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Jinyoung’s P.O.V.

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With tingling lips and numbing limbs, I felt around in my pockets for keys to the front door.

“,” I mumbled, as I heard them clinking to the ground.

Not quite drunk but definitely buzzing from the few drinks I’d had not long before returning to the house, I’d managed to make it back with some time left to practice before daylight. Maybe it wouldn’t be the most productive session in my condition, but, in any case, I could always crash on the divan if I got too tired… or so I thought.

The music was the first thing that struck me as I entered the house. It was good not in the sense that it was perfect or refined. In fact it was anything but that. Instead, it tugged at the heartstrings like a child calling out for it’s mother in a moment of lost confusion. It crescendoed and decrescendoed with each passionate plea.

In an instant it reminded me of him.

The sounds vibrating from the piano came to a screeching halt.

“Jinyoung, I know you’re watching me. You can come out.”

Slowly revealing myself from behind the cracked door, I looked with shameful defeat at my older brother.

“I’m sorry, hyung-ah.”

“I can’t practice like this if you keep distracting me.”

“But you sound so good, hyung-ah! Can’t I stay and listen? I promise I’ll be quiet.”

“‘When I play a note of Schubert I don’t want anybody walking around and talking.’ Mitsuko Uchida said that.”

“Who’s that?”

“Someone very famous and talented. Famous like I’ll never be if I can’t practice.”