Beach, Don’t Kill My Vibe
Seonggwang returned home after wrapping things up that way. He spent a sleepless night, and before he knew it, Sunday morning had arrived. What the hell was I waiting for? What was this body that refused to sleep supposed to do? The duty that wouldn't let me, left alone, find rest—what the fuck was it I had to do?
"Well, what else? Time to work."
Yeah, there was only one thing for me to do. I'm a music freak, so I gotta make music. Instead of coffee, I chugged ice-cold water down my throat and desperately clung to the melody. I listened over and over, fixed it again and again, felt satisfied one day only to hate it the next, repeating that endless loop until a polished track finally emerged.
Of course, separate from that, there was another reason why progress was stalled.
"No damn inspiration's coming... no inspo..."
That didn't mean my musical knowledge or skills were lacking—no way. I'm the type who creates music intuitively. I get one idea, scribble down raw creations like mad, then refine them later. The key is that raw part. Without it, I could still churn out a few decent tracks, but that one element separates art from product.
And this track? It didn't have it.
"It's not like it's bad or anything..."
A song people would listen to without complaint. A ballad perfectly suited to Lara's voice and phrasing. Gentle and light, yet with just enough pathos to make listeners a bit melancholic. Music is unpredictable until it's out there, but I knew. If I released this now, it'd blow up. It'd contrast sharply with Lara's tone-deaf image and yield solid results. Probably cut down on the hate and mockery she'd get too. Objectively, nothing beat it. No need to add anything extra.
"So what's the problem... what keeps nagging at me that I can't pinpoint...?"
I paused over the file labeled 'FinalFinalFinal Revision (3).mid' and pondered. What was wrong? What part had stolen my spark? If I couldn't voice the dissatisfaction, it sat heavy in my chest.
"...Sigh. Gotta finish by Monday."
Messing with it needlessly stirred anxiety and irritation. This wasn't right—this song had to capture Lara's pure essence. She needed to infuse it with sorrow through that clear voice of hers.
"Tch..."
Holding on did no good, and I felt stuck, so for a change of pace, I pulled up Lara's busking video. In it, Lara belted into the mic while the audience cracked up watching her. The people in the video, the comments—everyone treated it like stand-up comedy. And yeah, it was ridiculous. That pretty voice and face producing that kind of singing. Those weird habits ruined what could have been musically cool about Lara. Unless she was deliberately going for laughs, no one sings like that. Lee Jeongyeon probably held back a laugh for similar reasons.
"......"
So I didn't laugh. As someone who knew that singing was genuine, I just watched quietly. Knowing it'd been her desperate practice over the past few days, I couldn't bring myself to laugh at her song.
"...Hah."
I let out an exasperated chuckle watching the video. Then, thinking back on my stalled music, I retraced my steps to steel my resolve.
Songs need intent. That's the slogan I'd drilled into Lara. So I asked myself: What was I thinking when I made this track?
I made it for Lara. Focused on highlighting her clear voice, stripping out my own passion and ego.
What was Lara's intent when she sang like that?
She thought it was cool. She sang that way because she thought it was cool.
One last question remained. The one for Lara—but since she wasn't here, I asked myself. And luckily, I knew the answer.
"...Why did Lara say she sings?"
That single question froze me. Rewinding the path I'd traced, I looked not ahead but down at the road—the video. Playing it again, unlike before when I'd fixated on the song and reactions, this time I watched Lara. The singer I was devoting this song to.
Emotions show in expressions. Intent in gestures. Longing in the voice. The song was a farewell ballad. A sorrowful one. People laughed at the clumsy delivery.
"..."
Lara didn't laugh. She sang desperately, with all her might, and only after finishing did she glance at the crowd. Her droopy eyes lightened only after pouring out the song, forcing a cheerful smile. Watching that, I flopped back and muttered to myself.
"...Duh, it was obvious."
She sang like that with total sincerity. She knew it'd sound better if sung normally, yet stuck to that style. A singer idolizing coolness chose the way that looked least cool to others. The obvious answer, screamed right in my face—and I'd missed her intent. No wonder Lee Junwoo called me clueless. This was embarrassing, something to reflect on.
"But whatever, what now?"
Yeah, it is what it is. Can't undo what's done. Evaluation was less than two weeks away, and this ballad was our only finished track. We'd marketed around this plan, so switching directions now carried big risks.
"Realizing this late... what can I even do?"
Enlightenment came too slow. Too late to change anything, especially not on my impulsive whims—reality was a bitch.
"Hm..."
With a clear head, I eyed two screens. One with Lara's 99% done track, the other with follows and views. Might as well check the date too, then Lara's expression again.
"Fuck it."
Muttering that, I shelved the finished track and opened a new file. Fingers flying, I listened to my singer's song. Not her voice—the singing. I'd regret this choice, Lara would curse my dumbass impulsiveness. This was pure self-indulgence. Spur-of-the-moment, reckless. Yet that core of artistry—the moment—shook me, and inspiration struck. Melodies flowed, my sleep-deprived body ached. We ephemerals live in impulsive instants; without burning ourselves out, the fire fades and we can't stand it.
That day, I didn't sleep, finally setting the laptop down at 1 p.m. The next day—Monday—Seonggwang's attendance sheet marked him absent without leave.
Monday passed into Tuesday. I got an earful from Lara about skipping, then showed her the track that day. Her reaction was positive. We synced practice and vocal guidelines in various ways, leading to Wednesday.
[From the end where we were...]
I'd rented the recording studio. Lara and I sat around it, listening to the recorded song.
"Way better without the fancy techniques. Right, Lara?"
"...Yeah, it's good."
Saying that, Lara looked reluctant to accept it. Pouting her lips in dissatisfaction, but after I hyped her a few times, she grinned wide and squirmed. Was it that she took praise straight, or her validation hunger? Either way, I felt like I kinda got how to handle her.
"Recording came out better than expected. Could upload as-is... just a light polish needed."
"Really? Then when we uploading?"
"Around this Friday? Evaluation's next Friday. Gotta drop it a week early."
"Oh? So nothing more to do?"
"Probably, but let's redo a few takes just in case."
"Sure~"
Wiping her mouth after water, Lara headed back into the booth. I checked her condition with questions; she answered. Her voice came through the headset.
"Okay, ready? Feeling good? Throat okay?"
[Yeah, no issues.]
"Checked today's fortune? Horoscope?"
[Dunno that stuff. Why check for singing?]
Tsk, Lara's green—no idea how crucial luck checks are for recording. One bad take and you're grinding nonstop for dozens of hours. Picky folks drag it days. Not me, though. Just killing time with questions.
"One more before we go, Lara. Fun singing?"
[...Huh?]
She blinked wide, staring at me. Why ask that? Tilting her head, she smiled and answered.
[Fun. Singing is.]
"Yeah? This recording fun too? Pretty different from your usual."
[This... feels fresh, kinda fun.]
"Compared to usual?"
[Usual's more fun, obviously... well, it's work.]
Got it. Onto the next.
"Lara, your usual singing, y'know. Not what I asked for recording."
[Yeah, the crap you call garbage. Why?]
"That—do you add it 'cause you think it's really cool? Not sore throat or excuses?"
[...What's with that question.]
"Just asking. Felt like I needed to."
[Shady intent... but yeah, no other reason. I think it's cool. Others don't.]
"Okay, okay. Lara, why'd you wanna be vocalist?"
[...What're you doing? Why keep asking that? Related to recording?]
Her complaint burst from the booth. Fair—she felt interrogated. But these were must-asks. Explaining that, I pressed.
"Last question. Just answer this."
She hesitated, then cautiously replied.
[Told you before. 'Cause vocalist's cool.]
"...Right. Yeah."
[Satisfied? Let's record. Booth rental ain't forever.]
"Yeah, good."
Nodding, she finally approached the mic.
"Alright, Lara. Sorry for the suddenness, but gotta say something. No need to reply—just listen."
[Okay, go.]
"Contest in a month. More like a concert, really. We're not aiming to win—just event vibes."
[Wait, what?]
"Prelims are video judging for main teams, but we're influencer route—won't be brutal. Venue's..."
[Hold up! What the hell are you talking about?!]
Lara bolted out, bewildered, demanding answers.
"What're you on about? Contest?"
"We're entering. Assuming we get picked—not super strict, so probably will."
"What?! What about recording? Evaluation's next Friday! Skipping that?"
"Gotta do that too."
"Both?!"
Shaking my head at her probe—no, both but not both. Offering choices.
"Pick one."
"...Stage or recording—which?"
"No—what you wanna do."
Her accusatory glare softened to confusion. What're you saying? But I presumed to judge her heart. Now the real talk.
"Lara, this ain't fun for you."
"...Fun's got nothing to do with it."
"Say it. Not fun, right?"
Shedding her desired quirks, killing emotion for listenable singing. Intent there, but composer’s, not hers. This recording ignored her will. I wielded her voice like an instrument. Probing if she resented that—or enjoyed it—she deflected.
"Can't just do fun stuff. It's evaluation, best we got."
Wrong answer, sadly.
"Why? Why not fun? School eval anyway—one flop won't ruin life."
No cash, work's bullshit without monetization. If preaching pro spirit, at least earn minimum wage.
"Strictly? What else we got? This group's meaningless anyway."
"Exactly! You nailed it!"
"...Group's meaningless? disband now? That what you want?"
"Nah. Think about the group's meaning—like you said."
Meaning. Her energy dipped, so down two keys: intent. Always key, as I'd explained. First check: intent.
"Vocalist's not for eval—set that aside. Why'd you start vocals?"
"...Just wanted to."
"More honest. Nothing to hide from me."
"...Cool."
"Yeah. But the cool you love? None here. Tastiest bits missing."
"......"
She shut up. Pushed too hard? Toning down.
Not forcing choice or burdening her. Intent: convince, explain fully, hear hers. Start from her understanding.
"Lara, you started vocals 'cause you wanted—not other reasons. I teamed with you, respected and supported that. Mutual interests. Right?"
She nodded silently. I smiled softly, easing in.
"But future plans? No cool you chase. Minimal if any—people don't get it, we tailor for eval."
"..."
"So why stick to vocals? No want, no fun?"
No money either. Just endless online mockery. Reason to endure for this group? None. My judgment. So, choices.
"If you hate this, I'll suggest alternatives. Fully respecting your will."
"...That the stage? Ditch grades?"
"Not ditching—gotta grab 'em. This month? Pass."
Respect has costs. Rougher reactions, no more laughs—maybe zero interest. No curses even. She'd hustle more. Busier than now. I'd help.
"Worth the risks?"
"..."
"If yes, I'll back it full throttle."
Promo, grades irrelevant—pure passion. Selfish fun in mutual desperation. Just... more sincere to Lara than I thought. That's it. People fall for sincerity.
"...Why...?"
"Hm?"
"Why say it now?"
Her sunken face, overwhelmed. Gripping her shoulders, eye-level.
"Why now? One: just realized. Two: choose now to set direction."
"..."
"We're no pros, but fans exist? Stick to plan, more clown shows."
Singing don't improve overnight. Sustain image? Keep reminding she's bad. Locks her as joke—far from cool she wants. Could sing her way, but true song ignored.
"But! Push your stubbornness? I'll pull every string to save your singing."
"...How? No mixing fixes."
"Gotta make it work somehow. Tough, but doable."
Who am I? Genius pianist... eh, Seonggwang. Ways to hype her intent, cool, quirks? Plenty.
"Either way, I'll help. Just pick."
Straight gaze at her; she ducked, burdened. Kneeling to meet eyes, she shoved my face with her palm. Well, I'm that handsome.
"...You...?"
"Yeah?"
"What you think? Which better?"
Unsure, she asked. Gave the scripted reply.
"Don't ask my take. Your call—what you want."
"......But."
"Frankly, neither my business."
"..."
True. Pick A, we do it. B, enjoy accordingly. Her intent/mood? Irrelevant. Hate it? Quit. I got other shit.
"Doesn't mean I don't value you. As friend, I cherish you."
"..."
"So quit stomping. Cheap shoes, but my only sneakers."
Broke if ruined—digging donation bins. Appealing poverty, she reluctantly lifted her foot. See? Sensitive, but good heart.
"Ahem..."
I cleared throat, easing her burden.
"Lara, not preaching right/wrong or what to pick/ditch."
B? Grab grades. A? Ways to save song. No need to abandon.
"Just pick what you wanna do. From these paths, your stubborn choice."
Grab all en route, or drop some. Absolute priority. I asked for hers.
No instant answer. People often don't know wants. Lifelong to realize, or forget midway. Then her small mouth whispered.
"......Need time to think."
Nodding benevolently.
"Take long as needed. No pressure."
No deadline here; I'd wait.
"How much time? Note: by end of first year. B-class changes sophomore year—harder to meet."
Pondering, she requested.
"...One day."
"Day? Answer tomorrow?"
"...Yeah."
She nodded; I didn't pry. Her requested day—tomorrow for answer.
Short? But not endless agonizing. We parted there. Time flew to 6 p.m.—home after school.
"...Tomorrow."
Her promise. Recalling, I closed eyes alone. Not distrusting or seeing her as flake, but gut said she wouldn't show tomorrow. Baseless hunch. Just tucked it away.
Time passed, day turned to Thursday. As expected, Lara didn't come to school.