Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata.

Piano Sonata No. 14 Moonlight Third Movement.

Op. 27 No. 2.

Whatever you called it, this piece was the catalyst in what makes up, in his entirety, Na Jaemin.

Who was Na Jaemin, you ask?

The answer to that was simple.

Na Jaemin was a musician.

A performer.

He was a pianist.



It had all begun one particularly gloomy day in April of 1999.

The young boy whining persistently as his mother quite literally dragged him down the street had held absolutely lower than low expectations for his outing.

“Mom,” he cried, the 7-year-old on the verge of tears. “I don’t want to go watch some stupid piano recital!”

“Bear with it,” she snapped, tired-out of her attempts to reconcile with her child. “Auntie’s daughter is graduating from school at the top of her class today. She’s performing a special piece at the beginning of the award ceremony Jaem, it’s wonderful!”

But this had only further urged cries of protest to fall from the wailing boy’s lips, and Mrs. Na let out a final sigh before hauling her small son into her arms and carrying him the rest of the way. The short, 10-minute walk to the amphitheater had begun to seem longer and longer the more her son continued to cry on.

“You’re far too old for this, Jaem,” she scolded, rubbing his heaving back as he cried into her shoulder, drawing sympathetic stares from those that passed them along the street. To them, Jaemin must have looked nothing shorter than 4 or 5 years of age.

“M’wanna watch my cartoons,” he mumbled into her neck sadly.

Despite 7-year-old Jaemin’s many, many protests that morning, his living room wasn’t where he found himself that day.

Rather, he had found himself in an enormous auditorium, filled to the brim with families bustling in and out of their seats with excitement.

“What’s a graduation?” he tugged on his mother’s sleeve to grab her attention.

“It’s when you earn a degree for finishing school,” she attempted to explain, only further confusing the young child.

“What?”

“It’s a celebration for those who have worked very hard, Jaem. Just hush,” she rubbed his cheeks. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Can I have a graduation?” he asks, expectant.

His mother had laughed, caressing her son’s head affectionately.

“Of course,” she nods. “You’ll have your very own graduation one day, Jaem.”





Those words, which held significance for about 15 minutes until Jaemin had promptly forgotten all about a damned “graduation,” had never felt so real until, well, now.

Jaemin stood behind the curtains of the auditorium stage, fingers stroking lightly over the velvet material to soothe his nerves.

Before he knew it, “one day” had turned into today.

Eleven long, grueling years later, and it was finally his turn now.

He was graduating.

“You’re on in 17, Na,” a staff member informs him as they pass.

“Okay,” he mumbles, jumping when he feels a particularly hard slap to his shoulder.

“Ready for this? It’s the performance you’ve been waiting for since we were kids!”

Jaemin glances at his long-time friend Zhang Renjun, who was beaming at him with uttermost confidence.

“I think I’m going to throw up, to be quite honest.”

Renjun lets out a loud laugh, shaking the trembling boy back and forth.

“Cheer up Jaem! It’s over! We made it!”

Easy for you to say, he grumps to himself, shrugging off his friend. For every other student seated down in the audience, today was a celebration of the end. To Jaemin, today was just the beginning. He worked his ass off for years, always making sure he was ahead of each and every student attending his prestigious preforming arts school, just so he could be here today, at the top. Just so he could fulfill the dream he had conjured at merely seven years of age.

He could still remember the exact moment, the very second Jaemin had fallen for his passion. The day of the Class of 1999’s graduation from the School of Preforming Arts Seoul.



“Quickly, Jaem. Sit, the performance is starting!”

`Jaemin had stopped wandering around his aisle when he noticed his mother motioning him over, and complied with a defiant huff.

He was still pretty upset at her, considering he was missing his morning cartoons for a measly high school performance.

Nonetheless, Jaemin had quickly seated himself, just as the lights dimmed, and a tall, skinny girl walked up onto stage, her gown flowing behind her gracefully with every heeled click of her step.

The audience had hushed at once. The rowdy graduates sat in the front rows had hollered in cheer for their classmate, but succumbed into the silence as soon as she had seated herself at the stool of the glimmering white piano.

The silence had been nothing but irritating to Jaemin. He loathed silence, with a passion. He was always first to break it, either with an outrageous scream or shout, or hums and quips of songs he used to fill the air.

So, when the silence had almost become unbearable, Jaemin had been seconds away from releasing an obnoxious shout, because he was seven, and he could, to his knowledge, do as he pleased.

It had turned out, however, the silence wasn’t for naught.

It was for anticipation.

Because as soon as his mouth had opened to release his terror on the unsuspecting audience, it had begun.

Not a lot of things could easily silence the menace that was Na Jaemin.

But the first 10 seconds the girl’s fingers had slammed down against the keys of the graceful-looking piano had silenced the boy so quickly, that he had actually fallen back against his chair in awe.

The melody was not soft, nor was it as peaceful as the graduate looked, her warm smile and gentle fingers a complete opposite to the tune she was producing with the instrument.

Lithe fingers danced upon the keys with great ease, and such a speed that it was almost dizzying.

For the first time in his mother’s life, Mrs. Na had witnessed her son remain in utter silence for an entire 6 minutes and 48 seconds.

For the entirety of the piece, he was gripping the edge of the seat in front of him, bracing himself as the sounds of the song attacked every fiber of his being.

That, was the first time he had heard it.

Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata.

But, despite the entirety of the 14-minute peace, which had rather started out quite soft, and harmonious, the graduate had gone for the Third Movement, which started at a dazzling, rough tempo, immediately grabbing the attention of the audience.

This piece was a statement. A statement that, to him, screamed dominance. It begged to be heard, to be appreciated and respected.

And that was exactly the effect it had on seven-year-old Na Jaemin.

Because, as soon as they had left the ceremony, Jaemin had turned to his mother with a soft, but determined tone.

“I want to play the piano.”



And it wasn’t just that. Jaemin’s dream hadn’t stopped there. He wanted to preform that piece. Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, the name he had learned after countless hours of streaming the internet’s classical piano pieces. Jaemin wanted to be that girl, who had walked onto stage, and let her music captivate the poor, unsuspecting boy’s heart.

So, as soon as he was able, he had begun piano lessons. And it only took off, from there.

It wasn’t long before Jaemin had begun doing small competitions for his teacher, amongst those his age, placing first in nearly all.

“A prodigy!”

Or so they claimed. He wasn’t interested in competing, or winning amongst his peers. All Jaemin knew, was the more he had practiced, the closer he’d be to learn such a difficult piece as Moonlight Sonata.

And, at the age of 13, he had done it.

He was alone, in his bedroom, fingers dancing along the cheap, plastic keyboard his mother managed to afford for him, when he was able to play the Third Movement the entire way through, minus many mistakes and complications.

But he had done it.

The only thing he had left to do, was to perform this piece up on stage. And he knew exactly what stage it was that he sought after.

“In Seoul? The preforming arts school?” his mother had exclaimed.

Jaemin had nodded in enthusiasm.

“Jaem, I don’t know if we can afford it,” she frowned, rubbing her son’s shoulders.

“I’ll do more competitions to win money!” he had cried in desperation, lip quivering. “Please mom! I’ll do anything, I’ll even start working so I can afford it!”

His mother sighed then, and pulled her son into a warm hug.

“What can be done? My son is a performer. It’s only right you go to a preforming arts school, right?”

So, in the fall of 1706, Na Jaemin had auditioned and was enrolled shortly thereafter.

For the past 4 years of his life, Jaemin had quite literally busted his ass in every class to ensure his grades were of superiority, because the school’s graduation rules ensured that only the top student of each class was allowed a single performance graduation day. And, before even stepping foot into the school, he knew that performance belonged to him.

With enough persistence, he had finally, finally made it.

So, could you blame him for being so restless?



“10 minutes Na!”

The restlessness was beginning to turn into full-blown panic now.

“Renjun,” he cries, clinging to the male. “I can’t do it!”

“You’ll be fine,” the male rubbed his shoulders before detaching himself from Jaemin’s vice-grip. “I gotta head back to my seat now. Knock our socks off, class rep!”

The clock was ticking, and with every second so was Jaemin’s sanity.

This was literally the moment he had been dreaming of for so long. What if he fucked it up? What if something went horribly wrong? His mother was in that crowd somewhere, waiting for the finished product of something he had been perfecting for ages now.

Never, had he ever once played this piece for her. Not for his mother, not for his teachers, not even for his closest friends.

This piece, alone, was for this stage, and those there to witness it.

So why did he feel ready to bolt? Turn around and hide from those waiting in anticipation for his long-sought after performance?

Everyone knew the piece that was going to be played today, you had to have been living under a rock if you didn’t. There weren’t many classical musicians at his school, considering most his age sought to be idols or actors, but this performance in particular had been swept through the entire grade. He was 1000% sure Renjun had accidently let it lose, which Jaemin couldn’t even be upset at the man for. He was as clueless as a puppy, innocent and carefree.

Jaemin glanced at the time once more. 7 more minutes. His knees grew weak. Jaemin turned to one of the staff members hurriedly.

“I need to use the restroom!” he blurts.

The staff member tries to hold back their annoyance.

“Please hurry,” he sighs. “We need to stick to the schedule to make sure the program runs as smooth as possible.”

“Yes,” he bows in thanks, and rushes off, heart jack-hammering wildly in his chest.

Once he had made it to the restroom, however, Jaemin had collapsed against the sink.

He didn’t think he could make it, in all honesty. His fingers were literally trembling, which posed a big issue when those were literally those sole body parts necessary to perform his piece.

This is it, he thinks, feeling nauseated with worry. I’m going to pass out here on the bathroom floor, and blow my one and only Jence. Rip.

Before he could fall any further into panic however, he felt a warm hand on his back, and deep, baritone voice in his ear.

“Excuse me?” the voice attempts to bring Jaemin too again, succeeding this time.

Vision blurry, Jaemin lolls his head to the side, attempting to get a glance at the stranger. All he could notice, straight-away though, was how tall this person was.

“Are you okay?” the deep, deep, voice was filled with concern, and Jaemin lets out a groan.

“I think I’m gonna pass out,” he whispers, staring down at the stranger’s sneaker-clad feet.

The boy doesn’t respond a moment, but rather fishes around for something in his pocket. Soon, a small piece of candy was being shoved his way.

“What’s this?” he mumbles.

“Eat it,” the stranger commands. “I get light-headed when I’m nervous too, it’s just your body’s blood-sugar dropping. Suck on this and you’ll feel a lot better, trust me.”

Jaemin inhales another shaky breath, and reaches for the tiny wrapped hard-candy.

“If you say so,” he unwraps the candy quickly, and pops it into his mouth. Jaemin recognizes the flavor. It was a Lifesaver.

Almost immediately, he felt his nerves begin to settle, body ceasing it’s swaying.

“Shit,” he sighs, throwing his head back. “You’re right.”

“See?” the stranger laughs. “Wait here, I’ll grab you a water bottle,” he says, before exiting the restroom promptly.

Jaemin exhales once more, focusing on the minty flavor rather than the audience waiting expectantly for him in a few moments. The stranger had returned, slightly out of breath, arm extended with an unopened water bottle.

“I’d hurry, if I was you. They’re all waiting.”

Jaemin’s head snaps back into place then. Shit.

“Oh fuck,” he unscrews the cap, and gulps around the candy in his mouth quickly. Thrusting the bottle back to the boy, he takes off, throwing behind him:

“Thank you! You’re a life saver!”

Jaemin could hear the boy’s deep chuckle follow him out, and he put two and two together as he swishes the melting candy around in his mouth.

Oh. Hah. How ironic.

A newfound confidence bubbles up in Jaemin’s chest, and he felt as sure as ever now. He was ready. Eleven years in the making, he was absolutely ready.

He was ushered up to the stage immediately, queuing him up and signaling the Principle of the school to begin the introduction.

“Ladies and gentlemen, graduates and parents, friends and family. Thank you all for joining us today on this very special…..”

The Principal’s voice begins to fade to background noise, and soon all Jaemin could hear his heartbeat, pumping so hard that it took over all other senses.

This was it. It was time.

“….so, it is with great pleasure to welcome the Class of 1712’s valedictorian, Na Jaemin, preforming a special prepared piece!

Jaemin felt his body move before his brain began registering what was actually going on around him. The blinding lights of the stage skewed his vision, and made him squint against its harsh glare. The applause of the audience began to die down slowly, the closer he got to the grand, white piano on stage. Finally, he was here.

He does a single, customary bow to his classmates and seats himself promptly.

The weight of the situation was beginning to weigh on his shoulders, and he tries to push it away by straightening his back, and positioning his fingers above the keys.

Mom, this is it. All the hard work, it all amounts to this.

Instinctively, he casts a glance into the audience again, looking right at where he knew there were seats reserved for his parents.

And to his shock, he found them both empty.

The world was beginning to crumble around him in an instant. As time ticked by slowly, he quickly realized he still hadn’t begun playing. He finally tears his gaze away from the audience, and glances down at the keys. His vision was swimming, and with a forceful push, his finger’s fall to the piano softly.

He begins to play Moonlight Sonata.

Not the regal, attention grabbing Third Movement he had prepared for extravagantly for.

No.

Jaemin opted for the slow, morbid tone of Beethoven’s mournful first movement.

It was depressing.

Too depressing, for a day that signified new beginnings and bright futures. But it was happening. And it was too late to take it back. And as finished, fingers sliding off the keys in a zombielike motion, the kids clap slowly, impressed nonetheless.

It was still a beautiful piece. And that was what they took with them as they walked across the stage, and accepted their award.

What a pity.



It came to no surprise to Jaemin when he heard the news. He was already preparing for the worst.

His mother passed away 2 hours before the reception began. Her blood pressure dropped, and her heart had given out as she was getting ready to watch her son walk across the stage, and play the song she had for so long waited to hear.

This was the beginning of a long period in his life that remained stagnant. He would return to a cold, empty home for months. When his father finally returned, he had Changed.

For the worst.

To put it shortly, he had returned with a newfound attitude about the piano.

One that had Changed the way Jaemin played for good, and brought rise to a new chapter in Jaemin’s life.

A chapter he liked to call: Competitions.

At first, it was to rake in the prize money. Money was always tight before, but without their mother’s added income, thing took a turn for the worst.

After he had won enough awards to keep them on their feet, his father’s obsession with perfecting the skill of playing music by the book evolved into something nastier, more senile.

Jaemin was bound to hours and hours of daily practice, bound to his bedroom till ungodly hours of the day, fingers trembling from overuse every single night.

But still, he played on.

Without anything else in his life to grasp on to, he took to the only thing he knew how to do.

So, he played.

This led on for some time.

Time that to 18-year-old Jaemin, seemed nightmarishly endless.





3 YEARS LATER





“I’m just saying, Donghyuck, if you had even an ounce of class in your body, you’d recognize Debussy’s ‘Suite bergamasque’ as one of the world’s greatest classical pieces!”

Kim Donghyuck was not a music major. He studied law, and the 24-year-old was very happy with the had chosen to pursue. Unfortunately for him, his lovely roommate Na Jaemin was, indeed, a music major. And therefore, made his life a living hell.

“Jaemin,” he begs, rubbing his temples. “For the last time, I don’t give a single flying fuck about songs I can’t even pronounce!”

“How can you be so narrow-minded?” Jaemin cries incredulously, crossing his arms defiantly against his chest. “You won’t even give it a Jence.”

“Oh please, don’t be such a hypocrite. I can’t even play my music out loud in my own home without being ridiculed by the fucking music snob.”

Jaemin releases a snort.

“You call that, music? The shitty, electronic pop that people bang out from a synthesized keyboard?”

“See!” Donghyuck points a finger at his roommate across the table in the restaurant they were seated at. “There you go again!”

“Well,” he picks at his lunch delicately. “I’m sorry. But I will call it as I hear it. And I call your taste in music, absolutely wretched.”

Donghyuck shakes his head once more, before calling over the waiter for their checks.

“I’m pissing in your bedsheets tonight.”



Seoul, to Jaemin, was a breathtaking city. Yes, it was crowded. Yes, it was noisy. Yes, there was issues with increasing pollution. But it held such a charm that drew Jaemin in like a moth to a light. He moved out of the country and settled into the heart of the city as soon as he was eligible, leaving his tiny home in the hillside and acquiring an even tinier apartment in the busy streets of his nation’s capital.

Regardless, he loved it.

Jaemin pulls his facemask over his nose one more, and shakes his long bangs out as he steps out of the restaurant. Donghyuck had to head back to campus and meet up with his classmates for a project, claiming he wouldn’t be home until quite late in the night. This left Jaemin at a standstill, because tonight wasn’t a particular night he wished to spend alone. Hands stuffed into his pockets, the man bites back his suppressed emotions, hands clenched into tight fists.

Today marked the third anniversary of his mother’s death. That particular day was a stagnate memory in Jaemin’s mind. Reflecting upon what had happened caused a slight tremble in his fingers, and a tight restriction within his chest.

So, to being alone with nothing but his thoughts tonight was a bit futile for his case.

“’Hun?” he breathes into the receiver he pressed quickly against his ear. “What’re you doing tonight?”

“Busy.”

“Sehun!” he whines, walking slowly down the pavement. “Please, I really don’t want to be alone.”

“I’m sorry Jaem, it’s date night. I promised Lu we’d go out.”

“Take me with you,” he whispers, pleading in desperation.

“Luhan doesn’t like you, though. Also, if you come back to my place after you’ll be really cockblocki-.”

“-Goodbye, Sehun.”

He ends the call with a loud sigh, and stuffs the device back into his pocket with a pout.

Great. His roommate was busy. His closest friend in Seoul was busy. All his musician major buddies took a trip to Jeju-do this week, and he didn’t have the money to attend.

Great.

Kicking an empty drink bottle on the ground in frustration, Jaemin walks the chilly streets in silence, focusing on the sounds of busy traffic instead of the tornado of emotions fluttering around inside him.

He was about to call it quits, head back home and crawl under his blanket with a tub of ice cream to binge TV shows until he knocked out. He had an original 3-minute piece due at the end of the week, which he hasn’t even started, but tonight was not the night to lay his fingers upon his Yamaha. Not tonight.

Waiting with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, Jaemin was leaning against the shelter of the bus station, eyes fixated on the clear night sky. The only other person there was an elderly old woman, seated, and hugging her purse snug to her chest. The bus wasn’t going to be coming for another 10 minutes, and he frowns when he notices the old woman shivering. It was far too cold for anyone to come out wearing a thin cardigan, so, he shrugs off his jacket and approaches her with a smile.

“Here, please, you’ll catch a cold.”

The woman looks up in surprise, and shakes her head.

“Oh no, dear. I’m quite alright, thank you.”

“Don’t be silly,” he laughs, and places the coat around her shoulders. “Just until the bus comes, okay?”

She nods, and smiles warmly back at him.

“Thank you. You’re too kind.”

While doing a good dead filled him with a theoretical warmness, it would have been nice if some of it was physical too. He was fucking freezing now.

Turning back to the wall, however, Jaemin now notices a flyer plastered above his head. Curious, and in desperate need of something to distract him from the biting cold, he squints in the darkness, and with the aid of the single street lamp above them, made out the words:

Underground Hip-Hop Music Festival: Staring. Loey.

Loey?

Jaemin scans the rest of the flyer, and scoffs.

The event was taking place tonight. 10:30. Exactly 30 minutes from now. In Gangnam, where he was oh-so conveniently occupied in.

He wracks his brain a moment.

Should he?

No.

An “underground” hip-hop music festival? Surely, it couldn’t be anything Jaemin could enjoy. The first thing that sprung to mind was clubbing.And clubbing was something Na Jaemin did not do. Nor did he indulge in the sporadic, head-ache inducing beats of the music these clubs played either.

He remembers, however, the last time he was alone on the day of his mother’s death. An exact year after, specifically.

It was a long, long night, then. The flashing images of blinding white-washed hospital lights come flashing back into his mind, and Jaemin’s hand comes flying out to grip the edge of the wall in fear.

“Here’s your jacket, dear.”

Snapping back to attention, he realizes that he hadn’t even heard the bus approach. He looks up from the jacket extended his way, and bows, grabbing the coat warily.

“Thank you.”

“Aren’t you coming?” she asks, turning as she was about to board the bus.

“I, uh,” he pauses, and glances back up at the flyer a moment. Shaking his head, he responds, “No, uhm, turns out I’m at the wrong station.”

He waves off the old woman with a final bow, and then rips the flyer off the wall in haste.

The GPS told him from this exact station, the location of the event was 15 minutes away.

Jaemin inhales a final, anxious deep breath, before he stalks back down the sidewalk with a newfound purpose.

Fuck it.

This could end up being pretty interesting, anyways.





Interesting was the wrong choice of words Jaemin had gone with.

Standing in line to enter the tiny, sketchy looking club, and the word “interesting” had quickly turned into “mistake.”

He couldn’t look more out of place at this moment, in his tight, ripped blue skinny’s, and loose white button up rolled to the sleeves that sat underneath a sleek, black jacket. The girls in front of him wore tight jean skirts, accompanied by fishnets and stilettoes. The boys were in oversized hoodies and expensive brand sneakers.

You can still leave. It’s not too late. Just step out of line, and head to your local convenience store. Vanilla ice cream has never given you social anxiety, and it never will.

The longer he kept wracking his brain of scenarios, the closer he inched forward in line. And before he knew it, he was face to face, or, well, face to chest with a bodyguard that towered at a good 10 or more inches above him.

“ID?” he asks gruffly.

Jaemin’s only immediate response if to blink back up at the man, tongue caught under his teeth.

“ID?” he repeats, a bit more urgent this time.

“Oh,” he breathes, shuffling his hands in his coat pockets frantically, before pulling out his card and shoving it the man’s way.

The security officer glances from Jaemin’s ID to his face multiple times, and frowns.

“You sure this isn’t a fake?”

“I’m 24 years old, sir. It says it right there.”

“Hmm,” he grunts, and shoves the card back over. “You’re good.”

Am I, though? He sulks, ignoring the burning of his ears as the security guard dismisses him. Yes, he looked young, but he couldn’t help what couldn’t be Changed.

Jaemin took the stairs down, and enters the doorway cautiously.

Immediately, the panic begins to set in. The club was huge. Despite its deceiving appearance, the floor extended out endlessly, people clustered in groups in every corner. He didn’t even know where to start.

Oh wait, yes, he did.

It was obnoxiously loud. He didn’t want to sound like a grumpy old man, but the loudest music Jaemin had been accustomed too was anything played in fortissimo. He could quite literally feel the bass of the club music reverberate within his chest, shaking his whole being into one mess of nerves.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath, dodging the sweaty bodies swaying to, in search of somewhere he could sit, and collect his thoughts.

What on Earth made him think this was a good idea?

Nestled within two obnoxious teenagers at the bar, Jaemin orders himself a beer, and tries to put his pounding heart to rest. Jaemin didn’t have any medical history of anxiety, but he was sure that loud, crowded places like this weren’t good for his health.

The first sip of the bitter tasting beer slides down his throat, jolting his senses awake from his muggy, clogged state of mind. He was okay. It was loud, sure, but he could adjust. He just needed a minute.

So, he took one, and decided to make ample time to people watch. The minutes passed by like seconds, then. Eyes sweeping as much as he could see of his surroundings, he squinted against the harsh red strobe lights, that gave the room such a suffocating feeling. Honestly, how did people do it? Jumping up and down in a tight space, hot stuffy air and little to no visibility.

He’d never understand.

“Not to sound like a dick,” a voice crawls out of the noise, startling him from his left. “But you look a little lost.”

Swinging around on his stool, and throwing a side-glare to the girl beside him who whined at the momentary touch of skin, Jaemin searches for the voice that most certainly did not match the face he finds.

“Was it the Burberry coat that gave it away?” he responds sarcastically, as if on impulse, and sighs dramatically. “I knew I should have gone with Gucci instead.”

The voice he heard earlier now melted into a melody, a deep, throaty chuckle he heard over the deafening music that shook Jaemin directly to his core. This man was leaning against the bar, one long leg resting on the feet of the bar stool. Much like those around them, he was fitted in a pair of incredibly tight black skinnies, and from what he could make out in this lighting, a jacket that was nearly twice his size. His hair was slicked back neatly, though. Comma hair.

Jaemin’s favorite.

Clearing his throat, he sets his beer bottle down, and shifts to give this man his full attention.

“Not to sound like a dick,” he repeats, watching the man’s smile turn into a curious smirk. “But what’s a ‘cool guy,’” he pauses to accentuate his words with air quotes. “-like you doing here talking to me?”

Shrugging his shoulders, the man finally slides down into the seat, and swivels side to side on the rotating stool a moment before replying:

“I’m nervous.”

Pursing his lips, Jaemin cocks his head to the side.

“Nervous?”

“Yup.”

“You don’t look so nervous to me.”

“That’s subjective. While I may look calm, and collected on the outside, I can assure you I am a quivering, cowering mess on the inside.”

Jaemin hums in response, resting an elbow on the bar now to rest his head on his hand.

“Why so nervous, cool dude?”

“I could ask you the same, not-so-cool dude.”

Snorting, he picks up his beer again, and takes another swig to swallow the giggle that was bubbling in his throat. He wasn’t going to give this guy the satisfaction, or reaction, he so clearly wanted.

“Who said I was nervous?”

“You nearly shoved a whole group of people out of the way to collapse at the bar. You were even panting. Oh, and your leg was jittering a bit, a common sign of, well, nervousness.”

“I see smartass, you were stalking me?” he cocks an eyebrow.

“You’re not hard to spot, babe,” he shrugs, crossing his arms across his chest. “You stick out like a sore thumb.”

At this moment, Jaemin wasn’t sure if this handsome stranger was flirting with him, or just being a genuine little shit.

He was going to go for the latter.

“Well, if you’re done harassing me about my appearance, why don’t you go ahead and let out why you’re so ‘nervous’,” his voice sickly sweet, teasing. “Since you’re such a mess and all.”

“You see,” he clears his throat, lifting his feet to rest them on the foot of Jaemin’s stool, inching closer. “I would tell you, but to be quite honest, I’m much more curious to know how someone like you ventured so far from home.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he scowls in response, a bit fed up with this man’s taunting. “Just because I don’t dress like I’m stuck in my early teens, doesn’t mean I can’t come to this, uh, electronic…pop mess.”

“Electronic pop?” his smile unbelievably charming, and it was sucking Jaemin in like a damned black hole.

“Hip-hop, or whatever it’s called. I don’t know.”

“Underground hip-hop,” the man corrects him, and Jaemin rolls his eyes.

“Sure, underground hip-hop. Is this genre of music all-exclusive? You have to wear eyeliner and fishnets to be a part of the crew?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he nods, feigning seriousness, and this time, Jaemin couldn’t help the giggle that fell from his lips.

“Actually,” he brushes his bang from his face, feeling shy a moment. “I uh,” shuffling in his pockets, he pulls out the flyer he had seen, and unfolds it quickly. “Saw this at the bus station.”

Grabbing the flyer and studying it under the bar light, the man breaks into a mile-wide grin.

“These things actually work?” he laughs, and hands it back to Jaemin.

“I’m living proof, aren’t I?”

“I suppose you are.”

There’s a silence that sweeps between the two, letting the grimy bass of the music return back from the background noise. The man’s foot was tapping along to the beat.

“This some sort of experimental venture?” he speaks up once more, smug smile gone now. “Sorry for sounding like such a prick before, I was just pushing your expensive buttons,” he reaches a hand out to slide this thumb over the smooth button of his coat.

“I figured,” Jaemin fought back a blush. “And I guess you could call this an experiment. I’ve never really…experienced this type of music before. Or rather, I avoid it really.”

“What kind of music do you like?”

Never once, in his whole life, has Jaemin felt ashamed about what he did. He was a classical musician, a pianist, and that was all he’d ever want to be.

But sitting here, in the bar of a stuffy club with the intense eyes of the stranger making him squirm in his seat, he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“Uhm…”

“Jazz?” the man inquires. “Indie? You look like someone who’d be into that hipster shit.”

Thanks. He sulks, and lets out a long sigh.

“Country?”

“No!” he interrupts his stream of guesses, and waves his hands to shut him up. “No. I’m uh,” he lowers his voice then, and mumbles. “A classical…musician.”

“A what?”

“Classical…”

“What?”

“Classical music!” he shouts, and regrets it immediately when he notices multiple heads at the bar turn their way. A deep crimson flushes across Jaemin’s cheeks then.

“You listen to classical m-“

“I play classical music. I’m a pianist.”

Promptly, he expected this man to burst into laughter, wondering what business a classical musician had here, but instead, the let out a soft hum and smiled.

“Cute.”

Eye’s crinkling in disbelief, Jaemin laughs a bit.

“Excuse me, what?”

“I said cute. That’s cute.”

“Is that supposed to be demeaning?”

All of his defenses were up right now, and he felt incredibly vulnerable with this particular stranger. The way he stared at him made him feel like he could see straight into his soul.

“No, not at all. I think it’s quite impressive, actually.”

Okay, so he sounded genuine. Jaemin deflated a bit, his breathing returning back to normal.

“Thanks,” he smiles at the man, and wraps his hands around the neck of the beer bottle nervously.

Cute boy. Cute smile. Not as much of a dick as he seems.

Maybe coming to this club wasn’t a bad idea after all.

“It’s a shame, though,” his smug tone returns, and Jaemin’s thrown back into uncertainty.

“What?”

“If you decided to come to the dark side, and join our exclusive ‘hip-hop club,’” he accentuates the words with a set of dramatic airquotes. “I’m sure those fishnets and eyeliner would do you fucking wonders.”

Floored, Jaemin can’t control how his eyes to the actual size of saucers then, and he nearly knocks his bottle over in a haste to gather himself.

The man watches Jaemin with an amused smirk, and the latter doesn’t think he’s felt so embarrassed in his entire life.

“Well,” he coughs, resisting the urge to fan himself. It was too hot, and he strips from his jacket, throwing it across his lap. “I’m sorry to disappoint.”

He felt the man’s eyes on him the second he had removed his jacket, roaming up and down his chest unabashedly. The first couple of buttons were undone, exposing bits of his chest and collarbone, and Jaemin felt the sudden urge to button them back up.

“Fun fact,” the stranger breaks the silence again, eyes back boring into his. “I, too, am a pianist. Well, recreationally. I’m sure I’m not as good as you.”

This sLees immediate interest in Jaemin, who perks up at the mere sound of the word “piano.”

“No way.”

“Way, and I’m not just saying this to impress you. I taught myself by ear.”

“By ear?” he gasps. “Do you even know how hard that is?!”

The man shrugs nonchalantly.

“It wasn’t too bad. It sucked at first, but it was a lot easier because I had already taught myself the guitar. So, transferring sounds and associating them with notes didn’t take too long.”

God was really looking down upon him today.

Because, holy fuck.

Handsome, talented, and funny?

This man is probably the closest to his type that he had ever come across, and he didn’t even know anything other than the fact that he was tall, sarcastic and a musician.

“What kind of music do you play?” he asks, all his attention focused solely on this man.

“Uh, well I prefer to play more modern songs. I do know how to play a lot of classics though, don’t get me wrong.”

“Which classics?”

“Ooh, you going to judge me on my classical taste now?”

“Shut up, yes, tell me,” he urges, on the literal edge of his seat. Classical music was the last thing he thought he’d be discussing here, but he wasn’t one to complain.

“Beethoven-”

“Please don’t tell me that’s it.”

“Don’t interrupt,” he snaps half-heartedly, and continues counting off his fingers. “Uh, I can play Beethoven, Tchaikovsky, Mozart, Bach, Strauss, uhm.”

Jaemin was nearly swooning.

“Only like one piece from Rossini, and a couple Elgar compositions. To be quite honest, I only know bits and pieces of songs from these artists, because, well, learning them by ear is absolute hell.”

“Learn to read sheet music,” Jaemin laughs, feeling like his heart was about to beat out of his chest.

“Nah,” the man shrugs. “I like taking songs I know and translating them as a pastime. My real passion is in writing music, though.”

Jaemin would be lying if he didn’t say he nearly jumped up, and straddled this man right there and then, in the middle of the damned nightclub.

“You compose your own piano pieces?”

“Well, music in general. I’m a songwriter.”

He was silent a moment, eyes scanning all over the stranger while he tried to calmly collect his thoughts, and respond with something intelligent so he didn’t just end up screaming. In the end, all he could say was:

“Who are you?”

Before the man can reply, another figure makes their way over to the two, and taps the man on the shoulder. As he tears his gaze away from Jaemin, the intruder to their conversation leans over, and whispers something into his ear, before pulling back, and returning back into the bustling crowd.

“Well,” standing now, the man stuffs his hands into his pockets. “I hate to leave it here, but I have to head off.”

“Wait- “

Jaemin raises his hand, heart clenching. He had just started to feel better, and wasn’t keen on being alone once again tonight.

“Trust me,” the man winks, as he backs up slowly. “Just trust me, okay? This won’t be the last you see of me tonight.”

And with that, he turns, and like the man before him, disappears into the never-ending sea of people.

What the hell?

Jaemin wasn’t sure what exactly he meant by seeing him later tonight, because as a matter of fact, he was quite ready to call it a night.

But, for some reason, instead of what he’d normally do, he chooses to hang back, the long, lanky man’s words echoing in the back of his mind.

Did that mean he was going to return back to the bar later?

Was he supposed to follow him into the crowd?

The son of a bitch didn’t even give Jaemin his name, how on Earth was he going to find him?

Just when he thought he had found someone genuine in such a strange place, it turns out tonight was just as much of a mistake as he initially anticipated.

“Fuck this,” he mutters under his breath, after a good 25 minutes had passed. If this man thought he was going to stick around in the near-empty bar all night for him, then he had another thing coming.

Because after he guns down his fourth beer, Jaemin was out of his seat, and weaving in and out of the traffic of people in search of the exit. It took a minute, but when he finally spots it, he was about to make a straight beeline when the ear-deafening music suddenly cuts off.

Jaemin lets out a genuine sigh of relief, in contrast to the chorus of groans of protest around him. His eyes search around the premise, curious now as to why this has just happened.

And the answer to his questions was not at all what he anticipated that night.

Because, as if cursing him for trying to leave before sticking around to hear the rest of his words, his ever-so handsome stranger was perched atop the DJ stand, a coy smirk toying on his nice, full lips.

“Ladies, and gentlemen,” he begins, softly, voice almost as deep as the booming bass that was cut off moments ago. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but I appreciate your patience.”

The crowd’s momentary confusion was now replaced with eager chatter and jeers, everybody pushing closer to the stage now, and still stuck in a trance-like shock, Jaemin lets them drag him along.

“My name is Loey, and it’s just about time to start the show,” he chuckles at the chorus of happy screams and shouts, and one man in the back yells out;

“Drop your new shit, man! We’ve all been waiting!”

His stranger, or “Loey” as this man seemed to go by, smiles again, and presses the mic against his cheek, pretending to think a moment.

“Well, if you insist,” he sighs, and adjusts the headphones on his neck against his head. “I guess I can drop my new single tonight. Just for you guys,” he winks, and nearly every breathing body in the room screams in approval.

And amongst all the madness, Jaemin catches the way the man’s eyes shift across the sea of people, and settle on his frozen figure, eyebrows flying up in a teasing manor, as if to say, I told you so.

“This one’s called, Freal Luv.”

It had attacked all of his senses at once. The sudden introduction was jarring, but the smooth voice of the woman belting out from the speakers had his legs go numb and rigid.

What exactly was going on?

He had some sort of inclination.

This sweet-talking boy, this “musician,” or so he claimed, was a faux. Because as soon as the techno-infused beat came swirling into the mix, sending those around him into a dancing frenzy, his lip began to curl in disgust.

He couldn’t help it. He was a music snob. And this, is what music snobs did. And sue him, but he found it hard to credit those who could make a simple beat and tune off a ready-made platform, when he spent hours on hours practicing and producing melodies he put his blood, sweat and tears into learning.

But, even despite all of his disdain, and melodramatic betrayal, he felt his body begin to sway to and fro, following the addicting beat of the music.

No way.

A foot began tapping. No, his foot.

Meanwhile, Loey was up on the stage, basking in the scene before him, eyes twinkling in the dim-light of the club. If Jaemin thought he looked charming before, it was nearly nothing compared to now. His smile was so genuine and free, hands playing with the switchboard in front of him, jumping up and down to the beat of the music. It was utterly captivating.

And just when Jaemin thought he couldn’t possibly get any more of a surprise from this wild, random expenditure of his, this man picks up the microphone, and begins to rap.

It honestly could have been that the song Jaemin was listening to was genuinely good. The chorus was catchy, the woman’s strong vocals carried the erratic beat through the measures, and it was cinched together quite perfectly. And he meant it.

But his pride made him believe it was the alcohol coursing through his system, which was starting to take more of an effect on him now. Sure, it didn’t take four beers to put him away, but considering that he snuck a couple shots in here and there wasn’t helping his case.

So, believe it or not, his subtle swaying and mild foot-tapping and actually begun to accumulate, and before he knew it, Jaemin was straight up jamming along to the music. Arms flailing, hips rolling, hair flipping back and forth from the sheer intensity of his movements.

Loey’s rapping was dirty almost, in every sense of the word. His voice was gravely and rough, flowing in a smooth motion as the man bopped his head along, spitting out words with a flow that melded into his very being, as if it coursed in and out his veins, driving his aching muscles forward.

He heard the people around him start to cheer, egging on his sporadic dancing, and when Jaemin looks up again, forehead shining in sweat, he makes eye contact with Loey once more. His smile surpassed smug, on an entire level of its own, and his eyes shone with pride, teasing Jaemin to no end.

He knew it was good. He knew it.

“Cocky bastard,” he screams, knowing damn well his words would be caught in the bass of the beat, but he knew that his message was heard loud and clear, because Loey nearly chuckles into the mic, and closes his eyes for the final time, banging his head against the music, lost in his own art.

The song finally ends, and the crowd screams in applause, before Loey puts on another song, and Jaemin is snapped out of his trance, panting and gasping wildly as he stilled his limbs.

Hot.

It was too hot, and his jacket he had slipped back on earlier felt incredibly restricting then, but he refused to take off the expensive coat. Where was he going to put it?

So instead, he begins pushing and shoving his way out of the mass of people, desperate for an exit. He looked back at the stage, but the pointy-eared giant was nowhere to be seen. Which only spurred on his drunken panic, because Jaemin needed air, and he needed it now.

Soon, his vision began to blur, and he genuinely thought he was going to pass out from a combination of exhaustion, asphyxiation and intoxication. It wasn’t until he felt a strong hand on his forearm, that things began to clear up. He didn’t know who the stranger dragging him through the club and out the backdoors was, but the first thing he uttered when he had the Jence was:

“You’re a lifesaver.”

The night air was still, and the muffled sounds of distant traffic numbed his active mind. The air was biting, especially now that his skin was covered in a thin veil of sweat.

“Deja vu.”

Raising his bent head then, Jaemin makes eye contact with the eccentric musician once more. His expression was neutral, but concern lingered beneath his dark eyes.

“Huh?”

“Nothing,” he mumbles, shaking his head. “Are you okay? You look really pale.”

“Why thank you, I use sunscreen religiously,” he slurs in response.

“Seriously, are you okay?”

“That’s subjective,” he laughs then, and he isn’t even sure if what he was saying made sense anymore.

“How much have you had to drink?”

“Like, yknow. A couple.”

“A couple….what?”

“A couple.”

Sighing, the man notices the slight tremble to Jaemin’s frailer figure, and shrugs off his oversized jacket to place around his shoulders.

“I leave you for 30 minutes and you managed to go and get yourself hammered?”

Jaemin’s mind was running in overdrive, the sudden warmth and flood of an amazing-smelling cologne has his head spinning.

“Sit,” Loey urges, and helps him seat himself. “I can go grab you a water.”

“No,” he mumbles, and reaches out to sit the taller man. “Sit and talk to me, you have a lot of explaining to do, mister.”

The man retracts back from the door, and sighs, plopping down beside Jaemin while readjusting the coat on his shoulders.

“Yes? What seems to be the problem?”

Jaemin clears his throat matter-of-factly, and points a finger nowhere near his direction.

“You said you were a musician.”

“I am.”

“That,” he slurs. “Is not music.”

Instead of the reaction Jaemin expected, which was blatant anger, he got a soft scoff and a knowing smile.

“What’s music to you? What defines ‘real’ music?” he breathes, inching forward until his face was mere inches from Jaemin’s.

Mind blanking a moment from their proximity, he gulps, and resist the urge to stare at the man’s pouty lips.

“The title of a musician is earned. Music is about endurance, and dedication.”

“And who says I’m not dedicated to what I do?”

“You!” he hiccups, unable to produce a coherent thought. “You tricked me, I thought I’d finally found someone who appreciates the beauty of making real music.”

Jaemin feels a pair of big, calloused hands on either side of his head, and he’s suddenly yanked forward. He can feel the tip of Loey’s nose touch his, now.

“Listen to me, and listen very carefully, sweetheart. Music is universal. It’s freedom, and it’s expressive. If all we did was follow the same exact guidelines for music another person set up, we’d never have variety. You can’t confine what you think defines ‘real’ music to one single genre, and you’re an ignorant fool if you do.”

Well, if this man was good at anything, it was effectively shutting up Na Jaemin.

A feat quite uncommon for most.

So, when the tall man is met with another bought of silence, he continues.

“I get it, okay? You’ve grown up on numbers, measures, your heart ticking in time to a perfectly paced metronome. You can read miles and miles of sheet music, and follow the details exactly like a judge could want and more. You’re a phenomenon. But you know what else you are?” he exhales, and Jaemin doesn’t think he’s even breathing anymore.

“You’re a slave to your own music.”

And just like that, Jaemin was alone once more.

Sitting outside the backdoor of a random night club, in a situation he never could have dreamt up on his own.

When Loey returns again, it’s to help silently usher him to the front of the establishment, where a bright orange taxi cab was to greet him.

“Get home safely,” he whispers, before shutting the cab door, and leaving him in the dark to fend off his screaming thoughts on his own.

It wasn’t until he reached his apartment that he noticed he still had the asshole’s jacket slung over his shoulders.





“Pinch me. I must be dreaming right now.”

Donghyuck had dropped his piece of toast back into the plate when he notices Jaemin pad into the kitchen groggily the next morning, hands stretched above his head out in exaggeration.

His roommate had a habit of overreacting to every single thing that ever possibly happened, which he thinks is the funniest thing on the face of the planet.

Jaemin thinks it makes him look like a fucking idiot.

“You look like a fucking idiot,” he croaks, shoving past him to head for the fridge in search of his favorite coffee creamer.

“I knew the apartment was too quiet last night. I didn’t even hear you get up to grab your 3 AM snack, and lo and behold. Here you are, hungover as fuck.”

“’Dae, please,” he begs softly, headache on the verge of blossoming into a migraine from how loudly his roommate was jeering.

“Where the hell did you go?”

Seemed begging wasn’t going to effectively shut up the man anytime soon.

“Just,” Jaemin sighs, digging around their cupboards for a clean mug. Which were scarce, considering how high the pile of dishes in their sink was getting. “Out.”

“Out where?”

“Out, Donghyuck.”

“To a bar?”

“No.”

“A gay bar?”

“No.”

The silence, once again, was short lived.

“Did you go to a party?”

“I went to a nightclub, Donghyuck, for fucks sake! Are you happy now?!” he shrieks, turning on the man, flailing his arms in a fit.

Donghyuck pauses a moment, and Jaemin think’s he may have succeeded in getting him off his back. But, of course, life liked to give him a constant reminder on how much of a joke his existence was.

“You went to a club?!”

His roommate was in hysterics now, clinging to his arms and jumping to and fro in a fit of bellowing laughs, which more or less resembled the mating call of a hyena.

“Oh my god,” he pauses when he notices Jaemin’s miserable scowl. “You’re not joking, are you?”

“No,” he hisses, and rips his arms out of the man’s grip.

“What the hell were you doing in a nightclub, Jaemin?”

“Why the fuck does everyone always act like I’m too handicapped to go out on my fucking own! I’m an adult!”

“You called me last week from the grocery store restroom because you were having a panic attack after accidently dropping a glass container of pasta sauce on the floor.”

Jaemin gives up then, and rips the fridge door open to shove his creamer back inside, and storms out into the living room, Donghyuck hot on his tail.

“Jaem! Jaemin, okay, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Just,” he reaches out, and turns the sulking man around. “Tell me what happened, I won’t laugh anymore.”

Another minute of eye-daggers and puffs of angry breath, Jaemin complies.

“Fine. I…yeah. On my way home from dinner yesterday I spotted a flyer for some…underground hip-hop music thing, or whatever.”

Silence.

“And I dunno, you were busy, and I tried calling Sehun, but he’s a fucking prick, as usual. I didn’t have anything else to do, and I-I figured it was better than being alone on a Friday night with a tub of fucking vanilla ice cream and my bitter loneliness-“

“I’m sorry, let me stop you right there,” Jondgae cuts him off with a wave of his hand. “Did you say underground hip-hop?”

“…Yes?”

“You went to a hip-hop music festival. You?”

“Is this supposed to be making me feel better?” Jaemin glares.

“I just….I’m sorry can you please pinch me? I still think I’m dreaming.”

He makes an attempt to turn back around, and storm back to his room, but his roommate’s death grip on his shoulders kept him grounded in place.

“Did…did you like, enjoy it?” he cocks his head to the side, genuinely concerned. “It’s just really unexpected for you to go to something like that. Considering you think everything other than classical music belongs in the trash.”

Donghyuck’s words bring back the unwanted memories of last night, and he pictures the man, “Loey’s” deep, black eyes piercing into his own. His determined tone and biting words replaying in his head, as if on a never-ending loop.

“You’re a slave to your music.”

He was too fucked up last night to realize how angry these words made him, but now that he has a Jence to process them, and all those things said to him last night with a sober mind, he was pretty damned pissed off.

“No. I didn’t enjoy it one fucking bit. Which is why I drank myself into a coma, so I could drown out the ugly, horrifying, sorry excuse for music I had to endure the entire night!”

With that, he thrashes out of Donghyuck’s grip, and storms back into his room, slamming the door and immediately regretting his choices when he does, migraine doubling in intensity.

He flops back into his unmade bed with a long sigh, and wills himself back to sleep. He clearly needed it.



When Jaemin wakes up next, it was dark out.

He doesn’t remember exactly when he had passed out, but he knows it was early enough in the day to give him an inkling of how long he’d been out

Which was awhile.

Padding out into the kitchen once more, he finds a sticky note on the fridge from Donghyuck, telling him that he had stepped out to grab dinner and drink with Minhyung, his boyfriend. Also, that he left Jaemin something in the fridge.

Opening it cautiously, a small smile springs upon his tired features. In the fridge was Jaemin’s favorite comfort food, a large chocolate milkshake and a 17-piece nugget combo from McDonald’s.

So, for the next couple hours, he spends them nursing his tired and hungry body by proceeding to stuff his face and binge a new drama he decided to start on a whim. It was another cheesy high school drama with a predictable plot and overused characterization, but the lead male actor was hot. And that was reason enough, for Na Jaemin.

Four episodes in, however, his attention begins to drift. His eyes catch the giant lump of the man’s jacket lying on his bedroom floor, and narrow at just the mere sight of it. Remembering anything about the bastard from last night sent his temper flaring, and he couldn’t stand the sight of the ugly article of clothing any longer.

“I should burn you,” he hisses at the coat as he picks it up cautiously, holding it away from his body as if it were covered in lice.

Jaemin wracks his brain with ideas of how he could possibly do with the garment, doing his best to keep shredding, burning, trashing or burying out of the list.

In the end, all he could manage to think of was to return to the nightclub, and attempt to find the man to give it back.

Not that he wanted to return, by any means.

He just, needed to give back the jacket. While the so-called “Loey” was a complete, and utter prick, he did buy him a cab home last night. And he was sure he’d want back this too big to be functional jacket with a weird giant pentagram on the back, followed by some words in written in English that he couldn’t decipher.

And this was all the reassurance Jaemin needed, because he abandoned his drama in replace of searching hastily through his closet for something to wear. A part of him, the part that fell due to his pride, knew something about that night, about the mysterious musician, was calling him back. The night ended too soon, and he was too drunk to ask the man everything he wanted to know.

But for now, he was going to go with returning the jacket as his reason.

After nearly 15 minutes of turning his entire closet upside down in search of something to wear, Jaemin sneaks across the hall into Donghyuck’s room and pokes his head inside his roommate’s closet.

He needed something to wear that wouldn’t make him stand out against the youthful-looking crowd that gathered in that particular nightclub. Then again, he was easier to find when he stuck out like a sore thumb.

In the end, however, he had found a stylish black leather jacket in Donghyuck’s closet, and threw it hastily over his white tee and jeans. It was getting late, and Jaemin didn’t want to risk missing the man if he was there.

If he even was at the nightclub, anyways. If that wasn’t the case, he would just leave the coat with a staff member and inform them to return it. Or not. Jaemin didn’t care. Just so long as he wouldn’t have to harbor it in his possession any longer.

Without any further debate, he exited his apartment promptly, before he had a Jence to talk himself out of going. And with that, Jaemin had yesterday’s address plugged into his GPS, driving out to the streets of Seoul with an anxious knot in the pit of his stomach.



The line wasn’t as long tonight, but granted, there was still a line. Jaemin felt a little better now, somewhat blending in with the crowd this time around. A girl behind him had tapped his shoulder earlier, and complimented him on his jacket with a warm smile. It was a confidence boost he didn’t really know he needed, but it was appreciated nonetheless. Her next words, though, sent a twitch of irritation down his spine.

“You could use some eyeliner, though. It would suit you.”

What the fuck was up with these people telling him to wear makeup? Was he that unattractive?

The bouncer from last night recognizes him immediately as he steps up, and nods for him to pass through, an apologetic smile on his face. A rush of happiness swells in Jaemin’s chest, and he nods back in response, rushing inside the club to welcome the familiar booming bass and humid atmosphere. He could lie, and say his heart didn’t begin pounding wildly when he sweeps the surroundings, but the adrenaline rush was giving him a slight high at the moment.

Jaemin couldn’t place a finger on what, exactly, he found so enticing about this place. Yesterday, all eyes that fell upon him were filled with curiosity and bewilderment. Today, though, eyes that raked over his figure lingered. You could say he was more than flustered when a handsome stranger approaches him, and asks lowly in his ear for a dance.

One arm carrying the enormous coat, which was slowly becoming a huge pain in the ass to lug around, Jaemin stammers.

“Uh, I-I dunno.”

“C’mon,” he chuckles, and places a warm hand on his hip. “You’re too pretty to be standing here by the bar.”

Jaemin looks between the jacket in his hands, and the inviting smile of the stranger a few times.

“I’m supposed to return this to someone,” he gestures to the article of clothing in his hands, and the man grabs it gently from him to place on a bar stool before grabbing his hands and leading him to the dancefloor.

Pushing back against a handsome stranger to the deep, grimy beat of music he’s never heard of before wasn’t what he planned to do tonight, but it was where he found himself at the moment. His hips moved as if on their own accord, guided in time with the man’s strong grip and précised movements.

Jaemin, in all honesty, had never danced on another person before. And he never thought he would. But this new, sensual sensation pooling in his gut was building in intensity, and he craved more. As the song switches over, and the tempo speeds up, he reaches back, and grips the belt loops of the man’s pants, grinding back with increased vigor, sending a tumbled “Jesus Christ,” from his parted lips.

Smug, and incredibly out of breath, Jaemin continues on for the rest of the song, only slowing his movements when his cloudy thoughts clear, and he catches sight of the coat, hanging off the back of a bar seat, close to falling off. A woman had walked up, noticed the jacket, and looked around the bar in question.

Suddenly, Jaemin snapped out of it. In fear of the woman grabbing the coat, he releases his grip on the man, and pulls away, shaking off the hand that reaches out to stop him in the process.

He needed to make sure he gave the jacket back. Whether or not the stupid musician boy was here or not, he had to make sure it got passed off safely.

Jaemin stumbles up out of breath to the bar, and stops in front of the woman, who backs up a step, surprised.

“Uh…” she starts, but he cuts her off.

“That’s…my…jacket,” he pants, and the woman gives him a strange look, before turning around and leaving him where he was bent over the bar, trying to catch his breath.

What on earth had gotten into him?

Did he actually just go dance to this kind of music, on a random stranger?

He hated to admit it, but Jaemin was actually enjoying it.

Much more than he was willing to admit. It was….so different. Exhilarating. As if all his careless worries and constricting thoughts dissipated in the air. Is this why so many young people came out to these clubs?

Seating himself, Jaemin grabs the jacket as he does so. It was only then, that he finally notices the difference in weight from one side to the other of the coat, and he digs into the left pocket to come away with a rather worn out looking wallet.

Oh.

It was “Loey’s” wallet.

Blinking down at the brown, leather material, Jaemin takes a moment to process this information.

Did that idiot really leave a complete stranger with his coat, that contained his own wallet?

Was he out of his mind? He doesn’t know Jaemin. He doesn’t even know his name. How could he have tracked him down to get this back?

It had been almost 10 minutes, and the curiosity of what lay inside the wallet was eating him alive. I mean, he had to check. What if there was something really important in there?

Upon first glance inside, he concluded that, yes, indeed there was.

Staring right back at him, was the small, blurry picture of the infamous man himself, plastered on a brand-new driver’s license. And that wasn’t all. Because when Jaemin searched the card for the name Loey, he was a bit surprised when all he managed to find instead was Lee Jeno.

Lee Jeno.

Loey.

Lee Jeno?

Loey?

“Come here often?”

The sudden rumble of a voice behind him causes Jaemin to jump in his seat, nearly dropping the wallet as he did. He didn’t even have to turn around to know exactly who it was standing right behind him. The cocky tone of his voice gave it away almost immediately.

Jaemin closes the wallet and stuffs it back into the pocket before he turns in his seat, sporting a suspicious look on his face.

“No, as a matter of fact, I don’t.”

Today, his “stranger” had ditched the comma hair, going for a more sophisticated look, thin black locks slicked back neatly against his head. And much to Jaemin’s surprise, instead of a pair of skinnies and a baggy t-shirt, the man had on a tight-fitted black button-down, and a pair of grey slacks.

He looked like a goddamned CEO of some multi-million-dollar company. And Jaemin was nearly drooling, to be quite honest.

Despite his devastatingly good looks, though, it was still the same smug bastard he had the pleasure of meeting yesterday, and he’d be damned if he forgot all about it because of his Jenge in style for the night.

“That’s a shame,” he smiles charmingly then, and Jaemin’s heart skips a beat involuntarily.

When he couldn’t manage to come up with a response in time, the man moves to seat himself beside him.

“You’re an idiot.”

His smile never falters, and it only further ticks off the brunette.

“Yeah?” he hums. “I’ve heard that a lot. Care to tell me why, though?”

The wallet makes a reappearance, then. Jaemin slaps it down against the table, eyes pointed sternly in his direction.

“Who the fuck leaves their wallet with some random, drunk stranger he probably wouldn’t have ever seen again?”

The man, Lee Jeno, shrugs.

“I wasn’t going to let you freeze to death.”

“Don’t be overdramatic, I was fine. You didn’t even get my name, and you still let me leave with your wallet and jacket in tow. You sure you were as sober as you led on that night, ‘Loey?’”

Laughing, Jeno shakes his head.

“Yes, I was completely sober. And no, I’m not an idiot. I knew exactly what I was doing.”

“And what, exactly, was it you were doing huh?” Jaemin presses, arms folded across his chest.

“It’s simple, really. I wanted to see you again, and I figured if you woke up the next morning and saw the jacket or wallet, you’d feel inclined enough to come back and return in,” he raises his eyebrows suggestively, and leans in a bit closer to Jaemin’s face. “And guess what?” he whispers.

When Jaemin fails to respond, the man continues.

“It worked.”

He didn’t realize he was blushing until he felt the heat begin spreading to his cheeks.

“Why go through all this trouble?”

“Because you’re not so fun to talk to drunk, in all honesty. You’re quite the snob. I wanted to give you another Jence to not come off as a total prick, considering I was thoroughly enjoying our conversation earlier that night.”

Jaemin’s initial reaction was to cringe. Yes, he could have handled how he went about speaking to the man last night, but he was drunk. Sue him for a little sloppy.

“We all have a side to ourselves that tends to creep out when we’re drunk,” he coughs, trying to hide his embarrassment.

“Yours seems like it creeps into your sober side too, though.”

Fingers ceased their moving, and eyes began to narrow.

You’re a slave to your music.

All his remorse was now entirely washed out for an insistent irritation.

“New flash, Mr. Musician, you’re not as fucking charming as you lead on,” he jabs a finger in the middle of the man’s chest with such force, that he actually flinches at the sudden contact. “You fucking come up to me, sweet-talk and act as if you’re some modern-day music fiasco, and then you judge me for what I do, all the while making fun of me for not thinking your kind of music is my cup of fucking tea.”

Jeno remained quite level-headed through all of Jaemin’s ranting, which only pissed him off further.

Fuck this handsome, cocky bastard, honestly. He’s come across too many Lee Jeno’s in life, and people like him were the sole reason he avoided places and people like this for a reason.

A hand comes up, and wraps around the wrist of the hand still digging painfully into his flesh, and Jaemin rips his hand from Jeno’s grip.

“Not your cup of tea, you say?” he smirks, and tips his head to the side. “I beg to differ, sweetheart.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, you see. Would someone who disliked ‘my’ kind of music be grinding along to it, quite passionately, in my opinion, against some random stranger, now?”

Immediately, heat rushes to his already singing cheeks. So, the man had seen him dancing earlier, and Jaemin doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to be buried 10 feet underground more in his life.

“You need to quit it with the stalking, for real. Also, t-that wasn’t a random stranger. It was…. someone I know.”

“Oh really?” Jeno’s smirk was only growing. “You know people here?”

“He’s a friend I know from campus. We were supposed to…. meet up.”

“I thought you were here to return my jacket?”

Jaemin’s throat starts to feel incredibly dry. He was caught, and he refused to admit it.

“Well I needed more than just this reason to come out of my way, I didn’t want to just drop this and leave.”

Nodding, Jeno pretends to act convinced.

“Right, right. Where is your friend, then? The one you left stranded on the dance floor.”

The two held eye contact for what seemed like forever. Jaemin’s always been stubborn, it’s a trait practically engraved into every strand of his DNA. But as time continued to pass, and the man’s smirk wasn’t fading anytime soon, he opted for the first decision that came to mind.

Which was to bolt from the frustrating situation.

So, chair scraping against the floor, Jaemin is up and out of his seat, turning to make his quick exit. He had no other business left here. He had returned the jacket. The itch to return to the nightclub had been scratched, and he was ready to go back home now.

His plan, of course, turns to shit as soon as he feels a pair of thick, coarse hands circle around his arm, rooting him in place before he can take off, and a deep, sultry voice against the shell of his ear.

“If you’re done dancing with him, then, come dance with me instead.”

His planned had gone to shit. Complete, utter, shit.

This is what Jaemin kept repeating in his mind as he let Jeno drag his dazed figure back over to the crowded dancefloor, opting to steer away from the large crowds to give them a little more intimacy.

What a gentleman.

Utter, complete, one-hundred percent shit.

Yeah, right.

Jaemin’s body gave in before his mind did.

Unlike the man from earlier, who was quite forward at first but ended up being quite pliant under the rocking of his hips, Jeno was aggressive in his movements. His hands had immediately found their way to Jaemin’s hips, hanging on as if for dear life. Like before, he couldn’t really hearthe music. The beat vibrated between the two, but quickly had become background noise to him. Rather than to listen, Jaemin opted to feel.

And boy, did he feel alright.

Jeno’s rhythm was persistent, pulling and pushing against him steadily, as if guiding his numb limbs to follow the beat of the music.

His roommate was right to be surprised at the fact Jaemin headed out to a club last night. Never in a thousand years did he think he would find himself in this situation, let alone return to this place in general.

If only Donghyuck could see him now.

Because the longer he continued pushing his ass up against this man’s pelvis, the more the state of his already muddled mind began to crumble. This was so incredibly sexy. Not just Jeno, who looked sinfully good with his fancy hair and pants, but the stable, rhythmic patterns of their movements, the suffocating air that had Jaemin gasping out for breath as his lungs screamed for oxygen to continue pumping his exhausted legs forward.

He didn’t even notice that the song had ended until Jeno had spun him around in his grip, bringing his face to connect with the inside of his neck a brief moment, and Jaemin would be lying if he said the initial whiff of the man’s cologne didn’t make his head swim with desire. As the next song came crashing through the speaker’s, the taller man’s head was dipping down to level with his, locking eyes that casted under the shadows of the wildly flashing lights.

Their faces were mere centimeters apart, and it took everything in Jaemin to keep himself from crashing their panting lips together in the spur of the moment. He was both grateful and disappointed at the same time when the man leans over, lips grazing his ear once more.

“You’re pretty good for a classical musician, sweetheart.”

Jaemin’s heart was thumping wildly in his chest, fingers clasping desperately at the material of Jeno’s shirt for purchase as he felt the gap between their bodies close again, pressing up completely against the man.

He had meant to reply with something witty, or at least a brief “you’re not so bad yourself” or something, but when he feels one of Jeno’s legs slide between his legs, and his hip is hoisted up against his upper thigh, all that ends up tumbling from his panted lips was a strangled whimper.

If he thought what they were doing before was raunchy, then he had no idea what to call their current situation. The music was slower this time around, but with a strong R&B feel, to which Jaemin was grinding his hips down to with excessive vigor. He couldn’t even deny it now, he was so incredibly turned on. His dick was straining slightly, and he knew Jeno could feel it against his leg. He was sure he didn’t mind though, considering the fact that his own throbbing member was not-so subtly pressed up against Jaemin’s own thigh as well.

Clouded thoughts ignored the warning sirens that told him to not give in to any temptation this man was throwing, because as soon as he hears Jeno’s soft grunt against his jaw and feels a pair of enormous hands reach over to grip desperately at his ass through his jeans, Jaemin was sold.

And it wasn’t his fault either. What was he supposed to do when a cocky, arrogant prick who was sexier than any man Jaemin’s hooked up with was getting all hot and heavy with him in an unfamiliar but tantalizing setting?

Jeno’s eyes find his again as Jaemin pulls back in his grip enough to scan over his entire sweaty face. He couldn’t help but glue his gaze to the plump, pouty lips before him.

And before he knew it, he was leaning in, capturing those same lips in a heated kiss. This took the man by shock a moment, but his bounce-back was instantaneous.

Mr. Lee Jeno wasted no time, Jaemin learned tonight. His tongue was already swiping against his bottom lip, gliding over his own, and tugging him impossibly closer. After a solid 5 minutes of feverishly making out, the two finally pull apart with a heavy smack, hooded eyelids and deprived lungs making them look absolutely wrecked. Jeno began to smirk once more.

But, before he had a Jence to open his big mouth, and ruin the moment, Jaemin latches onto his arm, and begins weaving them in and out of the crowd, eyes searching hurriedly.

When he finally spots what he was looking for, his pace increases. He thought he heard Jeno say something against the loud chatter and music, but Jaemin doesn’t pay it attention. Instead, he pushes against the bathroom door and pulls the man in.

“Wait-” Jeno starts, but Jaemin interrupts at once when he scans the bathroom surroundings.

“You,” he notices a teenager at one of the urinals. The only other living being present in the tiny restroom. “Get out.”

“What the fuck? Dude, I’m peeing,” the boy turns his head slightly, a scowl on his face.

“I said,” his eyes narrow, hand tightening around Jeno’s wrist. “Get. Out. Unless you want to see me with a mouthful of this guy’s cock, that is.”

The boys widen in shock, and his cheeks flush instantaneously in embarrassment. He fumbles with his belt as zipper, and turns around in haste, eyes casted downwards and he pushes past the two as fast as he could to stumble out the door.

Leaving Jeno and Jaemin alone, in the dark cramped space before them. Jaemin releases his wrist then, and before he could even blink, he was suddenly and aggressively pressed up against the bathroom door. A shocked gasp pushes out of his lungs, and he’s looking up to meet the almost predatory gaze of the man above him.

“What has gotten into you today, Mozart?” he breathes out, voice strained and gruff.

He could ask himself that question really, but Jaemin didn’t really have a solid answer. All he knew was that he was really horny, and this man before him was too fucking hot to be real. Pushing past his initial disdain for his attitude was easy when he felt his cock swell up painfully against his skinny jeans.

What was it that girls said? Men only thought with their dicks?

Jaemin feels Jeno’s plush lips on him again, but this time attaching to the skin of his neck, drawing out a soft mewl.

Yeah, that sounded about right.

“Hmm? One dance is all it takes to get you like this?”

“Clearly not,” Jaemin spits, voice sounding airy. “Did I do this with the other guy?”

“I’d hope not,” Jeno growls, and sucks particularly hard underneath the skin of his jaw.

Jaemin’s head was swimming, and he lunges forward with his hands to cradle Jeno’s neck in his hands.

“So, what was that you were saying earlier? Something about having a mouthful of my cock?”

All of Jaemin’s skin flushes then, and he bites his lips to stop the shy smile from bursting across his face.

“Hmm?” Jeno’s tone was teasing, and it did nothing to stop his arousal from growing.

“Well it was either I said that, or that brat got a show. Which would you have preferred?”

“I’d prefer if you stuck to your words, really.”

Pulling away, Jaemin locks eyes with the tall man once more, the hunger more prevalent in his dark orbs than before. And he nearly buckled at the sight, and went straight to his knees. But, Jaemin was no bitch. He knew how to put up a good fight before giving in.

“Is that what you’d like?” he grins smugly, leaning in to press a soft his to the corner of his jaw. When Jeno’s only response was a sharp intake of breath, Jaemin takes that as his queue. Kissing down the man’s neck slowly, he can’t help but shoot his eyebrows up cockily when he feels a familiar pair of hands on his hips again, fingers digging in painfully.

“Is it?” he whispers again, placing a softer kiss on the man’s Adams apple, which bobs heavily immediately after.

“So, you’re a tease, too? Doesn’t strike me as surprising.”

“Ahh, wrong answer buddy,” he hums, pressing up against him purposely, brushing his straining crotch against his, relishing in the instantaneous hiss he gets in reward.

And as much as Jaemin wanted to hold out, and torture the gorgeous man before him, he had needs too. Needs that compelled him to quickly, and swiftly fall to his knees.

Hands find purchase to his belt, and Jaemin pauses then. His eyes are looking up at the tall man before him, through his lashes, and Jeno’s dick pulses at the sight.

“Well don’t just sit there, sweetheart,” he coos.

Jaemin merely giggles in response. His fingers undo the belt hurriedly, and he tugs enough for the bulge he saw through the slacks to fall in front of him, straining against the black material of his briefs.

To be completely honest, he couldn’t remember the last time he had done something like this. Not that he hadn’t, though. Jaemin’s had his fair share of casual hookups and temporary flings. But, considering a majority of the people he interacted with were classical musicians, it meant a good portion were either virgins, or nowhere on the scale of attractiveness as Mr. Lee Jeno before him.

All he knew in that moment was that he really, really wanted to suck this guy off. Here, in a public fucking bathroom of a club he never dreamed of returning too.

Where was the Na Jaemin he knew?

That question was thrown to the wind as soon as he pulled the man’s thick, heavy cock from its binds, and had it snug between the palms of his hands. And from there, he wasted no time. The flat of his tongue was already tracing languidly underneath the shaft, and Jaemin relishes in the feel of Jeno’s fingers digging into his scalp, tugging roughly at the strands of his hair as he takes the head into his mouth.

“Jesus fuck,” Jeno’s breath stutters, eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head. “Do you even know how sexy you look like this?”

Jaemin hums around his cock in response, bobbing his head slowly, slow enough that when he pulled back far enough, he looked up again, and locked his gaze with Jeno’s once more for good measure.

From that point on, the restraint the taller male had been practicing up until then was let free. He used the grip on his hair to pull his mouth up and down his cock in a rapid pace, leaving a breathless Jaemin to choke and sputter around the thick cock as he felt it nudge the back of his throat over and over again. Spit dribbled freely down his chin, and he couldn’t help the lustful moans from ripping out of him. A couple people had attempted to enter the restroom, to which Jeno had slammed the door back against its hinge roughly to ensure nothing came in-between him, and the warm embrace of Jaemin’s wet mouth.

“Look at you,” he coos, stroking one thumb across the smaller boy’s cheeks to catch his drying tears. “Looking so wrecked from sucking my cock.”

Jaemin pulls off finally, with a lewd pop and a ragged gasp, lungs desperately searching for air. He had spit all around his mouth, down his chin, and hanging off his lips. His knees were beginning to hurt from being pressed against the dirty restroom floor, and his jaw was locking from having to stretch so wide to accommodate Jeno’s large girth.

But despite all of that, he still had never been more turned on in his entire life. His momentary daze was interrupted abruptly, when he felt a strong hand on his jaw, forcing his head back up. Jeno was staring down at him, his predatory expression sending another bought of chills down his spine.

“Open up, sweetheart,” he says softly, voice sounding awfully strained.

Complying so fucking earnestly had earned Jaemin a genuine smile, lighting up the giant’s features and making the smaller man want to combust right then and there.

It was almost inhuman, how handsome this guy was.

Jeno takes his stiff cock in his hand, pumping it a few times for good measure, before bringing it down, and slapping it once against Jaemin’s awaiting tongue.

The action was so fucking dirty, to him. It was humiliating and pitiful, but it made Jaemin’s cock throb so hard that he actually whimpered out loud. This reaction only pushed the smirking man forward, earning Jaemin a number more of harsh slaps to his tongue. Jeno took the liberty now to press the tip of his cock against the upper lip of his mouth, and Jaemin retreats his tongue quickly, catching the man’s drift. He pursues his lips, and nearly shoots his load when he feels Jeno rub circles of his saliva around his swollen lips, smearing his pre-come around and finishing the job with another hearty slap.

“So pretty,” Jeno moans then, and shoves the tip back inside Jaemin’s mouth without warning. “You’re so fucking gorgeous. Finish the job sweetheart, I want to see how your pretty little lips look covered in my cum.”

Jaemin’s response was instantaneous, hands flying up to grip the shaft’s base, and he goes to fucking town. Hands and mouth working furiously together, he takes as much of the man’s cock as he could handle, making up for what he couldn’t with sharp, twisting jerks of his hands.

It took a few minutes, but he knew he had him close to coming undone when he feels the fingers curl to fists in his locks, and his hips begin to stutter. And just as he’s waiting for a mouthful of Jeno’s come, Jaemin’s suddenly being pulled off in haste, looking up to catch the man’s face scrunched up in bliss, right before he feels the first load shoot across his mouth, coating his lips with the warm substance.

The noise that leaves Jeno’s lips, the low, gravelly groan that reverberates across the entire restroom, was the breaking point of this entire scandalous situation. It was all, at once, too much for him to handle any longer.

Jaemin, without any warning, felt his cock pulse in his jeans once, before he was quite literally coming in his pants.

The next 5 minutes passed incredibly and excruciatingly slow. Jaemin was entirely out of breath, panting as if he has just run a damned marathon, cheeks and mouth coated with Jeno’s come. His pants were soiled, and made him feel incredibly disgusted with himself.

But before the immediate regret and remorse could wash over him, he felt a hand catch his falling head, and suddenly, he was eye to eye with his handsome not-so-stranger.

“Hey,” he whispers softly, crouched so he could brush Jaemin’s sweaty bangs out of the way. “You okay?”

Jaemin felt his cheeks singe with red-hot embarrassment, and he attempts to tug his chin out of his man’s grasp.

“Oh, my god,” he mumbles, mortified. He had just come in his pants. Like some fucking pre-pubescent teenager.

God strike him where he stood.

Or…. knelt.

“Hey, hey,” Jeno urges again, both hands cupping his come-stained cheeks. “Look at me.”

Jaemin does. And he’s met with a pair of soft, warm eyes.

“I was right.”

“About what?” he mumbles, feeling some of the residue drip off his lips.

“Your lips look 10 times better covered in my come.”

“You’re a twat,” he grumbles in response, shocked when he feels a pair of lips around his own.

Jeno kisses him swiftly, and it was more a peck than anything really, but he pulls away smiling and it has Jaemin’s ever-present blush retuning.

“Now,” he laughs, and stands, bringing him up with him. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Wiping off his hands and face did nothing to hide his shame when he glances down at his crotch, legs stiff from the uncomfortable sensations he got whenever he moved.

“This is so fucking embarrassing,” he sighs, placing his hands against the bathroom sink.

“Is it?” Jeno hums.

“Yes, it is. And I’m never going to live this down for the rest of my life.”

“I think it’s cute,” he smiles, moving to grip his waist, but Jaemin pulls back hastily.

“Look, it’s only because I… I haven’t done anything with a-anyone in a while. And everything was just… too much. So, please pretend like this never h-“

“Happened?” he finishes for him. “Why? That was probably the best head I’ve gotten in a while.”

A small smile quips onto Jaemin’s face.

“And I think it’s fucking hot that you got off on sucking me off. Like, really hot.”

Jaemin laughs to himself, brushing off his embarrassment a moment to face the other man.

“That’s a relief.”

The two held comfortable smiles, and Jaemin was about to speak up when a man comes tumbling into the restroom, face contorted in anger. He pushes past the two and quickly locks himself into a stall.

Realization, then, dawns upon the two, and they both glance down at the noticeable stain in front of Jaemin’s baby-blue jeans.

“Uh,” he whispers, eyes wide and panicked. “What the fuck am I supposed to do now, though? I can’t walk out there like this!”

Jeno thinks a moment, and nods his head in affirmation.

“Let me take you home.”

“But my cars Leeed down a few blocks.”

“And my car is right in front of the club. Would you like to walk down a few blocks like that?”

Jaemin cringes, and exhales a deep sigh.

“Fine…. okay, whatever. Please take me home.”

And with that, Jeno takes a hold of his hand, and begins leading them out the restroom.

“Wait!”

“It’s too dark, and everyone’s too drunk to notice. Stick close to me.”

Jaemin was pressed up against Jeno’s leg, purposely shielding his crotch from view. It was a little hard to walk, but once they had exited the club, and the cool night air engulfed his senses, he began to relax a bit. They quickly made it over to Leeing, and Jaemin releases Jeno’s hand when they make it to his car.

“Hop in,” the man smiles, unlocking the car, and hopping inside. Jaemin quickly follows suit.

At first, the only thing that could be heard was the revving of the car’s engine, and the ticking turning signals for a solid couple of minutes. The atmosphere was slightly awkward, with Jaemin adjusting himself in his jeans and trying not to cringe at the soaked feeling of his briefs against him.

“Thank you,” he finally breaks the silence, then, voice barely audible over the radio.

“It’s no problem at all,” Jeno smiles then, sending him a small glance. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to return any favors. This is the least I can do.”

“That’s… not your fault. And I also wanted to say, uhm, that I was sorry. For…. er, yknow. Being all bitchy last night. If I was to be honest, frankly, I really enjoyed your performance. It was unlike anything I’d seen before.”

Jeno was silent a while, fingers rubbing over the smooth purchase of his steering wheel. He speaks up after letting out a soft chuckle.

“Thank you. In all honesty, all my hostility was probably because you were the only person I was aiming to impress that night. And I guess I felt a bit bummed when it seemed like you didn’t enjoy it.”

Jaemin’s blush returns, and he bites his lips to press back another shy smile.

“What about your fans? They were so excited to hear your single, why bother caring about what I thought?”

“I can’t really explain to you why,” he says softly, then. “Not now. But, I just really needed to see what you’d think.”

Confused, but mostly flattered, he lets his smile spring free.

“Well, don’t go tooting your own horn now. I liked one song. And it was that girls chorus I enjoyed most, really,” he teases.

“Oh, Tinashe? Yeah, her voice is fucking killer, I don’t blame you. But, I mean there would be no chorus if I didn’t, y’know, write it.”

Jaemin rolls his eyes, avoiding the other man’s cheeky smile.

“Whatever. Point is, you’re good, but not that good, okay?”

“Okay,” his voice is warm, and Jaemin’s heart does another pathetic thump against his chest.

Now that the terse atmosphere had disappeared, the two rode the rest of the ride in comfortable silence. Jeno hummed along to songs that Jaemin didn’t know, but he made up for it by tapping his foot softly against the car floor.

“I really hope you can learn to open up to music.”

Eyebrows furrowing, Jaemin sends him a questionable glance.

“What?”

“Classical music is great. It is, really. But it’s not the only type of music out there.”

“Well, yeah, of course not. But classical music is my whole life.”

“But, that doesn’t have to mean you have to ignore all the other kinds of music out there.”

“Okay, okay,” Jaemin sighs, rubbing his forehead. “I’ll… try to be more open to other genres. That doesn’t mean I’m going to immediately like everything I hear.”

Seemingly satisfied with his answer, Jeno nods, a small smile on his face.

“Sounds good to me. Just so as long as you give songs a fair Jence, is all I ask. Being a music snob is probably why you hadn’t ‘done anything like that’ in a while, sweetheart.”

Jaemin’s cheeks puff out and he rolls his eyes in annoyance.

“I’ll have you know that my musical preference has nothing to do with my sex life. And you’re a prime example, Mr. Musician. You were so eager to grind all up on a so called ‘music snob’ all on your own.”

Jeno snorts.

“Touché.”

Glancing outside the side window now, he notices the familiar surroundings. They were quickly approaching Jaemin’s house now.

“Oh, it’s that one right there,” he points to the tiny flat, a strange hollow feeling pooling in his gut as they reach their destination. Time had passed too quickly, and the nagging sensation of loneliness threatens to swallow him whole again.

He didn’t want to leave the car.

But as it halts in place, and the still silence creeps up between the two, he’s left with no other choice but to unbuckle is seatbelt and open the door.

“Thanks again for the ride,” he says, turning to look at the man. He nods swiftly in reply.

“Not a problem. Thanks for one hell of a night.”

“I still don’t know what to do about my car though,” Jaemin sighs.

“Hey,” Jeno shrugs. “Yet another reason for you to come back, right?”

“Who says I’m coming back? What if this is the last you see of me?”

Jeno’s silent a moment, before he laughs, and shakes his head.

“This won’t be the last I see of you. I can promise you that. Tell me what the car looks like, I can make sure it doesn’t get towed. By the way, I think it’s strange that we haven’t gotten around to introductions yet. My names Lee-“

“-Jeno,” Jaemin finishes for him with a smirk. “I know. And thanks, it’s a tiny red Honda, I Leeed it a few blocks down by a gas station.”

“Aha, took a peek inside my wallet now, did you? I had a gift card to an ice-cream shop in there, should I have reasons for suspicion if its disappeared?”

“Yeah, because out of everything in there, I stole the fucking ice cream gift card, Lee.”

The man merely shrugs.

“You never know.”

“I didn’t steal anything from you, you twat.”

“Except my soul, after sucking it out of my dick earl-“

“Okay, I think I should start to head back in now! My come is rapidly drying inside my pants. Thanks again for the ride!” he steps back now, hands on the door the slam it shut. “My names Jaemyun, by the way. Na Jaemin.”

He waves once more to announce his departure, and just as he was slamming the door closed, he heard Jeno utter softly,

“I know.”

And before he even had a Jence to do a double-take and turn back to face the man, his car had already pulled into reverse, and he was sending him a final smile, before turning and speeding off onto the main road.

Jaemin watches where the car once was a moment, in a daze. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? He doesn’t remember ever telling him his name. Did he do it while he was drunk, and just failed to recollect the memory?

Whatever.

All he could think about now was getting out of his clothes, and into a hot shower. The night he had just endured was far too exhausting to process with a tired mind.

As Jaemin began approaching the steps to his home, he notices a pair of eyes, and a bushel of hair staring right at him through a bedroom window.

Oh, great.

When he realizes that he’d been spotted, Donghyuck’s face quickly disappears from frame, and Jaemin knows the man in running down the stairs to greet him at the door.

His guess was clearly true, because before he even had a Jence to dig around in his pockets for his keys, the door is flung wide open, and Jaemin in being dragged inside by an aggressive hand.

Donghyuck’s verbal attack began at once.

“I fucking knew it!” he screeches. “Where the fuck have you been?! Who was that dropping you off a second ago? Where on earth have you been?! It’s almost 2 in the morning! Where even is your car? You’re wearing my fucking jacket too? Holy shit, who are you and what have you done with the Na Jaemin I know?”

Jaemin groans, trying to shake off his incessant roommate.

“Donghyuck please, not now!”

“What the fuck did you spill on your crotch, too? You look like you peed yourself a little. Wait, are you drunk? You don’t smell like alcohol.”

“Donghyuck.”

“I can’t believe you met a guy and you haven’t told me. What kind of roommate are you?”

“Look, can you shut the fuck up for a second?”

“I mean honestly, this is all I’ve been waiting for. The day you stopped locking yourself in your room and banging on that fucking piano, and started living life like a normal 17-year-old instead of some old fart. I can’t believe the days finally come. I’m so proud.”

“Donghyuck!”

“Listen, sit down and tell me ev-“

“I swear, Kim Donghyuck, if you don’t get out of my fucking way this instant, I’m stripping down and shoving my come-stained underwear down your fucking throat!”

This effectively shut the man up, and Jaemin seizes the opportunity to maneuver around Donghyuck, who’s eyebrows shot to his forehead comically. Before he runs up the steps, he hears a low, “Holy shit,” fall from his roomie’s gaping mouth.

Holy shit indeed.

After a much-needed shower, Jaemin was flopping into his inviting sheets, laptop screen still open and paused on his drama he abandoned hours before. He places the device on his bed stand, and shuts off his lights, signaling the end of his crazy, erratic night. Willing himself to hurry off to sleep to avoid the trillions of questions that threatened to keep him up awake endlessly, Jaemin finally begins to drift off.



“Jaemin? Your individual piece?”

Sitting in his 3 o’clock studio class, Jaemin’s head was completely elsewhere. And due his escapades this previous weekend, he had forgotten to write his individual 2-minute piece, incorporating progressive chords. His specialty.

“Uh, I don’t have it.”

His professor pauses, and the classroom immediately goes quiet. Jaemin has never, ever, failed to submit an assignment.

“Did I hear that right, Mr. Na? You haven’t completed the assignment?”

“Yes,” he sighs.

“That’s a shame. I’d expect more from one of the top students in the class, and for such an easy assignment,” his professor scolds him, eyes narrowed to slits.

It was an easy assignment, and she had every right to be scornful with him, but in all honesty, Jaemin couldn’t bring himself to care in the moment. It was one assignment. It wouldn’t kill him. Any normal day, and this would have led him to beat himself up about it for the rest of the week. But not today.

Oh no.

Not when he had long legs, and a dimpled smile cursing his thoughts day and night.

Jaemin couldn’t shake the thought of Lee Jeno from his mind. As if in the span of 48 hours, the man suddenly invaded his thoughts, camped out and refused to leave.

Donghyuck had driven them both to campus today, and Jaemin felt obligated to owe his friend an explanation for his erratic behavior the past couple of days. He had told him everything, withholding some of the, well, intimate details, but nonetheless, gave him the complete overview.

And, he took it surprisingly well. He didn’t get to see his friend’s serious side as often, and it was refreshing to sit and let out all the jumbled mess stirring inside of him. After class had let out, he hops inside his friend’s car. Donghyuck had promised to drive him by to pick up his vehicle, which was hopefully still Leeed where he had left it.

“What do I do?” he had asked later, staring numbly out the window.

“You can’t stop thinking about this guy. Maybe you should pursue him? It wouldn’t be a bad idea, honestly.”

“I don’t even know anything about him. Other than the fact that he’s an underground artist, and his name. Who says I’m ever going to find him again anyways?”

“Life is funny in that way. If you’re meant to run into him again, you will.”

“That sounds like a load of shit, and you know it, ‘Dae.”

“Fine, you want me to be a dick, and tell you to drop it? Tell you you’ll never see him again, and the 30 minutes on your knees in the bathroom is probably the last thing you’ll ever remember about this guy a couple months down the line?”

“Okay sheesh,” Jaemin pouts, kicking the dashboard with his feet. “You don’t have to be so snappy. I’ve just never… felt this way before. And it’s freaking me out.”

“What, obsessing over something that isn’t the piano for once?”

Jaemin purses his lips a moment.

“Yknow, yeah, probably. And it’s not obsessing. It’s genuine curiosity. I’m starting to take an interest in this weird, techno hip-hop stuff.”

“Now that’s a load of shit right there Jaemin. The only interest you’re taking is in ‘drop-dead gorgeous’ musician boy.”

“Fuck off,” Jaemin mumbles, sulking further into his seat. He refused to admit it. It was a new experience. And he had the right to explore new things.

“Alright, we’re here. Now where’s your car?”

Donghyuck’s voice pulls him from his thoughts as they turn down a busy street, and his eyes scan down the blocks worriedly. After a minute, the panic threatens to set in. He can’t find his red car anywhere, and he’s about to let out a vicious groan at the fact that his car was probably towed, when he notices it right by the gas station.

Exactly where he had left it.

His heart flutters when he remembers Jeno asking what his car looked like, to keep it from being impacted.

“There! By the gas station!”

Hopping out the passenger seat, Jaemin runs up the door in relief, but pauses immediately when he notices a piece of paper wedged between his windshield wipers.

“That a ticket?” Donghyuck asks, head sticking out of his window to peek over.

Grumbling, he approaches it.

“Probably,” he replies, and snatches the piece of paper out with sigh.

As he flips it over though, he quickly comes to terms that it is not, in any shape or form, a ticket. Rather, it was a note.

A note that read:

Dear Na Jaemin,

I took the liberty of buying out the meter this morning to make sure you didn’t get towed. No need to thank me, I am a saint after all. I checked my wallet, and lo and behold, my gift card is still there. Crisis averted, right? Thanks for not taking it, I know the temptation must have been great. But, turns out it expires pretty soon. So not to let it go to waste, why not join me for some free ice cream, if you’ve got the time? I can’t spend $17 worth of treats on my own.

-Loey

And written neatly at the bottom, was a phone number.

Standing utterly dumfounded, Jaemin can’t help but stay rooted in place.

“Well?” Donghyuck asks, waiting for his response. “How bad is it?”

He stayed staring at the back of Jaemin’s unmoving head, until the boy quite literally flings open his car door, and starts his engine as fast as humanly possible.



“Okay, speed fucking racer,” Donghyuck grumbles, storming into their house 15 minutes after Jaemin had arrived back home. “Want to explain why the fuck you took off like you were in Fast and Furious?”

“’Dae,” Jaemin inhales through his nose deeply, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m low-key freaking out right now.”

His roommate pulls of his sneakers, and walks over slowly to stand above him.

“Why is that?”

The piece of paper stuck to his car returns, as Jaemin fishes it out from underneath him, and Donghyuck picks it out of his hands cautiously. Scanning over the note quickly, his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he laughs, then ceasing his shaking when he gets to the end of the note. “Wait, hold the fuck up. Loey? As in the rapper,Loey? Singer-songwriter?”

Jaemin unglues his gaze from the ceiling to throw his roommate a puzzled glare.

“Uh, yeah?”

“Jaem, what the fuck?!”

“What?!” he sits up quickly then, heart beating wildly in his chest.

What? What was wrong with him? Was he an ex-convict? A murderer? Did heavy drugs?

“Jaemin, his most recent single is blowing the fuck up, right now. I can’t turn on any radio station without hearing it. I followed some of his stuff before his most recent shit, but Jesus, this guy is fucking talented.”

A hand comes out to smack at Donghyuck’s thigh, and Jaemin rolls his eyes in annoyance.

“That’s what you’re shouting about? You had me sitting here thinking I gave a fucking drug dealer a blowjob.”

“I still can’t believe this is real, Jaemin, you actually met Loey?”

“Yeah, and that’s not his real name.”

“Well duh, it’s an alias. Some people do that to hide their real identities. Why, do you know his real name?”

“Yeah its Lee C-“ he cuts himself off then, and swings his legs over the couch.

“Lee?”

“I probably shouldn’t… say anything.”

“Oh, c’mon Jaem! I’m your best friend!”

“That’s questionable,” Jaemin stands, grabbing the note out of his roommate’s hands as he begins to walk off.

“Bitch, I’m like one of your only friends!” he whines, tailing Jaemin like a lost puppy. “Just tell me his name, I promise I’ll keep my mouth shut!”

“That’s just not plausible, ‘Dae, and you know it.”

“Fine,” he gives up then, seating himself on the kitchen table. “So, you going to get ice cream with this guy or not?”

Jaemin turns away from the fridge to stare at him then, eyes wide in panic.

“That’s the thing, I don’t know! Should I?” he gnaws on his lips.

“Uh, I don’t see why the fuck not? It’s free ice cream, and a date with a fucking celebrity.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to call him a celebrity.”

“Is he hot?”

Yes.

“He’s okay.”

“Is he nice?”

Mostly.

“I guess.”

Donghyuck sighs.

“Does he have a big dick?”

“Huge,” Jaemin’s response was immediate then.

His roommate nods in approval then.

“Then, well, there you go. You’ve got nothing to lose.”

Jaemin nods alongside him, deep in thought.

“So, what, I just call him?”

“Yeah, that’s why he left his number, dumbass.”

Throwing his towel at the man, Jaemin storms out the kitchen and runs excitedly up his stairs, butterflies fluttering endlessly in his stomach.

Once the door to his bedroom was shut, he sat on his mattress, the number written on the note dialed and ready to go. Except, well, he wasn’t. His finger hovered over the bright green call button, and his breath was being unintentionally held.

The butterflies had evolved to a swirling tornado, making him feel nearly queasy in his anxiety.

C’mon, he urges himself. Just do it. Just press the button.

After another few minutes of consoling himself, he finally was about to press his finger down, when his phone springs to life with a call, and startles the poor boy.

After collecting himself from the initial shock, he peers at the unknown number, and answers hesitantly.

“H-hello?”

“Na Jaemin?”

The voice was unfamiliar. The man on the other line sounded old.

“Yes? May I ask who’s calling?”

“This is Yoon Whon-shik, from the International Franz Liszt Competition.”

Jaemin’s blood runs cold then, and he swears his heart stops beating a moment.

“Y-yes? Oh, hello, uh how may I help you?”

“It’s actually you that could help me, Mr. Na. I’m calling casting for our competition this year held in Seoul, and you are being formally invited to audition for this Fall’s competition.”

Pausing, he gulps slowly.

“Oh. That’s wonderful Mr. Yoon, thank you. But I…. I haven’t done any competitions in a while, I don’t know if I’ll be ready in time for-“

“Nonsense. It’s never too late to jump back into competitions my boy! You will be receiving a letter in the mail with audition information, and the pieces you can prepare. We have contacted your University to give you time off class material in preparation as well.”

“I-uh, oh. O-okay, thank you.”

“We’ll be in touch soon, then. I am highly anticipating your audition, Mr. Na. We’ve heard a lot about you, and we know you have remarkable potential.”

Nodding softly, he says his goodbyes, and hangs up with a loud, tired sigh.

The Liszt Competition was arguably one of the most prestigious, competitive and most-recognized competitions in Korea. It was international, and those who qualified from a handful of countries gathered to determine the sole winner of the year.

It’s all Jaemin’s father used to drone on and on and on about. Just thinking about another concert hall competition sent a bought of chills down his spine.

His father’s cold gaze and sharp voice invades his mind, and his stomach churns in worry. There’s no way he hadn’t been informed about his invitation. His father was the one who used to reach out until the ends of the Earth to find him competitions to plow through and dominate. To add yet another medal to his never-ending wall of victories.

It was unhealthy. And just the thought of seeing his dad once more, seated in the audience, watching him with those hawk like eyes and the expressionless veil casted on his face made his skin crawl.

Glancing down at his phone again, he notices the number still typed out, waiting to dialed.

Fuck it.

Jaemin needed something to drag his mind elsewhere from piano at the moment.

The dial rings three times, and by the fourth ring, he was about to hang-up. His heart was beating too loudly, and he was scared he’d pass out if the man actually did pickup.

But before he could even consider it, the line picked up. And he immediately regrets not hanging up after.

“Hello?” Jeno’s voice was rough, and strained, sounding incredibly winded.

“Uhm… Jeno?” he squeaks, innately curious as to what on earth he could have been interrupting at the moment.

The line is quiet a moment, before the man speaks up again, breath still ragged and panting.

“Oh! Jaemin?”

His heart jolts at the sound of his name.

“Yes, uhm, yeah. Hi.”

“Hey,” his tone is warm now, and Jaemin nearly melts at the sound.

“Am I…. interrupting anything? You sound, uh, busy.”

“Oh,” he breathes again, and the line is interrupted by a whoosh of air, before he’s back. “I’m at the gym. Sorry, I probably sound weird.”

The gym.

Jaemin seriously needed to get his mind out of the gutter.

“Oh right, I’m sorry. I should let you get back to it.”

“No! No, it’s fine I was just finishing up anyways.”

There’s a pause, and he rushes to fill it.

“Thank you, for filling the meter for me, by the way. That was really nice.”

“Like stated previously, no need to thank me, Na. Make it up to me with that ice cream date instead.”

Lee Jeno didn’t even have to be in the room to make him fluster, honestly.

“With who? With Loey? Or Lee Jeno?” he breathes, tone teasing.

“Whoever you’d prefer, sweetheart.”

“I’ve heard you’re crawling up the charts, Mr. Loey. I didn’t realize I fraternized with such a superstar.”

“I’m just as surprised as you, to be quite honest. Listen, I’d love to sit and talk your head off, but I really have to run. I can pick you up this Friday at your place, around 6 for our date?”

“Is it a date? Or me just doing you a favor?” he hums.

“It’s me smoothly buying more time with you, you sarcastic bum. Now, do we have a date, or do we not?”

Jaemin smiles into the receiver, picking at his bottom lip aimlessly.

“We do.”

“Perfect,” Jaemin could almost feel Jeno’s grin through the line. “I’ll see you at 6, sweetheart.”



~





Jaemin’s lithe fingers danced along the piano with grace, playing out Mozart’s “Turkish March” with ease. He had memorized this particular piece when he was 10-years-old. Meanwhile, a good portion of his classmates still struggled to match the tempo today.

“How do you do it, Na?”

Jaemin turns his head as he continues to play, locking eyes with one of the top students in class, Do Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo was second in class, right behind him. He played remarkably, and Jaemin gave him credit for his talent. But he was too cautious in his playing, and his lack of confidence is where he faltered.

“I’ve been playing for over 18 years; do you really think I wouldn’t be able to play ‘Turkish March?’”

“Not that. Just… how do you manage to hit every song piece exactly like the sheet music asks for?”

Pausing his fingers, Jaemin turns around on his stool to face the man, who was leaning against the classroom walls. They were the only two in the class, considering that it wouldn’t start for the next 30 minutes.

“I dunno. I just see what has to be done, and I do it.”

“That’s bullshit. Anyone can read a piece of sheet music. You play along like your fucking life depends on it, like if you make one mistake, and you’re going to get a swift smack at the back of your head.”

Kyungsoo’s words make the latter flinch, and Jaemin’s muscles tense up reflexively.

Memories of practicing alongside his father loom over him then, and he bites his lips to push back the unwanted thoughts.

“I’m just better than you, Kyungsoo. That’s the only way I can put it.”

“Sure, you are. But you’re honestly terrifying. You’re like a robot. You play the music so emotionlessly.”

Flustered, he glares at the man in confusion.

“What the hell are you on about?”

“I’m just saying,” the expressionless man continues, seating himself in a chair now. “Every single person has their own original flare to their music. Whether its intentional or not. And I know in competitions you’re supposed to play by the book, which is what makes you so successful, but it’s only human to have each performance differentiate from person to person. Sooyang plays a little too hard, she pounds on the keys. Taecyeon speeds up melodies for effect sometimes, and Lisa is known for adding extra chords to accentuate the pieces. It’s not enough to throw off scores, but it’s enough to add originality. And judges are accustomed to that, because it’s a part of human nature. No one can expect an exact, machine copied performance. That is, though, until you came along.”

Fingers folded in his lap, Jaemin can’t find any words to respond with.

Was he that robotic when it came to playing? He’s just followed what he’d been taught all his life. This was how he played. This was how he won.

“I heard you got invited to this year’s Liszt Competition.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“I was invited as well.”

“Congrats,” Jaemin rolls his eyes, turning back to his piano, wishing to drown out the boy’s monotone voice.

“I plan on winning, Jaemin. I won’t lose to you anymore.”

Waving his hand sarcastically above him, he drowns out the conversation by slamming his fingers back on the piano once more, ignoring the raging anger pooling in the pit of his stomach.

Robotic?

Kyungsoo always did better in original compositions. His written pieces scored much higher than Jaemin’s ever did, but if it was one thing Jaemin was better at, it was technical pieces.

And if this boy thought he could beat him in a technical challenge?

He clearly had lost his damned mind.



It turned out, the auditions were in a month.

Which, in Jaemin’s opinion, was completely insane. A month wasn’t nearly enough time to prepare for such a competition of its severity. But apparently, according to all those around him, it was more than enough.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he exhales into his phone, eyes shut in worry.

“You’ll do great, Jaem. You’ve never lost a competition, what makes you think you’d lose this one?”

“Maybe because I haven’t competed in years, Renjun!” he whines, listening to his best friend chuckle over the line.

Renjun had moved out of their small town as well, quite far actually. His parents moved back to China, and he followed suit.

“The market and demand for musicians is so much higher in China, Jaem!” he had told the sobbing boy before he departed. “I’m still here for you. No matter what!”

Yeah, what a joke. Without his best friend, Jaemin was more or less on his own in Seoul. He’d met some people, sure, but no one knew him as well as Renjun. No one was aware of his past.

“Speaking of which, are you going to be okay competing again? I thought you were done once you started university?”

“I thought so too,” he sighs. “I quit doing local competitions when I got my acceptance into the Preforming Arts program here. But it’s an expedited 2-year program, and I’m already on my last year. Which leaves me at a standstill because I still don’t… know what to do from here. I can’t think of any jobs, really.”

“Isn’t this why your dad was so hard on you about competitions? He wanted you to make the top so you’d be able to play as a solo performer or as a part of an orchestra.”

“Yeah, but when did I say I wanted to become some professional pianist? I just… wanted to play the piano. And after my mom passed away my dad adopted this unhealthy obsession with making me a fucking prodigy.”

“What do you want to do, Jaem?”

Jaemin pauses, opening the door to his home quietly.

“I wish I had an answer to that, Renjun. I really wish I did.”

“Not to statethe obvious but, I think you’d better find out, and soon.”

“Yes, yes, my doting wife. Thank you. Don’t you have some Chinese hymns to be writing or something?”

“Bye Jaem, love you. Call me if you need anything, bro.”

“Bye Renjun.”

The week had ticked on agonizingly slow. And all that was clouding his mind was the impending due date of the dreaded audition. The music selections were all Chopin, with about 5 songs to choose from. Immediately, he had opted for either Etude in C Sharp Minor, Op. 10 or Etude in E Minor, Op. 25. Both selections were rather difficult, but they weren’t pieces he wasn’t familiar with. His professors had given him the entire month off to prepare.

Well, him and Kyungsoo, that is.

Both boys spent normal class periods in the private auditoriums, taking turns using the piano to practices their selections. Kyungsoo had already chosen to play Chopin’s Etude in A Minor, Op. 25 as his performance piece. And Jaemin would be damned if he said it didn’t already sound superb.

“You’ve played both C sharp and E minor all week, Na. You gonna hurry up and pick one? There’s not enough time for your meJenical mind to perfect both.”

“Y’know, it’s bad enough I need to spend any more time with you, Kyungsoo, but could you make this just a tad bit bearable by shutting your fucking mouth?”

“Fine,” he snorts in response, scribbling down on his sheet music. “Suit yourself.”

Friday, he returned back late from the studio, recording and recording his pieces to the point of exhaustion. He still hadn’t made a decision of which to perform, and after this week, the clock was now ticking till the final date. He had to perfect the piece, and if he didn’t, he wouldn’t ever hear the end of it from his father.

His father, who had called him yesterday, right as he was getting ready for class.

“You realize the weight of this performance, right?”

Jaemin had held his breath, heart racing profusely in his chest. He hadn’t spoken to his father over the phone in nearly 3 years. When the screen had lit up with his caller ID displayed, he nearly doubled over in fear.

“Y-yes, father.”

“There is absolutely no room for error. I know you haven’t been competing since you left, but you best utilize every and any time for this audition.”

“Yes, father.”

“I will be coming out to Seoul for your audition, Jaemin. Don’t ruin this for yourself, it may be the only opportunity you get out of this god-forsaken piano bullshit.”

Flinching, he had listened to the line go dead, and hung up with a shaky sigh.

His father was going to be there for his audition. Jaemin doesn’t think he’d ever felt more terrified for anything in his entire life.

“Jaem.”

Donghyuck’s voice cuts through his mini anxiety attack, and he pulls his head out of his hands to peek up at the smiling man. When he notices his current state though, his smile immediately drops.

“Jaemin!” he shrieks, eyes drawn wide in horror.

“What, what?” he gasps back, scooting up on the bed quickly, scared there might have been something on the floor by his feet.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” he comes racing into the room, hands flying above his head. “This whole time I thought you were here, getting ready!”

“Ready?” he narrows his eyes, hands releasing their death grip on his comforter. “For what?”

Donghyuck’s face goes still, and he throws him a look that screams, really?

“For, oh, I don’t know, the date you scheduled with the underground rapper? Huh? That ring any fucking bells Jaemin?”

Jaemin’s eyes widen in terror. He glances down at his outfit, a pair of grey sweats and a crinkled black t-shirt, and lets out a gasp of horror.

“Oh my god!” he wails, jumping up from the bed, frantic. “What do I do! It’s almost 6, he’s going to be here any minute, I don’t have any time to get ready. Oh shit, ‘Dae, what do I do?!”

“Any minute?” he scoffs, and shakes his head. “Jaemin. He’s already here.”

It felt as if the world had just crumbled underneath Jaemin’s feet. In the midst of his hectic weekend, he had completely forgotten about the date he promised Jeno earlier in the week. And now, the same handsome man was waiting for him to saunter down, in his full sweat-suit glory.

“Tell him I’m not home,” he cries, and runs into his walk-in closet, shutting himself inside promptly.

“Jaemin,” Donghyuck’s muffled voice comes from outside the closet, sounding utterly irritated. “Get the fuck out here. He knows that you’re home.”

“I can’t.”

“Jaemin.”

“Donghyuck! I look like a fucking mess!”

“And who’s fault is that? You’re not leaving that nice boy down there all alone tonight. He looks so fucking excited to see you, are you willing to break his little beagle heart?”

“Why’re you so damned dramatic,” Jaemin grumbles, opening his closet door enough to poke his head out.

“Cuz it’s true. He does look really excited.”

Jaemin’s heart clenches at the thought of the man’s wide smile and sLeeling eyes, and he releases another desperate moan.

“Look, I’ll tell him what’s up. In the meantime, get in the shower, Cinderella. Your ass is going to be late to the ball.”



Jaemin doesn’t think he’s ever taken a faster shower in his life. His fingers scraped his scalp hurriedly, washing out his fruity scented shampoo with vigor. While he waited for his conditioner set, he took to his razor, and lathered up the places he ran the blade along smoothly. While he wasn’t expecting much, especially on an ice cream date, it was always good to stick to a “better safe than sorry” attitude.

Once the faucet had finally switched off, Jaemin rushes to dry himself, running the cloth through his brown locks. It took a second, but faintly, he heard something from outside his bathroom door. It sounded awfully like the piano.

His piano, in fact.

Wrapping himself in his towel, he peeks his head out of the restroom in the halls, and surely enough, the soft melodic sounds were coming from his bedroom.

Who the fuck was touching his Yamaha?

Donghyuck knew the rules about his piano.

It was off limits.

So, when he storms over to his room in nothing but a towel wrapped around his body, he doesn’t realize the weight of his mistake until he pushes his door open.

He should have known.

Donghyuck can’t play the fucking piano.

Lee Jeno was seated at the stool of his black piano, and he couldn’t see anything over his broad shoulders. The soft melody was being played with intense passion, and he recognizes the tune immediately.

It was Yiruma.

The playing wasn’t perfect, by any means. It sounded a bit rushed, and the notes were played clumsily, but it held a softness to the tone that made Jaemin stop in his tracks. The giants body swayed to the beat, and honestly, he was enthralled.

There was nothing extraordinary about the way Jeno played.

But, there was just something so extraordinary about Jeno.

Jaemin was too busy drooling to notice that the music had already stopped, and that the broad shoulders were now replaced by a wide chest.

“Oh shit.”

Jeno’s eyes were drawn wide in shock, raking over Jaemin’s dripping figure, who was still very much in a daze. He finally reacts though, when he snaps out of it.

Hands come flying to fasten the towel, and Jaemin feels the flush spread down across his body. The fabric was short, and stopped right at his upper thigh, leaving a lot of his flesh exposed for the other man to see.

“Oh, uh, sorry,” Jeno mumbles, as Jaemin remains stuck in his spot in the doorframe. “Your roommate said he had to run out, and I wandered up here, I know it’s super rude, I’m sorry. But I saw the piano and couldn’t… stop myself.”

Jaemin blinks slowly, endeared at how red the man’s ears were growing as he glued his eyes to the carpet.

“Yiruma, huh?” he smiles, walking into his bedroom slowly. “That piece is one of my favorites from him.”

“Oh!” Jeno looks up again, and tries his best to keep his gaze at eyelevel. “River Flows in You? I’m obsessed, it was one of the first songs I taught myself on the piano.”

“I was so confused, honestly. I thought you were my roommate, and I was about to run in here to kick him in the throat. No one touches my piano.”

The man’s singular eyebrow raises, and he runs his fingers along he keys delicately.

“Oh, you mean this one right here?”

Jaemin snorts.

“Nice try, pal. If I didn’t bite your head off earlier, then you’re fine. I guess I can handle someone experienced touching my piano, just as long as they’re not ass.”

“How sweet,” he smiles, folding his hands in his lap. “You gonna get dressed, now? I’m a bit hurt you forgot about me, Na.”

He shuffles on the carpet uncomfortably.

“I didn’t mean too, I swear!” he whines. “A lot of shit went down this week, and I’ve been drowning in stress.”

“Sounds awful,” he hums, chin resting on his hands. “Let’s talk about it on the way, shall we? The longer you stand there soaking wet like that, the more I want to leave pretty red hickies all over your milky thighs.”

A jolt of electricity rips up Jaemin’s spine at the man’s words, and he barely has enough time to react when Jeno stood, and made his way over to the door, a cocky smirk plastered to his face.

“Don’t leave me waiting too long, okay?” he winks, and shuts the door abruptly.

Glancing up at the ceiling, and then back down at his toes buried in the carpet mesh, Jaemin doesn’t know how much longer his little heart could handle hanging out with these outrageous hip-hop artists.



In the end, he had settled for a pair of jean shorts, rolled up to his knees, and a navy long-sleeve. He didn’t have much time for debate, considering it was nearing closer to 7 PM now, and the guilt for keeping the man waiting for long was eating away at him.

He bounds down the stairs, stuffing a foot into a no-show pair of socks as he went. Jeno was leaning on the wall by the door, long legs stuffed into a pair of ripped skinnies, per usual. His lean figure was enticing, and Jaemin took a second to admire how gorgeous the man really was.

“I’m ready!” he huffs, searching around for an easy pair of shoes to slip into. He spots a worn-down pair of sneakers, and shoves his feet inside.

“It’s a bit late for ice cream now, don’t you think?” Jeno hums, walking out with Jaemin, watching amusedly as he fumbles with his keys to lock the door.

“I’m so sorry,” he sighs. “We can always do a rain-check? If you’d like.”

“No sir,” he smiles, and leads him over to his car. “Just as long as you’re okay with eating your dinner after desert.”

“Desert before dinner?” Jaemin laughs, climbing into the SUV. “You strike me as the type of guy.”

Seating himself in the driver’s seat, Jeno starts the vehicle, and they speed off into the busy streets of Seoul.

“What can I say, I have quiet the sweet tooth.”

Jaemin straps himself in, giggling to himself.

“Your car is fucking huge, by the way.”

“My legs are longer than the damned Sahara, Jaemin, what do you expect? I need the space.”

“True,” he notes, trying his best not to glance down at the man’s lap.

He’s suddenly reminded of the suggestive comment made earlier, and he bites his lips, looking back out the window in shame.

He’d been around Lee Jeno for less than an hour, and he was already hot and bothered. Was he always this horny normally?

He can’t remember.

“So, sweetheart,” he breaks the silence once more. “Tell me what’s got you so stressed.”

Jaemin glances down at his fingers, before heaving a sigh, and letting go.

“I’m sure I could bore you to death with my sob stories, but I’ll get straight to the point. I have one of the biggest competitions of my life coming up, and I really don’t feel like doing it, but if I don’t I’ll have to live with the fact my father will most likely want me to rot in hell. And on top of that I’m almost done with school and still have no fucking clue what I want to do with my life.”

Jeno lets out a low whistle.

“Got a lot on your plate there. This competition, it isn’t the Franz Liszt now, is it?”

Jaemin is dumbfounded. How on Earth did this man know about the Liszt?

“And if it is?”

Chuckling, the man shakes his head.

“Then good luck, I heard the competition’s insane.”

“Wow, thank you so, so much. I feel so much better.”

He scoffs, resting his palm on his cheek.

“I think you can do it,” Jeno smiles at him then.

“You’ve never even heard me play, how the hell can you think that?”

Silent, he drums his fingers on his steering wheel.

“I suppose I haven’t.”

Immediately, he feels bad for his snarky remark.

“I didn’t mean to snap, just,” Jaemin sighs. “You see? Just talking about it makes my blood boil.”

Turning into the ice cream parlor, Jeno Lees the car, and leans back comfortably in his seat.

“Okay, then let’s talk about something else.”

“Like?” he quips.

“Like what makes you tick. What you’re scared of, where you’ve been, where you’re headed. Or even simple things like…. What’s your favorite ice cream flavor?”

Jaemin grins, avoiding Jeno’s stare.

“You want me to condense hours and hours of deep, meaningful conversation to fill our little ice cream date?”

“Ah,” Jeno pulls his keys from ignition then, and opens his car door. “See, that’s the beauty of dates, sweet little Na,” he pauses as he exits. “You can have more than one.”

Their date hadn’t even started, and he was discussing meeting again. His heart jumps at the thought, and the incessant butterflies return.

Seems Jaemin may not have ruined his Jences with his mishap earlier after all.

“Guess so,” Jaemin nods, following his actions, and bounding behind him as they reach the entrance of the establishment.

The door rings as it opens, and Jaemin is ushered inside the mostly empty parlor. The lighting was dim, and the surrounding looked a bit run down, but it was charming in its own way. It was very retro-styled, and it fit Jeno’s theme he was sporting. His blue skinnies were rolled up to his ankles, and his blue windbreaker was zipped over his white t-shirt, making him look incredibly young.

He wondered how old Jeno really was.

“You never answered the question about your favorite ice cream, by the way,” the taller man interrupts his thoughts.

“Chocolate,” he replies. “Anything and everything chocolate.”

Nodding, Jeno purses his lips, glances at the menu above the register, and orders.

“One vanilla on a sprinkle-cone, and…” he pauses, throwing a glance at Jaemin. “One double chocolate fudge Sunday with extra whipped cream.”

Jaemin’s never been in love before, but he swore in that moment, he was gifted with a newfound inclination.



“No. Absolutely not.”

The two were seated comfortably in one the ice cream parlor tables, hours later, toes brushing ever so often as they invaded each other’s personal space in the cramped booth. Jaemin licked over one side of his spoon, hoping to catch whatever was left of his sundae, which was now demolished in his wake.

“C’mon Na, you’re telling me you’ve never been fucked over a piano? Seriously? I’d figure it would be a major kink of yours.”

The tips of his ears singed with embarrassment, and he shakes his head affirmatively.

“Figure whatever you’d like. My kinks are none of your business, Mr. Musician.”

Jeno lounges back in his seat then, arms stretched wide as he throws his head back with a throaty laugh.

“What a waste.”

“Once again,” Jaemin watches the man’s Adam’s apple bob as he laughed with intensity. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“You say that, yet every moment I spend with you,” his head lifts to point his gaze in his direction. “Makes me feel like I’m discovering something completely brand new.”

The heat from his ears had slowly spread to his cheeks, then.

“You’re good with your words, Lee. I’ll give you that,” the playful glint in Jaemin’s eyes has the man’s grin stretching wide once more.

Neither man had realized how much time had passed beyond their personal bubble, and it was promptly shattered when a tired looking employee hovers above their booth, mop in hand.

“Hi, excuse me? It’s passed closing time, now. I’m sorry to interrupt, but I really want to go home, so do you guys mind leaving now?”

Jeno was up immediately, bowing apologetically. He glances over at Jaemin, who stands just as abruptly, looking a bit astonished when he glances out and see’s the dark, night sky painted across the horizon. The stars twinkled and shimmered in the moonlight, and he nearly laughed out loud at the sight.

“Have we seriously been in here for 2 hours?” he whispers as the door shuts a bit roughly behind them.

The smile on Jeno’s face seemed to live on forever.

“I guess we have,” he shrugs. “Time flies when you’re having fun.”

“I can’t even remember half the shit we talked about, we just rambled for hours.”

Once settled back inside the large vehicle, Jeno looks over at him softly.

“I really enjoyed spending time with you today, Na,” he runs a hand through his hair, and for the first time since he had met the bright, luminous man, he looked nervous.

“Me too, Lee.”

“I…” he trails off, looking down at his hands, then at the ceiling, and yet again back over at him. “I want to see you again.”

Smug, but incredibly giddy, Jaemin tips his head to the side.

“Well take a gander then, buddy,” he motions to his seated frame. “Take a picture too, if you’d like.”

Rolling his eyes, the nervous tension seems to disappear off Jeno in a heartbeat.

“No, you smartass. I’d like to see you again after this.”

Humming, Jaemin places his seatbelt in place.

“Then come see me, Jeno. You know where I live,” he laughs, and then wags his finger in his direction. “You see? I knew from the start, you were a stalker.”

Putting his car in drive, Jeno takes off, the sounds of his melodic laughter bouncing off the interior and flying out the open windows to disappear into the starry night sky.

They had arrived back at Jaemin’s 10 minutes ago.

But despite that, Jaemin had found it hard to go. So, instead, he was hanging off the side of the SUV, propped up on his tip toes to continue talking to the man through the open window.

“I still can’t believe you ended up in the nightclub that night.”

Jeno’s voice was hushed, sounding awfully quiet in the still air. His eyes were glued to Jaemin’s lips, which the latter couldn’t seem to stop biting at the moment.

“I can’t either, honestly,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t want to be alone. And that was where my horrible sense of intuition led me.”

“Hey,” Jeno nudges him with his elbow. “Your intuition wasn’t that awful. Look at where it got you” he wiggles his eyebrows.

“Where?” he looks around aimlessly, hands shielding his face for added dramatic effect.

“Your sarcastic charm is slowly wearing out, buttercup.”

“Shoot, guess I have nothing left to offer,” Jaemin sighs flippantly, shrugging his shoulders. “Can’t say I didn’t try, though.”

More often than not, the two men were easily goaded into forgetting to converse, and instead opted to exJenge heavy, unwavering eye contact.

Like now, for instance.

Jeno speaks, but his eyes never move from their target.

“So, am I going to get to see you again, or not?”

Releasing a soft breath, Jaemin breaks into a sly grin.

“Depends,” he inches closer, flexing his toes to close as much distance between them as possible.

“On?”

“How well you do in convincing me to come back.”

As soon as those last words had left Jaemin lips, he’s suddenly being pushed backwards, as the car door between them in violently opened. And before he could react, a hand is reaching out to catch him, and quite literally yank him inside.

His lips collided with Jeno’s before anything else could occur. Or at least, that was what caught his attention first. The kiss wasn’t urgent, but it was dominating and aggressive. Something Jaemin wasn’t aware he was into, but so be it.

He was pulled into the man’s car and fell right into his lap. The angle was awkward at first, making Jaemin crane his neck uncomfortably to meet the constant motion of Jeno’s parting lips, but he fixes the issue by slowly sliding both thighs around the man’s waist, and properly straddling him.

Jeno tasted like vanilla ice cream and gram crackers. His lips, full and pouty, felt so fucking good around his own, pushing and pulling with a steady motion that had Jaemin’s knees turning to jelly. Unable to resist the temptation, he had caught his heavy bottom lip between his teeth, and tugged slowly, pulling the wet muscle through his dentures with enough pressure to send a throaty groan of approval tumbling out of the taller male.

“God, Na, do you have any idea what you do to me?” he growls, pulling away from Jaemin’s demanding mouth with a wet smack.

“I have an idea,” Jaemin chuckles, breathless, but still desperate to feel the man’s lips on his again. It wasn’t enough. He hadn’t had his fill.

Their lips collided again, but this time, Jaemin felt a hot tongue venturing into his wet cavern, twisting and gliding along his own, sending tingles down his spine with every swipe. The tension continued to build, especially when a giant pair of hands fell from his waist, and dipped into his shorts, caressing and squeezing the flesh of his ass through his briefs.

Just as he released a high-pitched moan into the man’s mouth, the two abruptly pulled apart at the sounds of distant shrieking coming from behind them. And as Jaemin peered around to find the source of the noise, he nearly smacked his forehead in embarrassment when he notices his roommate peering shamelessly through their living room window, a figure behind him jumping up and down excitedly that could only be Kim Minhyung.

“Oh, for fucks sake,” Jaemin groans, releasing his hold around Jeno’s neck to bury his head in his hands.

“They look happy to see us,” Jeno laughs, endeared by the sudden shyness taking over the smaller man’s demeanor. Quite the contrary to his suave, sultry behavior earlier.

It was almost dizzying how easily the boy could alternate between the two personas.

“I should probably go,” Jaemin bites his lip, glancing up from his hands to peer at Jeno, who meets his gaze earnestly.

The longing in both men’s eyes was apparent. Neither of the two made the first move.

“Clear your schedule Saturday,” Jeno huffs, brushing some of the brunette’s messy bangs from his forehead.

“For?”

“Me. I’m having another show, but not at the nightclub this time. I’ve been invited to perform at some other club in the high-end district. A lot of producers are gonna be there.”

“Sounds impressive,” he shoots his eyebrows up comically. “You sure you want me there on such an important occasion?”

“Of course. You’ll be the only one I search for in the crowd, anyways.”

“If you don’t quit with all this cheesy crap, Lee,” Jaemin threatens, forcing his ever-returning blush back.

“What’re you gonna do? Kiss me? I’m fucking cowering in fear, Jaemin,” he replies with just as much vigor, eyes so wide, Jaemin doubles over in his lap with laughter.

When he had finally calmed down, he rests his head on the taller man’s chest to catch his breath.

“Saturday,” Jeno whispers into his ear. “Don’t forget about me again, Na. I’ll make sure I’m the only thing on your mind this whole week.”

“I dare you to try.”

“Yo, Romeo!”

A shrill voice comes cutting across the Leeing lot, and Jaemin groans in annoyance.

Donghyuck was at the door now, opening it to cup both hands and holler in their general direction.

“Quit sucking face in front of our flat, our neighbors are going to file a complaint to the landlord, you hoe!”

Sighing, Jaemin throws Jeno a final sympathetic glance, before he slides off his lap, and lands against the harsh pavement with a slap.

“I’ll text you with the details about this weekend tomorrow.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” he says in return, giving the man a final playful glare, before he shuts the car door, and turns to speed walk over, ignoring the burning stare from both Jeno behind him, and Donghyuck before him, who was still hollering nonsense at their doorstep.

Yeah and he was the reason people were going to file complaints. Sure.

Without giving his jeering roommate and his equally as obnoxious boyfriend a Jence to harass him with questions, he escapes their wrath by bounding up the stairs quickly, fleeing to his bedroom for refuge. And as soon as he flops back against his mattress with a sigh, a text comes flying in, alerting him with a set of vibrations against his thigh.

After he fishes out his phone, a newly familiar contact’s name pops up, followed by the short message:

Already counting down the days, sweetheart.

And that, was when the girliest, most exaggerated squeal comes tumbling from Jaemin’s lips, and he twists around in his sheets for hours that night, giddy from his active mind that spurred on the single thought of sugar-coated lips, and smile that was just as sweet.



“I wonder who that could be,” Donghyuck smirks, days later at the kitchen table, while Jaemin glances down and smiles at his phone for the umpteenth time that day.

Ignoring his roommate, he shoves another mouthful of cereal into his mouth, and types out a response with his other hand quickly.

“Seriously though, how often do you guys talk?”

Looking up from his bowl, Jaemin grins.

“Constantly. We have a snapchat streak, and we’ve been texting on and on since Friday.”

Which was true. They texted from day to night, and some nights Jeno would call him late hours of the day. They’d stay up for hours, sometimes just fucking around, but some nights, their voices would get hushed, and they’d reveal things about themselves one by one, sharing secrets, hopes and dreams until the sun would come up, and Jaemin would hear a soft snoring through the phone line. He’d never disconnect, the sounds of the other male lulling him off with a blissed smile.

“It’s getting serious, then?” Donghyuck inquires, curious.

Pausing, Jaemin pokes at the remaining flakes in his bowl.

“I mean, I guess. We’re not like, an item or anything. We’re just talking.”

“Do you want to be an item?”

Another pause.

“Maybe.”

“That’s a definite yes, then,” he laughs, noticing the pink sporting the other man’s cheeks.

“There’s no definite anything!” Jaemin whines.

“Whatever you say, Jaem.”



The long week dragged on as if in slow motion. Jaemin sat in the auditorium day after day, glancing back and forth between his sheet music, still unable to decide what piece to perform for the Liszt that was quickly approaching.

Meanwhile, Kyungsoo was nearly done perfecting his Chopin piece.

Listening as boy worked along the rhythm of the song, which started out slow, and quickly ascended in tempo, Jaemin can’t help but remember the words the boy spoke to him earlier.

“You play so emotionlessly.”

So, Jaemin seeks out the emotion in the boy’s work. And it didn’t take long to find it.

Kyungsoo played with aggressive and unrelenting power. Every note shook and trembled under his strong fingers, the melody on-time and measured. But even if he was nailing the sheet music, there was still a flare, something more to it. It was Kyungsoo’s Chopin he was playing. Not Chopin.

Jaemin was starting to understand what he was talking about. And the more he thought about it, the bigger the hole in his chest began to grow.

How could he have no passion for the piano? It’s all he ever did.

“Hey.”

The deep, quiet voice of the man hovering his fingers over the silent piano drags his attention.

“Yes?”

“You’ve been awfully quiet these past few days.”

Looking up from his papers, Jaemin shrugs his shoulders.

“Got a lot on my mind.”

“It’s a bit unsettling, is all.”

“You worried about me ‘Soo?” he coos, holding his hand to his heart and fluttering his eyelashes.

Kyungsoo scoffs, and turns back to the piano once more.

“Never mind, you’re still as obnoxious as always.”

“I do it just for you, baby.”



Once again, Friday had begun to roll around, and once again, he was in panic mode.

Kyungsoo had left early, claiming that he no longer needed extended practice hours. Both of them had a piano at home, but the effects of the empty auditorium with the piano made it easier to pretend like it was the real thing.

So, alone and frustrated, Jaemin slams his hands down onto the keys in frustration.

And just then, his phone begins to vibrate in his pocket.

Checking the caller ID as he fishes out his device, he breaks into a small grin.

“Hey,” he answers softly.

“Hi.”

Even after a week of talking to this man, Jaemin still can’t help the goosebumps that raise on his body at the sound of the velvety, smooth voice of Lee Jeno.

“You done at the studio?”

He had a studio. Like a real, bonfire place that wasn’t in his house. He had sent Jaemin pictures of it, and he was in awe at the expensive keyboards and microphones decorating the interior. There was also a One Piece flag on the wall, that he berated the man about with a smirk.

“Still here,” the man plays a chord, and Jaemin responds back with an arpeggio. “Seems you’re still practicing too.”

“Somewhat,” he laughs.

“Hey Jaem?”

“Yes?”

“Play something for me.”

Freezing, Jaemin lets out a soft scoff.

“What? No,” he whines, suddenly incredibly nervous. As if he’d hadn’t played these pieces a thousand and one times.

“C’mon, I wanna hear you dazzle me, Mozart. Prove to me you’re as good as you claim.”

Biting his lips, Jaemin puts his phone on speaker, and sets it against the top of the piano gently.

“Fine. But I’m not playing my Liszt pieces for you. I’ll play something else.”

“Do you play anything other than classical music?”

“Not really, no.”

“I figured.”

“I’m going to play now.”

He decides to play “The Sleeping Beauty” by Tchaikovsky. He opted to play a few minutes though, unsure he could play the entire 6-minute piece with the trembling in his fingers as he started out the song.

Jaemin doesn’t think he’d been this nervous to play for anyone in ages.

He plays the song by memory, imagining he had the sheet music in front of him, knowing when to speed up and slow down the tempo, when to gradually increase the volume, and when to drop it back to a softer melody.

Jaemin really was a human computer, honestly. He has more sheet music engraved into his brain than phone numbers saved on his phone.

He finishes off quickly, and waits in the silent air for the man’s response.

“God damn.”

Jeno had finally spoken up, and he sounded genuinely and legitimately in awe.

“What do you think, Mr. Musician?” he hums, picking up the phone again. “It may not be your cup of tea, but no one can deny the beauty of classical piano.”

“It was beautiful, Jaem.”

Laughing, Jaemin kicks his feet against the pedals.

“Tchaikovsky’s got that effect.”

“It’s all you,” he breaths.

“Hey, you play something for me now,” he says pointedly. “You’re in your studio.”

“Oh, would you look at that, my phone’s dying Na! I gotta go.”

“Well plug it in!” he laughs. “You’re not getting out of this Lee.”

“You’ll get to hear something new tomorrow, Jaem,” Jeno hums. “So be a good boy, and be patient.”

“Twat.”



Jaemin decides a week was enough time to prepare for his competition. A solid week, which he promised to dedicate to choosing his Chopin ensemble, and pouring practice hours into. With that thought in mind, it was finally Saturday. The day he’d been looking forward to the moment he fell into his bed that Friday night, heart thumping wildly in his chest.

He’d get to see Jeno perform again. And if it was anything like the time before, he had a good feeling he was going to like it.

“My baby is all grown up,” Donghyuck sniffs dramatically, walking into Jaemin’s bedroom to engulf him in a hug. “Look at you, going out again. Jaem, I’ve never been so happy in my life.”

“You’re just happy to have the house to yourself, you brat,” Jaemin laughs, struggling to get out of his roommate’s bone crushing grip. “Let go ‘Dae, I can’t breathe!”

“Don’t drink anything you don’t pour or buy yourself. Don’t leave with any strangers. Make sure you don’t drink too much, either.”

“Yes mother,” Jaemin snorts, finally pulling away to catch his breath.

“Oh and,” Donghyuck fishes around in his pockets for something, and pulls it out triumphantly. “And don’t forget this.”

“Is that lube?” his cheeks heat at the inclination.

“Better safe than sorry, right?”

Staring at the small tube in Donghyuck’s hand, Jaemin gives in, and plucks it from his fingers, stuffing it into his back pocket with a shrug.

“Right.”

A chiming from his phone interrupts the two, and Jaemin grabs it off his nightstand.

Jeno: Me and my friends are meeting for lunch at 4, before we head over to the club to set up. Join us?

Looking at the clock, he bites his lips.

It was 3:17.

Another text flies in immediately.

Jeno: That was a rhetorical question, I’m coming to get you regardless if you want to or not.

Of course.

“Guess I’m meeting him for lunch now. With his…. friends.”

The idea of meeting up with Jeno, alone, was nerve wrecking on its own. Now, adding the weight of meeting up with his friends, who were most likely just as cool and laid back as him.

Jaemin was the complete opposite of cool and laid back.

He was stressed.

“Hey, hey,” Donghyuck’s tone is warning. “Don’t you dare. I can see your panic attack coming. Do not use an excuse to cancel and bail on this whole thing just because you have social anxiety.”

“I don’t know these people!” he whines.

“The guy was nice enough to make sure you have people for you to be with tonight. He doesn’t want you standing in some bougie nightclub by yourself.”

Tapping his foot, he finally caves, seating himself on his desk chair with a sigh.

“I literally have nothing to wear.”

“Can’t help you there, boo,” Donghyuck pats his head once, and leaves him to fend for himself.

Maybe Jaemin was way in over his head, after all.



“We really need to take you shopping,” Donghyuck tells him as Jaemin waits by the door, eager and yet dreading the text from Jeno that signals his arrival.

“Why? I like my clothes.”

“You shop like a rich asshole.”

“Just because I’m not swimming in debt like you doesn’t mean I can’t dabble in fine clothing, my dear friend.”

“Yeah, but it also doesn’t mean you can’t dress your age.”

“Jeno likes it.”

“Jeno’s an idiot.”

“That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?”

The two whip there head around, looking down the porch stairs to find Jeno, leaning against the railing, a wide smile perched upon his face.

Jaemin blushes, while Donghyuck laughs.

“I happen to think the way he dresses is cute,” he gestures to Jaemin’s get up, which was a white collared button-up, with a spotted blue sweater thrown over top. He wore black jeans, and heeled black dress shoes.

“Have fun taking my grandpa out,” his roommate bows, and then walks inside with a laugh. “I want him home by 8!”

“Fuck off, Donghyuck,” Jaemin grumps, bounding down the stairs, and walking alongside the taller male.

“I like him,” he smiles over at him, eyeing him up and down.

“I don’t.”

“You look nice, Jaem.”

Giving Jeno a once-over now, Jaemin wants to turn and hightail back into his house. His long legs were stuffed into black jeans like his, but he wore a black and white striped shirt, and a big, black leather jacket atop. His brown heeled boots gave him extra height, to the extent that he had to even light his head slightly to look up at him.

He looked too fucking good to be true.

And it was starting to annoy Jaemin now.

“Where are we meeting your friends?”

“This really cool joint by the club. It looks like some sort of café.”

“Cool,” he tries not to sound as nervous as he feels, but the worried glance Jeno gives him once they take off tells him he’s failing miserably.

“Hey, they’re really nice,” Jeno smiles reassuringly. “They’re going to love you.”

“You can’t be sure about that, I have a tendency to come off as an asshole to most people.”

“You just have resting bitch face, that’s all. So, do half my friends. See? Already something in common.”

“Don’t push it, Lee,” he grins finally, then.

Jeno’s other hand moves to pat his thigh, and remains there for the rest of the drive. Not that Jaemin minded, anyways.



“Guys, this is Jaemin.”

There were about 8 pairs of eyes directed Jaemin’s way right now. And as expected, every person seated at the table was utterly and unbelievably gorgeous.

“Hi Jaemin!” one of them, one with sharp eyeliner and a prominent nose. The rest of the group smiled his way, and nodded, mumbling a chorus of greetings his way.

Seating himself beside Jeno, he watches as the group quickly explodes back into their chatter, their brief pause that was Jaemin quickly forgotten. Jeno was engaged in a heated discussion with the man next to him, and he has nothing to do but stare into open space for a while.

“I’m Jisung,” the man who had greeted him enthusiastically leans over, offering a hand. Jaemin graciously accepts.

“Nice to meet you, Jisung. Are you native? I’m not sure where your accents from.”

“I’m Chinese, actually,” he smiles. “I moved 5 years ago to Seoul. Same with Mr. Tall and Brooding over there,” he points beside him, to the extremely tall man sipping casually on a beer. “That’s Chenle.”

Chenle nods once to Jaemin, and he’s almost floored at how attractive the men before him were. Was everyone Jeno talked too a fucking model?

“My best friend moved back to China awhile back, he’s producing now.”

“No shit? Who? Anyone I know?”

“Zhang Renjun? I don’t know if you have ever heard of him-“

“Holy shit!” Jisung squeals, and the rest of the group quiets down, staring their way. “Lay?!”

“Who?”

“That’s his producer name,” Chenle cuts in-between Jisung’s shrill screaming. “Like Jen.”

“What about him?” he inquires, glancing over at the male, who was engrossed in his conversation with the man beside him.

“Loey is just Jen backwards.”

What a dork.

“Oh,” he nods. “Then yeah.”

“He’s literally so fucking popular in China right now. He’s written hit after hit, he even wrote one of Chenle’s singles.”

“You sing?” he glances at the man.

“Rap.”

Of course.

“Point is,” Jisung peers over at him, eyes eager. “There’s no way in hell you know him.”

Jaemin scoffs, and pulls out his phone, flicking through a series of photos until he reaches the one he was looking for. It was a selfie of him and Renjun at their high school graduation, right before he went up onto stage to perform. It wasn’t the greatest picture of the two, but it was the only one he had on hand. He slides his phone over with a smug smile.

Jisung’s eyes widen to the size of literal saucers.

“Oh my god!”

“Jisung shut the fuck up!”

The group collectively shouts, but the man pays them no mind.

“Listen, listen. You have to hook me up, he’s literally the hottest man alive. If he could write me a single, I’d literally die.”

Chenle beside him kicks his chair in annoyance, and the male looks over, eyes softening.

“Oh Chenle baby,” he coos, resting his head on the man’s shoulder. “I’m just kidding, I’d never leave you.”

“Get off me.”

“Stop being a brat, give me a kiss.”

“Shut up,” he whines, struggling out of the smaller man’s grip around his waist.

Jaemin watches the two in amusement. He got the vibe that they were an item, and he was already starting to feel a little less nervous around them. He made a mental note to mention Jisung to Renjun later.

“They’ve been dating for 3 years and they still act like this,” Jeno whispers to Jaemin and he giggles.

“I think it’s cute.”

“It’s fucking annoying, is what it is,” a man with the face of an actual Greek God snorts across the table. His gaze locks Jaemin’s and he smiles.

Jaemin would be lying if he said he wasn’t in a daze at the man’s beauty.

“The name’s Kai,” the man sends another dazzling smile his way.

“Jongin,” Jeno’s gruff voice comes in. “Stop trying to look cooler than you really are.”

“You’re no fun, Jeno,” he sighs, biting into a piece of chicken.

Jeno’s hand was back on his inner thigh. And it squeezed hard as he slid his gaze over to meet his own. As if to remind Jaemin who he was here with.

His chest feels warm at the instinctual possessive behavior Jeno suddenly displayed.

“That’s Junmyeon over there,” he points to the man sitting beside Jongin. “Out of anybody here, I trust him most. Stick with him tonight.”

The group erupts into laughter, and Junmyeon sports a proud smile.

“Yeah, stick with Momma ‘Myeon, and bore yourself to death tonight,” Jisung snorts.

“Jisung, we’ve all placed a bet on how long it takes you to get white girl wasted tonight, I’d shut my mouth if I were you,” he retorts, eyes narrowed in annoyance.

Jaemin was the first to burst into giggles then, and the whole table follows him soon.

“He likes your jokes,” Jongin nudges Junmyeon then. “Seems like it’s your lucky day.”

And just like that, Jaemin was immersed.

They spent an hour chatting, screaming, jostling each other at the expense of a good laugh. Jaemin learned that Chenle was genuinely a funny guy, despite his cold exterior. Jisung was sensitive, taking offense to most jokes thrown his way, and it was hilarious to see him pout and throw a fit. Jongin’s laugh honestly was what made Jaemin burst into laughter most of the time. Junmyeon was arguable the sassiest, filled with dad jokes and snippy retorts.

He loved them. Jaemin genuinely and wholeheartedly was having an amazing time.

And throughout it all, Jeno remained up in his personal space, whether it was his hands on his thighs, gripping his arms, leaning against him slightly or even just tapping his leg against his once in a while.

“Alright, I have to head off to the club now,” Jeno announces, standing. He glances at Jaemin, looking for any signs of discomfort, but is surprised when the brunette nods and gives him an eager smile.

Seems he wasn’t so nervous any more.

“I’ll see you guys there,” he nods when they wave him goodbye and wish him luck. Before he turns to leave, he bends down, grabs Jaemin’s chin between his hands and plants a deep kiss to his lips, earning loud catcalls and screams from the boys around them.

Jaemin pulls away breathless, and looks up to meet Jeno’s playful smirk.

“Break a leg,” he whispers.

“Bet on it,” he winks back, and walks off.

Jaemin watches him go, before turning back to the table, and blushing when he sees the suggestive smirks radiating off the faces before him.

“So y’all fuck yet?”

“Jisung,” Junmyeon sighs.

Jaemin laughs, trying to hide his embarrassment.

“No, not yet,” he tries to answer a nonchalantly as possible.

“Not like that, you won’t.”

Looking over at a snickering Jisung, he cocks his head in confusion.

“What?”

“Jaemin, babe. You look like you just crawled out of a Pottery Barn magazine.”

Hanging his head, he wills the urge to shrink into himself.

“Jeno thinks the way I dress is cute,” he blurts out, and the table breaks out in snickers.

“Of course, he does,” Jisung sighs. “He’s smitten. Let an unbiased opinion Jenge your thoughts. You can dress however you want on the daily, but if you’re going out with us tonight, we need to do something about…” he pauses, looking Jaemin up and down. “This.”

And so, he did.

They had left the café in haste, Junmyeon driving them back to Jisung and Chenle’s place, blasting girl group songs in the car and screaming along.

Jaemin was seated in the passenger seat, cracking up at the funny dance move’s Junmyeon copied, and let the warm breeze from the window cascade through his bangs. They arrived, and Jaemin’s jaw slacked.

“What the fuck?” he coughs, stepping out to gawk at the house.

It was huge.

“Oh yeah. Chenle is a spokesmodel for Burberry,” Jongin says, as if it were announcing the time of day, and walks into the home.

Of. Course.

They saunter into the fancy house, Jaemin still staring at awe at everything in sight.

“C’mon Jaem, let’s get you into something nice,” Jisung calls from inside his enormous walk in closet.

17 minutes and 45 outfits later, Jaemin was finally done.

Jisung had suited him in in a mesh black t-shirt, suited up an oversized jean jacket and a pair of tight, tight skinnies. A choker was snug against his neck, and his shoes had heels that clicked every time he walked.

“I have to admit, Jisung,” Chenle remarks as Jaemin checks himself out in the closet mirror. “He looks fucking good.”

“We’re not done yet,” he scoffs, crossing his arms. “Now, we do his makeup.”

Turning his head in shock, he stares at the male in horror.

“Makeup?!”

Jisung was all smiles, a devious glint in his eyes.

“Makeup.”



The only time in his life Jaemin felt of somewhat importance was when he was on stage. Playing the piano with the poise and grace of none other, wooing the audience and impressing the judges. Waiting for the announcement of his win, and bowing graciously as he accepts his awards.

That was about it.

Today, however, he rolled up with a group of the hottest people he thinks he had ever had the pleasure to meet. They skip past the vast and growing line, bounding up to the bartender and flashing their VIP badges before slipping inside, and Jaemin instantly feels at home. The bass is loud and his heart beat in time to the music.

“Y’know, eyes are usually always on Jongin when we go out,” Chenle chuckles as a number of people glance their way. “But seems you’re stealing the show tonight, Na.”

Jaemin wanted nothing more than to dip his head, and hide behind the tall man’s back, because he wasn’t lying. People’s eyes were target especially on him, low whistles and numerous calls thrown his way as he maneuvered through the busy crowds.

“Where are we going?” he mumbles, clinging to Junmyeon, who was leading in front of him.

“VIP seats. We get to sit and watch the show along with the other special guests.”

Special guests?

They had arrived, apparently, because they halted at once.

The wide, white clothed table already had numerous guests seated, and they slide in one by one, greeting the younger-looking people beside them.

“These are prospective labels,” Jisung whispers into his ear. “They’re here to watch your boy perform. Hopefully try and get him to sign with them.”

Jaemin takes a peek once again, and his heart stops.

There were almost 10 people seated, in their expensive looking attires, and glasses of assorted drinks in their hands. Maybe Jeno was a celebrity. Or, on the way to being one, anyway.

“And who might you be?”

One of the men present at the table calls over to Jaemin, who snaps his head up in surprise.

“Me?”

“Yes, dear. I recognize most of you,” he nods to his group. “But you’re a new face.”

“He’s Lee’s new and improved obsession,” Jisung yells over the music, and the man breaks into a wide grin.

“Ah, no wonder I didn’t recognize you. Are you an idol? A trainee?”

Jaemin shakes his head.

“Seriously?” his eyebrows shoot to his forehead.

“Yup.”

“Would you like to be?” he asks casually.

Was it seriously that easy to become a celebrity?

“Uhm,” he laughs, genuinely at a loss of words. “No, not particularly?”

The man shakes his head, and shrugs.

“Shame. You’ve got the looks. If you Jenge your mind though, let me know. I can get you an audition anytime,” he smiles, and slides a business card his way. Jaemin accepts it, and peeks down.

S.M. Entertainment.

Kim Heechul.

“Thanks, Mr. Kim,” he smiles.

“Just Heechul is fine,” the man winks, and Jaemin stuff the card into his pocket. “Let me buy you a drink….”

“Jaemin.”

“Jaemin,” he smiles. “Let me buy you a drink. A Cosmo sound good?”

“That sounds delightful.”

“Yo, I did so good,” Jisung whispers to their group. “Heechul thought Jaemin was a fucking idol.”

“Like turning dust to diamonds,” Jongin nods.

“I’m right here, you dicks.”

“Hush and enjoy your fruity drinks, sweetie,” Jisung pats his thigh, and Jaemin gives him an artificial smile in return.

His genuine excitement was anything but artificial, though. Jaemin was literally having the night of his life. The music blasting through the speakers grew more and more electric the more drinks he had, and Junmyeon had cut him off after his third, claiming that Jeno had requested him not to let Jaemin get too drunk tonight.

“He really wants you to hear his performance tonight,” he smiles gently as Jaemin pouts against his seat.

“I will, another drink won’t hurt,” he whines and the man slowly shakes his head.

“No can do,” he shoves a plate of food his way. “Here, eat these to get your mind off it.”

Before he could open his mouth to protest again, though, it seemed the show was finally about to start, because the light dim, and the music is cut off, too much protest of the dancing audience below.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the DJ says in a booming voice. “Thank you for your enthusiasm tonight, it’s been much appreciated. Now, we have a treat for you all tonight. This man’s been climbing the charts with his most recent single, and I’m sure you know who I’m talking about. Here to put on a show for us tonight, please welcome, Loey!”

The audience roars in excitement, and Jaemin’s heartrate begins to kick up a notch. He was ready. He wanted to see him.

What he wasn’t prepared for, though, was for Jeno, his Jeno, to come bumbling onto the stage, his hair swept back up into the infamous comma hair Jaemin loved so much, in nothing but a flimsy tank top and his black skinnies.

Biceps.

That was the only thing Jaemin could see.

Thick, bulging biceps came into his field of vision, and Jaemin nearly lets out an exasperated moan in a table full of Jeno’s friends and prospective superiors.

Nice.

“Hello,” his honeyed voice rings over the cheering crowd, and a number of women begin to let out catcalls and screams. “I’m very honored to be playing for you all tonight,” he smiles into the crowd, earning another round of cheers.

“I’m going to mix it up tonight. I’ll be DJ’ing in a bit, but I’d like to slow it down for you all a moment.”

After the screams die once again, a voice from their table yells out:

“Why?!”

Jeno pauses. Jongin, the one who had taken the liberty to scream out, grins like a madman when his friend’s gaze finds its way over to their table.

“Why? Because it’s my fucking show, that’s why.”

The crowd erupts into laughter, and Jaemin finds himself biting back a grin. Their eyes lock. And of course, his devilish smirk returns.

“What a prick,” Jongin cackles, sending the rest of the table into a fit of giggles.

Jeno was seated at the foot of keyboard now. And from then on, everything seemed to happen in the blink of an eye. The man ran through a number of original songs, playing them out on the keyboard with an intensity that shook Jaemin to his core. He sang along vividly, in a way that could only be described as pure, driven passion.

There was so much of it. It was almost overwhelming, how charismatic the man on stage was. The piano was now switched out of an acoustic guitar. And after that, an electric guitar.

This was when Jaemin had lost all forms of restraint.

Sweat was pooling down Jeno’s forehead, matting his hair to his forehead. His biceps flexed and bulged with every dramatic motion of his fingers down the electric guitar, banging out chords with his eyes closed, head tipped back, and a sheepish smile melted to his face.

He looked incredible.

He looked fucking incredible.

And Jaemin had never been more turned on in his entire fucking life.

“Oh my god,” he groans, running an exasperated hand through his hair.

“You good?” Jisung chuckles from beside him.

“No. No I’m not fucking okay,” he sighs.

“What seems to be the problem, cupcake?”

“I’ve never wanted to sit on someone’s face so badly before, Jisung. Oh my god.”

Jisung quite literally explodes into a fit of laughter.

Great. Jaemin was glad his uncontrollable sexual frustration brought the man pleasure. Because it sure didn’t for him.

“Just wait, babe. He hasn’t even gotten to the good part of his performance yet.”

Whipping his head to the side, he narrows his eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, he’s sang. Which is cool and all. He’s showed off like a douche with all his instruments. But he hasn’t even started rapping yet.”

Oh.

Oh, right.

Jeno was a rapper too.

Placing a hand over his rapidly beating heart, Jaemin sends a silent prayer to the heavens.

Please lord, don’t let me cream my fucking pants again tonight.

And just as he was trying to calm his heartrate down, the unbelievable man took to the switchboards.

And began to play a steady beat. It was his foot, first. Jaemin’s foot began to tap, following the booming bass unintentionally.

The rest of his body began to follow. The beat grew in intensity, added sounds causing his body to sway and bounce along.

Slowly, ever so fucking slowly, he raises the microphone to his mouth.

“I’m going to need everyone’s help for this,” he whispers, eyes immediately finding Jaemin’s. There it was. The glint, the insistent teasing that had Jaemin quite literally on the edge of his seat. “Follow me, okay? Gatchi, gatchi, hae.”

Half the crowd gets the message, and repeats the words back.

“Again. Gatchi, gatchi, hae.”

The crowd repeats once more, louder this time.

“Keep it going.”

So, they do. Bobbing their heads to the beat, the audience repeats these words on a loop, Jenting as if their lives depended on it. Jeno had his eyes closed, taking in the sound, head banging to the beat.

He lifts his mic, and begins to Jent along with the crowd, watching their bodies jump and move in sync with the beat.

And almost as if from nowhere, his baritone voice drops impossibly deeper, and he begins to rap.

Na Jaemin was not a religious man.

But in this moment alone, he almost fell to his knees, and sang a thanks to the heavens.

Because Lee fucking Jeno was becoming the most holy experience he had ever come across.

“He’s gone,” Chenle whispers to Jisung, who merely giggles in response. “And it wasn’t the Cosmos that did it.”

“Poor thing,” he whispers back. “I can literally see the lust etched all over his face. Baby boys got it bad.”

Jaemin didn’t even bother them the time of day.

His field of vision was everything and anything Jeno.

The crowd was screaming in approval, moving their bodies in time to the grimy beat that Jeno, Loey, was rapping along too.

From this point on, if the man’s eyes weren’t closed, they were deadlocked onto Jaemin’s drooping frame in the back.

He knew. He had to know the effect he was having on Jaemin, because every grunt he breathed into the mic went straight to his groin, sending electricity shooting through every nerve of his body.

The rest of the performance went along in a blur. Jeno had went through a handful of songs, ending his stage with his hit single he remembers from that previous night. Jaemin felt warm, and his body was on high alert, buzzed and attentive. He wasn’t drunk, but he couldn’t say he was sober. Memories from the first time he saw the man on stage made his stomach do summersaults.

And as soon as Jeno dropped the mic from his lips, and bowed in thanks, Jaemin was out of his seat in a heartbeat.

“Jaem?” Jongin’s tone was teasing. “Where ya goin’, buddy?”

“Shut the fuck up,” he breathes, stumbling out of his seat with an eagerness that could only be described as desperation.

“I-I,” he pants, watching the man bound off the stage, eyes never breaking from their glance in his direction. “I need to go. I need to get to…”

“I got you,” Junmeyon gets up right behind him, chuckling in earnest as he puts a hand on his lower back, and leads them through the cluster of people.

“Where are we going?” Jaemin looks around for the sight of Jeno, after he lost him in the sea of people.

“Trust me,” the man guiding him assures. “You’ll thank me later.”

Nodding slowly, Jaemin allows his body to be led between bodies, and his heart leaps when he see’s a familiar figure standing at the back of the stage. Junymeon bounds up to two bodyguards, and flashes their VIP badges.

The bodyguards refuse to move, however.

“We’ve been told not to let anyone up, sir.”

“I’d advise you move aside,” Junymeon raises an eyebrow.

“Until we’re given word to let anyone up, nobody gets th-“

Jeno, in this moment, decides to quite literally shove in-between the bodyguards, who stumble to regain their balance as he reaches out, and latches onto Jaemin’s hand.

Heart on the verge of bursting, Jaemin releases the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding with a soft:

“Jeno.”

“Fucking move,” the taller man hisses as he turns to see the flustered bodyguards, who quickly comply, and edge off to the side.

Tugging harshly, Jaemin is released from Junymeon’s grip, who salutes them before throwing an unapologetic glare at the guards.

“I told you to move aside, didn’t I?”



Jaemin couldn’t hear anything anymore. The music had begun to turn into background noise, as he stared at the back of Jeno’s head, who was leading him right to the back of the stage.

“Where are we going?” his voice was breathless.

“Jenging rooms,” his voice gruff, and Jaemin didn’t have to see his face to know the brooding look he was mostly likely sporting on his face.

Because as soon as he had led them inside the empty room, and shut the door, he was on him.

Everything was too much. The way his body immediately curved against Jeno, feeling his rough hands squeeze and rub against as much as he could grope in a handful.

“Oh Jeno,” he sighs, feeling the man nip aggressively at his neck.

“Who the fuck told you to come here looking like that?” he rumbles against his skin, kissing the quickly bruising spot.

“Huh?” he huffs, intoxicated by the latter’s scent.

“This outfit,” he accentuates his point by pulling off his jacket in a swift move.

Good, Jaemin was starting to feel too hot, anyway.

“Jaemin, what the hell,” Jeno moans, staring at the mesh fabric he was suited in. Through the material that barely passed as clothing, Jaemin’s pink nipples were extremely visible, presenting themselves in the light as they strained against the material.

“T-Jisung,” he chokes, feeling a hand come up and dance over one of the buds. “It’s Jisung’s clothes.”

“I should have fucking guessed,” he continues his hands up, coming up to stop at the choker. “God, Jaemin, I’m so fucking done. This is too much.”

Looking up at him through his thick, black lashes, Jaemin lets out a soft laugh.

“What? I finally did as everyone recommended. Don’t you like it? Eyeliner and fishnets, just like you said.”

Jeno’s eyes widen to the size of literal saucers. Without another word, he falls to his knees, hands coming up to grip onto Jaemin’s waist for dear life. And in one swift motion, Jaemin’s jeans were pulled to the ground.

“Oh baby,” the moan that falls from the taller male’s lips was so desperate, in complete awe of the male before him.

Jaemin was wearing fishnets that came up to his waist, snug atop the waistband of a pair of black, cheeky panties.

“Shit, Na,” Jeno was panting now, eyes searching him up and down. Jaemin couldn’t even look at him then, his cheeks were too red, and his pupils were blown too wide. Jeno turns him around, moaning wantonly when Jaemin’s perky ass comes into view.

Jaemin was expecting some sort of reaction, but he surely wasn’t expecting what came next. Because Jeno had quite literally bit his ass.

“Oh!” he gasps, and moans at the stinging sensation when a hard slap follows suit.

“God, you look like such a slut Jaem.”

Another slap.

Jaemin’s back was arching into the touch, vision swimming with pleasure.

“C-Jeno!” he gasps, reveling in the feeling off a smooth palm running over the stinging flesh, before another round of smacks quickly followed.

“Jesus,” Jeno moans, eyes snaking across the expanse of Jaemin’s supple thighs, and the red, blushing skin of his ass. “I’m going to eat you alive.”

A sharp tearing sound was suddenly heard, which signified the ruin of Jisung’s beloved fishnets. And, in the haste of the moment, as well as his silky satin panties.

“Jisung’s going to kill you,” Jaemin turns his head to look down, but is cut off as soon as he feels a hot, wet tongue probe at his hole.

And, well, you can’t expect much more from Jaemin after that.

Hands bracing themselves on the wall before him, he releases a string of high-pitched moans, on the verge of tears from how hard he was, cock straining against the soft material of the panties that draped loosely after being destroyed in Jeno’s wake.

The flat of Jeno’s hot tongue was now lapping hungrily at his rim, which fluttered and clenched in desperation.

“Do you know how good you look tonight?” he whispers, watching the smaller males hole contract as the hot air of his mouth wafts over it.

“Nng, hah,” Jaemin gasps, unable to produce an intelligent response.

“Of course you do,” he growls. “You don’t think I didn’t notice how every eye in fucking room fell on you? Like they wanted to devour you on the spot?”

Jeno’s tongue thrusts back inside Jaemin’s pink hole and he gasps when he feels a thick finger slide in alongside it. They moved in a vigorous motion, leaving Jaemin’s thighs to quake, and he slid further down the wall, unable to keep his weak knees up any longer.

Jeno was too fucking much.

Getting the hint, Jeno catches the sliding boy with his hands, removing his face from the cleft of the man’s ass. Roughly, he spins the boy around in his grip, and hoists him up by his trembling thighs. They lock stares, and Jaemin lets out a breathless giggle at the saliva trailing down the man’s chin.

To shut him up, Jeno locks their lips again with a violent thrust of his tongue inside his laughing mouth, forcing the smaller man quiet.

Just as quickly, Jeno had carried Jaemin over to the couch by the corner of the room, falling against it to pull him snug into his lap.

“So, you don’t like the makeup?” Jaemin asks, feeling particular cocky tonight. The rapper’s reaction to his getup had exceeded his expectations by a long run and he was going to have as much fun as he wanted with it.

Jeno lets out an exasperated laugh, throwing his head against the couch.

“Fucking vixen,” he growls. “Look at you. You’re quite pleased with yourself, aren’t you?”

“A little,” he whispers, leaning in to leave a soft kiss to the tip of the man’s nose. “I didn’t even plan this. Blame Jisung. He wouldn’t let me leave without getting all dolled up.”

“You look so fucking sinful in eyeliner,” Jeno cups Jaemin’s smooth face, thumbing his cherry stained lips. “Don’t you dare do this again. I don’t think my poor little heart can take it.”

“You’re one to talk,” Jaemin motions to the black tank top. “You act like I’m the only one looking good as fuck tonight.”

“Hey, it gets hot on stage,” he says, hands up in defense. “I can’t help that you find my body irresistible.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jaemin grinds down once against Jeno’s throbbing cock, which was nestled directly beneath his bare ass.

“Hey,” he hisses, hands flying to grip at his cheeks.

“What?” he prompts, locking eyes with the man as he leans in to press his forehead directly on his. “What’re you gonna do about it Lee? ‘Kiss me?’”he quotes the man with a smirk.

Jeno’s tone was level when he speaks up, voice barely above a whisper.

“No,” he says bluntly. “I’m going to fuck you.”

Heart pounding in his chest, Jaemin holds their level stare.

“Actions speak louder than words, Mr. Musician.”

Jeno’s lips were back on his in a heartbeat.

He kissed him, gripping Jaemin’s ass so hard he swore it would leave handprints on the sensitive flesh. Every swipe inside the smaller male’s mouth drew out lewd mewls, and Jeno was smirking as he witnessed Jaemin’s patience run thin. His fingers were clawing at his belt, undoing it and helping slide his jeans down far enough for Jeno’s cock to spring free, resting against Jaemin’s inner thigh.

The desire burning inside Jaemin needed to be extinguished. After watching him perform so earnestly, turning him on to the point of utter desperation, he was more than willing to beg at this point.

“Please, Jeno,” he whimpers against his lips, tugging at his sweaty locks.

“What?” he hums, watching him through his hooded lids, an amused smirk on his lips.

“Jeno,” he whines, wiggling around in his lap impatiently.

“Words, sweetheart. Use your words.”

“Hurry the fuck up, Lee!” he barks.

Jeno giggles, and leans in to nuzzle his nose under Jaemin’s jaw.

“You’re so cute when you’re begging to be fucked.”

Gasping, he tries to catch his breath enough to speak.

“There’s… there’s lube in my pants pocket,” he says softly, looking down into the man’s eyes, and motioning to the discarded article of clothing on the floor.

Chuckling, Jeno moves one hand from his waist, and fishes something out of his pocket to dangle it in front of Jaemin’s face.

“Already a step ahead of you, sweetheart.”

Jaemin lets out a loud laugh then.

“Seems like we both came prepared.”

“Are you kidding me, you came here in fishnets and fucking panties. You knew what the fuck was going down tonight.”

Tipping his head back with another sLeeling laugh, it soon drowns out into a moan, when a pair of lubed-up finger probe his hole, and stretch him open in haste.

Seems like Jeno couldn’t wait any longer either, because soon enough, he had three fingers filling him up to the knuckle, searching around for his sweet spot. And when he finds it, Jaemin releases such an earnest moan, that Jeno was sure the entire staff outside heard.

And frankly, he couldn’t find it in him to care.

Jaemin moans, raising his hips to pull the man’s fingers out of his fluttering hole. His fingers grip the base of Jeno’s cock, and slowly but surely, he guides it over so he can seat himself swiftly. His patience had been stretched thin.

Inch by inch, the thick cock begins to steadily disappear inside him, burning and stretching Jaemin’s rim with delicious pain, sending his head swimming.

“Oh Jaemin,” Jeno cries, head thrown back in ecstasy, letting the male take it at his own pace.

Jeno wasn’t small, by any means, and he knew it would take a minute for the lithe brunette to adjust. When he was finally seated snug against his hip, Jaemin finally releases the sigh he had been holding, and wiggles around slowly in the man’s lap, relishing in the feeling of being so full.It took a bit, but the stinging pain slowly began ebbing away, replaced by mind-numbing pleasure that crawled up his spine.

“You’re already pressing against m-my-,” he gapes, a gasp cutting off his words when he feels Jeno flex inside him. And in that split second, Jaemin already he knew he was fucked. Literally, and physically.

Unable to wait a second longer, the rapper takes both of his plump globes in his hands, and guides his hips back up, until the tip was barely inside, and slams the boy’s hips back down against him.

“Fuck!”

The first couple thrusts inside were so deep, Jaemin swore he felt the man pulsating into his stomach.

“Oh god, oh god, Jeno,” he sobs, clenching around him as hard as he could, fingers fisted into the man’s hair.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he whispers, grunting at the effort he put into guiding Jaemin’s moving hips in time with his thrusts.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, mm-ah! Please!”

Eager to comply, Jeno keeps up their steady pace, watching the brunette’s eyes loll to the back of his head.

“You’re taking my cock so well, baby,” he praises, the sounds of the boy’s bubbly ass slapping against his thighs absolutely delicious.

“Faster, fuck, faster.”

The instant Jenge of pace has Jaemin literally screaming, back arched as far as it could go, toes curled with every intense thrust. Replacing his timed, plunging movement for a quicker, sharper drive forward, he had Jaemin quite literally bouncing on his cock. His hair was falling up and down with the intensity, and broken moans fall with every bounce downwards, tip of his dick smashing repeatedly into the brunette’s bundle of nerves.

“Hah, ah, fuck, give it to me,” Jaemin sobs, lips swollen from how hard he was biting them.

“Look at you,” he coos, watching the boy’s mouth fall open in silent screams now. “You’re so fucking wrecked. Your screams put pornstars to shame, Jaemin.”

And it was the truth. If he could, Jeno wanted to record the sinful sounds falling from his lips and put them on repeat for eternity. After 10 minutes of their intense, brutal pace, he tried to initiate a kiss, and pull Jaemin down to meet his movements, but the boy was long gone now. His body was at a near ragdoll state, whining lowly in Jeno’s ear as he collapses against his chest.

“I can slow down, baby,” he rubs his back slowly, easing up a bit, worried he was hurting the boy.

“No!” Jaemin sits up immediately then, snapping out of his daze at once. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Jeno pauses, staring into the boys blown pupils. An idea springs to mind, suddenly.

“Get up then,” he demands.

Jaemin is taken back, sending him a questionable glance.

“What?”

“You fucking heard me, Jaemin. Get up. And bend over the table,” he nods to the piece of furniture in front of them.

Shakily, Jaemin climbs off the man, whining when he feels his empty hole clench as he goes. He nearly collapses as he tries to take a step forward, and sprawls out over the tall table, ass perched high in the air.

“There you go,” he smiles, running a hand over one of his cheeks softly. He taps them once. “Spread them with those pretty fingers of yours, baby.”

This is how Jeno took the fragile boy. Roughly, hands pressing bruises into his hips, drilling him down into the table. And Jaemin fucking loved it.

Never in his life had he been dicked down so hard, and it had him almost drowning in the pleasure. And this angle was so much deeper for him, Jeno whistling low as he watches his cock disappear in and out of the red, abused hole. The ripped fishnets and underwear stretched around his ass only added to the visual stimulation, really.

“You close?” he hums, watching Jaemin’s thighs continue to tremble. He was more or less holding Jaemin up by the hips now, too incoherent to respond properly.

“Sweetheart?”

Jaemin lets out a broken cry.

“I can’t fucking breathe Jeno,” he pants. “Don’t,” another pant. “Ask me to talk.”

“Fair enough.”

Pulling out completely, he decides to make it easy for the brunette, and lifts his limp body off the table, pulling him into his arms.

“Put your arms on my shoulder, babe,” he urges, resting Jaemin’s ass back on his hips, and finding his fluttering hole at once. Walking over carefully, Jeno carries the boy until his back is flush against the wall. And only then, does he plunge back inside the man in earnest.

At this point, if there was any suspicion to what the two were doing inside the locked Jenging room, it was quite literally spelled out loud and clear. The thin walls of the room were literally shaking and the sheer severity of how hard Jeno was pushing into the boy, wracking his body against the wall with animalistic drives forward.

“So tight,” he groans, eyes shut tight together. “Fuck, I’m not going to last much longer, Jaem.”

“D-don’t,” Jaemin moans, nails clawing marks into Jeno’s back. “Don’t pull out.”

“You sure?” he looks at the panting brunette in awe.

“Yes.”

Well, who was Jeno to deny him?

But before he did as the man asked, he wanted to see him unravel beneath him, and come with a cry that would ascend to the fucking heavens.

Grabbing Jaemin’s leaking member out of the panties then, he begins to stoke him in time with his perfectly angled thrust, hitting the boys spot with each and every push.

“Did you enjoy my performance tonight?” he huffs in the boy’s ear, watching him squirm with pleasure.

When he’s met with a lack of response, he ceases movement, buried to the hilt inside the boy’s clenching heat.

“Yes!” he finally cries, the tears he tried so hard to hold back finally spilling over his cheeks, ruining his mascara.

Jeno builds back up the pace slowly from there, smiling as he hears Jaemin sigh in relief.

“Did I impress you?”

“Yes,” another breathy moan falls from Jaemin’s lips.

He was actually drooling.

“Who did this to you?” he grunts, sweat dripping down his back now. “Who fucking wrecked you like this?”

“You!”

“Who, Jaemin?”

“You Jeno,” he gasps, sucking in breath as if his lungs were starved of oxygen. “Jeno,” his moans hitch an octave higher, and his legs locked around his waists began to quake. “Jeno, I can’t hold on anymore, I-I need to come.”

Jaemin was a mess. His legs were sliding down his waist, and Jeno catches them swiftly, holding him up by his thighs.

His eyeliner was smudged, his lips were nearly bleeding from all the excessive biting, and his skin was a glowing, flushed red color. But despite all that, Jeno doesn’t think he’s ever seen a more beautiful sight.

He leans down then, hands still working over Jaemin’s leaking member, and presses a gentle kiss to his parted lips.

The sweetness of it took Jaemin by surprise, and he musters the energy to kiss the boy back once more, before throwing his head back against the wall, and releases a cry that even took him by surprise, cock pulsating and coating Jeno’s stomach.

Jeno watches Jaemin beneath him, eyes hazed and mouth open as he came, his expression so entirely blissed out, that Jeno feels his orgasm crash through him like a fucking tidal wave.

He comes inside Jaemin without warning, and he doesn’t slow his pace, pressing against the boy’s abused prostate as he painted the inside of his walls with him come.

For a split second, after he had finally ceases his movements inside the brunette, Jeno had thought that the boy had actually passed out. In his panic, he pulls out swiftly, and pulls the boy into his arms.

“Jaemin?”

Eyes screwed shut, the smaller male’s breathing was ragged, and he stayed limp in his grip.

“Oh shit, fuck, Jaemin?” his tone was panicked now, and a shaky finger comes up meekly to squish against his lips.

“Shh,” Jaemin huffs. “I need. A fucking. Minute. Jeno.”

Jaemin was gone. His body was numb, his dick was numb, his mind was numb. His ass hurt. His legs felt heavy.

But he had never been so utterly satisfied in his entire life.

Jeno lets out a soft chuckle, and carries him gently to the couch, pulling the boy into his arms.

“You were right, by the way,” he whispers, kissing the man’s forehead.

Opening a single eye, Jaemin cocks his head side.

“About?”

“Jisung,” he sighs. “He’s going to fucking kill me when he sees what I did to his clothes.”



Surprising enough, Jeno was still alive and breathing when they finally emerged from backstage. Jisung had taken one glance at the limping Jaemin and doubled over in a fit of laughter.

“I told you it would work,” he gasps out, slapping Chenle’s arm as he bellows out loud.

“Your fishnets are ruined,” Jeno rolls his eyes, supporting a teetering Jaemin by the waist.

“I figured. I have plenty more where those came from. Plus, I gave him clothes I didn’t want any more anyways. Jaemin, you definintely owe me a phone call with Mr. Zhang after all this.”

Jaemin slumps over on Jeno’s shoulder with a soft whine.

“’Jen,” he mumbles. “I’m so fucking tired.”

“I’d imagine,” Jongin snorts, looking at the two with amusement. “You two almost knocked the walls of that Jenging room down.”

Normally, the brunette would bow his head in shame and let the ruby red heat consume his cheeks. But with how dead he felt, he simply sighed to himself, and continued clinging to his giant for support.

“Here,” Jeno turns around, and picks up Jaemin gently, holding him bridal style in his arms. “Better?”

“So much,” he lets out a content hum, and buries his face in the crook of the man’s neck as they began exiting the club.

“You realize you blew your Jences of talking to some really important agencies tonight, right?” Chenle tells the man as they made their way to the car.

“Yeah, I know,” he shrugs, and looks down at the boy in his arms, who was more or less asleep by now, a small smile on his face. “Opportunities will come again.”

“Let’s hope.”

“I’m not concerned about that kind of shit, Chenle, and you know that,” he seats himself, cradling the brunette as gently as he could in his lap for the rest of the ride home.



Jaemin wakes up with a guttural groan the next morning.

“Oh my god, my ass.”

He sits up groggily, rubbing his tired eyes awake. Blinking a few times, it takes a moment for his surroundings to settle in.

And a moment later he realizes he has absolutely no idea where the hell he was. Glancing down, his getup for the night had been replaced by an oversized tee and a brand-new pair of boxers.

“Morning.”

The sound of Jeno’s voice sent an instant flood of memories through his mind, and he jolts when he feels a hand on his back.

“How’re you feeling?” the bed dips with the man’s weight as he sits beside him on the bed, a hand rubbing gently on his back.

“Sore,” he yawns, stretching his arms over his head.

“I’m sorry,” Jeno frowns.

“But, I’m really fucking happy.”

The pout on his face quickly disappears for a cheesy grin. He pulls the smaller male in close, and wraps his limbs around him so he could tuck his head under his chin.

“Well,” he presses his lips against the back of his head. “Why don’t I run you a bath?”

“That sounds nice,” Jaemin yawns, snuggling back against his chest. “Will you join me?”

Jeno pretends to think.

“What’s in it for me?”

“You get the fabulous job of washing my hair.”

“Oh, I’m fucking sold.”



~



“Na Jaemin!”

Donghyuck’s shrill voice comes blaring through his speakers.

“Yes?” he sings into the line, laying sideways across Jeno’s lap. They had Deadpool streaming on the television.

“When are you coming home?!”

“Oh y’know,” he hums. “Soon.”

“It’s Tuesday! Have you even been to class?”

“I do nothing but sit in the auditorium for hours, and play the piano. I don’t need to go.”

“That’s the only thing you do when you’re not in school, what’s the difference? What are you doing right now?”

“Uhh…. reading sheet music.”

Jeno’s roaring laugh comes creeping inside the line, and he twists his lips together to keep a giggle from tumbling out of his lips.

“Is that Jeno?”

Jaemin reaches up to jab the man in the side to shut him up, but only earns another bought of laughter instead.

“Oh, it seems like we’re breaking up ‘Dae! Awh,” he hisses into the line. “I gotta go! I’ll be home soon!”

He hangs up and drops his phone against the couch with a sigh.

His field of vision is blocked when Jeno leans over then, hovering over his face.

“Hi,” Jaemin beams.

“Baeeeekkk,” he says lowly, giving him a stare.

“What?”

“Am I keeping you from important things?”

“Yeah, my dramas,” he sighs. “Lucky for you though, I’m willing to make sacrifices.”

Jaemin reaches up and pats the man’s face affectionately, stifling a grin.

“I’m serious Jaemin. What about the Liszt?”

“Shhh!” he hisses, covering his ears.

“Jaem-“

Jaemin sits up then, pushing the man back roughly and straddling him with a determined look in his eyes.

“Not another word, Lee.”

Eyebrows shooting up his forehead, Jeno surrenders quickly. Instead, he turns to grab Jaemin by the waist, and flip their position, hovering over him with a devious smirk.

“Aye, aye, Captain.”



“Jaem?”

Jeno pushes the door to his bedroom open, a worried look plastered to his face.

It was Saturday now. The longer Jaemin spent his days holed up with Jeno, the less willing he was to return back to his old life. Being with him was so brand new, and every day was another opportunity to learn something else about the man.

Jeno didn’t mind, by all means. Waking up every morning to the sight of a naked Jaemin sprawled inside his arms was one of the nicest things to ever happen to him.

But, despite that, he knew something was off.

“Yes?” Jaemin turns in the sheets, peeking a tired eye open.

“Well,” he clears his throat, unsure of how to begin this conversation. “I… Please don’t take this the wrong way, but,” he pauses, running his hands through his hair. “When, uh, exactly are you planning to go home? It’s been almost a week, babe.”

Jaemin freezes, and an immediate rush of panic feels his chest.

“Shit, am I… fuck, am I extending my welcome?” he shoots upright. “I’m so sorry,” he groans. “I thought you didn’t mind, but,” he groans. “I’m sorry, I’m such an idiot.”

“Jaemin! No,” he grabs the latter’s face, and forces him to face him. “No, its nothing like that. I’ve genuinely enjoyed every second we’ve spent together. But… this is started to seem more and more like an excuse for you to avoid your responsibilities than anything else.”

Remaining silent, the brunette shuts his eyes with a long, extended sigh.

“Jaem?” Jeno speaks up after a moment, and in a spontaneous moment, Jaemin proceeds to burst into a stream of tears.

Shocked, the taller male doesn’t know how to react at first. He’d never seen the brunette show him anything other than his bright, bubbly personality or his sarcastic, snarky side that he grew so incredibly fond of.

It was utterly unsettling to see him this way.

“Oh babe,” he rushes to comfort the man, trying to pry his fingers off his red, tear-stained face. “Jaemin, tell me what’s wrong.”

Jaemin struggles a moment longer, pushing and pulling in the man’s grip, before he finally submits, and slumps down the bed with a low whimper.

Minutes of silence pass.

“Jaemin?”

“I’m so scared, Jeno.”

He was taken aback by how small Jaemin’s voice sounded then.

The brunette was curled in on himself, hot tears refusing to cease, no matter how hard he willed them to stop. But years of repressed emotion and self-hatred were beginning to bubble to the surface, and it was too late to stop it now.

“Scared?” Jeno’s heart breaks at the way his voice cracks. “Of what, baby?”

Jaemin was trying so desperately to catch his breath, but the harder he tried, the harder it was to stop. Little hysteric sobs were falling from his panting lips, and Jeno felt utterly powerless, engulfing the boy in a gentle embrace.

“The competition? Are you scared of that?” he tries again, when his breathing begins to settle.

He could feel a small nod against his chest, and he peers down at the brunette in worry.

“Yeah? It’s going to be okay, Jaem. It’s just a competition. No one can hurt you.”

“No,” he moans then, pushing away from Jeno’s suffocating chest. “You don’t get it!”

He lets the man crawl out from his grip, and try and catch his breath. After a final shaky inhalation, he sags his shoulders in defeat.

“You don’t get it, Jen. My dad’s going to be there.”

Oh.

Jaemin had mentioned his father to Jeno briefly, earlier in the week. All he had told him was that he hadn’t seen him since he left for Seoul.

“You’re scared because of… your dad.”

“Yeah,” he replies, emotionless.

“Do you want to impress him?”

Jaemin lets out a dry laugh.

“I don’t even know what the fuck it is I want, Jeno. What do I want?”

Confused, he shakes his head.

“I don’t… I don’t understand Jaemin. I want to help, if I can.”

“What can you do?” he glares, voice raising as his temper flares uncontrollably. “Huh? What on earth could you possibly do to take away these haunting fucking memories from me? Do you know how much I fucking hated 3 years of my life? Living every breathing, waking moment on the bench of a piano, back bound so straight I swore I had a ruler permanently shoved up my spine? Told that if I was going to be worth anything, I had to play the piano so fucking good, that Mozart rolled in his fucking grave? I had the sounds of a metronome ticking away at my insanity, Jeno. And if I have to see him again,” his voice cracks again, and his rage simmers back down to a whisper. He shudders. “I just can’t. I can almost feel the sting of his palm against my back every time I look into his dead fucking eyes.”

Jeno was speechless. When Jaemin finally broke again, he let him hold him this time.

They stayed like this for 2 hours. Jaemin’s body wracking with grieved sobs. Jeno’s heart cracking at every pitiful whimper that falls from his trembling lips.



“I’m scared.”

Jaemin speaks up, startling Jeno from his thoughts. It was 3 AM. The taller of the two had assumed he was asleep by now.

“I-“

Jaemin cuts him off by reaching a hand blindly in the dark to thumb at his lower lip.

“I’m scared Jeno. But, for once in my life,” he whispers. “I don’t… feel so alone. At least, not as much as I used too.”

“Yeah?” he whispers back, thumb tracing slow, soothing circles over Jaemin’s open palm resting in his.

“Yeah.”

“Can I be selfish and hope that I have something to do with it?”

Jaemin lets out a soft chuckle.

“You have every right to be selfish,” he nods in the dark, staring up at the ceiling aimlessly. “Because you have almost everything to do with it.”

The tracing stops. Time seemed to stand still for a moment, before Jeno’s hand was sliding to intertwine their fingers.

“Good,” he sighs in relief.

“This is insane,” Jaemin laughs, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you haven’t kicked me out yet. Aren’t you sick of seeing this face?”

“Yeah, that’s why I opt to stare at your thighs instead. God blessed you with the thickest pair of-”

A sharp slap resonates into the empty air, and Jeno whines in disapproval.

“Ow.”

“Stop ruining the moment.”

“Ooh, we’re having a moment?” he teases. He tenses for another smack, but relaxes when the hand that comes down connects cautiously with his face. Fingertips traced from the top of his head, dancing lightly down the bridge of his nose, fluttering over his eyelids and finally tracing the outline of his lips.

Jeno kisses the pads of his fingertips softly.

“I know this sounds weird, but I feel like I can trust you with my life. I haven’t even known you for more than a month, but… I don’t know.”

The rapper reaches out, grasping at the brunette to pull him close.

“I know it’s probably been hard for you,” he mumbles into his skin. “I know that. But I also know that you’re much more than your shitty past.”

Jaemin falls silent, gently playing with the man’s hair as he listened.

“You don’t have to be afraid anymore, Jaemin. I’ll always be here for you.”

Heart swelling up in his chest, he grips Jeno’s hair tighter in his hands, and lets his head fall against his chest.

There were so many things rifling through his tired mind at the moment. So many things to process. So many things to say. After a long, stagnant pause, he opts for the only genuine response he could muster at the moment.

“Thank you, Jeno,” he sniffs.

“But, in return, you can’t run from this competition, okay? You have to go kick ass.”

Jaemin freezes then, and lifts his head up in a panicked motion.

“Oh fuck!”

“What?” Jeno breathes, worried.

“The competition! It’s on Monday! It’s already Saturday, and I haven’t even chosen my piece! Oh my god, holy shit, I’m so sc-“

Jeno cuts Jaemin’s babbling off once more by grabbing his head and forcing him against his lips to silence him.

Once he pulls back, he squeezes the man’s waist once in reassurance.

“Don’t worry. I have an idea, and we’ll work on it in the morning. For now, sleep. I’m not letting you start back from square one with the anxiety attack.”

“But-“

“Ah.”

“But Jeno-“

“Sleep.”

The air is silent for a minute, all that can be heard is the rustling of the bedsheets in the dark.

“…. Fine.”





“Well look who decided to show up.”

Jaemin pulls a sheepish grin as he steps inside his flat for the first time in a week. When he thought about it, it was actually ridiculous that he spent an entire 7 days in Jeno’s company. But he couldn’t bring himself to care when he turns, and sees the tall giant stumbling inside the door, looking up at him with a smile.

“Why’re you here?” Donghyuck groans, pointing at the man in exasperation. “Aren’t you fucking sick of each other yet?”

“Don’t get you panties in a twist ‘Dae,” he giggles, bounding up to hug the man tightly, who wriggles around in his grip. “I missed you too,babycakes.”

“Who said I missed you?” his roommate huffs. “You reek of cologne.”

“Aww,” Jaemin coos, pulling back to stroke his cheek. “Good. Because I’m just here to grab some things.”

Donghyuck’s pout returns immediately, and his voice raises to a whine.

“Why?!”

Jaemin blows him a kiss, before running up the stairs to gather his things. Once he had Changed, and tucked one of Jeno’s t-shirts under his pillow, he stuffs his sheet music into a backpack, and bounds back down the stairs, where Donghyuck was currently interrogating Jeno.

“So, you live close?” he looks the man up and down suspiciously.

“Sure do,” Jeno smiles.

“I know you’re Loey, by the way,” he crosses his arms.

“Oh,” he laughs. “Do you listen to my music?”

“Not relevant. You better not be tainting my little Jaemin with your nightlife activities.”

Arms up in surrender, he bows.

“I promise not to put him in any kind of danger whatsoever. You have my word.”

“’Dae, stop harassing him,” he smacks the man’s back as he walks past. “Let’s go, Jeno.”

“I take it back,” his roommate whimpers pathetically then. “I don’t like this Jaemin anymore, give me my nerdy, antisocial roomie back.”

“Love you!” he smiles, waving back as he grips Jeno’s hand in his own, and leads them out of the door in haste.

He knew Donghyuck wasn’t really upset. The man had just a really good tendency to whine at every and anything for the sake of fucking whining.

“So, where are we heading?” he asks as he straps himself in.

“You’ll see,” Jeno winks, and leads them out of the neighborhood.

Once they had arrived at the building, Jaemin scrunches his nose up in confusion.

“What is this?”

“Close your eyes.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Jaemin! Stop being an ass! Close your eyes,” he whines, and Jaemin quickly complies with a giggle.

“Fine, you overgrown toddler.”

“No peeking,” he helps the brunette out of the car, and leads them inside the building.

Jaemin could the ding of an elevator, and he was genuinely stumped at where exactly he was being taken.

“Is this some sort of prank, because I will kill you.”

“No pranks,” Jeno’s voice dropped to a whisper. His guided feet are suddenly halted. “Okay, open your eyes now.”

When the hands around his face disappear, he’s peering out into a place he’d seen before once. In a picture, to be exact.

“Oh my god!” he shrieks, running inside hurriedly. “Is this your studio?!”

It was so much bigger than Jaemin had anticipated it to be. The computer screen was large, and he immediately ran up to the keyboard directly beneath it.

“I thought you’d like it,” the taller man chuckles, strolling in behind him. “I figured it would be a good place to practice.”

“I do,” he grins, and seats himself down on the wheeling chair excitedly. His fingers strum a few chords down, and he dances his fingers up and down the keys. “This is great, Jeno.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Jeno smiles down at him, but nods once as his lips pull into a tight line.
“Normally, I’d nerd out and show you how I use all the equipment, but we can save that for another time.”

Jaemin loved the sound of that.

“Another time.”

He loved the thought of spending more time with the rapper.

He loved the thought of Jeno.

“For now, we’re going to get to work. Pull out the sheet music.”

Complying, he takes his bag off to slide it to the ground, unzipping it as it goes. He takes out the thick sheets of paper, and places them on the propped stand.

“Good. Now, are you having trouble picking a song because you like both?”

“No,” Jaemin huffs.

“Then what seems to be the issue?”

“They’re both the hardest technical pieces of the 5 selections. And I can’t decide which I play better.”

Jeno frowns.

“Why would you pick the hardest ones? Wouldn’t it make it easier to perfect an easier piece?”

“Because I’m good at technicality.”

Nodding, the male pulls up a second chair, and seats himself by Jaemin.

“Fine, let’s try something. Play me a snippet of each selection. I’ll give you an unbiased opinion on which sounds better.”

Jaemin nods, and straightens his back, fingers ghosting over the first notes of the piece.

He decided he would do Etude in E-minor first.

The starts the song as it should, soft and steady. He had gotten a few measures in, until Jeno waved his hand to silence him.

“Okay, now the next.”

Etude in C-sharp started off a lot faster, and the tempo was a quick, jack rabbiting pace. Like before, he didn’t get very far until he was cut off again.

“Well?” he relaxes back against the seat. “Which one sounded better?”

“Uhm,” Jeno was rubbing his neck, a puzzled look on his face. “I… honestly, Jaemin, they both sounded great.”

Groaning, he huffs out with a pout.

“Wow, this is really helpful, Jen.”

“No, hear me out. You’re playing them exactly like the sheet asks for. So, of course, they’re both going to sound well. It’s just… I can’t feel anything from you. I thought at least one piece would pour something out of you.”

Kyungsoo’s words ring in his ear, then.

Emotionless.

Right.

“I… I don’t know how else to play,” he says softly, heart clenching. He was playing the notes right. But why did it sound so fucking wrong to everyone else?

“Here,” Jeno reaches over and grabs the sheets. “Let’s try this. Play without the sheet. You have to do that in competitions anyway, right?”

“Yeah, but I practically have them glued to my eyelids. I’ve memorized it.”

“You should remember the sounds of the music, Jaemin. Not the black notes on a piece of paper.”

Nodding, he lifts himself up again.

“Just give it a shot. Play what you think it should sound like.”

Etude in E-minor comes out again, the clear sharp sounds of the keyboard filling the room. Jaemin was cut off before he even made it past the first measure.

“You’re doing it again.”

“Shit, sorry.”

He picks up from the beginning again.

“Jaemin.”

“Fuck!”

Etude in E-minor begins once more.

“Look, Jaemin,” Jeno’s hands stop his moving fingers at once, crashing the melody. “You’re thinking too much about this. Your overthinking causes panic, and when you panic, you take to what you know. It’s just me here, there’s no reason to worry about messing up or trying something new.”

Taking a shaky breath, Jaemin nods.

It was so hard. It was impossible, almost, to not remember his father at this time. In the small, intimate space they were in, he has flashbacks to the tiny space in their apartment, his father’s menacing tone barking out when he fumbled over his fingers.

He tried, though, instead of falling captive to his memories, he glanced over at Jeno, who gave him nothing but reassuring smiles.

This wasn’t 3 years ago.

This was now, and he could do it.

He tries Etude in C-sharp now. He has a slight bias towards this one, in particular.

The song was powerful. Jaemin knew this, and to do it justice, he had to put as much energy into this piece as Chopin would.

So, with an anxious heart, he lets loose.

“Just think about someone you want to play for, Jaem. Don’t you have someone you want to hear your music?”

Jaemin’s heart constricts at the thought of his mother, her bright smile and never-ending support.

“I used too,” he mumbles, fingers feeling awkward as they danced along the notes.

He misses a key Jenge. His fingers had stumbled, and almost immediately, he stops, bracing instinctively.

However, he jolts this time because of a gentle hand on his lower back.

“Keep going, Jaem. You’re playing for me.”

For him?

Jaemin pictures his dimpled smile in his mind, and his muscles instantly relax at the thought. His eyes close, and his fingers, slowly but surely, resume the melody.

He wasn’t really sure what happened next, really. One moment he felt his body swaying with the tune, and next, he was completely consumed. The keys, the notes, the song itself had evolved right in his eardrums. His heart was beating wildly in his chest, almost kicking up the more and more he got into the playing of the piece.

And before he knew it, Jaemin had gone through the entire 2-minute section.

“Holy shit, Jaemin.”

He didn’t realize it at first, but he was panting. Jaemin’s breathing was ragged, and his fingers were digging into the last keys, head hanging low as he tried to come up with a coherent thought.

“I think….” Jeno laughs softly. “We’ve found our selection, Jaem.”

“Shouldn’t I try E-minor?”

“This suits you so much better,” the man shakes his head. “It’s out there, it grabbed my attention immediately.”

“Was… there really a difference in the sound?” he whispers, still unsure of what had just happened.

“Why don’t you hear for yourself?”

The rapper reaches over on his mouse, clicking open two files.

He opens the first, and it was his first attempt earlier at C-sharp. Listening intently, he didn’t know Jeno was recording his playing, but he was glad he kept it a secret. It sounded incredibly natural.

“Okay, now,” the mouse clicks on the second file. “Listen to this.”

It was as if thunder had struck Jaemin where he was seated. The introduction to the song was powerful, just as he had pictured it in his mind. The notes flittered with intensity, and a smile immediately springs upon Jaemin’s features.

“Oh my god,” he whispers.

“You’re fucking amazing, Jaemin.”

“This is me playing?”

Jeno nods softly.

“I told you, you could do it. Playing with your heart can be very powerful. It’s what differentiates artists from each other.”

Jaemin purses his lips.

“So, like your show last weekend? Did you play with your heart?”

The taller male nods again.

“Yes. Because I had someone in the audience I wanted to play for. Someone I so desperately needed there, listening to everything I had.”

Jaemin stares, dazed, into the black orbs staring just as intensely into his. How on earth did he manage to run into such a magnificent human being?

“You remember our ice cream date, Jen?” he whispers then, growing from how intense the man’s stare was.

“Hmm?” the man seems confused at the random question.

“We were discussing kinks, remember? You had asked something about being bent over a piano.”

Instantly, the puzzled pout on Jeno’s face was replaced with a devilish smirk. He was on his feet before Jaemin even had to ask.

“Yeah, I recall something like that,” he breathes, picking Jaemin up off the chair in haste.

The brunette giggles, and leans forward, lips brushing the shell of the boy’s large, fairy-like ear.

“Care to find out?”





Currently, Jaemin was stood bouncing from foot to foot behind a red, velvet curtain, eyes glued to the illuminated stage.

“Jesus, this brings back memories,” he mutters to himself, hugging his arms to his body, urging the shivers crawling up his skin to disappear.

He was dressed in a black suit, his tie a bit too snug, and his shoes a little too big. His hair was combed neatly against his head, making him look incredibly professional.

It was finally time.

The Franz Liszt Auditions was in full motion, and Jaemin was mere minutes away from his anticipated performance.

After the day in the studio with Jeno, Jaemin heeded the man’s words. He spent the entire weekend locked in his bedroom, practicing his piece with intensity. He played until his fingers cramped, and his stomach screamed for food. His spine was aching to this day, worn out from being wound up so tight for days on end.

But, finally, finally, the end was near.

Lucky for him, he and Kyungsoo were going to be one of the first people to go. Another handful of invitees had gone already, and Jaemin didn’t even bother to watch. He wasn’t here to win. He was here to perform. To let his heart sing, and let the piano become an outlet for his happiness again.

He was determined.

He was ready.

As was Kyungsoo, it seemed.

“You look nice,” Jaemin hums, as the short male walks over in a finished tux, black hair sleek and smooth from the hair gel shining within it.

“Thank you. You don’t look so bad yourself.”

Jaemin does a curtsy, a small smile on his face.

“You ready?”

“Yes,” his response was immediate. “Are you? Finally pick a selection, Na? Or are you going to be playing both E-minor and C-sharp for us tonight?”

“Oh, guess you’ll have to wait for the show, ‘Soo. I like to keep you on your toes,” he winks, and the man scoffs, walking off to prepare for his stage. He was next, and then.

So was he.

He wasn’t able to talk to Jeno much over the past two days, and he couldn’t wait until this whole ordeal was over. Returning right back to the man’s side was all he could manage to picture.

“Contestant number 6, Do Kyungsoo.”

The overhead speakers called out, and Jaemin watches as the man’s shoes clicked across backstage, and he heads out into light, without a single glance back.

Kyungsoo wanted this. No doubt, after this audition, the only thing on the man’s mind was going to be the final competition.

Jaemin watches on with a newfound respect for the owl-eyed man. The second he had seated himself on the beautiful Grand Piano on stage, a small part of Jaemin felt like rooting for him.

How ironic.

Here he was, silently cheering on his biggest competition.

But, this was different now. Everything had Changed, and for the better.

Jaemin was different.

And as Kyungsoo’s Chopin in A-minor bursts through the stage, his heart leaps.

Kyungsoo played as if he faced fear with open arms. He was fearless. The sounds emitted from the piano bleed out his passion, and the man’s blood, sweat and tears poured into this performance was almost palpable.

Who did Kyungsoo play for?

The question swirled around in his mind for so long that he didn’t even notice the performance end. He didn’t notice Kyungsoo pass him with a smug smile, and a soft “good luck.”

He only noticed when a hand was nudging at his side from a staff member.

“Mr. Na? It’s time for your audition now.”

Shit.

Taking a final, deep breath in, he straightens his back, and begins marching his way to his long-time friend. The piano greeted him with a shine and a glimmer, reflecting the blinding lights of the stage, as if saying “welcome back.”

He turns to the judges, who were seated directly in the front row, and does his customary bow.

He was ready.

He was ready.

Jaemin lifts his head, and out of the corner of his eye, spots something that halts his mind like a brutal, life-taking train wreck.

He was fucked.

There, seated on the far right of the audience, was Jaemin’s father.

He could feel it.

Jaemin could feel the eyes. The searing, burning stare was drilling a hole into his forehead.

Of course. How could he have forgotten?

His father was here.

And his father was expecting a win.

Turning, and walking back to the piano with stiff, awkward strides, the piano no longer welcomed him. The piano looked duller, its friendly embrace replaced by a looming, threating aura and as soon as he seated himself, he felt a chill zip up his spine.

It was a cold embrace, and it was nostalgic.

The crowd was utterly silent. There was anticipation radiating off each and every person in the audience. Jaemin’s fingers were still frozen above the keys.

What does he do?

Who was he playing for?

Who was in the audience, watching him?

His father.

His father was the one in the audience. He was waiting.

And, as if upon a terrifying reflex, Jaemin begins to play.

The notes were once more glued to his eyes, dancing out in front of him, reminding him where to go, how to play, how to think.

Kyungsoo told him he played like a robot.

Jaemin went ahead and figured by now,1 he was a robot.

His fingers moved on their own accord, automatic. He had the piece memorized to a synch, it wasn’t hard. Jaemin didn’t even think.

He just played.

He played, and before he knew it, it was over.

The clapping from the audience signified that much.

He had to get up, right.

Stumbling to his feet, Jaemin does a final bow, eyes searching once more for where his father once sat. He was no longer there.

Rushing off stage, he passes Kyungsoo, who had been watching him with an intense stare. Around him, contestants began to whisper as he weaves between them.

“Did you see that? What is he, some human metronome?”

“That was flawless, none of us stand a Jence.”

”Na Jaemin is back.”

“I fucking hate people like him, playing just to kiss the judge’s ass.”

The world was spinning on its axis for Jaemin. He heard people call for him, offering him a hand or help, but he pushes them aside, taking sharp inhales through his nose.

He really thought he was going to vomit. Or pass out. Or both.

“Open.”

Jaemin looks up to see a tall figure looming over him backstage, and he has the sudden urge to burst into tears.

“Jeno…?”

Jeno was here? He told Jaemin he couldn’t make it. Why was he here? Why didn’t he see him in the audience earlier?

“Open, Jaem,” the latter’s voice was soft, and he held a small, white object in his hands.

“W-what is that?” he sniffs.

“A Lifesaver. You don’t look good, please put this in your mouth. It’ll make you feel better, I promise.”

Head feeling fuzzy, he opens promptly, and clamps down when he feels the smooth candy hit his tongue.

The rush of mint wakes up his numbed sense, and a feeling of calm washes over Jaemin.

He’s reminded of the day of his graduation performance then. The panic, the anxiety and the desire to play. That day was such a controversial topic in his mind. It was supposed to be the highlight of his piano playing days, and yet, it had turned into such a disaster.

“I’m getting nasty déjà vu,” he sighs, leaning into Jeno’s touch.

“Yeah? Why?”

“Just am,” Jaemin sucks hard on the round candy, remembering his panic that day. “Can’t really put a finger on it.”

Jeno looks off for a moment, staring at him with a weird look in his eyes. He shrugs, though, and puts his hand in his.

“Let’s go sit. They’re going to announce the scores later.”

They sat in stifling silence. The remainder of the auditions went by slowly, and Jeno didn’t release his grip on Jaemin’s trembling fingers.

It was 45 minutes later when an overhead voice finally breaks their quiet spell.

“Contestants please make their way back to the stage please. Awards will now be given for the winners of today’s Franz Liszt Competition.”

“That’s you, Jaem,” Jeno nudges him with the hand he pulls out of their grip. “Go on up.”

He had won.

This came to no one’s surprise. The audience’s applause was background noise to Jaemin. Many people around him had fell to tears, dreams and hopes crushed by Jaemin’s success. The eyes on him were glaring in intensity.

The notorious Na Jaemin from 3 years was back, and those who were aware with his all-kill streaks back in the day were shaking their heads in defeat.

Kyungsoo had come second.

His face remained stone-cold, and he kept his stare steadfast into the audience after given his silver plaque. The gold plaque in Jaemin’s hands felt incredibly heavy.

“The three finalists will move on to the Final,” the announcer walks up in front of the winner with a wide grin. “The competition will be held to crown the winner of Korea’s Franz Liszt finalist, who will move on to compete other worldwide finalists in the Grand Finale!”

Jeno was waiting for him offstage again.

He held a proud smile, but his eyes looked tired and worry-struck.

Jaemin’s lifeless smile did nothing to help, either.

“You won, Jaemin. I knew you could do it. I’m proud of you.”

“I’m not,” he whispers, glancing down at his award in hatred. “I did it again. I let you down, Jeno.”

“No, Jaemin, you didn’t. You let yourself down.”

He sniffs back his tears that threatened to escape, and lets out a frustrated sigh.

“I feel so dirty. I don’t want this!”

Gripping his shoulders, Jeno tried to peer into the boy’s eyes. He was staring up at the ceiling, blinking his eyes rapidly.

“What happened out there, Jaem?”

“Jaemin.”

The voice from behind the two was gruff and low, snapping each man’s attention from their conversation.

Instantly, Jeno understood.

Jaemin’s father held momentary eye contact with him, before sliding his gaze back to his son’s frozen figure, back still turned.

Jaemin’s eyes were widening in fear, and his lower lip trembled.

“I’m sorry,” Jeno mumbles softly, heart straining to see the boy in this state.

But this was a battle the brunette had to fight on his own.

He releases his grip gently, and turns on his heels, leaving Jaemin with a final mournful glance back, and disappears down the corridors.

Leaving Jaemin alone to face his father after a long 3 years.

“Father,” he says levelly, gathering whatever courage he could muster, and turns around to stare the man dead in the face.

The first he noticed was how much his father had aged. The lines on his face were more prominent than he last remembered. This pulled at his heartstrings.

“You did well,” the man complimented him, but it didn’t meet his eyes. “Seems like this University wasn’t such a waste of time and money as I thought.”

“I got a full ride,” Jaemin resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“Regardless. I’m pleased to see your playing is still as professional as ever.”

Jaemin barely lifts the corner of his lips in response.

“Thank you.”

“I expect nothing less from the performance in two weeks.”

Fingers balled into fists, Jaemin wants to scream. He wants yell and thrash and jump around in frustration. This was the only person he had left.

This person.

Who didn’t ask him how he was doing on his own. How he had been holding up, how he doing. If he was eating, if he was getting enough exercise.

These were things he wondered about his father almost all the fucking time, because even despite what happened between them, he still cares.

Does his father give two flying fucks about him?

“And then what?” he releases a shaky breath. “Huh? What do you expect from me after that?”

The man scoffs.

“What do you think? Make yourself useful. Compose your own pieces, if people are willing to listen. Join an orchestra.”

Fire ignites at the fire of his belly. Pure, raw anger was bubbling to the surface, and no longer could he hold back any longer. He was no child.

“And if I don’t want too?”

“Then what, Jaemin, do you want to become a piano teacher? Work in elementary schools? Play alongside high school choruses?”

“Maybe I do!” he screams, face heating with rage. “At least then I would be playing for a fucking purpose!”

“Purpose?” his father’s voice raises as well, and those around them had quickly scattered, not willing to get caught in the crosshairs. “You think playing this long is just for a damned hobby?”

Jaemin grunts, and the man continues, voice shaking.

“Your mother worked her ass off to get you lessons. She drove you hours on end to recitals, practice, and competitions. And then, all because you wanted to go to some fancy private school that we couldn’t afford, she worked herself to death!”

All the blood from Jaemin’s face drains, then. He’s utterly speechless.

“If it wasn’t for your stupid obsession,” his father was trembling with anger now. “If it wasn’t for you,” he heaves a heavy breath. “She’d still be here.”

Jaemin takes a step back slowly, the tears he had fought back earlier dripping slowly down his cheeks.

“So, you’d better make something out of this. Unless you want her to have died in vain from your pure amusement for a damned instrument.”

And just like that, Jaemin was alone once more.

His father had stalked off, out of sight, and he had to lean against the wall for support in fear of collapsing.

His phone shakes in his pocket, indicating that Donghyuck was here to pick him up. Slowly, one step at a time, he makes his way out of the concert hall, leaving in his wake his abandoned golden plaque, face down where Jaemin left the remnants of his broken heart.



~



Time began to pass excruciatingly slow then.

He had quit going to classes ages ago, telling the school he was practicing in private rather than the auditorium. In the mail, he had received information about the Final Competition.

The selections were from Mozart, this time.

His mother’s favorite.

Jaemin remembers lugging his heavy keyboard over to her room on rainy nights, when her migraines would get particularly bad, and lay it down with a shy smile.

“Hi Jaeminnie,” she’d whisper, looking up, bags under her eyes hidden when she smiled. “You here to play for mommy?”

Jaemin would nod his head enthusiastically.

“What do you want me to play?” he’d ask, plopping down onto the floor excitedly.

“That one, uh,” she’d purse her lips, deep in thought.

When unable to produce the name, she hums the tune, and Jaemin beamed wide.

“Allegro!”

“Yes,” she’d nod. “Play that one for me, Jaemin.”

And he’d play with all his damned might. For his mother, he would play any and every song she’d ever have asked.

Which is why Moonlight Sonata, the third movement, was so important to him. It was the song that introduced him to this beautiful world, the song that his mother would ask him to play time and time again, but he pinky promised he wouldn’t play until his graduation day.

She knew how important that performance was.

And in the end, he never got to play her the one song she wanted to hear most.



“Jaemin?”

Donghyuck was checking in on him for the umpteenth time. His roommate was scared, and unsure what to do in this situation. The once bubbly and cheerful man was gone, replaced by a hollowed-out version that did nothing but slump to and from the kitchen, eyes glued to the screen of his laptop as he binged out months’ worth of Korean dramas.

The brunette grunts in response.

He had lost track of time, but he was pretty sure a near week had gone by since he had seen Jeno.

“Jeno’s here. He says he won’t leave until he sees you.”

Ah.

Speak of the devil.

“Tell him I’m not home.”

“Yeah, he’s right behind me.”

Sighing, Jaemin curls into himself, and tries to shun the sight of the two men as they come barging into his bedroom.

“Jesus, you reek Jaem,” Donghyuck sighs, trying to pry the sheets off the man. “At least let me wash these!”

“Fuck off!”

“Jaemin?”

The boy’s fingers halt their harsh tugging. He looks up, and nearly crumples at the worry-stricken expression on the man’s face.

“Err, hey, Jen,” he whispers, peering at the dark circles forming underneath his handsome face.

“I’m… gonna go now,” Donghyuck whispers as the two held eye contact, and inches his way out with a quiet fighting in Jeno’s direction, shutting the door promptly.

“You’ve had me worried sick, Jaem,” he sighs, and falls to his knees by his bedside.

“No need to worry your pretty head,” he tries to sound as cheery as possible, reaching up to pat the man’s unkempt black locks. “I’m alright.”

“Your appearance says otherwise, honestly.”

“Rude,” he sniffs.

“What happened that day? With your dad?”

Jaemin’s throat dries immediately.

“Can we please not talk about that?” he sighs. “Please, Jeno? I’m so tired of everything. I’m exhausted. And if I have to think about my father, the Liszt or the fucking piano for any longer, I think I’m actually going to fling myself off a cliff.”

Placing a gentle kiss to the brunette’s hand, Jeno sighs.

“Okay, Jaem.”

“Thank you,” he whispers, and smiles softly in his direction. “I’m sorry I didn’t pick up your calls. I’ve been having kind of a… rough week.”

“I can see that. Don’t worry about it. As long as you’re okay….”

“Eh,” he sits up then, and shakes his bangs out. “I’ll make it.”

“Well, Jaemin, I actually wanted to ask you something.”

Nodding, he encourages the man to continue.

“To help get your mind off things for a bit, would you like to have dinner with my family tonight? I understand if you’re not feeling up to it, though.”

Now this was a genuine surprise.

Jeno wanted him to meet his family? Already? They weren’t even dating yet, as far as Jaemin was aware.

But between the expectant look on the man’s face, and the opened letter from the Liszt Competition on his bedside drawer visible out of the corner of his eyes, he wouldn’t dare say no to Jeno.

Like Donghyuck liked to put it, he’d break his beagle heart.

“Sure, I’d love too.”

And there it was, the prizewinning smile that made Jaemin’s shitty day just a tad better. He doesn’t know why he didn’t crawl over to his door the second the competition ended. It was becoming clear how much he depended on him.

“Great! We’re going to my sisters, and it’s just going to be us three and my mom. Dad is working late tonight. Mom is really excited to meet you, by the way.”

A shy smile creeps up his features.

“Really?”

“Really. But, uh, you might want to shower first.”

Jaemin looks down at his stained t-shirt and blushes.

“Good call.”



Pushing back his stormy thoughts, Jaemin straightened his belt and faced forward as Jeno knocked on the white door before them.

“She has a really aesthetic looking house, white and gold themed,” he whispers, and Jaemin nods in appreciation.

The door is flung open with enthusiasm, and a small, pretty middle-age woman welcomes them with outstretched arms.

“Come in!” she rushes them inside, pulling her tall son in for a smothering hug.

“Hi mom,” he smiles down, and leans down to hug her back. It may or may not have been one of the cutest things Jaemin had ever seen. Her sights set to him, then.

“You must be Jaemin,” she sighs happily, and pulls him in for a hug as well, and Jaemin melts into her touch.

It was so affectionate, that it made his heart throb in his chest, remembering how his own mother used to hold him this way.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Mrs. Lee,” he mumbles, hugging her back gently. When they pull apart, she latches on to both of their arms, and begins ushering them into the kitchen.

“Hurry inside now, dinner is going to get cold! We went all out tonight,” she smiles, and Jaemin throws Jeno a look, who merely shrugs in response.

“Looks like you’re a special occasion,” he mouths, and the brunette rolls his eyes.

Please.

All out wasn’t really the word he would have used. The table was set for a near damned feast.

“Does your sister have kids?” he gapes, looking down at the dishes as his stomach growls in hunger.

“Nope,” Jeno smiles. “She’s happily single.”

Mrs. Lee rolls her eyes.

“That girl is too beautiful to not have a man hanging off her arm,” she huffs. “I could set her up with doctors, lawyers, you name it. But no, she seems to quite enjoy being ‘by herself.’”

Jaemin giggles, taking a sip of water from the table they were seated at.

“Where is she, by the way?” he looks around the neat kitchen.

“Showering, most likely. She finished helping me cook a while ago, but yknow your sister,” she looks at Jeno, who nods knowingly. “Needs at least an hour to get ready. She told us to go ahead and start without her.”

“I can wait!” he urges, feeling bad about starting the meal without Jeno’s sister.

“I can’t,” Jeno snorts, picking up his chopsticks and digging in in a heartbeat.

Well. Fair enough.

He looks over at Mrs. Lee, who chortled, and followed suit, picking up some kimchi from a dish, chewing with a satisfied hum.

“Jeno tells me you play the piano,” she asks a few minutes later, after everyone had begun digging in.

Swallowing a mouthful, Jaemin nods, bracing himself. Piano was the last thing he wanted to discuss, but he didn’t dare act rude to Jeno’s mother.

“That’s wonderful dear,” she places her utensils down. “I’d like to ask more about you, but honestly, this chatterbox has told me more than I think I need to know.”

Jaemin glances over at Jeno, eyebrows raised. The man was ducking his head, mouthful of food to avoid conversation. But he could see the red tips of his ears, and he breaks into a wide grin.

“Oh really?” he hums.

“I was wondering when on Earth I could finally meet this boy my son can’t quite keep quiet about.”

This was too much. Jeno was literally the cutest.

“I feel honored,” Jaemin smiles. “The food is delicious, Mrs. Lee. I haven’t had a home cooked meal this nice in years.”

“Aren’t I great?”

Another voice startles the brunette, and he turns to see a slim, tall figure walk down the stairs graciously, tucking her hair behind her ear as she came.

“Ah,” Jeno swallows his mouthful. “And there goes our peaceful evening.”

“Shut it, brat,” she sticks her tongue out as she quickly approaches, and Jaemin is startled at how similar she looks to her brother.

No, not just similar.

Identical was more like it.

They had the same nose, prominent and defined. Their eyes were both almond shaped, and when she smiled, Jaemin nearly choked.

It looked like the rapper had put on a wig and a pair of fake lashes.

“Hello,” she bows to Jaemin. “My name’s Yoora.”

She seated herself across from Jaemin, and wastes no time filling her plate.

There was idle chatter, most of it consisting of back and forth playful bicker between the siblings, Jaemin and Mrs. Lee exChanged glances, smiling at their antics. Soon, and surprisingly, they had cleared out most of the plates, and Jaemin was helping clear the table when he notices a grand piano in the living room.

“You play?” he asks, looking for Yoora.

“Oh,” she looks up from the sink. “Yeah, but not as much as I used too.”

He couldn’t help it, Jaemin was instinctively drawn to it. Jeno urges him to go check it out, and he doesn’t waste his time.

“This is gorgeous,” he runs his fingers along the keys. “Steinway?” he whistles. “These are expensive.”

“It was a gift,” she smiles. “I was pretty good, so I was offered one by the father of a good friend.”

Jaemin frowns.

He needed better friends then, because the only thing Donghyuck’s ever given him worth much was a mug that read “Have a nice day” at the top, and had a middle finger at the bottom when you drank from it.

Jaemin rolls his eyes at the thought.

“Want to play?” she asks from the kitchen.

“No, it’s okay,” he calls back.

“I heard you play, Na.”

“You could say that,” he responds with a soft chuckle. The keys were calling to him. Despite everything that had happened this past week, he still wanted to play.

“C’mon Mr. Pianist! Play us something nice.”

Well. If she insists.

Jeno had entered the room now, a proud smile on his face as Jaemin slides down onto the bench eagerly.

What should he play? Debussy? Grieg?

Soon enough, Jaemin’s fingers were moving all on their own. And instinctively, he had taken to a Bach piece.

Both Yoora and Mrs. Lee had entered the room then, eyes wide in surprise.

Lost in his music, Jaemin finally stops, realizing how long he had ended up playing for.

“You knew all of that?” she blinks. “By heart? Bach’s Prelude and Fugue?”

Jaemin nods sheepishly.

“Impressive,” she whistles. “I’ve played for almost 15 years, and I still have to look at sheet music to get it that precise.”

Jaemin was urged to play a little more, and surprisingly enough, he complied. On his own will, he played a few more pieces for them, sporting a genuine smile on his face as he did. He enjoyed this. This, playing without the intent to win, woo or steal the show, was something that filled Jaemin’s chest with unrelenting joy.

“Alright, mom, I think he’s played enough,” Jeno was smiling, but held a slight concern at bay, hoping Jaemin wasn’t pushing past his limits for his family’s sake.

When the brunette sends him a reassuring smile though, he relaxes. His playing was natural, and he could tell the boy wasn’t going by the notes this time.

He was just playing for the intent to play.

17 minutes breezed by in no time.

“I have to be up for work tomorrow,” Mrs. Lee sighs into her hand, stifling a yawn. “I should probably get going.”

“I’ll drive you home,” Jeno offers. “It’s late, I don’t want you walking alone this late at night.”

She shakes her head stubbornly.

“No! Stay here with Jaemin, no need to trouble yourselves.”

“I’m okay with waiting here, Mrs. Lee,” he tells her, shaking his hands.

“Yeah mom, the drive is less than 10 minutes,” Yoora chimes in.

“Alright,” she yawns again, and stands to search for her coat. While she was putting on her boots, she calls to Jaemin.

“Come give me another hug, dear,” she motions, and the brunette jumps up and runs into her waiting arms, her warm embrace sending another buzz of happiness through him. “Don’t be a stranger. I expect to see you again soon?”

“Of course,” he bows, and waves goodbye as Jeno throws him a dimpled-smile.

“I’ll see you when I get back. We can go back to my place if you’d like?”

Jaemin nods.

“Great. Be back soon.”

Yoora had gotten up then, and returned back to the kitchen to resume the dishes. He was about to turn tail, and follow suit, when something on the side tables caught his attention.

It was a large, white photo frame. And inside, was a picture of Yura, dressed in a white gown, her graduation cap and gown accompanying it. There was something off-putting about the picture.

Stepping closer to the picture, Jaemin peers at the paper she held in her hands, and it was no doubt.

Yoora had graduated from the Seoul’s Preforming Art’s High School. And, like a freight train, it hit him.

Lee Yoora was valedictorian of her graduating class of 1999.

Lee Yoora, the girl in white.

“Holy shit,” he gasps, eyes nearly popping out of his head.

The memory suddenly replays in his mind like a movie.

The girl, fair skin and fair smile, who had pounded down against the white piano with such passion that it captivated Jaemin’s heart, his mind, soul and body.

She was the pianist that taught Jaemin to love the piano. And lo and behold, right beside the picture, was another of her alongside Mrs. Lee on either side of a very young looking Jeno, in the exact same uniform, cap and gown.

Jeno had graduated from the same high school as Jaemin.

In the same exact year.

And when his eyes shift over once more to stare at the bowl of individually wrapped Lifesavers on the table, he lets out a huff of exasperation.

“You’re a life saver!”

“Deja vu.”

Honestly, what kind of fate-type bullshit was this?

“You,” he breathes, eyes turning and searching for Jeno’s sister, who had curiously made her way back out of the kitchen to see his whereabouts. She caught him gaping at her pictures, and made her way over in question.

“You were the valedictorian of the Seoul Preforming Art School’s Class of 1999.”

Startled by his sudden remark, she laughs.

“I sure was.”

Jaemin was speechless. And Yura was starting to feel concerned.

“Is… everything okay Jaemin?”

“No,” he whispers softly then. “It’s not.”

She frowns, and pushes her hair out of her face.

“Why not? What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” Jaemin laughs to himself, feeling his eyes tear up. “Can… can I ask a weird favor from you?”

“I suppose,” her eyes narrow in suspicion. “What is it?”

“I need you to play something for me,” he points to the piano.

“What? Me?” she laughs and shakes her head. “I’m not as good as you, don’t worry. I wouldn’t waste your time trying to asses me.”

“No,” he begs, pleading. “I just need to hear you play once. That’s all I ask.”

Confused and conflicted, Yoora nods slightly, weirded about by the man’s impulsive request, but seats herself at the piano nonetheless.

“What should I play?”

“Moonlight Sonata.”

She whips her head around in surprise.

“The third movement?” she whispers. “You were there that day, weren’t you?”

Jaemin nods softly, feeling his tears well to the extent that his vision went blurry.

“Okay,” she turns back, fingers flexing. “I warn you, I may be old now, but this song is still my stronghold.”

And just like that, Lee Yoora captivates Jaemin’s heart once again with her music. The song, which he hadn’t heard in so damned long, called out of him like a long-lost friend. And Jaemin let it in wholeheartedly, letting his fountain of tears cascade down his smiling cheeks.

He was a mess, but this was all he could’ve asked for.

Yoora could hear Jaemin’s sniffling from behind, and she smiles gently, fingers dancing along the notes with the same grace and poise as the day of her own graduation.

When she was done, she held onto the last few notes for an extended period of time. Neither person moved; Jaemin collapsed back into a couch, a mixture of happy and sad sobs flowing out of him.

“There’s so much heartbreak in your eyes,” she mumbles, turning in her seat.

Laughing at his hysterics, Jaemin rubs at his hiccupping face.

“Y’know what, I’m going to start blaming you, from now on.”

She jerks her head back in shock.

“Me? What on earth did I do?”

Still laughing, Jaemin finally calms down enough to face the girl, and explain in complete and utter detail, the entirety of his misery. He told her how he was stolen by her performance at 7-years of age, and from that moment on, the piano became another extension of his being. How his dream was to sit atop the very same stage, and play the very same song, in hopes of captivating the hearts of others the way she had done to his.

Jaemhuyun explains his mom, his dad, his dreams and his heartbreak.

In the end, he feels completely drained.

“Oh my god,” she breathes out finally, falling back against the piano with a huff. “Talk about the power of fate.”

“Tell me about it.”

Yoora thinks a moment.

“I can’t believe all of this started with me playing my favorite song for my graduating piece.”

Jaemin rubs at his eye meekly.

“You have so much passion. I wish I could play as well as you.”

“Y’know, I was in your exact same position at your age.”

The brunette perks up at her words.

“Really?”

“You’re not the only one with a story,” she winks.

Yoora takes a deep breath, before she begins explaining what had happened to her after graduating.

“There was so much pressure. Not necessarily from home, like in your case, but from my friends and colleagues. Everyone wanted to get to know me, so they could have me as a connection in the long run. Multiple composers reached out to me, and agencies I had never even heard of. It was such a mess. I didn’t even know what I was doing, I had just managed to get the best grades, and I played my favorite classical piece at my ceremony. But all of that led to me being a new, prospective prodigy, and I couldn’t take it anymore,” she sighs. “I tried competitions. But… they were so restricting. That wasn’t how I played. I was constantly told to tone down my playing, to stop adding the extra flares and dazzling chords into the mix so I could get better scores instead. It’s so harrowing. I know exactly how you feel.”

“So… what did you do?”

“I followed my intuition. I didn’t want to play for a bunch of old farts in an orchestra, or write compositions. I wanted to play for myself. Guess where it got me in the end?”

“Where?” Jaemin was on the edge of his seat.

“I’m a news anchor now. I don’t even touch a piano unless I want too. And that’s pretty often than not. I love to play. But now, I play by my own means, Jaemin.”

She stands, and walks over to hold his hands in her own, a determined look in her eyes.

“And you should too. It’s simple, really. Listen to what your heart is telling you. Do you want to do this Liszt Competition?”

His response was immediate.

“No.”

“Do you want to play the piano?”

“Yes.”

“There you go. Take this, and the rest if up for you to decide where you go from here. Jeno’s told me a lot about you. I know that your father may seem like he’s holding a life or death situation over you, but he’s not. He’s grieving, and as awful as it is, it seems this is his only way of coping. You have a lot more guts than you may think. Find what you play for.”

Just then, the front door opens, and both of the two swing their heads to see Jeno bumble inside. When the giant’s eyes land on his sister and Jaemin’s hands combined, he lets out a dramatic gasp.

“I leave for 30 minutes and you’re already making a move on him?!” he shrieks, pointing accusingly at the his sister.

Yura rolls her eyes, and releases the brunette’s hands.

“Of course, I couldn’t fucking help myself,” she retorts, and throws a final quick smile over at Jaemin, eyes reassuring him in a way no one else ever had.

The answer to his problems was currently holding his younger sister in a messy headlock, and the sudden rush of emotions inside Jaemin nearly sends him into yet another fit of tears.

But he manages to hold back, because the time for crying was over.

After hearing Yoora, the girl who had started his piano obsession, talk about her struggles with the instrument and how to find a way back to the initial happiness she felt when first playing, it clicked.

Jaemin played because he wanted his music to be a part of others. He wanted them to fall captive to his playing, to listen, to learn. He played for his mother, because she was his rock. She was the one who kept his drive alive.
And now, it was easy to tell who that position had passed onto. Because once he locks eyes with the giant, who sends a toothy grin and a snarky wink his way, the clouds cleared, and the heavens looked down to give him a good indication of what he was missing.



“I think they liked you,” Jeno smiles as he ushers Jaemin and him inside his apartment quickly, buzzing from happiness.

“I’d sure hope so,” Jaemin laughs, removing his shoes before making a beeline to the couch.

The tall male joins him shortly, tangling their limbs as he surges forward, and plants a lingering kiss to his temple.

“Wanna pop a movie in?” he suggests, and Jaemin shakes his head no.

“I learned something today, Jen.”

Jeno raises a brow.

“Oh really?”

“Yup.”

“Care to share?”

“It’s a bit of a long story,” he sighs. “Are you willing to listen?”

Snuggling closer, the giant peers up at him with expectant eyes.

“Always.”

“Alright, hold on to your hat, because this one’s a bit of a doozy. This, is the story of a boy… who fell in love… with your sister.”

Jeno pulls back then, eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

“Sister’s….. playing.”

“What is wrong with you?” he exhales, and relaxes back against Jaemin with a pout.

“Oh hush, and listen.”

For the second time that night, Jaemin digs deep, and shares his story. From start to finish, he keeps his eyes closed, head titled back against the couch as he lets his stream of consciousness loose. It took nearly 15 minutes, with all the details he didn’t dare to keep out.

He needed Jeno to know.

“And that, my dear Jeno, is how your very own sister got me into this disaster of a mess I’m living today.”

When he opens his eyes, he was expecting Jeno to be shocked.

What he wasn’t expecting though, was for him to be crying.

“Jeno?!” he gasps, cupping the boy’s cheeks in his hands.

“That’s why you didn’t play the third movement?” he whispers softly, blinking away his tears. “All this time… and… it’s because your mother passed?”

Jaemin nods solemnly.

“No wonder you played the first movement.”

Jeno was speaking to himself now, more than he was to Jaemin. And he felt now was a good as time as ever to let the cat out of the bag.

“So, you were there that day, then?” he hums. “How else do you know I played the first movement instead of the third?”

The man’s face drops, and he averts his eyes in shame. He wipes his nose and face sloppily with his sleeve.

“I… ah. You see…I….”

“…graduated the same year as me?” he finishes for him, and Jeno looks back up sheepishly.

“You figured it out?”

“It wasn’t hard. You’re the only person I know dumb enough to wear sneaks with a cap and gown.”

Grinning, he shrugs.

“I didn’t want to tell you until the competitions were over.”

“Why wait so long?”

Jeno looks at him longingly then, and shakes his head.

“Because there’s so much more to tell, Jaemin. Do you remember when I met you in the bathrooms that day?”

Jaemin nods.

“You gave me the Lifesaver.”

“Right. So, you assume that is where I know you from then.”

“I mean, it makes sense. We haven’t met ever prior to that day.”

Jeno runs a finger along the skin of Jaemin’s arm, letting out a deep exhale.

“Since we’re sharing stories tonight, why don’t I go ahead and tell you one as well?”

“Is it boring?” the brunette teases, yelping when the fingers on his skin pinch at his flesh to shut him up.

“This is the story of how a boy fell in love with a pianist.”

Jaemin’s whining ceases immediately. His heartrate kicks up a notch, and he peers at the man, hoping he wasn’t gawking.

“You heard me correctly, yes,” he whispers, before continuing. “So, listen carefully. You may or may not have been somewhat correct in your stalker accusations at some point. 14-year-old Lee Jeno had his flaws, and you can take it up with that asshole. But for now, I’m just going to give it to you straight.”

The smaller male’s breathing was nearly ceased.

“So, this boy was pretty new to music at the time. He had beatboxed for his audition into the school, and somehow miraculously got in. It probably had something to do with his sister being the school’s once prestigious valedictorian, or maybe it was his height and dashing good looks, but let’s not think too hard about that for now. More importantly, let’s talk about one particular day in the harsh winter of 1706. The boy lived in walking distance to the school, so unfortunately for him, he didn’t have the luxury of taking a bus. Rather, he walked 10 minutes in the blistering cold. Showing up early enough one Monday morning, he had passed by the music room on his way to the restroom. And to his surprise, heard some sounds coming from inside. Curiosity had gotten the better of him, especially since he had ended up coming in way earlier than anticipated, to find another person sitting at the foot of a big, wooden piano.”

Jaemin blinks a moment. He used to take a bus that dropped him off 45 minutes early every day, and he’d spend those 45 minutes in the music room, practicing and playing to his heart’s content. He didn’t think anybody could hear him.

“At first, he was weirded out. Who spent their free time practicing? Only a moron would give up the time he could be spending lazing around doing something like this. So, he left without another word. Only, the very next morning, he showed up early again. And went out of his way to pass the music room once more, and peek a head inside. Once again, sat the tiny boy, with the skinny fingers dancing circles around one of Mozart’s classics. It was from that moment on, that this little boy spent his morning’s sitting outside the music room, listening to the boy practice until 7:30 AM, every single day. He knew if the boy was sick, or if he wasn’t at school because this went on for four whole years. Surely enough, graduation began to near. And this boy still hadn’t manifested the balls to talk to the piano boy. The boy, who for weeks on end, played Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata in Third Movement in preparation for his graduation stage.”

Jeno wasn’t looking at him anymore. His eyes were staring dazed into space, as if lost in his own memories.

“And when he saw the boy backstage, running green in the face for the toilets, he knew he had to take action. So, he did, and went back to his seat in the audience with his heart beating wildly in his chest. There was nothing more he wanted to see than the performance this boy was working so hard for playing. But,” he pauses then, and his smile falters. “When the time came for him to play… the dominating, powerful piece he had heard every day was replaced by a solemn, haunting tone that was Moonlight Sonata in the First Movement, he was left hollow. He was confused, and conflicted and concerned. He felt cheated out for the rest of the students, who weren’t able to here the majesty that was the boy’s heart-gripping performance. He watched him slink off the stage and disappear into the crowd of graduates with a heavy feeling in his chest. And from that day forth, it was the last he saw from him.”

Jaemin couldn’t even find a single word to say. His throat was closed, and his fingers were gripping to the man’s t-shirt so hard it left wrinkles.

“Except,” he whispers, and Jaemin inches closer.

“Except?”

Finally, Jeno looks back down to gaze into his eyes. “The Universe decided to give him another Jence. Because when he saw the boy who had stolen his heart sitting at the bar of his regular nightclub, he nearly bowed down in the middle of the floor to thank God for answering his prayers.”

“Jeno,” he breathes harshly, head swimming at the man’s words.

He’s known Jaemin this long? He’s heard him play for four year straight?

“I love you, Na Jaemin.”

His heart nearly explodes out of his chest, then.

“I have for a very long time. And the sheer fact that I can hold you in my arms like this today,” his breath shudders. “Makes me feel like the luckiest man on Earth. You gave me the drive to play. Seeing your dedication made my love for music blossom into what it is today. Why do you think I’m so desperate to have you listen to my stuff?”

Silence filled the room. Jaemin’s face was buried into Jeno’s chest, unable to produce anything other than silent ohmygods from his lips.

When he musters up enough willpower to look up, he nearly chokes up with emotion.

“I’ve found someone to play for, Jen,” he sniffs, cradling the man’s head in his hands gingerly in his palms. “I think I’ve found my reason to keep pushing through this bullshit.”

“Yeah?” he whispers into the dark air. “What is it, sweetheart?”

“It’s you, Jeno. I want it to be you sitting in the audience for me. It’s you I want to find in the crowd at the end of the fucking day.”

A beat or two of silence more, and it was as if the man had read his mind, because his lips were on his in a heartbeat. Their kiss held a newfound desperation to it, no longer fueled by lust and frustration, but a desperation to be one again. Jaemin needed to feel Jeno’s hands on him, etching his kisses into his skin like a tattoo. He wanted nothing more than to remain in this personal infinity, tidal waves of emotion crashing over them mercilessly.

“God, Jeno,” he moans softly as the man licks and bites down his sensitive neck. “I need you.”

“I know,” he rumbles into his skin, hands already working on ridding him from his restricting jeans. “I got you, sweetheart.”

Jeno takes Jaemin like this, on the tiny couch of his living room, gripping both of his hands that were interlocked with his for dear life. It wasn’t the animalistic fucking from the night at the club, but rather, an act of sheer passion.

He dove into Jaemin at a pace that had both men groaning in pleasure, whispering praises and words of endearment endlessly in his ear. And when they finally came, Jaemin had found himself crying again. He wept tears of joy as the man before him came undone with another soft I love you falling from his lips.

And Jeno held him for the rest of the night, wiping his eyes with soft, reassuring words and a powerful grip around Jaemin’s frame that screamed home.





~



Today was a day that was going to live on in Jaemin’s memories until the day he died. This was the attitude he woke to, and was determined to stick to it.

It was the day of the Franz Liszt’s Final in Seoul. Where 3 finalists would fight for the title of South Korea’s champion, representing all classical pianists nationwide in this prestigious event.

Jaemin arrived at the small venue, Jeno pressed up against his side, as if already protecting him from what was inside.

Which he knew was his father.

But Jaemin wasn’t scared anymore.

Oh no.

Today, was going to live on in infamy to him.

“You sure you want to do this?”

Jaemin nods once, and squeezes the man’s hand for reassurance. He had absolutely no clue what he had in store for him today.

“I’ll see you after the show, okay?” he turns once they make it to the room where he had to get ready in.

Jeno fishes something out of his pocket, and Jaemin nearly snorts out loud.

“For good luck?” he waves the hard candy in front of the brunette’s face. His hand comes up to snatch it from his grip.

“For good luck.”

“Knock ‘em dead, sweetheart.”



Jeno thought he was going to be playing Mozart’s Allegretto in a B-Flat Major today. In fact, that’s what it said on his scoreboard.

Turns out his old friend Kyungsoo was playing the same piece, as well.

“Well this is irritating,” the boy grunts when he sees it posted, and turns to come face to face with a frown.

“Hi to you too there, Kyungsoo.”

He tries to shoulder his way around, but Jaemin stops him.

“Hey,” he says gently. “I wish you the best tonight, Do.”

The man is taken back by his soft tone, but nods nonetheless.

“I’m putting my best foot forward tonight, and it’s nothing you’re going to expect. Anticipate it. But please, put you best forward too.”

“You better believe I will,” his mouth quirks up into a small grin, and he nearly staggered backwards in shock.

The short man had a handsome smile. It was a shame he rarely put it to good use.

“Like I told you before, Na. I won’t lose to you.”



Kyungsoo was up first again tonight.

His broad shoulders were tense in the beginning, but as soon as he had begun playing, they relaxed as he flew through the music with ease.

There was no doubt in Jaemin’s mind that this man had what it took to make it to the Grand Finale.

And after tonight, he was determined to see it happen.

He nods to the man as he steps off stage, eyes sLeeling and teeth gleaming with a job well done. The second contestant was next, and Jaemin didn’t pay them much mind. He just needed to keep himself collected until it was time.

Can you see me, mom?

He presses his hand against his heart, feeling it thump against his palm.

You’d better be watching.

Because soon enough, it was his turn to step on stage.

“Contestant Na Jaemin, playing Mozart’s Allegretto.”

Jaemin’s strides onto the stage were careful. The piano was waiting in its glory, and he resists the urge to wave like an idiot in its direction.

His bow was short, but his eyes scanned the entire crowd for a moment. He had found his father immediately, but instead of focusing on that, he searches a bit longer till he finds the familiar, warm gaze he was looking for.

Jeno was seated right in the front. Dimples popping in their full, entirety for him.

It was time.

The world, and everything around Jaemin, began to move in slow motion.

He was seated at the piano. His fingers twitched cautiously, and he looks down from staring at the ceiling a moment.

Are you ready?

He had asked himself.

And for a response 17 years in the making, Jaemin slams his fingers down against the piano, and begins blaring out the majesty that was Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata in the Third Movement.

He had always pictured this moment in his head. Playing this piece was everything to Jaemin. But never once, did he ever imagine playing it instead of the desired Mozart composition, at possibly one of the biggest competitions of his entire life.

But this made it all the more special, honestly. Because when he looks out into the crowd, the reactions he met were utterly priceless.

The judges were stuck in shock, pens falling out of their hands when they heard the dominating sound of Jaemin’s Beethoven invade their senses. They knew exactly what he was doing.

He was throwing in the towel, but in the best possible way ever.

Jeno’s jaw was hanging wide open. And in contrast to the day of his graduation, he wasn’t focusing on the two empty seats, haunting over him like a storm cloud in their wake. He was focusing on the welling tears in the man’s eyes, his endeared expression, his limp hands glued to his sides.

Eyes stretched to the size of saucers, he could already tell the giant was probably going to cry.

Can you hear me, Jeno?

Do you feel this sensation too? Is your heart beating as fast as mine?

Every fiber of his being was on fire. It was the burning desire of a thousand fucking suns.

As he reaches the end of his piece, he closes his eyes, and throws his head to the sky.

He knew somewhere up there; his mother could hear him. He knew his song had ascended to the skies, and painted a mural of colors for her to see.

And once it was over, Jaemin was dizzy off his adrenaline rush.

There was no sound when the final crashing keys came to a stop. There wasn’t a single soul that breathed as Jaemin stood, and bowed politely, before taking his leave from the stage. And as he went, he kissed goodbye the end of an era of his life.

An era filled with confusion, misery and hatred.

And as he passes a dazed looking Kyungsoo, who barely has time to catch his breath as he goes, he walks into the waiting arms of his future.

“You’re such a little shit. How could you hide this from me?”

Jeno’s voice was hoarse from crying, and Jaemin merely squeezes him back with as much intensity he could muster.

“I did it, Jen. I finally fucking did it.”

“I always knew you could.”

“Do you think she heard?” his voice catches then, and he nearly feels all the blood rush to his head at the severity of this moment.

“I know she did.”

“I love you, by the way,” he sniffles. “Incase my intentions didn’t get through to you.”

Jeno laughs, rubbing his back in soothing circles.

“Message was heard loud and clear, sweetheart.”

The two finally broke from their embrace, and were about to search to find the exit, when Jaemin hears his name being called from behind.

And nothing in his life could have prepared him for what happened next.

His father, tears streaming down his cheeks, was making his way over as fast as he could, limping with every hurried step.

Jaemin finally loses it, then.

He runs to his father with a broken cry, and clings to him in urgency.

“My son,” he sobs, shaking as he rocks them side to side. “I’m so sorry. That was beautiful. I remember how much she used to talk about wanting to hear you play this for her.”

He nods, unable to find the words he wants to say. Despite their lack of conversation, Jaemin understood. The way his father was gripping on to him, letting out any emotion bottled up for the past 3 or so years, there was no doubt.

And he was utterly willing to forgive.

“Your mother would have been so proud of you.”

His heart was already full after tonight. But hearing these words come from his father’s trembling mouth had finally sent him over the edge.

Jaemin had spent the next few hours continuing to cling to his father’s side until he had escorted him to his train, promising to call as soon as he could.



And when his hectic, unexpected night finally came to a close, he lays awake, hands intertwined loosely with another calloused, thick pair of fingers.

It didn’t feel real. None of it did. All the events prior to this very moment felt like a dream, and he couldn’t help but want to pinch himself to make sure he was really awake.

But all the same, Jaemin knew.

He knew exactly what was real. His past fears had dissipated to a state of nothingness, which left him a whole lot more room to think.

“Yknow?” he sighs, breathing shallowly against Jeno’s chest.

“Hmm?” the man hums, nose buried deep into Jaemin’s hair.

“I think I want to become a piano teacher. Teach little kids.”

Outside, the sound of chirping crickets can be heard, and it’s quickly putting Jeno to sleep.

“Suits you, really.”

“Yeah,” Jaemin grins, a warm sensation pooling in his gut. “But, you know,” he grins in the dark. “Maybe I ought to teach you first. Your big, clumsy fingers aren’t so graceful on a piano.”

Jeno draws back then, and a sound of mock offense can be heard in the room.

“I am not taking lessons from a music snob.”

“It’s that, or my insistent bitching every time I hear you play.”

Jeno groans softly, and lets out a dramatic sigh.

“Why me?”

“Hey,” he pokes him lightly. “You’re the one who fell for a pianist. Suck it up, cuz this is what you’ll be dealing with for the rest of your life.”

The silence returns. Jaemin cranes his neck to try and catch the other male’s face in the casted moonlight and for a moment, he wonders if he was prying too far into the future. The notion is quickly dissipated though, when he feels Jeno’s soft lips brush his forehead to plant a lingering kiss.

“There’s nothing else in the world I’d rather be doing, sweetheart.”

Jaemin smiles, heart on the verge of bursting from the monsoon of emotions flooding within him. 3 years ago, he never pictured himself here. The boy who was strapped and confined to the bench of his piano was finally set free. Running a hand languidly up and down the man’s arm, he has to bite his lower lip to keep himself from grinning like a madman then.

Jeno had said that playing music from the heart was full of freedom, and expression. Jaemin wasn’t sure entirely what that meant yet, but, if it was anything like the sensation he felt when he looked at the black-haired man beneath him, then he was ready to embrace it with open arms.

When the taller male’s breathing had shallowed, and he’s drifted off to sleep beside him, Jaemin figures his crazy, preposterous plans for the future could wait.

And that for now, he’d leave the rest up to fate to work out on its own.



.

.

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Fin.