Completing the Lyrics
Hana had recorded Suhyeok’s performance to finish the lyrics. Even after getting home, she replayed his solo again and again. Suhyeok wasn’t well-versed in theory. He probably didn’t even know what scale the song used. Yet he had done it. More precisely than she ever could. More powerfully, too.
At their core, the lines Suhyeok had created were built on the pentatonic scale. That much she understood. The pentatonic scale was famous, after all; once you copied enough of them, they all started to blur together. What truly surprised Hana were the occasional notes that slipped outside the pentatonic framework.
She picked up her guitar and tried playing the exact notes Suhyeok had hit. “B Ionian mode…”
A modal scale. Of course, enough copying would eventually teach it to anyone, but when she considered how few songs Suhyeok actually knew how to play, the flow felt anything but natural.
She watched the video again and again. Hana practiced copying his solo until she could finally match his tempo on screen. A satisfied grin spread across her lips. So this was what it felt like to make music as a real team.
Hana, who had always kept “perform an original song” on her bucket list, felt a warm surge rise in her chest. After entering every new solo note into the computer, she played Suhyeok’s video one last time.
“…By the way, I should probably do something about that fringe before the performance.”
It wasn’t really about the hair. She simply needed an excuse to call him over.
“Honestly, I think life is just too brutal for our generation!”
“It really is.”
“And it’s weird how they slap that weird ‘MZ’ label on us and try to cram all our traits into one box!”
Inside Juyeon’s room. Unusually, she had a visitor today as well.
“But you want to write lyrics about that stuff?”
“…Hana said a band should point out social issues.”
Hmm… was that how it worked? Suhyeok scratched his head and leaned back against Juyeon’s bed frame.
Juyeon had texted him that Saturday morning for two main reasons. The first was to choose the songs they would perform on the broadcast. The second was to work together on lyrics for one of Hana’s tracks.
Since they had already agreed to both, Suhyeok had no real objection to meeting up. Still, he couldn’t help wondering if they truly had to do it at her house.
Juyeon munched on the donuts he had brought.
“Are the donuts good?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Glad to hear it.”
Juyeon was the type who would die for anything sugary. Last week she had practically been kidnapped, so there had been no time to prepare a proper gift. It had felt awkward only bringing cake when she visited Hana’s place, which was why Suhyeok had shown up today with a box of six donuts.
“Hmm… Seoeun unnie did say it would be nice if we wrote about the things we keep bottled up inside.”
In Korean popular music, the most common subject by far was love. Whether K-pop or ballads, you could probably find songs not about romance faster by simply closing your eyes and picking at random.
But Suhyeok and Juyeon had far too little experience to weave love into their lyrics. They were the kind of people who carried zero expectations about dating from the start.
The thought Who could ever like someone like me? was their default setting. And that was far too personal a territory to simply dismiss as “wrong” or “bad.”
“Wouldn’t writing about ordinary daily life get more sympathy?”
Suhyeok, pondering Juyeon’s words, blurted out, “Daily life?”
“Yeah. Like how you spend your day.”
“I just stay in my room, though.”
“Then write that you just stay in your room.”
Aiming for a cosmic masterpiece right away would clearly mean they couldn’t even finish the first line, so the two of them decided to simply follow wherever their hands led.
“What do you do in your room?”
“Think.”
“About what?”
“That there’s no answer like this.”
Suhyeok let out a small laugh at Juyeon’s reply. He had thought they were alike, but not to this degree.
“Then should we write it that way?”
“Like, ‘I’m hopeless~’?”
“That’ll probably get rejected, so let’s make it sound a little more profound.”
“…That’s hard.”
Suhyeok gripped the pen and scribbled the line that had come to mind.
I'm dreaming, but none of it feels like it'll ever come true.
“How’s that?”
“Pretty convincing, actually.”
“Good. Then let’s keep filling it in one line at a time like this.”
It was a truly rare sight. The two of them were actively voicing their own opinions. Normally, the moment anyone asked for input during band practice or group work, they would freeze up and stay silent. Yet here, just the two of them, the words flowed easily.
“I… I’ve only gotten older without accomplishing a single thing!”
“Should we write that too?”
“When I was little I thought I’d turn out like Hana…”
She had imagined herself becoming articulate, stunningly beautiful, an absolute goddess who collected phone numbers everywhere she went. Of course, none of that had happened.
“For me… honestly, until I joined Spirit, every single day felt exactly the same. Should we put that in too?”
“Really?”
“Yeah. After coming here we started doing things together, having jam sessions, all of that. But before then I was always alone.”
“You said you were in a band before, though.”
Juyeon tilted her head. It was a story Suhyeok didn’t want to tell, yet something about Juyeon made him feel like he could. He opened his mouth with difficulty.
“It was a mess.”
“What was?”
“Everything. The other kids had zero interest in instruments. There were no jam sessions, obviously. It was a band in name only.”
“Then why did you join a place like that?”
“I didn’t know. That it was like that.”
Juyeon noticed Suhyeok’s mood drop sharply.
“Um… but now you’re in Spirit too, Suhyeok.”
“That’s true.”
“Hana, Seoeun unnie, everyone’s kind. And Kang… he looks the way he does, but he’s actually nice.”
“I know.”
It was rare for someone to try comforting him. Why was he responding so half-heartedly? Knowing her own comforting skills were terrible, Juyeon decided to be bolder.
“Still, if you ever feel lonely… or a little… um… bored or something.”
Juyeon’s deep brown eyes met his directly.
“…call me.”
The line sounded like it had come straight out of an anime. Suhyeok couldn’t hold back his laughter.
“I will.”
Juyeon’s face flushed scarlet at his chuckle. Realizing how unbearably cringey her words had been, she suddenly dove face-first onto the bed.
“I want to die.”
“Don’t die. Then who would I call when I’m bored?”
“You die too and meet me in hell.”
Juyeon no longer knew what she was even saying. Suhyeok found the whole thing oddly cute and pulled out his phone.
“How about we show this to Seoeun noona first and tell her we’re thinking of using this theme?”
“Sounds good.”
“Since we wrote it sincerely, she’ll probably approve.”
After sending the text, they turned to choosing songs for Juyeon to perform on the broadcast.
The tracks Suhyeok had brought were…
“Hey, Suhyeok.”
“Yeah?”
“Didn’t you just copy these straight from the popularity charts?”
“Well… people already know them, and they’re good at grabbing viewers’ attention.”
It wasn’t entirely wrong, but the bigger truth was that Suhyeok had zero interest in any music outside of rock. He couldn’t exactly hand her songs sung by a scruffy-bearded uncle scratching at his throat.
“Ugh… Then I’ll play the songs I had in mind.”
Juyeon sat at the computer and started her self-made playlist. The first song was a pop track that showcased acoustic guitar. It had the emotional feel of something from a decade ago, but the melody seemed to suit Juyeon’s voice perfectly.
The second song was EDM with a strong tropical flavor. She could probably sing it well, but the lyrics and concept felt quite far from her image. It was about a woman seducing a man on a summer night, after all.
“Juyeon.”
After listening to both tracks, Suhyeok stared at her.
“Yeah…?”
“I think you can just pick whatever you like?”
Did she really need his help? She seemed perfectly capable of choosing on her own.
“Ah, no? I’m actually terrible at choosing.”
If things kept going like this, their time alone together might disappear. Juyeon didn’t want that. She wanted to keep chatting and playing together like this in the future, too…
—Vrrrrring.
Right on cue, his phone vibrated. Suhyeok’s expression turned strange after checking the screen.
“What’s wrong?”
“Oh. Seoeun noona replied.”
Suhyeok held the phone out to her. Juyeon read the message aloud, syllable by syllable.