EUN JAE‑HYUN
The morning air in campus Main Square feels sharper than usual-a crisp reminder of mid-October, leaves drifting like stray notes in the wind. I walk past the sculpture fountain where first-years huddle with steaming coffee, whispering behind masks of excitement and nerves. My hoodie is pulled over my headphones, which lie quiet today, tucked away for once.
I'm not sure I can do the concert.
Swinging my bag over my shoulder, I mentally run through last night's mix adjustments for the band. The low-end felt too bloated during the bridge; the delay on the lead guitar wash needs subtle trimming. But more than that, I'm thinking about Min‑woo and that damn question: "Why music?"
His answer-because when everything else is noise, music makes sense-echoes in my mind louder than any metronome.
I stop by the student union and glance at the bulletin board decorated with flyers and posters for every club imaginable. One corner is booked solid with neon-green sheets for the "Full Volume" rehearsal schedule. My heart tightens.
One of them reads:
Fall Showcase - "Electric Autumn"
Date: November 10
Rehearsals: Mon/Wed/Fri 7-9 pm, Studio B
Two rehearsal nights-I can handle that.
I slip the flyer into my pocket and head to my first class: Signal Processing 201. A place where waveforms become equations and turn into algorithms. Today we're learning about harmonic distortion and resonance.
I don't have to worry much during lectures; my mind drifts between the professor's voice and the faint memory of Min‑woo's laughter when he caught me humming into the cables at practice. I shake my head and force my eyes back to the equations.
After class, one of my classmates, Hyun‑ji, corners me in the hallway.
"Jae‑hyun, are you going to audition with Music Club?" she asks. Cheerleader energy undimmed by the morning. "Saw the flyer. Would be fun, right?"
I glance at the flyer in her hand. "I'm not auditioning."
She presses it into my hand. "Come to the audition. Sing something. Showcase your secret vocal talent." She winks like it's obvious I'm hiding it.
I chuckle awkwardly. "I'm the sound guy."
Her eyes drift to the back of my neck. "There's more to you than cables and faders. Just-think about it?" I nod and weave through the crowd, heart thumping unexpectedly.
Back in the dorm, I sit at my desk and open the DAW from last night's session: "FullVolume_Rehearsal_Oct15_Levels_2.wav". I listen. The file is clean.
But there's something else: the room tone. The way Min‑woo lets a line trail off, room and reverb hugging his voice like a secret. I zoom in on that moment-the brief, almost inaudible intake of breath before he hits the next verse. It's shy. Human. Vulnerable.
I didn't add it to the mix. He gave it to me.
I close the file and shut down the computer.
I should work on my thesis proposal tonight, but I find my hands reaching for a blank audio track. A new canvas.
With trembling fingers, I hit record and hum. Just a simple melody with no words, only tone. The metronome ticks away, and I glide. This isn't for anyone. Just to see if I can.
My phone buzzes. Min-woo: "Ramen tonight?"
I stare at the text. Two syllables. Flat. Unassuming.
I type: "Okay."
And suddenly, my nervous fingers calm.
---
KANG MIN‑WOO
I pace outside Studio B before tonight's rehearsal, guitar case in hand and playlist cranked. I need my noise-static buzz, crash beats, something to drown out the anxiety. The showcase is a month away, but I feel that familiar itch. The one that says I still suck.
I've led countless run-throughs. Picked up countless praises. Even that freshman who mixes like God himself-a genius freshman, mind you-thinks I shine.
But I still feel like I'm missing notes. Emotion. Connection.
Maybe that's why I'm nervous.
When Jae‑hyun arrives, hoodie up, eyes flicking around, I feel that tension too. Not from him-
From me.
I rush forward like momentum, hand shake rough but eager.
"Ready?" I ask, half-joke.
He nods. Takes his seat behind the booth. Gets mic'd up, headphones snug.
I step back and glance at the rest of the band-Hye‑jin, Junho, Dong‑su-and give them a nod. Then I push the pedal and launch into the verse.
The levels hold steady. He's good-better than good. There's breathing room in the mix. The bass doesn't swallow the vocals. The lead doesn't pierce like a needle. It flows.
But I want more than technical perfection. I want channels that feel alive.
I step close enough to see Jae‑hyun watching me, jaw tight, eyes focused. I edge away, start performing. Guitar strap biting against my shoulder. Lyrics rolling out.
I feel it-body and mind syncing. Fingers bleed emotion across strings. Voice cracks and soars.
When we finish, the silence is hot.
No pyrotechnics.
No wild applause. Just us.
I take my guitar off, heart racing.
"Dude," I say, voice low. "That was... that was something."
He closes his laptop, meets my gaze. I see it: that weird calm.
"Only if it sounded good," he replies.
It was perfect.
---
After rehearsal, instead of ramen, I stop by the small student café next door. We grab two lattes-his unsweetened black, mine with three sugars, extra foam.
He sips slowly, eyes narrowed on the foam's swirl. I can't tell if he's enjoying it-or overthinking it.
"So," I begin, "how's the melody coming?"
He blinks. "I... started one. But then I dumped two takes and-"
"Let me hear?" I say.
He shrugs. Hands me an earbud. The track is raw-a soft guitar chord, no percussion, his voice layered, smooth and honest:
"I drifted in waves... looking for anchors / found your echo in the walls..."
My throat catches.
He's writing. Real words. Real melody.
I nod.
"You-write."
He tucks hair behind his ear. "I mean-started."
"Keep going," I say quietly.
He swallows hard. "Okay."
And something-I don't know what-shifts between us.
---
EUN JAE‑HYUN
At midnight, I can't sleep. Not after the rehearsal. Not after talking music with Min‑woo like two equal artists. My room feels smaller-fuller-with possibilities.
I pull up my project again. Instead of a melody, I build ambient soundscape textures-grainy synth pads mimicking wind. I record my breathing.
Maybe nobody will hear this but me.
But it matters.
It really does.
My phone buzzes. Another text from him: "Feeling good?"
I pause, stare at the message.
Me: "Yeah."
Min-woo: "Meet me at fountain?"
Two words: not casual. Not professional.
Meeting me at fountain-where quiet becomes loud, where first semester collided with chance. Where I agreed to be part of something more than a booth.
I close the DAW, grab my hoodie, and head outside.
---
KANG MIN‑WOO
I'm leaning against the fountain at midnight: mist dancing in my hair, streetlamps flickering. Cold air is creeping in.
He arrives slow-hoodie up, hands in pockets, breath fogging.
I step forward.
"Hey."
"Hey."
We stand there, a small island of quiet between the rush of campus night.
Then I ask: "You-sing?"
He looks down.
"I can't," he says.
"Why not?"
He shakes his head. "No range. No real voice. Just sound."
I study his face. So calm it hurts.
"But..." I say, taking a breath, "you're writing. You've got melody. You've got emotion. That's more than most frontmen can say."
He sighs.
"I just..." his voice falters. "Nothing comes out right."
I close the distance and offer him my headset.
"You"-
He looks at it-recognizes the weight.
"You try it like this," I say.
He blinks-like I'm asking him to float.
I hand him the headset mic and step back. Wait.
He lifts his headphones, voice shaky but clear:
"I drifted in waves... looking for anchors..."
Oh.
My.
God.
That's his voice. Not filtered. Not balanced. Not safe. Raw.
It crushes me.
He finishes. Silence again.
Then he yanks off the headset:
"I can't do this."
I step forward. Push my guitar into his hands.
"Here."
He curls his fingers around the neck as if it's foreign.
"Just tell me your melody. I'll sing."
He frowns.
"Promise?"
I nod with too much certainty.
---
EUN JAE‑HYUN (Moments later)
I watch through angst-colored eyes as he straps on the guitar, sits at the fountain's edge, and plays.
It's not perfect. His fingers stumble. He misplaces a chord.
But when he sings-
It's everything.
Softly, he leans into the music, his voice trembling and rising, weaving my melody with new lyrics, fresh harmonies I never imagined. His voice cracks, finds footing, cracks again before settling into a vulnerable whisper.
I feel my throat swim. I swallow hard.
We finish. He looks at me-eyes dark.
"Fixed it," he murmurs.
But it's not fixed.
It's alive.
KANG MIN-WOO
We sit there for a while after the last note, letting the quiet pull us into something soft and uncertain. Jae-hyun doesn't speak, but his fingers tap against the denim of his jeans, like he's still counting time, still in the beat.
I slide the guitar to my side. "You wrote something real."
He looks away. "You made it real."
That should feel like a compliment, but it's not. It's an excuse, a shield he's using to hide behind my voice. I don't want to be the shield anymore.
"You don't need me to sing it," I say.
He lifts his gaze, skeptical.
"Seriously," I continue. "You've got the tone, the phrasing. You know how to hold tension in a line. That's half the battle."
"I'm not a performer."
"Maybe not yet."
The wind picks up, carrying away the words before they settle. I wonder if I'm pushing too hard. But something tells me if I don't push, no one else will. Not for him.
"We have a month," I say. "Before the showcase."
He blinks. "You want me to sing?"
I shrug. "Maybe. Or maybe we co-write. Build something together. Doesn't have to be huge. Just one song. Something new."
Jae-hyun doesn't answer right away. But the tap of his fingers slows.
"I'll think about it," he says finally.
That's not a no.
---
EUN JAE-HYUN
I can't stop thinking about his voice singing my melody.
It plays on loop as I brush my teeth, as I shut my laptop, as I lie down in bed and stare at the ceiling where the shadows form jagged chords. I try not to overanalyze, but it's hard not to when you've spent your life mastering nuance.
I don't sleep much. When I wake the next morning, I plug in my interface and record a clean version of the base progression. It's sparse but full of potential. This time, I don't delete it.
At lunch, I send it to Min-woo.
Jae-hyun: "WIP. Do whatever you want with it."
He replies five minutes later.
Min-woo: "Listening on loop. Let's meet tonight."
I spend the afternoon tweaking reverb tails and soft automation curves. I let the music build slowly, no rush, no pressure. For once, it feels like I'm creating for the sake of it-not for a class, not for a job. Just because the music wants to live.
---
KANG MIN-WOO
We meet again in Studio B after hours. Just the two of us. No band, no distractions.
He brings his laptop. I bring lyrics I scribbled during a lecture I barely paid attention to.
"I just threw this together," I say, sliding the notebook across the floor toward him.
He reads in silence. Nods once. Then again.
"These are good."
"Some rough edges."
He smiles faintly. "All the best songs have those."
I watch him pull out his headphones and start layering my words over his progression. When we play it back, it clicks like puzzle pieces finding their home.
We go back and forth for hours. I hum a harmony. He adjusts a tempo. I pitch a modulation. He reshapes the rhythm.
Somewhere around midnight, it transforms.
We listen to the final draft, not saying a word. The track builds slow, intimate. My voice wraps around his progression, his synths pulse under my chorus. It's raw. Honest. Imperfect in a way that makes it impossible to ignore.
He exhales. "That's... real."
I nod.
There's a silence between us, not uncomfortable. Just charged.
"You ever think," I say, "that some songs aren't written-they're found?"
He looks up, curious. "Found?"
"Yeah. Like... they already exist. Out there. Somewhere. And we just tune in at the right time to hear them."
He smiles. "That would explain a lot."
---
EUN JAE-HYUN
After we wrap, we step outside. The air smells like distant rain. I look at Min-woo, still wired from the session, his fingers tapping his jeans just like mine did.
"You think it's showcase-ready?" he asks.
"Depends."
"On what?"
"If we want to share it."
He turns toward me. "Do you?"
I think of the version of myself from just a few weeks ago-the one hiding in cables and EQ curves. The one who thought his voice didn't matter.
"I think I'm getting there."
He grins. "Good. Because we're up second-to-last in the lineup. That's prime-time."
My stomach knots. "Wait-what?"
"Student council confirmed it this morning. I signed us up as a surprise act. Just said 'Full Volume Originals'. Left the artist names blank."
"You sneaky-"
"Genius?" he offers.
I shake my head, laughing nervously. But I don't back out.
Because this time, maybe my voice does matter.
Later that night, I replay the recording with headphones on, eyes closed. I start humming along-quietly at first, then louder, more sure. The lyrics fit in my chest like they've always been there.
---
KANG MIN-WOO
The next few days are chaos. Rehearsals with the band. Acoustic sessions with Jae-hyun. Late-night lyric tweaks and obsessing over vocal phrasing.
But it's worth it. Every second. Every crash. Every doubt.
Because the more we work together, the more I realize something: I've never collaborated like this before. I've led. I've directed. But never created with someone, truly side by side.
And that changes things.
Not just the song.
Me.
Jae-hyun starts opening up more-sharing drafts he never would've shown anyone, smiling without hiding it behind sarcasm. I catch him humming in hallways, and sometimes we get caught mid-discussion about a bridge or verse in the cafeteria, ignoring our meals completely.
People start noticing. Whispers circulate. But for once, I don't care.
---
EUN JAE-HYUN
The night before the showcase, Min-woo texts me a single word:
"Ready?"
I stare at the screen.
And reply:
"Let's make them feel it."
I'm nervous. Terrified, even. But this isn't just about a song anymore. It's about a connection we found in silence and melody, a resonance that pulled us out of the shadows we'd made homes in.
Maybe they'll love it. Maybe they won't.
But they'll hear it.
And that's enough.