chapter title and chapter song: come to me by seventeen vocal team 

ten months later

The lights flicker on, in the cramped little studio, illuminating the fancy insert brand name mixing board that connects directly to the latest Apple computer model installed with cutting edge music editing software, perfect tools for an upcoming young producer like Lee Jihoon.

Jihoon lets out a sigh of relief as he dumps his backpack onto the couch that lines the wall, tired after a long day at his day job. Yes, he’s still working at his tedious nine-to-five office job; doing what he’s qualified for, but add music to his schedule, and all the weariness slips away: be as corny as it sounds, music makes Jihoon feel alive. It’s the thing that he looks forward to every day, spending hours in the studio, composing to his heart’s content, sometimes until dawn.

Contacting Vernon’s associate had been one of the most life-changing moments of his life. Two weeks back into his old life of starched white shirts and Excel spreadsheets, Jihoon had taken a leap of faith, and called up the number neatly printed onto the card that Vernon had given him. He set up a meeting with Bumzu, one of the music industry’s rising producers, who churns out earworms for numerous Hallyu groups that shake the world.

Jihoon hadn’t been sure what to expect when meeting with the music producer for the first time, and somehow, he’d ended up playing the raw recordings of the songs he’d written as a teen to Bumzu. Hearing his own barely-hit-puberty singing voice almost made him cringe, but the lyrics always send goosebumps down his arms – the meaning in them was never lost.

“You’re really good.” Bumzu had said, when he listened to Jihoon’s songs. The producer slipped his eyes closed as he listened to the lyrics - they weren’t just empty words written to a melody; it was a story from the voice of a teen who yearned to unravel his feelings. Emotions were the rawest at the peak of youth, and the pink-haired man sitting in front of him was an undiscovered gem. It wasn’t too late to teach him the magic of songwriting and music production - Jihoon didn’t need the music industry, but the music industry needed him.

“Y’know what? I’ll help you.” Bumzu said with a little smile after a bit of deliberation. “There’s potential in this,” He gestured at Jihoon’s phone, the display paused in the middle of one of his self-written tracks. “Come to my studio, and we’ll work things out.”

Jihoon had been scared out of his wits, entering a world that he had absolutely no idea about, but that initial discussion with Bumzu had been comfortable, as if talking to an old friend. Bumzu was receptive of letting Jihoon join him on board, though he mostly worked alone, apart from a number of collaborations with other artistes, like Vernon. He taught Jihoon everything he knew, from arranging to mixing to producing, opening up a new perspective for Jihoon, tapping into his potential.

“Music’s not just oh, I’ll write a song, and post it on the internet.” Bumzu had said. “Well, you could do that. For fun. But if you wanna reach the top, you’ve gotta do something more. Put more effort into the things that you do, and you’ll see that the rewards get bigger, too.” 

Bumzu was a wizard, letting Jihoon into all the secrets of the magic in the sound booth. It was like a crash course in music production that Jihoon never knew he needed. Together, they’d created music for the biggest stars in the K-pop world in a few short months; with Jihoon giving a hand in producing a couple of Bumzu’s own solo albums.

The first time he’d seen his name listed as co-producer in the liner notes of Bumzu’s album, Jihoon nearly cried. This is what he’s been meant to do all his life, making magic in the form of music, evoking emotions in their listeners, echoing their inner feelings. That was one thing that Jihoon always had in his music - emotion.

The way he wrote his lyrics, so poetic that it could move one to tears, accompanied by a magical arrangement that suited the words, be it a jaunty tune of finding a first love; or a profound ballad echoing an intense breakup – Jihoon simply knew how to translate feelings into song. At dawn, when the world around him is quiet, Jihoon’s most sentimental thoughts emerge, and he would craft them into heartfelt lyrics that would be matched to a suitable rhythm and melody, melding it into a musical masterpiece.

“Maybe you could sing in a track too, Jihoon.” Bumzu commented once. “Quit that other job of yours. You’re good enough to do music full time.”

Still, Jihoon held on tightly to the security of his day job as a boring accountant. The first day he returned to his office, everyone had been shocked to see Jihoon’s strawberry pink hair and slightly tanned skin; the same way he’d been shocked to see the mountainous pile of paperwork accumulated after a month of leave. His promotion to head of department doubled his workload, and it had been tough for him to fit into a leader’s role.

Easing back into his job had been stressful, of course, especially when paired with the heartbreak of leaving Malibu, leaving a certain surfer who never left his thoughts.

He’d been crazy to let go of that golden opportunity to be with the person he loved the most in the whole wide world. They tried to keep in touch through text messages and video calls, but it just wasn’t the same. And as Jihoon’s workload become monstrous with his crazy schedule working all day and all night at two different jobs, it became difficult for him to even say hello or reply any texts.

Seungcheol’s always the one who tries to keep in touch, constantly popping up in Jihoon’s messages with random photos or anecdotes. Maybe a snapshot of Goldie on the beach, or a photo of the kids in his swimming class, who look like they’re growing up pretty well. But Jihoon never returns the favour properly, letting the messages pile up, occasionally sending an emoji back. He wants to reply, send a picture or something. But that would seem like he’s happy here without Seungcheol when he’s really not. Timezones make everything even more difficult - Jihoon wouldn’t want to bother Seungcheol when he’s asleep. So their conversations are always stilted - almost one-sided, even - but Seungcheol never fails to text him at least once a week.

Life in Seoul is draining his soul, and the only thing that keeps him going is music. Yet, he still yearns for the golden beaches of Malibu, spending lazy days under the sun with Seungcheol.

All of that seems like a lifetime ago - only the trace of a suntan tells him that it’s not all just a dream. And a T-shirt belonging to Seungcheol that he’d accidentally brought back, tucked under his pillow, comforting him when he feels lonely at night.

Time and distance becomes a barrier, and Jihoon notices that Seungcheol’s texts are becoming less frequent - he dreads the day when Seungcheol stops contacting him completely. He knows that he should do something, but he’s got no clue what to do.

So all he writes are songs - some complete, most of them scrapped off - all for Seungcheol. Yet Jihoon knows that these compositions would never see the light of day, no matter how many times Bumzu tells him that he’s got the potential to release his own material. He doesn’t need his innermost feelings to be capitalised on; to become generic listening material.

Jihoon hates they way things ended between him and Seungcheol. Everything had been on good terms - they didn’t drift away, they didn’t break up…they simply just stopped.

No fights, no tears, nothing. The entirety of their relationship hanging like a loose end with no closure; but neither of them dared to tie it up, or weave it even further, grasping onto whatever little time they had left between them.

Then Jihoon boarded that plane back to Seoul, and now a whole ocean separates them. They'd promised to try to make their relationship work long-distance, but it's slowly falling apart. Jihoon knows that it's all his fault, for not trying to be better at communicating, and he regrets it.

Jihoon takes a sip of his iced coffee as he powers up his computer, wondering what song he’ll write tonight. YouTube tells him that Soonyoung’s uploaded a new vlog, something about making things from shoeboxes. He’d started a DIY vlog a few months ago when he moved to New York City with Wonwoo.

Jihoon watches it, knowing full well that it’ll end in a disaster (it does). He gets a good laugh out of it, cackling when Wonwoo pops out onscreen, questioning the mess that Soonyoung’s making - he’d practically replaced half of their things with shoeboxes. Jihoon does miss Soonyoung, even though he’s a handful, and he’s glad that Wonwoo’s able to keep him in check.

Out of boredom, he flicks over to Soonyoung’s travel website, travellinghamster. True to his word, Soonyoung had stopped posting about his travels, focusing on his DIY vlog instead. The last post had been about his wedding in Vegas; and there it is, a group photo of all of them. Seungcheol’s there too, backhugging Jihoon possessively. The Jihoon in the photo doesn’t look like the Jihoon now - he’d dyed his hair back to black as per company regulations.

(“Jihoon, that shade of pink really looks nice on you. But according to the Company Handbook Section 39c Clause 31.7a, no bright hair colours allowed, to maintain professionalism.” Mingyu from Human Resources said. Jihoon didn’t argue, and changed it back - he’s getting too much attention with it anyway, even though he was reluctant to do so, remembering the way Seungcheol had called him cute when he first saw the homemade dye job.)

But more importantly, the Jihoon in the photo looks happier, like he owns the world. Seungcheol’s gummy grin echoes the same sentiment, and a sharp pain twists at Jihoon’s heart. He glances to his phone, feeling guilty that he’s leaving Seungcheol hanging. But what could he say after all this time? What they had wasn’t just a simple relationship - it ran deeper than he’d imagined: physically, emotionally, ually.

Seungcheol had been the one who’d set him free from his own shackles, showing him that happiness could be found even in the smallest of things - from appreciating the beauty of the ocean, to good morning kisses, to random adventures to new places to create new memories. One who’d patiently taught him swimming and surfing, enabling Jihoon to experience what Seungcheol loves the most.

But most importantly, he’d been the one to encourage Jihoon to sing the song locked in his heart - he’d learnt the words and sang it along with Jihoon when he needed it the most, reminding him of the happiness that music brought to him.

Yes, Jihoon does feel happier now, with the opportunity to create music, but everything doesn’t feel complete without Seungcheol around.

Jihoon can feel his throat constricting - times like his, he misses Seungcheol the most. But his anxiety prevented him from saying hello; and he shies away from his phone like it’s radioactive. Part of his brain his screaming at him to call Seungcheol up and pour his heart out, but he knows that he’s not good at articulating, and would probably faint at hearing Seungcheol’s voice after