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Kim Taehyung - considered to be the idol of idols in the k-pop industry, the epitome of perfection, the object of envy for many, and the role model for every idol in the Korean music scene. He was the face of k-pop, the soulf...
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╔═━━▒ ۞ ▒━━═╗ EPIPHANY ╚═━━▒ ۞ ▒━━═╝
Yi-Seo
Unable to fall asleep right away, I keep shuffling about on the couch until I finally give up on trying to sleep. I walk over to the window and take a look at my living room, sighing before I turn back to face Taehyung’s couch. But my eyes are uncontrollably drawn to the closed door that conceals his recording studio.
As decent as I want to remain and not go about exploring that room in his absence, my conscience keeps torturing me to check it out just once. And I give in to that mischievous voice within me as I walk over to that room and twist the knob on the door, thinking it might be locked.
But to my surprise, the door clicks open, making my eyes widen. Holding the knob in my hand, I turn around nervously just to see if Taehyung is not behind me. He isn’t, fortunately.
Taking a deep breath, I push the door open a little wider and step inside after turning on the lights. I stand anchored to my spot and look around the room that looks completely professional to me.
The floor is wooden, unlike the marble flooring in the other areas of the house, and the walls are all black, probably because the room is sound-proofed. I walk around, slowly trailing my fingertips over the array of headphones and the tangle of wires on one side of the main work table. The table also has a large desktop computer, a smaller laptop and lots of scattered sheets on which Taehyung has scribbled stuff.
A labeled file lays on the table, and I peer to read the name written on it, which is Hong-Cheol. I have no idea who this person is, but my guess is that he, most probably, is the middleman through whom Taehyung sells his craft. I feel the compelling urge to flip open the file; I don’t though.
There are a few types of microphones as well that are next to the table, and large sets of speakers that are set up around the room. Alien-looking devices with numerous knobs and display screens are also present, but most importantly, I notice a large stage piano next to the table and a violin that is hanging on the wall right behind it.
Despite him giving off the clumsy and unkempt person vibes, this room is actually spotless with not a speck of dust anywhere. Even the spaces between the piano keys, which accumulate dust quite easily, are sparkling clean. Being in here is destroying the stereotypical image that I had of him in my mind, and I’m learning a little more about him as an artist, as a true professional.
My heart feels blue thinking about all the lonely moments he must have spent here, working hard to trade his music to someone else for money, just so he could survive. A sad sigh leaves my lips as I slowly walk past the small leather couch in the corner before I turn off the lights and close the door behind me.
I head back to the couch, picking up my sheet of paper and pen, and then I begin to roughly scrawl out the characters that I met through him while reviewing every detail that Taehyung told me earlier tonight.
