Chapter Text
Yoongi hadn’t touched a music instrument in 2 years when he laid hands on the white piano in the old mansion. It was beautiful, decorated with hand painted dancers caught in mid twirl. Yoongi traced his fingers following the blue paint streaks until he reached the face of a boy.
The painter had perfectly captured the carefree smile of the dancer. Yoongi was convinced that whoever the boy was, the painter had known him. It was only paint, the picture of a dancer, but Yoongi was so touched he had already fell for him. The dancer was a person the painter had loved dearly, Yoongi was sure of it. But they were probably both dead by now Yoongi thought. This piano was old and the paint cracking.
Yoongi’s hands hovered over the keys, but he didn’t dare push them. He was afraid of the sound it would make, afraid he wouldn’t be able to stop after the first note. In his head, it made the most beautiful melodies, but for now the memories of the melodies would have to be enough.
In fact, it was all he had. Sparse memories. He had burned all his notebooks and for the first year he had tried to forget. But now he wanted nothing more than to hear them again, but he couldn’t.
Most of the songs he had written in the past, he had already forgotten and it was for the best. Like that he had less of chance of playing the music accidentally.
If he did the deal would be off. And so he didn’t dare.
The piano wasn’t his anyway. It wasn’t his house nor his piano and he wasn’t a musician anymore.
“You can try if you want, but it’s not tuned” The old woman, the owner of the house, came into the living room doorway with two cups of tea and gave one to yoongi.
She sat down in a oversized chair that made her appear even smaller than she already was. She smiled and asked him if he played. Yoongi smiled back, but hid his face behind his cup to make the lie come easier.
“no, I wish I knew how.” he said sitting in the opposite chair.
“Could have sworn you had the hands of a pianist.” Replied the old Lady.
“Maybe in another life I was one” smiled Yoongi.
“And I was a painter in another life” the old lady lifted her cup to show her frail hands and laughed. “But my hands can barely lift a cup now”
They drank their tea slowly, as the sun went down and as the lady told him what the job entailed. Yoongi would stay on the premise, help in the house and drive her into town from time to time. Free board and lodging, away from the city, all Yoongi really needed.
In the next few weeks he adjusted to his new job. He drove her to the gardens where she liked to go once a week. He fixed a broken chair. He cleaned, took the garbage out. Then he would go to his personal appartment over the garage and read until his eyes closed under the weight of the words.
He read mostly poetry. It reminded him of the verses he used to write. He tried not to rap the poetry and read slowly, under his breath.
One night he dreamt of a melody. A new one. That hadn’t happened in while. He almost went out of bed to find paper and ink to write it down but quickly remembered he wasn’t a musician anymore.
If he dared to even hum a tune he didn’t know what would happen. He didn’t risk it, not after the deal he had made last time. Not with everything he’d lose if he broke the deal.
One sunny afternoon, he drove the old lady to the city’s garden like every other week since he started the job. Yoongi found the place somber even with the sun burning his eyes, but the lady insisted this was a lovely place to think. Every week she sat on the bench just beside the rose bush, the one close to the cemetery.
It was a lovely place. A lovely garden, but oddly situated just between a cemetery and a dark forest. Usually he kept to himself and left the lady alone. Sometimes he'd stay in the car to read a book, waiting for the lady to return. Sometimes he'd walk along the forest, never daring to step a foot past the first trees. But on this sunny afternoon, the forest looked particularly magical and full of soft light. Yoongi decided to visit for the first time, leaving the old lady to her peaceful thinking and bird watching activities.
Yoongi followed the trail entering the forest, walking slowly and breathing the humid air. It had rained all week, but now the sun and wind played with the leaves to create light patterns on his hands and face, the only skin visible under his black clothes.
Yoongi didn’t like to stick out.
Although he kinda did a moment ago in the colourful flowers. He walked further among the bigger trees until he reached a point where the sun wouldn’t reach him anymore. He left the trail. The soil was humid and the dead leaves made muddy.
He didn’t care for his shoes and continued further. He liked the silence here. For him, this was a lovely place. He felt both small and grand, like time had stopped and he was the only living thing left on earth. Here he could do anything without any consequences. He didn’t feel real. This place wasn’t real.
Maybe hidden between these trees he could sing and scream and no one would hear him. Still, Yoongi appreciated the silence a little more before risking anything. Than after a couple of minutes of breathing in his environnement he heard something, a laugh.
The high note of a giggle?
Or maybe only the sound of the wind whistling through the trees’ leaves.
But then he heard it again and it was unmistakably the laugh of a young man, but he couldn’t pin point the source.
It was like the first few notes of a known melody. You're pretty sure you know it, but you don’t know where it comes from. The voice wasn’t only giggling now, it was actually humming a tune. And again without realizing Yoongi was falling for him. He didn’t yet know that voice would kill him.
With a gust of wind the voice disappeared, traveling elsewhere further into the forest, Yoongi suddenly empty and wanting nothing more than to run looking for it.
But all around Yoongi was only darkness. The forest didn’t feel as grand as it felt a moment ago. He felt alone and caged. It felt like the forest was calling to him, asking him to go deeper, but he knew he shouldn’t even if he wanted to. He decided to go back to the gardens before the lady started to worry.
On his way back, Yoongi tried to remember the rest of the song. The voice had only hummed the first few notes. But he was sure he knew it. Where had he heard it before? When he came back to the lady she was gently smiling at bees pollinating flowers.
He sat down next to her, but kept quiet. It actually was a nice place to think. That voice, it kept ringing in his head, like after a concert spent too close to the speakers. It was all he could think about well into the night.
Yoongi fell asleep with one thought: “Maybe there is no rest of the song to remember, maybe I have to finish the song myself”
Like an invitation. Or a dare.