EUN JAE-HYUN
There's a kind of comfort in silence-
Or maybe I just convinced myself of that over the years.
The cafeteria hums with its usual lunchtime chaos: trays clattering, girls shrieking over K-pop comebacks, guys bickering about fantasy football. But in my ears, all I hear is the slow strum of acoustic guitar layered with soft rain-my custom mix for when I need to shut the world out.
Like now.
I sit in the back corner of the cafeteria, one leg propped on the empty chair beside me, a tangle of earphones under my hoodie. My tray is untouched, and my fingers are tapping rhythms on my jeans-slow, steady, like a metronome only I can hear.
I watch people. Not because I'm curious. Just... it helps me keep my distance.
Until someone drops a backpack next to me.
"Yo. This seat taken?"
I flinch. Not at the voice-but because I hadn't even noticed anyone walking up. I pause my music, pulling one earbud out. A guy I vaguely recognize-tall, messy dark hair, rings on three fingers, guitar case slung across his back-drops into the seat with the casual confidence of someone who assumes they belong everywhere.
He doesn't wait for my answer. Just opens a juice box and starts drinking.
"...Do I know you?" I ask, cautious.
He squints at me. "Eun Jae-hyun, right? First year, audio engineering?"
I blink. "Yeah."
He grins. "Knew it. You're the quiet one who always sits near the mixing booth during campus gigs. You did the sound levels for the freshman open mic, didn't you?"
I nod slowly. I didn't think anyone had noticed that. I'd volunteered quietly and left before the lights came on.
"I'm Kang Min-woo. Vocals, Music Club." He offers a hand across the table.
Oh. That explains the guitar case.
I shake it hesitantly, surprised at how warm his fingers are. Rough too-callouses.
"What... do you want?"
Min-woo laughs. "Wow. Straight to the point. You're gonna be fun."
He leans forward, eyes glinting with something-mischief? Challenge?
"We need someone to do sound for the fall concert. Our tech guy just dropped out. And your levels at the open mic were clean. Like-actually good."
I hesitate. "I don't really... join clubs."
"Cool. I didn't really ask if you did." He smirks. "I'm asking if you'll help. One gig. That's all."
I narrow my eyes. "Why me?"
He taps the table with a rhythm, casual but deliberate. "'Cause you listen more than you speak. And that's what good sound engineers do."
I hate how much that flatters me.
He stands, slinging the guitar back over one shoulder. "Rehearsal's tonight. Studio B. Seven sharp. Just drop by. Or don't."
And just like that, he's gone.
Leaving behind a juice box and an invitation I didn't ask for-but can't stop thinking about.
---
KANG MIN-WOO
When I first saw Jae-hyun at the open mic, he was hunched over the mixing board like it owed him money.
Focused. Zoned in. Like he didn't care that two hundred students were out there screaming into karaoke mics or trying to play Coldplay on keyboards missing three keys.
But his mix?
Clean. Balanced. Even the worst singer didn't sound like dying machinery.
I watched him from backstage. Not 'cause I was curious-okay, maybe I was. He had this weird gravity about him. The kind of presence you only notice when you're looking for quiet in the chaos.
So when our usual sound guy ditched for an internship in Busan, I thought-why not?
Our rehearsal space is in the basement of the fine arts building. Smells like old wood and teenage dreams. The kind of room where you fall in love with music-or burn out trying.
I'm there early, tuning strings, checking pedals. We've got two weeks to get ready for the fall showcase. And half our members are still hungover from midterms.
At 7:04, the door creaks open.
And there he is.
Hoodie up. Head down. Dragging a small canvas bag like it might escape if he lets go.
"You came," I say, trying not to sound too smug.
He shrugs. "Just watching."
"Sure," I say, stepping back from the mic. "But only if you watch from the booth."
He follows me silently to the sound table. Starts unpacking a portable interface, spare cables, even his own headphones. Damn. He came prepared.
"You brought your own gear?" I ask, impressed.
"Yours looked dusty," he mutters.
I laugh. He's blunt. I like that.
We start the warm-up. Hyejin runs scales on the keyboard, Junho does his usual too-loud drum check, and I grip the mic and close my eyes.
I sing a verse-soft, just testing levels. Nothing heavy. But when I open my eyes-
Jae-hyun is watching me.
Not like a fan.
Like a scientist dissecting a frequency.
I feel it then, a weird shift in the room. Like someone just adjusted the EQ on the air itself.
---
EUN JAE-HYUN
His voice is different in rehearsal.
It's not the crowd-pleasing, flirty tone I've seen in campus videos or impromptu busking clips.
It's lower. Raw. Like he's singing not to impress-but to confess.
The mix is easy enough. Levels need minor adjustments. He's got a bright tenor, but his lower notes have warmth that bleeds into the mids if I'm not careful. I tweak the parametric EQ on his channel slightly, watching the waveforms smooth out.
He sings again.
Perfect.
"You fixed the muddiness," he says after, casually peering over my shoulder.
I almost jump. I hadn't noticed him approach.
"Too much low-end," I say, barely above a whisper.
He whistles. "You've got a good ear."
I should thank him. Instead, I nod and look away.
I'm not used to compliments.
He doesn't push. Just leans on the booth counter and watches the rest of the band wrap up.
"You're really into this, huh?" he asks after a beat. "Sound."
I hesitate. "It's the only place where people listen to what I do without needing to see me."
He stares at me for a second. Not pitying-just... understanding.
"I get that," he says. "For me, singing's the only time I don't feel like I'm pretending to be someone else."
We don't say anything after that. The silence sits comfortably between us.
And for the first time in a long time, I don't feel the need to fill it.
---
KANG MIN-WOO
We go out for canned coffee after rehearsal.
He doesn't drink his. Just holds the warm can like a tiny shield.
"So," I say, "are you in? For the showcase?"
He stares at the sky. Moonlight reflects in his eyes like the reverb of a soft piano chord.
"I'll do it," he says. "But only sound. No stage appearances."
I smirk. "Deal."
A pause.
Then he adds, "And you better not mess up your mic technique. I'm not auto-tuning you."
I laugh, hard. "Damn. Cold."
But secretly, I like that he isn't afraid to call me out.
He walks away with his headphones back on, hoodie up, shoulders hunched.
But I see the way his fingers twitch in time to a rhythm only he can hear.
And I know-
This kid's got more music in him than he'll ever admit.
---
EUN JAE-HYUN
Back in my dorm, I lie awake, staring at the ceiling.
The hum of my old fan drowns out the hallway noise.
But I can still hear his voice.
And for the first time, it isn't background static.
It's the main melody
EUN JAE-HYUN
I thought I'd be able to tune him out once I got back to my dorm.
But I can still hear him.
Not literally, of course. Just-his voice. The way it cracked slightly at the end of the verse. The soft breath before he hit the high note. The little chuckle when the drummer dropped a beat and cursed under his breath.
It loops in my head like a stuck chorus.
I pull the blanket over my face. Frustrating.
He's too much. Loud. Blunt. Shiny, like a stage light that doesn't dim even after the show ends.
And I-
I'm used to fading into the background.
I don't belong in the center. I belong in the booth, in the corners, in the dim places where the sound is good but no one looks.
So why did I say yes?
Why did I agree to work with him?
My phone buzzes.
[10:24 p.m. - Unknown Number]
Min-woo: Hey, headphone guy. U got any recordings of our set? Wanna hear what we sound like from your side of the universe.
I stare at the screen.
Part of me wants to ignore him. The smarter part.
But instead, I find the WAV file from rehearsal, cut out the background chatter, and send it.
No message. Just the audio.
He replies two minutes later.
Min-woo: Yo... this mix is CLEAN. You a wizard or smth?
I roll my eyes.
Me: You're welcome.
Min-woo: U ever think of producing music?
Me: I'm just a student.
Min-woo: That's not a no.
I don't reply.
But a small smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.
Damn him.
---
KANG MIN-WOO
Most people don't surprise me.
They either want something from me-attention, approval, the wayward idea of what it means to be a "cool senior with talent"-or they avoid me because they assume I'm trouble.
Fair. I am trouble. Sometimes.
But Jae-hyun?
He doesn't try to impress me. Doesn't care if I notice him. Doesn't want anything.
Except to be left alone with good sound.
I admire that. Maybe even envy it.
The next few days fall into a rhythm.
He shows up early to rehearsal. Sets up silently. Runs our levels like a ghost in the machine.
But he listens. Every. Damn. Second.
I catch him tapping rhythms on his thighs when he thinks no one's looking. Or adjusting the levels mid-song without blinking. The way his eyes narrow just slightly when something clips.
He's got the ears of a professional. Better than most producers I've worked with.
One night, after practice, I follow him out.
"You hungry?" I ask.
He blinks. "...No."
"Too bad. You're eating with me."
He sighs, but doesn't argue. That's practically a yes.
We end up at a convenience store. Instant ramen and milk bread and two cans of pineapple soda.
He eats like he hasn't all day.
"You always this quiet?" I ask between bites.
He shrugs. "Talking is exhausting."
"Even to me?"
"Especially to you," he deadpans.
I grin. "Honest. I like that."
He doesn't smile back-but his ears turn a little pink.
We sit outside, backs against the vending machines. The city is humming, neon lights flickering like heartbeat monitors.
"Why music?" I ask.
He pauses, cup noodles halfway to his mouth.
"...Because when everything else is noise, music makes sense."
That hits. Deeper than I expected.
I don't reply. Just take another sip of my soda and let his words sink in.
And in that moment, something shifts.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just a soft, nearly imperceptible click-
Like a perfect harmony falling into place.
---
EUN JAE-HYUN
The rehearsal room becomes a second home.
Some nights, I stay behind after everyone leaves, fixing cables, backing up session files, organizing the soundboard because no one else ever does.
Min-woo always stays last. Sometimes he pretends it's for vocal warm-downs. But I know better.
He'll strum his guitar, hum nonsense lyrics, scribble ideas in a crumpled notebook.
And once, just once, he asks me:
"You ever write music?"
I freeze.
"No," I lie.
I've written entire albums in my head. Melodies built from the click of my keyboard and the hum of subway doors. Lyrics pulled from forgotten dreams.
But I don't tell him that.
It's safer not to.
He watches me for a second.
Doesn't press.
Just smiles, like he knows I'm lying-and decides to let it go.
For now.