ballad."
The second song began, a romantic ballad woven from piano and cello, its melody a gentle current that carried raw, tender emotions. This one was even more explicit, a lyrical confession that felt so intensely personal it made Jaehyun's skin prickle. It spoke of small details; private moments he felt only someone intimately familiar with him could know – or imagine with such precision. It wasn't just love; it was his love, reflected back at him through someone else's art.
Jaehyun frowned. "I can't claim I wrote and then sing a song that sounds like I'm in love with myself."
"Really? It didn't give me that self-love vibe," his manager, Seri, chimed in, always practical, always focused on the bottom line.
"It's not self-love, it's love," Jaehyun corrected, the words feeling heavy on his tongue. "Whoever wrote this is making it sound like they love me."
He needed to know. He had to know. The idea of singing these words, claiming them as his own, while someone out there had poured such profound, personal emotion into them, felt like a betrayal. Not of the audience, but of something far more fragile.
"They're good, though. The first song has title track potential," Minjun commented, a hint of genuine excitement in his voice.
"Absolutely," Seri agreed, nodding vigorously. "They've even written for Jungwoo's solo before, also anonymously."
Jaehyun's head snapped up, eyes wide. "Jungwoo? My Jungwoo?"
Minjun, oblivious to the bombshell he was dropping, piped up, "Yeah, 'Paper Rose,' that's from them." Seri spun around, a silent, furious glare aimed at Minjun that promised pain. "Oh, shit, he wasn't supposed to know?" Minjun mumbled, noticing the glare. "My bad."
"He said he wrote that for me," Jaehyun said, his voice a low, surprised murmur, laced with disappointment. 'Paper Rose' was a deeply personal song to him; one he'd always cherished as a unique expression of his relationship with Jungwoo.
"Did they write it together?" he asked, a flicker of hope in his eyes.
Seri bit her lip, clearly struggling with whether to answer. Finally, she caved, shaking her head. "No. We got the song, and Jungwoo felt it told your love story so well that he just jumped on it. Didn't even need to tweak it."
The words hung in the air, heavy and deflating. No collaboration, no feedback, just a perfect, pre-made love song that Jungwoo had presented as his own. The intimacy Jaehyun had felt with 'Paper Rose' suddenly felt cheapened, a borrowed emotion rather than a shared creation.
"So, you see what I'm saying, right?" Jaehyun said after a pause, shaking the disappointment out of his head for the moment. "That's three songs now, all written by the same person, and both my boyfriend and I had the same reaction: They're too real. They tell the story of loving me too well."
Seri's brow furrowed with concern. "Are you suggesting these come from a stalker?"
"Or just a regular fan, let's not jump to the worst-case scenario," Minjun quickly piped in, trying to diffuse the sudden tension in the room.
Jaehyun sighed, running a hand over his face. "Stalker... fan... either way, it's odd. It's not just general admiration; it's specific." He looked from Seri to Minjun, his expression serious. "I need to know who this person is."
Seri crossed her arms. "Jaehyun, you know how these ghostwriter contracts work. It's air-tight. We pay them a flat fee; they sign away all rights and anonymity is guaranteed. Trying to uncover them would be... difficult. And expensive. And probably lead to a lot of legal trouble for us."
"So, you're saying I should just sing these songs, knowing someone out there has written them as if they're in love with me, and I just pretend I wrote them myself?" Jaehyun's voice rose slightly.
Minjun, ever the pragmatist, cleared his throat. "Look, Jaehyun, from a purely artistic standpoint, the songs are incredible. And from a business standpoint, the title track could be huge. Imagine the buzz. 'Jaehyun's rawest love songs yet!' The fans will eat it up."
"The fans will eat up a lie," Jaehyun countered, shaking his head. "I can't put my name on something that feels like it's a window into someone else's obsession with me. Or... or a window into their genuine feelings that I'm supposed to just appropriate." He paused, a new thought dawning on him. "Unless... unless it's someone I know. Someone who could know these things."
He looked at Minjun. "You said they've written for other big names. Did any of them have similar reactions? Did anyone else feel like the songs were too personal?"
Minjun shifted uncomfortably. "Not that I've heard, then again, I'm not the only producer in the company. Usually, it's just 'great melody, good lyrics, sign 'em up.' You're the first one to... feel so strongly about the origin."
"Then I need to find them," Jaehyun stated, his jaw set. "Before I even consider singing a single note of these songs, I need to look the person who wrote them in the eye. I need to understand why. And if it's someone I know, someone who's been hiding this... I need to know that too."
Seri sighed, running a hand through her hair. "This is going to be complicated, Jaehyun. Extremely complicated."
"Complicated or not, I'm not recording anything until I have answers," Jaehyun said, his resolve hardening. He picked up his phone, ignoring Minjun's protests about the demo still playing. "Get me a meeting with the legal team. And find out everything you can about this ghostwriter's previous work. Every artist, every song. I want to see if there's a pattern."
His manager let out a sigh, but unwilling to fight with him, she just walked to her bag thrown on one of the couches and returned, a tablet in hand, its screen filled with a long, scrolling list. "Minjun wasn't lying when he said 'big names'," she began, setting it down in front of Jaehyun. "But he forgot to mention all those big artists were from our company."
Jaehyun's eyes scanned the list, seeing familiar names, fellow idols and groups under their vast entertainment umbrella. "An exclusivity contract, then?" he murmured, not really asking, but stating the obvious.
"Yeah, it's an exclusivity contract," Seri confirmed. "Means all their work is ours. No leaks to competitors."
He scrolled, recognizing most of the song titles, vaguely recalling their melodies from radio play or awards shows. He couldn't say he knew them by heart; he'd have to give them a proper listen to truly gauge the writer's style. But then, a few titles jumped out, arresting his attention. Songs he did remember well, some of his favorites, were on that list.
"Gun," he whispered, his finger hovering over the title. That song. He could sing it without looking at the lyrics, a go-to for him in karaoke rooms, belting out the high notes with his friends. It was a powerful, upbeat heartbreak duet by a subunit from one of the company's powerhouse boy bands, filled with impressive vocal moments and a surprising emotional depth beneath its catchy beat.
He checked the release date: "10 months ago" He mumbled to himself. He knew how the industry worked; if it was released 10 months ago, the demo would have been written and approved at least five months before that, meaning over fifteen months since its creation.
A cold knot formed in his stomach. Fifteen months. Was it a coincidence that that was precisely how long he and Jungwoo had been together?
"Canvas," he muttered, his finger tracing the familiar title. He remembered that one too, from one of the older girl groups in the company. They were seasoned enough to pull off more risqué lyrics, and this song in particular was a bold invitation: "paint me like a canvas."
At first glance, it had nothing to do with him. But he was too deep in the rabbit hole, maybe, because a part of him couldn't shake the feeling it might be connected. The production of "Canvas" loosely coincided with the release of his first EP that had leaned more into a sexy concept. A pure coincidence, probably. He was probably reading too much into it, reaching way too far, trying to find connections where none existed.
But then there was the other, undeniable, coincidence: he coincidentally loved to paint. And sure, every fan knows this about him, but... fuck, he really was reaching at straws.
But then he saw it. Starlight Hour by Jung Jaehyun. A song from his second EP, the one that cemented his popularity and made him rookie of the year when he debuted. The title flashed on the screen, a familiar echo of his breakthrough.
Two people had writing credit on it: Dupplo, a composer he loved working with, and himself—a placeholder for the ghostwriter who had contributed the bridge. It wasn't uncommon for many people to write a song together on K-pop; the fact that this anonymous person had any solo credits at all spoke volumes about their talent.
Dupplo had written an amazing, chill summer jam, and the bridge fit with it perfectly. It wasn't about him, it wasn't about loving him or desiring him. But the short verse spoke to Jaehyun almost like he'd written it himself. It was a moment of profound resonance that had, in fact, made him want to try writing some of his own music.
Jaehyun stared at the screen, the words of his own hit song blurring before his eyes. It wasn't about love for him, no, but the feeling of that bridge, the way it had resonated so deeply that he'd felt a stirring of his own creative ambition... It was as if this anonymous person had reached into his very soul and pulled out a melody and words that perfectly mirrored an unspoken part of him.
"This goes beyond just a contract, Noona," he stated, his voice firm. "And beyond just a 'great demo.' This is personal. I don't care how many legal hoops we have to jump through or what the 'exclusivity contract' says. I need to meet them. I can't move forward with this album, with anything, until I know who this person is." His gaze was unwavering, his decision final.
"Do you feel this might actually be an obsessed stalker?" Seri asked, her voice laced with genuine concern. "Should I alert the company? If you think we need extra security..."
Jaehyun shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "I don't need extra security; I need a name." He turned to her, his expression resolute. "This isn't about fear, Noona. It's about a connection that's too profound to ignore. And if it is an obsession, then I need to know why and who."
"How do we even begin?" Minjun asked, looking bewildered. "The contract is designed specifically to keep them anonymous."
"There has to be a paper trail," Jaehyun insisted. "Someone handles their payments. Someone facilitates the demo exchanges. They don't just materialize out of thin air." He paused, a thought solidifying in his mind. "We start with the legal team. They drew up the contracts; they'll know the process. There's an identity attached to that bank account, or at least a representative."
He then looked at Seri. "And you, Noona, you've been with the company for years. You know the ins and outs, the quiet whispers. Has anyone ever even met this person? Is there a handler, an agent, anyone who acts as an intermediary?"
He clenched his fists, a mixture of frustration and burning curiosity fueling his resolve. "We're not just looking for a ghostwriter anymore. We're looking for answers."