Euphony Trio: Encore

The studio was immaculate.

Polished white walls, sleek black floor tiles that reflected every overhead light. Neon accents traced along the control panels like a sci-fi setpiece. Everything looked expensive. Everything was expensive. The kind of place where sound was perfected, not discovered. Where nothing happened by accident — and nothing truly felt alive.

Zane adjusted his in-ears as the track loaded.The rose-gold edge caught the light — subtle, but unmistakable.The case had said "For the next stage. — Euphony Trio."

He remembered Sunny's smile. The weight of her hug. The feel of her lips at the station.

And now, here he was.Wearing the gift they gave him while singing someone else's words.His movements were mechanical. Precise. Familiar.

But none of this felt like his.

"Alright," the producer's voice crackled through the intercom. "Take it from the bridge. You're killing it, Zane."

He gave a nod. A thumbs-up. The kind of polite smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

The music swelled in his ears — a synth-heavy chorus with an over-compressed beat that sounded like it had been dragged through three rounds of AI polishing. The lyrics appeared on the screen beside him. He hadn't written a single word of them.

Still, he stepped up to the mic.

The red light blinked on.

He sang.

His voice was clean. Crisp. Perfectly on pitch.

It didn't mean anything.

Line after line spilled out — catchy, well-crafted, technically impressive. Words about status, streaming stats, weekend parties in the hills, and some metaphor about gold chains and digital hearts. But none of it felt like him. It felt like watching a mannequin move. Like someone else using his vocal cords while he stood in the back, just… watching.

And he hated that it sounded good.

Because it meant no one would question it. No one would ask what he really wanted to say.

The track ended.

"Nice," the engineer said, half-distracted as he toggled something on the board. "Real smooth. You nailed that run near the end."

"Thanks," Zane murmured, already pulling out his in-ears.

"Mind running that last chorus again?" the producer called out. "We'll punch in a few variations. Just for safety."

Zane nodded again. He didn't know who he was nodding for anymore.

People moved around him. Talking. Laughing. Praising.

He sat back on the bench inside the booth, letting them work.

The soundproof glass separated him from the control room — a wall of silence between them. On the other side, his manager was scrolling through emails. Someone from marketing was adjusting a camera. The engineer was asking the producer about dinner plans.

No one was looking at him.

And in the glass, he could see his own reflection.

Expression neutral. Shoulders tense. Eyes hollow.

He hadn't texted Sunny in a month.

Not since the rushed phone call. Not since the label brought him out here and started filling his calendar with "opportunities." He told himself he'd message her when things calmed down. When he had something real to say. But the longer he waited… the harder it became.

What could he even say?

"Hey, I miss you, but I don't know how to be me in this world they've built for me."

Yeah. That'd go over great.

The track loaded again.

The light above him blinked red.

He opened his mouth.

Sang again.

And when it ended — when the beat cut out and the room fell quiet — Zane just stood there.

Not moving.

Not breathing.

The silence after the track was the loudest thing he'd heard all day.

---

Sunny had been out more than usual lately.

Not because she wanted to be. Not because she was suddenly in the mood for cafés and walks and ramen shops at golden hour.

But because she kept getting invited.

Specifically — invited by Amelia. And always in the kind of texts that started with "group hangout?" or "Nico's around if you're free — no pressure!" The kind of invites that looked casual on the surface… but started feeling less and less random the more they piled up.

Two weeks ago, it had been the café. Then a night at the planetarium. Then a stroll through the market when it rained. Then ramen. Then thrift shops. Then more ramen.

Always "a few of us."

But it was always the same few: Amelia. Nico. Sunny.

---

And lately… Amber.

She hadn't been part of the original plan, but she was impossible to uninvite. Not that Sunny ever would — her half-sister had simply moved in like she belonged, parked her helmet by the door, and made herself part of the rhythm.

And Amber didn't hover. She observed. She offered commentary. She leaned against lampposts and said things like "Vibe check: he's still trying" under her breath while sipping iced tea.

She tagged along because she wanted to. Or maybe because, like Sunny, she didn't want to be left alone with her thoughts.

Even Axel and Laura had joined once, when the group outing accidentally ballooned into a rooftop hang.

Amber had clicked with Axel right away. Music, of course. They swapped stories about gear and gigs, teased each other about tempo habits and bad stage lights. Axel grinned when she mentioned producing her own stuff — said she had guts. Amber smirked and called him "old-school charming."

But Laura?

Amber held back.

She didn't know why, exactly. Just… something about Laura's posture, her eyes, the way she laughed like it was scripted and smiled like she was checking a box. It wasn't fake. But it wasn't whole, either.

Amber didn't push. But she noticed.

Especially the way Axel stood near Laura without drawing attention to it. Always a little closer. Always positioned slightly toward her, like a buffer she didn't ask for but needed.

Amber could see it.Laura wasn't okay.She just looked okay.

So she kept her teasing light. No jabs. No pushing buttons.Just watched. Just listened.

---

And in that same quiet way… so did Nico.

He never made a move on Sunny. Never said anything inappropriate. Never flirted, not really.

But he always pulled out a second chair before she even sat down.

He always noticed when her umbrella flipped inside out and silently shared his.

He remembered her drink orders — not just what she liked, but how she liked it: half-sweet, light ice, extra foam.

He gave her space — but was never far away.

He never texted her late. Never sent hearts. Never dropped compliments that sounded rehearsed. He didn't ask her to talk about Zane. Didn't ask to fill that space.

He just… showed up. Again and again. Like he was waiting for a door she didn't know she'd locked.

And somehow, that was worse.

Sunny wasn't certain about Nico's intentions.But she wasn't uncertain either.

She liked Nico. He was kind, warm, and naturally funny in a way that made rooms relax around him. He didn't try too hard. He just was. Easy to be around. The kind of guy who made people feel safe.

And she liked being liked — who didn't?

But she didn't want to string him along. She didn't want to hurt him. And she didn't want to read into things that weren't there.

Still, some days… when her chest ached with silence, when she stared at her phone and wondered what she was waiting for…

It was easy to let the kindness in. Just a little.

---

Amelia noticed. Of course she noticed.

She wasn't blind, and she definitely wasn't stupid. She saw the glances. The shared smiles. The way Nico always seemed to drift just a little closer to Sunny when they walked. The way his voice got softer around her — not flirtatious, just… attentive. Like everything she said was worth hearing.

She saw the dumpling thing, too. That moment when there was one left — always one — and Nico just handed it to Sunny without asking. No jokes, no dramatics. Just a quiet, "You take it."

At first, Amelia panicked.Internally screamed."Absolutely not. No triangles. Please."

She had no energy for messy love dramas, not with everything else going on. And she liked her peaceful, simple balance with Sunny. They were close — family-close. Heart-close. The kind of friendship that built its roots deep. Amelia wasn't ready to complicate that with romantic entanglements, especially not ones that involved her own brother.

But… after a few hangouts, the panic faded.

And something softer crept in.

Hope, maybe.

Or curiosity.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

She'd always seen Sunny as family. Already called her that sometimes without thinking. Sunny had been there for birthdays, for late-night baking experiments, for holiday movie nights and laugh-till-you-snort game nights.

But then Amber showed up.

And suddenly, Amelia felt… outsided.

Not by anything anyone said or did. Amber was nice enough. Chill. Bold, in a way that made her seem untouchable. But she had something Amelia didn't — history. Shared blood. A messy, complicated, undeniable link.

And just like that, Amelia's place in Sunny's life felt… optional.

She hated feeling like a third wheel to a sisterhood she hadn't signed up to compete with.

She didn't say anything. She didn't even fully understand it. But the sting was there, somewhere behind her smile.

What if she'd never really belonged? What if she was only borrowed family, while Amber was the real thing?

But…

If Sunny dated Nico…

Well. That would even things out, wouldn't it?

She'd be Sunny's sister-in-law.

Amelia smirked a little every time the word floated through her head.Let's see Amber top that.

Besides, maybe it would convince her ridiculously elusive, passport-stamping brother to finally stay in one place for once. To stop breezing through town like a guest star and pretending that occassional check-ins were the same as being present.

Maybe if he had someone like Sunny — grounded, bright, honest — he'd stop running.

It wasn't matchmaking, exactly.

She wasn't pushing. Not really.

But she also wasn't not helping.

She sent those "group hangout" texts for a reason.She made sure Nico and Sunny sat next to each other when she could.She offered to take the fourth seat… and then "got caught up" browsing records. Or wandering off to buy bubble tea. Or texting from two tables away.

She watched, quietly, as something unspoken simmered in the silence between them.

And though she wouldn't admit it out loud…

She'd been calling Sunny her sister for years.

Maybe it was time to make it official.

---

They were all out together — Sunny, Nico, Amelia, and Amber — seated under a strip of string lights outside a low-key ramen bar on the corner of Amber's new favorite street. Music from a nearby vinyl shop filtered into the alley, mixed with the sound of clinking bowls and casual laughter. The sky was a soft bruise of indigo, and the city had just started to settle into its nighttime rhythm.

Sunny was mid-laugh, sipping from her soda. Nico sat across from her, angled slightly forward, one elbow on the table, smiling like she was the only one he could see.

And of course, Amelia noticed.

She always noticed.

Her internal alarms were already firing as she leaned back in her chair, glancing toward the alley. "I need to take this," she lied smoothly, tapping her phone even though it hadn't buzzed. "Be right back."

Sunny barely glanced up. Amber raised a brow.

Amelia walked off casually — far too casually — then ducked behind the wooden divider at the end of the patio, just out of sight. She didn't even look at her phone. She slipped off her heels with military precision, crouched behind a planter box, and pulled out a pair of sunglasses from her tote like they were spy goggles.

"Operation: Emotional Damage Prevention," she whispered.

Amber blinked slowly. Unimpressed. She had seen this movie before.

This was the fourth "call" Amelia had "taken" in two weeks.

It was always at conveniently suspicious moments — always when Sunny and Nico started laughing a little too long or leaning in a little too close. Always when things got quiet and sweet.

Amber rose from her seat and stretched with a cat-like yawn. "Gonna take a quick walk," she said.

Nico gave a little wave, distracted. Sunny smiled at her, then turned back to Nico with a quiet question about old music videos.

Amber stepped around the corner.

She found Amelia crouched behind a mural-painted utility box, phone turned face-down beside her, smoothie in one hand, peeking through the wooden slats.

Amber folded her arms. Waited. A full ten seconds passed before she said, dryly—

"You know, if you're going to spy on your brother, at least try not to be obvious about it."

Amelia jolted, knocking over her smoothie. "Jesus—!"

She turned, eyes wide. "Could you not sneak up on people like that?"

Amber shrugged, leaning against the wall. "I wasn't sneaking. You're just bad at surveillance."

Amelia scowled, brushing smoothie droplets off her jeans. "Whatever."

Amber tilted her head, gaze sharp. "What exactly are you hoping to catch?"

Amelia glanced through the slats again. "Nothing. Just… making sure things stay innocent."

Amber raised an eyebrow. "So you are watching."

Amelia sighed, finally standing. "Okay, fine. I'm making sure Sunny doesn't fall for someone again who's gonna leave her a mess."

Amber crossed her arms. "That's rich. Coming from the girl who's practically setting her up with your brother."

Amelia's lips twitched. "Nico's different."

Amber's voice flattened. "Is he."

"She needs someone stable. Who's here. Who shows up. Not someone who disappears for weeks and only calls when it's convenient." Amelia's jaw clenched. "Zane's not who she thinks he is. I saw it with my own eyes."

Amber looked at her. "You mean the kiss?"

Amelia hesitated. "…You know about that?"

"Sunny told me," Amber said. "Eventually."

That made Amelia pause.

Amber looked away, her tone quieter now. "She said he didn't pull away. That he just stood there. Like he didn't know what to do."

"He didn't," Amelia snapped. "He froze. Like a deer in headlights."

Amber turned back to her. "So? Freezing isn't the same as cheating."

Amelia narrowed her eyes. "He didn't tell her until I convinced him to. And what kind of boyfriend lets someone kiss them without stopping it? Without warning the girl he's with about what's really happening?"

Amber didn't answer right away.

So Amelia pressed. "You've seen it too, haven't you? How distant he's been. How he hasn't texted in weeks. Sunny keeps making excuses for him, but we both know she's hurting."

Amber exhaled. "Yeah. I've seen it."

Amelia softened slightly. "She deserves better."

Amber met her gaze. "I agree."

A beat.

"But that," Amber added, "doesn't mean you get to decide who she loves."

"I'm not deciding," Amelia said. "I'm giving her options."

Amber arched a brow. "Like pushing Nico into frame every time Zane's not around?"

Amelia didn't answer.

Amber stepped a little closer, voice dropping. "Let's be real. You're not doing this just for Sunny. You're doing this for you."

That hit harder than it should've.

"You're scared," Amber continued, "that if she and Zane work it out — if he becomes her person — then maybe you're not her closest person anymore. And if I'm in her life too…" She paused. "That makes you third."

Amelia's throat tightened.

Amber took a breath. "I'm not here to compete with you. But don't weaponize your brother just to keep your spot."

Oof.

Amelia stepped back, blinking hard. "You really think I'd use Nico like that?"

Amber shrugged. "I think you love your friend. And I think sometimes, love makes us territorial."

Another beat passed.

Then Amber said quietly—

"Zane messed up. Yeah. But I don't think he meant to. And I don't think we get to decide how someone makes up for that."

Amelia looked away. "You don't know what it was like. Watching Sunny smile in that boutique while he was—"

"I know," Amber said. "And I'm not excusing him. But maybe give him a chance to explain. Or better — let Sunny decide what she wants."

Amelia was silent for a long moment.

Then she mumbled, "She deserves someone who won't hurt her."

"She deserves someone who sees her," Amber said. "Who listens. Who stays. If that ends up being Nico? Fine. But don't twist the knife just to make it happen faster."

They both stared at the wall of the ramen shop for a while.

Then Amber smirked a little. "Also? You should get better at hiding."

Amelia blinked.

Amber nodded at the corner. "Pretty sure Nico spotted you ten minutes ago. He's just too polite to say anything."

"…shit."

---

Sunny sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor, her notebook resting against her knees, pen twirling absentmindedly between her fingers.

The room was still — warm with late afternoon light, silent except for the faint hum of her laptop fan. Her small mic setup blinked in standby beside her desk. A half-empty mug of something lukewarm sat forgotten nearby.

She'd been here for hours.

The page was messy. Scribbles. Crossed-out lines. Ink smudges where her wrist had leaned too long on words she wasn't sure she meant.

She was trying to write a love song.

Something honest.

Something… real.

But nothing felt right.

One line stared back at her like a confession:

"My heart's still beating in two directions, and neither feels like home."

Sunny exhaled slowly, pressing the pen tip into the paper until it threatened to pierce through.

She didn't know how to finish the verse. She didn't even know if she wanted to.

She'd thought about asking Laura or Axel for help — just to build chords around her melody. But it felt too vulnerable. Too raw. The kind of song that couldn't be shaped in front of someone else.

She hadn't even told them she'd started writing again. Not this kind of writing.

They all knew Zane had left. That he hadn't been messaging much. That he was busy.

But this?This was different. This was her trying to feel through it. Alone.

Her headphones sat abandoned beside her, recording session paused mid-take. She'd tried singing earlier — whispered into the mic, bare vocals only. The notes were shaky. Not because she couldn't sing them, but because she didn't believe them.

Love songs were supposed to hold certainty. This one didn't.

She pulled her knees to her chest, burying her face in her arms.

And for the first time in weeks — she cried.

Not loud. Not dramatic.

Just quiet tears, leaking into the fabric of her sleeves.

---

She didn't hear the knock.

Didn't hear the door creak open.

Amber stood in the doorway, hesitating. She glanced around, brows drawing slightly together. "Hey…" she said gently. "I thought I left my hair stick in here."

Sunny flinched, wiping at her face quickly. "Oh—yeah, um. Come in. I don't think I saw it, but…"

Amber stepped inside slowly, her eyes sweeping the room. She let the silence linger, not pushing.

Sunny went back to her notebook, flustered, half-trying to cover the page with her arm.

But Amber had already seen it.

Just enough.

She tilted her head slightly, reading the few visible lines — the kind you don't mean for anyone to read but somehow still write in glitter gel pen.

"I miss you in places I never invited you into.""Was it love, or just loud timing?"

Amber didn't say anything right away. She could've teased her. Could've brushed it off.

Instead, she sat down beside her on the floor, leaving space between them.

The room felt still again. Like a breath that hadn't fully been exhaled.

Finally, Amber broke the silence.

"It's okay not to know what you're feeling."

Sunny looked down at her notebook. "I didn't mean for you to see that."

"I know," Amber said. "But I'm glad I did."

Sunny tried to smile. It wobbled.

"I've been trying to write something," she admitted. "A song. Just for me. Not for the group. But… I keep stopping."

Amber glanced at the mic setup. "Because it hurts?"

Sunny nodded slowly. "Yeah. And also because I don't know what's true anymore."

Another pause.

Then Sunny added, quieter, "I think I'm scared of finishing it. Because if I do… it means the feeling's real. That we're really… drifting."

Amber looked at her for a long time, then nodded — understanding blooming in her eyes like a tide coming in.

"You don't have to finish it today," she said softly. "Or tomorrow. But if you ever do, I think it's going to be beautiful. Even if it hurts."

Sunny blinked fast again. "You think so?"

Amber smiled, faint but firm. "You're writing from a place most people run away from. That takes guts."

They sat there together a little longer — not speaking, just letting the quiet fill the space.

Eventually, when Amber stood to leave, she didn't ask more questions. She just paused at the doorway and turned back.

"Hey, Sunny?"

"Yeah?"

Amber held her gaze.

"You don't have to figure out your heart alone. But if you want to? That's okay too."

And then she was gone.

Sunny stared at the notebook.

And for the first time in days, she didn't turn the page over to hide it.

---

The apartment was quiet.

Golden hour filtered through the curtains in soft streaks, catching on the specks of dust that hung in the still air. The TV was off. No music. Just the hum of the fridge and the faint sound of traffic below.

Amber was half-curled on the pull-out couch, flicking through something on her phone, but not really seeing it. She still hadn't folded the bed away. It had become her unofficial space now — soft with Sunny's old blankets, faintly smelling of lavender and laundry sheets.

Sunny stood nearby, uncertain. For a second, she almost turned around. But then she stepped forward, barefoot, and sat down on the edge of the mattress.

"Amber... can we talk?"

Amber glanced up. Her expression softened when she saw the look on Sunny's face — red-rimmed eyes, voice a little too fragile.

"Yeah," she said, sitting up straighter. "Of course."

Sunny twisted her fingers in her lap.

"…Do you have any idea why your mom and my dad split?"

Amber blinked. That wasn't the question she'd been expecting.

"I mean…" she exhaled slowly, setting her phone down. "She told me some things. That he was quiet. Restless. That he'd go long stretches without calling. That he used to say he'd come back… but stopped showing up."

She paused, watching Sunny carefully.

"…Why?"

Sunny didn't answer right away. She just stared at the coffee table — at the dent where she'd once dropped her old mic stand, back when things were simpler. Back when she and Zane would sit here and eat takeout and talk about their future like it was a given.

"Sometimes I wonder if people just… leave," she said softly. "And don't come back. Not because they're cruel. Just because... they forget how to stay."

Amber didn't say anything.

Sunny glanced at her. "He hasn't texted me in a month. Just called once, two weeks ago. Said the studio's been crazy, deadlines piling up. Told me he misses me, but…" Her voice trailed off. "It felt like he was trying to keep the door open without actually stepping through it."

Amber leaned back slowly, resting her arms on her knees.

"I get it," she said after a while. "I didn't just come here for you, y'know."

Sunny looked up.

Amber gave a faint smile — not smug this time. Just tired. "I told myself it was about family, or curiosity, or whatever. But I was burnt out too. The shows, the expectations. The online noise. All of it. It was too much. I needed somewhere quiet."

She met Sunny's gaze.

"And you looked free on stage. Back when I saw that clip of you. Free and… unafraid. That's what I wanted."

Sunny let out a hollow laugh. "I don't feel free anymore."

Amber nodded, the air thick between them.

For the first time, there were no walls. No posturing. No "big sister" smirks or soft-spoken politeness.

Just two girls. Sitting on a fold-out bed. Admitting they were tired.

Amber nudged her knee gently. "He might come back. He might not. But you'll still be here. And you're not doing it alone, okay?"

Sunny didn't trust herself to speak. She just nodded, eyes stinging.

And for the first time in days, she leaned her head on someone's shoulder.

Amber didn't move away.

---

The studio doors hissed shut behind him, muffling the synthetic bass still echoing in his skull. Outside, the city was neon-lit and wet from a light drizzle. It smelled like concrete, cab exhaust, and something vaguely fried.

Zane adjusted his jacket as his manager caught up beside him, clipboard in hand.

"We're set for next Thursday in Seoul. Friday's the label dinner, don't forget to prep for those talking points— Oh, and we'll need your approval on the concept drafts tonight if we want the teaser—"

Zane nodded absently. He wasn't listening.

They reached the black car waiting by the curb. His manager opened the door, still talking, but Zane slid in without a word, pulling the door shut behind him like a curtain.

Inside, it was dim. Padded silence. Only the low hum of tires against wet pavement.

He pulled out his phone.

One new message from Sunny.

Just a simple:"Hope you're resting. Thought of you when I passed the ramen cart today."

He stared at it.

Didn't open it.

Didn't reply.

Instead, he tapped over to the voice recorder. Held the phone to his mouth, hesitated. A beat. Two.

Then he pressed record.

A silence, like he wasn't sure how to begin. Then — barely audible — a start:

"Sunny…"

He stopped. His jaw clenched. Deleted it.

Again.

---

The car turned down another street. Lights smeared across the window like watercolor. He leaned his head against the glass, his reflection faint and unfamiliar.

The driver said something up front — Zane didn't hear it. Didn't care.

The city blurred past, but inside the car, everything felt still.

And in his chest…even quieter.