#338: No one really expected me to go to college and study piano. I started playing when I was twelve, so many years later than the kids who began at five. I read advanced textbooks for fun and could sleep through my classes and still succeed. They all thought I’d be a mathematician or a scientist of some sort. They said I wouldn’t stand a chance as pianist.

Have you ever heard of the International Chopin Piano Competition? It’s held in Warsaw, Poland, every five years. It’s a pretty big deal if you win.

I participated in it the last time it was held. I was only eighteen. I didn’t get to the final stage, and that was all that anyone cared about. It didn’t matter that I got past the first, second, and third stages with only five years of piano.

In the end, it was my grandmother who told me to do what I wanted. She showed me the numbers in her bank account and said it was all mine. Whatever I wanted to do with it. Money can’t buy happiness, they say, but it can sure get real close.

.

It’s their first practice together. Daehyun is all over the place—leaning over a music stand, sprawled over the side of the piano, on the piano bench with his toes pressing curiously into the pedals. Youngjae sits down next to him and uncovers the keys. Daehyun can’t help but notice his hands. Youngjae’s fingers are slim and strong, and his nails are manicured neatly, trimmed nearly to the quick. When Youngjae isn’t looking, Daehyun compares his small hands to Youngjae’s octave-spanning palms and feels ever the tinier.

Their thighs brush—just the slightest bit of contact—and Daehyun springs up to stand rigidly at Youngjae’s side instead. He swallows thickly and wets his dry lips, willing for the electricity in his fingertips to settle down. Daehyun regards the way Youngjae looks so at home at the piano. Shoulders relaxed, wrists steady, elbows apart. Youngjae has pulled up the sleeves of his sweater to reveal pale, smooth skin and muscle. Daehyun clears his throat, feeling like he’s suffocating in such a tiny space. The gentle scent of Youngjae’s cologne is all too much.

“Do you need to warm up your voice?” Youngjae asks.

Daehyun brushes his hair out of his eyes, tries to sound normal. “Uh, yeah. Just play a song you know and I’ll sing along.” The atmosphere around them is stiff for a reason Daehyun doesn’t know. He’s not sure how to fix it, but the air is uncomfortable. He can’t relax.

Daehyun realizes two things when Youngjae starts to play.

The first, is that he knows the song. Knows it, and loves it. It’s not an easy song to sing, but he’s practiced it before on his own time enough that the lyrics and the melody come to him like second nature. He picks up on his cue and sings it the only way he can, with his eyes closed and his entire heart beating to the tune, body thrumming. Youngjae has the piece down well enough that even with Daehyun’s voice wrapping around him, harmonizing with his notes, he doesn’t falter. He’s never done a duet before. Youngjae had been afraid that it wouldn’t work out, that he couldn’t keep up or that he’d get distracted by a second musical presence. Instead, it seems like all the strings connecting the millions of pieces of the world have suddenly tightened, and everything comes into place, sharper than ever before. Youngjae can see the dust motes fluttering softly about the room, can see how everything is still as it listens to Youngjae’s music and Daehyun’s song. Youngjae allows himself a glance at Daehyun out of the corner of his eyes, struck by how everything about him seems so perfect. Daehyun’s soft pink hair is electrified, single strands standing up from the top of his head like threads from a fuzzy sweater. His eyelashes are caught in the light of the sun from the single window in the center of the back wall, curved and golden. Although his lips are dry, Youngjae can just barely fight down the overwhelming urge to kiss them until they’re red. Until Daehyun is gasping for breath for a reason other than having just sung through a strenuous, four minute song pitched higher than most males can reach.

They stare at each other as Youngjae plays through the last notes of the song, the both of them equally short of breath. Daehyun looks energized, elated, his grin like a fire; warm and crackling, cheery sparks jumping and shining like stars in a dark sky. Youngjae can feel that warmth thawing him from the fingertips in, creeping along his hands and onto his arms. It leaves tingling embers in its wake, as if butterflies with wings made of yellow flames have landed all over his body and kissed his skin, then lifted off as quickly as they had appeared. Youngjae is mesmerized.

“You’re—beautiful,” Youngjae breathes, and means it, with every fiber of his being. “Your singing is beautiful.” He hopes fervently that Daehyun understands that Youngjae is elaborating on his first statement rather than amending it.

Daehyun blushes from head to toe, expressive eyes betraying how pleased he is with the compliment. He his lips and rubs across them with the sleeve of his sweater as if he’s drying them, but Youngjae sees the happy bunching of his cheeks even if the smile below is hidden. Youngjae feels—well, he’s not really sure. He’s happier than he ever remembers being before, feels like the stuffy practice room they’re in is a breath of fresh air with every inhale, feels like the blood pumping in his veins is boiling and alive.

“Thank you,” Daehyun says, voice so quiet that it borders on a whisper.

There is no longer any stiffness in the atmosphere between them. Youngjae takes out his music sheets and plays through the piece that they had chosen. His fingers aren’t quite accustomed to the notes, but neither is Daehyun’s voice accustomed to the melody. They work through each measure slowly but steadily, neither minding the other’s mistakes. They close their eyes, imagining the wind blowing across the sea, a boat rocking to the waves, the Caribbean Sea. Their song is still rigid and terribly imperfect, sounds nothing like the original. They’ll get it eventually.

“No rush,” Daehyun says.

“Not yet,” Youngjae jokes, absentmindedly playing a snippet from a classical piece Daehyun can’t name as Daehyun packs his things away.

The second thing Daehyun realizes that day is that he knows the way Youngjae plays. He’s sure of it, from the several times he’d heard it in his music theory class. From the day in the courtyard. He knows it.

a/n: Idk guys. this is for my boo, who didn't say anything about it today but I think she's not feeling very good. :c Poor donut. 3 (ps. thank you lynn for that new endearing term to call my wifeu with :3)

I hope you feel better love!
-Jess