Chapter 8: The Black Umbrella
Yoo-jin's umbrella stayed in Ji-hoon's car for three days.
On the first day, Ji-hoon forgot to return it.
On the second day, he remembered, but he couldn't meet Yoo-jin because filming lasted until late at night.
On the third day, he brought it to the recording studio, set it neatly beside the door, and only then went inside.
Yoo-jin was listening to the arrangement.
"Your umbrella," Ji-hoon said.
"Yeah."
"I returned it."
"I see that."
"Aren't you going to take it?"
"In a minute."
Ji-hoon looked at the umbrella, then at him.
"You could take it now."
"I'm listening."
"You can listen while you take it."
"No need."
He sat in the chair across from Yoo-jin, deliberately no longer looking toward the umbrella. But it was directly in his line of sight, plain black, with a small scratch on the handle.
"Have you used it for a long time?"
"I don't remember."
"You don't remember anything."
"I remember the things I need to remember."
"For example?"
"You have a recording session at nine tomorrow morning."
Ji-hoon whipped around.
"Why do you remember my schedule?"
"It's my job."
"Just your job?"
Yoo-jin looked at him.
Ji-hoon immediately lowered his head and opened a bottle of water.
There was nothing special about today's arrangement. It was only the backing track for the lead track, being adjusted according to the agency's instructions. The chorus had been made brighter, the drumbeat more distinct, and the strings lowered until they had nearly disappeared.
After listening to it, Ji-hoon said:
"It doesn't sound like our song."
The word "our" left both of them silent.
Yoo-jin didn't correct the way he had put it.
"This is the agency's version."
"What about the version you want?"
"It's still in the computer."
"Then use that version."
"We can't yet."
"Why not?"
"The final arrangement has to go through the review board."
Ji-hoon braced his hands on the desk.
"Are you scared?"
"Yes."
The straightforward answer caught him off guard.
"Are you afraid of losing your job?"
"I'm afraid the song will lose what it needs."
"What about you?"
Yoo-jin looked at the screen.
"I'm not important."
Ji-hoon suddenly felt irritated.
"You say that like you're something replaceable."
"A producer can be replaced."
"But you can't."
This time, Yoo-jin looked up.
Ji-hoon realized what he had just said. He meant to take it back, but it was already too late.
Their eyes met beneath the blue light.
A knock at the door shattered the silence.
A post-production staff member came in carrying some paperwork.
"Yoo-jin, the director wants you to resubmit the arrangement according to the new guidelines before five."
"Got it."
"And starting next week, Studio B will be used for another project. You can move to Studio C."
Studio C was on the floor above, smaller and with inferior soundproofing compared to Studio B.
"Okay," Yoo-jin replied.
Ji-hoon watched the staff member leave.
"You're not going to object?"
"Objecting won't change anything."
"You always say that."
"Because that's usually how it is."
"Then what if I object?"
"You don't have to."
Ji-hoon stood up.
"I do."
He stepped outside before Yoo-jin could stop him.
At the end of the hallway, Manager Kang was talking to two people from the production department. Ji-hoon walked straight over.
"Why is Studio B being reassigned?"
Manager Kang turned around.
"Another project needs it."
"My album needs it too."
"You can still record in Studio C."
"The quality is different."
"Not enough to make a difference."
"Then why doesn't the other project move rooms?"
No one answered.
Ji-hoon looked at the people in front of him. These were the people who always talked about him in terms like "image," "marketability," and "efficiency." They weren't used to him questioning things that had already been decided for him.
"You just need to stick to the schedule," Manager Kang said. "Let the agency handle what happens behind the scenes."
"But I'm the one singing."
"And the agency is the one investing."
"Then let the agency sing."
The words fell into the hallway.
Manager Kang's expression changed.
Ji-hoon turned away before the argument could drag on. Through the glass panel, Yoo-jin was still standing beside the mixing desk. He hadn't heard everything, but he had definitely seen Ji-hoon's expression.
"You didn't have to do that," he said when Ji-hoon came in.
"Do what?"
"Confront them over the studio."
"I wasn't confronting them over the studio."
"Then what was it for?"
Ji-hoon didn't answer.
Yoo-jin looked at him for a long time, then turned back to the screen.
"I'll find a way to keep the arrangement."
"So will I."
"You don't need to take this on."
"You don't need to carry it alone, either."
Yoo-jin's hand stilled.
Ji-hoon stepped closer and placed the umbrella on the desk.
"Take it."
"I will."
"Right now."
Yoo-jin looked at the umbrella, then at him.
"Are you angry?"
"No."
"You're worried."
"No."
"You're scared."
Ji-hoon clenched his fingers.
"Don't listen that closely."
"I can't."
"Because your job is to listen?"
"Because I've already heard you."
The words made Ji-hoon turn his face away.
Outside the hallway window, rain began to fall again. It wasn't as heavy as the night before, but it was enough to smear the streetlights across the pavement.
Yoo-jin picked up the umbrella.
"I'll take you home."
"No need. My car is waiting."
"I know."
"Then why take me?"
"I want to go."
Ji-hoon looked at him.
It was a short sentence, but unlike all the times Yoo-jin had used work to hide what he wanted.
The two of them went down to the back entrance.
This time, the umbrella was in Yoo-jin's hand. Ji-hoon walked beside him without needing to deliberately keep his distance. Their shoulders still brushed from time to time, but neither of them moved away.
When they reached the car, Ji-hoon didn't get in right away.
"Do you really want to change studios?"
"No."
"Then why did you agree?"
"I won't keep agreeing forever."
"Do you have a plan?"
"I'm thinking."
"Can you tell me?"
"Not yet."
Ji-hoon exhaled.
"Again with not yet."
"Wait until I have enough information."
"I hate not knowing anything."
"I know."
"You know too much already."
Yoo-jin handed him the umbrella.
"Then tell me."
Ji-hoon took it.
"Tell you what?"
"What you hate."
"I hate having other people make decisions for me."
"What else?"
"I hate being left behind without an explanation."
Yoo-jin fell silent.
Rain fell between them, forming a thin curtain.
"What about you?" Ji-hoon asked. "What do you hate?"
"I hate promises that aren't kept."
"Has someone broken a promise to you before?"
"Yeah."
"Where are they now?"
Yoo-jin looked into the darkness behind him.
"They're not here anymore."
The answer kept Ji-hoon from asking anything else. He placed his hand on the umbrella's handle, but Yoo-jin still hadn't let go.
"Are you coming tomorrow?"
"Yes."
"Even if they move you to another studio?"
"Yes."
"For work?"
Ji-hoon looked at him.
"For you."
Yoo-jin released the umbrella handle.
Ji-hoon got into the car and closed the door. The black umbrella lay beside him, while the scent of Yoo-jin's jacket still clung to his shoulder.
Through the window, he watched Yoo-jin turn and head back into the building.
His phone buzzed.
A message from Min-woo:
"I heard about you arguing with the agency."
Ji-hoon didn't reply.
Another message appeared:
"You're changing because of him."
Ji-hoon stared at the words, then typed:
"Maybe I'm just becoming myself again."
Min-woo called immediately.
Ji-hoon turned off his phone.
In Studio B, Yoo-jin reopened the old arrangement. He listened to the part where Ji-hoon sang about staying, then opened an email from Aurora.
One line in the document made him stop:
"If commercial quality does not improve, Aurora reserves the right to replace the entire production crew."
Yoo-jin closed the email.
For the first time, he wasn't only afraid that the song would be taken away.
He was afraid the person singing it would be taken away with it.