"I'm fine
the world can wait a little while
because what I need now
Is a bottle of sweet reverie..."
A husky voice sang in the middle of a four-cornered room, dark gray walls and blue ceilings. Frustrated and alone, he strum his guitar wishing for some inspiration.
"Tell me what it takes to move on..." He closed his eyes and tried to remember. What was it again? He hummed a familiar tune like he was trying to remember something that was forgotten for so long.
A memory, a feeling, or a fragment of the truth.
Desperate for something that he couldn't explain himself. He had no memory of his youth or who he was. Even though he was handed a photo book he would often think, "Who was this man in the picture? What life did he live?" as he browse the pages over and over. Even hearing stories from his friends and family wasn't helping. It's like there was something left behind. Then there was his weird fascination for resin preserved peonies. There was something so rustic about peonies that he couldn't infer, like he was preserving it for someone else.
At some point he thought he was gay and his friends would always tease him every time he sits by his workshop to dry peonies. He was a composer not a florist for pete's sake but still he couldn't leave it alone.
Beautiful things should be preserved.
He was completely lost in his train of thoughts that he barely heard the door opening.
"Knock knock!" Said the voice by the door. He looked to see who it was but judging my the smell of old cigars and cinnamon buns, he knew.
"What do you want, Producer Lee?" He tried to smile smugly at the Asian Micheal Jackson who entered and sat comfortably at his recliner. Producer Lee have been managing him for three years now and even if it annoys the hell out of him when he gets nagged to release a song, they still remain good friends.
"Well, any luck yet? I hear you've been caving in this music room for weeks now, wanna have a drink outside?" A mischievous smile was written on Producer Lee's face.
"I'm onto the last song, it'll be done tomorrow if you treat me some pork belly and soju." He tried to smile harder hiding the fact that he had finished the songs they agreed to release and that he only visits the music room often so that he could try to recover his memories.
"Stinky brat!" Producer Lee threw the nearest object to him.
"You're still such a cheapskate! You don't even give me a choice Park Hyun Seok."