My Rival Musician Moved Into My Studio, And We Ended Up Making More Than Just Art

The polished wood floor was cool beneath the balls of his feet. Hyunjin held his position, arms extended, his gaze fixed on his own reflection in the wall of mirrors. Every line was precise, every muscle held in a state of controlled tension. Here, in the quiet hum of his studio, the world outside ceased to exist. There was only the music—a soft, melancholic piano piece—and the story his body was trying to tell. This was his sanctuary, a space as meticulously curated as the charcoal lines in the sketches for his upcoming exhibition, which were pinned carefully to a board in the far corner. The two projects consumed him, two halves of the same soul-baring expression: the fluid, ephemeral shapes of his dance and the stark, permanent emotion of his art.

A sudden, booming laugh echoed from the hallway, followed by the clatter of something heavy being dropped. Hyunjin flinched, his focus shattering like glass. The sound was a physical violation, a garish splash of color on his monochrome canvas. He lowered his arms, a deep frown pulling at his lips. The owner of the building had mentioned someone was renting the vacant studio next door, but he hadn't expected the intrusion to be so… loud.

Before he could reclaim his concentration, a sharp, enthusiastic rap sounded on his door. It wasn’t a polite inquiry; it was an announcement. Hyunjin sighed, the breath leaving his body in a rush of pure irritation. He crossed the floor, his bare feet silent, and pulled the door open just enough to see who was responsible for the disruption.

The man standing there was the human equivalent of a sunbeam. He was shorter than Hyunjin, with a spray of freckles across his nose and cheeks and a smile so wide and bright it seemed to generate its own light. He was wrestling with a large cardboard box, and when he saw Hyunjin, his smile somehow widened.

“G’day!” The voice that came out of him was a complete contradiction to his cheerful appearance. It was deep, a resonant bass that seemed to vibrate in Hyunjin’s own chest. “Sorry for the noise. Just moving in next door. I’m Felix.”

He shifted the box, trying to extend a hand, before giving up with a sheepish laugh. Hyunjin just stared, his mind struggling to reconcile the bright energy with the deep, velvety tone.

“Hyunjin,” he said, his own voice sounding thin and flat in comparison. He made no move to help with the box.

“Hyunjin! Cool name,” Felix beamed. “This is a great spot, right? The landlord said you’re a dancer? That’s awesome. I’m a music producer.”

Each word was a new wave of energy crashing against Hyunjin’s carefully constructed walls. He felt an overwhelming urge to close the door, to shut out the brightness and the impossibly deep voice. He settled for a clipped nod. “Yes. I was practicing.”

The hint was as subtle as a brick, but Felix seemed to catch it. “Oh! Right. Sorry, man. I’ll let you get back to it. Hey, maybe I’ll see you around!”

With a final, dazzling smile, Felix hefted his box and disappeared into the studio next to his. Hyunjin slowly closed the door, the latch clicking shut with a sound of finality. He leaned his forehead against the cool wood, his peace utterly fractured. The silence that returned to the room felt different now, heavy with the memory of a voice too deep and a smile too bright.

He took a deep breath, pushing the encounter from his mind, and returned to the center of the floor. He lifted his arms again, restarting the piano track from the beginning. The first few notes filled the space, familiar and calming. He closed his eyes, searching for that fragile, internal world he’d inhabited just minutes before. He found the rhythm, letting his body sink into the opening pose.

Then it started.

A low, persistent thrum vibrated up through the floorboards. It was a bass line, deep and methodical. It wasn’t just a sound; it was a physical presence that settled in his bones, a foreign pulse against the delicate melody of the piano. Hyunjin’s jaw tightened. He tried to push through it, to let the piano guide him, but the bass was a relentless undercurrent, muddying the clean lines of the music. His turn was a fraction too slow, his landing heavier than it should have been. The beat from next door was insistent, pulling his own body’s rhythm out of sync.

He stopped, glaring at the shared wall as if his stare could somehow penetrate the drywall and silence the noise. He scrubbed a hand over his face in frustration. This was impossible. How was he supposed to choreograph a piece about quiet sorrow when a nightclub seemed to have opened next door?

As if in answer, the bassline was joined by something else. A voice. Felix’s voice.

It wasn’t loud, just a snippet of a melody hummed low and smooth, followed by a few words in English, sung in that same deep, resonant tone he’d heard in the hallway. The sound cut through the annoying throb of the bass with surprising clarity. It was rich, layered with a warmth that seemed entirely at odds with the electronic beat it accompanied. Hyunjin found himself standing perfectly still, his head tilted, straining to hear more.

He caught another phrase, a melancholic lilt to the words that he hadn't expected. The voice was like dark honey, and for a disorienting moment, Hyunjin forgot to be angry. He was simply captivated. There was a raw, unfinished quality to the sound, a vulnerability in it that resonated with the very emotions he was trying to capture in his dance. The irritation was still there, a hot coil in his stomach, but now it was tangled with an unwilling curiosity.

He shook his head, trying to clear it. He was a professional. He would not be distracted. He walked over to his sound system and turned the piano music up, the volume now uncomfortably loud in the studio. He started the sequence again, moving with a forced, aggressive precision. But it was no use. The bass from Felix’s studio still pulsed beneath the piano keys, and worse, the ghost of that deep voice echoed in his mind, a far more potent disruption than any simple beat could ever be.

After a full hour of this auditory assault, Hyunjin gave up. Sweat dripped down his temples, born not of exertion but of pure, unadulterated frustration. The piano piece was ruined, its delicate structure bludgeoned by the relentless, invasive beat from next door. Every muscle in his body was coiled tight with anger. He couldn’t work like this. He couldn’t think.

He strode across the studio, his bare feet slapping against the wood with sharp, furious sounds. He didn't bother to put on shoes. He yanked his door open and crossed the short distance of the hallway in three long strides, his knuckles rapping hard against Felix’s door.

The bass continued, unabated. He didn’t hear.

Hyunjin knocked again, harder this time, the sound swallowed by a percussive synth that had just joined the mix. A hot flush of rage crept up his neck. Fine. He gripped the cool metal of the handle and turned. It was unlocked. He pushed the door open, a cutting remark about professional courtesy already forming on his lips.

The words evaporated. The room was dark, a stark contrast to his own bright, open space. The only light came from the glow of several computer monitors, casting Felix’s face in shifting shades of blue and green. He wasn't smiling. His headphones were clamped over his ears, and his brow was deeply furrowed in a V of intense concentration. One hand rested on a keyboard, fingers tapping out a silent rhythm, while the other hovered over a complex-looking mixing board, his thumb and forefinger making infinitesimal adjustments to a single dial. He was completely lost, submerged in his own world of sound.

Hyunjin stood frozen in the doorway, watching him. He recognized the look on Felix’s face. It was the same expression he saw in his own reflection when he was wrestling with a difficult piece of choreography, the same razor-sharp focus he felt when a charcoal sketch refused to yield the emotion he was trying to capture. This wasn't carelessness; it was creation. The raw passion radiating from Felix was so potent, so familiar, that Hyunjin’s anger simply deflated, leaving behind a hollow space filled with a strange, reluctant understanding.

He cleared his throat softly.

Felix jumped, spinning around in his chair with a startled gasp. He ripped his headphones off, his hair sticking up in several directions. "Oh! Hey," he said, his deep voice slightly breathless. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the figure in the doorway. "Sorry, I was in the zone. Didn't hear you knock."

Hyunjin found he couldn't form the complaint he had come to make. The demand for quiet felt churlish now, disrespectful. Instead, he gestured awkwardly toward the speakers, from which the complex beat still pulsed at a lower volume. "The track," he began, his voice stiff. "The bass and the vocals... they're very distinct."

The effect on Felix was instantaneous. The residual startle in his eyes vanished, replaced by a brilliant, incandescent enthusiasm. His entire posture changed, leaning forward eagerly as if Hyunjin had just shared a profound secret. "You noticed that? Yes! That's what I've been working on for the last hour. It’s all about sidechain compression." He swiveled back to his monitor, pointing at a screen filled with pulsing, jagged lines of color. "You see, I link the vocal track to the bassline's compressor. So every time the vocal hits, it momentarily ducks the bass frequency, just by a few decibels. It’s not enough for you to consciously hear the dip, but it carves out this perfect pocket of space in the mix. It makes the voice feel like it's floating right on top of the beat instead of fighting with it. It feels cleaner, you know?"

Felix looked back at him, his face completely alight with passion, freckles stark under the glow of the screen. He spoke with an infectious zeal, his hands moving to illustrate the invisible architecture of the sound. Hyunjin just stared, understanding perhaps half of the words but all of the fierce, artistic devotion behind them. The noise that had been an irritation just moments before was now reframed, revealed as a meticulous, deliberate craft. He gave a slow, small nod. The complaint was utterly forgotten.