Work Text:
Falling -----
Yechan likes to think he doesn't remember how the quarrel started.
Which is a lie, because Yechan remembers every detail.
Every fight they've had, every tinge of annoyance, usually starts with music; intermittent pizzicato placed between fast bow strokes, uncomfortable fingering on a absurd chord, staccatos placed at unachievable tempos. Wonsang's chosen ignorance to the physicalities of the string instrument comes from a pure and innocent pursuit to unravel the limits of music. Even now, like a child eager to gain their parent's praise, Wonsang gazes up at Yechan from his chair in his studio, bare feet swinging back and forth in anticipation as Yechan listens to the demo file with furrowed eyebrows.
It sounds ridiculous, Yechan thinks.
It's not the musical feasibility the violinist is vexed about, it's the fact that Wonsang makes Yechan feel guilty that he can't bring to life what the younger producer envisions. Wonsang is looking up at him with such hopeful gaze, utter trust and belief that his eldest hyung can pull it off.
But Yechan can’t.
He knows his instrument better than anyone else, two decades of blood and tears spent in a soundproof room, countless bashings and yelling from teachers, sunbaes, his own mother - has taught Yechan his own musical limits, whether he liked to admit it or not. And in the same way Wonsang is prideful of his work, Yechan is just as proud of the toil he's put behind his performing art.
Yechan yanks off the headphones a bit to harshly and hands them back to Wonsang.
“You know it’s a violin right?" Yechan spits out in an annoyed tone.
Wonsang blinks, expression unfazed, “but you haven't even tried yet, right?”
There's no ill will behind Wonsang's words - fuck this kid, Yechan thinks - because Wonsang won't wipe off that stupid, hopeful smile off his face. Yechan knows Wonsang is, whether conscious or not, pushing Yechan's boundaries and limits, slowly placing the bar higher and higher for the band as a whole. In his head, Yechan knows it's for their good.
“Then how about YOU try,” he snaps at Wonsang. The retort is childish, Yechan bites his tongue internally as soon as the words escape his mouth, but who are they but mere children playing in the fields of majors and minors.
A flash of hurt spreads across Wonsang’s face, like a toddler reprimanded by their parent, a split second of dejection - but it vanishes immediately and is replaced with a unsettling cold stone face of disappointment.
Wonsang glares up at Yechan.
“Coward,” he mumbles.
Yechan opens his mouth in shock. His maturity gets the better of him this time; before he raises his hand, Yechan lets out an exasperated sigh and turns to leave the studio - slamming the heavy soundproof door behind him at least to make a point.
---- Flower
Yechan avoids Wonsang as much as their schedules allow.
It’s not the first time they’ve fought, so Sangyeop and Gwangil keep their space, occasionally giving each other side glances when the four of them are in the same room for an interview or practice.
Apart from the occasional "G'mornings," and "Good work for today," it's approximately two weeks and four days before Yechan receives a text from Wonsang on his way back on the bus from the gym.
It’s a music file sent to the entire group including their sessionists.
Yechan taps on the file to download it, instinct and curiosity kicking in before his logic has the chance to remind him that they're still currently in stalemate.
All reminders of their feud disappears though as soon as the strings start playing through his earbuds. Yechan's clasps his hand over his mouth quietly, tears welling up involuntarily.
It's a crappy demo, honestly. Wonsang's cracked voice singing random words to fill in the tunes, yet even so, the gray buildings and neon Hangul signs flashing outside the bus window are blurring and bright circles come and go within Yechan's vision as he tries to blink away his tears. It's getting harder to breathe.
Yechan opens his chat with Wonsang, “Where are you.”
The text goes on read instantly, ellipsis appearing on screen before a short bubble text appears - “Studio.”
Yechan slams his palm against the STOP button on the bus.
The bus driver gives him a disapproving look, but pulls to a slow halt at the next curb.
Yechan practically jumps off the vehicle, clutching his gym bag close as he waves to call a cab immediately.
Wonsang stares at the text on his phone blankly before the screen turns to black to reflect his own perplexed face.
He’s already forgotten about the quarrel with Yechan already. In the excitement of finishing a new song, he had sent the demo file to the band and session members out of habit.
Sangyeop is the first to call him.
“It sounds amazing Wonsang-ah!” and they immediately start discussing passionately on the technicalities behind the vocals. Before Sangyeop hangs up, he asks him what Wonsang wants to eat for dinner, which makes the younger bassist warm and fuzzy inside, as if his mother had agreed to to make his favorite meal on his birthday.
Gwangil sends two big thumbs up a few minutes later and Wonsang sends a big heart back.
Felling fidgety and abashed, Wonsang runs his hand through his hair and adjusts his thick glasses. He has half an hour to kill before the dinner Sangyeop promised, and stands up to stretch, shuffling slowly to the door to refill his coffee.
He hears the heavy handle unlock on the other side.
Freezing on the spot, he watches the heavy door pushed open before the smaller violinist appears in the door frame, flinging himself into Wonsang’s arms.
Wonsang lets out a soft "oof" as Yechan's sturdy arms wrap themselves around the producer's torso. The bassist looks down to find his hyung's head nestled in his chest, hair still slightly wet, which can only mean Yechan has just showered after his gym session. Wonsang smiles, giddy at the thought that their stubborn violinist had come all the way to see him when he knows Yechan's usual routine ended up in him passing out on the couch in their living room.
“It’s beautiful,” Yechan mumbles against Wonsang’s chest, the vibration comfortable and pleasant against Wonsang’s chest. The bassist wraps his long arms around his hyung’s smaller frame.
“Gomapseumnidaang~” Wongsang hums happily back into Yechan's hair.
Yechan lets out a loud groan into his chest again before wiggling out of the younger's hold, face flushed as he peers up at Wonsang.
“I still hate you,” he huffs and Wonsang grins from ear to ear.
He knows all to well Yechan is a terrible liar.