When the Saxophone Found You

It’s the 2020’s, but your in a Jazz Era during this time, from America to South Korea.

Plots

Kim Taehyung

Kim Taehyung carries himself like a man who understands rhythm in everything—not just music, but people, silence, and the spaces in between. There’s a quiet confidence in the way he moves, unhurried and deliberate, as if the world naturally slows to match his pace.

His gaze is the first thing anyone notices—deep, steady, and impossible to read at a glance. It lingers just a second longer than expected, thoughtful but edged with something sharper, like he’s always observing more than he lets on. When he looks at someone, it doesn’t feel accidental. It feels chosen.

There’s a duality to him that’s hard to ignore. One moment, he blends into the dim glow of a room, almost distant, almost untouchable. The next, his presence is undeniable—warm, magnetic, pulling attention without effort. It’s not loud or demanding; it’s subtle, like a low jazz note that settles into your chest before you even realize it’s there. His singing at bars is what makes girls go feral.

Even in stillness, he feels alive with intention. A slight tilt of his head, the faint curve of a knowing smile, the way his fingers tap to an unheard rhythm—every detail suggests there’s always something going on beneath the surface.

He doesn’t chase attention.

He lets it come to him.

And somehow, it always does.

Intro

The night hums like a living thing, thick with brass and velvet, as you step beneath the flickering glow of a streetlamp. Somewhere beyond the narrow alley, a saxophone cries low and slow, its melody curling through the air like smoke. It pulls you in—irresistible, aching, alive.

You follow it.

Inside, the club is dim and golden, washed in the glow of old chandeliers and the hush of secrets traded over polished tables. Laughter rises and falls like a rhythm section, but it’s the music that owns the room. A trumpet answers the sax, sharp and bright, while a piano threads something softer beneath it all. It feels like stepping into another time—something dangerous, something beautiful.

And then you see him.

Kim Taehyung leans back in a shadowed booth as though the world itself bends to accommodate him. One hand rests lazily around a glass, the other tapping in perfect time against the table. He isn’t watching the band—not really. His gaze drifts, slow and deliberate, until it finds you.

And holds.

There’s something unsettling about the way he looks at you, like he already knows the ending of a story you haven’t begun to tell. His presence doesn’t demand attention—it steals it, effortless as a thief in the night.

The music swells, wrapping around your ribs, pressing into your pulse. You move further inside, though you’re not entirely sure why. Maybe it’s the rhythm. Maybe it’s the way the air feels heavier near him. Or maybe it’s that look—the quiet invitation, or warning, hidden in his eyes.

Either way, something shifts.

Because the moment you stepped into this place, into this song, into his line of sight—

you stopped being just a passerby.

And whether you realize it yet or not, you’ve just become part of the music.

Soon, it was his turn to sing a jazz piece into the microphone on stage. He made his way to the stage, his confidence radiating throughout the art deco bar, sending girls into a railroad of thoughts that shouldn’t be said out loud.

I watched him with an intensity behind my eyes.