'Well, things really aren't how they look.' Song Kyungil thought as he was watching the boy pushing the white and black keys of the piano he had brought back to life for him.

He was lying on the sofa behind him in his living room, studying carefully his delicate fingers which looked as if they were barely touching the instrument, but still, the delightful sounds that were fulfilling the room were definitely coming from him.

There was no noise except this, no movement. This fact reinforced Kyungil's feeling that the world had stopped to hear the younger play. It had always been this way for the older. The sensation that the boy somehow had the power to control the time at his will. It was one of the many things he admired about him but a matter he never understood too. Actually, it was only a big detail on the list of stuff he didn't understand about him. Another particularity was how he'd put all his emotions and his thoughts into the song he played without on any occasion having written it nor considered it. The others would call it talent but Kyungil knew it was something else. Something supernatural. The whole boy seemed unreal to him, as it would be that nature, rationality, and science didn't dare to touch him. And the incomprehensible peculiarity with which the older could read his feelings through his music was comforting his theory.

Kyungil always had this piano but never actually played it. His parents had bought it for him, hoping that he would be a great musician. He was disappointed he never had this passion and kept his parents' dream from becoming true but right now, as he was resting his head on his arm so that he could watch the boy more clearly, he was happy the instrument was finally useful for someone. At first, the harmony of the song he was playing was slow, soft as if everything was light and purity as if nothing bad ever happened. It was the beginning of the autobiography, the prolog in which conditions are easy and life is beautiful. Kyungil could recognize a C major being played and it made him fly on a cloud. He smiled widely, liking this kind of innocence and naivety in the boy's personality. He could recognize some notes due to the hundreds of hours he spent listening to him play or talking about music. He was always hypnotized by what he was saying, how passionate he was, he would memorize some notions. Suddenly, the tune grew faster and faster, louder and louder. His hands were so quick Kyungil was struggling to identify which key was pushed. He was hitting the keyboard so hard with so much emotion. The older was admirative of this state the boy often puts himself in. He loved how he was even more gorgeous when he was letting his pleasure for this virtuosity take over him, when his mind was fully in his art and his body was following it. He and his melody were becoming one at times like this and it was just so admirable. Kyungil tried to concentrate on the notes again. Between them, he could detect the feelings, in the manner of a secret code he easily breaks. B major. Expressing anger, rage, jealousy. He remembered that. He sat up on the couch, this feeling hitting him. He was impressed by this hard and violent emotion. Of course, he knew he wasn't just a small boy, he had a rebellish side. However, he never imagined he could be this aggressive. He didn't know what had happened to make him be brutal that way but he didn't have the time to think about this that he noticed another note, a D# minor. And this one felt uncomfortable for him. He knew this was a horrible key for someone as sensitive as the boy. It gaves him goosebumbs, some sort of anxiety, an oppressive sensation. «If ghosts could speak, their speech would approximate this key». It's what he had told him one day and these words resounded in his head. He felt the urge to hug him, protect him from whatever had made him want to push this key. He didn't move though. Unfortunately, this sensitivity was what made the piece so beautiful and Kyungil really didn't want to disturb the boy. Suddenly, he noticed a bit of hope between all the negative notes and a smirk shaped his face. A D major. Key of triumph. And a F# major. The echo of a soul which has fiercely struggled and finally triumphed. He was amazed by the way his feelings were changing so quickly, a kind of exagerated mood swing that he was modifying at his will. Right now, he had a strange sensation transmitted by the notes, a joyful feeling. He wanted to dance, he wanted to smile, he wanted to let himself transported by the music. He closed his eyes, enjoying every bright sound coming from the piano. He still felt the overwhelming light-hearted emotion even after the song stopped. The younger took a moment for himself to recover, catch his breath that he was holding through the whole performance and get back to the reality. Only then, he turned to face Kyungil. He was waiting for a reaction but the man now sat in front of the pianist was too focused on the boy himself that he couldn't hear him.

Him, this boy, THE boy. The one and only Jang Yijeong. The one he first saw at a random cafe, looking so different, so reserved. He was alone at the corner of the room. He ordered a simple Expresso and waited a while before drinking it. He was staring at the street outside, probably observing every person who was running to avoid the rain which was falling heavily. Inside the shop, it was warm and cozy but there wasn't a lot of people, for the sake of the few clients. For Kyungil, it was easy to spot the small child look-a-like with his black earphones personalized with an unfamiliar symbol. He couldn't explain how Yijeong's aura made him feel. He was standing out in a way the man hadn't ever seen anywhere but still; he looked right at his place as if he was a part of the amazing background, meant to be here. He spent countless hours that day watching him beyond any reason. It just felt like, if he left, he would never see him again, and he was now too curious and interested to let him go. So he took many cups of coffee without counting them, without noticing how much he was consuming, without realizing his eyes didn't leave the guy even for a second. And during this term, he had the time to detail Yijeong. His dark hair coming before his eyes, strands so thick he struggled to determine their color, his long and thin fingers accessorized with rings around the cup, his unusual way to sit, carelessly cross-legged on the chair as if he didn't pay attention to the people and the world all over him, his unconscious habit of lip-syncing every song he listened to and this other one who made him his lips quickly, dry due to singing. He looked so rebellious, reckless, disinterested by everybody and everything but his lyrics. He was a wallflower. He wasn't afraid of people, not at all. He was just too superior, too distinguished by his surpassing intellect which made him understand it was better to stay away from humankind. At least, it was the personality Kyungil pictured for this mesmerizing stranger. He wondered why he was so astonished in front of this person, what did he have to make him act a way he would never in other times. All of it was captivating him so much but he wanted to know way more than these few external or imaginary details. Both of them stayed until the closure of the shop. Before going out, the introvert boy shot a quick smile to the owner and the older concluded that he was probably coming here often and knew him well. He wasn't the kind to smile to everybody. He hadn't smile to him. So he watched him walk away, motionless, not having the courage to call him back and immediately regretting it. But this was the first time they «met», the first impact Jang Yijeong left on Song Kyungil, and cheerfully, it wasn't the last time. And as he was staring into his beautiful eyes, he started to smile to himself.

'Well, things really aren't how they look.'

This personality he shaped when he first saw the boy wasn't the real one. It was the one Yijeong wanted people to see, the one he chose to scare people away. It worked until Kyungil came and only then, somehow, just by existing, he was able to unlock the boy's inside door, break his walls and see who he really was. A little sensitive, fragile, passionate, talented, needy lover and the older could add a thousand adjectives to this list. He honestly could talk about him for hours and hours, days and days.

'Hyung?' the beautiful and somewhat y voice of his breathless lover woke him up from his daydream.

'Yes?' he answered half conscious, taking awareness that he was still in the living-room and that nothing had moved from before his flashback. 'Your piece was incredible. You are incredible.'

It made him blush and Kyungil loved how the words he was saying so simply, with so much ease, just because it was what he was thinking, could make him react this way. When he was shy, his unique smile would widen, his eyes would glow with these strange yet fascinating shiny stars as if the whole universe had set in it and his cheeks would get an adorable pink shade. A true work of art. Kyungil could never believe how accurate this expression was for this small boy.

'Stop staring at me like this, you idiot' Yijeong softly said while he couldn't help but smile, trying to hide it behind his hand.

The older laughed, took his wrist delicately and put it on his own lap, intertwining their fingers and playing with the skin of it. He was amazed it was these two hands that made him able to create the most beautiful sounds he ever listened to. And he was so satisfied and happy to know that he had the chance to touch them whenever he wanted to.

'Don't do this, don't cover your face when you smile. You have such pretty lips, why would you hide them... you, idiot.'

They both laughed; low, sweet, cute laughs which were becoming a relaxing melody together. They looked into each other's eyes for a few seconds, until Kyungil grabbed the seat the younger was sitting on, pulled it closer and took him by the waist to put him on his lap. He looked even smaller in the arms of the older. Yijeong smiled shyly, wrapped his arms around his lover's neck and rest his forehead on his shoulder. He bite his bottom lip when Kyungil passed his hands through his hair and played with it, enjoying every single cuddle he did to him.

'What did you think the first time you saw me ?' Kyungil asked, his memories of how they met still in his mind.

Yijeong lift his head, wondering why he would ask such a question. He pretended to think for a few seconds, going back through his own memories.

'I thought «Wow, this handsome guy must really love coffee for drinking a dozen of cups in an afternoon.»'

'What? Do you mean you noticed me in the coffee shop ?'

'Of course, I did. You were staring at me so weirdly. I liked it somehow. You didn't know ?'

'No, I didn't! I always thought you hadn't even seen me.'

'Well, I did. What about you? What did you think when you saw me ?'

'«Why do I want to hug this stranger ?»'

Yijeong laughed and buried his face in Kyungil's neck again. The older laid down on the sofa, bringing his boyfriend with him, tightening the boy even stronger against him, letting him lay on his chest. The younger was playing with the folds of his tank top.

'That's actually so cute.' he softly said.

Kyungil smiled but didn't answer. He let these words float in the air between them, giving a lovely taste of the scenery they were creating while building new memories, allowing the old ones to have a special spot in their minds.