Quick Note: If you can, please listen to this version of Baby Don't Cry while you read~


A black baby grand piano sat in the center of a big, empty room. A pair of white curtains danced and swayed every time the wind blew in through the open windows. It was pitch black outside with only the moonlight shining on white music sheets, illuminating the inky music notes and making the piano shine majestically.

Yixing was seated on the matching piano bench, his head resting on his arm that was strewn across the top of the graceful instrument. His fingers lazily pushed down on the ebony and ivory keys, creating beautiful chords and melodies that fit the depressing mood like a missing piece to its puzzle.

The pianist hummed along with the music as a strong gust of wind blew his fringe away from his eyes. His brown orbs were red and slightly swollen with tears welling up and cascading down his cheeks as he bit down on his bottom lip to try and keep himself from sobbing.

A warm, familiar hand caressed the back of his head, making the pianist slam his hand on a group of keys in surprise.

“What’s wrong, Xing-baby?” A soft voice gently questioned.

Yixing knew that voice; he'd know it from anywhere. But it couldn't have been who he thought it was; that person was dead.

The pianist paid no mind to the voice as he lifted his hand away from the piano and gripped the black pen that rested in front of the unfinished sheets of music. He scribbled minor notes and accidentals below and on the empty measure bars as he tried to put all of his focus into his work.

The warm hand continued to play with the hair at the back of his head, the blunt nails scraping his scalp in such a familiar way that Yixing could cry himself to sleep. But instead, the blonde moved his head and furiously erased a mistake he suddenly made. The actions made the hand fall away and Yixing sat up straighter to show that he was giving the composition all of his undivided attention.

“Yixing, why won’t you talk to me?” The voice asked.  
       
Again, the pianist ignored the question, but the harmony that the voice naturally gave his music didn't fall on deaf ears.

Yixing grimaced as he tried to get the voice out of his head. He hit the keys in a way that darkened the mood, his lips creating a frown as he focused more on the keys of the piano than the notes on the paper.

“Please talk to me, Yixing…” The voice whispered sadly.

The Chinese male began to pound relentlessly on the black and white keys of his baby grand, filling the room with a dark, intense concord.

All of his thoughts, stress, and anger became the complicated euphony that gave the piece a life that Yixing wished he didn’t have to live. The chords and harmonies of his pain bounced off the walls and back into his ears as he let his fingers carry him, driving him into the shadowy overcast that was his mind.

“Yixing, I love y—

“STOP!” The pianist cried out as his fingers came down harshly on the ending chord; a minor overtone that rang around him and out of the open window into the night air.

The voice didn’t say anything more, and the warmth that was behind him had left, leaving him in the cold empty room that he once thought was his sanctuary.

Yixing let his hands fall away from the piano, each finger dropping away from the keys like water dripping off the edge of a table. He slowly turned around and came eye to eye—not with a person, but with a life-sized portrait hanging on a wall closest to the door he came in from.

The person in the picture was running in a park as they looked over their shoulder at the camera. They had the most beautiful set of brown eyes, a beautiful smile, beautiful dark brown hair, beautiful...everything. The pianist could look at it for days on end and never get tired of the same blissful look that stared right back at him. But as the days went by, it became harder and harder to look at the image.

Now, Yixing just keeps his eyes on the ground, the piano, or his music whenever he was in this room. The person that hung on the wall meant so much to him that it was difficult to cope with the fact that he’d never be able to hear, touch, or see them again.

The pianist turned back to the piano slowly, his vision blurred from the tears that never seemed to stop coming. They streamed down the wet streaks on his cheeks and landed on the thighs of his pants, darkening the fabric in small circles wherever they landed.

Yixing brought a single hand up and played a monophonic phrase, his fingers tenderly pressing on the familiar keys as he sang along with a broken voice.

When the last note rang through the empty space of both his heart and the piano room, he picked the pen back up and wrote the last additions to his arrangement with a heavy sigh. When he set the pen down, he pulled back from the sheet music to examine his creation.

He noticed all the careless scribbles, the incomplete eraser marks and the sloppy articulations. He then brought his attention to the top of the page; the only part that hadn’t been given any designation.

He blankly stared at the title space for God knows how long before he brought the pen back to the paper. He gave the piece a name; a name that had come above all things in his life, a name that rolled off his tongue as easily as his mother language, a name that he would never forget.

   Junmyeon.                   

































-[ A u t h o r s------
 -------------N o t e ]-

Um… I don’t know how to explain myself….
I hadn’t planned on posting this before the other fics I’ve been working on, but this just came out of nowhere annnnnd I posted it ( .__.)
I’m sorry if I disappointed anyone with this; there was supposed to be super y , but that OBVIOUSLY didn’t happen….
But yeah, thanks for reading this anyway! Please comment; it makes my world go ‘round (づ￣ 3￣)づ ~ ♡
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