Play my heart

Chapter XXIX

Things start falling into place when the shape walking towards him turns out to be no other than Lee Jung.

Oh my god not now.

His heart loses all sense of rhythm, opting for an erratic pulse instead. He answers Lee's small wave with one of his own, and forces his facial features to remain as calm as he can possibly manage. It's not much, to be honest. Lee gets close enough he can make out the blaring orange of his violin case hanging on his shoulder. It clashes horribly with his red scarf and his purple jacket, but he's never been one to color match before.

"Hey. Was that Dawn?"

Darren can only nod, not trusting his voice just yet. Lee stops a few feet away from him and scratches the back of his neck, lips quirked into a pensive expression.

"Should I assume she was the one to send that text?"

He almost jumps out of the swing at that. "What text?!" In all honesty, he's not sure he wants to know the answer.

Lee rolls his eyes.

"One saying you wanted to hear me play the violin already."

Darren sags in relief, it's not half as bad as he expected. He does a double-take at Lee's violin case and furrows his eyebrows.

"And you were gonna do it?"

The boy shrugs, puffing his cheeks. "I just thought," he grumbles. "I've been preparing this piece for the past few weeks. It's not good enough to play in front of a damn prodigy like you, but. Whatever, if you want to, I guess I can do it."

This is not at all how Darren imagined his day would go, but he quickly adapts to it. Something like electricity flows down his spine, leaving all his nerves raw and his mind reeling. It's time I did it for you, Dawn's voice echoes in his ears.

"I want to."

They're alone at the park, pale sunlight pours over them and snow gathers at the edges of every path. Lee grits his teeth in determination, sets the case on the ground and leans down to take his violin out. Darren follows every little movement, heart stuttering.

The boy straightens his back, relaxes his shoulders and tunes the instrument without breaking focus. His silver hair traps stray sunbeams and keeps them there, floating like a halo around Lee's head. Then the tuning is over and, with a sharp intake of air, the playing begins.

It's an unknown piece. That fact adds to the suspense, as Darren has no way of guessing what's coming next. Just when he thinks he can predict it, Lee takes a whole different path—does a jarring shift of dynamics, or a sudden change of color, or takes the phrase somewhere no one could foresee.

The difference with how he plays the piano becomes evident two minutes in: he's not playing for himself. Lee on the piano has this ease of not caring what people think of him, not once wishing to impress someone. But this—this feels like a message, unspoken words pleading to be heard, to be understood. They fall onto the ground, they overflow Darren's trembling hands. The music pours like he's been holding onto it—onto its meaning—for far too long, it comes out desperate and rushed.

He fucks up a passage of octaves and loses some of his intonation on some particularly hard double-stops, but he goes on undeterred. The seconds go by and Darren finds himself wishing for it to last forever, though it has to end soon, because it doesn't allow him to breathe.

Unapologetic and recklessly.

Darren understands now what Lee meant several weeks ago, when he said his pining was evident in his playing. He hadn't thought possible for a heart to bleed through a melody, but here it is now, right in front of him—centuries of longing and want and hope slipping through with every note. It's a wonder the snow doesn't evaporate under their weight.