Chapter Text
Those flashing lights and cheers that echo from miles away have always excited me.
Not for myself.
Never for myself.
I’ve only ever wished for someone to stand beside me, to perform the songs I spend hours writing. Countless thoughts, endless imagination. So much that even my own mind can’t keep up with the lyrics I pour out, just to feel the same thrill they do.
Click. Click. Click.
My pen taps against the desk, over and over. I lean back in my chair, stretching my arms as my thoughts drift everywhere except the lyrics I’m stuck on.
I haven’t eaten all day. Maybe I’ve worked too much.
No. That’s not a thing.
…is it?
I glance around the studio. Dark. Empty. Daunting. So empty it’s hard to believe anyone was here at all, even if they left only an hour ago. The silence presses in, thick and suffocating, a taunting reminder of the loneliness lingering in the air.
I almost want to scream, just to hear something answer back.
Even if it’s just an echo.
Maybe I’m just tired.
I push myself up from the chair. There’s still so much left to write. I need something, anything, to drown out the fatigue.
By the time I reach the café, exhaustion has already caught up to me. Nights without sleep blur together, and my steps falter as I push the door open.
I stop.
Two men stand face to face, voices raised in a way customers should never be greeted with.
What kind of service is this?
Maybe I’m more tired than I thought.
One of them is tall, taller than me, wearing a light brown apron and a black visor. Young. Early twenties, maybe even younger. The other man stands opposite him, older. Forty, maybe pushing fifty. His wrinkled face tightens, brows digging low with irritation.
Their voices only grow louder.
“I can’t make this work! I work eight to five, and I can barely make it to rehearsals as it is! Why can’t you just hire someone else?” the younger one snaps.
The older man scoffs. “You can’t handle two more hours? You’re a pathetic excuse for an employee.”
The boy’s expression shifts. His eyes flatten, emotion retreating somewhere deeper. A frown forms, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Whatever he’s feeling, he buries it.
Caffeine becomes the last thing on my mind.
This boy catches my attention.
“You don’t get to call me that,” he fires back, voice sharp but steady. “all you do is sit around, stuff yourself, and boss me around like I’m your slave.”
Then it happens.
WHACK.
The sound cuts through everything.
The older man disappears toward the back, leaving the boy standing there, a red mark blooming across his cheek. His jaw tightens, tongue pressing against it as if holding something in. Anger. Pain. Both.
“You’re lucky you’re my only employee,” the man mutters over his shoulder. “or you’d be fired.”
Silence follows.
Then those eyes, empty and guarded, lift and meet mine.
For a split second, something cracks.
Then it’s gone.
He turns away, focusing on the register like nothing happened. “We’re closed,” he says flatly.
His voice says he doesn’t care.
His posture says otherwise.
I don’t argue. My body moves on its own, one step, then another, until I’m back outside, breathing the same air as before.
But it feels different now.
Heavier.
Back in my chair, I spin slowly, pencil pressed uselessly to my temple.
Nothing.
No lyrics. No ideas.
Just him.
He was rude. Too blunt.
But his boss hit him.
That shouldn’t be allowed. It probably isn’t.
And yet I want to go back.
Not for coffee.
For him.
He had a name tag. I know he did. I just didn’t read it. If I had stayed a second longer, maybe I would’ve seen it. Maybe I would’ve said something.
My thoughts blur.
Then everything goes dark.
The sleep caught up to me and I’m swept away by the dreams I’ve been avoiding. The world I thought I’ve escaped.
Voices pull me back.
Clatter. Movement. Noise.
My body feels heavy, like it’s sunk into the chair. My eyes refuse to open, burning at the edges, but the noise keeps pushing until I finally force them apart.
Same chair.
Same room.
The faint ache behind my eyes tells me I didn’t sleep nearly enough.
Knock. Knock.
“Come in.”
The door opens. A short woman steps in, papers in hand. One look at her expression tells me she has something to say, and she has already practiced it.
“Mr. Han, are the songs finished?” she asks, tilting her head slightly. Then, without waiting, “did you sleep? Your eye bags are noticeable.”
What a wonderful thing to hear first thing in the morning.
“No,” I say flatly. “I didn’t sleep. Good observation. And no, the songs aren’t finished. I’m working on them. Was there something else?”
She startles slightly, like I’ve snapped her out of a script. “Oh, yes. We’re just concerned about you. Try to get proper rest. And if you can’t finish the songs, we can always assign them to someone else.”
I barely listen.
There’s no way I’m letting that happen.
After she leaves, I finally let out the yawn I’ve been holding in.
Maybe this time, I will actually get that coffee.
The café comes into view again.
Before stepping inside, I glance through the window.
It’s him.
And this time, he’s smiling.
Not just smiling. The kind of bright, effortless smile that looks real enough to believe.
If I hadn’t seen yesterday.
His eyes shimmer, kissed by the stars. Glazed with lies wrapped in poison. They flicker and glow, they drift and retreat beneath his eyelids. I watch every deceiving movement as if they were mine.
I push the door open.
His eyes flick toward me, just briefly, not long enough to recognize me, only enough to notice someone’s entered.
He turns back to his work, finishing an iced latte.
I step into line.
My gaze lingers on him as he moves, until finally he turns.
My gaze fixes down onto the small plastic stuck to his apron. Letters handwritten onto the plastic, hardly enough for me to read.
And as my eyes adjust.
I can finally make out the letters of his name.
Kim Woonhak.