The doorbell rang. The sweet, sweet, amazing doorbell, and it was like someone had yelled “cut!” on a set, and the moment wasover. Cal hurried to the door to meet the delivery man he’d been expecting since he got back from picking up the bagels.
“That…is a lot of yogurt?” Lia said hesitantly. “There are—uh—less explosive ways of getting your probiotics in. Do you need erceflora? I brought a lot, Teddy gets a lot of stomachaches, so…”
“What? No, this isn’t for me, it’s for Teddy,” Cal explained quickly, hefting the box to the kitchen counter. He pulled it open with his bare hands and didn’t miss Lia looking off to the side with wide eyes as if asking a hidden camera if they caught that. Cal was trying to hide his grin as he pulled out a pot of strawberry yogurt. “Does your family have a thing with strawberries? I know strawberry yogurt is his favorite.”
“The Good Shepherd jam was the only sweet snack we were allowed as kids,” Lia explained, examining one of the many pots Cal was putting on the table. “Are you bribing him? How many pots did you get?”
“Just one box, so, twelve?” Cal said. “And yes, I am bribing him. We had a disagreement yesterday after you went to bed. Things got a little heated, and I know you’re not supposed to go to bed mad, but I didn’t calm down fast enough, so. Yogurt.”
That got her attention. Lia shifted in her seat to sit up straighter, and it was like he was looking at a completely different person. “Heated? Teddy is as calm as a turtle. What happened?”
“Not heated,” Cal corrected himself, although it was difficult to find the perfect word in your second language, much less the language you spoke brokenly as a child. “Initan?”
“That means heated.”
Teddy had been frustrated with him. As someone very conscious of how people perceived him, Cal did not feel great about being frustrating and ended up digging his heels in and being an even bigger ass. Honestly, at some point in the night, hewouldn’t have blamed Teddy if he’d packed up his sister and his shit and taken the next flight back to Manila.
Belligerent. Cal had looked up the SAT word later. He was belligerent as they chose demos, refusing to commit, hemming and hawing over every single one. He told the group he’d given up. That he no longer wanted to be a musician or an idol, or even a band. He wanted it all to be over because they were just delaying the inevitable, right? Would anyone actually care if CoBOLT never came out of their hiatus? Just like Siwan had said to him just two days ago. They had their things. They would be fine.
Cal had…only this. And this was on the verge of collapsing. He was tired of pouring his heart out only to be ignored. Only to be told he wasn’t good enough, wasn’t relatable, wasn’t writing the right music or wasn’t anyone’s favorite.
Teddy had growled in frustration.Growled,like he’d needed to make the sound to hold himself back from tackling Cal. Then he glared at Cal like a bit of dirt under his boot and asked. “Then who the hell are you doing this for? Why did you fly me here?”
And wasn’t that the question? Why was he still here?
“It’s not his fault,” Cal assured Lia. “I was just…” What was the right word? Can a word ever be enough to properly encompass a feeling? Three and a half (Japanese was proving difficult) languages in his head, and not a single one had it. “Duwag.”
There was a softness to the word that felt correct. More appropriate than the powerless feeling of being “scared” or “terrified,” being duwag just meant it was right in front of him, but he couldn’t quite grasp the answer.
“Bakit naman?” Lia asked, a frown creasing her brows.
“The label has made it clear that they will not be renewing the band unless the album does well bytheirstandards,” he explained, trying not to picture the label CEO clapping him onthe shoulder when they won Rookie of the Year, proud and happy. That felt like a lifetime ago.
“They also said they weren’t willing to pay for marketing,” Lia added. “I overheard your conversation in the car, sorry.”
“You were sitting there, it was my fault I didn’t consider you,” he said, which was the truth. He’d been so concerned about getting Teddy up to speed, he’d just yapped without thinking, which was the worst trait an idol could have. “We signed our last renewal before we entered the military. We were desperate for something to hold on to while we were inside. We were in a rush, so I didn’t read the fine print.”
He ran a hand through his hair, realizing this was the first time he was saying it to someone out loud, and his heart was pounding like he’d been running at a full sprint. It was the same feeling he got every time Teddy played a demo, every time he was asked what he thought about the album, what his vision was.
“They put in something called a ‘non-compete’ clause,” Cal continued. “If the agency decides not to renew their contract with us, we will not be allowed to use the CoBOLT name or take with us any of the rights to the music thatwewrote.”
“Putang ina?” Lia’s exclamation was a burst of outraged disbelief, which caught Cal by surprise. It was a way more violent reaction than he’d expected. “Sorry, that was—but I mean, what the fuck?”
“Don’t be sorry. I didn’t read the fine print, I didn’t look out for the band?—”
“How did Bomseok leave?”
“Bomseok signed away all his creative rights to me,” Cal said, busying himself with collapsing the box the yogurt came in. “And signed a non-compete.”
“But, but CoBOLT is fifteen years old…right?” Lia’s reaction was signaling something to Cal, and he focused on that instead of his anxiety, and it helped? He wondered what it was. Wasit concern? It seemed to run deeper and felt familiar somehow. “And you guys made that agency. Would they have been able to move to their fancy offices here without you? BINJ is just going to let you guys gather dust on some back shelf?”
“Yup.” When did Lia learn their agency’s name? “It’s messed with my head, to say the least. This is just toplining. I have a whole career just on toplining music. And suddenly it's the hardest thing in the world, and I can't…” He didn't know what to say after that. He felt breathless, like he'd said too much, run too fast and too far.
“Have you talked to Teddy about it?” Lia asked, and it was her turn to pass him back his bagel and coffee. She looked deathly serious, the face of someone absolutely locked in. Again, why was that familiar? “He has to know that’s been on your mind.”
“Listening to an artist’s contract issues isn’t exactly part of a producer’s job. Bomseok used to—” He did not want to talk about Bomseok. “Never mind.”
“I don’t know much about my brother’s job,” Lia admitted, frowning at her strawberry milk like she was using her brain to get it to levitate. Cal had no doubt she could. Her ferocity was something new, but it was much more comfortable on her skin than the Lia he’d met the morning before. “But it seems to have a lot to do with listening.”
