Chapter 20: The Weight of What’s Said

“Who do you think you are, dating instead of focusing on your album right now?
When promotion didn’t work, you went and stirred up a scandal with Yoon Jina—maybe you should’ve just focused on singing properly.”

Comments like that, casually thrown in by passersby—and the disappointment from fans who had been waiting—came back like sharpened boomerangs.

Honestly, I would’ve felt the same.

Pre-ordering the album, preparing for mass streaming, only for the idol you supported to crawl out buried under a scandal.

At some point, I had become someone whose attempts to act cute were disgusting.
Someone who got called out for lacking dance skills, for taking songs that didn’t suit him, for not having the breath control to sing live—being told to just lip-sync instead.

The pre-recording scheduled back then was canceled.

I don’t know if the broadcast station canceled it, or if the company did.

Maybe the company was afraid no fans would show up.

After everything fell apart, no one ever brought up my solo album again.

I was at fault.

Still… when Jina dropped to her knees, crying and begging,
knowing full well how both sides of her divorced family were draining her for money—

Should I have slapped her anyway?

I don’t know.

Back then, I—

No.

It was all my fault.

It was easier to think that way.

If I started blaming others, it would never end.

So I began repeating it to myself—everything was my fault.

My consciousness started to blur.

Whenever I took sleep aids, I became strangely aware of my breathing—it made it uncomfortable.

I’d drift off, wake up again, and the criticisms I’d tried to accept would press down on me all over again.

Ah… back then, when that article came out—

Jeongwon came to me.

He said he was busy, so how did we even run into each other at the company?

When he saw me, he hesitated, then suddenly grabbed my hand.

Why did he grab it?

I remember just looking down at it.

I only realized it was meant as comfort because he didn’t say anything—he just looked at me.

And I—

I pulled my hand away.

He was steadily building his position.

And I… I think I just wanted to find my footing somehow too.

As his hyung, or anything.

For some reason, whenever I was around him, I never wanted to show weakness.

Right… that happened too.

Why have I forgotten so many things?

The next day, I had to go to the recording studio.

Half-asleep, I threw on a thin hoodie, pulled the hood low over my head, and went down to the parking lot.

I dragged myself into the back seat of the car. My manager glanced at me through the rearview mirror as he drove.

“Why do you look like death? Didn’t sleep?”

“No. I slept. Took a sleep aid—just drowsy.”

“Something going on?”

“Just couldn’t sleep.”

The problem was that I’d taken another pill later.

Even though I had slept, my body felt heavy, sluggish—like I couldn’t fully register the world.

I leaned against the window, dozed off, woke up, then looked around the car again—

reminding myself that I’d gotten in, that I was on my way to record.

For my throat, I bit open a doraji herbal tonic I’d stuffed into my hoodie pocket that morning.

Did it help? No idea.

It tasted awful, though—at least it woke me up a bit.

We picked up Hwan, Woosung, and Yeonho hyung one by one before arriving at the studio.

Jeongwon said he had another schedule and would come separately.

Even if we were a failed idol group with half-baked schedules, the exhaustion was the same.

No one spoke. Everyone was too tired.

If we were this worn out… how was Jeongwon even managing?

As I got out of the car, my manager opened the door and roughly ruffled my hair over the hoodie.

Annoyed, I pushed him away with my elbow.

“Next time, there’ll be filming at the studio. Take care of your condition.”

“Okay.”

“And your throat?”

“I’m fine. Didn’t catch a cold.”

I crossed my arms and went up a flight of stairs into the building.

There were already people inside the studio.

After greeting everyone with small bows, I checked who was in the booth and collapsed onto the sofa.

My manager turned his back to us, discussing recording details.

Beside me, Jeongwon arrived late and sat down.

He looked like he was reading a newly handed script. Setting it down on the table, he glanced at me.

Then, seeing my barely-open eyes, he commented—

“You didn’t sleep, did you?”

“Mm.”

“Because of your headache?”

“No. Because of you.”

His questioning stopped instantly.

I raised my hand and held it out in front of him.

“Someone kneaded it like crazy yesterday. It still hurts.”

“Did you really not sleep because of me?”

“Yeah.”

Back then, and yesterday—

You kept touching my hands, so I couldn’t sleep.

Jeongwon glanced around, then took my hand and lowered it between us.

This time, his touch was much gentler than yesterday.

Pretending not to notice, I awkwardly picked up the lyrics on the table with my left hand.

Even though I had them memorized, I pretended to read.

Still, he didn’t let go for a while.

I don’t even understand myself.

What am I trying to do with him?

After finishing my part, I went up to the rooftop for some air.

The small terrace on the second floor—just a leftover space—was perfect for smoking.

I pulled out a cigarette, rolled it around in my fingers, then shoved it back in.

Just for now.

At least until this album is over… don’t cause any more trouble.

Behind me, I heard the door scrape open.

A faint breeze brushed the back of my neck.

I wondered who it was.

Woosung, coming up to joke around?

Or my manager, coming up to nag me?

I could usually tell just by footsteps, but I wasn’t completely sure.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

I was right.

The arm resting on the railing beside me was long.

I stared at the veins standing out across the back of his hand.

In movies, they use vein recognition, don’t they?

Like fingerprints—everyone’s pattern is different.

Maybe that’s why I felt like I could recognize him just by looking at his hand now.

I stretched stiffly, extending my arms fully.

My head spun slightly.

Lack of oxygen… or nicotine?

The narrow alley below reflected our silhouettes faintly on the glass of the building across from us.

Turning slightly, I asked—

“Jeongwon… was I really that wrong?”

“Why?”

“Just… everything.”

I said it without thinking.

His reply came a little late.

When I turned, he was staring down at the railing—at where my hand and his rested—

with the same gaze he once used in that film where he played a young psychopath.

“Who said that to you today?”

“…Me.”

I couldn’t even joke properly.

Today, it was me who said it to myself.

My voice trailed off.

His gaze, which had been fixed on me, slowly softened.

With each blink, the darkness in his pupils faded back to normal.

Then he glanced down and shifted my attention.

“There are fans below. They’re waving.”

He looked away.

When I leaned over, I saw a few fans hiding between the cars.

Probably here for Jeongwon again.

As if those big cameras could really be hidden.

I waved absentmindedly, following his lead.

He never used to do fan service—what got into him today?

For a second, I thought he was about to hit someone.

It was early dawn, with the comeback countdown finally in double digits.

I had dozed off on a crumpled single sofa in the studio when Black hyung shook me awake.

I woke instantly, mumbling nonsense.

“Uh—hyung—what—my part?”

“No. We’re done. I just finished adjusting the chorus. Added that reverse from the bass you mentioned.”

“What about the chorus?”

“I tried adding the whistle like you said. Listen.”

Even though there was ventilation, the underground studio still felt suffocating after a while.

Even my fingers pressing against my throbbing temples felt sticky.

I wiped my hands with a wet tissue and sat at the console.

The track started playing.

The song—still without vocals—pounded through the speakers.

I’d heard it so many times lately that I couldn’t even tell what had changed anymore.

At one point, half-asleep, I’d even mistaken the pre-arranged version and asked for revisions—getting cursed out for it.

That’s how work is.

The more you do it, the more everything blends together in your head.

Verse, chorus, snaps, harmonics, added beats—

It was complex, but somehow… it worked.

There wasn’t much left to change anyway.

It was already set as the title track, choreography practiced, recording just delayed.

Still—

Even one line.

Holding my aching head, I ran my fingers through my hair and thought about the stage movements.

We weren’t some acapella group sitting still.

We had choreography—and even rap sections to consider.

And Woosung kept trying to take over the hook.

Seriously… what kind of hopeless group was this?

I nodded along to the rhythm, counting the added elements.

Stronger here. Build up. Hit the high note. Cut into rap. Final harmony.

I tapped my fingers against the table, matching the beat.