WARM-UPS

PROLOGUE

“Yixing child, stop playing with that cat and pay attention.”

“Yes, Mother.”

The boy let Chen out of his embrace, watching silently as the tabby scrambles onto the ground and takes off for the stairs. Pressing at his thigh where the cat’s claws dug in, Yixing glances up at the beauty standing before him, an equally handsome man standing beside her. Parents, registers in his mind and he makes a hurried effort of being respectful by bowing to his mother’s high heels. They glitter gold in their four inch glory.

“As we were saying,” his father continues, “we’ve hired you a piano teacher from South Korea. You never seem to do much else but play that thing all day; we might as well make some use of it for once.”

“You’ll have two hour lessons twice a week on Sundays and Thursdays. He should drop by tomorrow – a Wednesday I believe – and introduce himself properly. If we still find the man as moralized, mannered, and practiced as he was over the phone, then I will let you be his tour guide around the city. I do not want your lessons to consist of him speaking and you following, you will engage in conversation and be social by getting to know this man,” his mother says, precise clips of Mandarin thrown at him.

Yixing blinks at the tiled floors. A chord struck within the empty chambers of his chest, resonant and dissonant, and the teenager couldn’t wrap his head around the feeling. He subconsciously placed a hand over his heart.

“Yixing, you have isolated yourself for years with that piano of yours,” his mother says slowly, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear. “We hope this man who shares the same… passion, as you can be your friend, alright?”

“I-I understand Mother.”

Yixing nods quickly and gives a soft smile, bows, and watches them exit the basement. He un-pauses his game of solitaire on his laptop and drags an ace into the slot at the top of the screen. In the back of his mind there were gears turning. They brought elementary memories of laughter and playful punches back up, sounds created without instrument like raw lyrics, but they were beautiful. An ache of something like longing bothered Yixing. He mentally turned that part of his brain off and brainstormed for spots to show the incoming Korean, listening to the click-clack of heels on the floor above.

Later that evening when the bay windows in the house had been opened, allowing lucid Changsha air in, Yixing dragged Chen up to the music room. Mewling echoed in the wide hallways, bouncing off family portraits and expensive vases lining Victorian-styled walls. They cast gliding shadows in their wake, Chen’s tail creating a wavy antenna from Yixing’s head. Yixing didn’t wander the halls much – the floors were hard, the walls threatening to close in, and the chandeliers hung like crystalline spiders from the high ceiling – preferring to shift from room to room only upon necessity. There was one familiar pair of doors, though, and after turning a corner they pushed through with practiced ease. It was Yixing’s exclusive haven.

He let Chen down from his arms and watched the brown tabby scamper to the windowsill, curl up, and soak in the meager sunlight streaming through lacey curtains. They scattered sunset’s amber glow in dappled patterns, warming spots of the marble floors beneath his bare feet. Mint green wallpaper glowed pleasantly around them, marble trim glinting occasionally. In a corner on the left wall a blanket and pillow were set like a bed, peasant-like and out of place in the lovely music hall. Yixing floated to Chen’s window and took a peek. Manicured landscape stretched out before him, so green and perfect. His mother’s flower beds – more like the gardener’s, Yixing’s mother hardly glanced at the pretty things – lined the driveway; Yixing often had to chase Chen out of the boxes, and while it was fun at first, plucking the yellow petals out of his teeth became a scary thing. Yixing rubbed at his wrist in remembrance of the last escapade.

In the distance he spotted the wrought iron gate fencing the yard in. On the other side two friends strolled down, silhouettes in the leveled sun, laughing and enjoying the simplicity of companionship. They didn’t seem to notice dark eyes at their backs.

Yixing turned away and scratched Chen between the ears before drifting to the main attraction of the room. Living up to its name it stood grand and midnight black, glistening in the dusky light. The piano keys faced towards the door so opening the lid would project the sound out the windows. With the lid prop up the inner makings of the instrument were revealed. It was a cradle of golden metal with silvery strings pulled taut across, velvet-covered hammers laying below in secret.

The sixteen year old ran thin fingers over the cool keys, taking in the foundation of his happiness. Polished pedals hung from below the piano and extended out to foot's reach. In thin golden English Steinwey & Sons and a logo were imprinted below the rack. A gentle smile graced his features and he settled onto the bench, wiggling in place to get comfortable. No sheet music sat at the music rack. He just lifted his arms, bent his wrists, and played.

It was a ballad he composed with an innocent maiden reliving a confession playing out in his mind.

She dances in the glades, gentle and content with solitude as her thin feet sweep through golden grass. The forest animals lay behind pine trees as they observe her solo performance, black beady eyes focusing on the outstretch of her hand. A lullaby hums from her lips, legs carrying her to one edge and sending her across in a flurry of pale limbs and ribbon. The twirls and steps into a gliding leap, cotton dress pluming around her, and when she lands she comes face with a gentleman at the edge of the clearing. A mysterious air floats about him and the girl can’t help but stay still, curious and cautious, as he inches closer. Dark musk, his scent fills her to the very depths of her stomach, so satisfying. They come together to create a dangerous dance of intoxicated love at first sight. Chocolate strands of hair fly into vision and the man can’t help but think of it as a veil waiting for him to pull back, reveal curled thin lips and wide eyes. They step in sync, curling and twisting to match each other's movement, a swirling charm of yin and yang. Faster and faster they spin around each other, too scared to come close, but too intrigued to take a bow.

The first time they brush is by accident, but if it didn’t send a jolt of pure voltage through their veins then it surely wasn’t the best accident they’ve experienced. Yet, it stands false and they can’t help but indulge in warm skin beneath cold fingertips, grasping at whatever flesh the other has to offer. Palms find hips, arms find a neck, and each grips tight tight tighter in a non-existent fight to hold them close. Searing need for affection builds in the maiden, clogging her lungs with the man’s musk in each desperate intake of air, but he dissipates into the misty dreamscape at her highest. Dark hair disappears like ash between her fingers, his scent a lingering smoke of incense. She falls into a heap of white cotton and wails long and hysterical at the cruelty of delusion.

Yixing lets the last note ring as the sun retreats. A cool breeze disturbs the curtains. Chen hops down from the windowsill and waddles to the comfort of his master’s legs. Somewhere in the distance a man finds himself in a new land.

soldaseoul: Here's the prologue thrown at you. :  ) I have found a wonderful and amazingly talented pianist who composes his own music on Youtube. I'll be using some of his pieces throughout the story, like I did with Yixing's song, Confessions. I did in fact listen to the song while I was writing that part and just imprinted what I thought of onto here. It'd be nice to hear what you guys thought of when listening to the song, both what you heard when reading and what you pictured when listening. :  ) Hope you stay for chapter one!