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Seojin’s fingers slip, landing on the wrong key and just like that her rendition of Moonlight Sonata ends on a sour note. Whirling around, she sees Ha Yooncheol standing by the door, grinning sheepishly. “Sorry. You looked so into it that I didn’t want to disturb you but guess I ended up doing that anyway.”
Seojin blinks, and then blinks again, wondering if she’d somehow started hallucinating. But she hasn’t, because Yooncheol is still there, bag swung over his shoulders and blazer tucked under his left arm. If it weren’t for the Seoul Science High School emblazoned across his white button-up, he could have passed for a Cheong Ah Arts student.
“I—,” her voice is hoarse, still raw and overused from practice. Seojin clears it, a little embarrassed and tries again. “How did you get in here?”
“I jumped the fence,” Yooncheol shrugs, taking a step into the room and pulling the door shut behind him, but not before looking down the corridor to make sure there weren’t any teachers patrolling. He means to sound nonchalant but there’s a cheeky smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Might have bribed the student body to get into the building.”
“You did what?!”
“I’m only kidding,” Yooncheol says, but Seojin isn’t fooled by it. She eyes him suspiciously as he sits himself on the edge of the piano seat, not so far from her.
“Alright so maybe I did.” Yooncheol concedes, hands raised in surrender. “But what’s wrong with a guy wanting to see his girlfriend?”
The smart remark dies on her tongue as Seojin’s cheeks heat up. She ducks her head, mumbling something that was incoherent even to her own ears.
They’d been dating for over two months—seventy-three days, in fact, but no one needed to know that Seojin had been counting—and while it’s not her first relationship, Seojin still has no idea what to do with Yooncheol’s sudden bouts of boldness or affection and the way she’s overcome with jitters every time he directs his smile her way.
“So how did it go?” Yooncheol nudges her with his shoulders. “Will you be going to Italy?”
The warmth that Yooncheol had brought with him seeps from Seojin’s veins, only to be replaced by an icy cold at the mention of Italy. Seojin wrings her hands in her lap. “I will, yeah.”
“Holy sh—” it only serves to make her feel even worse, watching Yooncheol’s eyes light up as he brings his hands to cup his mouth. “That’s great! I’m so happy for you! You worked so hard for it so of course you—Seojin?”
This was one of the many nice things about Yooncheol, how quick he was able to pick up when something was wrong, how much he cared. Seojin can’t help but recall their conversation from two nights ago, how she could practically hear the pout in Yooncheol’s voice as he accuses her of leaving him for ‘some charming European guy’ and how Seojin had laughed and indulged in that little fantasy, the fantasy of her being picked to go abroad and told him she’d buy him something nice for him there. Now there’s going to be none of that, at least not in the way Seojin wanted it, because she had failed. Here was another person she disappointed on top of her father.
“Hey, hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Yooncheol’s face appears in her vision, a little blurred. Seojin had been spiraling again, so much so that she hadn’t noticed the heat building up at the back of her eyes and the tears that are now spilling over her cheeks.
“I didn’t make it.” Seojin says in a rush. It doesn’t make her feel any better, in fact, Seojin feels even more pathetic after saying that out loud, but at least the weight in her chest is not as heavy anymore.
“Seojin-ah,” Yooncheol’s voice is soft and gentle, just like the hands that are now on her shoulders. His grip is not deadlock tight, but just firm enough to anchor her. “Do you… want to talk about it, maybe?”
Seojin should say no. Whatever had occurred between her father and the official he made the deal with should stay a secret, not just for the sake their family name and the credibility of Cheong Ah Arts, but because Seojin didn’t want Yooncheol to look at her the way her father did, like she was a waste of his time, worthless and insignificant.
But on the other hand, Yooncheol was the only one she could tell this to. Even when you look at it from a logical standpoint. He wasn’t a Cheong Ah Arts student, he wouldn’t be able use this information as a means to gain an advantage over Seojin in the performance test next semester. Yooncheol wasn’t one of them, one of those that prayed every day for her downfall.
“It’s okay if you don’t.” Yooncheol is saying quickly, interpreting her silence as discomfort. “Do you want to go get some food? I’ll buy you something nice.”
“No,” Seojin’s shaking her heads, wiping away the tears that have gathered at her chin. “I do want to talk about it.”
So Seojin tells him. About her father. About Oh Yoonhee. About the trip abroad that never really was hers. And at the end of it all, it’s an agonizing minute before Seojin can bring herself to look at Yooncheol. The expression on his face is conflicted, sadness and discomfort warring, none really capable of cancelling the other out. Seojin had always avoided talking about her family’s wealth and influence because she knew it was a sore spot for Yooncheol, having come from a disadvantaged background himself. Now, Seojin wonders if she should have spoken at all. Could he even understand her? Or did Seojin sound like a whiny, spoiled brat fretting over a trip to Italy to his ears?
“I don’t know much about classical singing,” Yooncheol says, finally, slowly, selecting his words with care. “And I haven’t heard Yoonhee sing either so I don’t think I’m qualified to make any judgements.”
Well-chosen words for a neutral party, Seojin thinks, just a little bitterly.
“But I do know you, Seojin.” Yooncheol’s voice is firm, as if he heard her self-destructive thoughts. “I know you went up onto that stage and gave it your all. Because you’re Cheon Seojin, and Cheon Seojin doesn’t give anything but her best.”
The intensity in Yooncheol’s eyes, the unwavering stare, threw Seojin off-kilter. Her heart was thudding in her chest. She quickly ducks her head, mumbling. “Ha Yooncheol. I didn’t know you were such a sweet talker.”
Yooncheol sees through her weak attempt at an evasion and he doesn’t let her go. Placing his fingers under her chin, he tips her face up so they’re eye-to-eye again.
“I know that you’re devastated at not being their first pick but honestly, Seojin? If they could see how dedicated you are to singing, they would have picked you.”
“You don’t have to—” Seojin tries, trying to push him away. Yooncheol only tightens his hold.
“Do you think I’m saying this because I want to play a good boyfriend? Wait that sounds bad, of course I want to be a good boyfriend.” Seojin can’t help but let out a watery laugh, shaking her head to hide the tears that are pooling in her eyes again.
“But my point is,” Yooncheol continues. “I know how hard you work. You’re up and at school and practicing before I’m even coherent in the mornings. I know because your good morning texts have literally been my wake-up alarm these days. And you’re always the last one to leave the practice room. Jesus, you practice until your voice goes raw.”
Embarrassment has Seojin’s cheeks heating up bright red, and though she’s pretty sure that there are others working harder than her (of course there are, her father had said), Seojin can’t completely disregard the relief that rushes through her. At least Yooncheol seems to notice how hard she tries.
“Not that it’s something you should keep doing, by the way.” Yooncheol amends quickly, firmly. “Take some lozenges for your throat when you get home. Alright?”
Seojin nods. There’s something she wants to say to him, something that would express this rush of gratitude and affection, but Seojin’s mind is too scrambled, with Italy, with her father, that she is sure the words she gives him now will probably not be coherent. Yooncheol deserved more than that.
“That’s my girl.” Yooncheol ruffles her hair, unbeknownst to Seojin’s little predicament. While his voice loses its playful note, his eyes turn incredibly softer and fonder as he continues. “Seojin, if they saw half as much as I did, they would have picked you. In a heartbeat.”
Seojin pulls him into a hug, burying her face into his chest. He smells like he always does, of sandalwood and soap. The combination itself is nothing special, but Seojin automatically feels better, safer as she breathes the familiar scent in. Yooncheol wraps his arms around her, hands settling into her hair and stroking. Seojin allows herself to close her eyes and believe everything is okay.
“Thank you.” She says and it’s a bit muffled, but the way Yooncheol’s heartbeat picks up lets her know that he heard it loud and clear.