When the Music Fades

Jun's POV

The Music of an Unfinished Heart A Winter Night

The melody floated through the air like a whisper, raw and aching. It curled through the cold night, slipping through the open window of a grand house that stood like a silent guardian against the winter sky.

Jun drifted forward, a cold breeze slipping into the dimly lit room.

A young man sat on the edge of his bed, his guitar balanced on his lap. His fingers traced the strings—not with a pick, but bare, pressing into the steel like they were searching for something deeper than sound. His eyes were closed, his expression unreadable, as if lost somewhere far beyond the confines of the room.

The tune wove through the silence, carrying a strange kind of longing—until it fractured.

A single sharp note rang out. The melody faltered.

Jun's gaze dropped to the boy's hands. Blood welled at the tips of his fingers, tiny beads of red blooming against the strings. But the boy didn't stop. His fingers trembled but pressed on, the music warping into something chaotic—an echo of a battle waging inside him.

The first drop of blood fell.

Splattered against his bare foot.

His eyes snapped open.

"Oh…" His voice was barely a breath. He lifted his hands, staring at the smeared crimson on his fingertips.

You need to feel love to sing love.

The words surfaced in his mind like a distant echo, carrying the weight of something unshakable.

Jun shut his eyes again. The night blurred away, pulling him into yesterday's memory.

Yesterday—The Audition

The auditorium was nearly empty, but it felt suffocating.

Bright lights glared down from above, illuminating the stage where Jun stood, guitar in hand. He could feel the weight of the judges' gazes, their silence pressing in like an ocean tide.

A voice called his name.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself.

"Hello. My name is Jun," he said. "I'll be performing Don't Break My Heart."

A polite nod from the judges. The spotlight flared, casting his shadow long against the floor.

Jun positioned his pick, fingers resting on the strings. The first note rang out—sharp, clear, practiced.

The melody flowed effortlessly. His fingers moved with precision, the song spilling from his lips.

But something felt off.

The judges' faces remained unreadable, their eyes flicking between his hands and his lips. Their silence stretched, the weight of it pressing into his chest.

Then, a hand went up.

"Stop."

The music cut abruptly. The silence afterward was almost deafening.

Jun swallowed.

"You're an excellent guitarist," one judge said, voice measured. "But your singing… lacks something."

Jun stiffened. "What do you mean?"

"Your voice is good," another judge added, "but the song—it's hollow."

Jun's fingers clenched around the guitar's neck.

"You played every note perfectly," the first judge continued. "But there was no love in your voice. No ache. No longing. A love song needs more than skill—it needs feeling."

A pause.

"Have you ever been in love?" The female judge, silent until now, leaned forward slightly. Her voice was softer, almost knowing.

Jun blinked. "No."

"That's the problem."

Their words sank into him like a weight, dragging his confidence down. He had done everything right. His voice had been steady. The notes had been flawless.

And yet—

You need to feel love to sing love.

Jun had left the auditorium with those words echoing in his mind, relentless and sharp.

Now—A Phone Call in the Dark

The metallic scent of blood brought Jun back to the present.

He stared at his wounded fingertips, the words still gnawing at him.

He scoffed under his breath. "I don't have the luxury for that."

A sudden vibration cut through the silence.

His phone.

He pressed it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Jun," a familiar voice murmured, warm and distant.

His mother.

His grip on the phone tightened. "Mom."

"How are you, dear?"

"I'm fine," he said automatically.

"I found the book you wanted," she said. "Uncle Lawrence managed to get a copy, but there's only one left. Go pick it up before someone else does."

A pause.

"Alright," Jun said.

The line clicked dead.

He stared at the screen for a moment before shoving the phone into his pocket. No time to waste.

An Hour Later—The Bookshop

The scent of aged paper and polished wood greeted him as he stepped inside. Shelves stretched high above, stacked with books worn with time. The air hummed with quiet warmth.

A man looked up from behind the counter, his sharp eyes crinkling in recognition.

"My, my, look who decided to visit," Lawrence said, placing a stack of books down.

Jun offered a small smile. "Your nephew."

Lawrence gestured toward a chair. "Sit. Catch up with me."

"Can't," Jun said. "I'm here for the book."

Lawrence scratched his neck. "Ah… about that…"

A pause.

Jun's stomach twisted. "Don't tell me—"

"Someone already bought it."

Jun's jaw tensed. "Uncle, are you serious?"

Lawrence sighed. "Look, I didn't expect it to sell so fast. But don't worry—I know who has it. I sent you their location."

Jun pulled out his phone. The address glowed on the screen.

He exhaled sharply. "Fine." He turned to leave.

"Oh, and Jun?"

Jun glanced over his shoulder.

"Don't pay for the book," Lawrence said with a knowing smile.

Jun narrowed his eyes but said nothing.

Stepping out into the night, he followed the GPS.

The air was cold, sharp against his skin.

His destination was close.

But something told him that what he'd find there…

Would be more than just a book.

This version deepens the mystery, enhances the emotional weight, and builds more tension leading up to the next encounter. Let me know if you want any further expansion or refinements!