Peerless Perverted Actor Has a Celebrity Harem?!

Creating a song with CJ right there had absolutely nothing to do with Park trying to scratch her ego, make her feel important, or convince her that she was some precious little musical princess whose feelings needed to be wrapped in bubble wrap before he could work with her.

He wanted information.

That was all.

What he wanted was information no profile, demo recording, audition sheet, or secondhand praise from an overprotective twin could ever give him properly.

Seeing CJ up close, hearing her speak from barely a metre away, listening to the natural rhythm of her breathing, noticing how many words she could comfortably get through before instinct made her inhale again, all of it told Park something.

So did the way her voice changed when she laughed, how far it dropped when she became serious, where the warmth naturally sat in her speaking tone, and the little tension that appeared around certain higher sounds before disappearing completely when she relaxed. Even her face mattered.

How easily could she look hurt? How convincing was her cold expression? Could she smile while sounding sad? Could she sound cruel without forcing her throat into some ridiculous villain voice?

Could she sing something happy without looking like she had been threatened by management five minutes beforehand?

Those things mattered if he was going to write for her.

Especially if the System genuinely expected him to do this for the rest of her career.

Park did not want to simply make songs CJ was capable of singing.

’Any competent songwriter can do that.’

He wanted songs that sounded like they had been waiting for her, songs that another singer could cover beautifully and still leave listeners quietly thinking something was missing.

By the time they had gone through the second song twice, he had already learned that CJ’s voice was far more versatile than he first thought:

Ballads were almost unfairly suited to her, whether romantic, heartbreaking, nostalgic, or the huge dramatic kind that started with piano and ended with fifty strings trying to murder everyone emotionally.

Pop worked too, especially melodic pop and darker atmospheric pop where her cleaner upper register could float over heavier production... R&B could work if the arrangement gave her room to stretch notes instead of rushing her. Soft rock, acoustic pop, dream pop, orchestral pop, musical theatre, even certain kinds of electronic pop would sit beautifully on her.

Fast rap-heavy tracks?

’No fucking way she can do.’

Anything where the entire appeal depended on machine-gun delivery and swallowing half the dictionary between drum kicks would be wasting what she had.

CJ’s voice wanted room; it wanted notes long enough to become something. Give her two seconds and she could sound beautiful. Give her six and she could make somebody regret an ex they had never even dated.

Which meant Park could work with this.

’A lot.’

And if he was seriously going to turn CJ into a multi-genre recording artist instead of some woman who became famous for singing fourteen variations of the same sad piano song, he needed to know exactly where every edge of that voice lived.

"Again," Park said.

CJ lowered the notebook from her face. "Which part?"

"The sentence I gave you."

She sighed, though she was smiling now. "You keep changing what you want."

"Because I’m learning."

"Learning what?"

"You."

CJ’s eyes stayed on him for a second longer than necessary before she looked back down, and Park, completely occupied with the music forming inside his head, missed most of what that one word had just done to her.

He was already tapping his pen against the notebook between them.

Somewhere during the last few minutes, they had abandoned the couches entirely and ended up sitting on the carpet facing each other, both cross-legged, the notebook open between their knees like they were two students desperately trying to finish homework before class.

"Say it again," he told her, "but this time try being colder."

CJ repeated the line.

Park immediately shook his head. "That’s annoyed."

"They’re different?"

"Very."

She narrowed her eyes. "Fine. Explain it, professor."

"Annoyed means you still give a shit. I want you to sound like a bitch who genuinely doesn’t give a fuck whether he walks away."

MJ made a strangled noise from one of the couches.

CJ looked at Park for two seconds, then burst out laughing. "That’s your professional direction?"

"Extremely."

"You could’ve said detached."

"Detached is boring. Everybody understands bitch."

MJ covered her face... CJ took a breath and tried again, allowing her expression to flatten while the warmth drained out of her voice.

Park’s pen stopped.

’There.’

He pointed at her. "That. Keep that."

CJ’s eyebrows rose. "Really?"

"Again."

She repeated it, lower this time, and Park hummed underneath her words until a melody caught. His fingers began moving before the thought had even fully settled, writing two lines beneath the unfinished verse.

{...You can leave with all your reasons,

I already changed the locks...}

CJ leaned closer.

Park sang it once, cool and almost lazy, then pointed at her.

"Your turn. Don’t sound heartbroken... this girl has already deleted his number."

CJ laughed, but when she sang it back, the smile vanished from her voice entirely. She gave the second line a little downward curl at the end, almost dismissive.

Park’s eyebrows went up:

"Oh, that’s nasty."

"You told me to sound like a bitch."

"A talented bitch... important distinction CJ."

She kicked lightly at his shoe with the side of her foot.

Park scribbled something down so quickly his handwriting began looking less like language and more like evidence from a medical emergency, then hummed the next melody while CJ watched his face change as he tested it, adjusted three notes, crossed out one word, moved another, and sang the revised phrase back to her.

Her smile disappeared, she was listening now.

Park changed one phrase halfway through, caught a new melody from the way CJ had stressed a word, and scribbled that down too before pointing at her again.

"Now say something happy."

"What?"

"Anything."

CJ stared at him. "The weather is nice."

Park looked toward the window.

"It isn’t."

"I panicked."

MJ laughed.

Park did too. "Fine. Again. Something you’d actually say if you were happy."

CJ thought about it, then her face brightened almost without warning. "I passed the audition."

Park noticed everything.

The lift of her brows, the small breath before got, the way her voice rose instead of simply becoming louder, and how the smile entered the sentence before she had even finished saying it.

His pen moved.

"Again."

CJ repeated it.

"Now like you don’t believe it."

She did.

"Now like you’ve been waiting five years to say it."

CJ tried again, and something in her voice deepened.

Park immediately found another melody, lighter this time, quick enough to feel excited without forcing CJ into the rushed delivery he had already decided did not suit her. He tapped the beat against his knee and sang the beginning while still writing the next line.

{...Say my name beneath the bright lights,

I waited too damn long to glow...}

CJ’s entire expression changed.

"Oh, I like that."

"I know."

"You say that a lot."

"Occupational hazard of being correct every time."

She laughed, took the line from him, then sang it back with more lift on bright lights than he had used.

Park immediately pointed at her. "That. Do that again."

MJ slowly lowered the phone she had been pretending to check.

What the hell was she watching?

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