Chapter Text
The air in the small bar was filled with cigarette smoke and jazz notes floating like a spectrum between the tables. Mark barely lifted his eyes on the piano keys while playing, following the improvised rhythm of the band. It was his first night playing there and, although he knew that few really listened, every note he took from that worn out piano felt like a conversation with himself.
Until he saw it.
He shouldn't have seen him. There were too many people, too many voices overcoming music. But there he was, leaning against the bar with a glass in his hand and a half smile on his pudding face, as if he were the only one who really listened.
His eyes shone in the darkness, as if they were super novas. Mark lost his rhythm for a second, barely perceptible, but enough for the boy's gaze to look at him, curious.
"Are you looking at him or the piano? Cause I can introduce you to both of ‘em, honey."
The boy missed a low laugh, as if he was seriously considering both options. But then he leaned his head toward the bartender, without looking away from Mark.
"Who is it? I've never seen him before." He didn't plan to be interested, but who was Hyuck but the sun that interrupted others' lives?
"Mark Lee. New on the spot. Good boy, though he seems to carry all the weight of the world on his shoulders," answered the bartender with an accomplice smile. Then, a little lower voice as if sharing a secret, "I think you could do something about it."
The boy rolled his eyes, funny, and left the glass empty on the bar. "Maybe I'll try."
When the band paused, Mark stayed in his seat next to the piano pretending to check the scores he didn't need. He felt that if he got up, something of that strange magic that had filled the room might vanish. But he didn't have to move. Before he could process it, the boy stood in front of him, holding the glass now empty with the same naturalness with which others held the heart in their hands.
"I didn't know you," he said, and his voice had an unexpected warmth, as if he was always about to laugh at something that no one else understood.
Mark looked up and saw that the smile was still there, brighter up close.
"It's my first night here," he answered. His voice came out lower than he expected, as if words were barely able to get through the knot in his throat.
"That explains it. You play like you're telling us something. . like every note was a secret."
Mark wasn't sure how to respond, so he just nodded and looked at his hands, still leaning on the keys. But the boy didn't move.
"I'm Donghyuck by the way," he said at last, extending his hand as confidently as he seemed to wrap it completely.
Mark hesitated just a second before he narrowed it down. Donghyuck's hand was warm, holding firmly that seemed to promise something Mark could not yet name.
"Mark."
"Mark. . " repeated Donghyuck, testing the name in his mouth as if it were part of a song. Then he bowed his head, studying it again. "You got something to tell me about those notes, Mark?"
Mark felt that the question was going through him, as if Donghyuck had seen something that he himself did not know he was showing.
It was then that he knew that, even though this was his first encounter, something inside had already begun to change.
"Maybe. If you stay, I could say so." He hoped to be able to feel an apex of attention, he longed more than anyone to feel seen in the sufficient industry to which he belonged.
Donghyuck smiled as if he had just won a game in which Mark didn't even know he was participating.
"Then I'll stay."
And he did. Not just that night, but every other night, filling the bar with laughter, with sharp but tender comments, and with a presence that made Mark feel that someone was really seeing him, for the first time.