Just because those unhappy memories won’t fade

“So you don’t major in the violin?”

“Nope.”

Though the violin had been his primary instrument growing up as a small child, he spent his free time as a pre-teen familiarizing himself with the black and white keys of the keyboard. He looked up to his father’s carefree playing, and it only deepened as he grew older. Due to his mother’s strict upbringing, he learned violin as a way of soothing her pride, though that didn’t mean that she was any less proud of her eldest son and daughter, twins, and their early piano competition winnings. He worked hard to satisfy his mother, playing pieces that were far more difficult than what was expected and practicing long hours to get it right. But as he matured, learning more and more about himself and the pieces that he played with much fervour, he put down the bow. He was so lost in reaching out for perfection that he neglected putting his feelings into every song he played. His certificates and medals meant nothing and were stored away, much to the distress of his mother.

His only saving grace after that was his father’s playing. Bright, tender notes would keep him in the music room with his father until night time, talking about frivolous matters that wouldn’t matter the next day. The summer days where he used to play cheerful pieces, letting the third movement of Shostakovich’s Piano Concerto No.2 cover his robotic memories of Vitali’s Chaconne. But, those happy days could never last forever. He played a plethora of Chopin compositions for his father as he was lying on his death bed. He had shared his enthusiasm from getting into K-ARTS and being able to major in piano. He had always played faced away from his father’s bed so that the older man would never be able to see his tears, even to his last breath.

But even then, he never fulfilled his father’s final wish of playing the violin again.

He couldn’t bear to touch it for too long.

So that beautiful piece of craftsmanship merely sat in his storage. At least, until he took it out one afternoon before a class.

He was careless. So, so careless. And watching one of the unevenly stacked boxes full of sheet music tip, almost as if it was in slow motion, was a nightmare. He frantically called up a friend to ask if he knew anybody who could possibly fix the instrument and pray to his father that it only the strings that have snapped and nothing else. He felt like sobbing, just like the time his mother had him standing for nearly three hours playing Tchaikovsky endlessly. He ran out, school bag and violin case in hand, hoping that he could get the violin checked and fixed before getting to his Music Analysis class. Though he had seen some overcast clouds, he never thought an onslaught of rain would stop him right in the middle. Just great. And it had been so unclouded that morning. He ran under one of the shelters in the park he was passing by, straight up soaked and irritated. He checked his bags and the violin, hoping both were fine, and the rain. He then turned to meet a boyishly handsome face. He looked like what he would expect from a male model from online clothing shops or something – that typical good looking guy that was photogenic and would look good in just about anything. He had good angles and features, along with a seemingly cold expression that probably made him undoubtedly popular with girls. Either way, it wasn’t the time for that. The rain had decided to take mercy on him and let up so that he could race to the shop to get his violin checked on.

Thankfully enough, the violin hadn’t taken much of a hit from the smaller box, which was good because if it was any bigger and weighed much more, he was guaranteed to try and drown himself. He returned from his class to a re-stringed violin and his prayers answered. He purchased a cake of rosin and violin polish before leaving. The violin, that hadn’t been touched in years, had looked brand new after he was done with it before packing it away. The rosin sat on a corner of his desk, unused.

When he heard that pictures of him were up for a student art night, he was surprised to find that someone had taken pictures of him in the first place. He nearly chortled at the sight of them, knowing exactly when and where they were taken, but damn that guy must’ve been a ninja to have stealthily taken those shots.

Escape from the Rain
Kim Myung Soo
First Year

He was a first year, the same as him, with quite the talent. Apparently, everybody saw him as a stud after that, which just made him push the comments away with an awkward expression on his face. And after all those embarrassing moments of seniors baiting him to take off his shirt, he enjoyed seeing the fellow second year break a blush. Safe to say, after they got their first meeting woes out of the way, getting along with each other wasn’t bad at all.

“You’re such a sadist. Why did I even meet you?”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have taken those pictures of me in the first place.”

“... Touché.”

doesn’t mean that they are the only memories that you keep.

Chapter 04: begin(nings)

A/N: We now have both takes of their meeting and a bit of a back story to Soo Kyung. From here on, it’ll focus more on future happenings rather than the past. Leave a comment, subscribe and upvote.