Chapter Text
❆❆❆
Seonghwa wrapped his coat tighter around his frame as he strolled down the street, his breath visible as white puffs in the frigid air.
He cursed out the winter as if it was the sole cause for all his problems.
He wasn’t quite sure why exactly he disliked the season so much.
Maybe it was because it set an end to autumn, when the leaves would crunch under his feet and the colors in the park were too many to count. He spent hours there after school sometimes when he didn’t quite feel ready to go home yet.
Maybe it was because the days became shorter and shorter and a long day at school soon meant leaving the house while it was still dark and getting home when the sun had already set.
Maybe it was because he couldn’t stand seeing his classmates talk about their Christmas plans. Not when it once had been his favorite day of the year and now had turned into the one he, for the first time ever, dreaded more than any other.
Why were they discussing Christmas at this time anyways? It was only the beginning of November, but the cold that had come exceptionally early this year had sent them all into a festive mood already as it seemed.
Seonghwa kept walking down the shopping street even though the tip of his nose had long turned red and his fingers had grown numb despite tightly being tucked into the pockets of his wool coat.
Maybe he hated the winter so much because he couldn’t stroll around endlessly after school anymore, only getting home by dinner time and telling his housekeeper that he had forgotten the time while hanging out with friends or studying together at a cafe.
She liked this excuse, her face lighting up in relief when she told him she was glad him and his friends were so close.
So he stuck to it. Because it made her worry less.
Now winter had set a limit to how long he could waste time before facing home, but Seonghwa was stubborn enough to push his limits as far as they would go.
He went down a different street than he usually did today, in the hope of seeing something new that would distract him from the needles in his fingers and in the space between where his socks ended and the hem of his jeans started.
Some of the shopping windows were already decorated for Christmas with pine wreaths and fairy lights that sparkled like how he imagined the night sky to look in the countryside. He couldn’t suppress the smile that spread across his hurting cheeks when he passed a store that sold homemade cookies in the shape of snowflakes and big elaborate cakes with marzipan reindeer on it.
Maybe one day he would be able to make something like this as well, Seonghwa thought.
From afar, faint music could be heard. Maybe there was a street musician somewhere, earning his last busking money before the winter would make it impossible.
Seonghwa flinched when he heard the sound.
He almost wanted to turn back and walk along the main street he usually frequented to avoid the melody, but curiosity got the better of him and he found himself walking towards the sound, turning his head to identify its source.
After strolling for a while, he came to a halt in front of a shop that carried the sign Lee’s Pianos, where the music was the loudest.
Seonghwa should have trusted his feelings and turned back. He now found himself frozen in the spot he was standing in, in front of the window that was slightly fogged up from condensation but still gave view into the store where pianos of all brands, colors and sizes were lined along the walls, some of them on small platforms that one or two steps led up to.
From behind the window was where the music came from. Now that he was closer he was able to make out the melody.
Mendelssohn.
Seonghwa felt his eyes heating up despite the biting cold and he blinked rapidly.
It had been almost a year, yet he instantly recognized the piece. Not that Seonghwa was particularly interested in music - these days he tried to avoid it as if it was a contagious disease. But he had heard the piece too many times to be able to erase it from his brain.
However, he could not remember a time where he heard it be played so beautifully.
Emotion is key for Mendelssohn. Seonghwa shook his head to get rid off the old familiar voice that rang in his head.
From where he stood, he was not able to see the person playing. The familiar sound of the music made his guts tense up and his body feel numb.
He should have kept walking and forget he ever heard it. Yet he found himself passing the wooden door of the store, white paint peeling off at the corners, and approaching the second window. This one offered a perfect view of a grand piano that was perched upon a platform. It was of a glossy black with its lid open and behind the instrument peeked out a head of silver hair. Seonghwa moved again, shifting to the left to get a view of the person.
It was a boy, no older than Seonghwa.
He had features that somehow managed to be sharp and delicate at the same time, with a pointy nose and full lips that he worried between his teeth in concentration as he approached a more difficult part of the piece. His eyes shimmered in the neon lighting of the store, resembling the fairy lights Seonghwa had just passed.
He looked beautiful.
Seonghwa wished he could see his fingers from here as they flew over the keys, creating the elaborate melody that drifted through the fogged up glass. As the boy approached the end of the piece his face relaxed, his teeth releasing his lip, and the last notes resonated for a bit after he was done.
The boy looked up from the keys and his eyes met Seonghwa’s. For a moment he seemed surprised at this unexpected audience and he quickly raised a hand in a wave, a wide smile spreading across his face that turned his eyes into crescents, hiding the fairy lights. But then he stopped mid-wave and his smile faltered, giving away to a worried look as he stood up from his stool.
This was when Seonghwa realized he had started crying. The tears that had stolen themselves out of his eyes without his permission, run down his face without his knowledge, burned across his cheeks without his ability to take them back.
The boy furrowed his brow and took a step towards the glass.
Before he could take another step, Seonghwa turned on his heels and ran off into the other direction, his hands vigorously scraping at the skin under his eyes, as if to push the tears back inside.
He was already halfway back to the main street before he could get another glimpse of the boy.
He shouldn’t have stopped to listen.
❆
“Seonghwa, there you are! Just in time for dinner.”
Eunbi, his housekeeper, greeted him with a warm smile as soon as he entered the house. She was standing in the kitchen that was open towards the large living area on the ground floor and was stirring in a big pot. The smell of pumpkin soup filled the house and Seonghwa almost sighed in relief with the prospect of a warm bowl in his hands, rubbing his freezing hands together as he walked up to her.
“How did you spend your day dear? Busy as ever?”, she asked.
Eunbi was a short woman in her forties that had a bright aura and liked to wear colorful aprons with flower patterns and listen to trot music when she cleaned. She was the person that managed to bring a bit of sunlight into the house even when all the curtains were drawn.
“I hung out with Yunho after school. He helped me with an essay.”
The lies came easy to Seonghwa these days and Eunbi accepted them easily. If she noticed his red nose and stiff fingers from being exposed to the cold for way longer than his short walk home would justify, she didn’t say anything.
“Will mom join us today?”, he asked hesitantly.
Eunbi stopped stirring for a moment. “She had a late lunch, said she wasn’t hungry. She did not feel too well today.”
Seonghwa had known the answer before he had asked. He didn’t ask Eunbi if his mother had left her room today. He knew that answer as well.
“Maybe she will feel better tomorrow”, Eunbi said and smiled at him.
“Yeah”, he murmured. “Maybe she will.”
The truth was, he could count the times he had had a meal with his mother since his father had passed almost a year ago on his two hands. Maybe even on one. Seonghwa would never say it aloud but by now he dreaded the days more on which she did join them.
He would not be able to look at her when she did. He would tell stories from school, from his friends, and she would nod and smile and say “That’s wonderful, honey”, but the smile would not reach her eyes that sat low in their sockets as she stared at the food she would not eat anyway.
It hurt more when she was here. Still, Seonghwa asked every day.
Him and Eunbi sat down at the large dining table and had the pumpkin soup. It tasted of the memories of fall and Seonghwas freezing fingers finally returned to life after the first bowl.
They talked about how short the days had become so suddenly and about the Christmas decorations that had popped up around town the last days. Seonghwa told her of the snowflake cookies he had seen in a store and she suggested they bake them together some time. She always asked him to bake when she was concerned for him.
For a moment he considered telling her about the piano shop as well and about the boy who had played so beautifully, but something held him back.
He kind of wanted the boy to be a secret that only existed in his own mind. Seonghwa thought of those fingers he hadn’t been able to see when they flew over the piano. He had only seen the boy’s concentrated face as he created the beautiful, familiar melody on the grand piano he had disappeared behind.
Seonghwa looked up from his soup and across the room. The ground floor had almost all of its walls removed so it was one large area, with two curved, open flights of stairs, one on the right and one on the left, leading up to the gallery on the first floor where the other rooms lay. Between these stairs, under a tall window, that would usually flood the living area with daylight hadn’t it been a gloomy winter and hadn’t the curtains been drawn, was a platform. Similar to the one in Lee’s piano shop. Just that the silhouette atop the platform in Seonghwa’s house had a heavy cover thrown over it, layers and layers of dust seeminly collecting there every time Seonghwa so much as blinked, despite Eunbi's diligent cleaning.
“Is everything alright, dear?”, she asked.
Seonghwa shook his head. He had spaced out, staring at the silhouette of the instrument, the bowl of soup growing cold in his hands. He quickly ate the last spoon and set the bowl down.
“I’m good. Just a long day. Thinking about that essay.”
“That’s good, I’m glad you’re focusing on school”, she smiled, but Seonghwa noticed her gaze following his to the silhouette between the stairs and her brow furrowing in worry.
After they finished, Eunbi packed her things and went home. To her own family and kids that probably saw her way too little because she was always here. Seonghwa often felt guilty about that, but he felt more guilty about the fact that he didn’t want her to leave.
The huge house seemed to echo with his thoughts when she was gone.
He tried to do his homework in the living area, but he couldn’t focus. He always ended up using all of his concentration on not staring at the bookshelves filled with music scores and the portraits of composers that hung on the walls that no one had bothered to remove. Or dared to. And worst of all the silhouette between the staircases.
After a while he gave up and finished his homework upstairs in his room.
Before he went to bed, he made his way down the long hallway, to the very end where his parents’ bedroom was. His mother’s bedroom was. He knocked on the door and as a quiet hum came, he slowly opened it.
The curtains here were drawn as well and no lights were on. In just the soft orange gloom of the hallway light he was barely able to make out the figure that was tucked into the blankets on the huge bed, looking completely lost there.
For a second he stared at her, thinking of what he wanted to say.
He ended up saying the same thing as he did every day.
“I love you mom.” I miss you mom.
She didn’t answer. On good days she’d said it back. On very good days she’d almost sound like she meant it.
Today he only waited, and ultimately closed the door, gently, backing away from the room, towards his own.
As he tried to fall asleep, the image of the boy came up again, with his fairy light eyes and his messy silver hair and the bright smile that was the opposite of drawn curtains and covers collecting dust. Like something that was meant to be in the past, safely tucked away in better times.
❆
“Hongjoong, watch the store for an hour while I run some errands please”, Mr Lee said just as Hongjoong was finishing assembling a piano stool that had come in today.
“Of course! I was planning on staying until we close anyway today.”
“When do you not stay until we close. Never any peace and quiet in here”, he grumbled and after a few moments Hongjoong heard the bell of the front door as he left him alone in the store. He smiled to himself and shook his head. Always with the grumpy attitude. As if the old man could fool anyone with it.
Hongjoong had long picked up on the soft smile that spread on his face whenever he entered the store after finishing school. The man always tried to hide it before Hongjoong could see it, replacing it with a stern look and an annoyed “You again, boy? Didn’t I see enough of you yesterday?”, but Hongjoong was quick enough to catch it sometimes nevertheless.
After he was done assembling the stool, Hongjoong checked if everything was in order in the store and looked out of the window, if any potential customers were standing outside. The glass fogged up quite a bit these days as the weather grew colder, but he could see the vacant pedestrian street well.
Perfect.
He almost sighed as he slipped onto the chair in front of the grand piano on the right side of the shop. The one on the platform.
The deal he had agreed on with Mr Lee was that he was allowed to practice in his store for free in exchange for helping out here and there and playing all the pianos regularly and making sure they were always tuned. He often shook his head when Hongjoong would automatically sway towards the glossy black grand piano as soon as he entered the store, telling him to not pick favorites.
But he couldn’t help it. The instrument was too beautiful. The way the keys were a heavy weight under his fingers, so different to the cheap keyboard he had at home that had taken all his savings when he had bought it, but was still more a toy than an instrument. The way the sound resonated within the entire room when he opened the lid, instead of having to pluck in his earphones to make sure his neighbors didn’t complain. The walls at home were paper thin after all.
Today, Hongjoong would indulge himself in playing on the grand piano for the time that Mr Lee was out of the house.
He flicked though the music scores he was working on at the moment and opted for a Mendelssohn. It wasn’t the most advanced piece he was practicing, but he still didn’t feel like he yet fulfilled the whole potential it had to offer.
He opened the fall board and set the sheets on the rack, even though he barely glanced at them these days. His fingers almost instinctively found their place on the keys and his feet theirs on the pedals.
From then on, his body took over. Hongjoong was never really quite there when he played. He would remember the start of a piece and the end of it but everything in between was a blur, except for when he made a mistake. Those would always snatch him out of his trance, which was why he worked so hard on avoiding them. He liked not being there for a while, just floating in his own head as his fingers flew over the keys.
Sometimes Mr Lee would say something to him while he was deep into a piece and Hongjoong would only notice after he had repeated it multiple times or tapped him on the shoulder. He would then scold him and tell him he would never be able to be a pianist for an orchestra if he wasn’t able pay attention to a conductor.
Hongjoong knew he would never play for an orchestra anyway. Music was not something people like him would ever be able to do as a career, no matter how badly they wanted it. They should be glad for every opportunity they got to sit at a proper piano at all.
Hongjoong was in the middle of the Mendelssohn as the bell on the door jingled, accompanied by a rush of freezing air, that made him slip a key and snatched him out of his trance.
He stopped playing and leaned back to be able to glance at the door.
Had Mr Lee forgotten something? There was no way he could have been done with his errands this quickly.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt you. Please, keep playing.”
In the entrance of the store stood a boy his age. He was rather tall, a bit lanky, with deep black hair that was swept to the back on one side and fell into his face on the other. He was wrapped in an expensive looking wool coat, the white collar of a dress shirt peaking out from underneath it, and he was shivering slightly from the cold air that rushed in through the door he still held half open.
Hongjoong immediately recognized him. It was the boy that had watched him play from outside the window a few days back and had run away so suddenly after his eyes had met Hongjoong’s. He had looked sad, almost hurt, and he still wasn’t sure if that had been tears on his face or if his eyes had been just red from the cold.
“Don’t worry, you didn’t interrupt me”, Hongjoong said and put on his customer service smile. “My boss is out running errands right now, but is there maybe anything I can help you with?”
The boy looked hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure if he was allowed in or not.
“Could I-”, he interrupted himself. “Is it okay if I just stay and listen for a while?”
Hongjoong perked up at that. People rarely stopped by to listen.
“Of course you can! Just do me a favor and come in properly, close the door behind you. It’s absolutely freezing.”
“Oh yes, of course, I’m so sorry!” He apologetically looked at the thin black sweater Hongjoong was wearing, the one he had cut holes into and loosely stitched back up with broad red ribbons to accompany the large red heart he had sprayed onto the back with spray paint. They matched the simple red eyeliner he had on today. Mr Lee always shook his head when Hongjoong came in with the clothes he modified on his own and the makeup he liked to experiment with, telling him he looked like a punk, but Hongjoong had too much fun doing it to stop.
The boy had quickly shut the door behind himself but not come in further since, awkwardly staying at the entry, fumbling with his hands before tucking them in his pockets.
“I don’t bite by the way”, Hongjoong offered. “My friend Wooyoung does though, he’s quite the character, but you can come closer if you want to.”
The boy nodded, not responding to his joke, and took a few steps towards him, stopping half way and looking at him with big eyes.
Hongjoong sighed. “Come on, sit down. That can’t be comfortable. The chair is more than broad enough for two.” He scooted over and tapped the burgundy velvet seat next to him.
The boy hesitated but, to Hongjoong’s surprise, actually followed his invitation and sat down on his right, albeit at the very edge of the seat. Hongjoong handed him the stack of scores he had set beside and told him to chose what he wanted to hear.
He looked at the pile for a second, not moving to look through it. “Could you maybe finish the piece you were playing just now?”, he asked. His voice was deep yet quiet.
“The Mendelssohn?”, Hongjoong asked, raising an eyebrow. “I can do something more… exciting if you want to. I have a Chopin in there, also a Debussy if we wanna be a bit basic.”
He shook his head. Now that he was closer, Hongjoong noticed his wide, brown eyes that carried a kind look and reminded him of that one dragon he had seen in an animated movie once.
“I like the Mendelssohn.”
Hongjoong smiled. “I like it too.”
He cracked his knuckles and placed his fingers back on the keys. As he reached for the pedals, he saw how crouched the boy next to him had to to sit, his knees, dressed in neat slacks, almost drawn up to his stomach to adjust for how low Hongjoong had set the height of the chair in order to reach the pedals. It looked adorable.
As Hongjoong played he noticed how harder it was to get into his trance when someone else was there. He was not used to an audience other than Mr Lee and his sarcastic remarks and he was hyper aware of the body next to his. Still, he let his fingers move over the keys as they knew how to and soon got into it. As he did, he felt the boy next to him slightly relax as well.
He didn’t stop when the piece was done, simply improvised a transition and moved on to the next one.
Hongjoong was not sure how much time had passed while he was doing so, going from piece to piece, not bothering to stop and pull out the according sheets, just playing what he knew by heart. The boy had stretched out his legs after a while and shifted his weight more towards Hongjoong. He never said anything, simply listened.
Eventually Hongjoong let the melody run out, the last chord resonating in the air for a moment longer.
As he looked up from the keys and turned towards the boy, he noticed he was crying.
“Hey, no, it’s okay”, he immediately said and waved his hands.
What did people do in these situations? He searched for comforting words but his mind was blank.
The boy touched his cheek and seemed surprised when his fingers came off wet, just staring at them blankly. “I’m sorry”, he said, his voice barely a whisper.
Hongjoong reached into his pockets and pulled out a tissue he quickly handed him. “No, don’t apologize, it’s all good. Are you alright though?”
The boy took the tissue with his long, dainty fingers and dabbed it on his cheeks.
“Yeah, I’m okay. I just-”, he exhaled a shaky breath. “Someone close to me used to play these pieces a lot.” He didn’t look at Hongjoong as he spoke, staring at the tissue in his hands.
Hongjoong hesitated. “And you wanted to hear them again?”
He furrowed his brows, as if he wasn't sure himself. “I heard you play a couple of days ago and I just - couldn’t stop thinking about it. I don't know”
The boy sighed. “I shouldn’t have bothered you with it, though. I’m sorry I just came in here and had you play for me and then started crying on your chair and made it weird. You probably saw me cry in front of the store as well last time. God, that is so embarrassing. I swear I’m not always like this.”
Hongjoong laughed. “Don’t worry, it’s not weird. I hope you don’t regret coming in though.”
The boy looked up and into Hongjoong’s eyes properly for the first time. They were sincere when he spoke. “I don’t. You play beautifully.”
Hongjoong felt himself blushing and pulled his sleeves over his fingers.
“No, really”, the boy said. “You don’t just play them. You put yourself in the pieces.”
He didn’t quite know what to say at that. It made him feel warm though and he couldn’t suppress a smile.
“Thank you. That actually means a lot.” He stretched out his hand. “I am Hongjoong by the way.”
“Oh God, I’m so sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. My name is Seonghwa”, he said and quickly took Hongjoong’s hand. He noticed how it encompassed his own, his fingers much longer than Hongjoong’s that barely poked out from under his sleeves. He was almost jealous seeing that they were the definition of perfect pianist hands as he let go again. How much easier they would make his life with some tricky chords.
Seonghwa, he repeated the name in his head. A nice name. It fit him. It sounded kind.
“Well, Seonghwa, it was an honor to play for you today”, Hongjoong said with a small theatrical bow that made Seonghwa smile.
Hongjoong noted he had a strange smile, almost as if he was in pain, but he found it endearing.
“I better get going then”, Seonghwa said and stood up from the chair. “Thank you again for playing for me. And sorry again for crying.”
“Don’t mention it”, Hongjoong said. “I hope to see you around some time again.”
“Maybe I will. Come back I mean. I think - I think I would like that.”
It sounded more like a question than a promise.
Hongjoong found that was enough.
He remained sitting at the grand piano long after Seonghwa had left and the right side of the chair had grown cold again.
❆
Hongjoong had taken the bus home as he always did. He didn’t live in the center of the city like his friends, but rather at the outskirts, where the rent was cheap but the apartments still not worth it.
He sighed as he stood at the entrance of his apartment building, looking up the facade of the concrete that had once probably been painted white but over the years had turned into an unappealing grayish-yellow.
8th floor.
He already dreaded having to walk up the endless flight of stairs, but the elevator had been broken for as long as he could remember and no one had ever bothered to fix it. It had been a huge problem when he had broken his leg by falling out of a tree when he was 10 and ended up having to climb the stairs with a cast and crutches for a month.
Still, even with a perfectly functional set of legs he hated the daily workout that simply going home was. What he would give for a ground floor apartment.
Hongjoong looked through his backpack for the little mirror and makeup wipes he always had packed and rubbed at his eyes to get rid of the red eyeliner he had put on. He had once made the mistake of forgetting to remove it before coming home and his dad had completely flipped, asking him if he raised him to be a girl.
So he avoided the situation, by always making sure to put on his makeup when he was on the bus to school and getting rid of all the evidence before he entered the apartment.
By the time he had made it up the stairs, his thighs ached. But when did they not.
He tried to enter the apartment as quietly as possible, just wanting to withdraw in his room, get his homework done and maybe get some extra practice in, even if it was on his shitty keyboard. He heard his mother cook in the kitchen, something sizzling in a pan, and his father screaming at some sports team that was on TV.
Hongjoong tried to sneak past the living room where the noise came from, but the squeaking floorboards betrayed him.
“Where the hell have you been all day?”
The tone of his father’s voice made him flinch.
He stopped in his tracks, clutched the strap of his bag and reluctantly turned to him. His dad was sat on the couch in shorts and a white undershirt, a can of cheap beer in his hand, two more empty ones on the table in front of him.
“I was working. I’m sorry it got so late.”
He scoffed. “Working. Can you really call it that when the old man doesn’t even pay you properly?”
There we go again, Hongjoong thought to himself.
“How often do I have to tell you to get a proper job? You’re almost eighteen for Gods sake, do you think the bills around here are paying themselves?”
Hongjoong didn’t say anything.
It wasn’t his job to pay the bills and make up for the fact that neither his mother nor his father could never stay at a job for longer than a year, jumping from cheap labor job to cheap labor job.
Telling him this was not only useless though but would certainly also end up with a hand print on Hongjoong’s cheek considering he was already two beers in.
“I know, dad”, he murmured instead, keeping his head low. “I’m sorry. I’ll make sure to be home earlier tomorrow.”
His father muttered something under his breath and then shouted at his mother why dinner was taking so long, that he was starving. The neighbor’s dog barked at the noise and the owner banged against the connecting wall, telling them to tune it down, which made his father argue back even louder.
Hongjoong gladly used the chaos to escape to his room, locking the door behind him. With a sigh he fell face first into his bed, the old mattress squeaking under him, and let the backpack simply slide off his arm and hit the floor. He contemplated if it was worth it joining his parents for dinner or if he should simply lie down here and starve.
The dog was still barking and it seemed like his neighbors were now fighting over the barking dog. Not even Hongjoong’s earphones were able to tune them out.
He sighed again.
As he turned over and stared at the ceiling, the boy from the store came to his mind.
Seonghwa.
His clothes had looked expensive and his hair had clearly been done by a barber, not the combination of cheap bleach and box dye Hongjoong used on himself. He hadn’t looked like someone who would have to walk up eight floors every day and listen to his neighbors fight through paper walls.
Hongjoong wondered where the tears had come from. They had seemed genuine. But what did a boy in a wool coat and dress shirt and barber hair cut have to cry about?
He probably lived in a floor apartment. Maybe even a house.
Hongjoong tried to not resent him for it. If he resented everyone who had more money than him, he’d have a very short list of people he would be allowed to like. He certainly wouldn’t be able to keep any of his friends. Mingi, Wooyoung, Jongho - they all came from middle to upper middle class families that, while not being necessarily wealthy, could at least afford to send them to a good school while Hongjoong had to rely on his scholarship to keep him there. None of them judged him for it but he couldn’t help but notice the dismissive looks some students sent him.
He wondered if Seonghwa would judge him if he knew his situation.
Hongjoong shook his head. Seonghwa had seemed nice, even if a bit awkward.
Maybe I will. Come back I mean.
Hongjoong found himself hoping he would. Come back he meant.