Work Text:
Dongho remembers ballet class very faintly.
His parents signed him up, their odd attempt at trying to drill proper manners and posture into him. He attended every week, learning turns and how to stand properly— god, he hated that— and stretching to one day get the splits— he didn't see the point when he was that young. At 28, however, it's a good talent to have under his belt— and coming home every day just to shower and act like he didn't just spend an hour dancing.
And then his teacher approached his parents about signing him up for a modern class— same fundamentals, same strict posture and toe-pointing, but with a smaller class and longer class time.
The Kangs said yes.
Dongho loved it. He remembers those classes better than the ballet class, remembers soaring through the air with leaps and flying turns and a sense of belonging in that small studio.
And then the showcase happened. Then he performed a solo, self choreographed and all, and he was 10 and the youngest solo performer and-
he never got to go back.
His parents withdrew him from the classes and shoved him into learning piano, instead.
They replaced his ballet slippers with a grand piano in the living room and a keyboard in his room and he had to practice every day, attend lessons twice a week, he had to learn the famous classical pieces that they wanted him to.
Dongho knew not to let them catch onto the way he adored piano. He loved it— the weird finger warm-ups his teacher made him do, the way his hands burned every time he tried to reach for an octave that was just a bit further away than he could reach well, the way calluses built up on his fingertips and the way the keys felt beneath his hands—
everything seemed so beautiful to him then.
It didn't change, either. Not when he finally got home, got to Korea, not when he got into High Class and started to finally be able to dance again without hiding and produce his own music. Not when he moved in with Jeongmin and saw a gorgeous shining black piano sitting in the living room.
It became his safe space. Sitting at the piano bench, hands on the keyboard, playing whatever his brain told him to.
Dongho remembers the sleepless nights after moving in. The nights he'd spend sitting there in the moonlight, trying to keep his playing soft to not wake Jeongmin. He never meant to play so loudly. But he always ended up doing so, and then Jeongmin would linger in the kitchen, making tea or hot chocolate and as soon as there was a lull in Dongho's playing, a pause that lasted longer than a minute, he'd gently guide Dongho to the kitchen table and press a warm mug into his hands and tell him to sleep well.
Good things for bad nights.
He doesn't have bad nights as frequently as back then, now. It's a good thing, too, seeing as he lives with MAYHEM in their dorm.
Now, he has to sneak out, walk under the moonlight to the company and let himself in with his keycard. He goes to the practice room, some nights.
On the other nights, though, Dongho goes to his studio. His keyboard's there, and his guitar, and his violin. The latter two only get played in the daylight.
He'll sit at the bench and let his fingers run over the keys— custom made, deep violet-black keys— and then he'll play and he'll play and he'll play. Never the same song twice, half the time they're songs he's never heard. But they're what he needs to play.
So he plays them. Until 1am, or 3, or 5, or until the sun's risen and the rest of the team is showing up for morning practice.
Dongho doesn't call it "coping."
It's art. Beautiful, melodious art.
That's how the piano has always looked to him.
And so he keeps playing.
And so the song continues.