"Mark, your melodies are pulling me in, but I'm wrestling with these lyrics."
"Well, can't blame the guitar for wanting to dance with your words. And yes, I admit, my hotness is a bit distracting."
"Mark, let the lyrics take center stage without dis...
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___
The Dream Harmonics' photoshoot wrapped up with a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration. Sangwoo, camera in hand, called for one last shot, capturing the group in a candid moment of laughter. The band had spent the past few hours adjusting their outfits, experimenting with different poses, and occasionally breaking into spontaneous jokes. The tension that had initially hung in the air, as they tried to make everything perfect, had dissolved into a relaxed camaraderie.
Once the final shot was taken, Sangwoo lowered his camera, surveying the group. The quiet hum of the studio filled the space as the band members exchanged knowing glances.
Sangwoo’s smile was small but knowing as he reviewed the shots. “I think this is it,” he said, handing them a glimpse of the photos. The members crowded around, eager to see the result. But it wasn’t just about how they looked. It was the memory of that shared experience that mattered most, the photos were simply a testament to something that felt like it was beginning, something bigger than just the images frozen in time.
___
The competition was a week away, they have been preparing continuously, Dream Harmonics have been trying their best. Mark was on his way home when he got the call.
Mark’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen, an unknown number. He answered.
"Hello, is this Mark Lee?"
"Yes, speaking."
"This is Emily from Seoul Hospital. We’re calling to inform you that a patient, Ahn Jia, was brought in following a car accident. She’s stable, but we recommend you come in as soon as possible."
Mark’s heart dropped. "I’m on my way."
He immediately turned his car towards the hospital.
Mark arrived at Seoul Hospital, his heart racing as he hurried through the doors. His mind replayed the call over and over again, each time it felt like a punch to the stomach. A car accident. Jia. Stable, they said, but Mark couldn’t stop the fear gnawing at him.
He rushed to the reception, barely taking in his surroundings. “I’m here to see Ahn Jia,” he said, his voice a little more frantic than he intended.
The receptionist nodded, her expression sympathetic. “Room 308. Just down the hall.”
Mark didn’t need to be told twice. He moved quickly, his legs carrying him on autopilot until he reached her room. He stood in the doorway for a moment, unsure whether to go in or wait.
Inside, Jia was lying in the bed, her head bandaged, eyes closed, an oxygen mask gently resting on her face. Mark’s chest tightened, but he remembered what the doctor had said, just a concussion. Nothing more serious. He stepped inside, pulling up a chair next to her bed.
He sat there in silence, the quiet beep of the heart monitor the only sound in the room. His fingers tapped nervously on his leg as he watched her, wishing for any sign that she would wake up. But she remained still.
