After that evening, recording sessions no longer stayed fixed on Ji-hoon's schedule.
They appeared in the forgotten gaps between two shoots, after long meetings, before the car came to pick him up, or just after the city had dimmed most of its lights. No one officially said that Ji-hoon and Yoo-jin were working more than necessary.
But everyone noticed.
Ji-hoon began to memorize the recording studio's door code.
Yoo-jin began leaving a bottle of warm water ready to the right of the mixing desk.
And whenever Ji-hoon walked in, he no longer asked, "What are you doing here?"
He only asked:
"Which track do you want to record today?"
Some days, Ji-hoon didn't want to record anything at all.
He sat on the sofa in the corner of the room, watching Yoo-jin adjust the arrangement, occasionally asking questions that had nothing to do with music.
"Do you really sleep here?"
"No."
"You look like someone who could sleep here."
"I only work here."
"How long?"
"Until I'm done."
"When will you be done?"
"I don't know."
Ji-hoon looked at him.
"Is there anything you do know?"
Yoo-jin didn't look up.
"I know you're being lazy."
"I'm thinking."
"About what?"
"About whether you're actually a real person."
"I'm also thinking about whether you're actually a real artist."
Ji-hoon burst out laughing.
Their conversations often ended that way. Neither of them said the most important thing aloud, but they both knew it was sitting in the middle of the room.
On the third night, Ji-hoon arrived at the recording studio at 11:40 p.m.
Yoo-jin was listening to an old demo. On the screen was the name of a singer Ji-hoon had never heard of.
"Whose track is that?"
"Someone I used to work with."
"Were they famous?"
"No."
"Then why did you keep it?"
"Because the recording was never finished."
Ji-hoon sat down beside him.
The voice coming through the speakers wasn't perfect. Some notes were off, the breathing was uneven, and the ending was almost swallowed whole. But there was a sincerity in the singer's voice that made Ji-hoon listen in silence until the end.
"You didn't fix it?"
"I couldn't."
"Why?"
"That person isn't here anymore."
Ji-hoon turned to him.
Yoo-jin had already turned off the screen.
"Did they quit?"
"Yeah."
"Are they dead?"
"Almost the same thing."
The answer made Ji-hoon stop asking questions.
Yoo-jin opened the new arrangement.
"Your song."
The melody rang out. It was completely different from the earlier versions: broader, with a stronger rhythm, but it still held on to the empty space in the chorus. Ji-hoon listened once, then frowned.
"This part isn't right."
"Where?"
"The chorus is too bright."
"The agency wants this part to be catchier."
"But the lyrics aren't bright."
"Then what do you want?"
Ji-hoon stood and walked over to the whiteboard. He picked up a marker and drew a horizontal line between the two musical sections.
"Don't push it up right away. Hold it back for one beat."
"What for?"
"So the listener has time to remember that the character is still standing alone."
Yoo-jin looked at the line on the board.
"Okay."
He revised the arrangement right in front of him.
He didn't ask anyone else for their opinion.
Ji-hoon stood beside him, watching his fingers glide over the control keys. Yoo-jin worked with precision, but he wasn't cold. He listened to each small section over and over, adjusting one sound before pausing to hear Ji-hoon's reaction.
"Is this okay now?"
"Yeah."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"You're answering too quickly again."
Ji-hoon bent down to look at him.
"What do you want me to say?"
"The truth."
"I think it's good."
"Then it's good."
By two in the morning, they still hadn't recorded a complete version.
Ji-hoon leaned his head back against the chair, his eyes beginning to droop.
Yoo-jin stood, took off his jacket, and draped it over him.
"Go to sleep."
"No."
"You're already asleep."
"I'm just closing my eyes so I can hear better."
"Then listen."
Ji-hoon laughed drowsily.
The melody repeated. Piano, strings, a very light drumbeat. He didn't know when he fell asleep.
When he woke, the recording studio lights had been dimmed. Yoo-jin's jacket was still draped over him. Beyond the glass, Yoo-jin was talking on the phone in a low voice.
"No, I haven't agreed."
A pause.
"You need time."
Ji-hoon wasn't trying to eavesdrop. But the room was too quiet, and Yoo-jin's voice carried more clearly than usual.
"I know the company's situation."
Another silence.
"But that can't be solved that way."
His voice dropped lower.
"I'll take care of it myself."
Yoo-jin ended the call and stood motionless in front of the glass door for a long time.
Ji-hoon closed his eyes, pretending he was still asleep.
The door opened. Yoo-jin came over and reached for the jacket on his shoulders, but Ji-hoon spoke up:
"Can I keep it on?"
Yoo-jin stopped.
"You weren't asleep?"
"I just woke up."
"I thought you were asleep."
"Who were you talking to?"
Yoo-jin sat down in the chair opposite him.
"My family."
"Is something wrong?"
"Nothing serious."
"You just said, 'I'll take care of it myself.'"
"You heard that?"
"The studio was too quiet."
Yoo-jin looked toward the mixing desk.
"My father's company is having some trouble."
"How much trouble?"
"Enough that everyone thinks I should quit music."
Ji-hoon fell silent.
"Are you planning to quit?"
"Not yet."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't want to yet."
It was a simple answer, but Ji-hoon heard in it the gentle stubbornness he'd once seen in himself.
"Then keep going."
Yoo-jin looked at him.
"You make it sound easy."
"I know."
"You don't know what will happen if I keep going."
"Neither do you."
"Then why do it?"
Ji-hoon pulled the jacket tighter around his shoulders.
"Because if you do what other people want every day, eventually you won't know what you want anymore."
Yoo-jin said nothing.
After a while, he asked:
"Have you ever not known what you wanted?"
"Every day."
"What about today?"
Ji-hoon looked at him.
"Today, I want to hear this song through to the end."
"You already did."
"Then I'll listen again tomorrow."
Yoo-jin lowered his head, the corners of his lips curving faintly.
It was such a small smile that Ji-hoon could have missed it if he'd blinked. But he didn't blink.
The next day, Ji-hoon woke up on the sofa in the recording studio.
His phone showed eleven missed calls from his assistant.
He shot upright.
"Damn it."
Yoo-jin was at the mixing desk.
"What happened?"
"I had a shoot at six."
"What time is it now?"
"Seven ten."
Yoo-jin looked at the clock.
"You're an hour and ten minutes late."
"You were supposed to wake me up!"
"You were sleeping very deeply."
"Did you even try?"
"I did."
"How did you try?"
"I said, 'Ji-hoon.'"
"That's it?"
"Yeah."
"That isn't waking someone up!"
"Then I'll say it louder next time."
Ji-hoon hurriedly pulled on his clothes while looking at him.
"You're planning on there being a next time?"
Yoo-jin was silent for half a second.
"Do you want there to be?"
Ji-hoon stopped while buttoning his shirt.
"I'm just saying my schedule might keep changing."
"I know."
"Don't get the wrong idea."
"I won't."
"Good."
"I'm just keeping it in mind."
Ji-hoon didn't know how to respond. He grabbed his phone and ran to the door, then turned back.
"Your jacket."
"Just take it."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"You'll be cold."
Yoo-jin looked at the jacket in his hands.
"I have another one."
"Then I'll return it tomorrow."
"Okay."
"You have to return it for sure."
"I know."
Ji-hoon left the recording studio.
Min-woo was waiting in the hallway.
The smile disappeared from his face when he saw Yoo-jin's jacket in Ji-hoon's hands.
"You slept here?"
"No."
"Then what's with the jacket?"
"It's Yoo-jin's."
"He let you sleep in the recording studio?"
"I fell asleep on my own."
"Ji-hoon."
"I'm late for my schedule."
Min-woo stepped in front of him, blocking his path.
"I need to talk to you."
"Not now."
"When is now going to be? After he's pulled you away from everyone else?"
His voice was still quiet, but each word was beginning to carry weight.
Ji-hoon looked at him.
"He hasn't pulled me anywhere."
"You're defending him?"
"I'm telling you the truth."
Min-woo gave a soft laugh, but there was no laughter in his eyes.
"How long have you even known him?"
"Not long enough for you to have the right to decide for me."
The words left Min-woo speechless.
Ji-hoon walked past him.
Behind him, Min-woo said:
"I won't let you be used."
Ji-hoon didn't turn around.
But his hand tightened around the jacket.
That night, Yoo-jin received an email from Aurora.
The subject line read: "Reevaluation of the Producer in Charge of the Album."
He read to the end, then closed his laptop.
His phone lit up.
A message from Ji-hoon:
"I'll come early tomorrow."
Yoo-jin looked at the screen.
He typed:
"Don't skip breakfast."
Ji-hoon replied almost immediately:
"You too."
Yoo-jin read the message once, then again.
Outside the window, the city had sunk into night.
For the first time in months, he had the feeling that someone was waiting for him to show up tomorrow.
And that both warmed his heart and frightened him.