dearly beloved

I hadn't asked Joohyun about that semi-urgent favor—the one that I mentioned on the phone the night prior. At least, not yet. A part of me regrets not spitting it out when I had the sliver of a chance, preferably before the subject had diverted, but another part of me doesn't. The mood was at an all-time high and telling her about a somewhat serious topic would only ruin that one-of-a-kind feeling. That was the last thing I wanted. But now that that feeling is slowly fading away, the urgency to bring it up arises once more.

"You're not falling asleep, are you?" The yawn I had let out must've caused her to ask. 

"No," I mumbled. "Just tired. It's been a long day of lectures, more lectures, and a hell of an essay exam."

"Mr. Cid, right?" I hummed in confirmation. "His exams are always brutal."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

"Do you think you passed?"

"Think so. Thankfully, English is my strong suit." Due to the sound of shuffling papers and noisy backpack zippers, I peeked one eye open, then side glanced at Joohyun. She was writing something down in one of her notebooks, her back facing me. "What are you doing? Work, again?"

"Well, yeah. Now that you've mentioned it, I've got to start studying for that exam." With a lifted brow of confusion, I sat upwardly on my bed.

"You haven't taken it yet?" I asked, baffled at the fact. It's not fair that her class gets an extra day.

"No, it's on Monday."

Rolling my eyes, I begrudgingly stood up to my feet, then looked over her shoulder to check out what she was doing. She had been scrolling through her phone and copying down extra notes from past lectures. It's mostly all photos of the white board. I couldn't help wondering why she was jotting down more information than what she already had. Maybe it helped with memorization or something.

"But wait, why are you writing so much? It's an essay, not a multiple-choice test." 

"Still, there are plenty of writing mechanics that I can implement into my essay. That's why I'm writing them down." My frown deepened as she returned to her work. Just like that, the energetic atmosphere had deflated into nothingness, all due to her unbudging decision to study her life away. I would've loved to believe that I could've changed her mind but that was damn-near impossible.

"Do you have to do this on a Friday though?" A complaint was necessary. 

She looked up at me, sending a small yet pretty smile, before reminding me, "The earlier I start, the better of a grade I'll get!"

I scoffed incredulously. "You say that as if you're not an honor student."

Her pen had stopped moving as our eyes met, once more. Then, with a critical gaze, she said, "You know, you do this every time I try to study."

"Do, what?"

"Complain."

"If you don't want to hear it, don't overwork yourself." 

She sighed. "Fine." I swore I had changed her mind, but it hadn't been as easy as I thought. "Well, what do you want to do then? I mean, we already talked earlier so that's over and done with. Got anything else in mind?" It's not over and done with but I wasn't going to bring it up yet.

When I thought deeper about her question, the first thing that I thought of was to go out and do something together. But I was deterred from uttering such a thing, since that sounded like I was asking her out on a date more than anything else. Yes, we're best friends, but Joohyun had the tendency to joke and mock about things like that, so I kept my mouth shut. And frankly, I had no idea what we'd even do. 

"Now that you put me on the spot, I can't think of anything else to do." That was a partial lie she hadn't detected. 

"Since you already took the exam, why don't you help me study? At least for a little while!" I pulled up an extra chair to sit beside her. As if I'm going to deny her request, she added: "We can do something else afterwards, if you want." 

We studied together plenty of times before, so I should've anticipated such a question. I had wanted to do something more enjoyable, but it seemed fate had other plans. Nonetheless, aiding her on her quest towards success was the right thing to do, so after I let out a tiresome groan and slouched into my seat, I begrudgingly agreed to it. Her final statement gave me high hopes, though. 

These small moments—shards of memories made throughout time—manages to stick to me. They feel so brand new. Special. Even as an hour or two had passed since we argued over the way she spent a stupid amount of time drafting her essays, and how I spent too little time doing so on my own, it all still clings to me. It's every subtle touch, like the graze of her arm against mine because we were sitting just that close to one another, or when her fingertips would brush across my skin because she'd snatch the pencil out of my grasp. It's every little shove and punch she nails into my arm, which steadily grows gentler every instance. I noticed because my attention gravitated every time she touched me, and I'd ruminate over that simple touch until I forced myself to stop. 

When I think about all those things, it makes me smile too widely, urging me feel too many things at once. All the gushy symptoms of being attracted to someone comes alive at that very moment, never resting until I laid my eyes upon her once again. It frightened me how strong that desire came to be. And even when we pushed aside those annoying notebooks and thought of something exciting to do, my mind had been filled with even more to mull over about. 

It's a simple moment like this, as I hauled in Jimin's outdated gaming console and spotted a joyful Joohyun clapping her hands in excitement. That heart-stopping smile of hers had graced her features like no one else's can, and it made me realize that this thing that's been morphing inside me isn't done growing stronger. It's only worsening with every interaction, and like I said, it scares me to no end. Sometimes, I don't know what to do with these emotions, these feelings, these urges. There are moments when I want to initiate (what I believe are) romantic gestures, and the thought of me, out of all people, desiring to do these things is bizarre. And that's exactly what I was thinking as she squatted down and helped me untangle the obnoxious number of cables linked to the device. She basically did it all—plugging them in the right slot and turning the damn thing on. 

Would an entrancement be the right term to describe the way my focus was solely on her and her only? She didn't seem to notice, even as we started up Mortal Kombat and played away. We must've gone through three or four matches, and the amount of -talk we spewed felt humorously endless. It didn't seem to stop until one of us lost a round, letting the winner rub it in the loser's face. Because we were decently even with our wins and losses, we both had a fair share of boasting. Apparently, she and I used to challenge each other back in the day—another memory that's been locked away. But since Jimin and I used to play as well, I hadn't doubted it.

To say I had fun is an understatement. I felt more appreciative of these small moments, especially once the competitive atmosphere had dwindled and in came the grueling topic that hung over my mind like an omen. As much as I want to, there's no way I can delay this any longer. And I don't. I hop over every mental obstacle left and sift through ways to ramp the depressing conversation back up. The urge to leave it for another day was tempting but there's no way I was going to give in. The good thing is, I had a little help with the process. 

Several moments had past, and it's like Joohyun always knew something unspoken was still irking me from within. Smothered in the quiet, we were both sprawled on our backs and located on opposite sides of my bed. Neither of us were awkward nor uncomfortable of the fact. It wasn't the first time we could be found like this. But during times like these, where I become distracted amidst continuous silence, I could feel her eyes drilling into the side of my face, either in thought or curiosity. Almost like she's either trying to read my mind or figure me out. 

Then, seconds later, she asked me what I was thinking about. Without a hint of vagueness, I gave her a true, honest answer—that there was something important I excluded from the talk we had earlier in the afternoon. She looked at me quizzically; that look on her face begged for an explanation. I told her I would've brought it up earlier, but I was too afraid to ruin the moment we once had—that the high I felt from spending time with her was all-too-consuming (I kept that last part to myself). 

"Don't be afraid to do that," she said. "To interrupt a moment to tell me something that's important; to tell me whatever's on your mind. You wouldn't be ruining the mood."

I inwardly disagreed but, on the outside, I sent her a small, grateful smile and a nod of understanding. Then, I told her to follow me, that I needed to show her something in the next room, and albeit confused, she did just that. But her prior words of comfort only made my jumbled mind worsen, and all that coursed through it were interesting possibilities. Because when she talked like that, acting so caring and reassuring, it made me consider, just for a moment, that maybe she could have feelings for me. Some sort of feelings, rather. Whether it be an attraction or a mere crush. But I couldn't dwell on the idea for too long. Wondering was nice, but it wasn't reality.

As soon as we left, I instantly sensed that she was going to say something—to question what I was going to show her. I turn to look up at her. She said nothing but her eyes did; distinct worry and puzzlement swarmed within them. Uncertainties made unclear were the cause of it all.

"Let's talk in here," I explain, a hand dangling over the handle. Still unsure what's going on, she sends a slight nod, and at her response, I yank the door open to reveal the generic-looking guest room. 

Sunlight casts through the parted curtains, illuminating the lonesome queen-sized bed made to perfection and the nightstand that accompanied it. Not much else had occupied the space except for the baby grand piano taking up a decent portion of the left side. In utter silence, we walk closer. Catching onto a particular detail, I raise an eyebrow. The instrument's surface is unexpectedly pristine, exuding an even sheen. It had been left untouched for several months now. Hell, it must've been laced with dust for ages. Don't know exactly when but it seems Aunt Kim had cleaned and dusted it off for me. 

I look away from the physical remnant of my past. Feeling like everything was returning to me at once, I pinch my eyes shut, only hoping it'd all go away. Nothing was able to reach me—not a sound nor a word. My heart begins to race, gradually pounding harder and louder in my ears. I couldn't stand it; it was uncomfortable and unbearable and extremely different from the way it did for Joohyun. This feeling was chaos. But I did what she said—what that woman said—and breathed in to breathe out. As I did so, I feel Joohyun's hand clutching my shoulder, shaking me, trying to wake me. We lock eyes, hers filled with concern, while mine—well, I don't really know what mine contained—but she knew that I was lost and far from reality.

Was all this a good idea?

"Taehyung?" Her lips had already been moving to make words, but it was now, as she utters my name aloud, that I was finally able to hear her. She was slightly panicking, trying desperately hard to contain it. "Are you okay? What's happening? "

"I..." Articulating words is a no-can-do, apparently.

"Here, just sit down. You look like you're going to pass out." With both of her hands curled around my arm, she guides me over to the tiny piano bench and urges me to take a seat. I do as she suggested, scooting over enough for her to sit alongside me. She hesitantly did, her left leg now firmly pressed against my right one, but I was too distracted by the emotional war inside my head to go insane over our undeniably close proximity. 

After what felt like centuries, I begin to speak in dismay, "I thought I was ready to walk in here today." I crane my neck and gaze downwardly. "I thought I could finally get myself to start playing again after all these months. You know, despite the reason why I stopped, but I can't. It doesn't seem possible." Once my hands morph into tight fists, I dig my paling knuckles into my knees out of frustration.

She sighs through her nose, then asks: "What do you feel?" She ducks her head, her eyes desperately searching for mine. I look up and find temporary serenity within them.

"I feel like I'm being suffocated."

She stays silent for several moments, thinking. 

"Do you remember the day we rode the bus together for the first time and you were having some sort of panic attack?"

Of course, I remember, so I nod in response. 

"Do you feel similar to that day?"

Again, I nod my head.

"But you overcame it eventually, didn't you?"

"I..." I almost deny it but it's the truth, after all. "I did."

"Then, you can overcome this, too. I know you can." She reaches up and brushes back a few straggling strands of hair obscuring one of my eyes. It was a bold move for her to make, and that simple fact almost made me overstep how her tone had been laced with so much promise. It was comforting, really. And, as the corners of curves upwardly, I feel mine do the same. 

Once I tear my gaze away and examine the instrument before me, my heart plummets. It's no longer racing as drastically, nor overwhelming my ability to feel, think, or speak. It's more like a numbness consuming me. I feel doubt in her words, despite the traces of trust she left between the seams. 

"I don't know, Joohyun."

"I do." I want to believe her, but I can't. 

"But how are you so sure? You don't even know why I'm acting this way." My voice was smaller and lower than ever, and I couldn't understand how she could hear a single thing. "You probably think I'm overreacting, don't you?"

She raises a gentle hand to caress my cheek, and I hadn't believed it was initiated with a shred of romantic intent, but my mind takes it that way, even as she forces my eyes to look back into hers. Her true intent. However, her hand remains, presumably to lock me in place—to keep me in tune with her and her only. 

"I need you to listen to me, okay?" I watch the movement of her lips, tuned in to every word. But my mind was locked on to the sensation of her thumb gradually sweeping across my cheekbone—a touch too soothing and distracting for someone so attracted to the one in-question. "No matter what I know or don't know, I would never think that. I promise you."

I swallow. "Really?" 

Speechlessness devours me whole. I couldn't budge, not under her tender touch and her earnest stare. But it all ended before I could appreciate it.

She nods, then removes her hand, and I wanted so bad to stop it from dropping. 

Before I could move a muscle, she asks, "You said you wanted to play again, right?"

I swallow with difficulty, watching her like it was the last time I'd ever see her. But it wasn't.

"I do. I can't but deep down, I really ing do."

"Why do you doubt yourself before you even try?"

"I can't help it."

"It's okay. I know you can do it. You will." I couldn't respond. She has so much faith in me. I wanted to say she was wrong, but I chose to fulfill that encouragement with hope. "Even if you have a hard time, just know that I'm right by your side to help."

"I appreciate it," I say slowly. "And if it hasn't been made clear yet, that's actually what the favor was all about." 

"You wanted me to help you play piano again?"

I nod, then moisten my dry lips. "I made a commitment the other day, after guilt had consumed me. See, Rose had talked to me about needing a duo partner for her upcoming piano competition. Her original partner couldn't make it." I watch the way Joohyun's neutral facial expression flickered and dimmed at the mention of Rose's name. I already knew my best friend wasn't too fond of her, but I could never figure out why. It couldn't be because of jealousy; she's not like that. 

"So, she asked you to replace them?"

I hum. "At first, I declined because I truly didn't want to do it. But I felt bad for her, and that caused me to think about it more as days passed. Before I knew it, I was meeting up with her to tell her that I'll do it—that I'll be her partner somehow."

"If you're doing the competition together, why didn't you meet up with her? You know, so she could help you out instead?" That question sounds more like a test than anything else. Test or not, it was a dumb one to ask.

"Because you're the only one that can persuade me; encourage me; help me. Comfortability is something that we have, not me and her." Isn't this obvious, though? "So, if I'm going to help her out, then you'd be the only person that can get me there."

Blood rushes to her cheeks as she looks away, speechless, but the good kind. She tried to hide it, but I caught it just in time. I never thought I could make a girl genuinely blush but here's Joohyun convincing me otherwise. Then, mere seconds later, her eyes meet mine, and it was as if she's never been affected by the words I uttered. It's almost like she's hiding the joy, but it's present in her dancing eyes; the way she looks at me is unmistakable.

"I can understand that," she smiles. "But this urgency to play again—is it because you genuinely want to or because of the competition?" 

"A mix of both. One more than the other."

"Which one?"

"The former."

"That's good." Her smile brightens. "So, how would you like this to be? Do you want me to play something first?"

I always knew she used to play the piano but the fact that she asked made my eyes widen out of surprise. The last thing I expected was for her to volunteer to do so. Plus, hadn't it been a while since she played? What does she remember?

"You—Uh—" I bite my bottom lip, unable to utter a proper set of words, so I inwardly curse myself for it. "Well, what do you know?"

She purses her lips in thought. "Most of what you know—or, knew."

"Seriously?" Not to doubt her ability or anything but how? Since when? And how come she's never played for me before? Was it because I told her that I was detached from it?

"Why so surprised? Here, let me think of something." Then, in preparation, she places her fingers upon the white keys, barely grazing the surface, and all I could think about was how beautiful her hands were. Until now is when I truly noticed. And as her expression contorted from determination into one of thought, I wait for her patiently. 

What does she know? 

How much does she know? 

And, as I wonder a few, simple questions, she starts to play, pressing keys to create a familiar tune. The name of the song is called Dearly Beloved, one of the most profound pieces I've ever learned. It's heart wrenchingly beautiful to hear—to listen to—and no matter how long it's been since I played those notes, I never forgot it. Through the years and the lonesome months, it has stuck to me like glue, and hearing it now fills my heart with too many emotions—some good, some bad. Despite the hurt and the memories forming a ball in my throat, I like the way it makes me feel at ease, like I'm floating in some nostalgic dream that I don't want to wake up from. And because my best friend is the one playing, these feelings had doubled. But everything flowing through me is so conflicting that I don't know what to do or say. 

Yet, as I try to figure it out, I let my eyes follow her slim fingertips flitting amongst the keys, practically dancing. She makes no mistakes, and once I glance up at her, she not only appears confident but beautifully enveloped, like a singer who immerses themselves in a tune or a melody. For not playing the instrument as much as she used to, she sure managed to do a great job. It almost makes me think she practices this song often. What makes it more meaningful is what this piece instills in me—something about it tugs at my heartstrings and seeing her drowning in every note enhances the feeling. I couldn't look anywhere else but at her, and for the first time in a while, I feel true bliss. Emotional, captivating bliss. 

As I succumb to it, a few glimpses of the past reaches me. Because of it, it draws me closer towards losing control of everything I've tried so hard to keep together. Most were memories I thought I'd never get back, but low and behold, still images had flashed across my mind in spurts. Some had included my mother playing the piano, a caring smile touching her features, while others had consisted of a young Joohyun. I fail to recall the time and place of these scattered, minute remembrances, which pains me even more. To think so many of these memories are stored in the farthest corner of my mind is utterly shocking. And the reminder brought by simple experiences like these is even more so. Joohyun once mentioned that involving oneself in past experiences could possibly retrieve lost memories, and I hadn't believed her at first, but now it's been proven. No matter how slight, it's possible. 

These emotions, these new feelings—they become over-consuming. While I tightly clench my jaw, unshed tears had threatened to fall, hanging on the edge, but I turn towards the windowsill and blink them away. The last thing I wanted was to get caught being emotional about things she couldn't begin to understand. To look so pathetic, so vulnerable—, I hate it. And she knew that, every sliver of it.

"Do you want me to stop playing?" Her fingers halt into place despite her asking.

"No." It's funny how effortless speaking can be unless you're desperately trying to hold up an emotionless façade that's getting destroyed by an inner mix of heartbreak, dejection, and nostalgia. A voice can't handle the strain of emotions—this, I know. But I wish it worked this time around. "Keep playing." My vocal cords shatter, breaking, revealing my truth—a realness I despise. It always brings me back to the past. 

I shakily sigh, frustrated, not only because I can't keep it together but because I at preventing negative thoughts from clouding my brain. It all hangs over me in the most menacing way, and my hopes that she'd continue playing were faltering. She hadn't said another word for a while, even though she knew I wasn't okay; even though she knew tears had been shed and I'd rush to wipe them away. 

In the past, I must've sobbed and sulked so many times that I'm able to keep my emotions under control now. Although the pain of the past still lingers, and always will, nothing hurts like it once did. 

"I'm fine." A piss-poor effort of reassuring but I force it out anyways. 

"You don't sound fine." I breathe sharply through my nose, then let it go. She was right. My composure was kept but inwardly, everything was falling apart like a house of cards.

"It's nothing." 

"You're lying." No , but what else was I supposed to say? "Why won't you look at me?"

Because I'm in a vulnerable, weakened state, and all I know is that I must look awfully pathetic. Like I said, no one's ever seen me like this, and even then, I'm trying so hard to train my gaze towards the window, looking anywhere else but into Joohyun's eyes. 

"You know me, so you already know why," I say, unmoving.  

"You don't want me to see you upset." Why does she sound offended?

I nod, then sniffle. "That goes for everyone."

"But I'm not "everyone"." She's correct; she's somebody. Somebody to me. But emotions are emotions, and letting a girl see me breakdown, even in the slightest, is inexplicably out of the question. 

"I know."

"Then—"

I cut her off: "When did you learn how to play Dearly Beloved?" 

She sighs, bothered that I've halted a subject in its tracks, but she accepts it. 

"When we were young." I already knew that, due to those faint glimpses of the past. "You taught me."

"Me?"

"Yes. Back then, I was practically a beginner, so you taught me the easier version. Like this." Then, she uses two fingers to play basic chords. 

"Right."

"I learned the more complex version by myself. That was after you moved away."

"Oh," is all I could say. "Did I teach you anything else?"

"Besides a few basic nursery songs? Not really." She shrugs. "I've stuck by this one though. I knew if I played it, you'd remember." 

"It's one of the few I'd never forget."

"Then, do you think we could play it together?"

Words were lost on me, so I stare at her unsurely. Before we walked into this room, the idea of playing again, much less with her, seemed far-off. Nearly impossible. But it's true what I told her. She's the special catalyst—the only one that could help me. Because all along, I did have this growing feeling that she could instill a sense of motivation—or encouragement—within me. And it's working, although it may not seem like it. 

"Can I confess something?" She continues, despite no answer on my part.

"Anything." 

"I've always wanted to play alongside you." Her warm gaze raises and collides into mine. The impact was strong, utterly captivating, and it's like all the air had escaped my lungs. 

"Why?" I manage. 

"Ever since we were young, you've inspired me." Isn't that dumb to say? We were only kids. "Yeah, I know. It's dumb to say. We were just kids. But I always tended to follow along with everything you and Bogum did. Especially you."

I crack a smile, full of mirth and adoration for the one before me. "Are you saying you learned to play piano because of me?"

There's no way in hell— "In a sense."

Her answer leaves my mouth ajar. 

"Don't look at me like I'm crazy." To be fair, it does sound a little crazy. "It's not like that."

"Then, what's it like?" 

"I can't tell you."

"Well, why not?"

She crosses her arms. "Because it's stupid."

"Oh, come on. It can't be that stupid." I egg her on. "Just tell me." 

She shakes her head. 

"Okay, I'll keep thinking you're crazy then." Don't you know? Once it starts, curiosity can be a dangerous thing.

"I'll tell you one day, how about that?" What reasoning could be so stupid that it turns into an untold confession?

With the answer remaining unknown, I roll my eyes at her. "I'll probably forget about this conversation by the time you do."

"That's the goal," she says. 

A brief, curiosity-filled beat passes. 

"Did I really inspire you?"

She nods. 

"How about now?"

"Even more so."

"What about me inspires you?" 

"You ask too many questions."

"Well, I'm curious," I say. "At least confess this one, if not the other."

"It's nothing specific." She's just saying that, so she doesn't have to be specific. "It's just the way you are. The way you think. The way you express yourself." How does she look at me and not see a boring loser? 

"You sure give me a lot of credit. Maybe, a little too much."

She shakes her head, staring at me with a sort of fixation, like a trance unbreakable. But all these assumptions lead to uncertainties. To think I could read a girl and what's written in her eyes is absurd. If she's trying to send some sort of signal, I'm as clueless as one can be. Oh, but if I wasn't as such, I still don't know what the hell I'd do. With her so close yet so far, and my heart going berserk, my mind's been thrown into a blender. 

"I think you inspire me, too," I blurt out, devoid of actual thought.

"I do?" At the sound of her voice, chills paraded down my spine. "What makes you think so?"

"Well—" Is there any other way to put it? "—It's the way you are. The way you think. The way you express yourself."

She, then, smiles a smile so lovely that it sends small bumps to prickle my skin. "You give me too much credit," she says.

I shake my head as a smile mirroring hers had grazed my lips. Although it was one of the most difficult things I had to do, I tear my gaze away. And as soon as I did, only to focus upon the shimmering black and white keys before me, I could feel her eyes burning holes into the side of my face. To lose myself in a moment with her again, letting time stop and flirtatious words spill, not only sounded like a want but a need. Maybe, next time, we could take part in another escalating moment or two.

For now, it needs to be like this.

"I might be rusty," I confess.

"That's okay. We'll start slow."

We started playing, each of us using a single hand. I found myself watching hers instead of my own. The feel of the keys underneath my fingertips felt foreign, despite it being all I knew. I messed up, maybe once, twice, or thrice, then apologized. The melody is light, like a whisper, a feather. Pressing too hard disrupts the feeling—ruins it altogether. She doesn't want to hear me say sorry because months without practice meant mistakes were inevitable. There were so many things I wanted to say—do—but if I had let my mind think for just a moment, I didn't know what would happen. 

But I wished I could've described the way I felt in those moments. Was it the remaining numbness talking? Or, was there something else in between the seams?

"I told you," she said later that afternoon, before she left.

"Told me, what?"

"You would overcome it."

A/N: It was another three in the morning update, and it was tough to get this one out. Currently juggling school and a job right now so it's been difficult to mix in some writing. We won't stop until it's over though! 

Hope you guys enjoyed, and I appreciate all the feedback as always!