It’s undeniable how much music means to Jongdae, but somehow, he manages to make Junmyeon feel it too.

“I’m going to play the accompaniment,” Jongdae had said, gesturing to the electronic keyboard that was sitting on the table not far from the piano. “So that you can hear how it sounds. The music will make more sense.”

Junmyeon has never been particularly fond of keyboards. They don’t have quite the same sound as a piano, and often, the keys are weightless. Sometimes, for performances, he has to play on a keyboard because those were easier to move around and often cheaper than actual pianos. But somehow, Jongdae’s playing is still as good on the keyboard.

It’s difficult, at first, to get used to the accompaniment. He has to know when to listen and when to focus on the tempo. Sometimes, the notes fit together perfectly, Jongdae’s beats falling between his rests, or there will be moments when they’re playing in unison. But other times, they seem to clash with each other—like when Junmyeon’s notes are syncopated, but Jongdae’s fall on the beat.

Junmyeon finds himself stumbling at certain parts that he wouldn’t have messed up on if he’d played by himself. But there are also other sections that he plays more confidently because it kind of makes sense now. The occasional accidentals or the changes in rhythm complement Jongdae’s part, and the gaps that he hadn't even known were there are filled in now.

Jongdae walks him through certain parts, sometimes telling him which notes he’s playing so that Junmyeon will know when to come in and when to expect Jongdae to come in.

“Like here,” Jongdae says, leaning over Junmyeon’s shoulder to point to a part on the music. “You have a sixteenth note rest, but I have an eighth note rest and three eighth notes. So don’t wait for me.”

Junmyeon nods, and when they play that section again, he doesn’t wait for Jongdae, allowing for a brief pause before continuing.

Just like this, the music feels alive in Junmyeon’s veins. It’s not like he hasn’t played with someone else before. He’s done a few duets here and there, and back when he’d first started playing the piano, his teacher would play some parts with him. But that had been more of his teacher waiting for him, following him, and correcting him later on. Now, he has to follow the flow of the music, time it to the fraction of a second.

There’s something exhilarating about this. Junmyeon’s felt it briefly before—the rush of adrenaline after a performance, the feeling of success after finally playing a difficult part correctly. But it’s the first time Junmyeon has felt it this clearly. He doesn’t think he really has any musical talent—most of his skill was obtained through hours of practice. And it’s not just the bright smile that he catches on Jongdae’s face from the corner of his eye. It’s gone a moment later, and he’s left wondering if he ever saw it in the first place—

It’s just this, the feeling that he could keep playing forever. The way the melodies fit together perfectly, the intertwining notes that are perfectly clear in Junmyeon’s mind.

For once, Junmyeon doesn’t find his thoughts wandering, the way it tends to when he’s practicing. Sometimes, he finds himself thinking about homework, or even random things that have nothing to do with what he’s doing. Now, it feels like there’s only this, and there’s nothing else occupying his mind.

They manage to go through the entire piece once without a mistake, and when Junmyeon stops, the last note fading from under his fingers, Jongdae turns to him with a bright smile.

“That was good. Practice this, okay?”

Jongdae rarely compliments Junmyeon, and Junmyeon nods, feeling a little breathless. There’s a small smile on Jongdae’s lips, so faint that it could almost be a trick of the light, but it’s there.

Junmyeon had practiced this piece for hours, perfecting the spots that he needed to work on. But he really thinks that today’s practice had helped as well, allowed him to hear more clearly the parts that he needed to work on. It also gave him newfound respect for whoever had written this music. He isn’t usually the kind to listen to music in his free time, and usually, the more he practices a piece, the more he hates it, until by the end, it becomes more of a habit than anything. Maybe it’s simply magic, a kind of spell that Jongdae’s carved out, but Junmyeon finds himself enjoying this piece.

They had spent nearly the whole hour working on this, and when Junmyeon gets up, his fingers feel slightly tired. But it’s a good feeling, a kind of pleasant hum that spreads throughout his whole body. Some parts of the song are still repeating in his mind, and he really wouldn’t mind playing this song many more times if he could just have this feeling.

Junmyeon hands Jongdae the bills to pay for this week’s lesson, and Jongdae walks over to stand beside them. He takes the money before standing a little too close to close the lid of the piano. It leaves Junmyeon breathless for a completely different reason.

“When’s the competition?” Jongdae asks.

Junmyeon can count the moles on Jongdae’s face, little black dots half-hidden by his fringe, on the corner of his jaw. He looks away quickly, stepping back while picking up his sheets of music. It’s vaguely distracting, and he focuses on neatly putting the music back into his folder before answering. “In about a month.” He has the date circled in red ink on the calendar, has been practicing the pieces for months now. It’s probably one of the most important competitions of the year. There are several more to follow in the months afterwards, but this one is the closest.

“Are they going to test you on theory?”

Junmyeon nods. “Yes. I’ve been studying for it,” he adds. He has a whole binder full of notes. It’s one of his least favorite parts about the competition, but doing poorly on theory can affect one’s total score, even if the performance is spectacular.

“That’s good. Good luck on the competition,” Jongdae adds, and his smile is wider now. The corners of his mouth curve upward, and Junmyeon looks at Jongdae’s eyes again when he finds himself getting distracted.

“Thanks.” Junmyeon walks towards the door and starts putting on his shoes. He asks, before he can think twice about it, “Did you do any competitions when you were younger?”

“I’m not that old,” Jongdae says, a teasing tone in his voice. “I did a lot, actually. I still have a lot of trophies that are probably collecting dust in the basement of my parents’ house. I’d usually win first place, but there was a kid—Kim Minseok, I think. He beat me sometimes.”

Junmyeon’s eyes widen at this. “Minseok? He’s my brother.”

“Really?” Jongdae raises an eyebrow, and seems to look at Junmyeon more closely. “I would never have guessed…” He lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head almost wistfully. “Say hi to your brother for me. He never mentioned he had a younger brother. Has he mentioned me before?” There’s a dancing light in Jongdae’s eyes, and Junmyeon reluctantly shakes his head.

“Not by name. I haven’t spoken to him in a while, though.”

Jongdae only laughs at this. “We never spoke when we were younger. I’m not sure why anymore. Minseok’s a good pianist, though.”

“He is,” Junmyeon agrees. Music had always been Minseok’s thing, and he’d even chosen it as his major in college despite their parents’ protests. Junmyeon doesn’t think he could do that—doesn’t think he could live with just practicing and performing all day. Sometimes, Minseok’s talent makes Junmyeon hesitant to play the piano, since he’s met too many people who expect him to be just as good as Minseok, if only because they’re related.

“You’re good too,” Jongdae says, and his tone is so warm and sincere. “Practice hard for the competition, okay?”

Junmyeon nods, and inclines his head slightly. “Thank you for your time today.”

Jongdae laughs loudly this time, and he reaches out a hand, the tips of his fingers brushing Junmyeon’s hair before he thinks better of it and pulls his hand back. Junmyeon still feels the ghost of his touch lingering, even as Jongdae’s hand returns to his side. “You don’t have to be so formal with me.”

The formality only creates distance, Junmyeon thinks, waving to Jongdae as he walks out of the door. Sometimes, distance is good, allowing space for thoughts and room to breathe. But there’s still the echo of the song in Junmyeon’s mind, the last notes of Jongdae’s laughter. He remembers the way the notes had fit so perfectly, the way Jongdae’s fingers had glided so naturally over the black and white keys. And he can’t help wondering (even if he really shouldn’t) if their fingers would fit together perfectly.