Beads of sweat rolled gently down his furrowed brow as he stood up and rewound the music. With each plié and grande jeté, Zitao kept replaying the notes he heard played on that piano and pretended like he was dancing to them. Though the song he played was common and heard many a time before, it was different when that man played. He played with a certain elegance and sensitivity that could only be displayed through experience. The only way Huang Zitao could explain it was à la débandade. And yet that same phrase would more than likely be used for himself as well. Just by looking at him, you could tell Zitao was a living, breathing human embodiment of the word “mess”. The dark blue chaos on top of his head, his closet full ripped jeans and faded t-shirts; all contradicted what he wanted to be. Zitao craved to be graceful, smooth, everything he but what he was.

Huang Zitao shut the music off and rested himself on the floor to contemplate. How did someone like him dancing? As a child he was trained in martial arts. Martial arts is powerful, aggressive, required an attitude. He didn’t want to be that. His appearance looked the opposite of peaceful and eloquent. It made Zitao anxious, how opposite he was of the ideal type. Ballerinas and ballerinos were assumed to be beautiful living works of art. Zitao was rough around the edges, fiery, and outsides dancing, clumsy. Why did he always want the wrong things? In French they called it “Quand on a pas ce que l’on aime, il faut aimer ce que l’on a”. He wanted what he couldn’t have.


Once he decided to cease his little pity party, Zitao pulled the peacock print tank top back over his head, buttoned up his big puffy coat, shut off lights and walked out unsatisfied with the past hours of exercise. The feeling he got after dancing was normally the equivalent to a high. His practices usually made him feel marvelous, like the most tranquil being on the earth. But today, Zitao really purely felt like unwanted, dirty trash. He knew that was what he was, but it still didn’t feel enjoyable to get the reminder. Trying to get those thoughts out of his mind was nearly impossible, and the only place Zitao could really think to go was his favorite coffee shop. Well, it wasn’t his favorite, but it was the only place where he could just go behind the counter and take as much coffee as he wanted.

Snow poured from the skies while walking to Café Café, the brilliant name that his friend’s came up with. Zitao, who is semi-fluent in French, was the one to break the sad news of how stupid that name was. But as the youngest, they just ignored him and proceeded to place a huge, bombastic sign over their shop. Before waking into ‘coffee coffee’, Zitao took a look in the window and saw a figure at the piano. It perplexed him, for closing was hours ago. The second after he opened the door, Huang Zitao stopped dead in his tracks. Warmth flowed through him at the memorable sound of the piano. It was nostalgic; the same filling feeling built inside of his beautiful music hit his ears. Gradually, Zitao let his eyes glance over at the elevated platform to see a familiar figure. There, sitting with flawless form, perfect face, gorgeous everything was the same person that he heard playing in the concert hall. Only now, in a more secluded environment, Zitao was able to get a good look at the man. And a good look it was. From afar, this man was a masterpiece, but up close he was…exquisite. The way strands of fell from the rest as he played, his closed eyes that made it seem like he didn’t have care in the world, those broad shoulders. Each and everything about this man was perfect; in short, he was the opposite of Huang Zitao. Looking at this man was almost too much, so Zitao looked away and simply listened to the music being played. He would call the feeling he had coup de founde, love at first sight.

Just like the first time Zitao saw the man play, he saw (and heard) the person’s hand slip and crash onto the keys. Still, Zitao watched him like he was stuck in daze only the man at the piano could break.

“Tao! What’s up? How was dance practice?” He could hear is friend talking to him, but the only he was worried about the piano man. He looked so defeated, like there was just nothing inside of him. Zitao could relate.

“Why can’t I play?” The piano man mumbled to himself while standing. With focused eyes, Zitao saw him massage his wrist and then sit again in a nearby chair.

“Don’t worry Kris. You’ll be fine.” Another spoke. “Oh, Tao. When did you get here?” Finally, Zitao regained himself just enough to answer back.

“I just came in, and dance was dreadful as usually.” Instead of Korean, he spoke in his native tongue. With the end of his sentence, Kris turned around to face him. The look on his face was on of confusion and annoyance.

“Hey, I know you. You’re that idiot who was at the concert hall. What are you doing here?!” Kris roared back in Chinese. As weird has this sounds, Zitao found him so gorgeous when he was shouting at him. If it weren’t for that fact, the younger’s mean temper would have most likely exploded.

“Small world. Everyone knows each other.” Luhan, the pink haired co-owner laughed while setting down Zitao’s regular: straight black coffee. Luhan threw out a warm smile, hoping it would relieve the mood that was setting over the place. But his attempts just went to waste as Kris angrily sipped his coffee and Zitao couldn’t keep his off it. The three workers stood behind the counter watching the scene unfold, waiting for either one to crack.

“I’m leaving.” Kris spoke in a rushed tone. Zitao’s heart dropped when the older didn’t give say goodbye to him. But alas, having spent those few moments together was just enough for him. In just those few short moments, he could feel himself falling into amour fou. Kris would probably never love him, and that’s why this love was insane.

"I think I'm in love with him."
 

Most don’t believe in love at first sight, and Huang Zitao didn’t until just ten minutes ago. They say that love is blind, and now Zitao was very blind.




Hello! Author Rin here. I will be using French phrases (I change the name of the story to a French phrase). After each chapter I will put what each one means! Thanks for reading

à la débandade: this phrase is used to describe a disorderly or chaotic mess.
Quand on a pas ce que l’on aime, il faut aimer ce que l’on a: Sort of means “something you want but can’t have”.  Used to explain the burden of wanting something but also being happy with what you have.
Coup de founde: Love at first sight
Amour fou: Insane love. It is usually the type of love that isn’t reciprocated, also could be and obsessive passion for someone.