more.

Making music is hard.

It’s even harder when you’re starving.

You’ve been hunkered down in your at-home studio all day and your stomach screams. So down the hallway you go to fix something to eat.

Apparently, Chaeyoung let herself in and claimed the couch. As she always does. Your lovable squatter. Typically, you would descend on her with the full force of your love, but your vision starts to fail you. Moderately concerning, food first.

When you pass her on the way to the kitchen, you know something is off.

She looks odd.

At first, nothing jumps out at you. She’s slack, a sprawl of limbs more ragdoll than human. A cult of plushies haphazardly surround her, along with some pillows stolen from your bedroom. Strangely human sacrifice-esque. Very Chaeyoung. She somehow looks comfortable, but you can hear the complaints about her back hurting already. Of course, that won’t stop her from returning to the same exact position time and time again.

But upon further scrutiny, it’s all suspect. A slight tension in her frame stands out from the usual full lax. And her breathing comes across a smidge too controlled, almost manual. Her gaze fixates on a particular patch of boring wall to the right of your TV. A blank stare rests on her adorable face, one that only heightens her cute factor.

There’s one more thing though. Anyone else would miss it.

But not you.

Among her schooled features, in the corner of her lips, is the teensiest uptick.

You thought about what it meant.

On someone else? Content maybe. On Chaeyoung? Positively devious.

You were terrified.

But you don’t stop and head straight for the pantry. Any longer and your stomach may burn right through you and plop onto the floor. Chaeyoung probably wouldn’t appreciate that.

You grab a pack of instant ramen and start preparing it, eyeing her the whole time. She hasn’t moved or glanced your way once.

“Hey~” you try.

The ‘hey’ dies on impact, sad and alone.

You boil water.

There’s a prolonged silence while you make your life-saving noodles and she continues studying the painfully plain wall. When you’re finished you bring the bowls (two because you’re not a dumb dumb) over to the living room and place them on the coffee table. With remarkable bravery, you sit beside her.

Your mouth opens somewhere between a ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘awesome wall’ but all that comes out is a pitched ‘ah’.

A phone meets your face.

On it was a YouTube video from over a decade ago, that you forgot existed. You wish YouTube forgot as well.

“I found you.” The tiny uptick long gone, a merciless grin in its place as Chaeyoung dangles her phone around teasingly.

And you immediately flush. You don’t know how she did it. It doesn’t matter.

You lunge for the phone, you miss, and she plays the video.

To you, it sounds horrendous.

To her, it sounds beautiful.

When it ends, there’s a moment of silence between you.

“Burn it.”

Chaeyoung twists to you, incredulous. “Huh?! No! That was good.” There’s a pause as she finds the right words. “I stumbled across it randomly and waited all day to tease you but...”

Then she’s clenching your sweater, shaking you.

 “Why did you never tell me you can sing?”

“Why don’t you sing anymore?”

A string of whines and laments come your way.

Her desperate, half-crazed, pleas for answers are incredibly endearing. Seeing her this high-energy isn’t all too common. And her being so passionate about something you made is mega cute.

You clasp her hands, “I didn’t even remember it existed until you played it. And it sounded really… rough. I honestly can’t stand my own vocals.”

She leans away from you, her face steeped in judgement. Then gives you the fastest onceover.

“You have bad music taste.” She concludes.

“I’m literally a professional musician.”

You’re met with a swift ‘No.”

You protest. “The fuck you mean, no? I am. A very good one at that. You know I helped GD rearrange the songs for Coac-”

Her lips crash into yours. And you’re silent. When she pulls away, she giggles at the dazed state you’re left in. Soft hands cup your face as rests her forehead against yours.

“Sing more.”

You can only agree.