/sprɪŋ/
time of phenomenal renewal; rebirth

 

When the last bits of chilly snow melt down and soak into the soil, when the stark looking surroundings seem to come back to life again, you know for sure; Spring is back. Seeds that have been dozing deep in the ground until now, they take root, they grow leafy and green. Hibernating animals wake up from the long sleep, coming out of the shelter as their tired eyes greet the first warm rays of Sun. They mate, and new individuals are brought to this blooming world. It’s a season of rebirth.

It’s a rain period, too, as the immense number of crystal clear water drops hit the ground mercilessly. It’s not a nice sight to look at, but it is important neverthless. Because plants are unable to grow without a little rain.

It was early in the morning and the sun hasn’t come out yet ; a good couple of hours remained until the actual sunrise. Everyone and everything is, now, sleeping. Thick morning fog is present and the visibility isn’t less than miserable.  And if you looked closer, your eyes might be sagacious enought to spot a silhouette shrouded in the blinding mist.

Tao is running. If you were to ask him where, his response would be either I don’t know or as far as my legs can reach. The destination wasn’t prime, the escape itself was. It was chilly outside, considering the fact that it was only beginning of March, but Tao couldn’t feel it. His muscles in lower limbs burn, side of his torso ache; both as an outcome of lack of oxygen and exess lactose production. Tao is out of breath, he thinks he might suffocate anytime, but keeps on running nonetheless. He only stops when the legs refuse to cooperating with his brain, because deep in his mind he is still running far, far away.

Now he is out of breath. His limp body’s lying on the ground like a lifeless doll as Tao chokes on the crucial lack of air in his lungs. It’s better to asphyxiate like this right now, crosses his mind briefly. Sometimes Tao wonders if there’s someone who suffers more than he does. Isn’t it sad, when you can’t breathe in the place called home? When you can’t stand your own parents, the two people who gave life to you? It is, isn’t it.

Tao heard footsteps. They got louder with each step and they were heading straight into his direction. It’s right next to him, now, and before he manages to take a look, something fills his view. Tao isn’t sure whether he’s hallucinating or not. His eyes are lidded and the image seems too unreal to his consideration. Hallucinations come in three forms in total and just now, he might be experiencing the two of them; acoustic and visual. He blinks once, twice, but it’s still there. He’s still there.

„Am I seeing things right now?“

Tao’s voice was weak and unsteady, and the question directed more likely to himself. What he saw was a boy, who was apparently squatting and hovering over him. His hallucination was weird, but describing it as captivating would be more accurate. The unknown’s face features were sharply defined, cheekbones prominent and chin pointy. Everything seemed so austere, everything but his eyes. They, in great contrast, seemed soft, and so did the glance. He’s not sure if he sees well, but it glows slightly violet. His hair is golden. Tao finds himself blinking again. He expects the boy to disappear, to transform into some kind of monster; he expects anything. Anything but an answer.

„No, you’re not.“

A cloud of white steam came out of them lips as they formed those few words, and just now Tao realized how cold it actually was. He got up abruptly, a bothered moan escaping his throat. Tao’s muscles were half numb and half sore, both being result of the physical enervation. The other boy didn’t move an inch, only his eyes following Tao with a hint of interest.

When Tao rests the weight of his body on the nearest bench, it doesn’t take him long to do the same. They’ve been siting on the wooden construction for a while now, a good gap between them and without a single word being said, only small plumes of hot steam penetrating the frigid air. Tao sometimes peaks at the latter briefly, because he’s curious, but the other’s eyes never leave the surroundings in front. He is waiting for the right time, which is, apparently, now.

„You should dress up warmly.“

Only now Tao takes in how the stranger’s voice sounds like a moll scale melody. There isn’t any response for a good while until his mind stops wandering in dimension of tones, chords and harmonization. He was indeed wearing clothes inappropriate for this weather. Sweatpants, tanktop and a sweatshirt hanging loose on one of his shoulders. It’s still quiet and the stranger knows it’s only matter of time.

„Who are you?“

„Call me Sehun,“ he answers almost immediately and Tao can’t help but to be enchanted by the voice once again. It still echoes in his ears when Sehun finally turns his head in Tao’s direction. And suddenly Tao feels ashamed. He looks away, avoiding the eye-contact offhand, but there’s no use. Sehun saw it back then already, the yellowish and violet bruises spread all over the latter’s face and other exposed skin, some newly dried-up blood in his mouth corner. He’s this close to being broken, and Sehun sees it in the dull stare of Tao’s dark orbs.

Sometimes words are useless and it’s better to keep your mouth shut, Sehun thinks, and the time is now. Silence fills the air once again, but surprisingly, it’s not awkward. Both of them stare far in the distance, their eyes unfocused. Sehun is thinking about Tao; there was no doubt he did choose well. Tao, on the other hand, is thinking about the time he has left until coming back home. He doesn’t know how much time has passed, and he doesn’t want to care, but the sun already rises up the horizont and Tao wishes he could just stop the time. He wouldn’t have to deal with the hell he’s going through every single day.

It doesn’t take long until first people start passing by, finally getting up and being in hurry to arrive on time wherever they’re heading to.  Some of them give Tao a surprised, curious look, some of them don’t even spare him one. Tao gets up without any word; he straightens his sweatshirt and starts walking towards the direction he came from. His mind isn’t much clearer, most of the angry or confusing thoughts still there, but it’s time to head to school.

As Tao makes a good number of steps already, he suddenly remembers the stranger, Sehun, who had been there the whole time. He stops, only to turn around and see Sehun still being in the same place, his orbs gazing directly at Tao’s. Their eyes lock, and Tao thinks the eye-contact lasts at least ten seconds, if not longer. He might drown in them. But as Tao was the one to start it, he is also the one to break it.

He is heading back home, and though his mind full of exasperation and schoolwork, Sehun’s image still lingers.
 

Tao counts seconds until the end of his last period, every subsequent minute seeming impossibly longer than the previous one. Instead of listening to teacher’s monolog, a melody was playing in his head, and instead of taking down notes, his fingers kept tapping in an acquired motion. Remember, Tao, remember.

He’s rushing out of the school building as soon as possible, being one of the first students to leave. Must not arrive late, crosses Tao’s mind and he quickens his pace. It’s the very first orchestra concert of that year, and it is indeed very important. His abilities will be assessed and judged mainly according to his tonight’s performance, and if the head doesn’t think he’s good enough, he migh as well not be included in any other concerts that year again. The destination is only few blocks away, and Tao is almost there, almost. He can see the huge ancient bulding in the distance, but it’s not what catches his eye first. A boy with golden hair, sharp features and violet eyes does. And his orbs are staring at him like they did the last time.

It’s been a few days since Sehun’s strange appearance in the park, which Tao has already forgotten. But now, as he sees Sehun only a couple of steps away, the memories come back to life. That horrible morning, runaway, gentle glance, moll scale voice. Tao literally stops and stares, his eyes never leaving Sehun out of curiosity, probably. Sehun is the one to make the last steps, and they’re now facing each other. He waits for a few seconds.

„I told you to dress up warmly.“ He says and places a hand on Tao’s forehead. The contact lasts merely a second until Tao flinches, but Sehun can still feel the heat. „Thought so. You’re having temperature.“

Tao doesn’t react in any way, only keeps his eyes low. It’s indeed true what Sehun just said. He caught cold that morning, but went to school the following days anyway. According to Tao, anything’s better than staying at home. Nose and cheeks colored in red could cause the unpleasing weather outside, but running nose and coughing was way harder to cover, not talking about feeling dizzy from time to time. Sehun scanes the latter with his eyes, and he’s surprised how well did actually Tao cover his bruises with layers of make-up. Experienced, he must be. Sehun gives him another couple of seconds.

„Where were you heading to?“

„I…“ Tao isn’t quite sure what to response. Sehun is a complete stranger he doesn’t know, but still there’s something that Tao finds himself liking. It is the eyes or exceptional voice? The answer remains unknown nonetheless. „I’m going to a theater. Concert.“

„You’re a part of it?“

Tao nods in response, and silence takes over again. Sehun keeps quiet and Tao doesn’t know what to say. Or maybe he does, but he isn’t completely sure about it. An inner fight is happening inside Tao’s head and the latter knows, almost as if he could see through Tao’s skull. The situation lasts for moments until Sehun clears his throat and speaks up.

„So--“

Tao snaps from his contemplating, realising that Sehun was about to leave. But would they ever meet again, if Tao let him leave like that? „H-Hey, wanna come and watch? I have some f-free tickets…“

Those free tickets Tao was talking about were originally given to him for his parents, but they were not coming. They never did. It made him sad a few years ago, but he’s gotten used to it by now. Sehun raises both of his eyebrows, taking his time with the answer. Almost unnoticeable smile crosses his lips. It’s not like he didn’t expect it.

„Sure.“

Tao releases his breath he didn’t know he was holding. He smiles at the latter, but the smile vanished as soon as it appeared.  „Oh, !“ Tao shoves one ticket into Sehun’s hand, the one that isn’t in his coat pocket, and runs. Sehun hears him shout from the distance.

„It starts at six-- oh! Tao! My name’s Tao!“

…

Stress, stress, stress. Tao is so stressed out, it makes him think he might faint right then and there. He keeps walking from one spot to another, eyes closed in attempt of remembering everything he needed to, and though he felt chilly, his palms were all sticky covered in sweat. Tao felt sick to his stomach and it was not only caused by his cold.

„Hey, calm down. You look terrible.“

Tao’s eyes shot open, immediatelly recognising one of the violinists from the orchestra. Just like Tao, he was wearing a black suit, a bow tie accompanied with glossy leather shoes. Only his pieces of garment seemed a lot more expensive. His hair was black and cut short, face not less than handsome. Joonmyun, his name was. He sometimes talked to Tao when nobody else did, and also was the first one to notice his bruises when one of Tao’s t-shirts exposend more skin than it should’ve. Tao told him he fell the other day. Joonmyun was nice, Tao thought, at least sometimes, but he didn’t consider him as a friend.

„I’m okay,“ Tao says as he gives Joonmyun one of his insincere smiles, and continues on doing what he did just till now. He only tries to look less neurotic. Joonmyun looks as if he’s about to say something, but his friends call for him, so Joonmyun only leaves with a small reassuring smile.   

It’s time. Tao is the last one to come out of the curtain. He seats himself behind a huge black Petrof piano, its lid and fall board already open. His spot is on the very right side of the stage, the sound of the overwhelming applause of the audience reaching his ear auricle. It makes him even more nervous. Tao thinks the first few seconds before the actual symphony are the worst.

Evetyhing falls silent. The conductor, an old looking man with a serious expression, indicates the first sounds of violins with a thin stick that his fingers hold. Piano Concerto no. 3, composed by Rachmaninov, has just started. It’s only matter of seconds until it’s Tao’s turn to play the first notes on the glossy keyboard. Even though there are papers with the actual notes written lying on the music rack, Tao keeps staring at his own fingers. He inhales deeply, his foot stepping on one of the three pedals, fingertips sliding across the smooth surface of the piano keys. The first piano tones come to life.

Tao can hear the right rhythm and melody, play the correct tones, but there’s something he doesn’t feel; the harmony. Ordinary spectator migh not notice, but there’s no chance that the head could miss this. Like a robot who does what he’s been programmed to, that’s probably the most accurate way to decribe Tao right now. There are no emotions put in the performance, and Tao is aware of that very well. It unsettles him, new batch of sweat wetting his palms, fingers tangling by the sudden feeling of dizziness. And then in happens; they miss the right keys, and the disharmonized off-key tones echoe in the huge auditorium. Those were first, but not the last, and Tao feels the intense stares burning holes in his being.

This must’ve been Tao’s longest orchestra concert, ever. When bowing to the audience, all he wished for was to disappear from the Earth’s surface right then and there. He felt sick to his stomach, and the angry looks earned from his fellow musicians weren’t much of a help. Even Joonmyun seemed disappointed. When the curtain closes shut, Tao runs to the bathroom  right away, hovering over the toilet bowl, and pukes. He throws up until there’s nothing left in his stomach, and uses his sleeves to wipe the corners of his mouth. The combination of sickness and stress must’ve been fatal.  Right now, he’s sick of everything and anything, angry at the whole world. It’s not fair. It’s ing not.

When Tao leaves the toilets, everyone’s gone already. The hallways are empty and deadly quiet, if not counting the cleaning lady. It’s amost frightening. As he comes out of the venue, the chilly air attacks his cheecks and ears. There’s only one person standing there, and Tao just now remembers. Sehun was there, too, and he must have seen everything. Shame washes over Tao’s being once again, yet there’s another, stronger feeling to it. A feeling of having someone waiting for him after the concert. It’s unfamiliar, but somehow pleasant.

 „What took you so long?“

„I, uh, had something to discuss with the conductor.“ Tao finally says, spitting out a little lie that cannot hurt. He’s surprised, but glad at the same time, that Sehun doesn’t even mention his utter failure. „Were you waiting?“

Tao is clueless; he’s there, Sehun’s there,  but he doesn’t really know what to expect. Sehun chuckles. Tao is just so silly, of course he was waiting. The question given is not even worth answering, he thinks. „You look tired. Let’s get some hot chocolate.“

The latter is about to say something, but before he even has a chance to, Sehun takes him by the wrist and drags him towards an unknown direction.  Tao yanks his hand and Sehun lets go, but the latter keeps following Sehun nonetheless. Why does he do that? Maybe because he doesn’t have anything else to do, anyway. Because why not. They walk for a good half an hour, neither of them wants to take a bus, and though it’s cold and silent throughout the whole time, it’s not uncomfortable. Sometimes words are not necessary.

Neither of them is picky about the café, probably because of the unpleasant weather outside. It’s the first café they come across and to their surprise, it’s actually cozy. Although the wooden chair and tables might not be the newest, and the tablecloths seem to be a little washed out, the atmosphere was undoubtedly warm and inviting. Cinnamon smell lingers in the air. Tao chooses to sit at a table for two located in a sunken corner, he doesn’t like being in the centre of attention, and Sehun acquiesces. In no time, a waitress, introducing herself as Seohyun, brings them menu. She’s very polite, and has a pretty smile, too. Two cups of hot chocolate, it is. Sehun leans back into the chair and observes Tao rub his temples. The slightly crimson shade in his face couldn’t be overlooked. And when Tao focuses on Sehun in  front of him, he spots the latter staring. But as he does, Sehun doesn’t look away like most people would, and Tao finds himself drowning in Sehun’s extraordinary orbs again. Purple iris. Supernatural, somehow it is.

„Sehun?“ Tao is the first one to interrupt the peaceful silence. Sehun’s name keeps repeating in Tao’s head several times, the reason for it unknown. He has this odd feeling when looking at the latter. „Where do you come from?“

Sehun isn’t taken aback. He knew this question would come sooner or later, followed by more. „Hm, is it nature? I’m not entirely sure myself.“ Tao doesn’t expect this kind of answer, and it makes him perplexed. It’s really weird, but he doesn’t ask again, because he suspects Sehun of not being able to give him a proper answer.

„I’m sorry if this comes out as rude,“ Tao speaks up again, „but do you suffer from some kind of rare disease? I’ve never seen violet eyes in real life nor real people.“ He spits out with a hint of pure curiosity in his voice, and Sehun almost laughs. He did expect this kind of query, too.

„You can call it a disease, if you want.“

If Tao was perplexed before, he must’ve been ten times more bemused now. Everything what Sehun said so far made no sense, but why kept Tao thinking that all the pieces of Sehun’s nonsense made one perfect whole? He gazed at Sehun again. There was definitely something off. Violet iris.

„Who are you?“

Sehun stays silent for a few seconds. Tao would find out sooner or later, wouldn’t he. „Actually,“ he starts off, „I ask myself that question from time to time, too.“ Sehun would lie if he said he wasn’t entertained by Tao’s sudden confused expression. Everyone’s reaction is always the same, and though he experienced it so many times, it always amuses him. „A phantom, maybe?“

„Wait, wha--“

Tao doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence, as the waitress, Seohyun, finally brings them the two cups of hot chocolate served on metal tray. Sehun accepts their order with a polite smile and when she leaves, he looks back at Tao, whose expression hasn’t changed since then. He will deal with it somehow as time goes by, Sehun thinks. Everyone does.

„Your cup will get cold, if you keep on staring like that.“

Right then Tao snaps from his thoughts, but when he wants to ask more questions, Sehun is already sipping on his cup and doesn’t seem willing to give out the answers.
 

The third time Tao meets Sehun is two days later. That day Tao feels dejected more than usual, going through hell in the morning, escaping it only to get into another one. But when he steps out of the school building all exhausted and see the familiar golden haired boy, it’s somehow comforting. Tao doesn’t seek for the reason why, he doesn’t find it important. The fact is.

„Were you waiting?“

Sehun is standing still, hands shoved in jacket pockets, his golden hair standing out in the sea of dark haired students that are passing by. Every second person, who isn’t too busy or in hurry, is astonished when noticing Sehun. Like it or not, Tao must admit that the latter looks entrancing. He did a few days ago, he does now.

„No.“ Sehun answers right after, and the surprise  written in Tao’s face couldn’t be missed. „I’m here just to get stripped by the stares of your classmates, you know. I like it very much.“ The sarcasm in his voice couldn’t be more obvious, and for the first times in many days, Tao laughs. It lasts only a moment, but Sehun appreciates the sight anyway, a smile forming on his own lips. It’s happening, slowly but surely.

They end up in the same café, the familiar warmth and cinnamon smell greeting them right after stepping inside. Tao chooses the same spot like he did last time, and like last time Sehun doesn’t argue. Seohyun must’ve recognized them, judging by the cheerful look she gives them when spotted. Though the weather got a lot warmer (and a plenty of primroses appeared), they still order two cups of hot chocolate. Both Tao and Sehun quickly brought themselves to like the smell. They have several little chats about the most ordinary things, and it’s nothing much, but there’s something Tao likes about it; it’s not forced. What more, it makes him forget all the misery.

There’s one day when Sehun waits for Tao in front of his school as usual, but this time having a specific plan. After convincing that seemed to be endless, Tao agrees to hang out at the latter’s flat. Sehun’s place is not so big; one bedroom, bathroom, the living room and kitchen merged together. It might not be posh, but it gives off this vibe of coziness. Tao learns that Sehun lives alone, and when he’s eventually there, it’s a white piano that catches his attention first.

„Do you also play?“ Tao asks as his fingertips run across the smooth surface of the instrument. Sehun doesn’t look like the type who would, but one never knows.

„No, I don’t.“ Sehun answers, his index finger a glass container. It stands on the top of the piano. „Therefore play for me sometimes.“

Tao’s gaze follows Sehun’s finger, the object it’s touching to be exact. It’s so simple, yet so weird. Tao is amazed vehemently. The container is transparent and medium sized, a net with small holes sealing the narrowed neck of it. It’s pretty much plain, same as any other container out there, but it’s not exactly what catches Tao’s eyes. The butterfly in it does. It’s big, bigger than any other butterflies he has ever seen, and Tao would even say majestic, if it wasn’t for the color. Black, it is. No pots, no marks, only plain black just like the shadow it casts. Sehun can see Tao’s interest, but doesn’t say anything nevertheless. He will ask himself. Everyone does.

„I’ve never seen any butterfly like this before.“  Tao says, his eyes still glued to its wings fluttering. The question comes later than Sehun expected it to. Tao was probably too mesmerized. „How is it called?“

„Papilio protenor from the swallowtail family. Blacks are rare.“

It does look rare, crosses Tao’s mind before he tears his eyes off the dark creature soaring in the air. The gaze lands on Sehun instead. Tao takes a seat on the piano bench and pats the free space next to him. „Come on, I can teach you something simple.“

It’s not exactly Sehun’s greatest wish to know how to play the piano, but he must admit it’s fun. Tao tries to show him the first few tones, but after a while he learns that Sehun doesn’t have much talent, if any. Not only that he isn’t doing well, he sometimes plays random notes on purpose, too. Sehun laughs from time to time, and it’s Tao’s first time seeing and hearing it. Somehow it makes him smile, too, but once again, Tao thinks the reason isn’t important. The fact is.

„Tao?“ Sehun calls his name and the latter reacts right away. Tao likes  the way it sounds when Sehun says it. The golden haired boy extends his hand to gently touch Tao’s cheekbone. „Those bruises-- Where are they from?“

Tao flinches, more likely to hearing the words rather than the soft touch. He remembers covering it with a good amount of make-up this morning. It couldn’t be visible, it shouldn’t. But why does Sehun look so persuaded, so sure? He’s not having a single doubt. Sehun tries to touch him again, and just like last time, Tao winces. It’s funny how can a couple of words bring you so much fear, anxiety, so much shame.

„It’s okay, Tao, I won’t judge you… I know I’ll never be able to fully understand,“ Tao can hear Sehun talk, his voice ever so gentle, but he can’t bring himself to look at him, „but I can try.“

Tao doesn’t know what is it that Sehun has, that his words have such a soothing effect on him. Is it the charm?  The eyes? The voice? A bit of everything, maybe. But there’s another reason that Tao realises just now and for once, he does consider it as important. He does not turn down Sehun’s third attempt of the little physical contact, and eventually a feeling of reassurance spread inside his entire being.

And then Tao tells the latter everything. About his mother being an alcohol addict. How she comes back home drunk every morning, the consumed spirits multiplying her wrath and rage, as if it wasn’t already deep enough. She’s angry at his father, who comes back home only to take away the money they don’t have. But because he never stays for longer than one hour, her son is the only person she can vent her anger at. Sometimes his mother accuses him of being at fault that their family is broken to pieces, that she should’ve abandoned him after being born. That her life wouldn’t be so damn miserable. From time to time, Tao wonders if it’s true.

Sehun listens to him closely, the hardship evident in Tao’s voice making his guts twist. Not that Sehun didn’t know beforehand, but hearing it was a completely different thing than just knowing. He can’t help but to offer him a warm embrace, and to his surprise, the latter doesn’t tense up at the touch.

Sehun meets Tao again the next morning. It’s early, maybe too early. There’s a couple of hours left until dawn, when Sehun hears the bell rigning. It surprises him, but the image he sees after opening the main door does even more. It’s still dark outside, but Sehun can hear the raindrops. And he can see a familar silhouette standing in the middle of the downpour. Theshold, it is all that seperates them.

„Tao?“

But there’s no answer. Instead, a pair of arms wrap around his waist, and a nose sinks into the crook of his neck. Tao is wretched. He feels like a worthless piece of , done and broken. And apart of Sehun, Tao doesn’t have any other person to go to. Because Sehun’s the only person who’s been there when Tao’s down. Ever since the first meeting, though they didn’t talk much, silent or not, he was there. Even a person, who doesn’t require other people’s attention or pity, somewhere deep down wants to be cherished.  

It’s so sudden that Sehun’s stunned, and it takes him some time until he reacts by embracing Tao back. Sehun doesn’t mind his clothes getting soaked wet by Tao’s, there’s just something else that occupies his mind. What has happened? Though he doesn’t exactly know what’s going on, he’s just so glad that Tao seeked his presence rather than wandering around like a body without soul. They stay like that for a while. When Tao finally looks up, though it’s still dark, Sehun see that the latter was crying. It might have rained, but the reddish puffy eyes said it all. A part of Sehun ached.

Sehun leads him upstairs to his apartment, flicking the lights on when he sees it. Tao looks away after noticing Sehun’s intense stare. There are fresh new bruises across his face, like if some various colored eyeshadows were put on him. The next thing he notices is Tao’s wet hair and clothes. He’s shaking. Of course he would be cold wearing only a hoodie. Sehun makes him sit on the nearest thing, a piano bench, and motions him to stay. He’s back in less than a minute, one hand clutching a few pieces of clothes, a pill and glass of water in the other one. He puts them all on the closed piano fallboard.

„I told you to dress up warmly.“ Sehun sighs, extending his hand to brush away Tao’s hair from his forehead. He then goes lower, gently cupping the bruised skin, making sure it doesn’t hurt. „Change into these and drink the pill up, it’s a pain killer. I’m sorry, that’s all I can do for you to feel better--“

„No, no. It’s more than I could ask for.“ Tao cuts him off, offering a weak smile. He did not only mean the clothes and pill. Sehun’s presence was more than enough.

The golden hair boy only smiles helplessly. „I’ll make us some hot chocolate.“

He turns back for Tao to have some privacy when changing into the provisional clothes of Sehun’s. Sometimes it’s inconvenient to have such a small apartment. Sehun fills the kettle with water and turns it on, take two pretty much plain mugs from the cupboard and pours an appropriate amount of hot chocolate substance in it. Sehun can’t help but to think about what he just saw. It makes Sehun somehow angry. Angry at the person who dared to lay a hand on a frail boy like Tao. Even if he’s not supposed to, he’s feeling that way again. He always does.

Silence hangs in the air, accompanied by the sound of the boiling water and ticking clock. And suddenly, out of nowhere, sharp tones interfere. It’s coming from the piano behind and there’s only one person who could possibly play it. The melody gets extremely soft right after. The contrast is so drastic and the input emotions so real that it makes chills run down Sehun’s spine. Slowly it escalates into more and more intense, and then it drops abruptly again. Sehun doesn’t know the composer, but he thinks it’s fascinating. There’s one very fast and resolute part, tone after tone played in fierce tempo. Sehun must turn to look at Tao, to be sure it’s him playing. Was he some kind of musical genius? Most likely. Tao is wearing the pants and short sleeved t-shirt Sehun had given him. There are bruises all over his arms, too, yet he presses the piano keys like nothing. It’s the ending of the composition, when Sehun slowly walks over to where Tao is sitting. The last smooth tones fade away and Sehun claps his hands slightly.

„That was impressive.“ He says, and Tao looks like as if he almost forgot he’s not alone in the room. He can’t help but to admire the voice again. It sounds moll, minor, deep down somehow sad. „Who composed it?“

„Rachmaninov. It’s called Prelude.“ Tao sounds almost shy, Sehun notes. „Thank you, I mean I’m no Yefim Bronfman or Daniil Trifonov, but yeah… Thank you.“

„He must’ve been a genius.“

„I guess so… But there’s one part that, I don’t know, sounds odd. You know, the really fast one?“ Tao continues only after seeing Sehun nod in confirmation. „People love it, but to me it just appears so disharmonized.“

Sehun loved that part, too. It was so dramatic and chaotic, yet it had a perfect system in it. Tao was right, when focusing only on the sharp tones in foreground, it indeed sounded somehow off-key. But when focusing on the part as a whole, left and right hand, it was more than harmonized. Sensational. Wasn’t it like them, anyway? With Sehun and Tao being so different, but compatible when together, couldn’t it be called a harmonization, too? Sehun just found the whole thing so brilliant. He smiles in response.

„You’ll feel it one day.“

Plants are unable to grow without a little rain.