PS: Hello! Here's the carrd that explains the characters. Kindly read through before continuing with this chapter. Thank you! 

The big day finally came.

Minho ped his bag to take out the cello. He had been anticipating the ensemble since the day the organiser offered the whole team to perform, and the feeling only got more profound when he met Taemin. At that time, what he had in mind was the desire to express and impress. What would an art student know about the life of a cellist if it’s not presented honestly, after all?

However, Minho felt like his father had stripped off that enthusiasm with all their preexisting conflicts. There was no exact number to it, but the evident anxiousness was enough to prove his point.

“Are you okay?”

The voice captured his attention, and he snapped his head up in alarm. When Jinki came into view, he released a long sigh of relief and nodded. “I’m okay.”

“Don’t lie to me. I can tell,” Jinki said while massaging Minho’s tensed shoulder, then taking a seat next to the restless man on the bench. “What’s up? We have about 30 more minutes to go on the stage, give or take.”

The cellist his lips once before glancing down at his hands. One of many good things about Jinki is that he would never demand anyone to speak. More often than not, he left his words hanging to make room for others to sort their thoughts or reconsider the idea of letting out their feelings to another person. He saw it as a form of commitment that everyone should treat with respect, and Minho was grateful for that.

“Dad might be coming today,” Minho broke the silence once he’d collected enough courage, eyes fixed on his hands. “There’s no guarantee that he would listen to me after the episode last night, so he might be coming today.”

“What happened last night?” Jinki asked, his forehead creased into a deep frown.

“Oh, a lot,” the younger man huffed a wry laugh. “A lot of things happened last night.”

And that was how Minho found himself pouring the stories to Jinki, rambling about how mediocre things were at home and that he felt suffocated with his father monitoring every single action that he did. It felt like purging negativities out of his system, and at a certain point, it made Minho feel good. At least he didn’t have to endure the overwhelming weight of the burden alone. But deep inside, he knew it was not going to end. Something evil about that truth haunted him like a shadow because no matter how much he shared, the big portion of it still would remain on his shoulders.

“How did Sohee know about Taemin, again?” Jinki questioned after a minute of analysing the story, his eyebrows furrowed. “How old is she?”

“23. She attends the same school as Taemin, apparently.”

“Crap. My alma mater?”

Minho hummed and stood up, brushing off the nonexistent dust from his hips before greeting the other cellists that began flooding in the dressing room. The show was about to start. “Your alma mater.”

“And you didn’t ask Taemin about it when you guys first met?” 

“I didn’t,” Minho agreed passively amidst the noisy chatter. “Because I didn’t ing know it would end up this way, Jinki.”

Just like that, the conversation ended. Jinki didn’t interrogate further because he knew Minho was not having any of this to his greatest pleasure. It was probably wise to just let it slide for now. So, with a gentle one-sided hug that Minho responded to naturally, Jinki left the taller man to get ready in peace. 

The ensemble was going to be anything but easy.

***

The venue looked unbelievably different that day. Minho couldn’t remember the last time it was that bright, but with all the appropriate lighting utilised, the entire space looked akin to most famous royal court theatres around the world. The sight made his heart flutter tremendously. Fated, it was indeed his passion to be in such a place and perform.

But while he was standing alongside the other cellists by the stage to listen to Jinki’s briefing, his eyes never left the main entrance. The audience had already come in to claim their booked seats, and each time a new face appeared, Minho held his breath in. When they turned out to be strangers, he drew it out, breaking sweats in one sitting from constant worries.

“We will do exactly like how we practised. Okay? I know this ensemble is a big thing for some of you. It’s a great thing to highlight on your record if you wish to broaden your client base and perform abroad,” Jinki paused to look at Minho, who was otherwise too distracted to pay attention, waited for a moment, then continued regardless. “But let’s try to have fun. Make the best of this moment because there's no point in the grind if you’re not in the disposition to deliver.”

“Yes, maestro!” Everyone answered in unison.

Everyone except Minho.

“Minho?” Jinki prompted, his facial expression softened upon catching that man’s gaze. 

“Yes...,” Minho was biting the tip of his tongue, a habit that he couldn’t shake off since he was young. His voice had gone deeper at that moment, but he only afforded the reply when soothed by the conductor’s smile. “Yes, maestro.”

“Good. We’re all set to go, then.”

Maybe Jinki was right. Minho's insecurity had changed the paradigm of everything, including his splendid desire to create memories and how it so easily happened still beat him. It was unsurprisingly challenging to perform when there was a pit in his stomach, but just because his world stopped when his father threatened to ruin his most happy day doesn’t mean everyone else’s did, too.

“The ensemble is starting shortly. To the audience, please be seated and keep your devices muted to avoid disturbances during the performance. Thank you.”

The announcement rang throughout the spacious hall, and the group took it as a telltale sig