Bound by Octaves

[bisharp]

Date posted: 06/14/10

Summary: You find yourselves, through the music.

Genre: romance/slash, fluff

Rating: G

Char/Pair: Sungmin/Ryeowook

 

You never paid much attention to him in the beginning. You knew he was in your grade, was quiet and had a smile that made all the girls (and you) tingle. You knew he moved here a few months ago. You knew his name was Lee Sungmin. You knew that he was in your music class.

But you didn’t know him until of the end of music class one day, when he brought his guitar to talk to the teacher. When you stayed behind because your books feel when you heard him play for the teacher, and you stopped, and all you could think of was him.

And you heard him sing for the first time, and it only is better matched with the instrument.

♪

‘Kim Ryeowook, correct?’

You jolt your head up, and you see him smiling down at you as he is taking attendance. He has become the teacher’s favorite student—but all of the other students despise him. They despise him for the teacher. They despise that he is not hurt by this, that he is so kind. They despise that he is perfect.

But you do not despise him, because he is perfect. And you’ve been taken in by that smile of his, and you blush and nod your head down and refuse his gaze.

‘Um, yes. Correct.’

Sungmin still beams as he marks you off on the paper, but his gaze lingers on you, as does his smile. And when you think he’s stopped and you look up to him, you see that he is still staring.

♪

You drum a melody on the classroom desk as you wait for the other students to come in. It is only a normal morning on a normal day—you are content, as your friends talk, but you are not conversing because you are concentrating on your diligent fingers tapping on the desk.

Sungmin enters the room, but you try not to let him distract you even though your rhythm falters a little bit. You don’t see that his gaze has darted over to you when he sees you. You concentrate on your fingers, nothing else.

‘May I borrow a pencil?’

Startled, you jump in your seat and see Sungmin looking at you. But he is watching your fingers rather than looking at your face—and self-consciously, you draw your hands back and into your desk, pulling out a pencil.

‘Here,’ you say, giving it to him. He snaps out of whatever daze he is in, and turns to you, taking it.

‘Thanks,’ he says, and leaves with a smile.

♪

You stay after school on Friday because you like Fridays; they are days of finale, of end. But you cherish it, because ends are what you love most.

You go to the music room because it is where you feel safest. It is dark; the emptiness makes it seem wider, vaster with fuller promises, and it is empty and loud where the piano sits in the middle of the room. You walk over to it, allowing your footsteps to echo, allowing yourself to draw away from the rest of the world.

When you put your fingers on the piano keys, it is like you are home again. Not shelter—but home, where you belong. And you play along and you sing along, and there is no greater feeling in this world than this, than what you have with yourself.

♪

‘Is that your composition?’

A voice startles you out of your wake, and you turn to see Sungmin standing there, watching you. His eyes are curious and remaining on you, hands shoved in pockets as he stands in the doorway. You blush and quickly get up from the bench.

‘Um, yes,’ you reply, and your voice seems a little too loud in the space.

But Sungmin smiles. And it is a kind smile. And he says, ‘You have talent,’ to you. But know that his eyes are saying something else. You don’t juts have talent. Now, you have him.

♪

It becomes weekly that you met in the music room after school with him. He brings his guitar, you have the piano, and together, you create a sound that cannot be manmade.

He teachers you things about melody, you teach him things about harmony. And through this, you can see he is not perfect—but it is still the same because this makes him all the more perfect. And he is most perfect, you feel when you are with him.

Some days pass when you speak none, only communicating through the music. You play something you know he can recognize, perhaps it is an old Korean folk song, and he plays it on his guitar, and you both spend countless minutes together without a single word uttered. And you feel that you dread silence, because it is empty of what makes life beautiful at most.

And all the more beautiful with Sungmin.

♪

It’s one day when you are not playing piano, you’re singing and Sungmin is singing too, singing to you. And you both pause every few seconds and correct each other, and laugh, and then sing. And you do not know which is better—Sungmin’s laughter, or voice.

You find at one point, he is hitting a wrong note on a wrong key, and his chin tilts deeper as he sings. So you instinctively put your hands on his face and tell him, ‘No, keep your chin up.’

But as you lift his chin, he stares into your eyes, and you cannot help but stare back. Your hands are still on his porcelain, flawless cheeks, feeling the bones beneath the skin. And your breath is taken away, as all you can do is stare, and stare, and stare.

Then it is like your lips mold into one, your bodies fitting perfectly together. His mouth is on your mouth, and his hands find your neck, and they slip into place and lock there, like they belong there, like they’ve always belonged there. And he kisses you, and you kiss him like this is a practiced skill, like you live your live to kiss him, like you’ve always kissed him. And your fingers find his fingers, and you drum your hands against his like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And you don’t know anymore, and you don’t care anymore, because you can hear the perfect song in your heart with Sungmin.

♪

‘Maybe I’ll write a song for you one day,’ Sungmin says to you.

You chuckle and look at him across the piano. ‘Maybe I’ll write a song for you.’

Sungmin hums contentedly as he sets down his guitar, and glances around the room. ‘It’ll be better than mine, perhaps. I don’t write very good songs anyways.’

You roll your eyes and give him a look. ‘Yes you do.’

Sungmin shrugs and glances down at your fingers playing notes that you’re toying with on the piano keys. ‘But the songs we write together?’

‘I like them,’ you reply, ‘the best.’

Sungmin smiles, and picks up his guitar once more, strumming a few chords. And you start the piano, and sing, and he plays, and he sings. And there’s nothing more than this, it’s all the noise in the world, in the world with you and Sungmin only. And you don’t hear anything else.