Wishing Well ||Wooyu||

Ghost

☾

Wooseok sensed something was slightly off the moment the heavy oak door of the old mansion slammed shut. He couldn't seem to put his finger on it though. Maybe it was the silence the seemed rather sparse, as if someone or something lurked around the countless dark corners that the light couldn't reach. A stony silence typically dominated the cursed home, that if his alcohol-inebriated partners were not home to loudly argue about the pay share of the month.

His hand tightened on the gun tucked at his waist strap as his nose detected an alien scent. It was faint. Extremely faint. But it was enough for Wooseok to gather that, indeed, something was there. It made his mind slightly disperse to a time when his team had been careless enough to overlook a stealthy trap during the raid in the eighth tomb of the Ming Dynasty, China. A single whiff of the scented oil that supposedly belonged to the Ming Empress and their sense of smell became irreversibly altered and distorted. The next room was imbued with deadly poisonous gas that had a specific type of smell and could've easily been detected and avoided if not for the chemicals that made everything smell bare and plain. They lost Yook Sungjae that day.

Wooseok shook the memory away. That's long gone and there's no way he'd ever make the same mistake again. Somehow, he thinks his senses got sharper after the tragic experience. And this scent was barely there, one could easily mistake it for a figment of their imagination. But not Woosek. He followed it upstairs, now gun firmly stretched forward.

As he steadily advanced, he definitely heard the sound of a piano keyboard, faintly, through the soundproofed door of the music room. The hair on his arms tingled with the goosebumps that were rapidly spreading on his body. There was no doubt now that there was an intruder. None of the house members knew how to play the piano.

He slowly pushed the heavy music door open with the barrel of his gun, deftly, as to not make the old thing squeak.

He peeked inside, finger half-pressed on the trigger.

A boy.

Sitting on the piano stool, with his back to the door, oblivious of the armed man that stood behind it.

Wooseok couldn't see his face. But he could see the raven hair which reflected the moonlight in blue hues and he could see the slightly tanned slender fingers which danced across the keyboard in swift movements.

They were obviously a male's hand. But the grace and gentleness with which he touched the keys, the moonlight, and the sound made him seem as if though he was perhaps an apparition. A mere figment of Wooseok's untrained imagination.

Gorgeous moled skin poked out into the view as the boy moved his hands, making his silk, thin kimono easily slide off his cashmere shoulders.

The young robber's heart thumped rapidly, almost in sync with the tapping of the piano claps.

Who could this be?

By his posture and slender frame, the boy before him seemed young.

Wooseok was bewitched.

He was beautiful.

He couldn't even see his face.

But, by God, he was beautiful.

Another sound accompanied the beautiful melody which complimented it so well, Wooseok thought it came from the piano.

It was the boy's voice.

Deep and resonating, yet as gentle as the movement of his fingers. It sounded sad. Mourning.

Ura niwa ni kimi no karada wo umeta