There are a million reasons to love him, but a million and one reasons to hate him.

Breathless Melodies.

One-Shot

i.
The drifting melodies float through the spring air, the carefree notes emanating from the deft fingers of a certain young man, glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose and hands flying over the smooth keys of the piano. The majestic tunes ebb and flow in a lulling rhythm, crescendos and descrescendos alternating in a graceful but powerful manner.

A girl walks down the garden path, looking around amidst the electric blue skies and the dazzling flower buds, the faint notes of piano-playing reverberating in her ears. Like a fluttering moth attracted irrevocably to a bright light, she makes her way toward a little brick building, overrun by curling ivy branches snaking up the sides. The door creaks slightly as she peers inside curiously, and she softly closes it behind her as her light footsteps carry her to a room on the left side of the hallway, the music growing louder and louder.

A clatter of sheet music and a nervous grunt greets her as she quietly looks in. Her lips form a surprised circle. "O-oh, sorry...I was just - "

Her chestnut hair has fallen into her eyes, and her eyes flash in flustered apology. He merely chuckles, removing the glasses from his face. His eyes are surprisingly full of depth, a kind of dark chocolate that overflows with a relaxed kindness. "It's okay, want to join me?"

The shy smile that lights up her face is something that even the sun itself cannot rival.



ii.
The quiet, hopeful days of spring pass quickly into summer as their waking hours are filled with unborn melodies and joyous laughter. Yoona returns to the little building in the middle of the garden everyday, and Donghae is always there without fail, already gracing the skies with warm-up scales and arpeggios. 

"I'm here," she would say, breathless from running. The wisps of her hair would fly with the breeze from the open window, and her lips would be slightly parted in an eye-crinkling smile.

He would pat the spot next to him on the padded piano seat, just enough space for two. They play without any sheet music in front of them, improvising new combinations of notes, balancing the other's movements with their own. Donghae is about to embark onto the last year of high school, newly transferred from Mokpo, and has learned the ways of piano-playing for many years. Yoona is of the same age, a demure, calm girl, always with a fascination for harmonies and a love for beauty. Free from the constrictions of set notes in front of them that they have conventionally held to all their life, they embolden themselves to create their own, a blank canvas ready to paint the colors of their hearts.

They never talk much; they simply let the music speak for itself. His upward slur is a question (how are you this lovely morning?), and she answers with a deep crescendo and some playful staccato notes (very fine, quite content, in fact, thanks for asking). They discuss household troubles with dark ominous chords and broken dreams with faltering chromatic scales. 

It is a hobby, something to be occupied with over the summer. Where are your friends? Donghae asks one day, in one of their rare talking moments. I don't have many, but my best friend is on vacation right now, she answers, a little embarrassed. A pat on the head and a squeeze of the shoulder (well, you have me now, he smiles), and she blushes, just a little.

After their hands get tired around an hour after noon, they venture out into the world of open horizons and blazing beams of sunlight. There is something about the power of unspoken language of music that they share that marks their summer vacation with memories of happiness and bliss and comfort and belonging.

Somewhere in between the hot days and cool nights, Donghae grabs a hold of her hand, and she doesn't let go.



iii.
The sun starts to set earlier in the evening, retreating back to its lair underneath the horizon in a fantastic show of pinks and purples and oranges. With the shortening of days comes the arrival of school: fresh notebooks, newly-sharpened pencils, the smell of textbooks and ink.

"No more piano first thing in the morning," she murmurs regretfully.

He nods, taking one last look at the little brick building behind them. "Can we come back sometimes?"

"Studies come first, but definitely."

An exchange of smiles, a wink from Donghae, and a quiet giggle from Yoona.



The first day is interesting, but not exciting enough. It is paradoxical to think that they would prefer spending their time pounding away at a piano as more exciting than the loud halls of chatter and swarming hordes of students.

The onset of autumn is like a return to reality, away from the idyllic atmosphere of before and plunging toward a new goal of perfect grades and admittance into a college. The cool, crisp air chastens their bliss just a little bit; Donghae joins the school soccer team, Yoona is participating in the literary magazine and other clubs. 

Despite the business of their schedules, there are still those times of solitude with each other. "Your eyes are distracted," she muses.

He blinks. "There is just so much to think about these days."

"Like what?"

He doesn't answer.



"Your new friend seems nice," Yuri says one morning.

Yoona merely smiles, but beneath her agreeable facade, is a little crack threatening to expand into something more. Something bothers her, and she cannot place a finger on exactly what.



On a rare Saturday afternoon, Donghae knocks on her front door. "Piano?"

She sighs, a flat line on her lips.

"A-are you busy? I'm sorry..."

The tense line curves into a pensive smile. She looks back at her stack of textbooks. "I guess that could wait."

They play deep into the night, until the moon has risen up to its full height, sending rays of silver light through the jarred window. Their fingers hover around in the darkness, guided by only their ears and the faint moonlight.

The two leave with heavy hearts, saying their goodbyes reluctantly.

Yoona wakes up the next morning to find her pillow wet with tears. She remembers the night before, and she faintly recollects the yearning manner in which they played, trying to recapture the blissful momentum of before, struggling to find the right melodies but instead fumbling into a myriad of wrong notes and dissonant keys. The moonlight, no matter how bright, could not shine through the darkness, only enveloping the barren trees outside and highlighting the last few leaves hanging onto the branches only by a thread. Fragile, old, and easily broken.

There is nothing more painful than a broken song or a lost tune. She wonders when they had lost their magic touch and fallen out of sync. She decides that it is the cool weather. It sinks into her bones and freezes her fingers and her heart so that it grows numb.

She had never liked this time of year anyway.



iv.
A crystal snowflake sticks to the windowpane, melting upon contact into a frozen drip of water coating the foggy glass. Yoona blows hot air onto the window surface, watching as water droplets tumble down the other side.

She contemplates on the chasm of emptiness nestled in her heart. (Let's play again, he pleads. She gives it one last try, and comes home a little more cracked, a little more pained; the sound of dissonant chords echoes in her ears and she has no way of blocking it out.) 

It was just a short-lived stint, a curious venture of innocence, nothing substantial, nothing strong. The memories are hazy just like the blurry heat waves that the sun had radiated. The smiles are etchings fading away in the sand, blown away by the wind and covered in dirty snow. And all this brings her sadness. "I had hoped for something more," she finally voices out loud, watching the falling snow outside.

She shivers while sipping her hot chocolate. She doesn't even like hot chocolate.



"Yoona-ssi," he murmurs as he runs up to her the next school day.

She turns to him, an unintentional cold look in her eyes. His gaze turns worried and hesitant, but he forces a smile while shoving some papers into her gloved hand. "Some music. That I composed," he scratches his neck nervously. "For you."

Their breaths are visible against the gray backdrop, and for a second, they stand their frozen like the snowmen built behind them.

"Thank you," she finally says.

"Are you okay?"

She doesn't particularly like lying. "No."

And she walks away, footsteps clamping into the layer of mushy snow, uneven marks shadowing the unsteadiness of her heart and the sudden quickening of her breathing.



She goes home, staring at the music sheets in her hand for a few minutes. For my YoonA, it reads on the top. "Summer Days and Breathless Melodies."

Her breath hitches, but she doesn't allow herself to smile. She slowly takes off her gloves and approaches her own dusty piano, left untouched for quite a while. Her frozen fingers can barely move, but it doesn't stop her from pensively pressing the keys to the melody. The notes sound foreign to her ears, and although she pushes herself to keep going, her playing gets more frazzled, more drastic, more rushed, more estranged. It ends with a bang even though it's supposed to end softly with a whispering aftertaste. 

And there she breaks down crying, because she has lost her touch and they have lost their touch and she's sure this piece must be perfect but she just can't seem to do it.

Nothing strong or prevailing ever comes out of innocent adventures. Everything is fleeting, not ever able to be returned again.

She tinkers with the idea of giving up. You like him, remember? her mind prods. No, I don't, says her heart (I hate him, like the way he smiles in that off-hand way of his, or the professional manner in which he plays, or his contagious laughter, expressive eyes, and his perfectly-styled hair). Or maybe it's the other way around: her heart telling her to go for it but her mind telling her not to.

Either way, Yoona is too balanced a person (how lucky, Yuri sighs in envy, because she has always been one to be too rash with her emotions) that her heart and mind can never outweigh the other. What a cursed blessing, she thinks despicably.



"Did you play the song I gave you?"

"No," she deadpans, her eyes not meeting his. (Sometimes she has to make exceptions to lying; there are always exceptions, she comforts herself.)

"O-oh."

Silence.

"I just thought - you know, things weren't really going too well between the two of us. And well - I kind of like you -"

"Stop," Yoona's voice is suddenly weak. I actually kind of like you too.

His eyes carry a question within them, a flash of pain evident in his face.

"Just...I don't - I don't like you in that way." Lies.

The snow stops falling, replaced by an unnerving stillness. Donghae gulps. "What can I do...to change your opinion?" His voice is earnest, but she can't help but notice the slight quiver in his tone.

Her heart breaks even more. "No..." she whispers, looking into those deep eyes of his. "You're perfect. Absolutely perfect." Too perfect, in fact.

His teary gaze searches hers. "Then why? Why won't you accept me? How can you say that still reject me? I want answers, I just..." he fades off, voice cracking and veins popping out of neck in anger and disappointment. His stare is fiery as it burns into her skin, a stark contrast against the biting frigidness.

Yoona only shakes her head. How can she answer when even she herself does not know the answer? Her fingers gently brush the top of his nose and trace his jawline to his cheek. Her thumb catches an escaped tear. "You are perfect, but maybe not just my idea of perfect..." her tone is faltering, tripping over frozen air.

His face hardens. "The music. Couldn't you feel it? ...But if not, I can change. I can become whatever you want..."

"Hush," she places a forsaken finger onto his chapped lips, her eyes focusing on the little trembles of his jaw. So delicate, she thinks sadly. "I don't want you to change for me. I don't want anyone to not be themselves just to please me, because in the end, it won't, and you'll sincerely regret it."

She doesn't have the time to see his reaction because she runs away, cursing herself underneath her silent cries. She wishes she has the power to change herself - how hard is it to accept his love? She hates herself because she is being simply ridiculous and she knows it. It is perhaps because she won't let herself try something she desperately desires since it is just too desirable. Too good to be true, and she'll feel like she's cheating someone else of their happiness. ("The music. Couldn't you feel it?" - Yes, she answers, but not anymore. But I want it back so bad.) She wonders why she is so hard to please. Curse you, Donghae.

There are a million reasons to love him, but there a million and one reasons to hate him. Or maybe it is the other way around.



v. 
The snow officially melts for good, and the sun comes out more often. Fresh green shoots sprout of the ground, chancing their first look at the outside world. Morning dew sparkles anew on the tip of each leaf, each budding flower, each delicate petal.

She still has his song, and she clutches it to her chest as she makes her way to the little brick building, nostalgia rushing over her being. It is the good and bad kind of nostalgia, as all nostalgia is.

But someone is already there, a fresh melody reigning over the garden air. Her ears perk up, and she looks at the sheet music in her hand. The same theme melody, the same bridge, the same key signature.

She hears desperation, anger, and disappointment in the rushed flurry of notes, but also the peace, joy, and bliss in the graceful slurs of harmonies. It has the signature Donghae sound, the polished expertise grounded by raw feeling and emotions.

She sits down on a wooden bench among the busy bees and flapping butterflies, an unconscious smile spreading out over her face. For my YoonA. "Summer Days and Breathless Melodies."

It ends with a dragged out whisper, as if in longing for a certain touch, a certain presence, the way it is supposed to be. Yoona decides that she likes his version better by far. It is reminiscent of the innocence she so craved yet had discredited as only something fleeting. It reminds her of the first spring day just a year before when she discovered the mysterious young man playing his heart out on a piano in a little brick building in a garden. It conjures up memories of hand-holding, gaping grins, and shy glances.

A minute later, Donghae appears, peeking out of the door staring directly at her. He comes over, offering out a hand to her and gesturing her to the piano room. Her eyes brighten up with a hint of apology. Sorry for - you know, all the stuff from before.

"It's okay, would you like to join me?"

The familiarity of that phrase sends giggles up , mixing with his deep chuckles. It seems as if all the butterflies in the garden have flown straight into her stomach, her chest suddenly growing tight.

The shy smile that lights up her face is something that even the sun cannot rival.

The clock has turned back one year, and the two figures enter into the little brick building, the one with the grand piano and stock-filled with memories. They are linked by a tight clasp of intertwining hands and a heart for music notes etched into their imaginations. 

There are a million reasons to love him, but there are a million and one reasons to hate him, she had thought.

She realizes that it is the other way around.

A/N: Hey guys, I haven't updated this in forever! *-* Well here's a little something for you guys~