the composer : j.hs

the composer : j.hs

Reads 38
Votes 0
Parts 8

Ongoing49m

Last published Fri, Jul 6, 2018

I LEFT WATTPAD LMAO BUT HAVE FUN WITH THIS SHIT- "This song was made for you, and you only. Sing it well. Accept that this is your song, not mine." Yoo Eunji spends her career producing songs for BTS. She's a genius of a music producer who has reached success. So it doesn't bother her that she doesn't get any public attention, for she lives her life doing what she loves. Not to mention she also has the respect of the boys in the popular K-Pop band. For the successful young woman she is, it shouldn't be a surprise that one of the boys eventually takes an interest in her- and he's the one who fans call J-Hope.

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Li Jiu is the kind of woman people forget they have already met. Not because she lacks presence, but because she never insists on being remembered. Her life is a quiet choreography of avoidance, politeness, and the small self-betrayals that make her easy to like. She blends into the rhythm of others without meaning to, laughing at the right moments, pretending the dull ache in her chest is nothing more than tiredness. Everyone around her shines a little brighter, speaks a little louder, and she has learned to exist as the one who fills the silence between them. There is a kind of pride in how unremarkable she has become. It makes her untouchable. It keeps her safe from disappointment. Yet under that practiced composure lies something ugly, restless, and embarrassingly human. She wants to be noticed. She wants to matter. She hates that she wants it. Most days, she tells herself she doesn't. It is easier to believe that she prefers the background, that she has chosen this smallness, that she is the one in control. Then there is Jungkook. The boy who doesn't need to try. The one who walks into a room and shifts its temperature. Everyone talks about him, wants something from him, or wants to be him. To Li Jiu, he is nothing special, just another story being told too loudly. But one day he looks at her, and she feels the insult of it. The absurdity. The sudden, humiliating awareness of herself. It should mean nothing, and perhaps it does. Yet that simple act lodges somewhere deep, a splinter she cannot remove. Because when you have spent your life being the background, even the smallest spotlight feels violent.

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