EUN JAE-HYUNG
There's something about late nights in recording studios. It's the hum of the old amp in the corner, the coffee-stained lyric sheets spread across the floor, the way the outside world dims until all that exists are your thoughts, your voice, and the person sitting three feet away, tuning his guitar.
Min-woo was doing that now—his brow furrowed, his fingers nimble, always moving, always making something better. The red light above the door blinked softly, signaling we were technically on air, but the only audience was ourselves.
We weren't even recording anything serious. Just a test track. A harmony run-through. But my heart raced anyway.
"Hey," Min-woo said, not looking up, "what if we do the third verse with just your vocals and keyboard, then bring the full band in for the last chorus?"
I blinked. "You think it'll hit harder that way?"
He nodded, now adjusting the pickup. "Yeah. Gives the lyrics more room to breathe. And your voice—it deserves the space."
My throat tightened.
He always did that—said the kindest things without realizing how they landed. He didn't mean them romantically. But they always made me feel more seen than anything else.
I looked away and focused on the lyrics, trying not to drown in the silence that followed.
We ran through the song again, and this time something clicked. The verse opened with just my voice and the soft piano, the way Min-woo suggested. When he joined in on harmony, it hit something deep. A shiver ran down my arms. This was more than music. It was confession.
Afterward, we listened to the playback in silence. I saw Min-woo glance at me, then away. His hand hovered near mine on the mixing console.
"I think we've got it," he murmured.
We lingered after that—fixing things that didn't need fixing, looping back the same 10-second chorus. Time dissolved into familiarity. He leaned back and looked up at the ceiling like he was somewhere else entirely.
"Do you think," he asked slowly, "we're ready for the showcase?"
My answer was immediate. "Yeah. We've never sounded tighter."
Min-woo gave a crooked smile. "Tighter, huh? I still think Jiho rushes the bridge."
I laughed, grateful for the tease, grateful for the way it cut through the tension.
---
KANG MIN-WOO
There's a moment when sound stops feeling like sound and starts feeling like truth. That track we just laid down? It was the closest I'd ever come to telling Jae-hyung how I felt—without saying anything.
I didn't even look at him while it played. I was afraid I'd say too much with my eyes.
When it ended, he smiled softly. "It sounds… honest."
I nodded, heart hammering. "Yeah. Honest."
We stayed until nearly one in the morning. Eventually, we packed up, and I offered to walk him back. He hesitated, then nodded. The air outside was cool and clean, the streets quiet in that lull between night and morning.
We didn't talk much. We didn't have to.
---
EUN JAE-HYUNG
As we passed the courtyard, Min-woo paused.
"Let's sit for a second."
I followed him to the stone bench under the sycamore tree. The same bench where we'd argued weeks ago. The same bench where I first realized I didn't just like him—I wanted something more.
He stared at the sky.
"I used to think," he began slowly, "that if I just focused on music, I wouldn't have time to mess up everything else."
I tilted my head. "What do you mean?"
He was quiet for a moment, then: "I'm not good at relationships. People want more than I can give. Or I give too much, and they run."
"Maybe you just haven't met someone who's right for you yet," I said, trying to keep my voice even.
He looked at me. Really looked.
And then he looked away again.
"I'm starting to wonder if maybe… I already have."
My heart stopped.
But before I could say anything, he stood up.
"We should go. It's late."
He didn't wait for me to respond. Just walked ahead, hands shoved into his pockets, posture tight.
---
KANG MIN-WOO
I shouldn't have said that. I wasn't ready. But it was the truth, and it clawed its way out anyway.
Why couldn't I just say it plainly? Why couldn't I stop hiding behind music?
---
EUN JAE-HYUNG
The next few days passed in a blur of rehearsals, coursework, and awkward silences. Something had shifted. Jiho noticed first.
"You two fighting again?" she asked, flipping her drumsticks in the air during break.
"No," I replied too quickly. "Just tired."
Min-woo and I barely made eye contact during rehearsal. He gave instructions, I nodded, we played. But the spark—the warmth—had dimmed.
Until Friday.
We were doing final adjustments to the setlist. Professor Lim had scheduled a private pre-show review. We were to play in the small theater with the full lighting and sound team.
It was our first time under real lights.
---
KANG MIN-WOO
He was radiant under those stage lights. I caught myself staring too long.
The song ended, and Professor Lim clapped politely.
"Excellent dynamics," she said. "But Min-woo, you're a beat behind on the final chorus."
I winced. "Sorry. I'll fix it."
She waved it off. "Just keep the energy."
We took a short break while the tech crew adjusted lighting angles.
"Lights down!" someone shouted.
I walked over to Jae-hyung, who was tuning his keyboard.
"Hey," I said.
He didn't look up. "Yeah?"
"About the other night…"
The lights blazed suddenly. Blinding, hot—
Then a crack.
A shadow fell.
Everything slowed.
A steel rig overhead snapped loose, tilting, tumbling forward.
Jae-hyung didn't see it.
I moved before I thought.
---
EUN JAE-HYUNG
Min-woo shoved me hard—out of the way.
Then came the sound. A sickening, hollow thud. Screams.
When I turned, he was on the floor, clutching his leg. The spotlight rig lay inches from his hip. Blood bloomed against his jeans.
"Min-woo!" I dropped to my knees beside him.
His face was pale, jaw clenched.
"I'm okay," he muttered. "It's just—my leg—"
Someone shouted for an ambulance. Jiho was crying. Hana looked like she might throw up.
Min-woo grabbed my sleeve.
"Don't—miss the set," he rasped. "Promise me."
I couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe.
All I could do was hold his hand.
And pray that this wasn't the end of everything we hadn't said yet.