Work Text:
softly, lightly, wisping
fall
trailing, rising
catching
halt
loving, hurting, holding–
song.
A whole academic term's worth of blood, sweat, and tears
summed up in a few moments on stage
over
one performance, one declaration of self, one evidence of culmination, one shot.
Hobby as singing was, putting her all into honing her singing in a single vocal technique class felt like a compromise.
A body that ached to devote all its time to music, improve herself
A soul that longed to simply bask in music, enjoy it
At times, she regrets not participating in a club. She could’ve taken it easier, could’ve performed more, could’ve been in community.
Community… She could’ve had one if she’d been a music major, too.
Even if she went back, she’d choose to take the music course again.
A compromise, yes. But, a balance, too.
There was no fear of burning out like this,
of wearing out something she loved.
Even if it was lonely
Even if it felt singular
Song.
Cheers. Applause.
Darkness.
When the recital finished and the performers all spilled out from backstage into a mass by stage left (instead of stage door, because a charm of student recitals was that informality), Siyeon lingered behind, slow to pick up her pieces. Anything to drag out the moment and keep the end at bay.
marinating in a melancholy sense of fulfillment
A few friends made it to her performance and caught her right as she exited. All hugs and loud affirmations. It was nice, the warmth and satisfaction that came with the variations of ‘you were heard.’
When they left to make their rounds to other performers, she wandered around the crowd of milling people for a little more, stalling, still. Imprinting the energy of the room into her body, reminding her soul why she loves this.
It’s time to go
a little tug
Siyeon turned around and came face to face–face to nose, first, really–with a stranger. A beautiful stranger, with a shy smile that silently, almost hesitantly asked for the attention of someone who looked about to be on their way.
Their eyes were anything but shy and hesitant. A determination burned in them, even if the nervousness crept onto their face as creased brows and half-pinched cheeks.
“Your voice is so clear and powerful. That performance was so beautiful, I cried!” A quick glance at their reddened eyes and nose confirmed those claims, but even without it, the way the stranger’s face had melted into the purest expression of love and widest of smiles left no room for doubt. They chattered away, now with a momentum to their excitement, “Your musical story was just… so amazing.”
If ever there were a person who could make meaningless adjectives feel like the most meaningful words in the world, it would be the person standing in front of Siyeon at that moment.
“And your range! You go low; you go high–you belt! Your control is incredible. You can sing so ephemerally, too…” They looked about to cry again, they were so invested. “It was just. so. good.”
When they were done, Siyeon found herself almost crying, too. Through her tears and around an unstoppable smile, she shaped the words, “thank you so much,” from the bottom of her heart.
“I loved your performance,” they said with finality, calmly this time, with so much more sincerity than Siyeon knew what to do with, especially from a stranger.
‘I heard you.’
“Thank you,” Siyeon cried. “Thank you.”
From one soul to another.