Logan sits behind the console of the studio, mixing the songs for the next album. He plays with the colorful tapestry of buttons and levers, each click adding elements to the melody. He's usually on the other side of the glass, recording. Every day since his debut he’s spent singing with all the might of his lungs, beyond the point of exhaustion. Butin the long hours of the night, he finds producing calming. The song is there, all he has to do is coax it out. 

 

It's past ten o'clock, and everyone's left the studio. His band members are at home, washing away the day. At almost thirty, he ponders if he's too old for all this. Singing the same songs a thousand times until an executive gives the thumbs up, taking pictures of his face from different angles -a hopeless attempt to appear approachable but just out of reach. His eyes itch from the layers upon layers of makeup, his chest swells heavy under clothes that don't belong to him. 

 

Practice, promote, sleep, repeat. What's on the other side of this? Is it all fame has to offer? It's a steep price for his body, energy and time. For sacrificing a chance for a personal life. For friends, family. A trip to the market in blissful anonymity. For love.

 

He rests his head on the comfortable headrest and lets the music fill the room. Tunes dance before him like smoke in the air, interacting with each other to form a single melody. Either his mood is affecting his musical ability, or the song doesn't gel together. He closes his eyes, burying his head between his hands.

 

The door of the studio opens quietly. Footsteps come towards him, but he doesn't lift his head.

 

"I knew I'd find you here.” He feels the dip of the couch as Su Ryeon sits next to him.

 

No. Anyone but her. Not in the one place he can hide. 

 

"Came to shout at me some more?"

 

"No.” He finally looks at her. She's ditched the caramel suit jacket, leaving her in a soft cream shirt and high waisted pants. The dim light of the studio casts her face in a warm glow. She looks softer, tender.  "I came to see how you were doing after the article.” 

 

The damned article. 

 

They've taken photos of him and his date, the one he fought Su Ryeon about, going to a club and drinking, and the supposed journalist slapped a provocative headline, questioning his lifestyle choices. How dare a twenty-nine-year-old man drink, dance and be seen with a woman? Many netizens came to defend him, but the stain on his pristine reputation wouldn't be so easy to wash away. The vitamin water brand withdrew their sponsorship, citing a morality clause, dissociating from his tainted image.

 

"I'm great.” The sarcasm drips from his tongue. He is too tired, body and soul, to hide it. 

 

She turns towards him and suddenly she's closer than he thought.

 

"Logan." Only she could say his name like that. An order and a plea. 

 

"How do you expect me to be? I just lost our biggest endorsement, the group is mad at me and I can't even mix this damned song!" He throws his hands up in the air. "I've been doing this for ten years and I still can't get it right. Every time we get some success, there's a scandal. Now it’s me who screwed up."

 

"It's okay-," she starts.

 

"It's not. Not even close. And can yell at me, seeing how I disobeyed you and the worst happened. Come on, let me have it.”

 

She stays silent, scanning his profile.

 

"Do you get it now?"

 

He looks at her questioningly.

 

"All these rules aren't set to torture you. You may not always like it -okay, you never like it, but I'm doing this for you." He softens. "To protect you." She touches his forearm and his eyes fly to hers.

 

A beat passes between them.

 

"To protect your image. Your career. That's what I'm here for." She slides her hand off, but he brings his palm on top of hers.

 

"I know. Thank you," his meaningful look conveys something beyond gratitude.

 

The corners of rise, forming a shy smile.

 

"Well. We'll talk strategy tomorrow. I'll leave you to it." She motions to leave but forces beyond his control make him grab her hand and stop her.

 

"Don't." For some reason her absence makes him sad. "Stay." The final piece of her reluctance evaporates. "Please."

 

This is what happens when he’s with her, why he’s avoided her for so long. It’s as easy to argue with her as to downright plead. And he never knows which side the coin will land.

 

She sits back down, making herself comfortable on the sofa next to him. He goes back to mixing, acutely aware of her eyes on him. Easing the stiffness of his back. This time, the song flows easier as his hands fly across the console.

 

They sit together silently, only the ballad melody echoing in the small space. A fitting company for two lost souls.

 

Minutes pass, or it may be hours. If there was a window in the room, he'd see the stars, shining at him encouragingly. Speaking of ethereal things, he turns around to ask Su Ryeon's take on the song.

 

As he's about to form the words, he sees her sleeping figure sprawled on the couch. She's resting her head on her hand and locks of hair fall into her closed eyes. It's the most peaceful he's ever seen her, her body and mind clearly needing this moment of rest.

 

She's impossible, that woman. A week ago, she was lecturing him about public image. She made him furious. Now, watching the curve of her eyelids, a vain of tenderness threads through his being. 

 

That's an image he'd happily see every night before he falls asleep.

 

Something breaks inside of him and falls back into place. Maybe it isn't about fame and money. Maybe his path to be an idol was leading him to her all along.

 

---/–

 

Out of the corners of her dream, Su Ryeon feels a feather light touch, softly pulling her hair out of her eyes. The thumb pauses on her forehead, the action eliciting waves of warmth.

 

She smiles in her sleep.

 

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