SEVENTEEN | Imagines

Woozi (III)

note: part two of Woozi (II) ; with you Woozi is Jihoon, when he isn't he's Woozi sorry for any confusion

Woozi

Fingers danced together nimbly across glistening ivory keys.

. . .

You found yourself in the room again. A week later, early in the morning. School wasn't going to start in an hour and you followed what your heart had been telling you to do for days now. Originally, you resisted the urges to meet with the interesting boy you had met that afternoon, but temptation proved to be too strong.

Before you tried to open the door, you leaned against the wood to listen for any noise indicating that he was there. You didn't know why you wanted to avoid him, but you were comforted by the fact that it seemed quiet. With silent movements, you unlocked the door before shutting it behind you.

It was like stepping into another world. This room seemed to be cut from reality, you couldn't help but to feel free and uninhabited when you were here; it was so easy to follow your heart here.

Once again you drifted towards the piano that had enticed your soul and sat down in front of it. You stayed still for a long moment as if you were thinking deeply of what you were going to do next. But when you pushed the wooden cover up and off the black and white keys, your fingers moved of their own accord.

After playing the C Major scale several times so your fingers were warmed up, you began playing all different types of scales. Going from major to minor to major again before running through the sharp and flat scales in order.

You were conscious of what was going on but your fingers didn't seem like they were a part of you, they sprinted with skill and speed that you didn't remember they had. You remembered feeling like this when you still played piano; after a while you wondered how your fingers were able to memorize how to move so quickly and accurately.

But that reminded you. That was all your playing was. Muscle memory. No meaning. Just movements engrained within through hours of grueling practise.

Your fingers trailed off, notes fading sadly.

"Don't stop." It was him. You recognized his light and musical voice; it was a voice that was made to sing. "Keep going."

You turned to face him, head tilted slightly. "Why? It's got nothing to do with you, really."

There was a quirky little grin on his face as he walked closer so he was standing beside you. "It's music. Anyone can enjoy it; I happen to enjoy yours." He nudged you and you moved to the side instinctively; he sat down beside you. Your shoulders and hips were touching as the bench was really only made for one person. Judging by the pleasant tingles you were experiencing, you didn't mind it at all.

But his words were too distracting for you to focus on the sensation. "You can't call what I play music."

"Why not? Music is music as long as someone enjoys it." His hair caught the morning sunlight quite well, lighter strands shining prettily against the darker.

A shy smile began to bloom on your face before the bell rang. You were brought abruptly back to reality.

"Bye." You didn't plan on coming back, it was strange here, it was dangerous here, because it was too perfect here.

"Come back." His eyes caught yours and you couldn't summon any of your earlier conviction to shake your head. "I'll be waiting this time."

"Okay..." You trailed off, glancing at him once more before you reached your hand out to open the door.