Page 37 of A World Apart
“I know,” I agreed, shaking my head, sadly.
We sat like that, in companionable silence, for several more minutes, the sound of traffic from the street outside filtering up to provide a constant background hum, reminding me that the world outside goes on.
Tuesday
“Hello?” I said into my mobile phone, bemused that the caller was from Pisces. I was just downstairs in the storage cupboard, sorting through some music sheets.
“Food’s here,” snapped a brusque voice before the line dropped.
I stared at the now blank screen like it would provide any further context, but only the smiling faces of me and Becka on a trip to Camden last year stared back at me.
Reasoning it could only really have been one person; I stood up from where I was sitting on the floor and made my way over to the door. Poking my head out, I looked over to the reception desk where Donna stood.
“Did you call me?” I called over. Donna looked over at me with a scowl and pointed one sharp fingernail at the side of her head where I could now see herheadset. She said something into it, presumably on a call. She then pointed that sharp fingernail at the reception desk. Following her nail, I saw a collection of white, plastic bags.
Ah. Lunch was here.
This had become my accepted task, and although Becka had floated the idea of me not doing it today, in the spirit of distancing myself, I assured her I could handle it. I was also not sure if I wanted to do as she suggested and distance myself.
I closed the door behind me and walked over to the reception desk and as had become my habit, I grabbed the hospitality trolley and began unloading the food containers from the plastic bags. I rearranged the contents as aesthetically as I could, fully aware that it would all just be spread out on the table in Studio 3. I half-smiled at the futility of my actions, but didn’t stop.
I heard Donna hang up her call, so I looked over to her and said, “You knew where I was, you could have come to get me, you didn’t need to call me.” I meant it as a friendly barb, but Donna looked so affronted I might as well have suggested she start day drinking.
“I can’t leave this desk,” she sniffed.
“Are you chained by the ankles? Need me to bust you out?” I meant this as a joke, I really did, but by the withering look she gave me, you’d think I’d called her incompetent.
“Okay then,” I muttered, wheeling the trolley round and heading for the lift.
The whole way to the studio, I kept telling myself to be cool, but all that had been running through my mind all morning − and most of last night − was how this was the last day I was going to see Jihoon. It made me antsy, feeling like every moment I wasn’t up here was a moment wasted. If I was never going to see him again, I didn’t want to waste any time.
I got to the studio and looked in through the porthole window. The producer’s chair was spun around so that I could see it was empty, so noTrevor Kyle. From my vantage, however, I could clearly see that Jihoon was in the vocal booth and he was singing. For a few moments, I just watched, but then Youngsoo walked past the door and not wanting to get caught peeping, I knocked lightly. Youngsoo turned around and, seeing me, opened the door to allow me entry.
“Good afternoon,” I said, bowing slightly, still self-conscious I wasn’t doing it properly. He returned the gesture but said nothing. He did help me lay out the food on the table, however. Jihoon hadn’t seen me yet, the vocal booth was directly in front of the production deck, and the table I was setting the food on was on the far side of the wall, not in direct line of sight so as not to be disruptive.
Just then, Youngsoo’s phone rang. He looked at it briefly before hurrying out of the studio to pick it up. I was now alone in the studio, besides Jihoon in the booth. I couldn’t hear him though; the volume must be going through the headset that I could see resting on the producer’s chair.
Feeling slightly voyeuristic, I just stood there, watching Jihoon sing. I watched the sway of his body as he moved with the song, leaning into it, the way his eyes scrunched closed, the way his nimble fingers pressed against his headset. The way he licked his lips.
I moved towards the deck, unconsciously hovering my fingers over the sound bar that would move the output from headset to room speaker and allow me to hear what he was singing, but I hesitated. I knew from experience how personal a draft track was. I didn’t have the right to intrude like that. I let my hand drop back to my side and instead allowed myself to admire the man behind the glass, in silence.
And as I watched, I knew absolutely and without reservation that GVibes was not what I was attracted to. It was this man right here. It was the way he looked at me so intently. It was the kindness and respect he gave without hesitation. And yes, it was also that he was wildly handsome.
When he was in full performance mode with the outfits, the makeup, the faces he pulled…it was almost hard to look at him directly. But here, when he was just in a sound booth, not performing for anyone but the microphone… there was even now something so perfect about him. I couldn’t describe it, but I could feel how my body felt pulled towards him, a force so persuasive I almost took a step forward.
Without warning, Jihoon opened his eyes, almost immediately seeing me. He jerked, grabbing at his chest before laughing and I gave a little wave. He pointed at hisears, a questioning raise of his eyebrow. I shook my head and lifted the headphone on the chair, pointing to them. He looked relieved, which I thought was adorable. One of the world’s most in-demand performers was shy.
He moved towards the door to exit the booth, and I walked to meet him, but just then, Youngsoo re-entered the room, looking surprised to see me still there. He pointed at the food on the table and said, “All okay?”
I nodded and said, “Yes, sorry, I’ll be on my way.” Youngsoo bowed and held out his hand to hold the door open for me, the hint clear as day.
I spared a look back at the booth to see Jihoon standing there, watching us. He lifted a hand in goodbye and I smiled back at him before leaving the studio.
I allowed myself one deep inhale as the door closed behind me, one last glance in the porthole window, before moving back off down the corridor and back to my task in the storage cupboard. I would keep these moments, these snippets in my memories of the time I met the popstar.
4:45
I huffed, blowing a strand of hair out of my face as I shook out my arms, tired from lifting the boxes of sheet music.
