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Dong Sicheng was the definition of trouble—this was a fact everyone in Seoul Music Academy seemed to regurgitate about the lanky Chinese transfer student.
Every class seemed to have their own scandalous tale about the senior. One first-year class talked reverently about how Dong Sicheng had first arrived in the school out of dress code (like not even wearing the uniform kind of violation), even sporting a bleached head of hair with bright pink chunky highlights. Another first-year class talked about how the senior had been a transfer from a prestigious Chinese academy, kicked out due to having relations with his dance teacher (one of the more baseless but juiciest stories roaming the school).
But no matter how wild the stories got, the students all knew that those were just stories, and that the real Sicheng must be even more than them, to have gotten this infamous.
Jung Jaehyun, Seoul Music Academy’s recently transferred senior, could not even begin to imagine anything crazier than the stories floating around, let alone relate them to the quiet student sitting across from him.
The Dong Sicheng that sat in front of him could not be any more different from the rambunctious and chaotic personality students liked to imagine. In fact, Jaehyun felt uncomfortable by how quiet and professional he seemed to be, especially for someone younger than himself (albeit a few months).
“I know it’s probably not what you had in mind at first, from what Professor Kim suggested, but I hope the arrangement is still suitable for the style you have in mind?” Jaehyun asked tentatively, finally breaking the silence that had fallen since the two students had sat down. The silence and stillness really hadn’t helped to ease the anxiety that Jaehyun felt over his composition.
Sicheng’s wired glasses glinted as he tilted his face towards him, his eyebrows scrunching up in contemplation.
“I…” Sicheng trailed off, staring back down at the sheet music Jaehyun had dutifully worked nights on, after being tasked by his professor in secret (he couldn’t blatantly show favoritism after all).
Perhaps in that brief, tense moment of Sicheng’s deliberation, Jaehyun could understand why people made up such stories about him—one simple look or gesture seemed to hold a certain grandness to it. But still…Jaehyun could not imagine him to be the same Dong Sicheng who had ‘handcuffed his cheating ex to the Namsan tower’.
“I think it’s more than suitable ,” Sicheng intoned in his accented voice.
Jaehyun’s shoulders slumped in relief before shooting Sicheng a dimpled and grateful smile. Something about that action caused Sicheng to stiffen, promptly handing over the sheet music.
“Keep it. It’s your copy. I have it on file anyways,” Jaehyun stopped him from handing it over.
Really, Jaehyun didn’t know why he had kept smiling (like a fool, as his friends often said) but it seemed to ease the tension between the two. Sicheng nodded at him with a slight curve of his lips before gathering the sheet music into the folder and standing to leave. Really, Jaehyun didn’t know what possessed him to get up abruptly, as if to see Sicheng out of the studio.
The two seniors met each other’s eyes. Jaehyun watched with bated breath, embarrassment slowly creeping in, painting his ears red. Sicheng tilted his head in a manner that seemed to suggest that he was waiting for something. It seemed as if they both were, for whatever unexplained reason.
But just like that, whatever they were waiting for cowered, and Sicheng left with a simple goodbye.
After moments, Jaehyun leaned back to sit on the edge of the table, stunned. That seemingly simple meeting, a transaction even, had stunned him. He couldn’t shake off the wonder of being so stunned by someone just by an exchange of bare minimum interactions.
That same night, an impassioned Jaehyun poured over his study table, already writing up several drafts for a new composition. It was almost as if he’d found a source of inspiration within the enigma that Dong Sicheng was, or dare he even say, he’d found his muse in him.
Sicheng landed posiedly on the balls of his feet, finishing the last aerial gracefully and earning him a roar of applause. And as he stared at the sequined tights wrapping around his calves, he was sure that the exuberant audience had seen what he had wanted them to see in him: a phoenix. How could they not? He certainly felt like one from the moment the first trill in the music occurred, filling him with an excitement and an eagerness to embody not just Sicheng, but a Phoenix erupting out of its own ashes.
Professor Kim was right to trust in his student. Jung Jaehyun.
Sicheng hummed to himself, before being enveloped backstage by his shorter friend and lyrical dancer, Ten, who had promptly smacked his ass in congratulations.
“Oh my god Sicheng, that was beautiful! They love you!”
Sicheng could not deny the warmth that burst in his chest at that. It always gave him the added relief, especially coming from another dancer as well, to be showered in compliments rather than constructive (jealous) criticism. However, Sicheng knew that Ten was ready to pounce on him, ready to tease about his praise kink, so he tried to keep his face as passive as possible (which was a challenge post-performance, still in the headset to express ).
“We outsold, period. So we're going to treat ourselves! Clubbing tonight!” Ten’s almost cheshire wide grin humored Sicheng who nodded along to his older friend’s antics.
The next time Jaehyun sees Sicheng, he’s on the front page of their school newspaper, courtesy of his younger brother Jaemin who was in charge of taking pictures for it. There splashed in bold was the unmistakable profile of Dong Sicheng, sharp ear and all. The senior’s lithe body was locked around silk tendrils that cascaded down from the ceiling, which lifted him high above the stage from what the picture showed.
Jaehyun did not even need to stretch his imagination to see the awe Sicheng’s sparkling figure commanded.
The article below the visual praised the aerial routine Sicheng had performed. Apparently Sicheng had even garnered interest from many different entertainment companies as well as international dance companies during the showcase. The entire showcase in fact was so well done that new investors had shown interest in backing the academy, something that placed Sicheng at an even higher pedestal to the eyes of both the student body and the staff, both benefiting from the larger money stream flowing into the different departments. In fact, being the composer for Sicheng’s solo had also boosted Jaehyun in the social rankings of the academy.
Despite having been only enrolled for a few months, many underclassmen had taken to asking him questions, something that both assured as well as pressured Jaehyun. But with this, questions of how he came to be Sicheng’s composer came about as well. Interestingly and what should’ve been unsurprising to Jaehyun who knew quite well the preposterous rumors that plagued Sicheng, rumors about Jaehyun popped up as well. Rumors that proposed the idea that the only reason why Jaehyun got such a highly coveted job was because he was dating the infamous dancer.
Honestly, Jaehyun was more insulted by the insinuation that he didn’t get the position through pure talent. It was to the point, that although the underclassmen had asked him for advice as if he was a maestro, Jaehyun withdrew to himself and let the insecurities settle around him.
Soon, the drafts slowed down, the late night sessions shortened, and his new composition slowly gathered dust by the piano.
A six year old boy rubbed at his eyes, trying to rub away the blurriness that settled in his vision, obscuring the notes on the music sheet. He felt a yawn coming and tried to stifle it.
‘Jung Jaehyun! What have I said! You cannot stop until you’ve mastered this page!’
The boy sharply nodded, pressing closer towards the ivory piano in front of him. He let his fingers fall onto the keys, hoping that muscle memory had settled in, because the notes were nearly indistinguishable in his fifth hour staring at them.
Sicheng knocked lightly purposefully. It was his way of following through the action but giving himself justification and leeway for not following through entirely, on the case that perhaps Jaehyun was sleeping and Sicheng should just do this another time. But to his surprise, the door swung open, revealing a messy haired figure covering a yawn, glasses askew.
It was rather early, Sicheng now noted, seeing Jaehyun in his full I-Just-Woke-Up glory, sweatpants and bare chest included. Jaehyun seemed to register just who was seeing him in that state, instantly bringing is arm up to cross over his chest, as if that would cover him up fully. Sicheng found his reddened ears interesting— cute .
“Ah, good morning,” Sicheng said rather awkwardly, which was even made more awkward by how naturally business-like his deep voice sounded.
“Huh?”
Sicheng was tight-lipped about the student composer’s confused reaction. He had hoped for…well Sicheng didn’t know what exactly he was hoping for. He certainly hadn’t expected to be confronted by a very shirtless Jung Jaehyun who squinted his eyes at him in scrutiny.
He looked down at himself to see what made it seem like his very presence was so offensive, seeing only his normal attire of comfy black slacks, black turtleneck, and— oh, is it the leather jacket maybe?
Sicheng clucked his tongue at himself, jolting Jaehyun into shock at the sharp sound, unbeknownst to him how the taller senior had an internal crisis over the choice of clothes— Ten was right, maybe I should weave in cardigans into my outfits.
Jaehyun cleared his throat, snapping Sicheng out of his inner monologue and back into his task at hand.
“Oh, sorry. I came here to thank you.”
There. He did it.
Sicheng being Sicheng, he deemed his task done and nodded to himself (and consequently, Jaehyun as well) before turning around to leave.
“Wait, what?” Jaehyun sputtered, catching Sicheng’s rather slender wrist.
The dancer paused and threw the baffled student a questioning and also slightly chastised look, as if he was expecting to be told off for that rather abrupt morning call.
“Did you really come all this way to just say that and then leave? Cause if you did, what the fuck?”
Sicheng’s eyebrow quirked at that. But to be fair he recognized that Jaehyun had made a very fair point. Sicheng really had the audacity to wake him up from his sleep, something that Sicheng noted that the pale student was in desperate need of considering the dark circles contrasting his milky tone.
“No, you’re right. I’ve been rude,” Sicheng broached carefully, still processing the fact that someone had called him out on his rather fleeting nature.
“Wait…can you come in and explain. I forgot how drafty the hallways are,” Jaehyun hissed as a gust of wind ( from where even? ) hit his bare chest and nipp—Sicheng’s eyes darted to the ceiling, his hands fiddling with the cuff of his jacket.
If someone had told Sicheng yesterday, reclusive and elusive Dong Sicheng, that he’d break his normal routine of heading towards the dance studio early in the morning, to drop by a student’s (nevermind the fact that he might be developing an admiration for this certain student) apartment after whittling it from one of his friend’s, he’d have deadpanned them before walking off with a sarcastic thumbs up.
But now, there he was, trying not to stare at Jaehyun’s exposed broad back as he opened his closet to find a button down, to which Sicheng could only bemusedly note as his attempt to be professional, as it was the exact one Jaehyun had worn to meet him in the library.
Where this all began.
“Okay…mind explaining now?”
Jaehyun had a dimple, it was a rather shy one, Sicheng mused. Or maybe it’s because it’s a shy smile —Sicheng blamed the stray thoughts on not having eaten yet.
“I think I’ve made it more dramatic than needed really,” Sicheng lightly commented.
Jaehyun snorted, “I mean yeah. I’m pretty sure you’ve noticed that you have a flair for making things more than they seem.”
“I can’t tell if that’s a commentary on me as a performer or a jibe at my personality, to which I assure you, you know little of,” Sicheng couldn’t help the scathing and defensive tone in which he replied in.
Jaehyun screwed his eyes tightly, groaning at himself and bringing his hand to brush at his jaw in irritation.
“I didn’t mean—I just meant with how the school treats you and all—sorry I haven’t slept well recently…” Jaehyun trailed off, with an exhaustion so prominent in his slurring syllables.
“Hey, maybe I should come back another time.”
“Too late, you already woke me up this early.” Jaehyun lightly chuckled. The younger of the two opened his mouth with a quip on the tip of his tongue, but never snowballing into its verbal form.
The leather clad male moved towards the shadowed body of music, almost as if on instinct or in a trance those heavily imbued with musicality fall easily into. His elegant fingers trailed along the cold ivory tiles that collected dust, calling a sadness within Sicheng who felt betrayed at the thought of a neglected instrument.
It was akin to neglecting Sicheng’s own body, as that was his instrument.
“You stopped playing?”
Jaehyun’s face looked stricken at the question, no matter how timidly phrased. He couldn’t meet Sicheng’s eyes, saddening the other even further.
Sicheng moved to sit down on the piano bench and Jaehyun’s eyes widened in fascination, his breath stilling in anticipation. All the grandness that Sicheng had cultivated, the poised confidence that he exuded no matter the slight stilted conversations, he had brought to a crescendo in front the sleepless student gaping at him. Jaehyun waited to hear just how it would bleed out into a beautifully haunting symphony.
Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!
Sicheng was teasing the other. Pointedly slamming his index onto one key repeatedly.
“I never got used to playing the piano. I always wanted to get up and move .” There was a fond reminiscence to Sicheng’s voice. Jaehyun knew that he could not muster the same tone towards his childhood memories.
His large warm hand fell slowly atop of the dancer’s, halting the notes into a rest. Then he took over. Now it was Sicheng’s turn to stare unabashedly, with bated breath and a timid smile, teeming in Jaehyun’s closed eyed brilliance.
Jaehyun seemed to lose himself in his music, forgetting whatever ailed him, what kept him restless and unable to sleep, abandoning what reluctance he held that allowed the piano to be coated in dust. He lost himself in it, with Sicheng as his only anchor, sitting in awe besides him and fully understanding the feeling of being so enraptured in the language of music.
Sicheng closed his eyes. Jaehyun played on. The world outside revolved silently.
It was inevitable really. The moment the two halves bumped into each other, it was inevitable that both would yearn for the other.
The two halves wouldn’t meld into each other until after one of Sicheng’s showcases, the first that Jaehyun had personally been to.
Sicheng would, in all his majestic and alluring aura still burning brightly, greet him backstage, accepting the bouquet of various sweet smelling flowers from the enamored man whose eyes bled with fervor affection.
“You made it.” There was no denying the fondness that Sicheng held for his dark haired visitor. The dancers, Ten included, giggled and gossipped in passing.
“Of course! I…you’re…” Jaehyun was a lost for words. He seemed to be often at a loss for words with him. He didn’t even process how Sicheng had gotten closer, with a particular twinkle in his eye that so many students had waxed outlandish tales about, until his own nose touched his.
Sacheng’s breathing came like a staccato, whether it was from performing a taxing routine or from the anxiety that wracked his body, Jaehyun felt it with his own being. Jaehyun wonders if he listened intently, would he hear the same staccato from Sicheng’s chest? But he supposed it would be rather dumb of him to suddenly press his ear against his silk covered chest when he could be kissing— OH!
He could feel the steady raised rhythm of Sicheng’s being, as his own soared the longer they kissed. Jaehyun was worried about how he was kissing as he was barely aware of his own self, almost as if he was consumed by the essence of Sicheng. Sicheng seemed to notice and brought a careful hand up to cup the side of his face, tracing gentle treble clefs onto his skin.
It was moments like these where Jaehyun was grateful that he could fully express what he felt, as his elation was beyond words. Which is why he would often pour himself out as notes that swirled and danced on paper and then in the air. He couldn’t imagine a future, now that he knows, where Sicheng was not weaving along with the dancing notes.
“You’re like a magnet you know?” Jaehyun whispered against the bare shoulder of Dong Sicheng, his newfound partner, his muse, his soulmate even.
“Or so I’ve been told. Magnet for trouble. Rumors. Danger.”
There was a lightness in his boyfriend’s voice that soothed Jaehyun’s indignant nature, but it didn’t stop him from shaking his head in refusal, peppering kisses down one arc of Sicheng’s neck.
“No, I meant you’re magnetic. You just draw people in like moths.”
“Am I magnet or a flame? Pick one metaphor,” Sicheng chuckled.
Jaehyun smiled into Sicheng’s smooth skin, dimples proud and about.
“The most magnetic of flames.”
Sicheng preened at that.
Jung Jaehyun was the definition of a virtuoso—pros and cons and all the little inbetweens. Everyone in Seoul Music Academy knew of his musical prowess, as proven by his many acclaimed compositions, especially considering how he was only a student.
But despite his irrefutable talent, Jaehyun had his obvious moments of self-doubt to which he’d either retreat into himself or dedicate grueling hours pouring over his ink stained children, Sicheng knew it was necessary to let him deal with his own insecurities until he was slowly weaned off of it.
God, if Sicheng could kiss every single insecurity out of Jaehyun’s body, he undoubtedly would. But he knew, having gone through it himself, that these things were best rid off (if that was even wholly possible) by one’s own actions.
And Jung Jaehyun definitely did act .
It almost exhausted Sicheng trying to come up with a choreography for each one of his compositions… almost . But really, Sicheng could never tire of it.