He holds my sharp gaze with his reserved one for a few moments before asking, “Are you done yelling now?”
“If you’re done insulting me.” I huff. “Can we take a break? Let me see the song.”
Hesitantly, he pulls the notebook out of his backpack and hands it to me. As it transitions from his palm to mine, our fingers brush for the briefest moment, and my mind catapults back to Saturday night and his hands resting on my hips. Heat builds in my chest and threatens to spread, so I tilt my face down and try to hide it with my hair as I study the sheet music.
“I recorded the guitar part on my computer.” He pauses. “Do you want to hear it?”
I yank my attention from the papers. “Of course!”
He hands me his iPod, and I place the gigantic headphones over my ears and press PLAY. Jason’s guitar floods my thoughts, and I shut my eyes to better concentrate on each chord and how they all fit together, my head nodding to the steady beat. He has improved the chorus, though I can’t help thinking it lacks personality. But it flows well with the verses, and the bridge at the end shows a lot of promise.
Admiration sparks in me. I look up and see him watching me, waiting for my response. Okay, I admit it—he’s a lot more talented than I gave him credit for originally. Even if he does have an attitude problem.
I give him my assessment.
“I was inspired by Shin Joong Hyun, one of Korea’s most famous rock stars. But you think I should make it more like your American music?” he asks.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
He levels a skeptical gaze at me, which speaks more than his words could. And I’m struck with the realization that he has the most expressive eyes of anyone I’ve ever met. No wonder he doesn’t talk much—he doesn’t need to.
“Look, just hear me out.” I flip through my notebook for an empty sheet of paper. “I’m sure these are some amazing Korean rockers; I just don’t know them. You can get inspired by them, too, but I’m going to give you some songs to listen to. Take notes. Maybe you’ll actually learn something.”
He looks at me like I’m inflicting physical pain, but he takes the paper anyway. What we do for the sake of our art.
“If you’re making me listen to your music, then you can listen to mine.” He makes up a list of his own and gives it to me.
I stare at the scribbles. “Umm … you realize that I can’t read almost every word on here, right? My Korean isn’t that good yet.”
“Sophie can read it for you. I’m sure she has all those songs. They’re pop, but I have some Korean rock you can listen to later.”
While the prospect of listening to a complete playlist of KPOP songs sounds worse than hours of Korean language homework, I keep my trap shut. No sense in creating any more tension between us. I’m officially on my best behavior.
We sit in silence a minute before he says, “Did you learn about music from being at your father’s company?”
I shift in my seat, buying time and searching for the most diplomatic way of talking about Dad. “I’ve actually never had any formal musical training—I mean, besides basic piano—although my dad tried to get me to take classes all the time. I picked up a lot just being around the business, but I was never taught composition like my bro—” I stop myself before I slip up, a jolt of panic skipping through me.
If Jason notices me falter, he doesn’t address it. “It surprises me that you can know so much without being taught.”
“Was that … was that a compliment?”
He scoffs, but the edges of his lips curl up like they want to smile and he won’t let them. “I just meant that you have a natural talent for music composition. But that’s more of a compliment to your parents and their genes than to you.”
“Well, what about you?” I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms. “How did the great Jason Bae become KPOP’s newest rising star?”
He’s quiet so long, I fear he won’t answer. I take the time to notice the stiffness in his shoulders and how his hands clench and unclench.
“I started playing guitar when I was ten,” he says, voice tight. “My father bought me my first as a Christmas present. Tae Hwa and I would play together when he visited, and when Sophie and I moved back to Korea, Tae Hwa and I decided to pursue a career in music.”
“Just like that? You guys must have been pretty lucky to get picked up so fast.”
“Tae Hwa’s father knew someone who worked for the record company.”
“Ahh, so you cashed in on connections.”
Anger flashes in his eyes so fierce, I’m muted. Tension nestles between us, making the library seem even quieter than it did before.
“It was much more than that,” he murmurs. “We worked hard for our debut.”
I clear my throat. “I’m sure.”
He stares a hole into the floor, muttering just loud enough for me to catch, “We worked a lot harder than Yoon Jae.”
The easiness of our interaction having been shattered, I search for a way to regain any sort of politeness in the conversation. I flip to the next page in our Korean textbook, though I can’t focus on the grammar lesson. This isn’t the first time I’ve noticed strain in the relationship between Jason and his bandmate, but I can’t imagine why, besides Jason resenting Yoon Jae’s easier road to fame.
We finish our study session around eight and head out of the library together. He unlocks a bike from the rack as I make to head back to the dorms.