Professor Park takes his time getting back to us with feedback for the latest song we submitted. This is only inconvenient because it provides me no reference point for the kind of work I want to put forward by the end of the semester. He says write from the heart. Write about what’s important to us. Write honestly. Sincerely. Bravely. He expects us to just pry open our ribs, find the sheet music scrolled inside and make it loud and sterling in clarity so the world can hear us. I don’t think he really knows what he’s talking about.

In any case, the radio silence is partly a relief because I don’t want to know what he thinks of my work. It’s bad enough I’ve received anonymous hate over the internet. Whatever he has to say can be argued as constructive criticism, but…that's not really the point. Sungjin hasn’t said anything either, but that’s also because I didn’t ask him about it. And I won’t ever ask him about it.

Unfortunately, Songwriting isn’t the only class I need to write for.

“Jae.”

We’re at the studio, Thursday night. Jae has chosen tonight’s playlist and is currently strumming to a song from at least five decades before we were born. His arrangement is updated, a little more hip and with an island life vibe to it. I couldn’t stop listening to him. This is Jae, a study in contrasts: he’s laid-back but focused, effortlessly charming and unexpectedly so, larger than life but also afraid of it.

It’s so…quintessentially Jae.

“Yeah?” he answers absently.

I take a much needed breath to steel my nerves. “Am I allowed to ask for a favor?”

“Kitty Kat, you and I are way past that. What’s up.”

“I need someone on guitar. For a thing.”

Jae stops strumming and leans forward. “Is this what I think this is?”

I’m almost sorry I brought it up. Jae used to be the first to hear my new music. Though I trust nothing else about him, I trust his taste in music. During the first year we worked together, we exchanged recommendations almost on a daily basis. Through all the misses and hits, and though we do completely different styles, we evolved together through sound, musical soulmates if you will.

“No,” I tell him. “Not exactly. It’s not mine. I’m just doing arrangements for this class and I thought a guitar solo would be good.”

He eyes me for a moment, then says “Yeah, I’ll do it. No problem. Just tell me when and where.”

This is where it gets tricky because in no way or form do I want any of the subsets of my life to overlap. Just thinking about Jae and Wonpil meeting already makes it an intergalactic disaster waiting to happen. The way I see it, Jae and Wonpil could either be the best of friends of the worst of enemies. I have no doubt Jae would have absolutely no patience for Wonpil’s antics, and this is exactly the fuel Wonpil needs to keep annoying him.

And Jae…Jae knows too much. Despite the fact that we’ve only ever significantly interacted inside the station, Jae already knew far more than any of the others. Perhaps even more than my roommates. Because Jae was there when it happened. Both Its. He was there when It happened at Catharsis, and he was also there when I ended up at the Infirmary. The former by chance, and the latter by choice.

I was supposed to show up for our shift that night after my visit to the Associate Dean’s office, and the nurse answered his repeated calls. He had to pretend to be my boyfriend in order to stay with me at the clinic. I owe him more than he’s willing to claim. With reservations.

“Thanks. I owe you.”

“I know. Will you go out with Bob?”

“No.”

“Why not?” he whines.

“Why do you keep asking?”

Jae pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. As far as I can tell, he owns quite a collection of glasses, none of which are corrective, and none of which should belong to this decade. But this one, the rectangular tortoise shell frames with the metal top bar is his favorite. “If I tell you why, will you at least consider it? I mean really think about it?”

“I guess?” I owe him that much. Even if every fiber of my being is against this.

“Say what you will of me and the kind of people you think I associate with but Bob is a perfectly nice guy. I cannot stress this enough. He’s a gentleman, exactly the kind of guy you take home to Mom and Dad, even your grandmother and seven generations of your ancestors will approve of him—“

“What’s the catch, Jae?”

Jae charges forward, short of grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking me. I’ve never seen Jae’s eyes grow this big before. In his most solemn voice, he whispers, “He’s driving me insane.”

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