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Logan sits behind the console of the studio, mixing his songs. He plays with the colourful tapestry of buttons and levers, each click adding elements to the melody. He's usually on the other side of the glass, in the recording room. He's spent every day since his debut singing with all the might of his lungs, beyond the point of exhaustion. In contrast he finds producing to be calming, in the long hours of the night. 

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 of this. Singing the same songs a thousand times until an executive raises his thumb, taking pictures of his face from different angles in a hopeless attempt to appear approachable. His eyes itching from the layers upon layers of makeup, his chest feeling heavy under clothes that don't belong to him. Practise, 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. Not to mention sacrificing a chance to have a personal life. Friends, family. Love.

He rests his head on the comfortable headrest and lets the music fill the space. Tunes dance before him like smoke in the air, playing 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, bringing his head between his hands.

The door of the studio opens quietly. He hears steps coming towards him, but doesn't lift his head. 

"I knew I'd find you here". He feels the movement as Su Ryeon sits next to him. 

"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 with a natural glow. She looks softer, tender. "I came to see how you were doing after the article". They've taken some photos of him going to a club and the supposed journalist questioned his lifestyle choices, undermining his talent and effort. Many netizers came to defend him, but the stain on his pristine reputation wouldn't be so easy to wash away.

"I'm great". The sarcasm is evident in his tone. She turns towards him and suddenly she's closer than he thought.

"Logan". Only she could say his name like that. 

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

"It's okay", she starts.

"It's not. Not even close. And you have every right to 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 to torture you. I don't want to see you suffer. You may not always 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 tries to remove her hand, but he brings his palm on top of hers. 

"I know. Thank you", his meaningful look conveys way 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".

She sits back down, making herself comfortable. He goes back to mixing, acutely aware of her eyes on him. This time, the song flows easier as his hands fly through 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 forms the words, he sees her sleeping form laying on the couch. She's resting her head on her hand and some hair falls into her closed eyes. It's the most peaceful he's ever seen her, her body and mind clearly needing this moment of quiet rest. 

She's impossible, that woman. Two days ago, she was arguing about his image, winning against him and every other executive in the firm. She made him furious. Now, watching the curve of her eyelids, he feels tenderness swelling inside him. 

That's the image he'd happily see every night before he goes to sleep. 

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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