[Middle School — 2 Weeks Before the Showcase]
They practiced in secret.
After school.
When the halls emptied and the janitor had gone home.
Jae-hyun would sneak into the music room first, and Jiho would follow, always two steps too loud, always grinning too wide.
"You have to sing louder," Jiho said, tapping the mic with his knuckle.
Jae-hyun's fingers curled over the piano keys. "If I do, they'll hear."
"Who?"
"…Everyone."
Jiho just shrugged. "Let them."
But Jiho didn't live with parents who said dreams are excuses.
Jiho didn't get punished for noise.
---
[Flashback — 3 Days Later]
The music sheet slipped from Jae-hyun's hand as he opened the front door of their apartment.
His mother was waiting.
"You're late."
He bowed his head. "Study group ran long."
Her eyes flicked to the music sheet on the floor.
"What's this?"
He reached to grab it, fast—too fast.
But she picked it up first.
Read it.
Her mouth curled.
"Singing now?"
He didn't answer.
That was his first mistake.
---
The second was trying to take it back.
She slapped him across the face so hard the corner of the sheet sliced his cheek.
He stumbled, head spinning. The world blurred.
"You think that'll get you anywhere?" she spat. "You think your little noises matter?"
Blood hit the floor.
He said nothing.
Just cleaned it up before his father came home.
---
[School — 1 Week Before the Showcase]
Jiho noticed the bruise.
"You okay?"
Jae-hyun nodded too quickly.
Jiho didn't press.
Instead, he said, "I think this song's gonna kill. People are gonna remember us."
Jae-hyun wished he could believe that.
But all he could think was:
> "What if someone from home hears it?"
> "What if I like it?"
> "What if the applause makes me believe I deserve it?"
---
The night before the performance, his mother found the school's email on the shared desktop.
The one congratulating him for the duet selection.
He never got to respond.
Because she dragged him by the arm into the bathroom.
Took his headphones.
Took his script.
Took his voice.
And whispered:
> "You show up on that stage, and you don't come back into this house."
---
He didn't cry.
He just stood under the shower until the water turned cold.
Then he practiced the song under his breath until the words stuck to his tongue like bruises.
---
[Showcase Night]
He stood backstage, shaking.
Jiho bounced on his toes beside him. "You got this."
Jae-hyun didn't speak.
His whole body felt like glass.
The curtains opened.
The mic buzzed.
The piano began.
Jiho sang the first verse—flawless.
The crowd was small but loud.
Then Jae's part came.
His voice trembled.
Then cracked.
Then—
He closed his eyes and let go.
Every note he had swallowed.
Every scream he'd kept quiet.
Every broken piece of him that wanted to live—
He sang it.
And the room listened.
And the room loved him.
And for three minutes…
He wasn't afraid.
---
After, Jiho pulled him into a hug, spinning them both backstage.
"You killed it!" he beamed. "Did you hear that crowd?!"
But Jae-hyun was already thinking of the door at home.
The lights off.
The silence waiting.
He knew what he was walking into.
And still—he smiled.
Just once.
---
[That Night]
He returned home just past midnight.
The door was locked.
He knocked. Twice.
No answer.
When he pulled out the emergency key under the planter, it was gone.
His mother had meant it.
No performances.
No music.
No home.
---
He sat outside their apartment door until morning.
No coat.
No shoes.
No one called.
No one checked.
He hummed a tune into his scarf to stay awake.
---
That was the night Jae-hyun learned:
Music could move people.
But it could also cost everything.
So he buried it.
Buried himself.
And decided—
If love meant losing a roof over his head,
If dreams meant pain,
If being seen meant being rejected—
Then it was better to stay invisible.