I.

It all started one late afternoon.

Jeon Jungkook, a struggling second year college student, majoring in vocals and minoring dance in one of the most prestigious university in his town; stealing catnaps in between the paragraphs of his literature lecture in the morning after pulling an all-nighter, sprinting from across the campus with tired leg muscles in an attempt to catch his calculus lesson in time and staying until late night confined in the dance studio located at the fourth floor of his building.

And to say that Jeon Jungkook has been spent and lethargic that day is an understatement.

He was about to call it a day, limbs aching from the straight 6 hours of dance practice, nonstop as the dance showcase is just around the corner. He has been working on this same routine for the past two months and he has been waiting for this opportunity to show his hard works to everyone since the day he got the chance to enroll dancing. Not all students are lucky enough to be given the chance to show their talents off, and Jeon Jungkook is not about to waste this rare opportunity he has in his hands.

He tiredly dragged himself towards the elevator, muscles too tired to even walk only to find that the lift is under maintenance and he got no chance but to use the stairs for the mean time. Jungkook spat a long string of curses under his breath all the way to the other side of the hallway until he’s only a few more steps away from the said stairs.

And that’s when he first heard it.

The notes still sound like from a beginner; slow and hesitant with every tip of keys. But somehow, the longer he stands there and listens, in a weird and unknown way, it still gives the vibe of soft and light and almost calming. Jungkook found himself glued at the spot, on top of the stairs and it’s really dangerous if ever someone accidentally bumped into him that will surely send him tumbling down the steps and maybe if he got unlucky that day, might cracked his skull, too.

He stares at the light brown door in front of him, tucked in the corner of the hallway just beside the stair flights. And he listens, feeling his tense muscles slowly relaxing, sweat drying in a cold touch and hesitant piano notes kissing his skin so light it send goosebumps on his nape.

Jeon Jungkook stayed, standing silently, listening carefully and staring at the closed door until seven in the evening.

And maybe, he thinks, that’s the first time he fell not for that person, but for a melody.

II.

Like any other day, Jungkook is no doubt tired as .

He felt drained and limbs aching from the long hours of his usual dance practice. The whole day, his body has consumed nothing other than that one cheap chicken sandwich with extra lettuce, tomato and mayonnaise (because mayonnaise maybe greasy but he’s secretly a er for that) he got from the cafeteria on the way to the dance studio, and also gallons and gallons of water to keep himself from dehydration.

He also barely got 2 hours of sleep last night (or dawn), busy shoving history and math books on his nose to study for finals, waking up at quarter to seven this morning and giving him 5 minutes to dress up for school, 10 minutes bus ride and a total of 5 minutes late for the first test after his effort of sprinting that early with all his might from the main gate to his building because goddamn, why is his classroom has to be located at the other side of the campus? Insane.

And so if his looks now kind of resembles to an old crusty zombie you see in apocalypse games by the way his almost purplish eye-bags hanging dangerously close to his cheeks and sweat-damp dark locks sticking on his forehead, no one has to be surprised at that.

Jungkook heavily drags himself out the dance studio door, cheering mentally at the early rest he’s going to have today to be ready for a dreadful routine again tomorrow. He promised himself to get Chinese take-outs and eat until he can’t breathe, maybe play some games, too, while lying on his worn out and messy couch, before tucking himself to bed. Good thing, he has no classes tomorrow.

He turned the cold knob grasp in his right hand, making sure it’s locked before walking down the hallways. Given that it’s still early, the building is still also littered with art students; closed rooms blasting music ranging from hip-hop to the calm notes of suspiciously sounding like lullabies.

And like the usual, he stopped in front of that one familiar door on the fourth floor, tucked in a corner right beside the stairs. He looked down on his wristwatch, seeing it’s the same time from the last two months and as if on cue, there’s a familiar soft and light tip of notes coming from a piano inside, starting the same melody he has been listening to from the last couple of months.

He remembers it all, when it all started. It’s around the same time from the last two months when he accidentally heard that same calming melody coming from the inside.

Jungkook thinks, having the lift under maintenance that time was a blessing in disguise. It may sound creepy to anyone but Jungkook can’t find it himself to stop doing what he’s doing now. It’s been two months, and he’s witnessed how the once tentative notes have slowly improved, worming its way to almost flawless and light like feather pressed of keys against soft fingers, hesitation no longer to be heard.

He found himself a sanctuary in the form of this familiar calming melody. And once upon a time, he made it his personal mission to find the person behind this. But every time he hears piano the keys had stopped, followed by a shuffle of feet against the floor board, his instincts to run the away from there right the very second kicks in reflex. And before he knew it, he’s outside the building. It’s unknown to him, but if he stayed for at least a couple more second, he’d probably met the said person, face to face.

He should also now probably be asleep at night in peace, an angelic, beautiful face matching the pianist in his dreams.

III.

It’s one early Monday morning when Jungkook found himself being dragged out of his apartment.

He can’t quiet remember how he had his (favorite) red shirt (he remembers well he doesn’t wear anymore since that day because it’s from someone) and wash jeans on when he knows for a fact that he tossed himself on the bed last night with only a pair of ugly sweatpants and nothing on top.

And then, he’s stumbling on the side road with a nagging mom beside him, one hand clutched tightly around his right forearm as if he’d be gone sprinting away any moment now. His still sleepy system can’t catch all the coherency around him now, he can’t even understand the male’s word beside him except, ”Seriously, Jeon Jungkook. It’s been a long while, might as well learn to at least take proper care of yourself. Look at you, all bones and flesh.” And he has to resist himself from groaning at the exaggeration and settle for rolling his eyes to the back of his head.

The first thing he notices is the sudden warm that hits the cold skin of his cheeks, warmth spreading through his whole body, followed by a soft chime of bell from above them after Seokjin pushed the glass door in front of them.

They’re at the same coffee shop. The coffee shop they used to spend and waste their time every after school hours and until the dusk is starting to surround them. Jungkook felt the tense immediately creep up his shoulders, every muscle tensing as he grounded himself on the spot, eyes wide in realization and panic.

Seokjin must’ve noticed his dilemma because soon, he felt gentle hand pats his head and shoulder. He looks up, meeting concerned but reassuring brown orbs. A soft motherly smile was sent his way and he felt his body slowly and slightly relaxing.

“It’s okay, Jungkook-ah. It’s still not his shift, right?”

The question, must be unintended, but still shoots a pang in his chest. And as he nods, he just wanted to curl up on himself at the realization that maybe it’s been four months but it’s still not enough time to heal and closed up. He still remember everything. Even his duty schedule as a part-time barista. How ed was he exactly?

They both settle away from the glass walls, too afraid he might accidentally see a familiar mop of dark brown hair from a distance coming. He has his chocolate muffins and a large cup of vanilla latte while Seokjin have a plate of large cookies and large cup of green tea himself.

They eat in silence. Jungkook roaming his eyes at the whole café without even knowing, not sure if he wants or not to actually see a mop of dark brown hair bouncing from somewhere near him. It’s been four months since the last time he saw him, and he shouldn’t be feeling and acting like this since he’s the one who pushed him away; who broke it off.

Instead, he hears the small soft chime from behind him as a customer came in. He’s half way on his muffin when he saw a mop of orange head standing in front of the counter in his peripheral view. Jungkook looks at Seokjin whose busy shoving large cookies in his mouth, chewing like a hamster while half his attention was in his phone in hand.

Then, he turns to look at the counter, the orange head was facing back at him. He’s small and tiny and almost looking soft in the oversized peach sweater he has on, suspiciously looking like Taehyung’s jumper – he’s ex-lover’s best friend. He shook his head at the thought, still staring at the mop of soft orange strand laughing in front of the green haired man behind the counter – he belatedly realizes was Min Yoongi, fourth year college student from music department and his co-worker.

Jungkook should really starts focusing on what’s in front than what he’s left.

IV.

Jungkook thinks he’ll really appreciate a 6 years sleep after this.

He huffs when he finally reached the dance studio, pushing the door open just enough to slip his body inside before shutting it behind him and sway his direction to one corner to toss his backpack on the floor. He walks towards the hi-fi set, arranging the song he’s choreographing for the past month with a solid goal of perfecting every move before the performance. It’s big, and he has been waiting for this for so long, working his off even before sunrise until midnight.

Jungkook stands on the middle, staring at his reflection on the floor-to-ceiling mirror. He has his black beanie on, a gift from someone, to prevent his locks from sticking to his forehead after the sweaty routine. He’s clad in a black oversized shirt and gray sweatpants, a practice outfit that is very similar to that someone from before when they used to go over a song together.

He swallows, ears buzzing as flash of memories from that day plays in front of his eyes like a slide show.

It’s not his fault, he tells himself, or at least tries to convince himself. It’s been over four months and they’ve been both