I look back at the lyrics to find the songwriting credits. “It has both your names.”
Jihoon props his foot up on a rock and leans out to survey the trees. “It does. His name is first. ‘Dance Royalty,’ on the other hand, has my name first.”
I pull him back on the path so we can keep walking. “You need to explain this.”
“You saw Daehyun. Met him.”
“Yes.”
“How would you describe him?”
“Brooding, sort of quiet and dark. Tough.”
Jihoon laughs. “He’s a clown in private. Plays tricks on everyone, always having fun. He doesn’t like the cameras, so he shuts down when we have to do interviews or we’re filming. They used that as his image when we debuted and built on it. How about me?”
“Ah.” How to answer this with tact. “Bright and playful?”
“Of the two of us, who do you think loves bubbly pop, designed to get people laughing and dancing? Who would like the kind of music to listen to in the rain when you yearn to be happy but you’ve forgotten how?”
“Oh my God.” I stop dead, causing a woman behind me to tap me with her walking stick. I jump out of the way with an apology, and she barely adjusts her visor before striding on. “You’re kidding. You wrote the songs people think are Daehyun’s.”
He nods. “While he wrote the ones people associate with me.”
“Holy shit. Isn’t that, like, fraud?”
“Technically no. We’re both on the songwriting credits, and we collaborate, but the company wants to maintain the images they created for us. They don’t lie, but they promote the idea that I write the light songs and Daehyun writes the dark ones because they think that’s what appeals to our fans.”
I walk for a bit, mulling this over. “I don’t want to say the fun songs aren’t as good as the other ones,” I say carefully. “The fans love them, and they cheer people up.”
“We want to make people happy.”
“Your songs are the ones people keep talking about and theorize about, the ones they turn to when they need to feel seen. Doesn’t it bother you that people think Daehyun writes them?”
He looks down and nods. “It should be enough to have StarLune do my songs,” he says. “Yet I’m selfish.”
We walk along. “Do you not like the songs people think are yours? Daehyun’s?”
“I do. I love them. To write a song that sticks like that is a gift, and Daehyun is a genius.”
“I hear abut.”
“I want to do more. I feel like a liar to the fans. I want to talk to them freely about my music but the company won’t let us.” He toes at a fallen leaf.
There’s something dark in his voice. “What else?”
“I want to write more songs like the ones I love and to explore where that can take me, but they don’t chart as well. The company wants us to focus on Daehyun’s style for the next album. His songs, even though people will think it’s me. It’s success some would kill for, but it makes me feel sick.”
There’s a long silence, and I can tell he’s struggling. I take his hand and wait until he speaks again. “Perhaps my songs don’t chart as high because they’re not good enough,” he says in a low voice. To hear Jihoon unsure about his talent is shocking. Of all the things I thought he would be 100 percent sure of, his ability tops the list.
“You know fans love them.”
“Because they’re StarLune. Would they love them the same if they didn’t know it was me?”
“That’s an impossible question.”
He frowns at the trees, and I take his other hand, rubbing the cool skin to get some warmth in them. “Hey,” I say. “I’ve done nothing but complain about my work to you. It’s your turn.” It bothers me that I can’t see his full face under his mask. I want to reassure him, but I’m not sure how, here in public. I rub harder, hoping he can tell I want him to keep talking.
“It’s not an impossible question. I sent some songs out. My own songs, under a false name. They were rejected.” He looks down at me. “The rejection came right before I went on stage for our final tour show. I’d never doubted myself like that before.”
