Hyunjin's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

The show had a spine now, but no words. Hyunjin spent two days calling writers. Every one wanted to hear a script. He had no script. He had a boy dancing alone in a torn sketchbook. He gave up and did what he always did when stuck. He went to Bang Chan. Bang Chan sat in the small studio, hunched over his keyboard. He was shorter than Hyunjin but built thick with muscle. When he saw Hyunjin in the doorway, he stood and pulled him into a hug before either spoke. That was Bang Chan. He led Stray Kids, produced their music, and hugged first, asked later. "You look terrible," Bang Chan said. "Sit." Hyunjin dropped into the chair. He set the battered sketchbook on the desk and opened it to the drawing. "Lee Know says I need a writer. Someone to turn this into a real story. I can't find anyone who understands dance." Bang Chan studied the boy in the drawing. He didn't rush. Hyunjin watched his eyes move across the empty room, the small figure, the frayed page. "You're looking wrong," Bang Chan said. "You want a writer to tell your story. But the story is already in your body. What you need is the sound underneath it." "I need words," Hyunjin said. "You need music that speaks the words for you." Bang Chan turned to his keyboard. "Show me the opening. The loneliest part." Hyunjin stood. In the cramped room he marked the first eight counts, small and folded, a boy who didn't know how to reach out. Bang Chan watched, then played. One note. A pause. Another. The sound matched the fear in Hyunjin's shoulders. It named what no writer had. They worked for hours. Hyunjin danced a phrase; Bang Chan built the sound beneath it. The music didn't decorate the moves. It told the story the moves couldn't. By evening they had the opening scored, note for step. Hyunjin sat down, out of breath. "I've been chasing the wrong person. I didn't need a writer at all." "You needed me," Bang Chan said, grinning. He saved the file. "I'll compose the whole thing. An original score, built to your choreography, scene by scene." Relief hit Hyunjin hard. The gap in his show was closing. Then Bang Chan leaned back and folded his arms. "But I have my own tour, my own deadlines," he said. "I can give you the music. I can't give you time in a room. If we're building a whole show, we need a place. A real studio, booked for weeks, where you dance and I score at the same time. That costs money you haven't raised." Hyunjin looked at the single scored phrase on the screen. He had his composer. Now he had no room to build in, and no budget to rent one. The problem had changed shape, and grown teeth.