Every Note, Every Memory

Sooyoung exhaled in relief as she watched Joonghyuk stumble away from her—toward a beautiful man.

Joonghyuk had always been reserved, never indulging in gossip or sharing details about his personal life. In all the years she had known him, he had never brought anyone—man or woman—into his home, never shown interest beyond polite conversation. He was brilliant yet unreachable, a man who poured every emotion into his music but refused to voice them aloud.

So when she saw him kiss that man, she felt something ease in her chest.

She had been his manager since the moment he stepped into the music industry—back when no one believed in him, back when they said instrumental music had no place in the mainstream. But the first time he played for her, she had known. She had known he was different. He was something that could change everything.

They had learned together—Joonghyuk, her first client, and she, the manager who staked everything on him. And yet, no matter how much success he gained, one thing remained painfully clear. He was lonely.

She had tried. She pushed him to attend events, to connect with people, to find something beyond his violin and the empty walls of his apartment. But each time, he returned quieter, more dejected.

Sometimes, she would come by late at night and find him sitting alone, a journal in one hand and a drink in the other. She had never read it, though curiosity gnawed at her. Instead, she would guide him to bed, place a glass of water by his side, and leave a note: If you need to talk, I’m here.

But he never did.

Then one day, he played something different. A song that sounded like a first meeting, like something new and precious.

Sooyoung seized the opportunity. She urged him to release it, hoping that whoever it was meant for would hear it. She made sure it was played all across Korea, ensured it reached every radio station, every streaming platform—desperate for a response.

But months passed.

No one came.

Joonghyuk started slipping away again, withdrawing into his music, and Sooyoung found herself urging him to keep composing, to keep reaching out, even if she never said it outright. And she knew—she knew—that every song was about one person.

But how could she find them when Joonghyuk himself had already lost them?

As his fame grew, her hope dimmed. His music filled concert halls and reached millions, yet Sooyoung could still hear the sorrow threading through every note, even in the songs that should have been filled with joy.

Then, one day, everything changed.

He bought a new apartment.

A massive, beautiful space—far larger than he needed. She helped him move in, watching as he filled it with expensive furniture, art pieces, and bookshelves that remained mostly untouched. But the more he decorated, the clearer it became to her.

This place wouldn’t bring him comfort. It would only remind him of how empty his life had become.

And she was right.

No matter how much he filled the space, Joonghyuk seemed smaller within it. His music, too, seemed to shift, growing heavier with something unspoken.

Then, suddenly, it changed again.

The next song he composed was different—not filled with sorrow, not weighed down by loneliness. Instead, it sounded like reaching out. Like hope.

She had to know why.

So she went to his apartment.

She wasn’t expecting much—maybe a shift in his routine, maybe a new book on his shelf—but when she stepped into the living room, she froze.

A painting

A breathtaking depiction of Jeju Island’s sunset stretched across the wall, so vivid it felt as if she were standing there herself, the salty breeze brushing against her skin.

It didn’t make sense. Why now? Why had Joonghyuk reached out again?

Then, she listened to the song once more, truly listened.

The gentle crash of waves, quiet laughter carried by the wind, the hushed sounds of intimacy, of someone being held close.

And suddenly, she understood.

The person—whoever they were—they had painted this. They had answered him.

Heart pounding, she combed through Joonghyuk’s purchase history, desperate to find the artist. But no matter how many records she checked, she came up empty. The painting had been sold under an anonymous listing.
Frustrated, she searched for another clue. Anything.

And then, finally, she saw it.

On the back of the canvas, in a small, unassuming scrawl—

A signature.

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

She snapped a quick picture, carefully hung the painting back in place, and left the apartment.

She had a search to begin.

Weeks passed as Sooyoung relentlessly searched.

Every artist, every painting—nothing matched.

She scoured galleries, sifted through the works of both renowned and obscure painters, but no matter how many names she checked, she kept coming up empty.

Then, one night, as she was reviewing a song Joonghyuk planned to release, something caught her eye.

A soft pink landscape.

The painting and the song complemented each other almost too well—the delicate notes of falling petals and distant laughter intertwined seamlessly with the gentle hues on the canvas.

At first, she thought it was a coincidence.

But she had chased too many dead ends to ignore even the smallest what if.

So she followed the trail.

The artist was well-known, far from the anonymous painters she had been searching through. He was beautiful—not conventionally handsome, but the kind of beauty that lingered in quiet moments, in the way light softened against delicate features.

But none of that mattered if he wasn’t the one

She combed through his portfolio, carefully inspecting each piece.

And the longer she looked, the more the realization settled in.

Joonghyuk’s songs—every emotion, every unspoken feeling—they were here.

Not in music, but in paint.

As if this artist had taken the notes from Joonghyuk’s compositions and translated them into color before the songs were even released.

Her pulse quickened.

She pulled out her phone and checked the signature on the back of Joonghyuk’s painting. Compared it to the artist’s work.

It was so close.

But she couldn’t afford to be wrong.

So she checked. Again and again. Every painting, every stroke, every signature.

And with each match, her certainty solidified.

This was the one.

This was who Joonghyuk had been playing for.

“Kim Dokja, huh?” she murmured.

She had finally found him.

Now, she just had to get him to Joonghyuk—without making it obvious.

Sooyoung wasted no time.

She scoured for any upcoming events he might attend, the name of his manager, where he worked, how she could maneuver him toward Joonghyuk without forcing the meeting.

That’s when she found it.

He was receiving an award, and there was a ceremony being held in his honor.

Perfect.

She would sweet-talk his manager, play the role of an interested business contact—perhaps even extend an invitation to one of Joonghyuk’s concerts.

With her plan set, she made her way to the venue.

To her surprise, there was an immense amount of fanfare. She had expected a refined, quiet gathering—after all, artists weren’t typically swarmed by fans. But the crowd’s energy suggested otherwise.

With a sigh, she stepped inside, taking a flute of champagne as she scanned the room, searching for either Kim Dokja or his manager, Yoo Sangah.

Then, the lights dimmed.

The crowd was ushered to their seats, and the host took the stage.

A long speech followed—one about Kim Dokja’s impact, how his art had moved hearts, how he donated most of his earnings to orphanages across Korea.

Then, finally, the moment came.

“And last but not least,” the host announced, “let me introduce you to the man of the hour—Kim Dokja.”

The room erupted in applause as he stepped onto the stage.

Sooyoung’s breath hitched.

He was… unassuming.

And yet, there was something about him—an undeniable presence, as if every hardship, every struggle had only made him stand taller.

He did not seem prideful of his achievements, nor did he revel in the attention.

How odd, she thought. I think I’m starting to understand Joonghyuk.

The ceremony ended, and Kim Dokja and his manager, Yoo Sangah, stepped down from the stage to mingle with the guests.

Sooyoung watched from a distance, waiting for the perfect moment to slip in and speak with Sangah alone.

When she noticed Sangah excusing herself to the restroom, she hesitated for only a second before following. It felt strange, trailing a woman into the bathroom just for a conversation, but she had no better plan.

Inside, Sangah stood at the mirror, reapplying her lipstick.

Sooyoung casually walked up beside her, rummaging through her purse as if searching for her own lipstick. When she found it, she uncapped it and applied it with practiced ease before tilting her head toward Sangah.

“Ooh, what brand is that?” she asked, forcing a sugary-sweet tone. “It looks amazing on you.”

Sangah glanced at her, slightly surprised by the sudden conversation but nonetheless answered, “Oh, it’s [Brand Name], in [Shade].”

Sooyoung hummed appreciatively. “That color is mesmerizing… but now I’m torn.” She capped her lipstick, turning to face Sangah fully. “Is it the lipstick, or just you?” She smiled, leaning in just slightly. “Maybe I should get your number and investigate further. I’m Sooyoung, by the way.”

Sangah blinked, then laughed, a hint of pink dusting her cheeks. “Oh? Well, I suppose there’s no harm in a little investigation.” She smoothly recited her number. “Yoo Sangah.”

Sooyoung quickly saved it in her phone, her grin widening. “Thank you. Now I have something to look forward to, Sangah-ya~”

Sangah raised a brow at the casual honorific but didn’t seem to mind. Instead, she gave Sooyoung a teasing look before replying, “Sorry, I have to get back to the party—but I’ll be waiting for your text, Sooyoung-ah~.”

With that, she left, leaving Sooyoung standing there, heart pounding.

Oh my god.

She had just flirted with Yoo Sangah. And got her number. And Sangah had flirted back.

Sooyoung barely managed to keep her composure as she left the restroom, but for the rest of the night, her thoughts were elsewhere.

When she finally worked up the nerve to text Sangah, she kept it simple:

Hey there, it’s Sooyoung. I was wondering if you’d like to have a little talk over coffee sometime.

Sangah, fresh out of the shower, heard her phone vibrate. She picked it up, expecting a message from one of the event organizers—only to smile when she saw the unknown number.

Sooyoung

She responded with a single word.

Yes.

The next day, they met at a cozy café, chatting easily about everything from work to personal interests. Sooyoung found herself genuinely enjoying the conversation, even momentarily forgetting her original reason for reaching out.

That was, until they reached the topic of their jobs.

“I’m a manager,” Sangah said, sipping her coffee. “For the artist Kim Dokja. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Sooyoung leaned back, smirking. “Oh? What a coincidence—I’m also a manager for a very popular musician.”

Sangah raised a brow, intrigued. “Oh? Who?”

“Guess.”

Accepting the challenge, Sangah began listing popular artists, but Sooyoung kept shaking her head.

After several failed attempts, Sangah sighed. “I give up.”

Sooyoung giggled. “Yoo Joonghyuk.”

Sangah’s eyes widened. “No way. Really?” She leaned forward, expression thoughtful. “Dokja… he seems to like Joonghyuk’s music, but for some reason, he always zones out when his songs come on the radio.”

Sooyoung’s heart skipped.

This was it.

She steadied her breath and leaned in. “About that—I wanted to talk to you about Kim Dokja and Joonghyuk.”

The atmosphere shifted

Sangah tensed, her once playful expression hardening

Sooyoung felt the change, but she pressed on. “I’m sorry—I didn’t want to ruin our date, but—”

“You’re using me to get to Dokja-ssi.” Sangah’s voice was quiet, but firm. She stood abruptly. “I’m sorry, but I must go.”

“Wait!”

Desperation seeped into Sooyoung’s voice as she reached out, not to stop her, but to plead.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, softer this time. “But Joonghyuk is hurting. Every song he writes—it’s reaching out to Kim Dokja. I didn’t know any other way to get Dokja to come to his concert without confronting him directly.”

Sangah hesitated.

Sooyoung swallowed hard and continued, “I don’t know if Dokja is hurting the way Joonghyuk is, but… I was hoping you could convince him to come. If that’s not possible, I understand, and I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

She exhaled, looking down at her hands.

“But for what it’s worth… I did really like you. You’re kind and strong, and I admire that. I’m sorry if I disappointed you.”

Silence hung between them.

Her voice was quieter now. “Sooyoung… why do you think Joonghyuk’s songs are about Kim Dokja? Did he tell you?”

“I just know.” Sooyoung hesitated, then pulled out her laptop. “Here. Listen.”

She set it in front of Sangah, queuing up the songs.

Each track was paired with a painting.

Reluctantly, Sangah put the headphones on.

And as she listened, her expression changed

The melodies wove into the brushstrokes, the emotions laid bare in both music and art. The songs weren’t just compositions. The paintings weren’t just colors.

They were stories.

And they were about him.

Sangah’s eyes welled up.

“I always knew Dokja’s paintings were about someone,” she murmured, voice thick with emotion. “But I never imagined…” She trailed off, pressing a hand to her mouth.

Sooyoung held her breath.

After a long silence, Sangah exhaled, wiping at her eyes.

“I should have seen it sooner,” she admitted. “I could have helped a long time ago.”

Then, she nodded.

“I’ll help you.”

That was how Yoo Sangah ended up with front-row tickets to Yoo Joonghyuk’s concert on such short notice. All it took was getting Kim Dokja to agree to come—and pretending she had no clue they had been yearning for each other all along.

When she asked Dokja to join her, she could tell he was uneasy. There was hesitation in his gaze, a stiffness in his posture, but more importantly—he was willing. That was all she needed to push him the rest of the way.

And when he stepped out of his room, dressed as though he expected to be seen, she knew.

She laughed to herself, half in disbelief. How could she have been so blind? That day, when he had broken down in the middle of his own gallery after hearing Joonghyuk’s song for the first time. The massive collection of paintings—each one capturing emotions too raw, too intimate, too devastating to belong to anyone else.

And then, the moment his eyes landed on Joonghyuk.

It was like watching a man come back to life.

Sangah had never seen him like this—so open, so desperate, so achingly hopeful. She watched as he shattered at the sound of Joonghyuk’s violin, as Joonghyuk played a song meant only for him, as the truth bled into the notes. Every song had been for Dokja.

She saw it happen, the way love seeped out of their very skin.

She saw the moment he ran.

The moment he broke through the backstage, reaching for him like he would die if he didn’t.

She saw the way they kissed, as if they had been starving for each other all this time.

She heard them, whispering confessions between gasping breaths, promising, over and over, that they would never let go again.

Sooyoung had watched Joonghyuk that night, the way his shoulders had slumped after the last song, the way his eyes had scanned the crowd with something close to resignation.

It was his last concert, and he still hadn’t seen Dokja.

She had planned for everything—except for Joonghyuk breaking down in front of thousands. The moment he publicly admitted that every song had been written for Dokja, she smacked her forehead, then wiped away tears as the audience erupted. The press was going to have a field day with this. But that didn’t matter.

Not when Joonghyuk had finally said it out loud—not just through music, but with words.

She gestured to his bandmates, signaling them to get him off the stage before he did anything even more reckless. When he was finally backstage, she sighed, crossing her arms.

“I’ve managed you for years. Every event, every album drop, every damn press conference—and I have never seen you break down like that.” A pause. Then, softer, “You should’ve told me. You know I would’ve helped.”

He looked so lost that she sighed and held out her arms. “Come here.”

For a moment, he didn’t move. Then, he stepped forward, and when she wrapped her arms around him, he sagged into the embrace, his massive frame leaning against her.

And then—

Dokja’s voice.

“Please. Let me in.”

Sooyoung felt Joonghyuk tense against her. The guards were refusing, voices firm, unmoved. And then Joonghyuk was pulling away, stumbling toward the hallway, voice hoarse with desperation.

“Move.”

And when they did, when Joonghyuk finally saw him—

The world seemed to stop.

Joonghyuk took in his face, as if memorizing every inch, every detail. Then, he moved, closing the distance between them in only a few strides before pulling Dokja into a desperate, searing kiss.

Dokja gasped but didn’t hesitate, kissing him back with just as much force, just as much longing.

And when they pulled away, it was only to whisper words of regret, of joy, of everything they should have said before but never did.

Sooyoung let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, glancing to the side.

Sangah stood at the corner, watching.

Then, she turned to Sooyoung, meeting her gaze.

She smiled, brown eyes glimmering, and mouthed, Thank you.

Sooyoung laughed as she mouthed back, I owe you one