There are four courtyards on college campus, with a fifth that has been in progress for longer than Daehyun has been at the school. Daehyun’s never seen it without at least a single uprooted tree or hole dug in the ground, for whatever reason. The estimated completion time had been set and long passed in his first year of university, and it doesn’t seem like there’s much chance that it will be done before Daehyun graduates, either. The second courtyard adjoins the music wing of the campus and is the plainest out of them all. It’s muted at this time of year, when even the sidewalks have been swept as clean of leaves as the trees themselves. The grass underfoot is dry and crackles underfoot as he paces in front of the bench closest to the building.

There’s movement in his peripheral vision, and he turns to see that a window has slid open. He recalls briefly that his friend is a piano major, and seats himself onto the bench with the hint of a smile playing across his lips. The air is still, unusually slow, and Daehyun’s not used to this kind of silence. There’s no one else around at this point in the day, with all the students either in classes or at work. He himself is supposed to be at the other end of the city in a half hour, but he’ll manage, somehow, even if it means he has to run all the way to the nearest bus station to make up for lost time.

Chair legs scrape against a creaking wooden floor, the sound as clear as if he were in the room himself. There’s a pregnant pause, as though the world is holding its breath, filled to bursting with—with something, Daehyun can’t put his words to. Daehyun hears it, then, delayed, a single note. A pause, a chord, another pause. Suddenly, the world breathes again, in tandem with the consistent harmony the left hands keys provide for the melodious right hand notes. They’re quiet, little gasps—the world is afraid to breathe too loudly. There’s a welcome crescendo, and Daehyun watches as the colors in front of his eyes shift and sharpen. Daehyun is both relaxed and anxious, waiting waiting waiting for the more that the spaces in between the notes promise with sly whispers into his ears. Slim fingers curl into the fabric of his jeans, catching on folds.

Finally, finally, the music becomes hurried, more frantic as it progresses. Daehyun pulls the word from the limited Latin vocabulary he has—agitato. The cadenza ebbs as quickly as it had crashed over him, and takes with it all the nervous tension in Daehyun’s shoulders. The song dissolves from angry froth to foam to nothing at all, and Daehyun is left completely bare, with a closed window and a fluttering heartbeat.

Daehyun arrives late at the conservatory, but they pardon it as a one-time occurrence. He’s unintentionally distant for the rest of the time, and his last professor sends him back early for “much needed rest.”

.

Himchan snags him again, a hand on the inside of his elbow and a worried smile. Daehyun follows without asking questions, tucking the note that had been clutched in his hand into his back pocket.

#232: That was Chopin’s Pianoconcerto No.1 Romance-Larghetto. I’ve heard all of Chopin’s pieces, and played at least half of them. I’ll play them all, one day.

Himchan takes him to a different coffee shop this time, closer to the campus and more of a student hub than anything else. It’s a little more rundown as well, but the atmosphere is warm and everything is neatly put together. The café has a good half of its tables and booths filled, and the combined voices of the students result in a low hum of noise. Daehyun leads the way to the counter and the display of treats underneath, eager, but he tones down his excitement when he observes the way Himchan wavers uncharacteristically behind him. Daehyun is getting ready to ask if there’s something wrong until the barista calls his attention away.

“You’re back,” the employee remarks enthusiastically. Himchan shakes out of whatever reverie he’d been in and grins disarmingly.

“The coffee you made was delicious, I really couldn’t help myself.” The confidence Himchan is exuding is too much, too over the top. It’s fake confidence, which Daehyun recognizes as overcompensation for Himchan’s nervousness. Daehyun’s only seen Himchan like this once before, when he’d had to take a test he hadn’t studied for at all because a nasty stomach bug had kept him bedridden.

Himchan’s fingers twitch anxiously, and he shoves them into his pockets. The smile on his face widens a centimeter. To any onlooker, Daehyun figures it would seem that Himchan’s self-assurance was strong and effortless. His shoulders are pulled straight and slightly backward, his chin tilted a few degrees to the right and his expression is entirely nonchalant. Daehyun knows better.

“Coffee sounds great right about now,” Daehyun butts in. The barista is slightly taken aback by Himchan’s presence, and Daehyun can only guess that Himchan had acted entirely different their first meeting. “What was it that you ordered?” Daehyun asks, turning to Himchan.

Himchan doesn’t miss a beat. “An iced Americano.”

“In the winter?” Daehyun probably shouldn’t be surprised. “I’ll pass. A vanilla latte for me, and a slice of that strawberry cheesecake,” he says, smiling at the barista. Himchan orders another Americano, and they take a settle into the only unoccupied booth left once Himchan has paid and they have their drinks.

The chairs and booths are all equipped with the same cushions of soft velveteen brown. Daehyun leans back into his seat comfortably and watches Himchan slowly deflate.

“His name’s Moon Jongup,” Himchan mutters after a few moments.

The booth they’re in is off to the side, providing Daehyun with a clear view of the counter and the employee behind it. Jongup is wiping down the countertop with a white rag, head bowed in concentration and oblivious to Daehyun’s appraisal. His sleeveless shirt hides neither the rippling muscles in his arms nor the smooth tan of his skin. Jongup’s shoulders are strong too, and his chiseled jaw casts a sharp shadow onto his collar. His hair is styled carefully, intentionally ruffled and swept to the side. The rich chocolate color suits his overall skin tone well, Daehyun thinks.

Himchan looks at Daehyun with a look he’s never seen before. “What do you think?” Himchan asks. Daehyun is struck by that look again—Himchan is seeking his approval, he realizes with a start.

“He’s handsome,” Daehyun starts. “Very good looking. But I don’t think his looks would make you so agitated around him,” he says carefully.

Himchan purses his lips. “It’s not. He’s—I don’t know. His smile. I came in and all I did was make an order and maybe I checked him out a little—but the way he smiled at me. God, I don’t even know how to talk to him.”

“You talked to him last time, didn’t you? Start off small. He probably goes to school here too, so ask about his classes. Praise his coffee. Except not how you did just now, that was borderline ual harassment.”

Himchan groans and steers their conversation away from Jongup. At some point, they both take out their notebooks and textbooks and start studying, soothed by the muffled background noise of the cozy café.

Later that evening, Daehyun folds a crane and colors it red with a colored pencil he borrows from Himchan. On the inside, he writes it’s beautiful but forgets (neglects) to write I would give anything to do a duet with you.

a/n: This is for Carrie, because she needs some love. Stay strong, baby. You will get past this, I promise, and I'll be there to help you carry that load whenever you need it. Don't give up, keep pushing forward. I will always be there for you. And even if you have no one else, you will always have me. You are my everything, and I will never let you fall.

Hope you enjoyed~
-Jess