She's so beautiful.  Running after her, he admired the way her hair flowed in the light breeze.  She ran effortlessly, as if she was floating on air while his arms and legs flailed around clumsily.  His breath was ragged.  He chased after her, allowing her to pull away slightly.  In truth, he could have passed her easily but then he would have to do the mission alone.  Unconsciously, he started humming as he ran.  "Woahhhhhhh I just wanna feel this moment" he hummed to himself, swaying his body to the beat of the Christina Aguilera and Pitbull song.  A sudden scream broke him out of his private mental concert.  "Oppa!" she shrieked.  

He was a step too late.  They had been hiding around the corner, waiting for her.  As she ran by, they sprang out launched a coordinated attack.  Grabbing her arms to take away her last line of defense, they ripped her nametag mercilessly, moments before he could reach.  Even without her nametag, she kept screaming and fighting, scratching at their legs and wriggling around as if her nametag was still on her back.  With her gone, he was left with a 2 vs 1 and couldn't hold them off.  After a few minutes, he joined everyone else in jail and watched as the two winner hoisted their golden trophy prize above their heads.  

Though the game was over, she still had too much on her mind to let it go.  As the members dispersed towards their various cars and managers etc. she chased after him.  "Oppa where were you?" she whined, playfully hitting him on the shoulder.  It was playful but had enough force behind it to convey her annoyance with his failure.  

"I'm sorry" he said, shrinking away from the hit.  "Oppa just wasn't thinking straight.  I'll do better next time."  He didn't dare look her in the eyes.  Before, they'd been on camera.  They'd been competing.  They were acting.  Now, it was real.  And he wasn't ready to show what he was really feeling inside.  

She smacked him again, right on the back between the shoulder blades.  "Ahhh Oppa!  We could have won this time.  We were so close."  He couldn't think of anything to say and just let their conversation lapse into silence.  Awkwardness descended as he walled off his vulnerabilities and used silence to veil his unease.  They were fast approaching his car.  "I'm sorry.  Next time I'll do better" he mumbled, wishing he had something better.  I wish I was skilled at speaking.

She left him by the car and he watched her walk back towards the partially dismantled set.  The setting sun shined on her hair and the wind blew it in the most graceful ribbon behind her.  It was like looking at a painting by a master artist.  The moment seared into his eyes, locked in his memory, he turned back and leaned against his car.  His right hand came up and pressed against the side of the car as his head rolled down, looking towards the ground.  He took a deep breath and composed himself before driving home.  

He couldn't sleep.  Lately, he was having trouble falling asleep.  It was like insomnia.  He would lie in bed for what seemed like hours, eyes closed, body still.  But he wouldn't sleep.  His body and mind were betraying him, keeping him up until the early morning hours when he would finally drift off for an hour or two of fitful rest.  He didn't know it, but he tossed and turned a lot.  To an outsider, it looked like he was sleeping on a bed of nails, he twitched and spasmed so much.  Tonight was no different.  Though he was exhausted from a long filming, sleep would not come.  

He lay in bed for an hour, hoping to just drift away but nothing happened.  Impatient, he jumped out of bed and started shadow-boxing as hard as he could, trying to exhaust himself and rid himself of what felt like enough pent up energy to cause him to spontaneously combust.  He let out a scream--a scream of desperation and frustration.  Though his muscles ached and body begged for rest, his spirit was alight with energy.  His mind wanted sleep but his soul yearned for release.  It's because of her.

He stepped out into the brisk night air.  His breath turned to fog immediately in front of his face.  He shivered once and tried his best to acclimate to the cold.  Why can't I just sleep in my nice, warm bed.  

He started walking.  He didn't know where he was going, he just let his feet take him.  Step.  Step.  Step.  He walked aimlessly, hoping to find some answers or at least tire himself out so he could sleep. Step.  Step.  Step.  He reached a corner with a red light.  He stood there, waiting, a cloud of fog hovering in front of his face.  The light turned and he started walking.  

Across the city, she looked out her window at the Seoul skyline.  She thought about the time, last year, when they had watched the fireworks on New Years from this exact spot.  She remembered the anticipation, the tingling sensation down her back when he touched her, the warmth of his body when he drew her close, and the sweet taste of his lips on hers.  Back then, life had seemed so simple, so perfect.  And while she refused to let it show, lest anyone get any ideas, she missed those times.  I'm sorry.  But I love you.

Feet tired, he stopped in front of a cafe.  It was closed for the night but he stared in the window, trying to make out the menu hanging down above the register.  He wasn't sure where he was but the street seemed familiar.  The karaoke bar down the street looked eerily familiar.  The sauna at the corner screamed deja vu.  He was certain he'd eaten at this very cafe at least once before.  Unable to see, he sighed and kept walking.  A staircase going down appeared on the right and he knew he'd been here before.  This is the first recording studio I ever used.  I used to eat at that cafe back when it was a Korean soup restaurant.  I used to go and sit in that sauna to rest.  I used to order jjajangmyun from that Chinese restaurant over there.  

Namsan Tower.  Looking at it, she thought back to the day when they'd met there.  The day that marked the end of their time together.  It was night.  They'd gone to the top of the tower and were walking back.  Her heart was racing.  She'd been keeping something from him.  Something that would change everything.  She knew she had to tell him.  But she didn't know how.  

He walked down the stairs, and stopped in front of a locked door.  Behind the door was a hall, with entrances to various recording studios artists used to write music.  He could see it in his mind's eye.  He'd been a wide eyed youngster back then.  Back then, he'd dreamed of being the greatest, a name to be uttered alongside such masters as Mozart, Beethoven, the Beatles and Michael Jackson.  I thought I would own the music industry by now.  He'd been so sure of his greatness, he was insulted when he first saw the place. "No way" he'd said.  "I'm going to be a superstar."  "Then go record at your superstar studio" his "manager" had replied before walking off.  He'd been to proud to use the studio but after a while, it had become a second home.  Back then, you were nothing.  This was all you had and it was home.  He had a new, state of the art recording studio now but it had never felt quite right.  It was too new.  Too clean.  Sterile.  This studio, though dirty and beat up, had a comforting vibe emanating from it.  It feels like I'm coming back home.

"Oppa" she'd said.  "What?" he replied, in a slow, deep drawl that sent shivers down her spine.  His voice could be so rich sometimes.  It sounded strong, sturdy, protective, like everything would be okay just because he said so.  

When she didn't answer, he stopped looking at the stars and turned back towards her.  Taking her hands, he gently the back of her hands with his thumbs.  "..."  Before he could speak, she pulled her hands back, startling him slightly.  She took a deep breath.  "Oppa, there's something I need to tell you."  He could sense the seriousness in her voice.  He looked at her posture, noting her crossed arms and slightly hunched shoulders.  She was physically closing herself off to him. Whatever it was, it wasn't good news.  He reached out to her but she pulled back, maintaining the separation between them.

The sound of singing interrupted his little trip down memory lane.  The echoes of a new pop song rattled their way down the stairwell to where he was.  Must be some kids from the karaoke bar.  He looked at the ground by the door, searching for what he knew was there but just couldn't see.  It took him a while to find it.  "Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.  Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure."  He'd written that on the ground by the door as motivation. "Be fearless."

He'd always liked her.  Her attractiveness was undeniable. But he'd been too cowardly to say anything.  He feared rejection.  He feared acceptance. He feared upsetting the status quo.  He feared that nothing would ever be this perfect ever again.  For a whole year, he'd kept his true thoughts hidden.  He tried to tell her, but the right moment just never came.  He chickened out twice.  But finally, he summoned the courage to confess.  He laid it all on the line, in an awkward, clumsy sort of way.  His sincerity and earnestness made up for his lack of eloquence and grace.  That day, he could have died happy.  Because she said yes.

Now, he could tell he was in for some bad news.  "Oppa, we...I..."  she couldn't finish the thought.  "What?" he asked gently, sensitive side coming out despite his sense of impending doom.  She wouldn't face him so he closed the distance between them.  He held her face between his hands and gently pulled so she was looking at him.  Her eyes were streaming tears.  "What is it?" he asked.  She shrugged off his hands and wiped her nose with her forearm.  "Oppa, we're done" she said coldly, sniffling the last of her tears away.  She turned and walked off, leaving him dumbfounded.

"Yo.  Uh Uh"  he sang, moving his hands as if scratching a disk.  The beat was catchy but he had a nagging feeling it wasn't original.  Something's not right. Stumped, he looked up the stairwell at the moon.  At that precise moment, the moon was framed perfectly in the stairwell.  "So pretty" he thought to himself.  

She cried all night.  By morning, there were no more tears.  You did good.  You did the right thing.

He stopped at a 24 hour convenience store.  Grabbing a cup ramen, he sat by the window, eating just like he had done so many years ago.  Back then, he'd eaten ramen because he had no money for anything else.  Now, he was just as pathetic, eating ramen because he had nothing else. All these years later, he'd gotten the money and fame but still had no place for homemade food or person to have a late night conversation with.  The irony ate at him.  What would I have said to myself if I saw this was going to be my future?  An idea formed in his head and he ran back into the convenience store.

He hadn't let her go so easy.  He'd begged, argued, bargained, and pleaded for hours but she didn't give in.  The hardest part was every few minutes he would ask her, "just tell me what's going on."  She wanted to tell him.  But she couldn't burden him with the truth.  She didn't doubt that he'd run through fire for her if it would help but she couldn't allow her personal problems to hurt him.  So she kept her lips shut.  When he finally ran out of things to say, she left him coldly, without looking back. 

For a while, he'd been lost.  Her betrayal had rocked him to his core.  His work suffered.  His health went into decline.  His whole world had been flipped on its head and he didn't have the strength to flip it back.  Family and friends grew concerned.  He drank a lot and even started smoking again.  He fell into an endless spiral of self destruction.  

She saw him doing his best to kill himself and it hurt her heart.  So many times, she'd just wanted to reach out to him and let him in but she knew it would be a mistake.  Their run ins were awkward.  Every time they met, their eyes carried on a conversation masked by their innocuous words.  Their chemistry, once so natural and free was now constrained and stiff.  

He read a blog.  A fan posted one of his songs on a blog and left a message for him.  "I love this song.  Oppa fighting!"  On the internet, there were thousands of messages like that.  "Hyung, I can't wait for your new album.  Fighting!"  "This is real music"  "Omo I just saw this and had to repost it.  It's soo good!!!!!"  One message really pulled at his heartstrings.  "This was my wife's favorite song.  She died last year, in a car crash.  My daughter was driving.  When I got to the hospital, I couldn't even look at her, I was so angry and sad.  How would you feel, seeing the love of your life destroyed by your own child.  I was bitter and couldn't accept my daughter's role in her death.  Exactly one year later, we went to visit her at the funeral home.  This song was playing in the lobby.  It felt like he was speaking to me.  The lyrics are so compassionate, I really feel for him.  He must have endured some bad pain to understand and put into words the feelings and fears of everyone who has ever lost something.  I looked over at my daughter and she was crying.  We cried together that day and I finally moved on from her role in my wife's death.  I hope he moves on as well."

The days turned to weeks and weeks turned to months.  He didn't look like he was getting any better.  Then came the announcement that he was starting a comeback with a tour and a new album.  When she saw him, he was still stiff and not like himself.  But he wasn't having a pity party of one either. He was just...normal.  As normal as she could expect, given what she had done to him.  Watching him from afar, she saw him crack a smile.  A real, genuine smile.  It was the first smile she'd seen from him in months.  

His music saved him.  He channeled all the hurt, all the pain, all the sadness and desperation into his lyrics.  His album was a hit.  He quit smoking again.  He stopped drinking so much.  He started going out more and stopped staying in all day.  His health returned.  To many, he was back.  Only he knew the truth.  He still missed her.  

As time passed, things became more normal.  He stopped trying to avoid her.  He stopped stammering every time her name came up in conversation.  He started new hobbies and busied himself with his own life.  He thought of her less and less everyday but every night, the loneliness remained.  

The better he got, the less she worried about him.  Finally, he was in a place where her guilt didn't prick her conscience.  As time passed, the scars in her heart subsided and her mind erased the trauma from her mind.  Their time together faded, the details evaporating into the recesses of her mind.  It got to the point that she could be around him normally again without feeling nervous.  They could talk without being awkward.  It was like nothing had ever happened.  Only when she allowed herself to think of the past did the pangs of regret hit.

He walked out of the convenience store and found a bench to sit on.  It was late, the buses weren't running.  Looking at the night sky, he saw the blackness of the night.  No stars shined, there was too much light pollution for that.  The city had 10.5 million people living in it and the vast majority were in their homes sleeping.  It was hard to feel lonely in such a metropolis but at night, the city was like a ghost town.  He pulled out the notebook he'd bought from the store, grabbed a pen and started writing.

It bothered her that he was doing well.  She felt terrible for feeling that way but it was the truth.  She was selfish.  She wanted to see him still pining for her.  She wanted him to want her.  In a weird way, it was comforting to see him so lost and broken because it showed how true his feelings were.  She knew that he still loved her.  Now, it was as if he'd forgotten her.  He was back to normal.  And it bothered her.  She wanted him to be broken.  She wanted him to be a mess.  Because even though she pretended otherwise, she was lonely.  She missed him badly.  She was still broken up inside, waiting to be made whole again.  During the day, she hid it behind her practiced persona but at night, she was just herself, vulnerable and alone. 

duh duh dududu duh duh duh dududu duh.  The beat boomed in his head. He started writing lyrics in the notebook.  It felt good.  He'd been stuck for the longest time, looking for inspiration for a new song.  Tonight was perfect for writing lyrics.  He was home, on the streets, not in his closed off studio but down back where he started from.  His heartache gave him a purpose.  The night was his muse.  The words came easily, as if they were already written and just waiting for him to find them.  

She stepped out onto the balcony.  The brisk night air felt good on her flushed skin.  A sudden gust whooshed past, causing her to shiver. Shaking with cold, she stepped out to the edge of the balcony and leaned over the rail.  The streets below were empty.  It was like a metaphor for how she was feeling.  She looked up at the moon, so far away.  It was like him.  So close but so far.  And she had been the one to push him away.  Though she was sure she had done the right thing, that didn't mean she didn't regret it. 

He finished writing the last line.  Now all that was left was to give it a title.  He knew exactly what he would call it.  

Somewhere in Seoul, a bell rang.  12 midnight.  She could hear the soft ringing of the bells.  She stepped back inside and closed the door to the balcony and walked over to her bed.  She lay there, staring at the ceiling, lost in her heart and mind.  

"Midnight Without You"