The first time Zhang Yixing officially meets Ai Fanghua, she cries.

 

He had first developed a habit of cutting through the hallway of practice rooms in the music wing after late-night dance practice to get to his dorm. Opening the door cautiously, Yixing can hear faint strains of music everywhere from behind closed doors – piano, violin, saxophone, you name it. No wonder Seoul Arts Institute has the best music program in the country, Yixing thinks.

 

As Yixing makes his way down the hallway, pausing to enjoy strains of Greig, Brahms, and Mozart filtering through cracks and mixing in the air, he stops dead in his tracks as he hears a sound that overlaps everything else.

 

It’s impossibly deep and strong, so that Yixing can almost feel waves of sound rolling through the corridor. The music twists to accommodate running cadenzas and graceful trills, radiating pure emotion as it tumbles and sighs. Yixing racks his knowledge of classical instruments and realizes that only a viola can have that range and depth of sound. It captures him, enthralls him, beckons with shifting tendrils and coiling notes that swirl around him and say, come in, come in. Almost unconsciously, Yixing drifts towards the source of the heavenly sound and comes to a stop in front of a door. It’s no different from any of the others lining the hallway behind him: rusted bronze numbers announce that he has arrived at room 112. He breathes in deep, as if he can draw in more notes by inhaling them, and catches a faint whiff of cherry blossoms.

 

Yixing is seized with the desire to crack open the door so he can envelop himself in the sound that’s tugging at his heartstrings, but there’s a reason his friends in Changsha used to call him “scaredy Xing”. And if he tried to look inside, the throaty purr of the music winding around his ankles would stop. And what would he say? Oh, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I just kind of happened by this practice room and um…I wasn’t standing out here like a stalker or something, but I really like to listen to you play.

 

With these excuses, Yixing talks himself out of anything and everything he planned to do and simply stands outside of the room, backpack secured firmly on both shoulders and holding a duffel bag, still sweating profusely from practice. But there’s something about the music that draws him in and holds him there. The notes float, little bubbles of pure air and something that can only described as magic – they soar up and up and up to the ceiling and beyond, carrying Yixing away with them.

 

Yixing doesn’t know how long he’s been standing there, listening to whomever it is playing, when the music suddenly cuts off with a groan. He listens as a particular passage is played very slowly. Then faster – then it hits a snag. Another groan, and clattering sounds of something (a pencil?) against a metal stand.

 

The harsh, clacking sound drags Yixing from his reverie. He looks down at his watch – yikes, it is too late and he has an early morning lecture tomorrow. Yixing casts one last wistful glance at room 112 before he exits the building, feeling like a part of his soul stays there with the music.

 

That night, Yixing dreams of a world brighter and sharper. He can smell cherry blossoms and hear something that can’t be described as mere music winding through the air. Yixing turns and finds the violist harmonizing with the push and pull of a brook, seeming to draw the water so it dances in time with her notes. But no matter how hard he tries, he can’t see her face.

 

After that, Yixing makes it a habit to stop by room 112 after dance practice.

 

One night, after a particularly exhausting practice, Yixing slips into the music wing as per usual and trots straight to room 112. But tonight something is different – the music stops more often than normal. The notes are halting and the pauses grow longer and longer until, with a loud crash, they stop.

 

Yixing rises from his position leaning against the wall and bites his lip as the urge to open the door comes back stronger than ever. Ten minutes, he tells himself, checking his watch. I’ll wait ten minutes.

 

Yixing’s eyes are blurry from staring at the green LED display, but ten minutes turns into fifteen and he thinks he’d better stop before he gets cross-eyed. He inhales slowly and still smells cherry blossoms. But room 112 remains silent, though Yixing has learned how to tune out the cacophony of the too-loud trumpet next door.

 

How the next part happened Yixing doesn’t really know. All of a sudden his hand is on the doorknob, twisting it, pulling it open and wincing as it is accompanied by an obnoxious squeal.

 

The first thought that comes to mind is that the practice room is smaller than he expected. After waiting outside this room every night for over a month, Yixing has tried countless times to conjure up an image of what is inside – but his efforts were in vain. The room is small, sparsely furnished with whitewashed walls. There is a black velvet case containing a viola propped open near the door, a stool, and a metal stand with sheet music. Squeezed near the corner is an upright piano, the violist herself on the bench.

 

Yixing starts. She’s small, too, and somehow her presence fits right into the practice room, right along with the smell of cherry blossoms. Yixing doesn’t recognize her – heck, he doesn’t recognize anyone in the student body besides his classmates and select group of friends, but he takes in her features. Her nose is small and buttonlike and is plump, the lower lip a bit fuller than the other, and her eyes are large and framed by impossibly long lashes. She has a small face with by long wavy hair in a ponytail. And she’s staring at him.

 

Yixing automatically backs up a little. “Um…I…um…I’m Zhang Yixing,” he says awkwardly. Frantically searching his mind for something, anything, he comes up with: “Sorry, I…uh…didn’t think the door would be that loud.”

 

The girl stares at him some more and then abruptly bursts into tears.

 

Yixing would have gladly given his entire beloved stash of chocolate, hidden away in the folds of his sock drawer in his dorm, if someone would tell him what to do (and God only knows how much he loves his chocolate). Part of him wants to run away and never look back, but a bigger, stronger part tells him to sit down and to stay there.

 

Yixing sits down on the piano bench next to the girl. It’s too small for the both of them, so he has to sit half-on and half-off. He stares hopelessly at her ponytail as she keeps crying. Everything feels awkward – Yixing’s limbs don’t move the right way and his mind is far away frolicking in white space, unable to form any coherent thought. The small room seems too suffocating as the girl’s sobs drown out all else.

 

Finally, after an eternity, Yixing builds up the nerve to circle his arms around her, giving her plenty of time to push him away if she wants to. She falls against his chest, hands covering her face, and Yixing is startled for a moment before he relaxes and brings her closer.

 

She keeps crying, and Yixing can feel her tears soaking his shirt, but somehow he doesn’t care. He’s actually more preoccupied with the thought that he wore this shirt to practice today and it probably stinks of sweat, but then the girl in his arms hiccups through her sobs and Yixing’s attention is immediately drawn back to her.

 

He lifts a hand and slowly sets it down on her head, it. “Sh, sh…” Yixing murmurs, fervently hoping that he’s doing the right thing. “It’s going to be okay…”

 

Yixing doesn’t know how long he stays there in room 112 on a piano bench with the violist wrapped in his arms, but her sobs die out and are soon replaced with rhythmic breathing. He realizes that she’s fallen asleep.

 

Yixing shifts the girl in his arms, but she doesn’t wake up. He doesn’t know how long it is before he falls asleep, too.

 

-

 

Yixing wakes to a squeal. He lifts his head and is first aware of the crick in his back and winces, moving away from the piano where his back has been pressed the entire night. Second, he’s aware that the warm weight that was settled against him is now gone.

 

“Did you – did you stay the entire night?” A soft voice brings him out of his daze. Yixing rubs his eyes, finally getting them to focus on the small figure before him. His heart jumps and beats an uneven staccato as he realizes that it’s her and memories of the night before flood back – the squeaky door, her crying, and then holding her as they slept. Yixing wants to facepalm right then and there as he remembers his hopeless introduction.

 

He nods, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah…”

 

Yixing watches as a light blush dusts her cheeks and she turns away. “I’m…my name is Ai Fanghua.”

 

Now that he’s a little more awake, Yixing recognizes the accent. “Are you from China?” Then he realizes what he’s just blurted out and retracts the statement. “I mean – I wasn’t trying to be rude or anything, and you don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to…” He trails off as she laughs. He’s mesmerized by it immediately, just as he is by her playing. It’s a light, musical laugh, tinkling with small bells.

 

“Yes, I am,” she smiles. Yixing finds that he automatically likes her smile.

 

He stands, stretching a bit more, and holds out his hand shyly. “Um…if you don’t mind, can I introduce myself again?”

 

Fanghua blushes again and nods, taking his hand and shaking it. Her small palm feels good in his.

 

Yixing bows. “I’m Zhang Yixing, freshman and majoring in dance and performance studies.”

 

Fanghua bows back, but there isn’t enough space in the room they’re in and she ends up hitting him on the head. With a gasp, Fanghua immediately apologizes over and over again, her small hands fluttering everywhere and searching in his hair for a bump.

 

Yixing feels a small glow in his chest as he realizes that he might have just met the only person on the entire earth just as awkward as he is. “It’s fine.”

 

She averts her eyes to the floor as she mumbles, “Sorry.”

 

“No, really, it’s okay,” Yixing says quietly. He glances around the practice room – at the viola and sheet music still on the stand. “If I may ask…what are you majoring in?”
 

“Music performance,” Fanghua replies, her gaze immediately going to her viola still in its case.

 

Yixing nods, and the fact that she has answered one question gives him courage to ask another. “Can – can you tell me why you were so upset yesterday?”

 

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Yixing regrets it, because he has to watch Fanghua’s eyes drop and her posture sag. “No! Please don’t…be sad again. You can hit me on the head again if that will make you feel better,” Yixing offers.

 

Fanghua laughs, and Yixing doesn’t realize until then that he has been waiting to hear it again. “It’s fine,” she tells him, smoothing down her shirt. “I was just…really frustrated.”

 

“I know this might sound really creepy,” Yixing volunteers, “but I’ve been listening to you practice for a while now…and you sound really good.”

 

“Really?” Fanghua’s eyes light up like a kid’s on Christmas day, and Yixing feels an absurd amount of satisfaction that he was the one to cause that happiness.

 

Yixing nods. “I mean it. You…your playing is like none I’ve ever heard.”

 

“Thank you so much,” Fanghua bows again, and Yixing unconsciously smells more cherry blossoms as she moves. It’s silent again as he watches her chew on her lower lip. Finally she speaks.

 

“Nam seongsang-nim, my teacher…he wants me to try out for the Seoul International Music Competition,” she explains, fidgeting. “And the preliminary rounds are in two weeks, and I’m feeling really stressed. I’m sorry you had to experience that,” she blushes as she talks. “I’m a very emotional person, so I always cry a lot before competitions.”

 

“No, it’s alright,” Yixing says honestly. “I’m glad I was here for you.”

 

Fanghua blushes again, her cheeks painted red, and ducks her head. Yixing checks his watch, and the display announces that it’s already half past ten.

 

“What time is it?” Fanghua cranes her neck to look at his wrist and then jumps. “Oh no! I have a lesson in fifteen minutes!” Yixing tries his best to stay out of the way as Fanghua packs up her viola and gathers her music. In a blur, she has pushed open the door and is rushing out, instrument case in one hand and messenger bag in the other.

 

“Wait!” Yixing calls towards her retreating back.

 

Fanghua turns around quickly, ponytail hitting her in the face. “Yes?”

 

“…Um…will I see you here again tonight?”

Fanghua bestows another beautiful smile upon him and nods.

 

Yixing smiles back and raises a fist. “Fighting, Fanghua!”

 

He watches her blush again (he can see it even from down the hallway) and follows her figure as it disappears. Then Yixing picks up his backpack and ambles out of the music wing, whistling and not really caring that he’s late for his morning lecture.

 

-

 

“Hey, Yixing, why were you late for Chemistry this morning?” Jongin slides into the seat next to his at lunch.

 

“Yeah, how could you leave me alone with him?” Baekyun adds, appearing on Yixing’s right.

 

Yixing initially had doubts when his dance teacher had paired him up with the quiet, dark Kim Jongin, whose chiseled features seemed to attract girls like a magnet (there were a few gossiping in the corner already, and it had only been the first day) but he soon discovered that behind Jongin’s quiet aura lay a fierce determination that snapped out and filled the whole room when he danced. Jongin had become one of Yixing’s good friends even after the duet project, and they stuck together outside of dance class. Yixing has also learned that contrary to popular opinion, Jongin is a true dork. Byun Baekyun was Jongin’s best friend in high school and is a vocal music major. Not lacking his own group of fangirls, Jongin often teases Baekyun about his short stature, to which Baekyun always replies, “At least that’s not the only thing I’m lacking in.” Though he has never heard Baekyun seriously sing live, Yixing has heard rumors that Baekyun has the voice of an angel and has already declined offers from SM, wanting to finish college first.

 

Between the two of them, Yixing has more than enough company at lunchtime and things to do on the weekends. More than once Baekyun has dragged him and Jongin to noraebang or out clubbing or to some party. Yixing, being the responsible one, always hauls both of them, drunk by the end of the night, back to his dorm. But they’re his friends and he wouldn’t trade them for the world.

 

“I just got…held up,” Yixing mumbles into his milk. Back in China, his mother would insist that he have a cup every day to stay healthy. Old habits die hard, and Yixing finds himself still drinking two percent in the mornings.

 

“Held up, huh?” Baekyun pokes him with his chopsticks and wiggles his eyebrows. “What kind of held up?”

 

“Ooh, was it a girl?” Jongin grins foolishly.

 

Yixing takes a bite of his rice, not really tasting it. He swallows and answers sheepishly, “Well…yeah.”

 

“The day has come!” Baekyun wails. “My baby boy has finally found a girl to get married and make babies with.”

 

“Shh!” Yixing casts a glance around their table, cheeks reddening, but no one has turned to look. There’s typically a large amount of noise from where they sit, anyway.

 

“Tell us more!” Baekyun’s gelled hair seems to bounce with his enthusiasm.

 

“Well…you know the practice rooms in the music wing, right?” Yixing starts. The two nod. “One night after rehearsal, I was wandering there and I heard this wonderful sound…” Yixing’s eyes unfocus and Baekyun and Jongin exchange a grin, knowing that their friend probably isn’t in the cafeteria anymore but in his memories.

 

“And then?” Jongin gently prods.

 

Yixing snaps back to reality and shakes his head, continuing. “And last night she suddenly stopped playing for a while, so I got kind of worried and went inside.”
 

“That’s our Yixing,” Baekyun says proudly. “Taking initiative.”

 

“…And then I sort of introduced myself and then she cried,” Yixing says as quickly as possible, wanting to gloss over the awkward incident.

 

“Whoa, whoa, hold up!” Baekyun raises a hand. “You’re saying she cried when you first met her?”

 

“That doesn’t seem like a very good sign,” Jongin informs him seriously.

 

“I know,” Yixing buries his head in his hands. “And then I kind of…held her as she cried and we fell asleep there. I woke up kind of late, so that’s why I missed class.”

 

“Falling asleep together is good,” Baekyun nods in approval.

 

Jongin scratches his head. “But…I still don’t get why she cried.”

 

“Apparently she’s really stressed about a music competition,” Yixing says, shrugging. “I don’t blame her.”

 

“Music competition?” Baekyun perks up. He’s always up-to-date with the latest university gossip, and Yixing wouldn’t be surprised if Baekyun knows all of the music students and faculty. “Which one?”
 

Yixing taps his head as he remembers. “Um…Seoul International Music Competition, I think?”

 

“Seoul International?” Baekyun’s eyes get wider, and Yixing can clearly see the smudged eyeliner under his left eye. “She must be really good then. That’s huge.”
 

“Yeah,” Jongin nods. “I’m surprised you didn’t know about it, Xing.”
 

Yixing rubs his neck, embarrassed. “Well, I guess I’m not as informed as you guys.”
 

“More like you live under a rock,” Baekyun snorts. Giving Yixing no time to retaliate, he breezes on. “Anyway, don’t be worried about her crying. A lot of people, music majors especially, get emotional when they get stressed. It’s normal.”

 

Jongin checks his watch and downs one last mouthful of kimchi before getting up. “Want to go to dance, Yixing?”

 

Yixing nods and gets up, bidding goodbye to Baekyun. The Seoul winter buffets Yixing and Jongin as they make their way across campus. Yixing draws up his scarf so that it covers his mouth and nose, suddenly grateful for his fashion choices.

 

“So when are you going to see her again?” Jongin pokes Yixing in the side and laughs as he stumbles on the pavement.

 

Regaining his balance, Yixing sticks his tongue out at his friend before answering. “Hopefully tonight.”

 

Jongin grins. “Go get ‘em, Xing.”
 

-

 

Ai Fanghua thinks that maybe – no, definitely – she is the awkwardest person on the face of the earth.

 

Just thinking about what happened that night: bursting into tears and sobbing into an unknown boy’s shirt and sleeping and – God forbid that she not embarrass herself futher – hitting him on the head, makes her blush.

 

As Fanghua arrives at her practice room (it’s not really hers, technically, but all the music rooms are so often used by the same people that it might as well be), she pats her cheeks and sets down her case in the usual spot. Today I will not make a fool of myself in front of Zhang Yixing, she thinks.

 

For the first half an hour of practice, Fanghua glances at her phone to check the time over and over again. When Yixing doesn’t show, she tells herself to calm down, because it’s alright if he doesn’t. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was scared away by my incessant crying.

 

With that, Fanghua strives to put Yixing out of her mind and focus on her practicing. The preliminary rounds of the Seoul International Music Competition are now 13 days away, and she can’t afford to lose any time. Nam seongsang-nim didn’t look very satisfied during her lesson today and she has to improve before the competition.

 

Fanghua strives to lose herself in the music – she tunes and plays and works on her vibrato and musicality and practices. With her phone tucked safely away in her case where she can’t see it, there are no distractions. Just her and paper on the stand.

 

She gets frustrated. Nam seongsang-nim tells her that her habit of getting worked up is only detrimental to the practicing process, and if she needs to take a break, she should. But Fanghua pushes on, because the competition is so soon and suddenly everything sounds so bad.

 

Fanghua’s in the middle of trying to tune a cadenza and play all the notes in a lyrical manner so they come out all pretty, just like how her teacher plays it, but she feels like she’s failing – when Yixing bursts in.

 

Actually, he opens the door as slowly as possible, but Fanghua stops playing when she hears the familiar screech.

 

Yixing visibly winces as he closes the door. “Oops…I forgot about that,” he says sheepishly.

 

Fanghua giggles and muffles it behind her hand, taking care not to whack Yixing with her bow, and thinks something along the lines of wow he’s actually here and I’m not dreaming what. “You came.”

 

“I said I would, right?” Yixing says and sits down on the piano bench lightly. “How are you doing?”

 

Fanghua sighs, gesturing vaguely towards the stand. “Still can’t get it.”

 

“You will,” Yixing encourages. “I believe in you!”
 

“Thank you,” Fanghua pinks and carefully deposits her viola in its case, sitting on the stool. She needs a distraction anyway. “Are you from China, too?” she asks.

 

“Yeah,” Yixing nods. “Changsha.”

 

“Oh! I’m from Hangzhou,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I came to Seoul because they have better music programs here.”

 

“Me, too,” Yixing nods, and then waves his hands as he realizes what he’s just said. “No, I didn’t mean it like that – I mean – sorry,” he exhales and starts over. Fanghua secretly thinks it’s cute that he gets so flustered. “What I mean is that I came from Changsha to Korea to pursue dancing.”

 

“Do you – do you like it?” Fanghua asks, slipping into her native Mandarin. She hopes he understands her urge to speak her mother tongue with someone, after so long.

 

Yixing stares at her, and Fanghua backpedals. I’ve made a terrible mistake. Then his face splits into a grin and she can’t help but to be drawn to the one dimple on the left side of his face.

 

“I like it very much,” Yixing answers, the words flowing smoothly from his mouth. “And it’s been a while since I spoke Mandarin with someone.”

 

“I get the feeling,” Fanghua nods. “I haven’t made any Chinese friends here…I mean, I guess there aren’t many Chinese students at Seoul Arts Institute.”

 

Yixing tilts his head. “Then can I be your Chinese friend?”
 

Fanghua blushes immediately. “Of course you can,” she says, twisting her fingers together in her lap.

 

It’s silent as they look away from one another, take a peek, and then look away again shyly. Fanghua breaks the silence by asking, “So how is it, majoring in dance?” She’s truly curious, as her best friend at university is also a music major. She’s never set foot in the dance studios.

 

Yixing is silent, and Fanghua waits patiently for him to gather his thoughts. Finally, he says, “It’s wonderful,” and she sees a sort of passion fill his eyes and an expression similar to hers when someone asks about playing the viola. She’s glad. “Everyone here is so dedicated and hardworking, and I feel like I’ve gotten far better in a semester here than I have in all the years I was in Changsha.”

 

“I’m sure you were fantastic anyway,” Fanghua murmurs. “I hear lots from the girls in my dorms about the really good male dancers in the department.”

 

Yixing smiles his one-dimpled smile, and Fanghua has the overwhelming feeling that she’s melting.

 

-

 

Yixing asks to hear her play, then, and Fanghua really doesn’t want to but obliges anyway. Nam seongsang-nim encourages her to play for anyone she can so that it’ll be good practice.

 

She’s working on the Bloch Suite Hebraique for Viola*, and Fanghua tries to ignore Yixing’s eyes on her as she sets her instrument firmly under her chin and lifts her bow. She breathes twice: in, out, in, out, and starts.

 

The Bloch starts delicate and weeping and descends into a mad rush of notes and cadenzas. Slowly everything disappears – the practice room, the piano, and Yixing – until it’s just her and the music, her bow dashing across the strings and striving to produce the best sound possible. Fanghua feels the adrenaline racing through her veins as she draws grand, sweeping, enough to fill a concert hall.

 

Fanghua gets three-quarters into the piece without messing up and she starts to feel more confident like hey maybe this isn’t so bad after all, and then her hands just don’t fall in the right place and a harsh, stringent and terribly out of tune chord appears. Fanghua stops playing, shocked out of her reverie by the bad notes.

 

“Ohmygosh I’m so sorry, I told you I’m not ready – ” Her eyes are downcast and the instrument is limp in her hands, now stripped of its powers.

 

“Hey, hey,” Yixing encases one of her hands in his own and gently removes the viola from her grip. “It’s okay, Fanghua. You did great.”

 

Fanghua looks at him and pouts. “No, I didn’t!”
 

Yixing blinks, confused. “But everything sounded good?”
 

“No, it didn’t!” Fanghua stomps her foot on the ground and huffs. “It was going okay and then suddenly that out of tune chord appears out of no where. I practiced it, too – it shouldn’t be hard to get in tune.”

 

She stops in her rant and looks up at him, suddenly embarrassed. “Sorry, I get kind of crazy when I practice.”

 

Yixing smiles, and Fanghua feels calm rush over her in waves. “I understand completely.” He holds out the viola: an invitation. “Do you want to finish?”

 

Fanghua looks at the boy with her viola and takes it. “Okay.”
 

-

 

Yixing stays until she finishes practicing and insists on walking her back to her dorm. As she unlocks her door, Fanghua turns and smiles shyly. “Thanks, Yixing, for everything.”

 

“No problem,” he says, smiling. “I’m glad to be of help.”

 

It takes Fanghua a while to work up the courage to say, “So…will I see you tomorrow?”
 

“You can count on it.” Yixing smiles, holding out his pinky. “Pinky promise.”

 

Fanghua giggles but links her pinky with his, pressing their thumbs together. She opens the door and peeks out, saying, “Good night, Yixing.”
 

“Good night, Fanghua. Sweet dreams,” he waves as she closes the door.

 

-

D-8

 

Fanghua doesn’t know how it happens, but suddenly Yixing is everywhere in her life. She starts to spend more and more time in the practice room as the audition date draws closer and Yixing keeps her company, always walking her back afterwards.

 

8 days before the prelim round, Fanghua’s in the middle of laughing at one of Yixing’s puns when the door to the dorm next to hers flies open and a head sticks out. “Who dare disturb my slumber?”

 

Fanghua stands up straight and grins, running to hug the girl. “Bommie unnie!”

 

Yixing stands there awkwardly, hoping for some sort of introduction and also hoping that this rather intimidating girl won’t kill him.

 

“And who’s this?” She raises an eyebrow at Yixing.

 

“Oh…this is Zhang Yixing, my friend,” Fanghua glances back at the dancer, hoping that the title is correct. They’re friends, right? “He’s majoring in dance performance.”
 

“Nice to meet you,” Yixing bows 90 degrees.

 

‘Bommie Unnie’ stares at him as if she isn’t wearing a bathrobe and slippers and a face mask and a towel on her head. Finally she nods. “I’m Park Bom, a vocal music major and a junior.”

 

“She’s been my favorite unnie ever since I got to Seoul Arts,” Fanghua says, smiling.

 

Bom pats Fanghua’s head. “And if you ever hurt her or make her cry, I’ll kill you.” She glares, and the expression tells Yixing that she isn’t joking.

 

Yixing gulps. Fanghua laughs, swatting at her playfully. “Unnie, stop it! That’s so mean.”

 

“Well, this is the first time you’ve brought back a boy to the dorm,” Bom points out.

 

“He helps me not freak out, unnie,” Fanghua says, blushing. “During practice.”

 

Yixing glows from the remark and it gives him enough courage to say, “Ah – Bom sunbae, you might know my friend, Byun Baekyun? He’s also a vocal major.”

 

“Baekyun?” Bom’s eyes brighten and she shakes her head. “Aish, that kid’s a handful. Is he your friend?”
 

Yixing nods.

 

“I’ll make sure to tell him I saw you,” Bom grins and gently propels Fanghua towards her room. “Don’t work too hard, okay?”

 

“Neh, unnie,” Fanghua nods obediently and Yixing can’t help but smile.

 

The smile disappears when he thinks of the incessant teasing he’ll receive from Jongin and Baekyun when they find out.

 

-

D-7

 

Yixing doesn’t know how it happens, but he finds himself spending all of his time with Fanghua, working on his homework while she practices. He even likes listening to her rant about practicing.

 

“Do you ever have days that from the beginning of the rehearsal are bad?” Fanghua asks thoughtfully as she sits next to him on the piano bench, worn out from a particularly finicky passage.

 

Yixing nods, putting his pencil down into his History textbook. “Sometimes, from the first beat of music and my first movement I feel like it’s going to be a bad practice,” he answers.

 

Fanghua sighs. “I feel like I’ve been having more and more of those lately.”
 

“It’s just because you’re nervous,” Yixing soothes. “You sound great.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” she grumbles, and then her cheeks flare red and she immediately apologizes. “No, sorry, that was mean!”

 

“It’s fine,” Yixing reassures, dimpling. “Let me offer some advice – one of my dance instructors once said that what’s most important is that nothing can determine how good of a rehearsal you have but you.”
 

Fanghua is silent, turning the phrase over and over in her mind. Then she stands up and smiles. “Thanks, Xing.”

 

-

D-6

 

Sometimes Fanghua wonders why she hasn’t driven Yixing away with all her incessant complaining already.

 

“No, no, no, no,” Fanghua chants and bounces in a circle with her viola. “Nothing is right.”
 

Yixing looks up from his English homework and watches in amusement.

 

Fanghua glares at her metronome and turns it off. The passage she’s working on has to be worked up to 156, and she’s only at 130. “I hate you,” she mumbles, huffing at it. “I hate your cheerful clicking and how you’re always perfect and how I can’t keep up with your stupid beats.”

 

Silence.

 

With a resigned sigh, Fanghua settles the viola underneath her chin and turns the metronome on again.

 

-

D-5

 

“Hey, look who it is,” Jongin nudges Yixing in the shoulder during dance rehearsal.

 

“What?” Yixing snaps up from tying his shoelaces. “Jongin, if you’re lying to me – ”

 

But inexplicably, there in the doorway stands Fanghua, gripping her messenger bag with one hand and her viola case in the other.

 

Yixing maintains a careful distance because he’s sure he smells like sweat and looks disgusting. “Fanghua, what are you doing here? Not that I’m not glad to see you, but…”
 

Fanghua blushes and looks down at the polished wooden floors. “I – I just wanted to come and see how you were doing. You sit through all of my practices, so I thought I’d return the favor.” She peers around the dance studio. “I’ve never been here before.”
 

Yixing lifts a shoulder and lets it drop. “It’s just me and Jongin right now.”
 

“That’s fine.” Fanghua settles into a chair near the side of the room and smiles up at him. “I’ll just watch.”
 

Yixing still looks uncertain. “But…don’t you have to practice?”

 

“You worrywart,” Fanghua pushes Yixing with a surprising amount of force. “Nam seongsang-nim told me to take a break.”

 

“Well, then, if you insist,” Yixing flashes the dimple at her again, and Fanghua’s glad she’s sitting in the chair because her knees are feeling curiously weak.

 

Jongin bows in her direction. “Hi, I’m Kim Jongin,” he smiles.

 

Fanghua bows back. “I’m Ai Fanghua.” She hesitates and then adds, “Yixing talks about you a lot.”

 

“Does he now?” Jongin raises an eyebrow at his friend. “What sort of stuff does he say?”

 

“Let’s just start, now, shall we?” Yixing hurriedly turns on the music and Fanghua laughs.

 

When the pounding bass fills the room, the quiet, shy Yixing that Fanghua knows disappears. A confident, passionate dancer makes Yixing’s long arms and legs look graceful and powerful, makes his dimpled smile look more like a self-assured smirk. He bites his lip as he concentrates, gaze burning into the mirror as he twists and turns.

 

Fanghua gapes unashamedly as she wonders how Yixing can make everything look so smooth: all of his movements segue perfectly with one another, hitting poses and sliding across the floor without a single sound.

 

While watching Yixing, Fanghua starts to think that maybe dancing is just as much of an art as playing her viola is. It looks like the beat has come to life in Yixing, his presence filling the room with every step he takes. He traces movements in the air with his body, leaving fiery trails behind. Steps just as complex as a dizzying array of rapid notes are performed clean and crisp, as if Yixing was born dancing.

 

The music ends, and Jongin and Yixing are breathing hard. Fanghua claps loudly and exclaims, “Wow, guys, that was really good!”

 

Yixing shoves Jongin, who is wiggling his eyebrows obnoxiously, and bows exaggeratedly to Fanghua. “Thank you.”

 

-

D-4

 

“Don’t you have a jacket?” Yixing’s brows are drawn together as he looks at Fanghua. His hand is on the doorknob, prepared to release a blast of warmth-stealing Seoul wind as they walk back to Fanghua’s dorm.

 

“No, not today.” Fanghua at least has the decency to look embarrassed, fiddling with her ponytail holder. “It’ll be fine if I run, though.” She smiles up at Yixing, who is still frowning.

 

“Why not?” he asks, gesturing towards the darkness outside. “It’s so cold!”

 

“I can’t practice with any type of coat on because it bothers me,” she replies, blushing, “and I was kind of late for class when I left the dorms this morning…”
 

“Oh, I see,” Yixing immediately slips off his own maroon hoodie. “Then wear this, okay?”

 

“I can’t!” Fanghua looks horrified and pushes the proffered jacket back. “Then you’ll be cold!”

 

Yixing shoves it back into her arms gently. “I don’t have an audition in a couple days – you can’t afford to get sick now. Really, wear it.”

 

After staring at Yixing and trying to convince him otherwise with the power of her mind doesn’t work, Fanghua tentatively picks up the fabric and slips it on. It’s big and reaches down to mid-thigh, but the inside is soft and snuggly and it serves its purpose. It also smells like Yixing.

 

Fanghua tries to hold herself back from sniffing the hoodie to try and absorb all of the dry-clean-and-not-quite-lemon scent radiating around her and instead pulls the hood over her head. She smiles up at Yixing. “You ready?”
 

Yixing looks at her and nods, flashing his dimple. “Ready.”

 

Fanghua pulls open the door with a hard yank and is instantly chilled to the bone, despite the jacket. Without thinking, she slips her hand into Yixing’s and tugs him along with her. There’s no time for her to feel embarrassed about her actions this way.

 

“It’s so cold!” Yixing shouts into the night air as they run. Fanghua laughs out loud, wind painting bright spots onto her cheeks and blowing the hood back.

 

They stagger into the dorm, hair windblown and eyes bright, shaking from the cold and laughing at the same time. Fanghua goes to slip the hoodie off immediately, but Yixing stops her with a gentle hand. She shivers, but it’s for a different reason. “It’s fine, you should keep it for now.”
 

“But then how will you get back to your dorm?” Fanghua wrinkles her nose with worry.

 

“I’ll run,” Yixing replies easily, poking her nose. “And I think I’m at least a little bit faster than you.”

 

Fanghua sticks her tongue out and blows a raspberry. “Pthbthhhh!”

 

-

D-3

 

Fanghua is actually pretty impressed with her composure towards the music competition up until now, and she knows that Yixing plays a large part in that. But today, after a disastrous lesson with Nam seongsang-nim, she can’t help but feel like everything she worked so hard for is crumbling into ashes around her.

 

Fanghua runs into room 112 and slams the door shut, bursting into tears. Yixing isn’t there yet; he has dance rehearsal until 10. She slides down to the floor and buries her face in her hands, letting it all out.

 

After her sobs have subsided into sniffles and the sniffles into whimpers and then nothing at all, Fanghua gets up from her position leaning against the door and removes a small packet of tissues from her viola case. Wiping her face, Fanghua mentally pats herself on the back for having the foresight to pack well.

 

The entire episode takes less than twenty minutes. Fanghua’s not that much of a big crier, but something about the amount of pressure put in her by auditions releases the floodgates.

 

Fanghua stares at her hands, laced together on her lap. They’re small to match her stature, calluses from playing on her right index finger and first three fingers of her left hand. Having small hands isn’t an advantage for string players because it’s harder to reach notes on the fingerboard. But Fanghua is able to stretch her fingers at least as far, if not farther, than her peers – the results of many practice hours put in.

 

When she feels like she can get up without punching something or crying again, Fanghua trots over to her case, ping it and pulling out her bow and fitting her chin rest to the viola.

 

She closes her eyes and breathes in deeply, the introduction of her piece filling her mind. Lifting her bow, Fanghua sets it to the string and applies just enough pressure before releasing the first note in one smooth movement.

 

It’s out of tune. Fanghua exhales before carefully rearranging her fingers and repeating the entire process.

 

The road to performance-ready music is by no means easy.

 

By 9:30, Fanghua’s patience has reached its limit. Setting her viola down, she looks at the papers on the stand for a moment, considering.

 

I’d better stop now before I break something, she decides, and gathers her music before slipping it into her case.

 

Done packing, Fanghua stands at the doorway, biting her lip. What about Yixing?

 

Fumbling a bit, Fanghua finds a sheet of spare sheet music and grabs a pencil, scribbling a note in Chinese. She sets it down carefully onto the piano and leaves.

 

-

D-2

 

“Yixing?” Fanghua’s fingers press her phone into her ear to stop them from trembling. Bom had forced Yixing’s number onto her, telling Fanghua that Baekyun was all too happy to provide it, and added that she should call him sometime.

 

“Hello?” The other line crackles to life, and Fanghua breathes a sigh of relief as she hears his voice. Fanghua hadn’t been able to see Yixing either today, courtesy of her feeling tired and Yixing’s rehearsal schedule, and had written him another note.

 

“Xing? It’s Fanghua,” she says in Mandarin.

 

“Oh! Fanghua!” Yixing pauses and then quickly babbles, “How have you been? I saw your notes, and I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to catch you today or yesterday. Jongin and I had to stay late…”

 

“It’s fine, I survived.” Fanghua smiles even though he can’t see it and draws her legs up to her chest. “How are you?”

 

“I’m good,” Yixing says. He adds with a hint of bashfulness, “I would feel better if I was at practice with you, though.”

 

Fanghua blushes like a tomato and quickly fans herself. After she’s composed again, she ventures, “Me too.”

 

Fanghua feels the force of Yixing’s smile through the phone. At least she hopes she does. Then the blush comes back full force as she says, “Um…I was wondering if – if I could come see you?”

 

“See me? Like now? In my dorm?” Yixing’s surprise is evident in his tone.

 

Fanghua falls back onto her bed, hair splaying out, and covers her face with one hand. “Uh…yeah. Something like that?” She feels the blush growing as she adds quickly, “But if you can’t or don’t want to or something, I totally understand. I just wanted to return your jacket.”

 

“No! Of course you can,” Yixing replies, and his voice is pitched a bit higher now. “That sounds great. Do you know where it is?”

 

-

 

Fanghua scans herself as she gets up from her bed, having been given directions to Yixing’s dorm. She’s wearing sweatpants and a ratty long-sleeved T-shirt emblazoned with her high school orchestra’s name. Too lazy to change, Fanghua throws on a thick, downy coat that Bommie says makes her look like a marshmallow and grabs Yixing’s hoodie, freshly washed. Tucking her phone into her pocket, Fanghua glances one more time around her dorm and leaves.

 

-

 

“Hi,” Yixing says, smiling nervously as he opens the door. After Fanghua had ended the call, he had promptly kicked Jongin and Baekhyun out of his dorm, knowing full well that he was going to be subjected to massive amounts of teasing later.

 

Fanghua looks small, standing there on his doorstep in a puffy coat in the cold holding his hoodie, but her smile could light up the sky. “Come on in,” Yixing ushers her into his dorm. “Before you catch a cold.”

 

“Thank you,” Fanghua mumbles, rubbing her hands together, and hands him his jacket.

 

Yixing is lying if he tells himself that he isn’t disappointed by the quick transaction, but he covers up quickly by ushering her over to the heater in the corner and helping her out of her coat.

 

“It’s not as glamorous as a fireplace, but it works nicely,” he says, hoping she won’t make fun of him.

 

Fanghua grins and sits on the floor, holding her hands up to warm them. “It’s perfect.”

 

Yixing sits next to her and holds out his hands. “May I?”

 

Confused, Fanghua nods and lets him take her own hands in his. She looks away, bright spots starting to appear on her cheeks as he gently blows air on her fingertips.

 

Fanghua leans against the wall as he begins to massage her hands and closes her eyes. “Wow, Xing,” she says. “Everyone in the music department would love you – I never knew that you gave such good hand massages.”

 

Yixing smiles and replies without thinking, “Only for you.”

 

Oh God. If Baekyun were here right now…where did all these cheesy lines come from?

 

Fanghua doesn’t open her eyes, but Yixing can see the blush threatening to take over her face.

 

When Yixing is finished, he lets his hands awkwardly drop and leans against the wall next to her. Fanghua looks at him and murmurs sleepily, “Thanks, Xing. I would give you a back massage or something in return, but I’m kind of tired and I would end up hitting the wrong place.”

 

“No problem,” Yixing says, and he’s the one blushing this time.

 

They sit in comfortable silence. Yixing starts when he feels a weight hit his shoulder but relaxes when he sees it’s Fanghua’s head. She must really be tired.

 

It’s too dark and too late for her to go back to her dorm, so Yixing carries her carefully to his bed and draws up the covers. He takes a blanket out from the closet and lies on the floor, Fanghua’s light breathing lulling him to sleep.

 

-

 

“Xing?” Yixing’s always been a light sleeper, so he’s instantly awake when he hears the light whisper in the darkness.

 

“Yes?” His mouth and tongue feel heavy and awkward.

 

“Where are you?” He hears the sound of rustling covers.

 

“Don’t get up,” Yixing says quickly. “I’m on the floor next to you.”

 

The rustling stops, and then Fanghua says, her pronunciation thick with sleep, “Why would you be on the floor? It’s cold.”

 

Yixing thinks that Fanghua’s sleepy mumble is quite possibly the cutest thing ever. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

 

Fanghua huffs and replies, “You wouldn’t disturb me….come here. I’d be sad if you got sick.”

 

“Are – are you sure?” Yixing whispers, unable to believe his ears.

 

“Yes, I’m sure,” Fanghua grumbles, obviously not in the mood for talking. “So get your over here and go to sleep already.”

 

Suitably appeased, Yixing lifts the covers and crawls underneath. Judging from the sounds of her breathing, Fanghua has already fallen back asleep. Yixing lies stiff as a board, muscles tensed and staring up at the dark ceiling.

 

Okay, so…I’m in the same bed as Fanghua. Nothing is going to happen, he tells himself.

 

Just as he finishes the thought, Fanghua rolls over in her sleep and latches onto him, snuggling into his chest. She’s warm and the scent of cherry blossoms settles over them. Yixing freezes and tries to gently pull her off, but she makes a whimpering noise and clings harder.

 

Yixing closes his eyes and tries to regulate his breathing. Nothing is going to happen, he repeats to himself.

 

Once he’s calmed down a bit, Yixing admits that he enjoys this feeling very much. It reminds him of the first day they met, how they slept with his arms around her. He finally relaxes, draping an arm comfortably around her waist and falling asleep.

 

-

D-1

 

Yixing walks into practice room 112 prepared to face anything – screaming, yelling, crying, or a combination of all of the above. But in its place he finds Fanghua calmly sitting on the stool and rosining her bow. She looks up at him as he enters and smiles. Only then does Yixing notice the stiffness in her shoulders, the tension in .

 

“Hey, Fanghua,” he says, setting his backpack by the door and sitting at his usual perch – the piano bench. “How are you doing?”
 

“Can I – can I just play for you?” Fanghua says instead.

 

Yixing stops for a second, surprised, before nodding. “Sure. Go ahead.”

 

Fanghua stands, adjusting the viola on her shoulder and fitting the bow to the string. She closes her eyes as the first note rings out.

 

The rest of the suite flows out from there, peaking and cresting like waves before crashing down in a slew of fiery sixteenth and thirty-second notes. Somewhere in the back of Fanghua’s mind she’s afraid she’ll screw up again, like last time, but she shoves the thought away and focuses on helping her instrument spin out little drops of dew that sparkle individually in the sunlight. Fanghua remembers to breathe just as she draws the last note, exhaling slowly. She lowers the viola.

 

Did I…did I just do it? Fanghua stares at her instrument with something akin to shock.

 

Yixing sits in stunned silence for a minute before applauding. He leaps up, grin on his face. “Wow, Fanghua. That was amazing!”

 

Fanghua can’t find words, so she settles for a wide grin and hugs Yixing tightly.

 

“I’m really proud of you,” Yixing says, patting her on the back as his natural dry-cleaned scent surrounds her. “You’ll do great tomorrow, I know it.”

 

Fanghua draws back and nods. She bites her lip and says hesitantly, “Is – is it okay if we’re done for today?”

 

“Done practicing?” Yixing tilts his head, seeing right through her. “How long have you been here?”
 

Fanghua looks at the worn-out tips of her Converse before muttering, “Since seven this morning.”

 

“Ah, really,” Yixing sighs. He starts to say something but stops himself. Then: “Alright, do you want to go back to your dorm then?”
 

“Yeah,” Fanghua nods. She pauses to gather her courage before plunging onward. “Do you…want to stay the night?”

 

“You mean sleep with you?” Yixing blurts, and then quickly waves his hands as pink colors his cheeks. “No, no, that’s not what I mean! I mean – not in the other way – but if you…ah…”

 

Fanghua giggles, hiding her own blush behind her hand. “Just like last night,” she clarifies. “We can do homework or something.”

 

She’s never dreamed of asking that from a boy, but Fanghua had found that it was infinitely easier to fall asleep next to Yixing. Before auditions, hectic worry and stress replaced sleep, causing her to spend countless hours tossing and turning in bed. Prior to her audition for Seoul Arts Institute, Fanghua didn’t sleep for a week. Yixing’s comforting presence makes her feel enormously more relaxed and she finds herself wanting him around tonight, too.

 

Fanghua’s heart is in as she waits for Yixing’s reply, but his dimple tells her his answer before he says it out loud. “Of course.”

 

-

 

D+1

 

Yixing receives the text at exactly 9:10 PM. It’s from Fanghua and reads, short and succinct: Meet me at the quad.

 

Yixing shoves his phone into his pocket without another thought and races towards the quad as if Jongin’s about to eat his last piece of chocolate.

 

He’s been trying to get in contact with Fanghua ever since the day before, the day of the audition. Fanghua had told him that her time slot was 3:15 PM, but when Yixing visits her dorm at 8 after dance practice, he’s met with a stern Park Bom guarding the door. She tells him in no uncertain terms that Fanghua is in a delicate state right now and he can’t see her.

 

“So when can I?” he asks desperately.

 

Bom levels a stare at him, crossing her arms. “When she feels better. And when I say so.”

 

Yixing gathers from the rest of Bom’s rather curt replies to his questions that Fanghua usually locks herself into her room after auditions, preferring not to speak to anyone until the results are out.

 

She hasn’t answered his calls since, and he eventually gave up trying.

 

Yixing breathes deep lungfuls of air as he sprints, but dancing has conditioned his body well and the adrenaline running through his veins wards off the chill in the air. He finally spots Fanghua, sitting on a bench with her legs crossed.

 

“Fanghua!” He yells as soon as he gets close.

 

She stands up and shouts back, “Xing!”

 

Yixing skids to a stop and stares at her, drinking in the sight of Fanghua like a half-starved man presented with food.

 

Then he’s stumbling and Fanghua has barreled into him, arms wound tightly around his waist as she shrieks, “Xing, I made it! I made it!”

 

“You did? Of course you did!” Yixing hugs her back and they both jump around in a ridiculous victory dance. “I’m so happy for you!”

 

When they finally pull apart, Fanghua’s cheeks are flushed pink and her hair is in disarray, but her smile curves her eyes into happy half-crescents and Yixing thinks that she has never looked more beautiful. With that image in mind, he s his jacket and pulls out a bouquet of (slightly crushed) roses, presenting them to her.

 

Fanghua’s mouth falls open and she presses her hands to her cheeks. Stuttering, she manages, “Are – are those…for me?”

 

Yixing nods. He had a preplanned speech but decides to improvise. “Ai Fanghua…I know it’s only been two weeks, but I feel like I’ve known you forever. The first time we met, you cried and then we fell asleep on a piano bench,” he grins at the memory as she reddens, “and ever since, I’ve never wanted to leave your side. I love your passion for music and the viola and how hardworking you are and how you put up with my crazy dance schedules. So…I wanted to ask, will you be my girlfriend?”

 

Fanghua’s eyes are shining with tears and she says, “Xing, I just…” She clears and finally murmurs, “Yes, of course I will.”

 

A smile blossoms on Yixing’s face, so wide that his cheeks hurt. He steps forward and Fanghua meets him halfway. Their lips touch.

 

Yixing’s last thought before everything dissolves is that he’s glad he opened the door to room 112 that day.

 

---

 

* NOTE: the Bloch is a piece that I've worked on a bit and most definitely probably not at the university level. Please forgive the discrepancies :)

 

---

 

Ahh sorry for awkward ending but I couldn't think of anything else. This is my first one-shot so I'm super excited to see what you guys think. Please comment and thanks for reading~ Saranghae! <3

 

- tigress

 

P.S. What do you guys think of a sequel? I don't really want to let this couple go yet, and I've got a few ideas...

P.P.S. Look how freaking adorable Yixing is with his beats and awwwwwh. *melts*