Morning arrived as a blinding streak of light pierced through the curtains, warming my face and making me groan in protest. I curled into a ball, trying to escape the intrusion, only to be hit by a wave of nausea and a pounding headache. A pitiful sound escaped my throat, somewhere between a whine and a groan.

“Idol?” I croaked, my voice scratchy and weak. I reached out, my hand blindly searching the bed for him. All I felt was an empty, soft mattress. Forcing my eyes open despite the hammering in my skull, I called his name again, this time clearer.

Silence.

Even through the haze of discomfort, I realized he wasn’t here. The apartment was quiet, devoid of any signs of him. For a fleeting moment, I wondered if last night had been a dream. But no, I hadn’t been that drunk. The faint, lingering sensation of his presence on my skin confirmed it. The fact that I hadn’t showered like he’d suggested—and now deeply regretted—was further proof.

Under the chill spray of the shower, my annoyance began to build. How could he just leave without a word? No note, no message, nothing. The only notification on my phone was from Pink, who’d asked me to meet her for a late breakfast.

By the time I reached the café, my irritation had boiled over.

“Who the hell leaves in the middle of the night without even a message?” I ranted as I slid into the seat across from her, wincing at the sharp pang in my head. The hangover was doing me no favors.

Pink, on the other hand, looked annoyingly fresh. She was eating with gusto, her appetite completely unaffected by last night’s drinks. I hated her on days like these.

“Maybe he had an early start and didn’t want to wake you,” she suggested, her tone casual as she took another bite.

I frowned, poking at my food with my fork. “He could’ve at least left a note…” I muttered.

Pink shrugged. “Aren’t you overreacting? Just go talk to him. He’ll be at the company all day.”

Narrowing my eyes, I leaned forward. “How do you know that?”

“Milk told me,” she said with a grin that radiated shameless confidence.

Her nonchalant demeanor irked me as much as it impressed me. Pink never hesitated when it came to relationships. She was unapologetically herself, whether people approved or not. I envied that.

“You’re shameless,” I said, shaking my head, though a smile tugged at my lips. “You’ve known her for one night, and you’re already trading intel. Did you make a move?”

“Look who’s talking,” she shot back with a laugh. “You barely knew your guy for two seconds before you were all over each other.”

Heat rushed to my face, and I glared at her. “You’re so loud.”

She grinned wickedly, ignoring the fact that she hadn’t actually answered my question. “So, are you going to talk to him, or are you just going to sulk like a puppy?”

“It’s not like that,” I argued, straightening in my seat. “We’re just casual. It’s fun, nothing more. I’m not going to follow him around.”

Pink raised an eyebrow, her expression shifting to something more serious. “This ‘casual sex’ thing is going to bite you both in the ass. What are you going to do when you fall in love with him?”

“Who’s falling in love?” I scoffed, crossing my arms. “He’s arrogant, selfish, and inconsiderate. Just because he’s a great kisser and… other things doesn’t mean I’ll fall for him.”

“‘Other things,’” Pink echoed with a teasing laugh. “Are you a teenager? Song, love isn’t about gender. It’s not something you can control. It’s part of who you are. People are deeper than what you see on the surface. He might surprise you, and before you know it, you’ll be too far gone to turn back. I love you, but you’re clueless about this stuff.”

“I know what I’m doing,” I said stubbornly, though her words hit a little too close to home. “I’m not going to lose my privacy over a fling. Stop meddling, Pink. I love you too, but I swear I’ll show Milk all your embarrassing teenage photos if you keep pushing me.”

“Bastard!” she yelled, throwing a piece of bread at me. It hit me square in the face, and we both burst into laughter.

“By the way,” she said after a moment, “can you help me with the OST for the new TV show? I’m not happy with the arrangement, and what’s the point of having a music genius for a best friend if I can’t exploit him?”

I chuckled. “We should start calling you ‘Shameless’ from now on. Fine, I’ll help. Can it wait until next week? I’ve got work to do this weekend.”

Pink nodded. “Yeah, just let me know when, and you can swing by the set.”

It wouldn’t be the first time I visited one of her sets. The staff knew me by now; I often stopped by during lunch breaks to make sure she actually ate. Like me, Pink had a habit of getting so absorbed in her work that she forgot to take care of herself. At least we could keep each other in check, even if she did drive me crazy sometimes.

"Are you going to work with LuminX on that song God wants you to make?" Pink asked, her tone laced with curiosity. She must have caught wind of yesterday's discussion.

I let out a groan. "I don’t have any more excuses not to. God completely shut me down yesterday." I tried to sound like it was a chore, but the truth was, God had made a convincing case.

Pop music wasn’t really my thing. Most of it felt like hollow, repetitive noise designed to be catchy but lacked depth or purpose. It drove me up the wall to hear songs that didn’t seem to have any effort behind them. To me, producing music was an art—a fusion of meaning, lyrics, arrangement, samples, and storytelling. It was about creating something fans could listen to repeatedly, finding new layers to uncover each time. I wanted music to inspire—whether it sparked creativity, reflection, or even the motivation to make a change in their lives.

Out of curiosity, I’d searched for LuminX’s music earlier. I was surprised, and maybe even a little impressed, by the quality of their tracks. There was a subtle thread connecting their songs, an emotional current running through the lyrics and melodies. It wasn’t just surface-level fluff.

Almost immediately, ideas began sparking in my mind—ways to refine their sound, to mold their songs into something even more compelling. Music production was subjective, after all. Every producer brought their own style to the table. That didn’t make one approach better or worse—it just made it different. In the end, it all depended on the audience and their preferences.

Still, like it or not, their music had inspired me. My fingers practically itched to get started.

"Can you message Milk for me and ask her to send over everything they’ve got for the song so far?" I asked Pink, who was already pulling out her phone.

She nodded as she started typing. With any luck, Milk would bring me the material herself, and I wouldn’t have to face Idol just yet.

___________________________

Why hadn’t I seen this coming? For a split second, I considered spinning on my heel and walking right back where I came from when I saw who was standing at my studio door. But I reminded myself I had work to do. Straightening my posture, I turned to face Idol, who was watching me with an amused expression. Of course, he’d caught my mid-stride hesitation. Why did he have to look so damn good when he smiled? And who had told him it was okay to wear a low V-cut shirt that exposed just enough to make my pulse quicken?

Eyes firmly on my feet, I marched determinedly to the door, entered my code, and pushed it open. I could hear Idol’s footsteps trailing behind me, each step matching the rapid thudding of my heartbeat. Whether it was a lingering hangover or the man himself causing it, I couldn’t be sure.

The door had barely closed behind us when his hands were on me. His touch was electric, and for a moment, I let myself get lost in the sensation—the heat of his fingers, the intoxicating scent of him. But when he leaned in for a kiss, something snapped me back to reality.

"Stop!" I growled, shoving him away. My breath came in quick, uneven bursts, and I clutched my forehead as a fresh wave of pain from last night’s drinks hit me. Idiot. Stupid, stupid idiot. Why had I drunk so much?

“Come on, just a little,” he coaxed, stepping closer again, his persistence as infuriating as it was tempting.

"Idol, I will hit you if you don't back off!" I warned, glaring at him with all the strength I could muster. It took everything in me to keep him at arm's length. The annoyance I felt at his audacity was only matched by my frustration over how easily he disarmed me.

“I read Pink’s message to Milk,” he said finally, holding up a USB stick pinched between two of his long fingers. His voice softened, and for once, he seemed genuinely serious. “Thought I’d take the chance to see you. What’s wrong?”

I snatched the USB from his hand, letting out a frustrated sigh. “Who the hell leaves without saying anything?” The words felt awkward coming out, and I hated how uncharacteristically insecure I sounded. Normally, I had no problem calling people out. Why was this any different?

“You were sleeping. I didn’t want to wake you,” he said, his tone quieter, more thoughtful. His sincerity made it harder to hold onto my anger.

“You could’ve left a message. Or a text,” I muttered, still trying to sound firm. But the fight was already draining out of me. Who was I kidding? We weren’t in a relationship. He didn’t owe me anything.

“Sorry, Song.” His apology sounded genuine, which only made it harder to stay mad. “I don’t exactly know the protocol for this kind of thing.”

I frowned, confused. What did he mean by that? Had he never stayed over at someone’s place before? Or was he so used to casual hookups that he usually just left without a word? The thought made me feel… gross. Like I was just another notch on his belt, another dumb one-night stand.

“I’ll remember for next time,” he said with a grin, slipping past my defenses to wrap his arms around my waist and pull me close.

“Don’t even think about it,” I warned, pressing a hand over his mouth to stop him from leaning in for another kiss. “I need to work. Get out.”

“Fine,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eye, pulling my hand away just long enough to plant a quick peck on my cheek. “I’ll stop by later to play.”

Before I could respond, he was already out the door.

It took me a moment to process what had just happened. My fingers brushed the spot on my cheek where his lips had been, and I realized, to my horror, that I was smiling. Why was my stomach fluttering like a kid with their first crush? What was this man doing to me?

Shaking off the thoughts, I plugged the USB into my workstation and started going through the material. God hadn’t been kidding about the group’s attention to detail. Everything was meticulously laid out, from the samples they wanted to incorporate from older songs to the nearly finished lyrics. The passion and dedication of the group were unmistakable.

As I worked, I found myself growing more curious about them—not just as performers, but as people. Who were they beyond the polished, on-stage personas? Something told me I was going to find out soon enough.

I had barely been working for an hour when my phone rang. Mom.

"Hi, Mom," I answered quickly. She had a habit of calling once a week to check in, always making sure she was up to date on everything happening in my life.

"How are you, baby?" she cooed, fully aware of how miserable I tended to get after a night of drinking.

"I'm fine," I reassured her. "I had breakfast with Pink. She's her usual annoying, perfectly fine self…" Yes, I was whining to my mom like a kid.

"Pink told me about Milk," she said, completely ignoring my pout. "She mentioned you got her to the party. How’d you manage that?"

Gossip mode activated.

"Milk is the manager of a band I’m working with to produce a song. I just asked for a favor," I explained, keeping my tone casual. All true, of course, but there was no way I was about to tell my mom about Idol. How would that conversation even go? Hey Mom, I’m in an open relationship with a celebrity. A man. Yeah, no. She wouldn’t believe it anyway.

"Oh, they're so lucky to have your help!" she gushed, ever the supportive fan of my work. Then she shifted gears, her voice taking on that familiar persuasive tone. "Song, your dad’s colleague has a daughter. She's lovely and so cute. Don’t you think it’s time to start dating again? You’re done with school, you’re doing well at work—it’s the perfect time!"

I knew she meant well, and most of the time, I’d just nod along to her matchmaking attempts. But now, there was one very specific reason why I wasn’t ready to date. "I’m really busy with work right now, Mom. I’ll think about it," I said, dodging the subject.

She sighed, clearly not convinced. "Just don’t overwork yourself, Song. I’ll make sure Pink keeps an eye on you so you don’t forget to eat." Her assumption that I’d bury myself in work all weekend was absolutely correct.

"Yes, Mom, don’t worry," I chuckled. "Love you."

"Love you too!"

I ended the call and silenced my phone, setting it down so I could focus on work.

Several hours into my work, I vaguely registered someone entering the room and speaking to me. Without looking up, I waved them off. "Working. Wait." Whoever it was, whatever they wanted, I couldn't care less at that moment. Stopping meant risking the creative flow I was riding, and I wasn't about to lose it.

Time blurred as I stayed glued to my workstation, but eventually, I completed the rough draft. Stretching in my chair, I let it spin slightly, only to freeze mid-stretch when I noticed someone sitting on the couch, staring at me.