Chapter Text
It wasn't as if it was a conscious thought. He’d just heard the song and liked it. It wasn’t as if he’d seriously be playing it on the piano; it was just to make sure he didn’t lose his touch.
At least that was his defense against himself when familiar deep brown eyes flashed across his mind’s eye, accompanied by brown soft hair, and tanned skin. Something in his chest gave a particular ‘thump’ and he shook his head. No, he told himself. That’s NOT it…!
He looked back to his radio, surrounded by ramen cups, and assorted bottles. The music coming from the small speakers was rhythmic, and enchanting (if he dared to use that word). He pressed STOP, and rewound a few bars back (he would NEVER admit to having recorded the song—that was a sappy thing to do) so he could listen to the music again: It was just in this phrase that the harmony was hard to catch. The rest was simple. The fact it was in japanese was a headache.
Before long he caught himself humming along and muttering, “Kimi ga iru koto ga touzen de….” He, of course, knew that this was absolutely unacceptable. He would stick to just humming the song for now.
School proved to be difficult: His teachers didn’t bother calling on him. (Which was good; and probably because his nose was buried in a book. Granted it wasn’t his math book but rather a few sheets of printer paper stuffed in a loose-leaf notebook that said nose was buried in, transcribing more chords and slurs and staccatos.) However, his proximity to a certain someone was too close for comfort at the moment (he was determined to ignore any kind of excitement his brain might be trying to convince him of feeling). He felt those eyes land on him, accompanied between classes with comments such as, ‘Haha, so even Wonwoo needs to take notes, now,’ and responses such as, ‘Shut up, Tree, I’m transcribing music from memory.’
The transition from memory-to-paper continued into lunch. He’d have to go find some new paper soon—if he erased any more his paper would become illegible, let alone useful. Lunch began normally: Sitting in their normal spots, doing what they normally did. Wonwoo thought he might have heard Mingyu ask something like, “What’s transcribing?” to Jun. He didn’t answer because Jun obviously could since he was smart in all things Mingyu didn’t know—which was most things. Stupid Tree.
In the back of his mind, he thought he heard giggling, but it was probably just a few girls thinking they could hang out on the roof. If they annoyed them, however….
There were four girls and one of them was standing in front of Mingyu holding something out at him, and saying something very rushed. Wonwoo supposed she was a cute girl; the pink in her cheeks matched the color of the letter Mingyu was grabbing.
A pink letter…. Wonwoo stopped his eyes from widening (they narrowed instead) and watched as Mingyu read the short letter and stand, smiling.
He wasn’t sure what it was but he watched as Mingyu’s mouth move up and down, still smiling and the expression on the girl’s face light up a thousand times brighter. Something, however, grew a little dimmer for Wonwoo. He had a feeling he might know what it is, but he’d rather not focus on something so entirely depressing at the moment.
And so, he returned to copying the music onto the paper. The staff lines he drew and the stems of notes were shaky—he’d have to re-copy it later.
———
The next day found Wonwoo still copying the music. He was almost finished and he was almost 95 sure the transliterated music was at least 80 correct; perhaps he’d find the music room later and hear how it sounded. He had several new sheets—most of which had already scoffed with stubborn graphite, ripped with tears and scarred with thinned, rubbed sections.
He hadn’t noticed when lunch came around until he heard chairs scraping against the floors. He mechanically picked his things up to throw in his bag and joined Jun, waiting for the Tree to come out of whatever daydream he was having. He was NOT explaining ANYTHING about their Trigonometry review—unless it was for anyone but Mingyu.
Following behind Jun and Mingyu, his eyes stared at the back of The Idiot’s head. They were nearly to the roof when he suddenly said, “Aren’t you going to go sit with your girlfriend?”
It surprised him how easily it came out. None of his trademark attitude or disdain trickled in—just a flat sentence. Mingyu paused for a moment, Jun stopping with him.
“Haha. I didn’t even think about that. Do you guys think I should?” he asked. Wonwoo wanted to kick himself—not that he wanted Mingyu to stay. It wasn’t
“She’d probably like that,” said Jun. “I mean, she went through so much to come see you at lunch, yesterday.”
Yeah; like what? Wonwoo asked himself. Writing a love letter is haaarrrd work…. Stupid girl. Probably can’t think too hard if she’s got a crush on the tall freak.
He stopped all line of thought right there.
“Haha, all right.” Mingyu turned and stepped down a bit past Wonwoo. “I’ll see you guys back in class!”
Wonwoo and Jun watched him hurry down the stairs and out of sight. Jun was grinning happily.
“I’m really happy for Mingyu. Aren’t you, Wonwoo?”
“Huh? Me? Well….” His thoughts were jumbled: He knew what he wanted to say, but he would never say that, especially to Jun. He shouldn’t be bothered with these things. But for his feelings on the matter…. “I guess so,” he conceded. “It means he won’t be such a bother and….” A smile lit up on his face. “We can focus on our team!”
He supposed part of it was true—he was always ready to talk about their team, but it didn’t seem the same without Mingyu there.
Oh well. He and Jun continued to the roof, ate lunch, and when Jun asked for help while reviewing his math notes he gladly did so. Any time not spent helping his friend was spent continuing to transcribe the music.
———
Later that week Wonwoo finished copying the music and making any corrections he felt necessary before finding a piano to test it out on. He took an ink-well pen to darken the notes and ties, embellish the clefs (because it was just something to do) and emphasize the pedals; the main reason had been so he could read over the gray smudges over the worn paper and eraser-marks but…may as well do it all….
Class ended the same as any other. “Bye, guys, see you later—!” “I’ve got a good feeling about practice today…!” and more recently (and perhaps a little infuriatingly), “I wonder if Sana will be there, haha!”
So Mingyu left, hurrying a little faster than usual to practice. Obsessed moron…. Wonwoo felt a grin beginning to form on his lips; he quickly suppressed it in favor of a scowl.
“Idiot doesn’t even bother to properly say farewell…” he muttered.
“Wonwoo, are you doing anything today?”
Before settling on Jun, all Wonwoo saw was his hair as he spun around to face Jun, smiles and all.
“I was going to try and find the music room.”
Jun made an ‘O’ with his mouth, then grinning said, “For that song you were working on?”
“Yes!” Wonwoo nodded. It was only then he realized just how foolish and feminine it sounded: ‘Oh, yes, I’m going to go play this pretty piece of music because it won’t leave my head and makes me think about him.’
Far too feminine for his comfort….
“Okay. Well, when you’re done will you stop by my house? There’s an English question I’m not quite getting….”
Wonwoo nodded enthusiastically. “Of course! I’ll be over as soon as I’m done! It won’t take long!”
After parting with Jun and after he made sure no one was on the third floor, he began his search. It didn’t take too long to find a piano—a fact that displeased him greatly—and he made sure to lock the door behind him.
No one needed to hear what he was about to play.
The piano was nothing fancy. Just a school’s piano—it was rough and worn with age and use, and the once-white keys were yellowed and chipped in several places. He approached the piano with caution as if it held its own dynamite stock and gently placed the music sheets on the front of the piano. He pulled the bench out, sat, and stared at the keys for a moment before sighing. As soon as that first chord sounded it would all be over; there was no turning back. He’d have to admit everything to himself. His heart gave a particular throb and his fingers caressed the keys, pushing them down to do their thing.
…But he was pretty sure that that was not the right chord….
He could wait to admitting his downfall to himself later after he invested more time into righting out the damn song!
As it turned out, less than 80 of the music was correct—several of the chords he’d written were minor (fucking half steps…) and the keys had been wrong. Oh well—it was easily fixable.
But he’d needed to invest in staff paper and three more packs of gum before he even dreamed of stepping into the music store.
———
Nearing the end of the second week, Wonwoo was nearly positive he’d finished correcting the music. Eight revisions and suddenly 17,500 won poorer (there were more than just 3 packs of gum and several packs of staff paper…), Wonwoo made his now-routine route to the music room. He knew this would be the day that it would flow, and match the song he’d heard what seemed like so long ago on the radio.
The piano greeted him in the same manner it always had; unmoving and silent—promising something Wonwoo couldn’t quite make out. On his part he eyed the piano a little more than warily, hoping that promise wasn’t something dark, or foreboding.
Routine went normally: Sitting down at the piano, looking at the keys and staring at the notes he’d written, hoping they were the correct ones as he ran through several scales and exercises—just making sure he knew what he was doing. A moment later, he took a few deep breaths, and began playing something that FINALLY resembled the music that played in his head. His fingers did their acrobatics over the keyboard and a sense of accomplishment and pride swelled within him. His grin went unnoticed to himself and he didn’t realize he was humming along, singing the lyrics in his head. His eyes eventually closed when he played through the chorus and for those 3 minutes and 20 seconds had forgotten how much he didn’t like playing the piano, or getting a feeling of such contentment from playing said piano.
Upon the deaths of the last notes Wonwoo groaned, resting his elbows on the piano keys with force and withdrawing horrific sounds. He glared now at the paper in front of him.
“Dammit!” he cursed. He gripped his hair, finally relaxing just a little bit.
He was always there. He was always smiling. He was always forgiving him or was always nice to him or always helping him in some way. It was infuriating and yet so wonderful at the same time.
Wonwoo groaned, once more staring placidly at the music. He read the title, scoffing. Doushite Kimi wo Suki ni Natte Shimattandarou? Che. How typical. Once more, the eyes that had been haunting him flashing before him, followed by full images of the boy. Dammiiiiiit, he thought. I can’t escape it. Fuck it, Mingyu! I can’t decide if it’s just actual hate, now…!
He paused a moment and sighed. It wasn’t hate. It wasn’t hate at all. Jealousy and anger were long past.
Toleration was past. Contentment was present; maybe a little bit of jealousy? He’d been jealous before of Mingyu—if there was any jealousy now it was of ‘Sana’. Mingyu was just involved in it. Mingyu was involved with her. Well, he hoped he enjoyed ‘The Game’! With Sana. (Not that he’d voluntarily go to a baseball game, but that was beside the point.) He stood, closing the cover for the keys, and packing his things away before Jihoon decided to bite him to death, or whatever it was he did.
He had to get to Juns for a study session and make sure they knew the difference between convex lenses and concave lenses. Maybe he could give an example with his glasses.
He turned the light out to the room, and with a last glance at the piano a word started to bug him, unrelenting in trying to come to full consciousness. He tried to fight it down, but he eventually conceded to himself, admitting that Mingyu was driving him crazy and that maybe what he felt for the moron was softer than what he showed. That what he felt was more than just camaraderie or friendship and that what he yearned for from him was more than just a smile and laughter.
But that was a secret to only him and the piano.
———
Three days later found Wonwoo, Mingyu, and Jun sitting around the table of his room (Jun’s, of course) talking, eating popsicles, and forgetting the test they were supposed to be studying for. Well, two of them at least—Wonwoo had begun (the day before) translating the song into Korean. (He'd been listening to the Japanese lyrics over... and over... and over... and over again. For several parts he had to brave the internet for the lyrics just to make sure what he was hearing was correct.)
He heard Jun and Mingyu talking but as he was trying his best to ignore Mingyu (it would be better for both of them, really) they sounded more like mumbles in the background.
He was about a fifth of the way through plus one phrase of translation when Mingyu said, "I don't really get it."
Wonwoo cursed himself for listening in at that moment, but continued on translating. Mingyu's next question didn't go unheard, either.
"You already speak Japanese, so why are you translating the song into Korean?"
Wonwoo looked up, his glasses almost halfway down the bridge of his nose.
"It's just a song,” said Mingyu.
Wonwoo straightened up, fixed his glasses and with his eyes closed and that usual look of disdain asked in return, "You already play baseball, so why do you also play basketball?"
"Mm? But—ah, Wonwoo...! That's a sport, not a song... Why are you translating it?"
A scoff sounded from Wonwoo, and he resumed the translating. "Nothing you need to worry about—shut up and keep studying!"
That was that, and Wonwoo continued with the next phrase.
———