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Who donated the piano, Seungkwan doesn’t know, but whoever did he calls an angel.
It's sometimes the only thing that can make them smile in a place as sad as the terminal illness ward at the hospital he works for. Sometimes the sight of the pretty white piano, with its little painted flowers and the music notes in seven colors along its keys, is the only thing that can make him really want to keep smiling, make him want to keep up his internship and make this happen. He wants to help, he wants to make life better for the people in his care, but it's hard for someone like him, whose happiness is greatly affected by his environment. It's hard to be happy in such a sad place, filled with antiseptic and death, the tears people shed in their desperate please to live a little longer, the mournful looks sent between doctors and nurses alike. It's hard to find things to be happy about.
Maybe that’s why he makes sure to visit the piano whenever he can. It's his main source of happiness in this place.
He can walk down the halls here and see a dozen reasons to want to cry-- the young children who walk with parents to see their ailing family members, scared eyes looking at the white walls like they will close in and make them sick too; the elderly patients who struggle out of their rooms to sit by the big windows and read their books as they wait for family who never come; the children who sit in their beds and try to stay happy, who get excited when they see him walk in and always ask for him to sing or hug them; the ones who are his own age, who ruffle his hair and actually worm their way into friendship status before they pass; the heart broken spouses who look to their terminal significant others and break down into tears. There are a hundred reasons to cry, and so few not to.
He has seen it all, and that is why he feels like he has to smile for them, be kind and understanding, exactly as he normally is. They deserve that respect, that kindness, because these are people, not patients or numbers but living breathing human beings.
They don’t need a doctor now, not in his ward, they need friends and family, and he can try and at least act like a friend in these times. That piano is how he can smile with the chubby cheeks everyone seems to love and find cute. It's how he can stand in front of kids and answer their questions about what they have that will soon claim their lives. It's the thing that makes it so he can get out of the building at night before he starts crying, and maybe even some nights not cry at all-- those nights are rare though.
That piano makes him just a little bit happy, enough to make his job bearable, but the boy who comes by to play it every day makes him even happier.
He doesn’t know the males name, he doesn’t even know when or why he started coming by, but whet he does know is that he brings brightness to the death soaked halls that he walks through every day. He makes the kids in the ward to the right scamper out and sit around him with these happy little smiles on his face, and even some adults come out to hear the melodies he plays, enjoying the pleasant songs. Sometimes there's older ones, like moonlight sonata, and sometimes there's more popular and kid friendly ones, like DNA and Hannah Montana, but he always takes requests, and plays for hours.
He is such a kind soul, he smiles this beautiful smile at the kids when they first come out, and gives hugs when they ask. There have been a couple times where he even stopped playing to sit on the floor for a couple minutes and request hugs from all the kids, which they were happy to give him. A tiny boy named Jihoon, one of his coworkers, even goes to sit with him during his lunch, which he takes late just to hear the music. One time they even played together with a lot of coaxing from the elderly patients, who wanted to hear them play together just once.
'It'll make us happy to see someone else play too. Everyone plays differently.'
Jihoon couldn't refuse. It made the boy happy-- in fact, everyone who could pause to go and watch did, including himself, and the sight of two very different boys sitting at each others sides playing music together was enough to lighten the whole wing, maybe even other parts of the hospital. Jihoon, with his black head of hair and tiny stature, dressed in white, and the other boy, blonde hair falling across his eyes and back straightened to make him look even taller, his black sweater contrasting with all the pale shades around him. It made the whole group smile. The boy, though, he smiled the hardest, and thanked Jihoon for playing with him, even offering to let them play together more, but his poor hyung was already so embarrassed by even performing in front of people that he hadn't gone back to play again. It's such a shame, because he really is very good.
The blonde did play again, though, he played every day, his long fingers dancing across white keys and producing music that could be heard throughout almost every hall in their ward, not necessarily loud but the kind of background noise that makes the beginning of the afternoon and the time a little before the end of his shift a bit easier.
It's almost two years of music and piano notes, songs hummed under his breath, before they actually speak to one another.
It's close to the time for the blonde to leave when he is caught on his break, humming along to a song the other is playing, and he doesn’t even realize he is singing out loud until he hears the sound of a soft knock over his head and against the frame of the break room door. He looks up, here's half closed until he spots a familiar face, blonde hair hanging down to expose more flawless skin and a smile that has his heart skipping a beat yet going to fast at the same time.
"Excuse me," the other says quietly, looking down at him, one set of long fingers curled around the door frame while the other moves back from the walk to join them.
It's just a beat too long before he finds his words, feeling them roll around on his tongue before he blurts out something that doesn’t match the situation what so ever. "You have a very pretty smile." That makes the boy smile wider, his eyes curving into pretty little crescents that have his head falling back against the back of his chair even as his cheeks heat up.
"Thank you," the other says happily, letting the rest of his tall body move out from behind the door frame and into view, "I think you have a gorgeous voice."
Now his cheeks color themselves darker, and he can't stop looking at this angel before him. "Thank you."
"You should come and sing with me some time. I'm sure everyone would love your voice."
"Oh...okay."
Then the blonde is flitting away, that smile imprinted on the back of Seungkwan's eyes as he waits until the steps fade to take breath. Holy goodness, how did he just survive that? An angel just told him his voice wasn’t just pretty but /gorgeous/. How has his heart not exploded?
After that happens, he assumes its just a fluke, a one time thing, that the other probably forgot he existed and went back to playing his pretty piano. Well, he would have thought as much if the male didn’t smile at him every time he had to walk through the room or the other saw him in the halls. When he wasn’t playing, he would even wave at him. He would try to explain it away if he didn’t have such a big crush on the male, if he didn’t think the way he scrunched up his nose was the most adorable thing and if that smile didn’t make his heart skip a beat. He doesn’t want time on trying to explain it away, instead simply saying he is being friendly. Not many are gay, and the blonde shouldn’t be any different.
That doesn’t stop him from being stupid and waving back. That doesn’t stop him from smiling at him every time they see one another and sometimes even going to sit and listen to him play on his short breaks.
He wishes it would stop him from doing moronic things, but alas, crushes make you do really dumb shit. Like try and make conversation with a bot whose name you don’t even know.
His plan is fool proof.
That’s because there isn't one.
It's a Tuesday afternoon when they speak for the second time. Seungkwan walks into the piano room on the way to giving the doctor the results for a regular blood test for a new patient, something that isn't extremely urgent. Maybe that’s why he pauses in the doorway at the sight of the blonde haired angel rubbing at his fingers in a manor that indicates that they hurt, or at least ache. It makes him sad, just a little, because he knows playing piano every day for hours on end can't be good for anyone, and also because he can see the determination in the others eyes to play.
It takes a minute, and more than a little silent encouragement from himself, for him to walk up with his clipboard and tap the males shoulder hesitantly. "Are they hurting?", he mumbles once that face looks up at him with big, startled eyes, his cheeks a little bit pink. There is a short stretch of silence in which they both look down at the blondes hands, the thumb of one hand still rubbing between the ring and middle finger of the other, although much slower now.
"A little bit."
"Do you know why?", he asks, leaning back just a little, although not so far as to make it seem like they are too close-- but they are, he can feel the others breath faintly across his pink tinted cheek, and his head is hanging only about six inches away from the others now, where it was only about four before.
"I was teaching a student before I came," the blonde admits quietly, letting his hands fall into his lap before adding, "I teach piano for a living."
"Does that happen often when you play for a long time?"
"Sometimes…"
Seungkwan nods, taking a step back to look at the distance between the piano and the male, the aforementioned person looking at him with curious eyes and the smallest hint of a smile on his lips. "Try scooting an inch or two closer. That might help. You're kind of far from the keys, and that can put stress on your hands and wrists." One blink, and then a second before the other nods, grabbing the edge of the piano bench and scooting it forwards about an inch and then looking up at him with that pretty smile, this time actually there.
"I'll see if it helps. Thank you," the other says, his hands already moving to rub one another again, and he offers a nod before heading off down the hall, towards the doctors office where he is supposed to turn in the clipboard and its results.
He can feel his heartbeat in his nose.
He can also see the prettiest smile on the back of his eyes.
Seungkwan doesn’t think he's ever felt so many butterflies in every part of his body in his entire life.
The next time they speak, it's just as brief. Two days later, the blonde male sees him walk by, heading towards the break room to eat lunch, and the male waves him over. It's not like he waves him over between songs-- he literally stops playing Beautiful Liar about half way through, turns, and motions for him to come over and sit in one of the vacant chairs at the pianos side. It surprises him so much that he stops in his tracks and Seokmin almost walks into him, asking what's wrong and getting his response in the way that Seungkwan slowly walks over to sit where the blonde had suggested.
He doesn’t really eat for a couple minutes, just sitting and listening to the music the other pulls from keys and strings like its more natural than breathing. When the blonde does finish the song he has been playing, he doesn’t start another one, instead turning towards the little gathering of listeners and tilting his head forward as though to tell them he is going to take a break, and they slowly disperse. Then those eyes are on him and his twiddling thumbs, and he can feel his cheeks starting to turn pink almost immediately, feeling silly for it but unable to make it stop.
"Sorry to steal you from your friend, but I wanted to say thank you for the advice the other day."
He blinks a few times, surprised that that was what the other had wanted to speak of, although it really shouldn’t have-- they have no other reason to talk to one another. "You're welcome. Glad that it worked," he says quietly, trying to smile at the other and earning one in return.
"I am too."
That’s the extent of their talk, the other male leaving to take a break or maybe go get some lunch for himself.
They don’t talk again for a while, almost three months, although they progress from smiling at one another to waving sometimes, and even on one occasion the other winking at him from across the room, leaving him a flustered, blushy mess for the next ten minutes after it happened. His little crush only seems to get worse in that time as he starts intentionally taking longer routes to different rooms just to pass through the piano room, or by it, just to catch a glimpse of the boy. Now, it's not like he slacks off or anything like that, or that he's putting patients lives at risk by going the longer routes when he can-- on those occasions he walks faster to make up for time he could be losing, and no one notices, not even the blonde.
He rarely sees the males face, especially not dead on, but he sees that pretty hair and the interactions he has with patients, soft words occasionally being exchanged between himself and the people he plays for. At one point he even catches the other teaching a child to play, and at another he sees him plating a slow duet with an old woman, her smile wide and happy, showcasing teeth she has taken good care of and smile lines by her eyes. His days get lighter with the short detours to see the other, because it means more music, more chances to see the light in the world even when he is surrounded by the weight of death. He starts to associate the other male with happiness, with lightness, someone who is always there to soothe the tightness in his chest from so much death and calm the tears that sometimes prick at his eyes.
Their next meeting is far from happy, nothing like he had come to associate with the other. It's a sad meeting comparatively, not that the first two were necessarily happy. They were more neutral, not good or bad, simply there. This next one, though, breaks his heart.
It's raining when he finds the boy sitting in the hallway for individuals with heart issues, the area lit up by fluorescent lights that are far too bright for the night, yet far enough apart to leave small swaths of dark. Seungkwan is getting ready to head home from work, about an hour later than normal due to having to stay a little while for overtime, something he doesn’t mind at all. It's not like he has anything to do after work other than go home and watch dramas til he falls asleep. He has already changed out of his scrubs when he finds the blonde male in the halls.
He hears him first, a distant noise, the sound of choked sobs and stuttering breaths coming from a few halls away, and his instincts kick in, legs turning in that direction and going in search of the one in distress even if he is exhausted. It doesn’t take him long to find the source of the crying, but when he does it hurts his chest and makes it hard to breathe.
There, sitting in the hallways, is the blonde boy, tears in his eyes and running down his cheeks, his legs curled into himself and making him look like a tiny trembling ball. Actually, that’s what he is. The sight is such a shock to his system that he isn't even sure what to do or how to react-- he had anticipated a crying individual, not his piano boy, and the way he looks so broken and upset right now is really hard to take. His steps towards the boy are slow, careful, but the sound of feet on tile attracts the others attention, those tear stained cheeks turning to look up at him for not even a moment before he is back to crying, breaths ragged and difficult.
When Seungkwan sits down at his side, there is little beneficial change, no trying to stifle sobs or tears, and in fact it seems that those narrow shoulder shake more, pulling long legs further into that little ball. Even with how talkative he tends to be, he is afraid to speak, because anything could make the others crying worse, and he wouldn’t want that in the slightest. It's already sad enough to see such a sweet soul crying, alone, in the middle of the night, long after he is supposed to have left.
Why is he here? What brings him to such a place, one where tears are spurred on by the faint beep of monitors and the scent of disinfectant? He wants to ask, wants desperately to know, to hold the other or at least soothe him some, but before he can reach out and try patting the others shoulder, the blonde is leaning to the side and falling into his lap. Well, his head and part of his shoulders at least, one of those long legs extending and the other being hugged tighter. The movement is so sudden he jumps, his hands moving back and resting on the floor at his sides as the crying male pressed his face into the side of his thigh.
"I miss her," the other mumbles, struggling to get the words out through soft hiccups and then choking on his sobs once they are in the air. The anguish in them, the weight of sadness dripping off the syllables is painful, one hand reaching out to rub the top of one of the other males shoulders, touch light and careful. The blonde cries more at the touch, scooting back until the other shoulder is touching his stomach.
"I'm…sure she misses you too," he mumbles after a minute, fingers rubbing slowly up and down the others arm, careful and almost nervous.
"The dead can't miss people."
"How do you know?"
A blonde head turns to look up at him, fingers grabbing onto his pant leg in the process as he gets his first really good look at the crying boy. Those big brown eyes directed up at him. Even like this, with red rimmed eyes and shining cheeks, his hair a disheveled mess sticking to his cheekbones, he is beautiful, in the saddest possible way. It's heartbreaking. It's beautiful.
He wonders who made him cry like this.
The loss of his mother, maybe? Is the other a son grieving for the loss of his mother?
Maybe a girlfriend who passed away? If so, then he could see a love song in the others tears, a sadness heavy in the loss of love.
Could it be a friend who passed away, got the other through hard times?
Each thought makes him look at the tears and anguish on the males face a little different, as though his vision is filtered by the thoughts themselves, as strange as that is. It doesn’t change that tears are still leaking out of the others eyes, though, the harsh lights and awkward shadows of the hall making the others tears shine sadly. He doesn’t like it at all.
"I hope the dead don’t miss the living the way the living miss the dead."
What a statement, what a way to look at death and life. He understands that viewpoint-- if one has lost someone, or watched others lose the people they love, it's easy to know that such pain would not be wished upon others. The gaping emptiness left behind by a person lost hurts greatly. Maybe that’s why he mumbles, "I hope they don’t either," as the blonde goes back to pressing his face against his thigh.
The tears she's by the other boy slowly seep into his jeans, warm and wet against his skin, and it’s a long time before either speaks, at least verbally. His free hand, the one that had been at his side, carefully comes up to comb back blonde strands and card through them carefully, and the way the others neck arches into the touch asks him to continue, so he does.
After that, the tears start to slow, the sobs softening and breaths evening out, until the blonde male could be mistaken for someone asleep. He has relaxed completely, the fingers holding his jeans slowly doing the same until he genuinely believes the male has fallen into slumber at the touches to his hair.
"I wonder if you play for her," he whispers under his breath, his fingers now pulling bangs that have stuck to the sides of the others cheeks back and behind his ears, which are pierced. There's a little silver star stud in the ear he can see. He likes it, and if they knew one another better, he would be playing with it. His thoughts fall away at the sound of a soft voice, hoarse and pained.
"I do."
That blonde head turns a little to the side, until closed eyes aren't against his thigh anymore but open to the air, dark lashes sticking to one another at the taller male blinks slowly. "She liked to hear me play. It made her smile."
They look at one another for a moment, two sets of brown eyes on one another before its broken, that shared line of sight, and the other is rolling away, rolling out of his lap to sit up in front of him, arms shaking vaguely as he pushes himself into a sitting position.
"I'm sorry for wasting your time," the blonde rushes quietly, his head now lowered in shame from crying to someone he doesn’t know in the slightest. His lips move, as though he wants to add a name to the end of the statement, now sitting on his knees with his bum on his feet, but no name comes out, and those eyes glance at him again, unmoving from his spot. "I...don't know your name…"
The other looks so disappointed by that fact, so saddened that he doesn't have a name to put to Seungkwan's chubby cheeks and blondish-pink hair.
"You can give me a name, if you want," he says quietly, smiling and trying to tell him its fine without actually saying as much-- people here rarely want to hear nurses say its okay, because often times its not okay, not for them. His okay is someone living, someone else's okay is getting back to normal.
"What?", the other ask quietly, head tilting to the side.
"You can give me a name. Like, a nick name, that way we have something to call eachother."
The other male stares at him for a couple moments, quiet moments in which Seungkwan feels like his breathing is too loud and his eyes don’t know where to look. What a stupid thing to suggest-- you don’t even know one another, why are you going to see if he wants to do something stupid? He's not like a little kid, he's a frown man.
"Can I call you Boo?", the other asks, those eyes on him and filled with the same question, "The way Jihoon does."
"Sure. Is there anything you want me to call you? Or can I pick?"
"You can call me Yoon if you want."
Seungkwan nods, smiling just a little at the nickname. It's cute. It suits him.
"Okay Yoon."
"Okay Boo."
After that, it's another few weeks before himself and Yoon speak again. The don’t avoid one another, or anything like that, they simply don’t see one another often, and have no chance to talk with one another, not that they did much to begin with. What would they even talk about? They don’t know one another.
Seungkwan's behaviors do change a little bit, though. He stops taking routes to see the other as often, because thinking about Yoon makes him sad. It reminds him that the other isn't just happiness and light music, he is a human being with feelings and negative experiences, he is someone who cries and gets sad like anyone else. The days get harder, and on the occasions where he does pass through, he feels guilty.
These songs aren't for him, they aren't being played with fingers for all to hear, they are for the ears of someone who can no longer hear, someone dead and gone. Someone he will never meet and mourn for the way Yoon does. Those songs are for someone else entirely, and the way they reverberate quietly through the halls has him starting to put in his headphones to block it out. This song isn't for him. It simply isn't. They don’t play music-- to do something like that on the job would be irresponsible and would lose him his place of work and paycheck. They are just there, muffling the faint song of strings and keys that can be heard almost everywhere in their wing.
The sadness only seems to get worse after they spoke of the others loved one.
He doesn’t understand how no one has noticed his sadness, he feels like its weaved itself so heavily into his fibers, into his blood, that it will never leave and that he simply gives off waves of it. He knows it will leave, one day, but how no one has seen the sorrow on him makes him wonder. Maybe they don’t care, or maybe he has just gotten good at faking happiness. Either way, it doesn’t take away the rock in his tummy while Yoon is there. It doesn’t make things any better.
He begins crying on the walks home once again.
At first its just a couple, a little sniffle in the cool night and tears on his lashes that are wiped before they fall. It hurts to feel them coming on, to know that after so long the weight of his job and the boy whose music once lifted his melancholy have brought his tears back.
The next day, he actually cries, big fat tears that streak down his cheeks before he can wipe them away, ones that turn deep breaths into stutters as he keeps walking. It's okay. You will be fine.
A week later, though, it gets so bad he sits down beside the sidewalk and sobs, his shins being hugged as hard as he can to make him feel something other than the collapsing of his poor lungs. People pass by and don’t care in the slightest that he is hurting inside, they don’t care that he is in pain and struggling to breathe. One person stops and stands at his side. They are gone a few minutes later without a word.
The next mourning he comes in with red eyes, and no one cares except Seokmin and Jihoon. His tiny hyung does something he rarely does and brings him into a hug. It almost makes the tears fall again. Seokmin buzzes around him, kisses his forehead and suggests that they talk about it later, after work. He declines.
Actually, he lied. Someone else did care. He doesn’t know it until the end of the day, when he sees a blonde figure standing at the entrance to the Hospital, out of the way but clearly in view. He is fiddling with the strap of his computer bag, which is filled with sheet music and such, big eyes glancing between the windows beside the exit doors and the entrance to the lobby. When he sees Seungkwan, he stands a little taller. Just a bit. It's cute. It makes him feel less dismal.
"Hi Boo," the other says as he passes, and with that pretty voice he pauses, glancing over at the other.
"Hello Yoon," he mumbles, the noise loud enough to be heard in the empty room, especially with the other only a few feet away, and it makes him smile, just a little. It's good to see Yoon smile, even if he must be sad under it.
Neither moves for a while, neither takes a step, only daring to breathe and look between the floor and one another. When someone finally does say something, it's the blonde, talking a little step forwards and asking, "You're not okay, are you?"
"No." He looks down and starts to walk out, hands in his pockets as the other follows, keeping pace with him.
"Is there any way I can help?"
"I don’t think so. Thanks, though."
"For what?", he other asks in surprise, looking at him with big brown eyes, like a dear caught in headlights. It makes sense-- why say thanks when someone cant offer their help?
"For noticing."
The rest of their walk is quiet, just breathing, and Seungkwan manages to hold in his tears along the way, his breaths measured and slow, careful not to go to fast or deprive himself of oxygen. When they eventually get to his home, he doesn’t know what to say, instead opening the door and turning to look back at the other. Yoon is pulling something out of his bag, a stack of sticky notes it seems, and he watches him scratch something onto the little pink paper before it is handed to him.
When he reads it, it's a phone number, and in the bottom corner is a name. Yoon Jeonghan. They look at one another, the other fiddling with his fingers, pen now behind his ear, holding back the bulk of his blonde bangs, although a few strands still fall out and across his eyebrows. What a pretty picture this boy painted with his nervous smile and darting eyes.
"I'm Seungkwan."
The other smiles, and he does too, a pair of nervous little smile in the night, his own bangs getting pushed back before he places the sticky note on top, trying to make the other laugh. He's usually good at making people laugh. Jeonghan laughs as his bangs fall back into his eyes, the bright pink note stuck to the strands and angled weirdly, so he only has half of one eye. They both end up giggling with one another, two heads angled down to laugh before he takes the not off and puts it on the back of his phone so he won't loose it.
"You can call me whenever you want...even if you don’t have a reason to…", the other says as he watches it happen, and for the first time he sees those cheeks turn pink, a pretty tone on him. It's nice not to be the one blushing.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
They share another smile with one another, and then Jeonghan turns around and starts walking in the direction they came from. After a little hesitation, he calls, "Stay safe!", and then closes his door a little too fast, meaning it smacks closed loud enough for half the neighborhood to hear.
Great job Seungkwan.
On the plus side, he was given the number of a boy who has worked his way into his heart, and he doesn’t feel like busting out into tears, so his little yell was worth it, as well as the slam right afterwards. He also got a name, finally, a real name to out with that wonderful smile and blonde hair. Yoon Jeonghan. It's as pretty as he is. He mumbles it, and then says it again, louder. Another, bigger smile now. Jeonghan gave him his name and number. Jeonghan wants him to call.
Jeonghan noticed he was sad. He acted about it.
He doesn’t think he has ever been so touched and happy.
Maybe that’s why he pulls out his phone and doesn’t even save the number before dialing it, putting his pink cased phone against his ear as it rings a couple times and then is picked up.
"Hello…?", he hears on the other end, and its definitely Jeonghan on the other end.
"Hey, how's the walking going?", he asks, ploping himself down on the tiny couch in his apartment and hoping the other doesn’t mind his call. He wants to make sure Jeonghan gets home safe, especially when he walked all the way home with him. (And maybe he wants to see if the offer to call anytime is valid.)
"Seungkwan?", the other male asks, and he thinks he can hear the hint of a smile in the tone, and when he hums in affirmation, the other responds, smile now clearer. "Walking isn't too terrible, I suppose."
"That’s good."
They don’t talk much for the rest of the time they spend on the phone, but Seungkwan does hum quietly and the other joins in when he recognizes the song, some catchy pop tune from a few years back. Maybe more than a few, but that’s okay. He likes old music sometimes, and the other seems to at least know it as well.
When he can hear the sound of a door being unlocked, he ceases the noise. "You home?"
"Yeah."
"Okay. I'll see you another time."
"Sounds like a plan." A short pause, and the sound of keys being out in a dish. "Goodnight Seungkwan."
"Night Jeonghan."
Jeonghan walks him home once a week after that, and he doesn’t come in with red rimmed eyes again. In fact, the quiet happiness Jeonghan brought him by noticing, by caring about the fact that he was falling apart on the inside again, has pieces him back together a little. He no longer cries on the way home from work, and once again he walks through the room with the piano as often as humanly possible. It still feels like an intrusion to listen to it, but he does so anyways, because it makes him feel bittersweet instead of melancholy. He likes it.
He doesn’t think there will ever be a sweeter sound than that of Jeonghan playing the piano.