The shop Jihoon worked at was… quiet, to say the least; it was a narrow, dimly lit place hidden back in one of the less-traveled streets on the outskirts Hongdae, and they were lucky to get twenty customers in a day—it was a wonder the place was still open—but Jihoon enjoyed the atmosphere of it, and getting to know the regulars.

It was the beginning of winter when they got their first new regular customer—a tall, striking man with bleached hair who would come in, order a drink (something different every day), and settle into one of the soft chairs in the corner, pulling out a notebook and scribbling in it for hours without saying anything.

One day, when the man had left suddenly after checking his phone, Jihoon noticed that he had forgotten the worn old notebook, and he couldn’t help himself, he just had to look: it was filled with lyrics, scratched out and re-written, sometimes with cute little doodles or fully-finished drawings breaking up the words (Jihoon didn’t want to seem to self-centered, but most of the faces looked a little bit like his).