Sound and time, music and rhyme
| Sound and time, music and rhyme | pg | super junior | kyuhyun/donghae | 1329w |
Kyuhyun's life runs on the beat of a metronome.
Mornings find Kyuhyun in an explosion of sounds. Beside him, the buzz of his alarm; outside, the voices of songbirds and wingflaps; beyond that, the distant clank of his mailbox.
Prompt enough to set a clock by, he once joked.
He swings his legs off the bed and slides his feet into slippers cooled from a night on the floor. He tries not to shiver as the grooves mould around his feet and heaves himself out of bed with a wide yawn. Smacking his lips, he frowns. Yuck. Morning breath. It's a good thing no one else lives with him.
He heaves himself out of bed and makes his way into the washroom, knowing the room well enough to navigate even in his sleep-blurred state. His fingers brush down the door frame and past the light switch, where he knows his toothbrush is upright in its holder and his toothpaste not far beside it. The morning regimen has gotten less novel as time went on; now it's more bearable of achore. He sings one of their old songs to pass the time, one of the ballads playing in his head when he woke up. He doesn't remember the title or most the words, but the instrumentals are so vivid his fingers tap out their melody against the marble counter. Yes, he will be playing this later.
He spits, rinses, and finishes the rest of his routine with only a few minor stumbles - nothing that he's not used to by now though, it doesn't even register in his mind any more - and makes his way to the kitchen. He pours some carrot juice into a glass - cup from the second cabinet left of the sink, juice from the fridge. Remember to put the lip of the milk carton to the glass when pouring, but that's natural by now; he no longer has to think about that either - and drinks it.
Yup. He still hates it. But Donghae insisted it's good for him. It'll make you better, Kyuhyun-ah.
But that was two years ago and, well. He certainly hasn't seen any improvement.
Kyuhyun laughs at his own joke, imagining the awkward silences and hesitant smiles on his friends faces. People were much too sensitive about this, he decides, and rinses the cup under the faucet.
-
His piano is made of dark cherry wood polished to a shine. The wooden cover is slippery and heavy under his grasp, but he pushes it up and lets his fingers fall on smooth ivory keys. The first song is warm-up, a familiar melody interspersed by scales that stretch his arms to bracket octaves he never finds use for. It's whimsical, unplanned (much like most of his playing nowadays), but he enjoys the glide of cool ivory under his fingers. He likes it best now, before the keys get too warm from his touch or too slippery from sweat. With a content sigh, he sits on the sun-warmed bench and places his metronome at its usual spot, unclasps the needle, and lets it go.
One two three four one two three four
Kyuhyun breathes deep and starts the first notes of the song in his mind, lets the music flow from his fingertips into the piano and throughout the room. It drowns out the morning traffic outside his window, outplays the birds singing on his window ledge, and weaves around the tick-tock-tick-tock of the metronome. He loses himself in the music, opening himself up to the melodies and memories of long past. Ryeowook sang this part, he remembers, and Sungmin here. And once Donghae's voice cracked here because Hyukjae had accidentally kicked his shoe off and hit his shins.
Those were the good times. Kyuhyun can't believe he almost forgot them all.
He plays one song after another until his fingers start to slip on the keys and the sun is burning the right side of his face. He thinks about finishing one last song before getting dressed for the day when the phone rings. It takes a good two minute to find the damn phone - it always eludes him, hiding between couch cushions and on counters he doesn't remember passing. He's thankful that the person stays on the line for so long. It must be someone who knows him.
"Hello?" He answers, finally fishing the phone out of the cutlery drawer. Heechul called during dinner two nights ago. He must have dropped it there after hanging up.
"Hi." It's Donghae. Breathless, but still recognizably Donghae. "Thank God you picked up. I was starting to worry."
"Sorry. You know I have trouble finding - "
"Oh no, no, don't apologize. It's not your fault. I was just - just -"
"Worried?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I was worried."
Kyuhyun licks his lips and waits for Donghae to say something else. When he only gets silence, he clears his throat, "So what's up? Anything new happened in your life since -" a year ago "- since we last talked?"
"Yes, uh, the lot of us, the old gang, you know, the group we were all in -"
"I'm not senile, Donghae." Kyuhyun resists rolling his eyes.
"Right, well, we're thinking of having this reunion, and Junsu just moved into his new house, so he wants us all to go there. It'd be good for you talk some people we haven't seen in a while! And it'd be nice for you to take a l-, uh, have a feel around." He clears his throat and makes a few starts that sound like the beginning of awkward apologies.
"Donghae." Kyuhyun says, trying to keep his voice steady, "I'd love to go out and have a look around."
"Oh. Sorry." Donghae says, his voice on the edge of cracking. Kyuhyun is just about to ask why he's so nervous, when he hears an audible swallow from the other end, "Kyuhyun-ah, I'd - I'd like you to meet someone. She's really nice and a very good person, but I still want your opinion."
A knot settles into Kyuhyun's belly. "Is she pretty?" He asks, not so much out of spite. Just...a reminder.
"I - yes. I think she's pretty. You - " Donghae's voice drops lower. He sounds sad, remorseful. He does remember. "You would have thought so too."
"I'm glad." Kyuhyun says. He can't quite decide if that's genuine, not yet. "When is it? Would you mind picking me up?"
Donghae exhales. It's quiet, almost imperceptible, but without visual distractions, Kyuhyun finds himself noticing the smallest audio details. "Tomorrow night. And sure, we'll come pick you up."
"Thank you." Kyuhyun says, and means it.
(The truth is, Kyuhyun isn't angry at Donghae. He knows about personal obligations and the importance of keeping them. He's especially acquainted with not disappointing the people to whom you owe responsibility.
Minimize loss: that was his strategy back when he took his first steps out of the hospital and found everything impossibly dark, like the world had wrapped a black cloth over his eyes and said "you've led a blessed life, now let's see what you can do with what you have left." And Kyuhyun was surprised to find that he was strong enough to pick himself up and go. He was also strong enough, when the time came, to take Donghae's face into his hands and teach him about responsibilities, about cutting losses and your mother, Donghae, I can take care of myself but what about her?
The truth is, Kyuhyun can still remember the twitch of Donghae's cheek under his palm as he tried not to cry, still remember the downward arch of his mouth, a memory-sense burned into the flesh of his thumb. He can still remember the first night without Donghae's soft breathing in his ear, his own heart beating a rhythm of alone, alone, alone.
The truth is, logic had done its trick and time had followed suit. Kyuhyun isn't so in love with Donghae anymore.)
Kyuhyun's life runs on the beat of a metronome.
Mornings find Kyuhyun in an explosion of sounds. Beside him, the buzz of his alarm; outside, the voices of songbirds and wingflaps; beyond that, the distant clank of his mailbox.
Prompt enough to set a clock by, he once joked.
He swings his legs off the bed and slides his feet into slippers cooled from a night on the floor. He tries not to shiver as the grooves mould around his feet and heaves himself out of bed with a wide yawn. Smacking his lips, he frowns. Yuck. Morning breath. It's a good thing no one else lives with him.
He heaves himself out of bed and makes his way into the washroom, knowing the room well enough to navigate even in his sleep-blurred state. His fingers brush down the door frame and past the light switch, where he knows his toothbrush is upright in its holder and his toothpaste not far beside it. The morning regimen has gotten less novel as time went on; now it's more bearable of achore. He sings one of their old songs to pass the time, one of the ballads playing in his head when he woke up. He doesn't remember the title or most the words, but the instrumentals are so vivid his fingers tap out their melody against the marble counter. Yes, he will be playing this later.
He spits, rinses, and finishes the rest of his routine with only a few minor stumbles - nothing that he's not used to by now though, it doesn't even register in his mind any more - and makes his way to the kitchen. He pours some carrot juice into a glass - cup from the second cabinet left of the sink, juice from the fridge. Remember to put the lip of the milk carton to the glass when pouring, but that's natural by now; he no longer has to think about that either - and drinks it.
Yup. He still hates it. But Donghae insisted it's good for him. It'll make you better, Kyuhyun-ah.
But that was two years ago and, well. He certainly hasn't seen any improvement.
Kyuhyun laughs at his own joke, imagining the awkward silences and hesitant smiles on his friends faces. People were much too sensitive about this, he decides, and rinses the cup under the faucet.
-
His piano is made of dark cherry wood polished to a shine. The wooden cover is slippery and heavy under his grasp, but he pushes it up and lets his fingers fall on smooth ivory keys. The first song is warm-up, a familiar melody interspersed by scales that stretch his arms to bracket octaves he never finds use for. It's whimsical, unplanned (much like most of his playing nowadays), but he enjoys the glide of cool ivory under his fingers. He likes it best now, before the keys get too warm from his touch or too slippery from sweat. With a content sigh, he sits on the sun-warmed bench and places his metronome at its usual spot, unclasps the needle, and lets it go.
One two three four one two three four
Kyuhyun breathes deep and starts the first notes of the song in his mind, lets the music flow from his fingertips into the piano and throughout the room. It drowns out the morning traffic outside his window, outplays the birds singing on his window ledge, and weaves around the tick-tock-tick-tock of the metronome. He loses himself in the music, opening himself up to the melodies and memories of long past. Ryeowook sang this part, he remembers, and Sungmin here. And once Donghae's voice cracked here because Hyukjae had accidentally kicked his shoe off and hit his shins.
Those were the good times. Kyuhyun can't believe he almost forgot them all.
He plays one song after another until his fingers start to slip on the keys and the sun is burning the right side of his face. He thinks about finishing one last song before getting dressed for the day when the phone rings. It takes a good two minute to find the damn phone - it always eludes him, hiding between couch cushions and on counters he doesn't remember passing. He's thankful that the person stays on the line for so long. It must be someone who knows him.
"Hello?" He answers, finally fishing the phone out of the cutlery drawer. Heechul called during dinner two nights ago. He must have dropped it there after hanging up.
"Hi." It's Donghae. Breathless, but still recognizably Donghae. "Thank God you picked up. I was starting to worry."
"Sorry. You know I have trouble finding - "
"Oh no, no, don't apologize. It's not your fault. I was just - just -"
"Worried?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I was worried."
Kyuhyun licks his lips and waits for Donghae to say something else. When he only gets silence, he clears his throat, "So what's up? Anything new happened in your life since -" a year ago "- since we last talked?"
"Yes, uh, the lot of us, the old gang, you know, the group we were all in -"
"I'm not senile, Donghae." Kyuhyun resists rolling his eyes.
"Right, well, we're thinking of having this reunion, and Junsu just moved into his new house, so he wants us all to go there. It'd be good for you talk some people we haven't seen in a while! And it'd be nice for you to take a l-, uh, have a feel around." He clears his throat and makes a few starts that sound like the beginning of awkward apologies.
"Donghae." Kyuhyun says, trying to keep his voice steady, "I'd love to go out and have a look around."
"Oh. Sorry." Donghae says, his voice on the edge of cracking. Kyuhyun is just about to ask why he's so nervous, when he hears an audible swallow from the other end, "Kyuhyun-ah, I'd - I'd like you to meet someone. She's really nice and a very good person, but I still want your opinion."
A knot settles into Kyuhyun's belly. "Is she pretty?" He asks, not so much out of spite. Just...a reminder.
"I - yes. I think she's pretty. You - " Donghae's voice drops lower. He sounds sad, remorseful. He does remember. "You would have thought so too."
"I'm glad." Kyuhyun says. He can't quite decide if that's genuine, not yet. "When is it? Would you mind picking me up?"
Donghae exhales. It's quiet, almost imperceptible, but without visual distractions, Kyuhyun finds himself noticing the smallest audio details. "Tomorrow night. And sure, we'll come pick you up."
"Thank you." Kyuhyun says, and means it.
(The truth is, Kyuhyun isn't angry at Donghae. He knows about personal obligations and the importance of keeping them. He's especially acquainted with not disappointing the people to whom you owe responsibility.
Minimize loss: that was his strategy back when he took his first steps out of the hospital and found everything impossibly dark, like the world had wrapped a black cloth over his eyes and said "you've led a blessed life, now let's see what you can do with what you have left." And Kyuhyun was surprised to find that he was strong enough to pick himself up and go. He was also strong enough, when the time came, to take Donghae's face into his hands and teach him about responsibilities, about cutting losses and your mother, Donghae, I can take care of myself but what about her?
The truth is, Kyuhyun can still remember the twitch of Donghae's cheek under his palm as he tried not to cry, still remember the downward arch of his mouth, a memory-sense burned into the flesh of his thumb. He can still remember the first night without Donghae's soft breathing in his ear, his own heart beating a rhythm of alone, alone, alone.
The truth is, logic had done its trick and time had followed suit. Kyuhyun isn't so in love with Donghae anymore.)