Chapter 1
Jiwon practiced in the living room every night.
Not loudly. Not quietly. Just enough that the sound carried into every corner of the apartment, whether Yura wanted to hear it or not.
She stayed at the dining table, her laptop open in front of her. The screen glowed with a document she hadn’t touched in ten minutes. Her fingers rested on the keyboard, unmoving, as Jiwon repeated the same verse again and again.
He stopped suddenly.
“Does it sound okay?”
Yura looked up. She met his eyes for a second before nodding.
“Yeah.”
One word. Flat. Honest.
Jiwon held her gaze, waiting. When nothing followed, he nodded to himself and turned back to the center of the room.
Same song. Same part. Louder this time.
Yura didn’t move. She told herself she didn’t need to. She was listening. She always listened.
This was how it usually went.
Jiwon chased reactions. Applause. Encouragement. Something that made him feel like his effort was landing somewhere. Yura avoided giving those things too early. Not because she didn’t care—but because she didn’t trust moments that weren’t solid yet.
He talked about auditions constantly. Like they were doors already cracked open, waiting for him to step through. Dates. Locations. Names of companies he repeated until they felt important.
Yura nodded. Asked the questions she thought mattered.
How long would it take?
How far was it?
What time did he need to be there?
He answered, but she could tell it wasn’t what he wanted.
He wanted excitement.
A smile that said, I believe in you.
She didn’t give it.
When he said, “If I pass this one, everything changes,” Yura felt her stomach tighten. Not with joy—but fear. She’d seen enough things fall apart to know how dangerous it was to celebrate too early.
“Maybe,” she said.
“Let’s see.”
Sometimes, she said nothing at all.
That silence began to bother him.
She noticed the way he looked at her after he sang—not searching for praise, just checking. Like he needed proof she was still there. Sometimes she caught it in time. Sometimes she didn’t.
One night, he handed her his phone.
“There’s this guy,” he said. “He’s in the same program.”
The video played. A younger trainee. Confident. Stylish. Already moving like the stage belonged to him.
Yura watched quietly.
Jiwon watched her.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“He’s good.”
The word fell heavier than she meant it to.
“You always say that,” Jiwon said, forcing a laugh.
“Say what?”
“That everyone’s just… good.”
Yura didn’t respond. She didn’t know how to explain that ranking people felt pointless to her. That none of it mattered until something actually happened.
Jiwon turned the phone face down on the table.
“Do you even want this for me?” he asked.
The question wasn’t angry. It was tired.
Yura hesitated.
“I want you to be okay.”
He looked at her for a long moment, like he was weighing something.
“That’s not the same thing.”
After that, things changed.
Jiwon still practiced. Still trained. But he stopped telling her details. Rehearsals happened later. Conversations got shorter. He took his excitement elsewhere.
Yura noticed. She just didn’t know how to step into something she didn’t believe in the same way he did.
By the time night came, nothing had been resolved.
They went to bed in silence.
Still close.
Still together.
Already drifting.
