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Summary
Kim had forced distance between himself and Macau when he was seventeen years old; seventeen, watching sweat roll down his younger cousin's neck and slide into the divot between his collarbones, and realizing suddenly, sharply, how much he wanted.
Seven years later, he sits at a piano, idly picking away at a melody that's been picking at him for years, seeking notes on the keys and humming half-remembered words in an incomplete chorus.
"P’Kim, what song is that?" Chay asks, soft and sweet and curious.
Kim’s childhood memories flood his mind with color, snapshots of his youngest cousin smiling and beautiful, melancholy and lovely, empty and broken and lost.
Kim can’t make the ugly truth of these notes and the spaces that lie between them into something pretty.
—
Kim and KimMacau centric, the first movement of this KimChayMacau verse.
Series
- Part 1 of In Three Movements