#chanbang

Chris learned early that silence was never empty. In studios, it carried intent. In people, it carried truth.

He first noticed YN because she didn’t rush to fill it.

Someone at the company had said, She thinks the way you do.That alone had been enough to get Chris’s attention.

She wasn’t unknown. Her name had circulated through internal meetings months before she ever stepped into the studio. A songwriter with a following built almost entirely online. No underground fame or shows, just experimental videos, unpolished visuals, and songs that didn’t follow structure so much as orbit it. The kind of work that lingered with listeners long after the sound stopped.

The collaboration was designed to be collective, something for the band. An experimental B-side that could afford to be strange without consequence. When YN finally arrived, she didn’t carry herself like someone stepping into a room full of reputations. An actual paper notebook in hand, headphones looped securely around her arm, her accent still settling into the language like it hadn’t decided where to land yet.

She listened more than she spoke. Maybe it was the Korean language barrier, but she listened just as intently when the conversation was in English, a language she obviously mastered enough to write poetry and lyrics in. She did throw in an occasional teasing or lighthearted comment every now and then, but it was more endearing than anything, at least that’s how Chris saw it.

Her contributions were decisive but not overthrowing. Lyrics were offered like open-ended thoughts, melodies like suggestions instead of demands. When something stalled, she didn’t force resolution; she let it breathe, then quietly adjusted everything around it.

The members warmed to her quickly. Felix admitted he’d watched her videos before. Seungmin said something about always wanting to cover one of her songs. She laughed at that, a little embarrassed, as if she hadn’t expected the work she’d made alone in her bedroom to follow her this far.

Chris observed from a practiced distance, slowly satisfying his curiosity about this person he’d heard so much about and been internally compared to a little too much for his own liking, only to notice a stark difference in reality.

The more time they spent working together, the more their differences revealed themselves. On paper, their instincts aligned, similar tastes in texture, in restraint, in leaving things unfinished when finishing them would cheapen the feeling. But where Chris moved with certainty, YN moved with consideration.

He decided. She gathered.

If Chris wanted to strip a chorus down to nothing but a pulse and breath, he said it once and began cutting tracks. YN would stop him, not to argue, but to ask what everyone else heard in it. She listened as opinions moved through the room, even when her own mind was already made up. More than once, Chris realized she’d guided them toward the same conclusion he’d reached, the same one she wanted, only by a longer, quieter, and more consensual route.

At first, it unsettled him. It felt like manipulation.

Maybe because she didn’t openly seek control, yet still obtained it eventually, something he was always after. She treated collaboration as something alive, something that needed space to move. Slowly, he learned to wait before speaking, to let her process shape the room.

So naturally, the track took its time, with late night sessions, sudden mind changes, and having to find the time to squeeze it into the boys’ busy schedules. YN admitted to never having taken longer than two days to shape and structure a song with lyrics, melody, and all, and that the recording part was what usually drained her. But here she noticed that more people meant more ideas, and hence “more time to cook,” as she described it. She complimented 3Racha’s work process and the team’s good spirit in general, for being able to agree on so many songs in order to release so many albums in relatively short periods of time, with some exceptions regarding agreement, like their song I Like It, for instance.

When the “collab” song was finished somewhere around two months later, it didn’t sound like anything else SKZ had previously released, yet it was similar in the way it didn’t beg to be understood. It trusted the listeners and their interpretation of it.

The response surprised everyone.

It never chased charts, but it didn’t disappear either. STAYs lingered over it, pulled it apart online, talking about atmosphere, restraint, the way it felt like a conversation rather than a statement. Somewhere in those discussions, YN’s name began to surface, not as a feature, not as an accessory, but as a presence and as an artist.

The company noticed.

Suddenly, she wasn’t just working with them. She was booked into other studios, other sessions, with other groups working on different genres, all under the same roof.

Chris saw her less often compared to when they had a work in progress. When he did, it was in passing, headphones slung on her arm and a notebook in hand, with her signature over-the-shoulder bag. She’d wave at him and go to her next session, expression friendly and calm, like she knew where she was going even if she hadn’t decided how she’d get there yet.

He somehow found himself thinking of her. She didn’t chase attention. Didn’t brand herself, let alone her music. She worked. Listened. Left rooms better than she found them. There was a quiet confidence in that, one Chris hadn’t expected to admire as much as he did.

Soon her name began to become a constant in the company. Regular songwriting sessions with producers, often with members, but with SKZ’s fully armed arsenal and three creative brains always working on music, there wasn’t really much room for further collaborations, especially after that one song.

Nonetheless, YN was to be officially welcomed into the company’s team. Even if she was a contractor, she had contributed so much during the last comeback season with all JYPE groups and artists. So after discussing it with her and respecting her wish of “nothing fancy,” the company suggested a late night creative session that would casually turn into takeout and drinks, chatting and welcoming YN to the JYP family.

It was a small celebration, just a few members of the groups YN had worked with, including SKZ, and a few key staff. Low pressure, casual, almost indulgent. Music had been laid down, and for the first time in weeks, there was room to breathe. Light chatter drifted from the corner of the studio where takeout boxes had been set, glasses clinking softly as someone toasted to the work they’d done.

Sometime later, YN lingered near the large windows, the city sprawling in lights she didn’t yet know. Her soda in hand. Chris approached curiously, not unlike his friendly nature.

-“It’s buzzing even at this late hour, isn’t it?”

-“It is!”, smiled YN. “I still haven’t really seen anything outside this building,” she said, her voice quiet but steady. “Since I came here, it’s been work, work, work. I haven’t even had time to check out the city, but I hear it’s cool.”

-“Well, almost the same here. I’ve been in the city for years and I don’t really get the chance to do much exploring. It comes with the job, I guess,” he said lightheartedly.

-“Oh, of course, that was insensitive of me.” replied YN, appearing troubled. “Of course you haven’t either, especially with how likely you are to get flash mobbed. Sorry if that bothered you in any way!”

Her reply shocked Chris. Although he thought it was very empathetic and observant of her, it did throw him off guard. He found it endearing.

-“Not at all, why would you say that? I mean, sure, it’s bothersome sometimes, but for that I get to live the way I do, so no need for you to apologize!”

That’s when Lee Know chimed in, a little drunk but just as appealing. “Well, don’t let this ahjussi kill the mood for you. How about we show you a little around the city? Our manager hyungs will be driving us back to the dorm. I’m sure a little detour wouldn’t harm anyone, and we’ll show you around Seoul. Maybe little old Bang Chan can enjoy the views a bit too!”

YN giggled, amused by Lee Know’s offer, which was then doubled by Han, who tagged along, a little tipsy himself, saying, “Yeah, yeah, YN, don’t be so wound up. We’ve got two vans lined up for us. We can give you a ride back to your place. You can at least see a little on the way.”

YN didn’t see any point in refusing. She didn’t have her international driving permit yet and was relying on ride sharing apps to get from the company to the small apartment she’d gotten after signing the contract. “Sure, why not, as long as neither of you is driving!” she chuckled.

Chris felt a little joyful knowing that he was going on a sort of mini road trip with YN. He felt weird, even childish about his joy, but accepted it nonetheless. The girl was nice, pretty, and talented. It made sense if he felt a tad bit attracted to her.

As it was time to depart, the members were loading the vans, and Chris, while busy discussing plans for an upcoming schedule, overheard someone offering the front passenger seat to YN as if it were a throne, so she could enjoy the views some more.

The members were all a little drunk except for Chris, who hadn’t drunk anything alcoholic, much like YN. He decided to sit behind her. The managers were driving, and he felt a bit relieved that they weren’t also drunk, sparing him from carrying the weight of being YN’s first tour guide in Seoul.

The city’s lights passed the car windows, flickering and unfamiliar to both of them. For a moment, everything felt oddly familiar, the hum of the engine, the glow of the streets, the quiet chatter and occasional giggle from the members, and the quiet awe in her eyes reflected in the side-view mirror. No one could expect how life could tilt in a matter of moments.