In the Quiet of the Studio
2:03 AM – The timestamp glared at you from your laptop screen. You slumped over your desk, forehead nearly touching the keyboard. The chorus you’d been working on for hours still sounded hollow, no matter how many times you rearranged the melody.
Your phone buzzed.
A smile tugged at your lips. Over the past two weeks, his messages had become the highlight of your nights—little pockets of warmth between the stress of deadlines and demos.
You
Unfortunately. My producer wants this track by tomorrow and it’s missing… something.
Park Jihoon
Let me hear it.
Park Jihoon
I’m 10 minutes away. Studio B.
You knew this was crossing a line. Idols didn’t casually drop by rookie songwriters’ studios in the dead of night. There were rules—or at least, there should have been.
Yet here you were, hovering by the studio door as Jihoon slipped inside, hoodie pulled low over his forehead. He smelled like vanilla and exhaustion.
He murmured, nudging the door shut behind him.
Park Jihoon
I do this all the time.
Park Jihoon
Sneak into studios at 2 AM?
Park Jihoon
No. Fix bad songs.
Somehow, you ended up shoulder-to-shoulder at the workstation, debating chord progressions as the city lights blinked through the window. Jihoon’s fingers danced over the keyboard, testing a new harmony that sent shivers down your spine.
You
That’s the missing piece
He hummed, eyes fixed on the screen.
The proximity was doing dangerous things to your pulse. You could see the faint shadows under his eyes, the way his bottom lip caught between his teeth when he concentrated. This close, he wasn’t Park Jihoon, Idol—just Jihoon, the boy who hated sour candy and laughed with his whole body.
A noise outside the door—footsteps, a jingling keychain.
Jihoon froze. Your hand shot out instinctively, hitting the light switch. Darkness swallowed the room.
For one endless moment, you stood motionless, pressed against the wall beside him. His breath tickled your ear.
Park Jihoon
Security (whisper)
Your heart hammered. This wasn’t just about getting caught working late. Jihoon shouldn’t be here. Not like this. Not with you.
The footsteps faded.
Neither of you moved.
Park Jihoon
We should stop.
Jihoon’s voice was rough.
You turned—too fast—and suddenly his face was inches from yours. The air between you crackled.
Comments