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It was July again. 

The months had rolled by in a flurry, overtaking each other as if in a rush to bring him back to his place in the practice room. There was little illumination, something he was extremely thankful for. He was already sweating from practicing himself to oblivion.  In short, his typically rational mind had melded into 'one and two and E sharp, D, double stop, G two three four C and A—' 

If you had merely attempted to inquire of his needs, he would send you an icy look signifying that it didn't matter whether he did or didn't need a glass of water. Right then and there, it was time for you to take your outside and leave him to practice more. He refused to allow his arms to tire from holding the instrument up, nor did he let his fingers falter, or his concentration break. He was at his peak, and the performance to come was to be the most important.

It may have seemed silly to most, to be so worked up over a mere charity performance, held only to raise funds for those who were suffering terminal, or otherwise life-threatening diseases. But the reason for his stress wasn't the performance itself—but rather one single member of the crowd that came every year. His name was Kae Jooyeon, the most renowned talent scout for the development program in the Seoul Symphonic Orchestra, the orchestra Jongin had had his heart set on since the moment his frail toddler feet had hobbled their way to the TV screen, to see the source of the near-magical music dancing around the hallways of his house. 

It was the summer of 1997, and little three-year-old Jongin wanted nothing more than to go to see them. By age seven, he had managed to get a ticket to their annual Christmas performance at the Seoul Arts Centre. It was in that moment, when the lights dimmed into darkness revealing the people who he had previously been admiring through the screen of his TV, that Jongin decided that watching those people wasn't nearly enough for him. He wanted to be one of them. It seemed like there was nothing better than to be a part of that great society. He looked again at the mass of instruments, and saw a multitude of finely crafted apparatus. His eyes scrolled past the brass, woodwind, percussion, and—oh. Oh. The Strings. It took seconds for him to fall in love with the full string section on display. They looked so elegant, so well practiced. The precision at which they played was nothing short of marvellous. 

Upon arrival at home, little Kim Jongin got onto his knees and begged for his parents to buy him a violin. It was all he wanted. It took many unrealistic promises such as "I'll bake you cookies every day for the rest of my life!" and "I'll massage you whenever you want!", but none of this was truly necessary. For the passion in his eyes was enough to convince his parents to spare the necessary funds to get Jongin what he wanted. The way Jongin's eyes lit up upon the arrival of his Stentor violin was enough to tell his parents that it was, indeed, $269 well spent.

And so began the long road to the top. His practices were rigorous; his harshest critic was himself. His perfect pitch helped with correcting slightly off finger placement, but it also allowed for much uncalled for self-deprecation ('You stupid idiot! That was completely off, what's wrong with you! They'll never take you if you play like that!') His need for perfection had long since overrun his need for food, and for water. His need for sleep had long since deteriorated into seemingly incurable insomnia. He gave up on sleeping after that; why make futile attempts at sleep when you have hours of extra practise time at your expense?

His parents were growing increasingly sick with worry. How had such an innocent desire spiralled into this crazed obsession? They had tried again and again to calm him down, and to get him to take a break, but their requests fell upon deaf ears. 

Jongin looked to the calendar for the millionth time, his eyes focused on the date marked in red. The showcase was tomorrow. The only critic whose opinion mattered would evaluate the quality of his years’ work. His self-composed pieces, renditions and tribute medleys had been rehearsed and repeated to the point of being forever trapped between the walls, imprinted beyond the point of disintegration.

He had heard it said that one had only truly thoroughly practised their violin pieces if they had broken a sweat. If that were the case, then practising wouldn’t be a strong enough term. With trembling hands, he placed the violin back on its stand for the first time in hours, and once it was gone from his hands, he felt an undeniable emptiness. He often attempted to deny it, but it didn’t take much to see that his instrument had become a part of him. The ache of his fingers, shoulders and arms was customary. In fact, it was almost something he looked forward to, for it was a tell-tale sign that he had done enough, or at least for that moment.

Heat collecting in his body, he fell to the hard wooden floors and allowed himself to turn to jelly, just for a moment. He stared at the ceiling, motionless, the songs replaying in his head again and again, regardless of the silence in his house. He allowed the beat to sink into him even more so than it already had. He had closed his eyes, and the momentum of the moment was beginning to become really, really nice. That is, until the mellow ring of a cello erupted from the silence, a perfect E played flawlessly. It continued playing the low bass line. Every technique was executed perfectly. And when he began to play pizzacato, each note had a full and ripe sound. He knew who it was.

Chanyeol had always been the star of the family. Mere monthes after Jongin had picked up the violin, he decided that it was time for him to begin his exploration of music. He was two years older, and slightly clumsy too. But when he picked up the cello, it took him days to master it. The technique that Jongin had to work at for hours and hours on end came to Chanyeol as easily as breathing. And if that wasn't enough, by the end of the year, he had learnt viola, saxophone and clarinet, each of which were played effortlessly. He wasn't even that passionate. It was more of a hobby to him. But still, whenever they would perform together, it was always Chayeol this, Chanyeol that. It was always Chanyeol's accompaniment in the spotlight, no matter how hard he practiced. It didn't matter how simple the elder's part was, it was always more deserving of attention.

Just you wait, hyung. When the Seoul Symphonic Orchestra chooses me, It'll be me in the limelight. I'll be better than you ever were. 

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a/n:

have you run away in horror yet? Again, it's really ambitious, and this is just a shorter chapter. As we get more into the story, chapters should get longer, and if they don't...i'm sorry?

If you have any questions about the musical terminology feel free to ask! I hope you like it!
Next chapter should be up before the end of the week. Maybe even today if I'm feeling inspired or something like that. :D
Until then~