The studio was colder than usual that morning.
Lian wrapped his scarf tighter as he walked through the quiet hallway, heart pounding so loudly he almost missed the hum of equipment behind the glass.
This was it.
His first solo recording.
He had barely slept the night before — replaying Rian's note in his head until the words were etched behind his eyelids.
> Don't be afraid of being seen.
> Your voice deserves to be heard.
> — R
He wasn't sure why that single line hit harder than any compliment ever had.
Maybe because Rian had said it.
Maybe because, deep down, Lian wanted to believe it.
When he entered the studio, Rian was already there.
No cameras today — just the producer, a sound engineer, and Rian sitting by the console, a pair of headphones resting around his neck.
Rian looked up when Lian walked in. "You're early."
"So are you," Lian said softly, then immediately regretted how breathless he sounded.
Rian's lips curved slightly. "Habit."
The producer clapped his hands together. "Alright, let's warm up. Rian, you'll oversee his take, yeah?"
Rian nodded. "I'll guide him."
Lian froze.
Guide him?
As in… in the booth?
"Go on," Rian said, motioning toward the glass booth. "We'll take it slow."
---
Inside the booth, everything felt smaller.
The mic stood tall in front of him, the faint scent of metal and static hanging in the air. His reflection looked nervous in the glass, but beyond it — Rian watched him carefully, unreadable behind the screen.
"Headphones on," Rian said through the mic. His voice came soft and deep, clear through the headset. "Sing it once. Don't think. Just feel."
Lian nodded, his fingers trembling slightly as he adjusted the mic.
The track began — soft piano, faint strings, the kind of melody that ached quietly in the chest.
He took a breath and began to sing.
His voice started steady, smooth — then wavered halfway. He stumbled on the bridge, the note breaking like glass.
"Sorry!" Lian blurted. "I— I can do better—"
"Stop," Rian's voice interrupted, gentle but firm. "Don't apologize. Try again."
"But—"
"Lian."
Just his name, spoken low. Enough to make him go still.
Rian's eyes were calm. "You're holding back. You sound good, but it's not *you*. You're thinking about how it should sound, not how it feels."
Lian's throat tightened. "I just don't want to ruin it."
"You won't."
Rian stood, pressed the intercom, and said quietly, "Open the door for a sec."
Lian blinked as Rian stepped into the booth. He was taller up close, his scent subtle — clean, something like citrus and smoke.
Rian adjusted the mic slightly, fingers brushing the stand. "Relax your shoulders."
Lian obeyed, pulse hammering.
Rian leaned close, his voice soft but steady. "When you sing this bridge, imagine you're talking to someone who doesn't believe in themselves. Someone you care about. You're not performing — you're reaching out."
Lian's breath hitched. "Okay."
Rian stepped back, their eyes meeting. "One more take."
---
This time, when the music started, Lian closed his eyes.
He let go of everything — the nerves, the weight of being seen, the noise in his head.
He imagined that quiet rooftop night.
The way Rian had said, *You already belong here.*
And the words flowed out of him.
Soft at first, then stronger, until the notes filled the booth like light through water.
When he reached the bridge — the part meant to carry the emotion — something inside him cracked open.
He sang it not as a trainee trying to prove himself, but as Lian — the boy who had always wanted to be heard.
The final note lingered, trembling softly in the air.
Silence followed.
He opened his eyes.
Rian stood on the other side of the glass, still and wordless.
Then the producer slowly exhaled. "That… that was perfect."
Lian blinked. "Really?"
"More than perfect," the man said, smiling. "You captured it."
Lian turned toward Rian.
But Rian didn't say anything — just met his gaze, eyes deep with something unspoken.
When Lian stepped out, his legs felt light.
Rian handed him a bottle of water without a word. Their fingers brushed.
"Good work," Rian said quietly.
"You helped," Lian said. "I wouldn't have done it without you."
Rian's mouth twitched, almost a smile. "You would've. You just needed to remember who you are."
Lian looked up. "And who's that?"
Rian's eyes softened. "Someone worth listening to."
---
They replayed the recording together.
Lian sat beside Rian, watching the screen flash with sound waves. His own voice echoed through the room — tender, raw, alive.
"Do you always sound like that when you sing?" Rian asked.
Lian blushed. "I—I don't know. Is that a bad thing?"
Rian shook his head. "No. It's… honest."
Lian turned toward him. "You talk like you've seen a thousand singers."
"I have." Rian leaned back slightly, eyes still on the monitor. "But very few who make me stop and listen."
Lian's breath caught. "Oh."
"Don't let it get to your head," Rian added lightly, but there was warmth in his tone that ruined the teasing.
They sat in silence for a while — the kind that didn't feel awkward anymore.
Outside, the late afternoon sun slanted through the blinds, painting stripes of gold across the floor.
Lian tapped the edge of the desk. "Do you ever get tired of all this?"
Rian glanced at him. "The fame?"
"Yeah."
"Sometimes," Rian admitted. "It's noisy. Everyone wants a piece of you. But when I'm in here…" He gestured toward the recording booth. "It's quiet. Honest. That's why I stayed."
Lian smiled softly. "You make it sound peaceful."
"It is," Rian said. "When you're not afraid of silence."
Lian tilted his head. "You talk like someone who's been lonely for a long time."
Rian chuckled under his breath. "Maybe I have."
Lian's chest ached at the sound. "Then I'll make sure it's less lonely next time."
Rian turned to look at him — something unreadable flickering in his gaze. "Next time?"
Lian met his eyes, steady now. "Yeah. If you'll let me sing again."
Rian's lips curved. "We'll see."
But the faintest smile lingered, soft and real.
---
That evening, as Lian left the studio, he paused outside the glass wall and looked back.
Rian was still inside, replaying the song, headphones on, his expression distant but calm.
Lian watched as Rian closed his eyes for a moment — just listening.
To *his* voice.
A small, disbelieving smile tugged at Lian's lips.
Maybe, just maybe, he was finally being heard.
---
**End of Chapter 6 — The Sound of You**
To be continued…