hismelody: (joochan_467)
Song Sihyun ([personal profile] hismelody) wrote2022-05-18 12:33 am
Entry tags:

(no subject)

Even now, after more than a year here and the rocky months that preceded his arrival, S still sometimes finds it strange that he barely plays the piano anymore. There is, of course, a whole ton of baggage that comes along with that, too, but every once in a while, he's simply struck by the oddity of it. For such a long time, it was such a huge part of his life, the thing that helped bring him and his boyfriend together, the path he'd chosen for his future, both his schoolwork and his leisure time largely revolving around it. Now he doesn't even play daily, though he works around instruments. At least he has a good environment in which to do so. Playing at home would be out of the question for numerous reasons, not the least of which is that they don't have and can't afford a piano. At work, he can get it out of his system, so to speak, get some practice in so he doesn't lose all his skill. It's not something he has the same drive to pursue anymore. As much as he misses it, he can't force that feeling back. This is enough — a perfect arrangement, really.

He just has to keep telling himself that.

As is fairly usual, it's quiet near the end of the work day, no customers around. With his coworker in the back, the store is momentarily empty, and that feels worth taking advantage of. Sitting down at one of the display pianos — a beautiful grand, far nicer than anything he ever owned or ever really expected to, he remains still for a moment, just breathing in deep, savoring the familiar feeling of it, his hands resting delicately against the keys and eyes closed. When he opens them again, he begins playing Tchaikovsky, the simple, lilting, bittersweet melody coming from him easily. He means to be paying attention to the store still, but with so little time left until they close up anyway, he isn't expecting anyone to show up. He winds up, then, immersed enough in the music that he doesn't notice when the door opens and someone walks into the store.
beklemmt: (pic#14832620)

[personal profile] beklemmt 2022-06-12 08:34 am (UTC)(link)
J nearly points out that their relationship was, by default, illicit enough on its own back then. But S lifts his hand and J feels it in the slight shift of his body before he sees it, still familiar after all this time. The sight of it makes his heart ache, but comfortably now, spotting home in the distance after a long time away.

"You can if you want," he says. As badly as he wants to hear what S would play, that's not even the part that matters most to him right now. That S would even consider it, that they've talked about it now and he knows S feels safe to do so, matters more than whether or not it happens now. They're both finding their way back to this, even if their paths are different now. "Whatever you feel like." Carefully, he slips his hand from S's, bringing it to rest on his thigh instead, close and, he hopes, still reassuring. If S wants to play, he'll have both hands free now, and J won't have to pull away or stop touching him for that to happen. "And if not, I can come back another time."

His mind circles back to what he was going to say a moment ago, and he laughs again, quiet but there. "Our idea of romantic is different from most people's in general, I think." Though he tries not to think too much about certain things, he vaguely recalls once having found it at once endearing and attractive that S had thought of committing murder to avenge him, and he still finds it extremely romantic that S continues to choose him, to want him, in spite of everything. At this point, he doesn't think they have any say at all as to whether or not they love each other, but no one, least of all himself, could have faulted S for not wanting to take this relationship back on after all that's happened. It's not always easy, being with J, he knows that, but S never makes him feel like it's hard either or not worth the trouble.
beklemmt: (tranquillo)

[personal profile] beklemmt 2022-06-14 05:00 am (UTC)(link)
J smiles, head ever so slightly turned so he can see S without openly staring. It's a position he perfected as a teenager, quietly, awkwardly in love, trying not to be terribly obvious. Actually, he thinks, he liked perfected it before he even understood why. He watches like this, waiting, S's contemplative silence enough to make him want to keep quiet in turn. He knows how it feels when S is considering something, the pause of him weighing his options. Whatever he decides on, J wants it to be his. If he wants to wait, if he dives in, it's his choice to make, not J's, and J tries to keep the weight of his longing in check. He got good at that as a teenager, too.

It's not until he hears the slow, deliberate breath S takes, preparing to play, that J realizes he's all but holding his own. He takes one to match, or tries to; it catches in his throat as S's fingers grace the keys.

It's a beautiful piece, one it takes J a moment to place. He hasn't listened very much to classical pieces since he came here. He's tentative when it comes to music in general, wanting and still unsure. Even before he recalls the name and composer, though, he feels the rightness of it, wandering and longing and thoughtful, coaxing and curious. S's touch is light and deft, and J can feel his heart reply, fluttering untethered in his chest. He knew the day he came here that he'd been forgiven, whether or not he deserved it. He's not even sure S has ever actually said those words, I forgive you. It's never been necessary. But this, getting to sit next to S and listen to him again, in spite of all he did wrong over the years — it makes him feel it all over again. Warmed through and aching at once, he closes his eyes, and it's enough to hold back the tears that well up again for now. He's missed this and he's grateful for it, soaking in the beauty of Debussy's work and S's skill like parched land after a long-awaited rain. For a while, music and what it means to him has been a difficult thing to wrap his head around, but like this, he can feel it again, just for a while, the notes soothing him as delicately and with as much certainty as ever.
beklemmt: (pic#15012878)

[personal profile] beklemmt 2022-06-14 07:29 am (UTC)(link)
The music softens and stops, but J doesn't open his eyes yet. He closes them a little tighter, in fact, silently urging the tears to stay back. He doesn't want S to see them and misunderstand. It's not quite enough — it never actually works, though he always tries — and he can feel one or two slip free even as he nods. There's a deep ache in his chest, pushing against his ribs, but it is, he thinks, a good kind. Mostly good, at least, if not wholly so. It's too early to tell, too hard to wrap his head around his emotions just yet.

The way S plays has changed a little. Not enough to make J feel he's missed out on some part of S's growth, but enough that he can notice, can hear that S hasn't played seriously in some time, but that he's still good, if a little less sure than he used to be. J can't fault him that. He's the same now. Well, a lot less sure, in his case, but they're both somewhat out of practice these days. He's glad that S hasn't let go of playing entirely. That's what matters — that he can still play, that he wants to, that he's allowed J to sit here and listen.

Making a soft sound of agreement, he sniffs, reaching up with his free hand to rub the heel of it over his cheek. "Yes," he murmurs. "It's alright. I'm alright." He lets out a small, helpless, embarrassed laugh, glancing over at S finally, his eyes wide and wet. A long time ago, he asked S to play for him one last time. For more than a year now, he thinks, he really believed that was what happened that night. Now it's not true anymore, another part of it falling away, as if they're undoing a curse piece by piece and he's fighting his way back to the world, casting off the remaining binds of some dark and terrible spell. As in most fairy tales, they've stepped into their future with their innocence left behind them, but it is, he thinks, a brighter future than they could have hoped for two years ago. "It's pretty. You're pretty."
beklemmt: (pic#15012809)

[personal profile] beklemmt 2022-06-15 08:01 am (UTC)(link)
J's not pretty in the least and he knows it — not, at least, right now, when he has to be red and blotchy, lower lip jutting out petulantly as is usually the case when he's feeling emotional and doesn't particularly like it. This isn't so bad, admittedly, given the feelings in question, but he still dislikes crying in public, even if there's no one else to see. That doesn't matter, though, nearly as much as the sweetness in S's voice, the closeness of him when he speaks, the gentle understatement of it all. Anything more, and he might burst into tears, feeling horribly fragile. As it is, he's too overcome by too many emotions to make sense of any of it. Alright is about as good a word as he can put to it right now.

He turns, leaning into S, burying his face against S's shoulder for a few moments. He doesn't know what this is now or what it means exactly, if they'll even do this again, but it's a relief somehow, a release, a kind of grief wound through it. The past is so far behind them, but there are parts of it he wants to keep, parts that meant too much to lose, but he'd thought he'd lost them anyway. It's silly, he thinks, when he knows that isn't true in any way that matters, because nothing can take those memories from him now. Even so, it felt so removed, and all he could do was blame himself. Maybe now he can let that part of it go too.

"I'm glad you played for me," he mumbles, frustratingly wobbly, clutching S's leg a little tighter as he steadies himself. Thank you feels wrong, but there's gratitude all the same. "Sihyun-ah..." Sometimes it seems like he'll never run out of reasons to be angry with himself, but at least S is here to help him brush a few away. Tilting his head up, he kisses S's jaw, drawing in a shaky breath, letting out a helpless huff of a laugh. "I feel better. And stupid. But better."
beklemmt: (delicato)

[personal profile] beklemmt 2022-06-16 07:39 am (UTC)(link)
J envies him that a little bit. He's known for a while now how badly he missed this, the awareness only serving to make it worse, to make him want it more. But then, he thinks, S didn't know because, it seems, he didn't let himself. That's its own kind of awful. This used to be them. This used to be home. And he wishes he could say the same to S, that he would never mind hearing it, but there was very much a time when he did. Of course S must have worried J wouldn't want to anymore.

It takes him a moment to be able to say anything at all, sniffling quietly, trying not to start crying outright. He should have known better, he thinks, but he didn't, and it's such a fucking relief to hear S say these things. As overcome as he may feel, it's the good kind, really. "Not stupid," he murmurs, shaking his head. "You're not stupid at all. You're sweet and thoughtful, and you wanted me to be okay. You had no reason to think I wanted this. I should have said. I should have been clearer." With the hand not still clutching S's leg, he wipes at his eyes, attempting to improve his vision a bit. "And you should have asked. But I get why you didn't."

It's hard to say even that much, really, which is also no fault of S's. It's just that J spent so long criticizing S for every little thing, and it's hard to do so at all now, even when it's rational, founded, and gentle. He's not yelling at S for the sake of it or to let off steam or over some imagined problem, but he hated that time in their lives so, so much, and it hurts to be in a situation where he can't help worrying he'll put them back there. Teasing is simple, but actual issues are hard to pick through, at least when he's not already too upset for it to make much difference to his state. Emotional though he may be, he's much calmer now than he was earlier. That makes it hard. But he just reminds himself that it's important. It wouldn't be fair to either of them if he let his fear keep him biting his tongue. They have to be able to discuss things. S won't misjudge him. He just has to keep himself from doing so.

He sighs, shrugging slightly as he looks over at S, so close and so lovely. "I have to get better at asking, too. I just... don't like talking about... before. It's hard."
beklemmt: (pic#14832622)

[personal profile] beklemmt 2022-06-18 03:42 am (UTC)(link)
Easier for S, J nearly says, but it's not entirely true. It was just a different kind of difficult for him. But for J, the terrible aching anxiety might have been eased sooner, and that's the problem. At the same time, S couldn't have known that; it would have been easy to assume talking about it would only make things worse. It's all so messy and complicated, but that's a good thing, too, J thinks. Hopes, anyway. Simply yelling at each other and not talking things out was less complicated, too, but ultimately so much worse. Sometimes messy is useful.

"It shouldn't be," he says, quiet and earnest. "It's ours. Whatever shape that is. And I — I don't want you to give things up for me. If I did, I'd say so." He already feels like he's wreaked too much havoc on S's life, complicated too many things. It's up to S whether or not that's true, and he knows S disagrees, but that doesn't keep him from wanting to make sure it never gets to that point. He wants to give S more, not less.

"I... I was scared to say anything, because it hurts, talking about those things." And if he never said anything, he knows, S could never confirm he was right. He was too much of a coward, too blinded by his worries. "But... we have to sometimes. Even if it hurts... I'd rather know what you're thinking about and worrying about. And if... something is too much for me or a problem, I promise I'll tell you, but... ask me. It's better to know for sure, even if it hurts, right? I'll try to remember. I should have said."
beklemmt: (pic#15011190)

[personal profile] beklemmt 2022-06-24 07:34 am (UTC)(link)
"No," J says, soft but firm. He'd shake his head, but he doesn't want to make S think he's shaking him away, his hand curling tight in S's. "It wasn't. None of that was right, Sihyun-ah." It hurts to think about, and J hates that, in some way, he was right. It's the shadow of what was that's made this so difficult, and he's all too aware still of the horrible things he said — not all of them, no, because he's sure he said things when he was upset that he's forgotten, but more often things stick, echoing in his head down the years, long after they've been forgiven. It just never should have fallen to S to think he could fix all this or that he should have had to choose differently to mend what's broken in J.

Besides, he thinks, a sudden clarity piercing the ache, it wouldn't have helped at all. "I would have hated that, too, I think," he says. His throat hurts a little, and he feels like his blood is pulsing in his ears, painfully alive at the pulse points in his wrists. Revisiting any of that time is horrible. That he does so all the time doesn't change that. "You don't understand. It wouldn't have been either of ours then. I was scared. Losing something that... made me me. And you still had it, and I didn't know who I was anymore... If you'd stopped, if you'd given it up... I would have felt guilty, but also I — it would have been a choice for you. I didn't feel like I had that. It was just... gone. Everything — I was so fucked up, darling. Nothing would have made me happy. Not that."

Maybe if he'd been able to make himself talk sooner. Maybe if he'd told S the truth, found a way to explain how it felt like he was watching himself disappear, watching himself get replaced by someone who looked and sounded very much like himself, but animated by all his worst tendencies. Maybe if he'd been able to let S see him properly, to know that he was terrified and in pain, maybe then they could have done something. But he didn't know how. Even now, after over a year of pushing and trying and working and talking, some things are intensely difficult. He's had so long to think about all this, and it still feels like there are things he doesn't understand. And what he does understand, and what he can say, he says like this, by turns barreling forward and haltingly, trembling slightly and holding S's hand perhaps a little too tight. It's there. He puts it away as best he can and he lives where and when he is now, but that past is always there and he is always afraid that it will be here again, too, just as he is, that a day will come when, once again, he watches himself fade away. He felt it earlier this year and he survived it, but even that wasn't as bad as it's been before. Maybe that's because, this time, S pulled the words out of him. Maybe it's because he's been able to say things like this, to prepare S a little better to help him through. Or maybe that was a warning shot, a shadow version, letting him off light, but only for now. As awful as all of this is to say, as frightening as it is to say aloud, yet again, that he doesn't believe they could have changed what happened then, it needs to be said. Everything he thinks and learns about that time should be said, held up to the light, examined for clues so that next time, it can be changed. But that doesn't keep him from shaking, remembering all that fury and despair.
beklemmt: (pic#14832621)

[personal profile] beklemmt 2022-06-28 04:42 pm (UTC)(link)
A small sigh punches out of J, a possible precursor to a sob, though he tries to hold it back. He doesn't know if he can agree, but he doesn't think S is wrong either. It's not like music is what really ruined everything, but it played a role. He wouldn't have spent months avoiding it if it hadn't, if he weren't afraid that his desire to play would shake loose whatever evil still sits inside him. But it's not the music; it's his reaction to it, his need and his weakness. He still doesn't know entirely why it began to slip away from him. It felt, back then, like most things were pulling away, his confidence and courage with them.

"I do too," he whispers, chest tight and aching. "I wish I'd known, too. I wish I could have told you what to do." There was no cure for it, though — nothing, at least, they would have wiped it all away and freed him of it. If he'd been better able to communicate, if he'd had the words to explain, if he hadn't been so worried and ashamed that it kept him even from trying, maybe they could have done something. He didn't know, though, how to do it. It ate away at him and he didn't even know how to name it. He still doesn't, not really. It's not just a voice, after all. It's terrible feelings and something that at least sounds like himself, and he doesn't know how to fight himself when he can't tell which parts are lies and which are true.

"Isn't that what tore us apart though?" he manages after a moment. "Not music. Not really. I don't know. I feel like there would always have been something. Something wrong in me." This isn't quite the conversation he meant to have when he sat, but there's truth in what S says, no matter what J wants to believe, a clear line between music and madness, if only in his own reactions. Whether or not the piano is in any way at fault, his needs and fears around music fueled so much of how he behaved, a channel for all the confusion inside him.
beklemmt: (pic#15013073)

[personal profile] beklemmt 2022-06-29 07:23 am (UTC)(link)
J feels a pang of guilt at that, realizing he's yet again gotten too caught up in his own hurt to see he was missing the point. It's not about whether or not music caused the rift between them or simply worsened it. That connection existed regardless, and of course S reacted that way, felt it that way. Sniffling, he shifts a little so he can turn toward S, head tucked onto his shoulder. It's frightening, how many ways he's still the same as he was then. He's gotten somewhat better at managing it all, and some of the pressure that made him worse has been taken away, but it's all still there.

"I didn't see it that way," he murmurs. "There was a lot I didn't see. I should have, but..." He sighs, eyes closing tight, and focuses for a moment on what he can feel: the soft warmth of S's breath, the gentle pressure of his thumb against J's skin, the solidness of his shoulder beneath J's cheek and pressed into his side, the way their bodies jut into each other, not awkward as they should be, just right. He's here now, sitting at a piano finer than any he could have ever hoped to own, and what he did then is past. It won't ever go away, but it's over now, and it doesn't matter very much what he should have done. As hard as it is to make himself remember and believe, it really doesn't. He can't change any of it. But S is still here, still real and whole, still loving him, and they're okay. "I couldn't have. I didn't see anything the way it was then. But I knew I was losing... this. I thought it was forever. But it's not, it wasn't, or we wouldn't be here now."

If he'd known back then, he thinks, that there was a version of his future that looked like this — well, doubtless he wouldn't have believed it, for a vast number of reasons, but if he had, if he'd known, this wouldn't have needed to exist at all. But that's the problem, he thinks. Back then, what he thought he knew wasn't real, just a lot of fears both rational and mostly otherwise bundled together into what he thought was true. If he'd been able to see to the actual fact of what was around him, he wouldn't have been so afraid to tell S how afraid he was of everything else. Changing that, being able to talk to S about all of this, even if it's still intensely difficult sometimes, has made all the difference.
beklemmt: (delicato)

[personal profile] beklemmt 2022-06-30 08:01 am (UTC)(link)
For a few moments, J thinks he's gotten himself under control, but that sets him off again, his lips pressed tight together, tears too hot down his cheeks. He was so stupid. He was stupid and cruel and blind, and they paid so dearly for it. If he knew nothing else in all the world, he should have known S would never stop loving him, and he can only call it proof of how far apart he fell that he ever thought otherwise. Even now, he wants to believe he'd never make that mistake again, the evidence of this last year too powerful to deny, but he's not sure. It's hard to imagine now that he could ever doubt this again, but he would have thought, in the months before he started to crumble, that he could never doubt it at all. It's scary to know how easily everything he relies on can break down, if only and most potently within his own mind.

"A little," he says, hoarse, trying hard to crack a smile, though it comes out embarrassingly wobbly. He sniffs, struggling to find his words or even the ability to speak, his throat gone rough and tight. "I'm trying not to say," he admits after a moment, "that I don't deserve that." The loyalty and love S has shown him, the depth of grace and forgiveness — J knows it for what it is now, an act of devotion and courage at the same time that it's as natural and automatic and unthinking as breath, and he doesn't know how to show how thankful he is that S has that strength and that instinct alike. It's hard to think he's done or been anything at all that would merit that. He's done an awful lot that wouldn't. At the end of it, though, it's S's choice and S's heart, and he knows S sees in him so much that J simply can't. He's trying so hard just to let himself have this, not to argue or debate, just to let S love him.

He's worked, too, to be better and do more so that, whether or not S thinks it's necessary, he can feel for himself that he's more worthy of the luck and love he's been given. It can't be like before. "It doesn't matter," he adds, "if I do or not. I want it either way. To be loved by you like this. With or without music."
beklemmt: (pic#14832632)

[personal profile] beklemmt 2022-07-01 07:18 am (UTC)(link)
For so, so long, J felt uncertain of nearly everything except his own failures. Here, though, little by little, he's had the chance to regain his confidence. If there's anything he's sure of, it's this. Tipping his head into S's cheek, he nods, his gaze lowered because if he meets S's eyes before he's pulled himself together, he'll probably start sobbing for no reason at all. It's just that this has been such a long time coming, something he thought he'd never have again. He was so certain it was his own fault. To some extent, it was, because he was too afraid to make his worries clear or voice his fears; this could have happened much sooner if he hadn't let guilt get the better of him. He's really tried to tell himself that it doesn't matter how long it takes them to get somewhere as long as they get there, tried to curb the regret of all the lost time, and he's mostly succeeded, at least most of the time. It still takes a while to apply that understanding to each new occurrence.

Even so, there's relief, too, a lot of it. They made it here when he thought they never would. He was wrong, as he so often is, but in a way that makes him thankful to have been wrong. And when S is so close that J can feel his breath when he speaks, when he's saying such sweet things, it's a little easier to let himself get distracted from the lingering hurt that he's still trying to pull away from. Instead he leans closer, nose nudging S's, resting their foreheads gently together. "I love you," he murmurs, brushing a soft kiss against S's lips. "You can have both. If you want it. We can have both. But you're all I need."

The last year has proven that pretty thoroughly. On one hand, J knows, they've been incredibly lucky and that's extended past the impossible and into day-to-day things he didn't think they'd get to have that have made life much, much easier. In every material way, they're better off than they were before. Money is less of a concern, their safety isn't the worry it once was, and their home is more than spacious enough for two. But he knows even so that he'd take the cramped studio and a hidden love in a heartbeat, even if they never played again, as long as he could have S. He made a mistake before, he knows that. But he also knows now that he can survive things he didn't think were survivable, and that he can live happily without the piano. He still feels its absence, but not in any way he can't handle. Not like he feels S's absence when they're apart. It's not a trade he'd ever make again.
beklemmt: (tranquillo)

[personal profile] beklemmt 2022-07-12 02:59 am (UTC)(link)
After all the crying and the wild emotions, even the best outcomes leave J feeling small and fragile. It's hard not to be overcome by the moment, lost in how S touches him, gentle and absent; even if he hadn't said that just now, J would feel it, how loved he is. Before they met, J didn't know what that could feel like, having someone at his side no matter what.

He hasn't known either, all year, what he wants. It's hard to know. There's been so much to work through and against, and so much of what he loved most in his life has been tainted in some way or another. He was so sure for so long of who he was and who he wanted to be, what he wanted to do. Figuring out how to live with that while not wholly distracted by his own mind falling apart is a struggle, but he's trying. "I love you," he whispers, voice thick, and swallows hard. "You'll figure it out. Whatever you find yourself wanting, I'm here."

S did that for him, after all, practically from the moment they met. He had a faith in J that J has never understood, and he believed in J even when J was breaking down, losing his own certainty. Changing their future isn't as simple as just willing it to be, as announcing his intentions, but it's a start, and he's determined to do better.

(no subject)

[personal profile] beklemmt - 2022-07-18 07:16 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] beklemmt - 2022-07-21 07:38 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] beklemmt - 2022-07-25 07:57 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] beklemmt - 2022-07-26 22:40 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] beklemmt - 2022-07-27 06:39 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] beklemmt - 2022-08-01 07:38 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] beklemmt - 2022-08-02 07:53 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] beklemmt - 2022-08-03 07:45 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] beklemmt - 2022-08-04 07:51 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] beklemmt - 2022-08-05 07:03 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] beklemmt - 2022-08-06 07:59 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] beklemmt - 2022-08-08 19:12 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] beklemmt - 2022-08-09 07:22 (UTC) - Expand