Chapter 3
THREE
SILVER SPRINGS - FLEETWOOD MAC
“Your cat’s name is butt?”
Cal Ahn’s Hannam apartment with the ridiculously expensive jeonse was a three-bedroom, two-bath.
Huge for one person, but snug enough for three.
The house was cozy, if a little cold. Either Cal hadn’t fully locked in the style yet, or he was intentionally going for a minimalist Japanese look, with soft textures on the lighting shades and a couch that Lia would have been happy to sleep on, but little else.
The only other big furniture piece in the house was the media area in the living space, with a massive TV, three different gaming consoles, a collection of games (he still bought cartridges, which Lia found endearing), and the previously promised record collection with the record player and speakers.
But then again, what else would you put in a house that had the most stunning view? It really was different up on these hills, looking out into the city, to the river, and the mountains way beyond that.
He had three bedrooms: two on the right side, along a hallway with a shared bathroom, and one at the end of the hall, which Lia presumed was the master.
She had an odd feeling that her space wasn’t usually a bedroom—there was something about a particular scratch on the wall that told her something had been hastily moved.
But as Cal had promised, her bedsheets were new. So was the bed. And the towels.
The bed took up most of the space, but there were also albums lined up like books on a shelf behind the bed—most of them from idols Lia recognized, some she didn’t, and all of them signed with a personal message.
There was a standing lamp with a rice paper frame, a small wardrobe (also new?
it had a new smell that maybe Lia was imagining), and a little wind chime made of glass balls hanging by the window.
Not a bad place to hide away in.
And she’d looked out of her window and felt…comforted by the change of scenery. There was an unreal, picturesque quality to it. Something different, something new. As temporary as this was, it made the ache in her chest ease a bit.
She checked her phone as she had been since she set her appointment, glancing at the calendar notification just to make sure it was still there.
Scheduled therapy session, tomorrow at 10am.
Her first in a year. She hadn’t told either of her siblings about it, and beyond them, there was no one else to tell.
Because nobody cares, and now you have to pay someone to talk to you about it. A voice in her head said, and Lia frowned, nipping the thought in the bud.
There was a knock on her door, and she jumped back in surprise. Right. Korea. Cal’s house.
“Um…yes?” she asked. Soobin’s head popped into the room, dimples on both his cheeks as he smiled.
“We have lunch?” He asked politely, and Lia could hear laughter float from the living room behind him. Lia slipped her house slippers back on and followed Soobin to the living room, assuming they were heading out.
But, to her surprise, there was food on the coffee table—an array of side dishes from open Tupperware containers, kimchi, cubes of radish, flavored fried chicken and bowls of rice for each of them.
Lia would later learn that Soobin was a great cook, but was terrible at portion control.
Banchan always eventually ended up at the other members’ houses.
“Deonggi is affectionate!” Cal was explaining to Teddy. “Like calling your best friend ‘hoy panget,’ when you see them.”
“Pang-et,” Siwan repeated, laughing.
“Chingoo! Come sit with us,” Soobin exclaimed, and Lia had to pause to contain her kilig at Soobin referring to her as a ‘same-aged friend.’
It was nice and comfortable, and wherever they ordered chicken from deserved all the customers, because it was really delicious.
She did her best not to say much, partly because she was tired, but mostly because she just liked watching CoBOLT interact—they liked to tease but they were clearly proud of each other’s achievements (Soobin was going for a new role, and was asking his hyungs’ help with some of the English) and loved to talk about music with Teddy, fighting over the music controls to show off their favorites.
They ended up with Lia and Teddy sitting on the high stools by the kitchen island, Soobin washing utensils, Siwan cutting cake and Cal making coffee.
“Minseo hyung is kind of set in his ways, I agree,” Cal was saying—Lia definitely hadn’t been distracted watching him work his espresso machine like an expert.
Nor had she wanted to curl up into a ball and sob when Cal smoothly switched between Korean and English.
“But he’s been a musical director with the agency for fifteen years.
With us for ten. He kind of knows what works. ”
“Yes, but I would rather get a trainee who’s played for three years than a musical director who refuses to let us try anything new,” Siwan scoffed, speaking in English for Teddy’s benefit, she supposed.
He popped a blueberry in his mouth. “And the agency is acting like they’re doing us a favor by sending him as a sessionist. Please.
The trainers told me they were happy to turf him off to us. ”
“Is this the guy they’re getting to fill in for—” Teddy didn’t get the name in, but Lia knew who.
“I don’t think the agency actually expected us to get good at playing.” Siwan laughed in a kind of bitter, haughty way. “You heard him earlier. Pretty faces play pretty. Fuck. I can be pretty any day. Also the BOLTs like it when I bite my lip when I play, okay. I’ve seen the threads.”
“I’ll sort it out,” Cal said. “We can’t have these issues when we’re making an album.”
“No offense, hyung, but when you say ‘sort it out,’ I can’t help but think you mean ‘compromise to make everyone happy.’”
“It would help if you had a vision for it,” Teddy pointed out. “If you knew what direction the album was going to take, we would have an explanation for getting someone you actually like.”
“That sounds like really good advice.” Siwan nodded in agreement. “Don’t be so stressed, hyung. I have work outside of this. So does Soobin. We’ll be fine if this doesn’t work.”
But what about Cal? Lia wanted to ask, but decided against it.
“Teddy, you just landed today. No work for you until you guys get a good night’s sleep.” Cal smiled, passing a cup of coffee in Lia’s direction. “Milk?”
“Please,” she said, not looking him in the eye. It just didn’t seem like he wanted her to see his face—the way it darkened, the way he was trying to tamp down the thing Siwan told him not to feel.
Lia might not have seen it, but she understood it better than most. She kept her eyes on her cup and politely gave him that privacy.
The next morning was Lia’s first full day in Seoul, and the day of her therapy session.
Just like yesterday at the airport and, as with all people who have had to bear the responsibility of managing other people’s lives and schedules (just her?), she woke up early.
There was no point in sleeping in when you could be somewhere else, trying your hardest to feel a little less anxious about getting help.
The dark grey of the morning confused her because it was already 8 AM. She hadn’t closed her windows last night, and the sun was still nowhere to be found. It reminded her of waking up at 5:30 AM every day for school, having to go through the motions just so you didn’t get a demerit.
Lia moved through the motions now, but she was getting dressed for a new day in a new environment.
She was a little lost on layers, which ones she would need for the day, but that was nothing a good jacket couldn’t handle.
There was a drag to her usual morning motions, and it was hard to tell if the weight was emotional or if it was from her having 34-year old muscles.
She checked the time on her phone. Her call was scheduled for 10 AM KST, but she knew she needed time to find a nice, calm space to attend her therapy session. Taking it here at Cal’s apartment felt too weird and vulnerable, but neither did she want to be in the middle of a random cafe for it.
Was that something she could look up?
Lia quietly opened the door to the hallway. The house was seemingly still, the motion sensor lights hadn’t detected her yet. She could hear soft snores coming from Teddy’s room, and she padded to the living area in her socks, careful not to slip on the smooth floor.
She should have known something was up because the lights were all on.
But Lia didn’t fully process that someone else was in the kitchen until she heard a voice singing “Silver Springs.” At eight in the morning.
An all too familiar male voice singing about exes falling for someone else, even as you loved them hauntingly.
“’Tangina.” Lia sighed, her knees suddenly feeling weak as the Filipino urge to sing along threatened to overtake her. She took a few steps into the living area and almost slipped and fell on her donggu in surprise.
Cal was standing at his kitchen island, his back to her as he fiddled with his espresso machine.
He was also shirtless.
Which she knew was a minor detail, but tit—er—it was a very important one. The boys used to joke about how they definitely weren’t beast idols, because they didn’t dance. And Lia ten years ago didn’t care. Who cares about abs, ngek.
But apparently not anymore, because Cal’s body today was one that had been given time and patience (and protein shakes) to.
Most of his bulk was on his upper body. There was just something about the shape of his upper bicep that made her want to—nope.
Nope, she wasn’t going to go there. It was just made abundantly clear to her that God had favorites.
But whether it was Cal for his excellent body or Lia for having seen that body and being allowed to let the image of it get burned in her brain was the part she was still fuzzy on.