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In a world where soulmates exist, you’re supposed to hear the music they’re currently listening to.
Woonhak used to think working in the music industry would make finding his soulmate easy. As an artist, he was practically leaving clues everywhere. After all the hours he had spent in the studio and all the demos he had made and scrapped, his soulmate should have had more than enough to figure out who he was.
Yet so far, Woonhak seemed to be the only one broadcasting his playlists into the void. No songs ever played in his head out of nowhere in return, only the ones that lingered after getting stuck there.
It’s fine, Woonhak told himself. If it’s meant to happen, we’ll find each other eventually.
Until then, he kept himself wrapped in the comfort of familiar melodies and rhythms. His favorite songs, songs recommended to him, and even his own looped endlessly as he waited. He felt that if he didn’t think about it as much, it would come on its own. One day, an unfamiliar tune would slip through and he would finally hear something that wasn’t from him.
And finally he did.
The first time it happened, Woonhak thought it was just a random song that had found its way in one of his playlists and unconsciously planted itself in his head. It played on repeat until he came down with a bad case of last-song syndrome. Soft and barely there, the tune nonetheless stuck with him enough that he found himself humming it throughout the day.
It lingered in the background as he went through his morning routine. When he sat down to work on his songs, it seemed to compete with the sounds he was trying to create. Even while he lay in bed scrolling through his phone, the tune was still there.
By dinner, Woonhak continued to hum it under his breath. It was only when Jaehyun, one of his bandmates, pointed it out across the table that he realized he hadn't stopped all day.
“Is that new?” Jaehyun asked, pointing his chopsticks at him.
Woonhak paused mid-bite. “Hm?”
After that he took the bite he'd been holding and chewed, brows furrowing in confusion. What exactly was Jaehyun talking about?
It took him a moment to realize Jaehyun wasn't talking about anything he was wearing or eating.
“You know you've been humming that song since this morning, right?” Jaehyun said as he reached for more food. “And somehow it's always the exact same part. At this point, I’ve memorized it too,” He snorted. “Do you know the rest or is that all the song has?”
“Oh.” Woonhak frowns at that. “I…I don’t know actually. I don’t even remember where I heard it.”
With a pensive look on his face, Woonhak had stopped eating. Instead, he wracked his brain, trying to figure out where the tune had come from. He absently pushed his food around his plate, turning it over with his chopsticks, but nothing came to mind.
After several seconds of silence, he simply shook his head.
Jaehyun raised an eyebrow. “You don’t remember?” He said sarcastically.
“It’s familiar,” Woonhak insisted. “Like, I’ve heard it somewhere. I just—can’t place my finger on where.”
“Hum it again,” Jaehyun said.
As Jaehyun chewed on his food, Woonhak did as he was told. This time, he hummed the tune more slowly, trying to follow its shape as it played in his head. However, it ended abruptly, just as it always did. It was as if the song itself didn't know where to go next.
Jaehyun listened for a moment before shaking his head. “Nope. Doesn't ring any bells.”
Forgetting about his dinner altogether, Woonhak immediately grabbed his phone with a pout. Without the exact lyrics, reverse-searching the song was difficult. He tried humming it into Shazam, then moved on to every song search app he could think of.
Nothing.
With a frustrated sigh, he dropped his phone onto the table and finally returned to his meal. Nevertheless, every bite came with a quiet grumble as the unfinished tune continued looping in the back of his mind.
So he did have a soulmate. At lasr, they had finally decided to leave him a clue.
The clue, unfortunately, was an unfinished and untitled song that apparently did not exist outside his head.
Woonhak felt both relieved and dismayed. Relieved because his soulmate existed. Dismayed because out of all the songs they could have used to finally hint at themselves, they had chosen this one.
Honestly, if this was their attempt at introducing themselves, Woonhak had some complaints. Because really, what was he supposed to do with this?
Since then though, Woonhak had been more conscious of it. He tried everything he could think of—comparing it to different genres, looking up samples, and digging through countless songs in search of anything familiar. From the moment he woke up until he went to bed, the tune lingered in his head, and so did his determination to identify it.
It was probably just him coping, but one day, the untitled song came back stronger and clearer than before. It looped over and over again, as if it were waiting for someone to finish it. However, this time, there was something else that caught Woonhak's attention besides the fact that it remained unnamed.
There was a voice now.
It was not singing, just humming.
As Woonhak laid in bed that night, eyes closed as he listened more carefully than he ever had before, he couldn't help but think, why does it sound so good, though?
As a producer and songwriter, Woonhak liked to think he had a good ear for music. Appreciating music came naturally to him, and he could usually tell when a song had something worth holding onto. This one certainly wasn't complex—if anything, it was frustratingly incomplete—but something about it kept drawing him back. Maybe it was the simplicity of the tune, or the voice humming softly underneath,
Maybe it was because it was as if it was reaching for something or rather waiting for someone. Perhaps, him.
Before he knew it, Woonhak found himself trying to finish the song in his head, imagining possible lyrics, progressions, and arrangements for the section that always cut off. Ironically, the very thing keeping him awake soon became what put him to sleep. Somewhere between brainstorming and listening, the song became a lullaby. By the time the tune finally faded away, exhaustion had already taken over, and he drifted off more easily than he had in days.
Back at the studio, for a moment, Woonhak miraculous forgot about it. Even for a bit, it was normal since his mind was clear from it.
When Woonhak arrived at the studio, Taesan, his other bandmate, was already there. He sat in the computer chair with his legs crossed, headphones resting around his neck as his eyes remained fixed on the monitor. His brows were slightly furrowed in concentration, completely absorbed in his work. He was so focused, in fact, that he didn't notice Woonhak walk in, pull up a chair, and sit beside him.
“Hi,” Woonhak greeted, glancing at the monitor in front of Taesan.
He initially thought that Taesan was working on one of the songs for their new album—something they would eventually revisit during production meetings—but the project on the screen looked unfamiliar. More importantly, it didn't seem to belong to any of their scheduled work.
The track wasn't even named. It was simply labeled untitled #10.
“You're late,” Taesan said, his eyes never leaving the screen.
“No, I'm not,” Woonhak replied defensively, slightly glaring at him.
“Yes, you are. You’re three minutes late.” Woonhak stared at him in disbelief.
“Three minutes isn't late.”
“It is when we're supposed to start at nine.”
“It literally just turned nine!”
“Three minutes ago.”
Woonhak let out an offended noise and Taesan finally glanced at him.
The sight was almost enough to make him laugh. Woonhak was already pouting, cheeks puffed out and brows furrowed. He looked moments away from stomping his feet and throwing his entire body into a full-blown tantrum.
“Why are you smiling?” Woonhak asked suspiciously.
“Nothing.”
“You're making fun of me.”
Taesan chuckled at that. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, his eyes crinkling in amusement.
“Hyung,” Woonhak said seriously, already wanting the teasing to stop before it could go any further.
“What?”
“Stop looking at me like that.” Woonhak grumbled, only for the words to come out more petulant than he'd intended. His voice unintentionally rose at the end.
“Like what?”
“You're enjoying this.”
“Maybe I am.” Taesan gave a cheeky smile, teasing Woonhak still.
“Hyuuung,” Woonhak repeats.
Taesan only laughed, while Woonhak crossed his arms and huffed.
“I'm annoyed.”
“Good.”
Woonhak groaned and finally dropped his head onto the desk. Under the table, his feet stomped rapidly against the floor in protest. It was the closest thing to a tantrum he could get away with without embarrassing himself.
Unfortunately for him, Taesan noticed anyway. His shoulders shook. He was actually trying not to laugh now. It slipped anyway, but it was brief enough that it disappeared almost immediately.
Woonhak noticed it, though.
The amusement vanished from Taesan's expression as quickly as it had appeared. His gaze drifted back toward the monitor, fingers tapping restlessly against the desk.
After getting most of his frustration out of his system, Woonhak finally turned his attention back to Taesan's screen.
Untitled #10 was still open. The timeline was littered with cut sections, duplicated tracks, and muted ideas. In short, it was a mess.
They had agreed to start at nine and work on the tracks for their new album, but for some reason, Taesan seemed more focused on this project instead. As much as Woonhak wanted to remind him of their agenda for the day, he decided to let it slide. It looked like a very important personal project for Taesan, perhaps something he had been working on for a long time but still hadn't managed to finish.
They had the rest of the day anyway to work on the new tracks.
Woonhak faced Taesan, tilting his head to the side. “You've been working on this all night, haven't you?”
“No.”
“You're lying.” Taesan didn’t deny it. He simply continued staring at the screen, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back in his chair.
“You have eye bags,” Woonhak pointed out.
At that, Taesan rubbed a hand over his face. “Well, that's rude.” After a beat though, he muttered, “...I hate this song. Nothing's working.”
Taesan didn't look at him when he said that. If anything, he seemed almost embarrassed to voice the frustration out loud. However, the way he had said it at felt like a silent invitation for Woonhak to listen.
Woonhak blinked. “Why?”
“I can't finish it. I’ve been stuck on it for a while now.” Taesan spun slightly in his chair. From crossing his arms, he used one to cover his eyes, wanting to take a break .
“Everything’s fine. The whole concept—the lyrics, composition, arrangement and production.” He gestured vaguely at the monitor. “But, everything after the beginning just sounds wrong. I’ve been stuck with the first verse and chorus.”
“Hm,” Woonhak looked at the screen pensively.
“I've rewritten it six times.”
“Hm.”
“Deleted it six times too.”
“Hmmm.”
Taesan narrowed his eyes and scoffed, finally moving to look at him. “Are you even listening?”
“No.” Woonhak immediately burst into laughter. His eyes crinkled into crescents, nearly disappearing as his mouth opened into a heart-shaped grin. The laughter came out loud and unrestrained, drawn out just enough to make it obvious he found himself funny.
“Then stop saying 'hm.'” A grimace appeared on Taesans lips before a beat passed again.
“Hm.”
Taesan groaned and flopped dramatically forward onto the desk, arms stretched out in front of him.
As much as Woonhak wanted to continue teasing him, he fought the urge and gradually quieted his laughter. Seeing how genuinely frustrated Taesan looked, he let the joke die there. Thus, putting on a more serious expression, he turned his attention back to the open project, trying to piece together exactly what he was looking at.
“Can you play it for me?” Woonhak finally asks.
Woonhak being Woonhak, Taesan played the track for him without any further questions. Normally, he would've made him work for it. However, music had always been an exception. It was one of the few things they never messed around with. No matter how much they bickered, they both treated each other's creative input with genuine respect.
The moment the melody started, Woonhak froze.
It was simple. The progression itself wasn't anything groundbreaking. In fact, Woonhak thought he had heard something similar before.
At first, he chalked it up to déjà vu, but then the next phrase came, and the next.
His eyes widened. No wonder he couldn’t find it. This was why nothing came up.
It wasn't just familiar—he knew this song. This was the exact tune that had been looping in his head for days.
He didn't know how to react.
From the corner of his eye, he watched Taesan, waiting for a sign that he'd noticed something off after playing the song to Woonhak. However, there was nothing. Taesan remained focused on the screen, completely oblivious to the fact that Woonhak's entire world had just tilted on its axis.
He hadn't caught on to the sudden tension, how stiff Woonhak had become. As far as he knew, everything was normal.
What do I do now? Woonhak fidgeted in his seat, eyes fixed on the project as if he hadn't just discovered that his soulmate had been sitting beside him all this time.
His soulmate was Taesan, his bandmate. Someone he had known for years.
Woonhak felt his heart swell at that realization.
It was almost ridiculous, really. He had spent years wondering who his soulmate might be. He'd always believed he was leaving a trail waiting to be followed with every song he had produced
What Woonhak hadn't considered was that his soulmate had been leaving clues too.
Not that it was entirely his fault. Between endless studio sessions, practices, recordings, and performances, they were almost always working on the same songs. Of course neither of them had noticed anything unusual. If they were listening to the same tracks all day, then naturally they'd be hearing the same music in their heads.
Woonhak couldn't help but give a small smile, though he was also mentally facepalming at just how dumb and oblivious he had been.
All this time, Taesan was just there. So that’s why the song was so good too.
Honestly, Woonhak couldn't imagine hearing anyone else's songs in his head now. If it had to be someone, he was glad it was Taesan. Someone who loved music as much as he did, who could spend hours obsessing over a single line or melody, and who approached every song with an earnestness that Woonhak had always admired.
Even with the whirlwind of emotions almost overwhelming, Woonhak somehow managed to keep his face neutral.
“So that's where it always ends?” Woonhak was the first to speak after a while.
Always.
The word slipped out before he could stop it. Taesan, thankfully, didn't seem to notice. He only nodded, frowning at the screen. “Yeah...”
Woonhak swallowed. “Play it again.”
They spent the rest of the morning that way, picking apart the song. As much as Woonhak wanted to dive deeper into the project, they still had an album to finish. By noon, they reluctantly set Taesan's untitled track aside and turned their attention to the band's work.
It was probably for the best, because the more Woonhak listened to the song, the more convinced he became. The person he spent nearly every day with was actually his soulmate.
Although, convinced wasn't the same as certain.
Despite how badly he wanted to help finish the melody, Woonhak held himself back. First, he needed proof. Fortunately, he already had an idea of how to get it.
As an act of revenge for the month-long earworm Taesan had unknowingly inflicted on him, Woonhak created a melody with lyrics to match and put it on loop.
It wasn't just any melody, though—it was the continuation of Taesan's song. The one he'd wanted to suggest ever since hearing it for the first time.
At first, Woonhak had considered simply giving Taesan the idea outright. However, a better thought occurred to him. Why do that when he could make Taesan "come up" with it himself? After all, that was exactly what Taesan had been doing to him this entire time. The only difference was that Woonhak was doing it on purpose.
So every night, or as often as he could, Woonhak sang the next part for Taesan’s song.
At first, it was purely for the sake of his experiment, but he never forgot to play it whether in his head or under his breath. Sometimes he'd repeat it while brushing his teeth. Other times, he'd hum it absentmindedly while lying in bed, waiting for sleep to come.
The melody became part of his routine. Every time he sang it, he wondered if Taesan was hearing it too. If Taesan really was his soulmate, then eventually the tune would reach him. And if it did, Woonhak hoped it would be just as impossible to ignore as Taesan's song had been—to help him connect the dots and realize who his soulmate was.
It was weeks before Taesan brought up the song again. As much as Woonhak wanted to ask about it during the occasional breaks between working on their album, he stopped himself every time. It felt better to let Taesan bring it up on his own and hear about his progress when he was ready.
Hopefully, the song was finished by now. More importantly, Woonhak hoped Taesan had used the tune he'd been tirelessly singing for weeks.
Because if he hadn't, Woonhak wasn't entirely sure what he'd do. He’d probably take it personally.
“Woonhak-ah,” Taesan greeted him with a grin, spinning dramatically in his swivel chair the moment he walked into the studio. He was in an unusually good mood.
At first, Woonhak assumed they were picking up where they’d left off on the sixth track of the album—the one they’d both been frustrated with its arrangement for days. However, one look at Taesan’s expression was enough to tell him this wasn’t about that project.
“What is it, hyung?” Woonhak asked as he sat down beside him.
On the monitor was untitled #10. Woonhak had already suggested several replacement titles for the placeholder name. Apparently none of them had stuck. Internally, Woonhak let out a sigh.
“You finished it?” he added.
Taesan nodded so enthusiastically that the smile never left his face. “Finally! After like, two months, and waaay too many revisions later.” He reached for the headphones to put them on Woonhak.
Before the earcups touched his ears, though, Woonhak had already decided he was going to reveal their connection today. He was definitely not going to do it by sitting through the entire song though, even if it was only three minutes long. One month of hearing just the first minute had been enough.
As much as Woonhak liked the song, he'd already spent the better part of a month listening to various parts of it on repeat. Now that it was complete, he was pretty sure he knew the song by heart—better than Taesan did. If he was going to reveal the truth, he'd do it before Taesan plays the whole thing on loop again.
Still smiling, Taesan pressed play. The first verse filled the studio, followed by the pre-chorus and then the chorus itself. Woonhak listened quietly, occasionally glancing at Taesan, who looked entirely too pleased with himself that he didn’t notice the side eyes Woonhak was giving him.
“He really doesn’t know anything,” Woonhak noted how oblivious Taesan had been this whole time.
By the time the second verse approached, Woonhak reached forward and paused the track. The music cut off.
“Huh?” Taesan blinked. “Why'd you stop it?”
Instead of answering, Woonhak turned slightly in his chair and removed the headphones. Then, without any instrumental backing or even a copy of the lyrics, he continued where the song had left off, never taking his eyes off Taesan's. He maintained eye contact the entire time, making sure Taesan was watching him—to show that he knew something Taesan didn't.
He sang the next line.
Then the next, and the next.
The melody flowed naturally from him, as if he had known exactly what came after that section all along—as if he had been carrying the rest of the song with him long before Taesan had ever finished writing it.
A smile slowly tugged at the corners of his lips as he sang, and it seeped into his voice too, giving it a lighter, warmer feel.
However, there was confidence behind it as well—the kind that always surfaced whenever Woonhak was genuinely enjoying himself. It softened the edges of each note and made the performance feel almost teasing, as though he was making fun of Taesan while refusing to explain why outright.
The more he sang, the harder it became to hide how pleased he was with himself.
By the time he reached the final line, he was grinning widely. He had finished the rest of the song on his own.
In contrast, the smile had completely vanished from Taesan's face. In its place was a slightly parted mouth and a pair of furrowed brows as he stared at Woonhak in pure disbelief. “How do you know everything?”
Woonhak grinned. “Really? That's all you’re gonna ask?”
“Woonhak.”
“Okay, okay.” Woonhak raised both hands with his palms open in surrender. “You know soulmates can hear the music each other is playing, right? You’ve basically been broadcasting that song straight into my brain this whole time.”
Taesan’s expression immediately changed. He tilted his head slightly to the side, his eyes narrowed and his forehead creased with confusion.
“...No way.”
Woonhak laughed at that.
“You’re joking.”
Woonhak laughed even harder, clapping his hands this time as if the situation couldn't possibly get any funnier.
“Hyung, you've been serenading me this whole time without even knowing it!”
Taesan was too stunned to speak. He looked as though his brain had completely short-circuited. The revelation had hit him so suddenly that all he could manage was a dumbfounded stare.
“What?”
“Every day, every night, you've been playing that song on repeat. Do you know how annoying that was? Not only was it looping unfinished, it didn't even have a title! I might as well finish it for you.”
Taesan’s eyes widened before he immediately bowed his head. “Oh my god,” he whispered.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The silence wasn't awkward, nor was it particularly tense. If anything, it was embarrassing, especially for Taesan.
With his head still lowered and the tips of his ears now tinted pink, Woonhak watched him carefully from the corner of his eye. He looked like he wanted to disappear into the floor. For someone usually so composed, seeing him this flustered was oddly entertaining.
Taesan was the one who eventually broke the silence. “So... you've known this whole time?”
Woonhak nodded.
“I wanted proof first, though.” Woonhak pointed his thumb toward the monitor behind him as if the evidence spoke for itself.
“And after that?”
“I wanted to see how long it'd take you to figure it out.”
Taesan let out a disbelieving laugh and rubbed a hand over his face. “You're annoying.”
“I know.”
“Seriously annoying.”
“I know.”
Despite his words, the corners of Taesan’s mouth twitched upward into a reluctant smile. He didn't look at Woonhak again. Instead, his gaze drifted back to the monitor in front of him.
The song project was still open on the screen. Audio tracks stretched across the timeline in neat rows, and markers divided the song into sections labeled verse, pre-chorus, chorus, and bridge. Unlike the unfinished loop Woonhak had been hearing for weeks, the project was now complete.
Taesan's eyes moved across the arrangement. Every section was filled in from beginning to end, turning what had once been a rough idea into a finished song. Suddenly, all of it made sense.
“I thought I finally got inspired,” Taesan muttered.
Woonhak snorted. “You did.”
“You literally fed me the melody,” Taesan deadpanned.
“And look. It worked!” Woonhak gestured enthusiastically, nearly bouncing in his seat. “You're welcome, by the way.”
Taesan shook his head, laughing quietly under his breath. Whatever embarrassment had settled over him earlier had started to fade. In its place was a fluttering feeling suspiciously similar to butterflies in his stomach.
His gaze lingered on the completed project for another moment. Looking at it now, he could trace exactly where the inspiration for the missing parts had appeared. The melody that had refused to leave his head, the hook that had come together suspiciously fast, and the parts that had felt almost too natural to write all pointed back to the same person sitting beside him.
“This soulmate thing is kind of weird,” he admitted eventually.
Woonhak's heart sank for exactly half a second. What do you mean weird?
Did Taesan not want someone as poetic and soulful as him? Someone who had quite literally helped him finish the song he'd been hunched over for weeks? Frankly, Woonhak thought that alone should have earned him the title “soulmate-of-the-year”.
Normally, this would have been the perfect opportunity to throw a tantrum. He could've stomped his feet, whined dramatically, and complained about how unappreciated he was. It would've been entirely on brand for him, but he wanted to hear what Taesan had to say.
“In a bad way?” Woonhak asked seriously.
Taesan shook his head. “No. Just... weird.”
Woonhak huffed, his lips jutting out into a pout. “Wow. That's very reassuring,” he said sarcastically.
Taesan leaned back in his chair and pulled his bright pink beanie lower, as if hiding behind it would somehow make this conversation easier. The entire situation was embarrassing enough already. He wasn't about to make it worse by saying something overly sentimental.
“I don't know. I just...” He paused, brows furrowing as he searched for the right words. “I never expected it'd be you.”
Woonhak immediately pointed at himself. “What's that supposed to mean!?”
“Nothing!”
“Wow.”
“That's not what I meant.”
“Wooow.”
Taesan groaned. “Can you let me finish?”
Woonhak crossed his arms dramatically. “Go on.”
Taesan fought back a smile. If only he would roll up his beanie, Woonhak would've seen the fondness crinkling at the corners of his eyes.
“I always imagined my soulmate being someone I hadn't met yet. Someone out there. A stranger.” Me too.
But they had never been strangers.
They had been together through practices, recordings, schedules, and sleepless nights in the studio. They had argued over lyrics and debated over arrangements. They had seen each version of themselves that had existed before today.
That realization felt strange and unexpected, but not unwelcome.
At last, Taesan rolled up his beanie and looked at Woonhak. “But I don't mind it.”
Woonhak blinked. “You don't?”
“No.”
The answer came surprisingly easily.
“Honestly, the more I think about it, the more it makes sense.”
How could he be soulmates with someone he'd never met? How could a bond as precious as theirs exist between strangers?
Woonhak stared at him for a moment before a teasing smile slowly spread across his face. “So what you're saying is that your soulmate is extremely talented, handsome, funny, and charming.”
“I was about to say annoying.”
“Nawww,” Woonhak whined, dragging the word out shamelessly. He rolled his chair closer and bumped his shoulder against Taesan's.
As they continued bickering, work—personal or otherwise—be damned, neither of them noticed it at first. Woonhak was talking and Taesan was laughing.
Somewhere in the middle of it all, a familiar tune began playing softly in Taesan's head.
It was not from the studio speakers.
It was from Woonhak.
For the first time, Taesan knew exactly where it was coming from. The melody was warm and familiar, carrying the same comfort it always had. Only now, it wasn't an inexplicable idea that had convieniently fallen into place nor fragment of inspiration he'd mistakenly thought was his own.
It had a face with a grin that never seemed to quit or give up.
He laughed again, his cheeks beginning to hurt from smiling.
Maybe the song had never been about finding the next part. Maybe it had always been about finding the person on the other side of it.