Ship/Member: joshua/junhui Major Tags: none Additional Tags: yearning, mild sexual content, mention of alcohol use, minor wonhui, the intimacy of playing the piano for someone, inspired by plum blossom by chen yi Permission to remix: please ask
***
at 23-years-old, wen junhui is still unsure whether he chose the piano or the piano chose him. he likes to believe it was the former. little 3-year-old him clambering onto a piano bench at the mall and tapping at the keys while making noises of absolute joy. but sometimes he wonders if it's the latter.
he wonders that now, sitting in the waiting room before his audition. less than 100 people make it past the preliminary round of the chopin competition. there are some people who have won enough major competitions that they can advance without needing to be here. like joshua hong. joshua is someone who truly chose the piano.
joshua is probably sitting in his apartment 7,736 kilometers away.
junhui runs through the five pieces he is about to play in his head again. étude op. 10, no. 1; étude op. 25, no. 6; nocturnes, op. 55, no.2; fantaisie, op. 49; and mazurkas, op. 17; and op. 41. absolute gibberish to almost everyone in junhui's life, but wonwoo had assured him they were all the best choices. his long fingers will benefit him for the first étude and hopefully, the judges will give him extra points for perfecting étude op. 25, no. 6, regarded as one of the most difficult of chopin's 24. the mazurkas are what worry junhui the most. op. 17 is around 14 minutes long and the two of them combined will leave him truly exhausted.
but it's fine. he will have plenty of time to rest on the eleven-hour flight back to seoul.
a door finally opens. a woman calls his name. junhui drags his heavy bones towards the room and doesn't take a proper breath until he's finally seated. he looks at the keys and counts to ten. when he gets to five, he contemplates running out of the room. he reaches ten and places his hands on the keys.
his mother had told him when he was younger that he had the perfect hands for a pianist. he wonders if she would have still said that if his relatives hadn't all gushed over him when he played für elise at age five. he had smiled and told her thanks because the idea of being a genius is everything to a child.
junhui does the same thing now. he bows to the judges after playing his last note in a-flat minor and smiles and thanks every face he passes until he finds himself on the streets of warsaw again. the second he smells fresh air, he begins taking off his suit jacket and then proceeds to yank his cummerbund off his waist as if it were a shackle around his neck.
it's july and the sun is beating down on his face. he considers calling someone before his flight in two hours. wonwoo because he's probably curious how he did, and then joshua because—
no reason. he has no reason to call joshua.
he ends up calling no one and texts wonwoo that he'll be in incheon at around 7am. wonwoo responds in seconds that he'll be there with mingyu to pick him up. joshua will have to know he's back the same way everyone else will, through a text in the group chat by mingyu. junhui wonders if it will hurt his feelings, him not updating joshua on his whereabouts whenever he leaves. junhui thinks he would be hurt if joshua did the same thing. but then again, joshua is not in love with junhui.
and junhui swears he is not in love with joshua.
-
the school year starts again, and joshua is there sitting in the second row of junhui's graduate-level composition seminar. it is instinct to sit beside him, but it is the reality that he will sit three rows back and four seats to the left. the person that fills that seat by joshua is a stranger to junhui and something ugly rears its head in junhui's mind when he sees them so casually leaning on joshua, shoulders touching, lips near his ear as he whispers something junhui doesn't care to know.
because whatever may or may not go on between them is not junhui's business. he and joshua are friends in the loosest terms. two people who do not hang out but are pushed into the occasional proximity by others, two people on similar paths that started in different countries but have led them to the same school, same room on a cool august morning.
the junhui from four years ago had thought it was fate. the winner of the ettore pozzoli competition, joshua hong, living in the dorm room across from him in seoul, south korea. junhui had wondered if it was appropriate to call himself a fan. if it was too much to ask joshua if he remembered him from the competition where junhui had been his runner-up. he embarrassed himself by doing both.
joshua laughed in response, but kindly. he apologized for not recognizing junhui, he said he was too stressed at the time to notice anything going on. then he invited junhui to lunch. conversation was easy, they had what could have been too much in common. foreigners in a country they blended into, artists labeled geniuses too young, two men who had given up their youths for the sake of music, an intangible thing that reaped them the benefits of money, prestige, another trophy on a shelf, another certificate for their parents.
"who is your favorite composer?" joshua had asked him. it was no longer lunch. the moon was high up in the sky and the bench was wet where the two sat. joshua was too close. his breath smelled like the white grape soju from the convenience store they passed. heat radiated where his bare arm leaned against junhui's.
"chen yi," junhui answered. joshua furrowed his brows as he tried to recognize the chinese composer junhui had named. if junhui was feeling less honest, he would have just said schubert. but joshua's gaze on him could and would pull out whatever truths they wanted. junhui wondered if they could be soulmates.
"i don't know them. i've always been a fan of liszt, the romantic period classics." joshua replied. junhui didn't say that he knew that already, from the youtube videos of all of joshua's performances. instead, he wondered if joshua was feeling whatever he was, something nameless that felt taboo. but he never asked, only gave joshua his number when it was requested and walked beside him back to their dorms, hands brushing every other step.
"i'll see you around?" junhui had lamely said. joshua nodded with flushed cheeks.
"yeah, see you, jun."
that first semester of university for junhui ended up being the closest he ever had to peace. joshua understood him in a way no one else did. he was his solace, his lifeline, understood the pressures of the world they were both in, and let junhui release his pent-up stress by going on runs in the park, spending hours taking turns playing the piano in the music hall, talking until the sunrise about the homes they missed, and a kiss.
one kiss.
it was snowing. junhui initiated it. joshua had looked too beautiful with his hair dyed chestnut brown. joshua kissed him back until he wasn't anymore. until he was squeezing junhui's hand and smiling while saying, "i don't think we should be doing things like this, jun-ah." junhui wanted to ask what he meant. who "we" were? was it because they were both men? was it because they were competing against each other the next month? was it because joshua had simply never seen him as more?
junhui never got to find out. he doesn't remember the rest of that evening, only his response, "you're right. sorry, hyung." and then he was waking up the next day and joshua was treating him the same as always. nothing changed even though something should have.
at the next competition, they both traveled to paris, and junhui placed first and joshua took fifth. when junhui congratulated him, joshua didn't hug him back. he pulled away and didn't tell junhui he was leaving france a day earlier than him. junhui toured the louvre alone and sent joshua a horribly zoomed-in photo of the mona lisa.
when joshua did not respond, junhui realized the magnitude of what he'd done. flown too close to the sun, touched it, burned too fast, and fell too hard.
when he returned to south korea, he made the choice to stay away before joshua could make it for him. the new year passed alone and the next semester, junhui met jeon wonwoo. wonwoo was not a pianist but his father was a composer. he could talk about music too, understood the pressure, and saw parts of junhui that used to only be joshua's. but joshua was still the one junhui met in foreign cities, oceans away in a black suit, waiting for his time in front of the audience. they would take turns placing higher than the other. joshua in budapest, junhui in munich, joshua in brussels, junhui in leipzig.
they got dinner together once in brussels. they were five tables apart but there were red flowers on both their tables in a restaurant of white and yellow. fate, junhui did not call it. because it cannot be fate if you are not a part of each other's lives. but dinner went well anyways. junhui got the shrimp and joshua got the steak. they decided not to drink and opted out of dessert. they walked together on opposite sides of the road to the same hotel.
"i'll see you next time," junhui had said to the moon, and only the moon.
he did not wait to see if the moon responded back.
-
"i didn't know you're close to shua hyung." junhui looks up from his phone to see his underclassmen friends, seungkwan and chan, sitting beside him on the grass.
"i'm not," junhui corrects. "we just used to live on the same floor and now hang out with you guys." the first part was not essential. half of junhui's friends don't even know where he lived freshman year. yet junhui chooses to establish a connection before them anyways.
"but you guys are in piano competitions together all the time, right? so don't you guys see each other when you're both out of school?" chan asks, connecting the dotted line further. "why don't you guys fly out together?" junhui remembers that seungkwan and chan joined the friend group wonwoo introduced junhui to one year ago. that's why they ask. not to tease, not to belittle, not to remind junhui of his failure. but because they're curious why two of their friends who have so much in common do not speak to each other.
"i don't know," junhui responds, smiling.
"oh, speak of the devil! shua hyung!" seungkwan calls as he spots the graduate student walking out of the arts building. joshua sees them and his smile fractures for only a second when he sees junhui with them.
"i should go," junhui says when joshua is nearing less than ten meters away. chan says something in response but junhui doesn't catch it. he throws his backpack over his shoulder and walks too fast for someone who shouldn't be afraid, for someone who should be able to look joshua hong in the eye.
junhui wonders as he runs away, if they put every moment of their lives on a map, how many times he and joshua would intersect. they were both three when they touched a piano for the first time, both six when they won their first competitions, both in middle school when they moved to south korea, both too old yet too young when they realized they were one of tens of thousands of "geniuses."
on a map, they have met in over two dozen cities. they have gone on what neither should know as dates in at least four of them.
-
"are you in love with him?" wonwoo asks, the week after junhui returned from warsaw. junhui is in the middle of playing hungarian rhapsody no. 2 on the keyboard in wonwoo's apartment.
"who are you talking about?" junhui responds, not looking up from the keys. he knows this piece as if it were a lullaby his mother sang to him as a child, as if it were in the background of a dream.
"joshua," wonwoo answers. he comes up behind junhui and lays his arms over the elder's shoulders as the song ends. "i'm pretty sure you're in love with him." playing the piano makes you vulnerable, honest. junhui thinks that's why wonwoo thinks he can see through him.
"i don't know what you're talking about," junhui says with a laugh. the last time he had seen joshua was when they had both made it to the final program. junhui played piano concerto no. 1, op. 11, and joshua played piano concerto no. 2, op. 21. joshua got first, as junhui expected, and junhui placed third. they had gotten lunch after.
wonwoo nods and presses a kiss against the crown of junhui's head, where his hair has started to grey. you age quicker when you let an instrument consume you, let the piano strip away the parts of you that used to shine.
"whenever you play romantic period pieces, you get this look in your eye. it's the same way you look at him from the across the room sometimes," wonwoo goes on. his lips meet junhui's nape, then the side of his neck. his arms tighten as he pulls junhui to rest again his chest.
"i don't think of joshua hong," junhui tells him, eyes on the middle c of the piano. he grasps wonwoo's hands on his arm and turns to look up at him.
"can you prove it?" wonwoo asks, no hint of amusement on his face. the younger has always been genuine in his words.
junhui answers by placing a hand on the back of his head and pulling him into a kiss. wonwoo kisses back immediately and deeply, like he is trying to pull truths out of junhui's mouth with his tongue. they end up on the bed with wonwoo looking down at him and junhui can tell that he is waiting. for a confession, a plea, an explanation, or perhaps a song. junhui gives him none of those and pulls his shirt over his head instead.
wonwoo is gentle and holds junhui the way he sees himself in the mirror: fragile, like glass, one push away from breaking. he provides momentary pleasure in the life junhui sees as an endless cycle. they kiss again and again. junhui only imagines it is joshua three times during the act. the first when wonwoo sucks a dark mark into the side of his neck, the second when wonwoo runs his hands over his ribs and calls him beautiful, and the third after they have both reached their highs and wonwoo collapses on top of him.
after wonwoo pulls out, throws out the condom, and wipes them both down, he lays beside junhui in bed, and tugs the blanket to both of their chins.
"if you did love him, how would you?" wonwoo asks. junhui wonders if wonwoo is a masochist. but wonwoo values honesty, so junhui answers with the truth.
"i would love him with everything i had. love him so much that i would burn the world for him if he asked. turn everything to flames, the piano, music, myself." he looks wonwoo in the eye. "i think i would love him like that. i don't think anything would be able to stop me."
wonwoo does not seem surprised by junhui's answer, hardly phased as he closes his eyes and rests his head against junhui's chest.
"the next time you see joshua, i think you should really talk to him." wonwoo says this like there's a secret he knows that junhui does not. junhui does not beg for it, only runs a hand through wonwoo's dark hair and squeezes his hand.
-
the next time junhui sees joshua is in sydney. joshua is waiting for him outside the concert hall and their eyes meet. they walk next to each other in silence out of the opera house and do not stop until they reach a red light.
"was i imagining it when you kissed me back four years ago?" junhui asks as the streetlight flashes at them.
"no," joshua responds. the light turns green. when junhui speeds up half a step as they cross, joshua does too. they race down the road like children and junhui runs until he is out of breath and shaking with laughter.
when he turns back, joshua is a block behind, and he is laughing too.
[FILL] plum blossom
Major Tags: none
Additional Tags: yearning, mild sexual content, mention of alcohol use, minor wonhui, the intimacy of playing the piano for someone, inspired by plum blossom by chen yi
Permission to remix: please ask
***
at 23-years-old, wen junhui is still unsure whether he chose the piano or the piano chose him. he likes to believe it was the former. little 3-year-old him clambering onto a piano bench at the mall and tapping at the keys while making noises of absolute joy. but sometimes he wonders if it's the latter.
he wonders that now, sitting in the waiting room before his audition. less than 100 people make it past the preliminary round of the chopin competition. there are some people who have won enough major competitions that they can advance without needing to be here. like joshua hong. joshua is someone who truly chose the piano.
joshua is probably sitting in his apartment 7,736 kilometers away.
junhui runs through the five pieces he is about to play in his head again. étude op. 10, no. 1; étude op. 25, no. 6; nocturnes, op. 55, no.2; fantaisie, op. 49; and mazurkas, op. 17; and op. 41. absolute gibberish to almost everyone in junhui's life, but wonwoo had assured him they were all the best choices. his long fingers will benefit him for the first étude and hopefully, the judges will give him extra points for perfecting étude op. 25, no. 6, regarded as one of the most difficult of chopin's 24. the mazurkas are what worry junhui the most. op. 17 is around 14 minutes long and the two of them combined will leave him truly exhausted.
but it's fine. he will have plenty of time to rest on the eleven-hour flight back to seoul.
a door finally opens. a woman calls his name. junhui drags his heavy bones towards the room and doesn't take a proper breath until he's finally seated. he looks at the keys and counts to ten. when he gets to five, he contemplates running out of the room. he reaches ten and places his hands on the keys.
his mother had told him when he was younger that he had the perfect hands for a pianist. he wonders if she would have still said that if his relatives hadn't all gushed over him when he played für elise at age five. he had smiled and told her thanks because the idea of being a genius is everything to a child.
junhui does the same thing now. he bows to the judges after playing his last note in a-flat minor and smiles and thanks every face he passes until he finds himself on the streets of warsaw again. the second he smells fresh air, he begins taking off his suit jacket and then proceeds to yank his cummerbund off his waist as if it were a shackle around his neck.
it's july and the sun is beating down on his face. he considers calling someone before his flight in two hours. wonwoo because he's probably curious how he did, and then joshua because—
no reason. he has no reason to call joshua.
he ends up calling no one and texts wonwoo that he'll be in incheon at around 7am. wonwoo responds in seconds that he'll be there with mingyu to pick him up. joshua will have to know he's back the same way everyone else will, through a text in the group chat by mingyu. junhui wonders if it will hurt his feelings, him not updating joshua on his whereabouts whenever he leaves. junhui thinks he would be hurt if joshua did the same thing. but then again, joshua is not in love with junhui.
and junhui swears he is not in love with joshua.
-
the school year starts again, and joshua is there sitting in the second row of junhui's graduate-level composition seminar. it is instinct to sit beside him, but it is the reality that he will sit three rows back and four seats to the left. the person that fills that seat by joshua is a stranger to junhui and something ugly rears its head in junhui's mind when he sees them so casually leaning on joshua, shoulders touching, lips near his ear as he whispers something junhui doesn't care to know.
because whatever may or may not go on between them is not junhui's business. he and joshua are friends in the loosest terms. two people who do not hang out but are pushed into the occasional proximity by others, two people on similar paths that started in different countries but have led them to the same school, same room on a cool august morning.
the junhui from four years ago had thought it was fate. the winner of the ettore pozzoli competition, joshua hong, living in the dorm room across from him in seoul, south korea. junhui had wondered if it was appropriate to call himself a fan. if it was too much to ask joshua if he remembered him from the competition where junhui had been his runner-up. he embarrassed himself by doing both.
joshua laughed in response, but kindly. he apologized for not recognizing junhui, he said he was too stressed at the time to notice anything going on. then he invited junhui to lunch. conversation was easy, they had what could have been too much in common. foreigners in a country they blended into, artists labeled geniuses too young, two men who had given up their youths for the sake of music, an intangible thing that reaped them the benefits of money, prestige, another trophy on a shelf, another certificate for their parents.
"who is your favorite composer?" joshua had asked him. it was no longer lunch. the moon was high up in the sky and the bench was wet where the two sat. joshua was too close. his breath smelled like the white grape soju from the convenience store they passed. heat radiated where his bare arm leaned against junhui's.
"chen yi," junhui answered. joshua furrowed his brows as he tried to recognize the chinese composer junhui had named. if junhui was feeling less honest, he would have just said schubert. but joshua's gaze on him could and would pull out whatever truths they wanted. junhui wondered if they could be soulmates.
"i don't know them. i've always been a fan of liszt, the romantic period classics." joshua replied. junhui didn't say that he knew that already, from the youtube videos of all of joshua's performances. instead, he wondered if joshua was feeling whatever he was, something nameless that felt taboo. but he never asked, only gave joshua his number when it was requested and walked beside him back to their dorms, hands brushing every other step.
"i'll see you around?" junhui had lamely said. joshua nodded with flushed cheeks.
"yeah, see you, jun."
that first semester of university for junhui ended up being the closest he ever had to peace. joshua understood him in a way no one else did. he was his solace, his lifeline, understood the pressures of the world they were both in, and let junhui release his pent-up stress by going on runs in the park, spending hours taking turns playing the piano in the music hall, talking until the sunrise about the homes they missed, and a kiss.
one kiss.
it was snowing. junhui initiated it. joshua had looked too beautiful with his hair dyed chestnut brown. joshua kissed him back until he wasn't anymore. until he was squeezing junhui's hand and smiling while saying, "i don't think we should be doing things like this, jun-ah." junhui wanted to ask what he meant. who "we" were? was it because they were both men? was it because they were competing against each other the next month? was it because joshua had simply never seen him as more?
junhui never got to find out. he doesn't remember the rest of that evening, only his response, "you're right. sorry, hyung." and then he was waking up the next day and joshua was treating him the same as always. nothing changed even though something should have.
at the next competition, they both traveled to paris, and junhui placed first and joshua took fifth. when junhui congratulated him, joshua didn't hug him back. he pulled away and didn't tell junhui he was leaving france a day earlier than him. junhui toured the louvre alone and sent joshua a horribly zoomed-in photo of the mona lisa.
when joshua did not respond, junhui realized the magnitude of what he'd done. flown too close to the sun, touched it, burned too fast, and fell too hard.
when he returned to south korea, he made the choice to stay away before joshua could make it for him. the new year passed alone and the next semester, junhui met jeon wonwoo. wonwoo was not a pianist but his father was a composer. he could talk about music too, understood the pressure, and saw parts of junhui that used to only be joshua's. but joshua was still the one junhui met in foreign cities, oceans away in a black suit, waiting for his time in front of the audience. they would take turns placing higher than the other. joshua in budapest, junhui in munich, joshua in brussels, junhui in leipzig.
they got dinner together once in brussels. they were five tables apart but there were red flowers on both their tables in a restaurant of white and yellow. fate, junhui did not call it. because it cannot be fate if you are not a part of each other's lives. but dinner went well anyways. junhui got the shrimp and joshua got the steak. they decided not to drink and opted out of dessert. they walked together on opposite sides of the road to the same hotel.
"i'll see you next time," junhui had said to the moon, and only the moon.
he did not wait to see if the moon responded back.
-
"i didn't know you're close to shua hyung." junhui looks up from his phone to see his underclassmen friends, seungkwan and chan, sitting beside him on the grass.
"i'm not," junhui corrects. "we just used to live on the same floor and now hang out with you guys." the first part was not essential. half of junhui's friends don't even know where he lived freshman year. yet junhui chooses to establish a connection before them anyways.
"but you guys are in piano competitions together all the time, right? so don't you guys see each other when you're both out of school?" chan asks, connecting the dotted line further. "why don't you guys fly out together?" junhui remembers that seungkwan and chan joined the friend group wonwoo introduced junhui to one year ago. that's why they ask. not to tease, not to belittle, not to remind junhui of his failure. but because they're curious why two of their friends who have so much in common do not speak to each other.
"i don't know," junhui responds, smiling.
"oh, speak of the devil! shua hyung!" seungkwan calls as he spots the graduate student walking out of the arts building. joshua sees them and his smile fractures for only a second when he sees junhui with them.
"i should go," junhui says when joshua is nearing less than ten meters away. chan says something in response but junhui doesn't catch it. he throws his backpack over his shoulder and walks too fast for someone who shouldn't be afraid, for someone who should be able to look joshua hong in the eye.
junhui wonders as he runs away, if they put every moment of their lives on a map, how many times he and joshua would intersect. they were both three when they touched a piano for the first time, both six when they won their first competitions, both in middle school when they moved to south korea, both too old yet too young when they realized they were one of tens of thousands of "geniuses."
on a map, they have met in over two dozen cities. they have gone on what neither should know as dates in at least four of them.
-
"are you in love with him?" wonwoo asks, the week after junhui returned from warsaw. junhui is in the middle of playing hungarian rhapsody no. 2 on the keyboard in wonwoo's apartment.
"who are you talking about?" junhui responds, not looking up from the keys. he knows this piece as if it were a lullaby his mother sang to him as a child, as if it were in the background of a dream.
"joshua," wonwoo answers. he comes up behind junhui and lays his arms over the elder's shoulders as the song ends. "i'm pretty sure you're in love with him." playing the piano makes you vulnerable, honest. junhui thinks that's why wonwoo thinks he can see through him.
"i don't know what you're talking about," junhui says with a laugh. the last time he had seen joshua was when they had both made it to the final program. junhui played piano concerto no. 1, op. 11, and joshua played piano concerto no. 2, op. 21. joshua got first, as junhui expected, and junhui placed third. they had gotten lunch after.
wonwoo nods and presses a kiss against the crown of junhui's head, where his hair has started to grey. you age quicker when you let an instrument consume you, let the piano strip away the parts of you that used to shine.
"whenever you play romantic period pieces, you get this look in your eye. it's the same way you look at him from the across the room sometimes," wonwoo goes on. his lips meet junhui's nape, then the side of his neck. his arms tighten as he pulls junhui to rest again his chest.
"i don't think of joshua hong," junhui tells him, eyes on the middle c of the piano. he grasps wonwoo's hands on his arm and turns to look up at him.
"can you prove it?" wonwoo asks, no hint of amusement on his face. the younger has always been genuine in his words.
junhui answers by placing a hand on the back of his head and pulling him into a kiss. wonwoo kisses back immediately and deeply, like he is trying to pull truths out of junhui's mouth with his tongue. they end up on the bed with wonwoo looking down at him and junhui can tell that he is waiting. for a confession, a plea, an explanation, or perhaps a song. junhui gives him none of those and pulls his shirt over his head instead.
wonwoo is gentle and holds junhui the way he sees himself in the mirror: fragile, like glass, one push away from breaking. he provides momentary pleasure in the life junhui sees as an endless cycle. they kiss again and again. junhui only imagines it is joshua three times during the act. the first when wonwoo sucks a dark mark into the side of his neck, the second when wonwoo runs his hands over his ribs and calls him beautiful, and the third after they have both reached their highs and wonwoo collapses on top of him.
after wonwoo pulls out, throws out the condom, and wipes them both down, he lays beside junhui in bed, and tugs the blanket to both of their chins.
"if you did love him, how would you?" wonwoo asks. junhui wonders if wonwoo is a masochist. but wonwoo values honesty, so junhui answers with the truth.
"i would love him with everything i had. love him so much that i would burn the world for him if he asked. turn everything to flames, the piano, music, myself." he looks wonwoo in the eye. "i think i would love him like that. i don't think anything would be able to stop me."
wonwoo does not seem surprised by junhui's answer, hardly phased as he closes his eyes and rests his head against junhui's chest.
"the next time you see joshua, i think you should really talk to him." wonwoo says this like there's a secret he knows that junhui does not. junhui does not beg for it, only runs a hand through wonwoo's dark hair and squeezes his hand.
-
the next time junhui sees joshua is in sydney. joshua is waiting for him outside the concert hall and their eyes meet. they walk next to each other in silence out of the opera house and do not stop until they reach a red light.
"was i imagining it when you kissed me back four years ago?" junhui asks as the streetlight flashes at them.
"no," joshua responds. the light turns green. when junhui speeds up half a step as they cross, joshua does too. they race down the road like children and junhui runs until he is out of breath and shaking with laughter.
when he turns back, joshua is a block behind, and he is laughing too.