The sound of drizzling rain hitting the ground, droplets racing down the windows, wet pavement glistening like silver. The sound of pub patrons, relaxing and hunching backs over glasses of liquor, smiling and sorrowful faces among the crowd. The sound of a piano, a pair of hands gliding along beautifully, fingers touching lightly on the monochrome keys.

A man was seated on a secluded table at the darkest corner of the pub, almost hidden in the shadows—a tattered sketchbook opened in front of him, a pencil held on his right hand. The bartender greeted him with a nod and a slight smile when he entered the door earlier that night, pouring a glass of red wine to be given to him as he passed through the bar. He was a regular there, always coming for a drink every Monday night, always ordering the same glass of red wine. Wearing a ski mask and hooded sweater that covered all his face and ears even on the warmest nights—it was no wonder that the other patrons left him alone by himself. Many questions passed through other customers’ mind when they saw him, with his tall build and broad shoulders and suspicious attire. Some even dared to ask the bartender about him, but he always answered with the same words: “Let him be in silence,” with a sympathetic smile on his face. So they left him alone by himself, although they never understood how the man could possibly find silence within the bustling, noisy pub full of people.

The sight of drizzling rain hitting the ground, droplets tapping the windows softly, soothing dripping noises of water hitting the pavement. The sight of pub patrons, talking about hardships and joy of life, laughter ringing and sobs echoing. The sight of a piano, a sweet tune in the air, high and low notes harmoniously intertwining in the melody.

Another man was seated on a stool in front of the piano at the back of the pub, but at a slightly raised stage that could be seen from every corner—a dim spotlight shone on him, just enough to bathe him with a soft glow. The bartender greeted him with a cheerful hello when he passed through the door just before the pub opened for the night, engaging him with small talks while walking with him slowly towards the grand piano. He was a freelancer there, always playing the piano every Monday night, always shyly smiling to everyone who looked at him. Wearing a pair of sunglasses that hid his eyes even on the darkest nights—sometimes the patrons wondered about his fashion sense. Numerous queries visited his audiences as they watched him play, eyes closed and shades covering his view. Several were even curious enough to inquire the bartender about him, but he gave the same answer to everyone: “He plays with his heart,” with a sad smile on his face. So they listened to his music without complaints, letting the man enjoyed building the melody that had somehow touched their heart as well.

Did you see me listening to you?

It was under the rain when the two men first met, bumping into each other under the pouring water.  The taller man had forgotten his umbrella that day, when he left his rundown flat to buy some groceries—if instant ramyeon and beer counted as such. It was not his fault though, because the sky looked clear when he left, but then it suddenly decided to cry—almost as if it had a hidden plan. Cursing the inaccurate weather forecast in his mind, his eyes were focused on the door of a small pub to find shelter—he usually hated such place, where there were way too many people than he was comfortable with: none—but this was an emergency situation. The pavement was slippery, and he urgently kept running at full speed—bad idea, because he lost his footing as he ran. Panicking, he saw a slender man heading to the same direction as him from the corner of his eyes, right in the middle of the path he was sliding towards.

“Watch out!” he shouted to warn the other man, who lifted his head in surprise.

The slender man confusedly moved his head quickly left and right, but he didn’t move fast enough—barely making an attempt to move actually, and thus the taller man crashed into him. They fell down on the drenched sidewalk, the slender man’s umbrella broken under their weight. The taller man almost lied on top of the more slender man, groaning in pain as his knees were hurting and the hands that stopped his body from crushing the man below him was scratched under his torn gloves. When he realized the position they were in, he hurriedly stood up, offering his hand to help the slender man up without thinking, feeling sorry.

“I’m sorry,” the taller whispered lowly, voice a bit muffled by the ski mask he was wearing. His hand was hanging, wanting to help, but the slender man still sat stiffly shocked on the ground.

“Please let me help you stand up,” the taller said again, eyes widening in worry, praying that the other man didn’t get hurt.

“Ah yes…” the slender man’s lips parted, but he had yet to make any movement to take the taller man’s hand.

“Thank you,” the slender man said as he extended his hand, but he didn’t grab the taller man’s suspended hands. He lifted his head, eyes covered by a sunglasses, but his face wasn’t directed straightly at the taller man’s, missing his mark by looking a little bit to the side.

Puzzled and a bit hurt, thinking that maybe the slender man was too disgusted to look at him, the taller man still grasped the other man’s stretched up hand and pulled him up to stand.

“I’m sorry… And your umbrella is broken too,” the taller man said miserably, hoping that the slender man wouldn’t get mad at him, picking the remains of the black umbrella.

“It’s alright. Accidents happen,” surprisingly, the slender man replied with a pretty smile, but the taller man froze at his words. He hated that word—it brought up unpleasant memories that he had to be reminded of every single day.

One minute, two minutes without a sound, he was lost in thought, standing stiffly.

“Are you all right? Are you still here with me?” the slender man asked confusedly, eyebrows knitted in tight furrow. He lifted his right hand up, moving it slowly as if trying to grab the thin air. It would probably hit the taller man’s face if only he didn’t move a step backwards.

“A… Ah. Y… Yes. I’m sorry,” the taller man stuttered with the softest voice unfitting for his build.

“It’s alright. I just thought you were gone when you didn’t say anything,” the slender man replied with a shy hesitant smile, cheeks blushing in poorly concealed discomfort.

“But… I didn’t move an inch,” the taller man mumbled incoherently in a puzzled tone.

“What was that? Ah anyway, were you going to enter the pub? Sorry, but I don’t think it’s opened yet…” the slender man said in an apologetic tone.

“Well. No… I mean… Yes. But only to try to find shelter from the rain,” the taller man answered in a daze, trying to fit in the puzzle pieces that was the man in front of him.

“Ah yes, the rain… Well, just come in to the pub with me. I’m sure Jinnie will let us borrow some towel,” the slender man had a heart-shaped smile, and a hidden dimple that sometimes showed, the taller noticed.

“Thank you. You are a regular here?” the taller man asked. Finally understanding, his hand reached the slender man’s elbow slowly, afraid of surprising him, and guided him to the pub’s entrance.

“No. I work here as a pianist every Monday nights… My name is Hyesung by the way. Shin Hyesung. And yours?” he gave the taller man a grateful smile, letting the taller man directed his way.

“Eric. Eric Mun,” the taller answered.

“Nice to meet you.”

Did you hear me looking at you?

The inside of the pub had a hospitable atmosphere, dominated with wood elements. The warm lighting the room giving the place a cozy ambience, mismatched decoration somehow managed to appear attractive. Rows of bottles were organized neatly on the wall behind the bar, many kinds of beers and wines and spirits. The place was almost empty at the moment, for it wasn’t opening time just yet. The lone person inside was a tall and handsome man with dark hair, wearing a white pressed shirt. He was standing behind his bar, seemingly worried, glancing at the clock every now and then. The bartender was wiping glasses for distraction—unknowingly rubbing the clean glass at the same spot for the last few minutes—when the pub door opened. He automatically looked at the direction of it and sighed in relief as a familiar heart-shaped face appeared, a thin body maneuvering carefully to get inside.

“You are late hyung. What happened? Did the rain delay you? You should call me if something happened. You’re never late like this before,” the handsome bartender fretted, walking towards Hyesung hurriedly.

“Sorry Jin-ah, I ran into someone,” Hyesung chuckled lightly at the younger man’s ramblings—Jinnie has always been like this, worrying about him as if he was hopelessly incapable. It annoyed him sometimes, but he couldn’t get mad at his dongsaeng since he knew that Junjin meant well. Jin was about to make a move to hold Hyesung’s hands and took him to a nearby chair when he heard a stifled sneeze. It was only then the bartender noticed a tall man with nice build wearing a black ski mask that covered all of his head and face except for his big round eyes, holding Hyesung’s elbow firmly but gently, dripping rain water on his polished wooden floor.

“Your friend, hyung?” the bartender eyed the man suspiciously. To be honest, he thought that his hyung’s companion looked like he was going to rob a bank with his all-black attire down to his shoes and gloves, barely any skin showing. He wouldn’t look that out of place in a ski resort, but this was early evening on an autumn, in a quiet neighborhood, without any snow in sight.

“A new one,” Hyesung said airily with a small smile playing on his thin lips, making Junjin worried about his hyung’s carefree natures sometimes.

“I see. Well, I’m Junjin,” the bartender extended his hand to offer a handshake with a practiced polite smile to Eric who strangely kept staring at his face. Eyeing Junjin’s hand, the older man, however, hesitated and glanced at his own torn gloves.

“Eric,” he said timidly, his hands clenched by his sides, not accepting Jin’s handshake. Junjin raised his eyebrows at that, staring straight at the stranger, finding his behavior really weird. Eric however, refused to look at Junjin eyes and chose to stare the ground instead, although he would steal a discreet glance at the two other men periodically.

“Can we please borrow some towel Jin-ah? We are dripping here,” sensing the awkward atmosphere, Hyesung tried to break the tension. He touched his wet hair and pouted a little, puffing chubby cheeks apparent. Junjin let out a little chuckle at the act.

“Sure. Sure. Just sit there on the bar stools. I’ll be back soon,” Junjin pointed at the black stools in front of the bar as Eric’s eyes followed the direction of his long fingers. The youngest then walked upstairs to the small flat above the pub where he lived to fetch some towels for his hyung and the weird stranger.

After helping Hyesung to sit on one of the stools, Eric sat beside him, staring at his clenched hands deep in thought, hiding the skin that peeked out from the ripped gloves.

“Eric-ah, are you cold?” Hyesung asked the man beside him kindly—he also heard him sneeze earlier and he could feel that Eric’s hand was trembling when he held his elbow to walk him. But Eric, strangely, didn’t move a muscle nor made any sound to answer his question.

Thinking that he spoke too quietly, Hyesung repeated the question louder, but Eric stayed still, stubbornly staring at his hands without answering. Hyesung didn’t hear any sounds of chairs moving against the floor, nor any footsteps—so Eric must still be seated next to him, so why wasn’t he answering?

“Eric-ah?” Hyesung’s voice now resonated loudly in the quiet, empty pub. He cringed at the echoing sound of his own voice—but still, the man beside him sat rigidly, ignoring him calling his name repeatedly.

Hyesung moved his hand, trying to touch Eric and eventually finding his shoulder. At the contact, Eric turned his head and directed his eyes to Hyesung’s lips instantly. Feeling Eric’s movement, Hyesung decided to ask the masked man once again.

“Eric-ah, are you cold?” he said, as softly as the first time.

 “I’m alright...” Eric answered hesitantly. In actuality, he wasn’t feeling really well, cold because he was still drenched and to make it worse he also started feeling a little bit lightheaded.

But looking at Hyesung’s sweet smile, Eric’s heart suddenly skipped a beat and warm feeling flooded his chest.

“I’ll be fine.”

Drawing a picture for the eyes that cannot see, playing a song for the ears that cannot hear.

“Have you been staring at me playing the whole night?” Hyesung asked as Eric grabbed a chair for him at his table, to be seated opposite the taller man. Since their first meeting that fateful Monday, Eric started coming to the pub every week, routinely watching Hyesung played the piano and lingered for a chat after Hyesung finished. Sometimes, when the pub was really busy and Junjin couldn’t walk Hyesung home, Eric would walk him home instead.

He probably would be blushing madly at Hyesung’s question if he still could. Eric cleared his throat, avoiding the responsibility to answer.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Hyesung chuckled cutely, clasping his hands and putting his chin above them.

“Well… If you want to take it that way,” Eric replied shyly as his dominant hand moved slowly, drawing delicate lines on his sketchbook. His eyes kept running back and forth between the sketch paper and Hyesung’s face, studying the man as well as watching his small mouth just in case he said something.

The sound of pencil against paper intrigued Hyesung.

“What are you drawing?” the younger man asked curiously. “Jinnie told me that you are always busy bending over your sketchbook.”

“Something beautiful,” Eric said slowly, as he stared straight into Hyesung’s white pupils behind the sunglasses he was wearing. Hyesung hated to show them, it had turned people off before, but Eric thought that those eyes were weirdly enchanting—pure like the snow. Eric coughed a little, trying to calm his heart down and erase the embarrassment for his fascination and admiration about Hyesung , even though he usually only mentioned it in his own mind.

“Oh… Did you see a girl you like?” Hyesung asked, feigning nonchalance, cringing a bit when he heard his own voice wavered. Eric’s eyes weren’t playing a trick on him when he thought that Hyesung was somehow looking nervous, his lips were slightly trembling.

Eric glanced at his sketchbook—there, a picture of Hyesung playing the piano, a picture sweetly smiling Hyesung, a picture of Hyesung looking deep in thought, a picture of Hyesung suspended in laughter—all the pictures gracing the pages of the book was of the man sitting in front of him.

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