Epiphany Coffee - YOONKOOK

II. Sunshine.

Saturday morning.

Yoongi was sitting in front of his desk, working on new lyrics that came on his mind suddenly. He knew he could still be sleeping. Actually, he should be sleeping. It was still early. He worked all week on the production of a song. He prepared a photography exhibition. He almost never left his place, locked up in his studio. He was truly exhausted. A good rest would be perfect for his tired and aching body. But he couldn't. He couldn't close his eyes for too long. His brain was running wild. He needed to get everything out of his head. He had to put it on paper. He had dozens of journals full of lyrics. Some of them ended turning into songs. Others had been forgotten forever, trapped in the thin pages of the journals. That was what he did the best. Writing. Either it was for lyrics or melody.

He was a producer, he was a lyricist, he was a musician. He even was a rapper for some of his songs. He was talented. He knew it now. For years, he worked hard, and he doubted himself a lot. He came in Seoul at eighteen, to enter the Korean National University of Arts. He had so many music classes. He learned so much about the creating process of a song, about the art of writing. His first lyrics were raw and a bit awkward. But with time and patience, he improved so much. He managed to understand how to convey his inner and true feelings to share them. He learned how to put words on his deepest and darkest thoughts. He became confident about his skills. So confident that he tried to enter many famous agencies as a producer. It hadn't been easy. It took him two years to have a job interview. But he only needed one interview to impress the professionals. He was amazing in his art. And now, he was twenty-six and he was a productive music producer. He produced songs for some famous idols. He also produced his own songs. Of course, he didn't have a huge audience. He was too shy to try entering the music industry as an artist. Still he had a soundcloud account, with many of his self-produced songs. He wasn't famous. However, he had some people who were following and supporting his work. That was enough for him. Gaining money by writing and producing music for others was enough for him. He never dreamt of fame. Maybe, in another life, he would have tried to be part of an idol boy group. Who knows? But not in this life. He was comfortable in the darkness of his own studio.

He had a studio in his own apartment. When he was searching for a place to live, he wanted to have a separate room. Not for his bedroom but for his studio. He didn't really care about having a closed bedroom. He managed to create one thanks to a huge bookshelf full of CDs and vinyls separating his sleeping space from his living room. But he couldn't let go of having a real studio. For all his instruments. A room where he could create freely. Where he could let his imagination flowed. It was his dream. He made it soundproof to prevent any complaint from his neighbours. It wasn't unusual for him to play piano at 3am. It was the best way to relax for him. He started playing piano when he was four. It was his mother's wish. And to please her he agreed and worked hard. He never thought he would fall in love with it so much. His piano was his first best friend. When he was a kid, he was often lonely. Too shy, too awkward, too different for the outside world. So, his piano became his safe place. He never quit playing it. Unlike many things his parents wanted him to do and excel in. Like football, baseball, chests, sciences. He tried all these things. He never managed to do it more than two months. But piano was different. It was like another part of his soul. It was his favourite instrument. He learned to play many instruments. He was a true musician. Nothing never felt like playing piano. Each time he was composing a new song, he would start to create the melody on a piano. He actually had two pianos in his apartment. One in the living room and one in his studio. He would spend hours sitting on the wooden bench, his fingers running on the black and white keys. If someone was looking for him, he would likely find him in front of his piano. Or with a pen in his hand, just like right now.

Many thoughts were invading his mind. Thoughts he really needed to get out of his system. He didn't sleep at all the night before. To be honest, it had been some weeks since he had a real restful sleep. He couldn't shut down his brain. Every worst scenario would come to his mind as soon as he closed his eyes. He was checking his phone every two minutes. In case he had a new text. In case something happened. In case he had to leave his apartment suddenly. He was anxious. He always had anxiety. Since his youngest age, he suffered of his wild thoughts and scary imagination. But his anxiety increased recently. A traumatic event triggered it.