Jongin yawned as he stretched out his arms behind his back, feeling his spine crack satisfyingly in numerous spots. He was on his way to his bedroom for a much-needed afternoon nap. Even though he hadn’t been up for long, the artist’s energy levels were already low and he craved the comfort of his soft bed.

As he padded up the stairs, he could hear loud bumping noises coming from the second floor and Jongin frowned as he tried to pinpoint the source of the odd racket. Upon reaching the second floor, it became clear that the thudding sounds were emanating from Yixing’s bedroom. “What the…”

Once he reached the room, Jongin knocked on the door several times, waiting until he heard Yixing say, “Come in!” before opening the door and stepping inside. “What’s up?” the manager distractedly asked as he shifted his rosewood bureau to the southeast corner of his bedroom.

Jongin raised an eyebrow as he surveyed the uncharacteristically messy room. The furniture was all out of place, pushed haphazardly towards the east side of the room. The bed was slotted diagonally, blankets and sheets falling off the side of the mattress, and Yixing’s swivel chair was slightly spinning from bumping against the north wall. “Uh, what are you doing? What’s going on in here?” the artist asked while gesturing around the disorganized room.

Yixing let out a low grunt as he finished moving the bureau before straightening up, facing Jongin, and leaning against the chest of drawers. “Just doing some redecorating,” the manager cheerfully answered, although his voice was somewhat thin from exertion.

“Uh, what for?”

“I was thinking of getting a comfy armchair or something that I could sit in while I read,” Yixing answered. “So I started moving stuff around, seeing where I could fit a new chair.”

“You could’ve asked me to help you. What if you got hurt? Some of this furniture is really heavy,” Jongin pointed out. “Besides, wouldn’t it make more sense to buy the chair first and then see how it fits with the rest of the room?”

“I wasn’t sure if I had enough space for one, which is why I decided to move everything around,” the manager answered with a guilty grin, knowing that Jongin’s logic was sound in this instance.

The artist clucked his tongue in disapproval. “We’ll just hire someone to make space if we have to. Seriously, Yixing, there’s no need for you to go through all of this trouble, especially not by yourself.”

“It’s fine, Jongin. I wasn’t busy anyway and I promise I was being careful.” Yixing then lowered his gaze several degrees and his voice dropped a few decibels. “I didn’t want to bother you either.”

“Well, I’d rather have you bother me than get hurt in some freak accident. You’re supposed to be the responsible one out of the two of us.” Jongin let out an exasperated sigh. “And our friendship goes both ways, Yixing. You give, I take. I give, you take. You can’t keep preaching about how I’m not relying on you enough and then shut me out when I should be helping you.”

“Alright, alright,” the Chinese male lightly chuckled, “you win.” He pushed himself off of the rosewood bureau and carefully navigated the maze of furniture until he reached Jongin at the room’s entrance. Yixing’s eyes then widened as he looked around his bedroom, his mouth slightly ajar. “Oh, it does look pretty bad from here.”

“Y’think?”

Yixing playfully bumped shoulders with the artist, who only smirked back when the slightly smaller male was unable to make Jongin budge. “Since I’m assuming you’re free right now, do you want to come with me to the furniture store and help me pick out a new chair?”

“What about your room? It’s still a mess.”

“Like you said, we’ll just get the professionals to fix up everything,” Yixing answered with a nonchalant shrug. “I’m sure there are employees at the store who can do that.”

Jongin cast a glance over his shoulder in the direction of his own room and sighed deeply when he thought of his waiting bed. He really had been looking forward to that nap.

The manager’s grin dropped when he noticed the other male’s wandering gaze and hastily said, “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. I can go by myself.”

“No, I’ll come.” Jongin sent him a lopsided smile. In any case, it had been the artist’s choice to interfere with Yixing’s redecoration plans out of the blue. It would be inconsiderate of him to back out now, especially after he had kicked up a huge fuss over the manager including him in the process. “I probably shouldn’t be napping so much anyway. I’ll just go to sleep earlier tonight.”

“Are you sure? It’s completely okay if you’d rather stay home. I can manage on my own.” Yixing smiled wryly. “After all, it’s my job.”

“Actually, you’re right. I think I will stay home,” the artist sarcastically quipped back while pushing his friend out of the bedroom. “C’mon, the faster we do this, the faster we can come back home and I can nap.” As the two males walked down the hallway to the staircase, Jongin stole one last longing glimpse at his own room and silently bid adieu to his bed, promising to return as soon as he could for a proper reunion.

--

The pair walked into the furniture store that they had visited the previous month when purchasing Jongdae’s new office desk. To Jongin’s mild surprise, the same employee from before enthusiastically greeted them again. “Welcome! My name is Lee Hongbin! How many I help you wonderful folks today?”

“We’re looking to buy a comfortable reading chair,” Yixing politely answered.

“Excellent! I guarantee that you’ll be able to find the perfect one here!” Hongbin beamed brightly and grandly gestured to the right. “If you’ll follow me this way, gentlemen, I can show you every chair that we have for sale!”

Once they arrived at the chair section, the store employee began listing the various pros of each chair and Yixing dutifully listened, nodding along as he gazed around at all of the available options.

Jongin, on the other hand, began to zone out. His fatigue from earlier hadn’t dissipated a single bit and had exponentially increased instead. The cool air circulating the furniture store didn’t help to assuage his sleepy state either. It took a tremendous amount of willpower for the artist to keep himself from suddenly dozing off as he consciously blinked his heavy eyelids. Every so often, Jongin lightly slapped his cheeks whenever he felt his head start to loll and he tried to keep his eyes trained on a random chair far off in the distance to keep his mind somewhat occupied.

In fact, the artist was so out of it that he didn’t realize Yixing was repeatedly calling his name until the manager reached over to shake his shoulder. “What’s up?” Jongin asked, still feeling rather dazed and disoriented.

“What do you think of this one?” Yixing pointed at a chair that was comprised of a tilted hollow hemisphere—the seat—which was constructed out of circular bars of onyx steel, on top of a wide cone shape, also constructed out of crisscrossed bars of onyx steel, with its top point replaced by a flat surface—the base. A short bar at the back was built into the center of the hemisphere to keep it attached firmly to the base. There was a giant black cushion that filled the hemispheric frame, tied securely in place.

“It looks comfortable,” Jongin answered. “The design is pretty sleek too. I haven’t seen many chairs like it.”

“This is our swivel papasan chair,” Hongbin proudly introduced while gently spinning the chair to show off its smooth rotations. “The frame is very sturdy and the cushion is extremely plush. You can sit in it and see for yourself if you’d like.”

“Try it,” Yixing said, lightly tugging the artist towards the chair.

“Wait, you’re the one looking for a new chair. You try it,” Jongin hastily replied as he tried to back away.

“I already tried it,” the manager rebutted as he softly pushed his friend into the swivel chair. “I want your opinion too.”

As soon as he sat down, Jongin immediately sank even further into the overstuffed cushion and he let out a contented sigh as he did. This was what he imagined sitting on a cloud was like. The padding was soft and squishy, molding flawlessly to his frame and supporting his body in all of the right places. If he could, he would have fallen asleep right then and there. It was just as comfy as his bed, maybe even more so—although his current state of weariness was probably influencing this thought.

Yixing grinned down knowingly at his friend. “Like it?”

The artist sheepishly nodded.

“Then we’ll take it,” Yixing said, causing Hongbin to loudly clap his hands in celebration.

“Fantastic! Is there anything else you’re looking for or just the chair?” the giddy store employee asked.

“Just the chair,” the Chinese male confirmed as he pulled Jongin up from the comfortable seat.

“Alright,” Hongbin beamed, “let’s finalize your purchase at the checkout counter.”

As the three men walked to the nearest checkout lane, Yixing asked, “If I remember correctly from the last time we were here, I believe your store offers movers for hire? Or at least a similar service for installing and rearranging furniture?”

“That we do!” Hongbin exclaimed with a wide smile. “We have our own in-house movers who can swiftly yet safely haul and build your purchased furniture in your home or your office. For a small extra fee, we’ll send over a team at your scheduled time and they’ll do everything to make sure that your space looks just the way you want it to!” He clasped his hands together and asked, “Would you like our movers to deliver your chair?”

“Yes, please,” the manager answered. “If they could also help move around some furniture in my room, since it’s currently a bit of a mess, I’d really appreciate that as well.”

“Of course! I’ll make a note of that.” Once they reached the checkout lane, Hongbin flipped open a massive white binder stuffed with dozens of laminated pages that listed the entire store’s inventory with each item’s barcode displayed underneath its respective picture. He deftly skimmed to the chairs section and trailed his pointer finger across the various options until he reached the black swivel papasan chair. “Just to confirm one last time, is this the chair that you’d like to purchase, sir?”

Yixing nodded.

“Perfect! I’ll go ahead and ring you up then. While I do that, if you could please fill this out for our movers, I’ll send your request to them and have it added to their schedule immediately,” Hongbin promised as he placed an empty form on the counter in front of Yixing.

The manager duly picked up a black ballpoint pen and began filling out the necessary information. As he did, Yixing slightly tilted his head towards Jongin and asked, “What time do you think we should have them come over?”

“Dunno,” the artist replied with a shrug. “I guess an hour from now? Maybe an hour and a half, in case of traffic? We’re not going anywhere else after this, right?”

“No,” Yixing shook his head, “I don’t have anything else planned.”

“Then I guess the earliest possible option is what we want.” Jongin grimaced slightly when he recalled the current state of his manager’s bedroom. “The sooner, the better.”

Hongbin tapped the touch screen display several times, navigating out of the scanning application to check the moving team’s schedule. “It looks like the earliest slot is two hours from now,” he reported after quickly glancing through the timetable. “They’re currently fulfilling another house call and they’ll have to return to the warehouse to pick up your chair before they arrive at your residence. Is that alright with you, gentlemen?”

“It is. Thank you so much for your help, Hongbin,” Yixing gratefully said as he handed over his credit card.

“My pleasure, gentlemen! Our aim is to please our wonderful clients like you with the best quality furniture and top-notch customer service!” Hongbin declared with a sunny smile as he swiped the thin card through the card reader.

Once Yixing signed the receipt and took back his credit card, he and Jongin thanked Hongbin once more for his help before exiting the furniture store. The two friends then began walking around the plaza towards the entrance of the underground parking garage where the manager’s car was waiting for them.

On their way to the parking lot, Jongin spotted the music store he had seen last time with its liquid chalk drawings on the windows. Instead of the black and white drawings from before, there was an assortment of brown instruments illustrated on the glass windows in liquid chalk. Once again, the artist stepped closer in order to better inspect the amateur artwork.

The lines were clean and the shading was decent. Again, nothing to really boast about, but they were at least captivating enough to stop Jongin in his tracks. At any rate, these drawings had successfully fulfilled their purpose: to attract attention from passerby and beckon them into the store.

When the artist looked past the drawings and through the glass windows, he could see several patrons milling around. Some were flanked by young children, others were paired up, and the rest were browsing alone. The youngest children, most likely toddlers, were eagerly reaching up to tap the pristine ivory and ebony keys of the various pianos on displays.

Seeing those children somewhat reminded him of the old days when he was barely out of infancy, discovering colorful paint and pastels for the first time in his life. How he could use these colors to tell a story in a way that words couldn’t. How he could inject life into his thoughts by illustrating them on paper and then spread them around for the entire world to see.

What a beautifully simple time that had been.

“This is the store you were looking at when we came last time,” Yixing remarked without warning.

Jongin jolted a bit, suddenly pulled out of his reverie, and then slowly nodded to affirm his manager’s observation.

The Chinese male slightly tilted his head as he thoughtfully gazed through the glass windows and into the building. “Do you want to go inside and look around for a bit?” He then glanced at his wristwatch before looking at Jongin and adding with a small smile, “We have time. The movers won’t be coming for another two hours, remember?”

Despite being given the green light, Jongin still hesitated. He wasn’t a musician. What was the point of him looking around a music store?

He knew nothing about instruments. Neither he nor Jongdae had ever taken music lessons growing up. The artist had been wholly focused on perfecting his drawing and painting skills while Jongdae…

Jongin was pretty sure his older brother hadn’t cultivated any skills, basic or artistic, throughout his miserably lacking life. What a sad excuse for a human being.

But that was beside the point.

Since he had no intention of purchasing an instrument or anything else in the music store, the artist knew that going inside would only end up being a huge waste of time. It had nothing to offer him and he had nothing to offer it.

However, something—Jongin didn’t know what—kept him tethered to the modest-looking building. As much as the artist willed his feet to move, they seemed to be rooted to the ground.

Jongin’s eyes flickered between the glass windows and the door handle every few seconds, feeling the bubble of temptation grow within him as each second ticked by. His gaze then switched over to the manager who was patiently waiting for Jongin’s decision. Yixing smiled at the artist encouragingly and slightly tilted his head towards the store, silently reiterating that it was okay if Jongin wanted to walk in.

The artist inhaled deeply before slowly breathing out and squaring his shoulders. It couldn’t hurt to look around for a bit. They’d be in and out in a matter of minutes. And then he’d never come back again, having fulfilled his inexplicable curiosity regarding the music store.

So the two friends wandered in, a high-pitched bell ringing merrily above them as the door swung open to signal their entrance into the store.

The spacious room was divided into sections based off of instrument type. To Jongin and Yixing’s immediate left were several rows of pianos, ranging from electronic to upright to grand. This section took up the most area in the store, due to the sheer size of some of the grand pianos that were for sale.

Behind the pianos was the woodwinds section. The silver flutes and tiny piccolos were organized at the top, the black clarinets and oboes were in the middle, and the golden saxophones rested at the bottom. To the side, closer to the store front, was a large russet bassoon that rested against the wall.

Beyond the woodwinds was the brass section with numerous polished trumpets, trombones, and horns perched on the tawny brown wall. There was even a gigantic tuba displayed near the back of the store that several small children were excitedly marveling over.

To their immediate right was the strings section. Near the front were a couple of massive, majestic double basses. On the wall, there was an upper rack which was sectioned into two, dividing the violins from the violas, and a lower rack that housed the cellos.

Next to the classical instruments was another rack displaying dozens of electric guitars on the top half and acoustic guitars at the bottom half. And in the back-right corner of the store, next to the check-out counter, was a complete acoustic drum set. All of the drum shells were lacquered in glossy black.

In the middle of the store were aisles filled with books of sheet music. It was like a mini-music library. Each aisle was designated with a different instrument, indicated by a small wooden model of its respective instrument hanging overhead. Signs printed in black were also attached to the front of each aisle for easy navigation.

Upon recalling the beautiful one he had seen in the display case last time, Jongin decided to peruse the violin section for a bit and began making his way there with Yixing right at the artist’s heels. Just as they reached the violin rack, a voice suddenly rang out across the store.

“Oh, hey! I know you! You’re one of Kyungsoo’s patients!”

Jongin instantly froze in place upon recognizing the deep baritone voice.

No, it couldn’t be. What was he doing here, of all places?

Why did he notice Jongin, out of everyone in the store?

And more importantly, why did he have to call out the artist in such a public space?

Thundering footfalls sounded on the vinyl tile floor, gradually getting louder with every step. The thin, wispy hairs on the back of Jongin’s neck stood straight up and he could feel the other man’s intense gaze trained on him, like a predator stalking his prey.

A cacophony of alarm bells rang in Jongin’s head and his brain screamed at him to run. To hightail it out of the music store and never look back.

But it was too late for the artist to escape now with the other man quickly closing in on him. Even so, Jongin still desperately wished for the floor to suddenly open up and swallow him whole. For the tiles to collapse so that he could free-fall all the way down to the earth’s molten core.

He never should have walked in. This was the biggest mistake he had made in recent memory and a rapid stream of curses gathered on the artist’s tongue, so he sharply bit his lower lip to restrain himself while his fists clenched tightly at his side.

Meanwhile, Yixing looked at Jongin in bewilderment, using his eyes to silently ask what was going on. He also stepped closer to the artist, sensing his discomfort and wanting to shield him from the approaching stranger.

“Your name is Jongin, right?”

Even though the artist wanted nothing more than to ignore the other man, to pretend like there was nothing but thin air, Jongin knew that he couldn’t. Not with some of the store customers inquiringly glancing over at the trio, thanks to the very loud and very public greeting he had just received. So he steeled himself and, little by little, turned around while wearing a wooden smile on his face. “Oh, hey. Didn’t see you there. Uh, yeah, I’m Jongin. And, uh, you’re—”

“Park Chanyeol!” the other man promptly answered. “Kyungsoo’s best friend,” he added, seeing Yixing’s puzzled expression.

“Your ophthalmologist?” the manager, still very confused, asked Jongin. “Do Kyungsoo?”

“That’s the one!” Chanyeol happily replied instead. “Man, it’s crazy how we keep bumping into each other, Jongin. First the subway station, then Kyungsoo’s clinic, and now here!” He laughed with gusto, to the artist’s displeasure.

People kept looking at them, some of them obviously eavesdropping, and Jongin kept fervently wishing he could disappear into the oblivion despite knowing that it was futile. “Yeah…super crazy…” the artist weakly responded.

“Do you come here often?” Yixing asked.

“I work here,” Chanyeol explained, puffing up his chest with pride.

It wasn’t until then that Jongin realized that the tall male was wearing an ultramarine blue polo shirt with a small logo on the upper left side of his shirt. The logo was embroidered in black thread, depicting a large tree in a pyramidal shape with various music notes hanging from the branches instead of leaves, and the words, The Music Tree, were embroidered in white directly underneath in a shallow convex curve. Clipped on the upper right side of Chanyeol’s shirt was a shiny golden, rectangular-shaped badge engraved with the employee’s name.

The artist instantly blanched.

Park Chanyeol worked here? In this particular music store?

Out of every store in the city that Jongin could have chosen to observe on a whim, it had to be the one that Park Chanyeol worked at?

The universe had to be playing some kind of sick joke on him.

The probability of Jongin running into Park Chanyeol on three different occasions in three different locations was astronomically low. Seoul was a densely populous city, home to around ten million people. Although the South Korean capital’s area was relatively small in comparison to other major cities around the globe, there was no way Jongin could have bumped into Park Chanyeol so often. Especially not within a mere six weeks.

It was unthinkable. It was absurd.

Yet Park Chanyeol didn’t seem to be bothered one bit by this strange coincidence. In fact, it appeared as though the tall guitarist welcomed it instead, which Jongin couldn’t understand at all.

God, he was never going to let his foolish curiosity lead him ever again. Not if it led to situations like this.

No, he was better off staying at home. It was safe at home. Safe from tall, energetic, talkative men like Park Chanyeol. Safe from Kyungsoo’s best friend.

Completely unaware of the artist’s inner turmoil, Chanyeol asked, his eyes shining with interest, “What are you two doing here? Are you guys into music? Do you need any recommendations? What instruments do you play?”

Yixing, seeing that Jongin was rigid and tight-lipped, answered with a shake of head, “Neither of us are musicians, but we saw the store and thought it looked interesting. So we decided to take a look around while we were here.” He then jabbed his thumb behind him as he added, “We were shopping at the furniture store that’s a few doors down for a new chair before coming here.”

“Cool!” Chanyeol exclaimed. “Well, since this is your first time here, let me give you guys a quick tour of the place.”

Jongin instantly paled and was about to protest, but was unable to react quickly enough with the tall guitarist already pulling him and Yixing to the back of the store where a dozen gold-framed photographs decorated the wall. Within seconds, the artist noticed the singular linking detail between all of the pictures: there was a smiling bespectacled man who was holding a different instrument in each photograph. Although he had visibly aged throughout the years—he looked to be in his early sixties in the most recent photo—the man’s smile was still blindingly bright in every single picture.

Chanyeol, who was gazing warmly at the photos, told the two friends, “The Music Tree is an independent music store owned by this man here, Mr. Yeon. By trade, he’s a luthier.”

“What’s that?” the manager politely inquired, having never heard of the term until now.

“A luthier is a craftsman who specializes in stringed instruments,” Chanyeol explained. “Mr. Yeon knows how to build and repair guitars, violins, cellos, and other stringed instruments. You name it, he can fix it.”

“Wow, that’s very interesting,” Yixing said, looking thoroughly impressed.

Jongin grudgingly concurred with the manager’s sentiment. Although he had never tried it himself, he knew it was a painstakingly difficult process to create such intricate instruments. Woodworking, in general, was a complex activity that Jongin had attempted only once in his life during university. It hadn’t ignited his artistic spirit like painting did, so he had decided to forgo future lessons after attending the first class.

The tall male beamed at their response. “Right? Mr. Yeon is the coolest! The Music Tree started off as a simple workshop thirty years ago, but he eventually managed to expand it into a full-fledged music store that now caters to every kind of musician. On the weekends, we have some free demonstrations and classes for the kids. And every year, Mr. Yeon chooses a different instrument to feature in a cultural expo and it’s a full day of celebration with lots of music and food.” Chanyeol reached over to pluck a beige-colored flyer from the nearby check-out counter and then showed it to the other two males. “This year, we featured the marimba which is a percussive instrument that’s relatively similar to the xylophone.”

Yixing took the flyer from the tall guitarist and quickly scanned it, making mental notes on the advertisement to use in the future for Jongin’s next exhibition—whenever that would be. “Is Mr. Yeon here now?” the manager then asked while gazing around the store, seeing if he could try to pinpoint the craftsman from the store customers.

Chanyeol shook his head and answered, “He switches between his home workshop and the one behind the store.” The musician pointed to a brown door that had the words “Employees Only” printed in black at the top. “He’s been spending most of his time at home lately, since he wants to be with his family more now that he’s semi-retired. But he still comes in every couple of days to see how the store is doing and to talk to families whose kids are just getting started in music.”

“He sounds really nice,” the manager commented with a kind smile.

Chanyeol nodded vigorously in agreement. “You guys should come back and meet him! He’ll be able to tell you a lot more than I can about all of these instruments and he’ll probably even show you one of his ongoing projects, since he loves sharing his work.”

Except Jongin had no intention of ever coming back to Park Chanyeol’s workplace. Never again.

“Anyway, let’s move onto the next section!”

“Wait, we’ve already seen everything,” Jongin tried to protest. But it was to no avail; the artist’s words fell on deaf ears as Park Chanyeol continued pulling the two friends around the store and explaining each section. Jongin scowled deeply and silently fumed over his inability to yank his wrist from the tall musician’s tight grip, lest he wanted to bring more unwanted attention from the other store customers to himself.

On the other hand, Yixing courteously nodded along as he listened to the long-winded—but still very informative—spiel about the wide assortment of instruments for sale.

“And over here is my favorite spot: our prized selection of guitars,” Chanyeol announced with a wide grin once they reached the expansive rack at the back-right section of the store. “As a guitarist, this display is my pride and joy. Well, it’s technically all Mr. Yeon’s, but I treat it like my own whenever he’s not here,” he admitted with a hearty laugh.

Yixing curiously peered at the various guitar models while inquiring, “What kind of guitar do you own?”

“I have a Brazilian rosewood guitar,” the musician happily answered. “It’s my absolute pride and joy. Not to mention, also very rare.”

“Why is that?” Yixing asked.

“The Brazilian rosewood is now an endangered species,” Chanyeol explained with a sad sigh. “Back in the day, it was one of the most popular woods used for crafting guitars because of the warm tone and clear resonance it added to a guitar’s sound. Not to mention, Brazilian rosewood guitars are beautiful.” The musician sighed again, but with a dreamy expression decorating his face this time. “They’re this rich purplish-brown color with chocolate brown streaks.” He then smiled ruefully as he added, “I wish we had one around so I could show you guys what it looks like, but we don’t have any in stock anymore. Mine was among the last few that we did have before I snatched it up.”

“But it must’ve been quite expensive if it’s so rare,” Jongin pointed out, remembering that the guitarist was relatively poor. “How were you able to afford one?”

“I actually got mine for a relatively cheap price, since Mr. Yeon was kind enough to give me a hefty discount.” Chanyeol sheepishly scratched the back of his neck. “I ended up only paying five million won for it.”

Jongin’s jaw dropped. Five million won for a guitar? And that was considered cheap?

Even he only ever paid a couple hundred thousand won, at most, for his top-quality art supplies. Not that he really needed to worry about expenses, since his bank account was practically filled to the brim.

But five million won was no small amount, especially for someone like Park Chanyeol who claimed to be a poor musician. Or was that all a farce?

“How did you even come up with the money for that?” the artist coarsely asked. “I thought you were broke.”

“Jongin!” his manager hissed, the equally shocked looked on Yixing’s face disappearing when he sharply elbowed the artist in the side for sounding so rude.

Luckily, Chanyeol didn’t seem to take offense and he chuckled as he explained, “I saved up for years to be able to afford my Brazilian rosewood. Lots of skipped meals and social outings, but I don’t regret any of it. Having a high-quality guitar that sounds as beautiful as it looks is really important to me, so I prioritized that along with my rent, since I still need a place to sleep every night.”

“So yours is considered affordable?” Yixing reaffirmed, still somewhat in disbelief.

“Yeah, the average price for a first-rate Brazilian rosewood guitar is around ten million won. The top of the top can go up to twenty million won, maybe even a bit more if it’s older and still has all of its original parts.”

Jongin snorted loudly and crossed his arms over his chest. “That sounds like highway robbery to me.”

“It does seem very expensive,” Yixing agreed, smiling apologetically at the tall guitarist. “But like I said, the two of us aren’t music experts by any means, so there’s no reason for us be judgmental.”

Chanyeol laughed brightly in response. “It’s totally fine. I judge these prices all of the time, since there’s no way I’d be able to afford any of them. At the very least, I do have a Brazilian rosewood guitar of my own and I’ve been guarding it with my life,” the musician cheerfully added. “I also see it as an investment. Once I make it big, I’ll easily make back that five million won and more.”

The artist was very tempted to make a snide remark about Park Chanyeol’s naïve optimism, but restrained himself when Yixing shot him a warning glance.

Meanwhile, the guitarist absentmindedly rubbed his chin with his right hand as he mused out loud, “What should I show you guys next?”

“Uh, actually, I think it’s time to go now. Right, Yixing?” Jongin hoped that his manager would pick up the hint and help him escape before Park Chanyeol kept them trapped in the music store any longer.

“Oh, you’re right, Jongin. I didn’t realize how late it had gotten,” Yixing smoothly said while purposefully lifting up his left arm to glance at his watch.

The musician pouted, not unlike a young child. “Aw, do you guys have to leave already?”

“Yeah, we have an appointment with furniture movers at our house that we can’t miss,” the artist hastily explained, hoping that bit of information was enough to satisfy Chanyeol’s curiosity and keep him from asking any more questions.

To Jongin’s relief, the taller male smiled and nodded in understanding. “Gotcha, I’ll let you guys go then. It was great talking to you both. And like I said earlier, whenever you have time, you should definitely come back when Mr. Yeon is here at the store.”

Yixing smiled. “Thank you for the offer, Chanyeol. We’ll try to find time in our schedules. Won’t we, Jongin?” The Chinese male subtly elbowed his friend for good measure, knowing that Jongin was going to readily forget Chanyeol’s invitation once they walked out of The Music Tree.

“Uh, yeah, right,” the artist obediently mumbled while trying to bite back a hiss from the unexpected impact.

The two friends were about to turn and head for the exit when Chanyeol said, “Wait, Jongin. Before you go, I have a question for you regarding Kyungsoo.”

The artist deeply furrowed his eyebrows.

What could Kyungsoo’s best friend possibly want to ask a mere patient like the artist? What information could Jongin possibly offer that the guitarist didn’t already know?

With every new encounter, Jongin grew more and more perplexed by Kyungsoo and Chanyeol’s friendship.

The cynical part of him wanted to focus on maneuvering himself out of this conversation, since he was unsure of Chanyeol’s motivations. But, as much as he hated to admit it, Jongin’s interest was piqued.

Perhaps it was just going to be an innocent question. Completely harmless. Banal, even.

Or perhaps Chanyeol was trying to intimidate him, for whatever nonsense reason, out of some misplaced sense of duty towards the ophthalmologist. After all, the guitarist was relatively tall and imposing, a stark contrast to Kyungsoo’s smaller and more delicate frame. And being the ophthalmologist’s best friend, it wouldn’t be surprising if he felt protective of Kyungsoo.

Not that Chanyeol had any reason to, since Jongin couldn’t think of anything he had possibly done to offend the ophthalmologist, at least not recently. A few months ago, yes—Jongin was well aware of how rude he had been towards Kyungsoo when they first met—but certainly not now when the ophthalmologist was his friend.

Besides, Jongin was no small fry himself.

He was just as tall—bar a few centimeters, but that was negligible at the moment—and arguably even more imposing than the guitarist, who seemed to be a bit of an airhead. An indisputably far cry from the sharp-minded and world-renowned artist, Kim Jongin.

Allowing his curiosity to get the better of him, even though it was against his better judgment, Jongin finally replied, “Okay, what is it?”

♈♈♈