don't let the sun go down on me
Title: don't let the sun go down on me
Pairing(s): KangTeuk, slight!Leeteuk/Krystal, slight!Kangin/Amber, implied!KryBer
Genre(s): Romance, classical music AU, historical, warning!homophobia
Length: 6834 words
Rating: PG-13
Summary: "He tells me that if I practice enough, I will become the greatest pianist in the whole world."
Inspiration(s): I did my term paper last year on pianist Clara Wieck and her role in the changing role of women musicians in the nineteenth century. And many of the sources that I drew upon mentioned her relationship with her friend-turned-husband Robert Schumann and her growing independence from her father Friedrich Wieck. A very summarized version of their (very beautiful/cheesy/tragic) story can be found here. My own story is based on it, but with some slight changes.
Title from Elton John Song. Written for kangteuk's birthday.
```
begin
--
1.
My name is Park Jungsu, and I am seven years old. Today father gave me his diary. He says that it is impr imperative that I learn how to read and write as effishently efficiently as possible because I can practice the piano more that way. He tells me that if I practice enough, I will become the greatest pianist in the whole world, and I want that very much. Indeed you do.
When Jungsu was born, his father Sooman almost immediately knew that he was going to be the most famous concert pianist in the world, and by the time his shy and physically fragile son turned four years old he knew that he was not going to be disappointed. Jungsu was silent, even more silent than a ghost, and the only way anybody knew that he was not deaf was the fact that he always, without fail, did as he was told. One quick order and the boy would be scrambling to carry it out as if his life depended on it.
It made Sooman’s life a lot easier, and every time he woke Jungsu up in the mornings, he knew that it would be yet another productive day. The little boy literally opened his eyes, masked a yawn, changed out of his pajamas, and scurried out of his bed into the living room to practice his scales and arpeggios, all without a word of complaint.
Despite that, life in the Park household for those first few years was not a happy one. While Jungsu practiced, there was always a lot of muffled shouting in the kitchen, and it was normal for him to hear the occasional crash of glass plates or the smashing of cups against the walls. Eventually, Jungsu’s mother had long gotten sick of Sooman’s domineering ways, and left him despite the fact that she would automatically be losing custody of her perfect baby boy. While Jungsu was grateful that the shouting was over, he missed his mother terribly. He made sure never to speak her name in front of Sooman, and though every fiber of his being begged him to do otherwise he never uttered a word when his father tore up the letters that she wrote to him.
Perhaps that was why he came to love playing the piano so much-the freedom that it allowed.
With his mother’s departure came the intensification of his musical training. Sooman invested himself in his son, making sure that Jungsu practiced at least six hours per day until his skills were impeccably honed to the degree of mastery. “You will be great,” he promised him, “If you practice, you will be the greatest pianist in the world.”
When Jungsu was six, he had his first recital, where he stunned his audiences with his technical mastery and his mature musical interpretation. Jungsu remembered strutting up to the piano (with his chin up just like his father told him to) and bowing in front of his unimpressed audience, and he remembered how the unimpressed expression soon turned to those of complete awe while he progressed through his concert, well aware that his father was standing behind him at the doorway with all his hopes and dreams placed upon his son.
And Jungsu fulfilled them all. Each and every one.
He dyed his originally black hair blond to stand out on the concert stage. He wore fitted white suits that brought out his feminine features. He studied theatre and drama to add more pizzazz to his performances. He took lessons on model walking, and learned how to charm an audience with just a dimpled smile. He chose the stage name Leeteuk to make his persona more memorable.
By the time the boy turned seven, he was well on his way to becoming the greatest musical prodigy the world has ever had, almost head on with Mozart himself, and at eight he started his first world tour. He stunned the reigning virtuosos, was repeatedly contacted for performance commissions, and was met with raving audiences all bent on hearing the Wonder Child at least once in concert.
Jungsu loved playing the piano, and he loved performing in front of cheering audiences. But most of all, he loved it when he would walk back offstage and see his father’s proud smile beaming down on him.
2.
I played four wrong notes during my recital today. Father was extremely disappointed disappointed in me, and I cannot say that I do not blame him. Technical perfecsion perfection is only the basics in the art of piano playing, and if I am unable to fulfill even that, I am no better than a mere beginner. I really must practice harder or else I will fall behind and lose all the meaning I have to live. We must work harder together. Remember, everything I own is invested in you, my dear boy.
Jungsu was nine years old when he first met Youngwoon.
The other boy was eighteen already at the time, and rambunctious. A stereotypical ladies’ man, he was notorious for attending parties every night, flirting with anything that wore high heels, drinking until he fell unconscious. He was originally intending to become a lawyer like his own father hoped he would be, but he wholeheartedly loved playing the piano, and spent all of his free time away from his studies and parties to learn everything he could about music in general. As time went on, it became harder and harder to choose between the career in law that his father set out for him and the career in music that he wanted oh-so-badly.
It was only after attending one of Jungsu’s renowned concerts that Youngwoon made up his mind and asked to study with Sooman, who accepted him on the condition that he cease his flamboyant lifestyle and start concentrating on his art.
Youngwoon accepted the strict conditions without hesitation and Jungsu, who was originally wary of the Boy Who Talked Much Too Loudly, found that his respect for the older man had increased exponentially with this gesture. Within days, Youngwoon had packed up and moved into the Park household, bent on pursuing his dream with every cell in his body.
After he got over his initial shyness, Jungsu found Youngwoon fascinating. The teenager, though quite cumbersome on the outside, was a very poetic musician, and in between his lessons Jungsu loved to secretly watch him as he improvised beautiful melodies on the piano and experimented with the different sounds that the piano had to offer. Many of the melodies that Jungsu heard the older play play during this time were incorporated into his own compositions, and though he felt bad about having his father praise him on the work of others, Jungsu could not help but smile every time he played through one of his pieces and think back to its main inspiration.
Then one day, Youngwoon came across the most beautiful melody that his imagination had ever produced, and acting on impulse, Jungsu emerged from his hiding place and ran to the piano’s side, startling the older boy.
“Play that again,” Jungsu pleaded, his normally blank eyes suddenly enlivened. “Please.”
Youngwoon’s shocked expression softened and he repeated the melody for his newfound audience member, even going so far as to improvise variations and embellishments, smiling when one particular variation with teasing trills and syncopations made Jungsu giggle. “Want to try?” Youngwoon motioned to the empty seat beside him on the piano bench.
Jungsu shook his head. “I have never played without a score before.”
The older boy smirked. “Well, now is a good time to start. Come on, I’ll show you. Come on, don’t be shy. I don’t bite.”
Hesitantly, the nine-year-old took a seat beside Youngwoon, and watched as the other man’s fingers glided over the ivory keys with no intention of following any set rules or regulations. It sounded beautiful, and Jungu’s eyes turned emerald green with jealousy.
“Your turn,” Youngwoon quipped once he was finished.
Unsure of what to do, Jungsu recited from memory the piece that he had been working on for the past week, which Youngwoon laughed heartily once he realized what had transpired.
“No, no, you have to improvise,” he instructed. “As in, no score, no music, no nothing. Just your art and music in your command. The trick is not to think too hard. Just let your mind go free and let your fingers do the rest of the work.”
So, ever obedient, Jungsu cleared his mind, placed his hands on the keyboard, and started to play. It was simple, and it was awkward, but it was something. He looked over to his confidant, and blushed when he was met with a huge grin and crescent-shaped eyes.
“That’s more like it. See, not difficult at all. Now, you seemed to like the melody that I found just now.” Youngwoon replayed it and winked. “I hereby name this particular melody the ‘Leeteuk melody.’”
And thus began the friendship between Jungsu and Youngwoon.
3.
Youngwoon took me out for a picknick picnic yesterday, and I enjoyed myself immensely. We sat on the grass underneath the sun eating the sandwiches that Youngwoon had prepared, and whistled melodies to each other like little birds in the morning. It had taken Youngwoon a long time to convince my father to excuse me from my scheduled singing lesson, and he only approved of it when I promised to practice an extra two hours later that evening. Of course, as much as I would like to go out for more picnics, I have a concert coming up next week that I must carry out with utmost perfection. Performances come first, my lad. Do remember that picnics do not bring in any income.
Over the years, the two created a routine where during their lesson breaks they would meet at the living room piano and spend musical quality time together. Jungsu found that when he was not flaunting his ego and talking too loudly, Youngwoon was in fact a very elegiac and expressive human being. And Youngwoon found that when he was not staying silent and doing as his daddy told him to, Jungsu was actually a very intelligent and imaginative child. Of course, there was still a dichotomy in their beliefs in life. Jungsu had learned early on that reality came first and foremost, and that circumstances only ended well if dealt with head on. Youngwoon, on the other hand, believed in frivolous things like destiny and love at first sight and magic and happily ever after’s.
And in spite of it all, they got along famously.
“Let’s play a game,” Youngwoon suggested one sunny day in May, presently twenty years old and well on his way to becoming a very handsome gentleman. Both of them were sitting on the piano bench, entertaining themselves by improvising.
“A game?” ten-year-old Jungsu tilted his head in confusion, still as petite and effeminate as ever. “What’s a game?”
Youngwoon stared at his surrogate little brother. “Seriously? You don’t know what a game is?”
The blond boy shook his head, annoyed. He hated not knowing.
“Well, a game is an activity people play when they want to have some fun. I hope that you know what fun is at least, right?”
Jungsu scowled, which made Youngwoon laugh.
“Alright, so the rules. You give me a sound or image or word, and I’ll try to improvise a melody that expresses it. It’s a game I learned back home called word painting. Try it!”
The ten-year-old furrowed his eyebrows in concentration before looking out the glass window where inspiration hit almost instantly. “Singing birds.”
Youngwoon rolled his eyes. “Too easy,” he quipped, improvising melodies on short succinct trills that imitated small bird calls. “My turn. Triumph over a great and powerful evil.”
Jungsu thought for a moment and smiled when a majestic tune just popped into his head.
“Show off,” Youngwoon ruffled Jungsu’s blond hair, instigating a squeak of indignation from the latter. “Now I’m jealous. In such a short time, you’ve gotten even better at improvising than I have.”
Jungsu smiled at the compliment. “My turn, my turn! Play a sunrise!”
Youngwoon grinned, immediately painting the picture of an orange-red glow peeking up over the horizon and lighting up the rest of the land with its warmth. “Notice how it is in the key of C Major, which adds to the majestic color that I think sunrises have. If I wanted to make it a very gentle sunrise instead, I would have used the key of D-flat major, which is a lot mellower in sound. Or conversely, I could have used E major if I wanted to emphasize its gloriousness.”
“That’s really, really cool,” Jungsu breathed out; he had never thought of keys in that sense before.
“Isn’t it?” Youngwoon beamed. “That was the reason why I decided to become a musician in the first place. Just imagine what you can do with only a piano and your ear! Just thinking about all those possibilities makes me want to learn everything there is to know about music!” The twenty-year-old turned his kind eyes towards his companion, frenzied. “Just imagine everything we can achieve together! We can be heroes in the music world!”
Suddenly Youngwoon shot up from his seat, and brought Jungsu along with him, spinning him round and round in a glorious moment of absolute elation. “We can conquer anything! Our names will go down in history! We can change the whole world if we wanted to!”
And, laughing, Jungsu could only bask in his happiness as they continued to spin themselves into a giddy and dizzy stupor, all the while wondering why he never had as much fun before.
Youngwoon somehow permanently broke his finger four days later, which thus ended his budding career as a virtuoso pianist. Jungsu was in Frankfurt at the time, but when he heard about the incident, he cried for the first time since his mother left.
4.
Touring is probably my favorite thing about playing the piano. It is always wonderful exploring new places and performing in front of new audiences. I went to Vienna last week, for example, and met so many renowned stars. In fact, I even met Heechul and Han Geng, the legendary violin-piano duo who were celebrated for their virtuosic performances and notorious for their ambiguous affiliation. While I remain quite neutral on the matter, Father believes that it is disgusting for two men to engage in an intimate relationship. It is rather curious how something that does not cause any harm to anybody could be considered such a grievous sin. It is written in the Bible that a man shan’t lay with another man. Heechul and Han Geng, musical geniuses aside, should rot in hell.
If Youngwoon was a ship, Jungsu was his anchor.
The older boy had had many hardships during his life. Like Jungsu, he lost his mother when he was young, she having died during childbirth-his birth. He also had an older sister who he loved more than anything but who died from polio before she turned eighteen. His remaining family was his father, who all but disowned him after finding out that he was throwing away his law degree for a life in the music industry; the man died several years later from syphilis, still refusing to talk to his son.
Youngwoon confided it all to Jungsu, knowing full well that the younger boy would never judge him or think any less of him. He told him about his deepest regrets in life, his deepest sorrows, his deepest loss. Jungsu knew his best friend inside and out; he knew him at his worst states.
So he was all but expecting the worst when he received a letter from him despairing over his broken finger. Jungsu expected him to walk away from his dream of becoming a world-class musician. He would not have blamed him; if Jungsu had ever broken a finger, he would not have hesitated to take his own life.
Though every inch of him knew that he needed to head straight home to give Youngwoon a shoulder to cry on, Jungsu’s tour was scheduled to last for another two weeks and his father would have nothing stop him from carrying on until the whole world knew of his son’s talent. Consequently Jungsu’s last few recitals, though perfectly executed, were hollow in sound and feeling.
Two weeks turned into three. Three turned into four. And so the subsequent time Jungsu saw his friend was almost a month later. He had arrived back home with a heavy heart, and probably the only reason he walked through the front door so quickly was because his father told him to hurry and take his bags up to his room to get ready for supper. As he passed the hallway, however, quiet humming accompanied by simple harmonic progressions leaked from the living room.
Heart beating against his chest, Jungsu left his bags by the staircase, crept through the doorway, and took in the sight of his dearest friend, right hand bandaged as he made music on their piano with his remaining hand.
Jungsu soundlessly approached and took his natural seat beside him on the piano bench.
“It hurts,” Youngwoon answered Jungsu’s silent questions. “My whole hand throbs, but not as much as my heart does.”
The blond nodded, trying to comprehend. He hesitantly brushed the tips of his fingers over the pale yellow bandages restricting Youngwoon’s right hand, wondering if he could have prevented it somehow.
“I’m awfully sorry.”
Jungsu widened his eyes, stiffening. “For what?”
“I made you worry,” Youngwoon smiled sadly. “I knew that you loved to tour, and yet I ruined it all for you by placing such a heavy burden on you. I just wanted you to know first.”
The blond felt his breath hitch. “Youngwoon.”
“I knew that I should not have sent that letter to you,” the older man murmured. “But you are the only person I trust in this world, and my despondency was too much for me to handle. I was selfish, and I am sorry.”
“If anybody is to blame, it is me,” Jungsu insisted. “I should have come back as soon as I have heard. I wanted to tell you that if nothing else, I could be your hands, and that whatever you can’t play I can play for you! But you know my father, he would never allow me to-”
Before he could finish his sentence he was engulfed in a pair of strong arms, warmth washing over him like a tidal wave.
“I’m so glad you are back,” Youngwoon whispered into his friend’s ear. “You have no idea how happy I am just to see you again.”
Jungsu’s face heated up and he wrapped his thin arms around his friend’s back, sinking into the warm embrace.
5.
Today my father introduced me to a lovely young lady named Krystal Jung. I believe that she is from America and is very rich. I found her remarkably beautiful, especially her voice. She performed one of the art songs Youngwoon composed last month, and it was stunning how a lady could be so proper and yet lose herself so fully into her music. My father has been talking about marriage prospects, and though I find myself unable to regard any woman as more than a female friend, I do believe that I could learn to love Krystal-at least enough to build a life with her. Krystal is a fine choice for a future wife. Remember to be on your best behavior this evening, and to offer her your coat when she gets chilly. Yes, father.
Youngwoon was twenty-two when he finally earned enough from his compositions to move out of the Park household and settle into a place of his own. It was his first of many steps towards adulthood. Unfortunately, the only place he found that was convenient enough and fit his budget was two hours away, which made it quite inconvenient for Jungsu to visit often if at all. Despite mixed feelings on this matter, Jungsu was proud of his friend for finally coming of age and thus integrating into the adult society.
As a boy of thirteen, he was always surrounded by adults who still referred to him as a child who knew nothing of the world as it really was. Even his father, as highly as he regarded his son, emphasized his naivety to the outside world with remarks such as what do children know anyway? and youthful is synonymous to foolish and only growing up can solve the problem of stupidity. It bothered Jungsu to no end, but even as his hair stood up on end every time he heard a phrase like that directed towards him, he pasted on that dimpled smile and pretended to be the foolish young harmless child that everybody expected of him.
Jungsu found it difficult to understand why adults assumed that children were naive and foolish. Quite frankly, the blond very much believed that as one became older, one became increasingly more foolish. Adults confused simple things, and for the strangest reasons they craved subtlety. Every sentence a so-called “sophisticated” adult said required ambiguous wording and undecided intent. In fact, the more ambiguous and the more undecided, the more sophisticated the adult appeared. Jungsu thought it was ridiculous, and he watched everyday as the grownups walked around with their artificial words and insincere manners.
Even as he got older, Youngwoon never changed. Youngwoon continued to have that idealistic grin on his kind face, that strong faith in the power of magic, and that love for the romantic aspects of the world. He never stopped believing in things like miracles and true love, and he never lost his wondrous imagination that granted him freedom in the broadest ways possible.
As a result, Jungsu found himself respecting Youngwoon more and more as each day passed. But he also found himself missing Youngwoon more and more as each day passed. Instead of waking up to little tunes coming from the living room, he woke up to the sound of his father grumbling about those damn impresarios. His days became dull and monotonous, and he no longer had his lesson breaks to look forward to.
He missed Youngwoon terribly. Which was why he was almost beside himself with joy when the first letter of a series of many arrived at his doorstep, each addressed to My dearest Jungsu. The first one, six pages handwritten, told of his new flat in great detail, meticulously describing the color of the windowpanes, the softness of his bed, the emptiness of his room. The second one, which arrived only three days later, was five pages bewailing the hardships of adult life. The third and fourth were diary entries, filled with newfound thoughts on art and music and life in general. The fifth, Jungsu’s personal favorite, was a grand ten pages in length, and was a short story with the angelic Leeteuk and the strong kind Kangin as the lead protagonists.
Jungsu kept them all, and stayed up late at night just re-reading them.
Until the seventeenth letter came. Youngwoon wrote it one sheet of fine manuscript paper and Jungsu had read it eagerly, face morphing from excitement to shock as he progressed through his friend’s black bold script.
My dearest Jungsu,
I met encountered many great composers ever since I moved out. It has been extremely invigorating despite the obstacles that I have had to overcome in the black world called Adulthood.
One of those great composers is Amber Liu; I am sure you have heard of her. If not, I will just let you know that she is notorious for her advocacy towards women. Just last week she dressed as a man to have her opinions heard in the city council. The whole army is probably after her, and though she is supposed to be in prison, she escaped and is currently on the run. And notwithstanding everything, she still has that fierce integrity that never dimmed even when behind bars. Society fears her, but I respect her. Only true artists can make all of humanity cringe in fear, no doubt!
The purpose of this letter is to inform you, my dearest Jungsu, that Amber and I are going to be married once the first buds open in Spring. I hope to see you at my wedding, and I hope that I have your blessings. I look forward to the day in the near future when you find happiness in another person!
With all my love,
Youngwoon
Indeed, though he had never met her in person, Jungsu heard of Amber. Venerated her, even. But after he read that letter, all he wanted to do was to grab Amber and Youngwoon and push both of them off the nearest cliff he found. His breath contracted, and his head spun, and it was all he could do not to burst into tears right then and there.
6.
I continue to concertize, though with a heavy heart. A pen fails to express how much pain I am in. I shall rest now before my pain decides to devour me whole.
Jungsu received letters after that sudden wedding invitation, but they were now read with trepidation rather than with excitement. Before, he had all but ripped them open and breathed all the words in; now, he first had to calm his heart rate, slowly open the folded pieces of paper, and pray that none of the words etched on them would stab him in the back with a verbal axe.
Because of his concertizing schedule, Jungsu had no time to visit his friend until two months after he first moved out. And even then, he was uncertain. Would he be a bother just showing up in front of Youngwoon’s doorstep? Would he be a nuisance to him? Would he, god forbid, not like what he saw?
Questions swam in Jungsu’s mind, but in the end his interminable desire to see his longtime friend overcame all other feelings of doubt, and before long he had arrived in front of the old green door that was the only barrier between them. He knocked once, twice, three times before it was opened. Not by Youngwoon, though.
“Hello, how may I help you?” the man asked, wearing clothes much too big for him.
Jungsu blinked rapidly. “I-I wanted to see Youngwoon?”
“Oh! You must be Jungsu! I thought I have seen you somewhere.” he grinned suavely. “Youngwoon has been looking forward to seeing you again. He reads all of the critic reviews of your performances.”
Jungsu smiled.
“Youngwoon is probably in his work space upstairs. Just go up and knock. My name is Amber, by the way.”
Jungsu’s smile faded. “You are his fiancée?” he asked belatedly after a moment’s silence.
The man-woman!-turned around, frowning. “He told you?”
“Yes he told me!” Jungsu retorted. “I’m his best friend!”
“Alright, alright,” Amber held up her hands in mock surrender. “Just do me a favor and keep your lips zipped up about it. I am hardly friendly with the government, you know.”
Jungsu resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Do you love him?”
“Love who?”
“Youngwoon!” Jungsu’s eyes narrowed.
Amber laughed. “You really care about your friend, huh?”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Well,” Amber shrugged. “We’re getting married, aren’t we? That has to count for something.”
Jungsu narrowed his eyes and stalked towards the exit.
“Where are you going?” the masculine woman asked, startled. “I thought you wanted to see Youngwoon.”
“There is no need for that,” Jungsu retorted. “I have seen what I needed to see. And I would appreciate if you did not let Youngwoon know that I was here.”
But of course, Amber did nothing of the sort and Youngwoon appeared on Jungsu’s doorstep a week later.
“Youngwoon!” Jungsu gasped, startled though in the back of his mind he wondered if he should have seen it all coming. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to see you, of course!” the man in question chuckled, his kind eyes still as kind as before. “You have been so busy with your concerts that I was worried that I would never see you again.”
Jungsu blushed, and motioned his friend inside. Youngwoon took a seat at the living room piano just like before, and the blond busied himself around the kitchen, nervously trying to find the teabags and glassware. Sweat formed on his forehead, and he started to wonder why it had suddenly become so warm in the room.
“You’re uneasy,” Youngwoon stated the obvious from behind him. “I can tell even without looking at you.”
“I’m not uneasy,” Jungsu lied unconvincingly. “Just surprised you came, that’s all.”
“I’m sorry if I came at an inconvenient time-”
“No, no!” the blond answered quickly, carefully placing their drinks on the side of the piano, just like he did when they were both children. “No inconvenience on my part!”
“That’s good to hear,” Youngwoon smiled. “So how has your life been progressing?”
“It’s been successful. I just came back from a tour, as you know. The critics were raving.”
“I would expect no less from the famous Leeteuk.”
Jungsu smiled tightly.
“Has your father introduced you to people?”
The performer nodded curtly. “Many people. I met Han Geng and Heechul a month ago. Brilliant people but my father tells me to steer clear of them.”
“Of course he would,” Youngwoon nodded, grimacing. “Any women?”
Jungsu flushed. “There was this singer named Krystal Jung.”
“You have mentioned her before.”
“Yes. Her soprano voice is beautiful.”
“I see.”
Silence filled their ears as the elephant in the room refused to disappear. “You’re getting married,” Jungsu stated lamely, heart clenching at the sight of a ring around his best friend’s finger. “To Amber, correct?”
“Yes. In the springtime.”
“I see,” Jungsu whispered, voice tense.
Youngwoon seemed to notice his friend’s demeanor from the way he sagged. “Jungsu, you are upset with me.”
Jungsu stood up quickly and started to pace. “What are you talking about? I’m fine.”
“I have known you ever since you were barely nine years old. I know you are not fine.”
“A lot has changed since you left.” The blond clenched his jaw. “Besides, it is none of your business how I am feeling.”
“Are you against my marriage to Amber?”
Jungsu flinched, wondering if everything he never wanted anybody to know was written on his face. “You can marry whomever you wish, Youngwoon. I-I am happy for you.”
“I know you are happy for me. That’s what I am concerned about.”
Suddenly Jungsu felt Youngwoon right behind in his personal space, much too close for the situation he was faced with. “How so?” he tried to keep his voice steady.
“I had hoped you would be at least a little bit,” Youngwoon paused, searching for the right word, “jealous?”
“Why would you want that?” Jungsu asked, feeling his face heat up. He could not have been that obvious, could he?
“Because I did not want to marry Amber,” his best friend replied sullenly. “I love her enough, like a sister, but never enough for a true marriage. She knows this.”
The concert musician swallowed, anger forming in his throat like bile. “Then why are you marrying her? For money?” He scoffed. “I thought you were better than that!”
Youngwoon chuckled. “Amber has even less money than I do. No, I married her because I wanted to move past my love for somebody else.”
Jungsu felt his best friend’s strong arms wrap around his waist and blushed at how the top of his head fit underneath the curve of Youngwoon’s throat. They used to embrace like this when they were children but instead of the casual comfort he used to experience as a boy, the blond teenager found himself shaking, breath stiffening as his heart rate skyrocketed.
“You’re blushing,” the older man remarked, amused.
“I am not!” Jungsu retorted, flushing harder when he realized that he had answered too quickly. I love you.
“Your ears are red.” I love you, too.
And just like that, Jungsu started to smile again.
7.
Youngwoon finished composing his Variations On An Original Theme yesterday. It is probably his greatest work yet. He values intellect and dignity, and this piece exemplifies these traits most perfectly! My pride for him is limitless! I have commenced learning the music, and though I have already technically mastered it, there are so many intricacies that I have yet to be perfected. Hopefully, I will have it prepared by next week, where I have a concert in Seoul in one of the largest concert halls in all of Korea. I want the world to see Youngwoon’s artistry; I want to be his hands. I want the world to hear this theme, the theme that Youngwoon named after me so many years ago.
Sooman wanted Jungsu to marry well. And by well he really meant extravagantly. The man knew that his son could have any woman that he wished, any bride to whom he showed only a smidge of interest. He could have married a grand duchess if he really wanted to.
So why Youngwoon? Why that penniless composer whose family had a history of mental illnesses? Youngwoon’s father had schizophrenia. His grandfather died of syphilis. His great-grandfather contracted meningitis. Who knows what fatal disease Youngwoon carried! In addition, he was male, and it is clearly written in the Bible that homosexuality is nothing but a sin. His son deserved better.
Therefore, Sooman was adamant to stop any romantic developments between his son and his former student. He arranged for Jungsu to meet some decent marriageable women, distracted Youngwoon with beautiful young women more than willing to open up their legs after a drink. But all resulted in naught, as proven one midsummer night when Jungsu knocked on his bedroom door, looking weary but resolute.
“Father, I would like to talk to you.”
Sooman let him in without another word and returned to his work, only subconsciously noticing his son doggedly closing the door behind him. “What do you want to discuss boy? Important matters, am I right?”
Jungsu nodded. “Marriage in particular.”
The elder raised his eyebrows, teasing. “A girl caught your eye? I assume that it is this Krystal girl that you have been spending so much time with these past few weeks? She is a splendid choice.”
“No, father,” the concert musician laughed nervously . “Krystal is a very close friend, but I have absolutely no romantic feelings towards her." He could not tell his father that Krystal had become quite friendly with Amber just several weeks prior. "I was talking about somebody else, somebody who I have loved for a very very long time.”
“Spit it out, boy. I haven’t got all night.” Indeed Sooman did not. He still had so many concert inquiry letters to write and send out by tomorrow.
Jungsu bit his lower lip. “I know you may not agree with my choice of, well, bride, but before I tell you, you must listen to me.”
The pen in Sooman’s hand stopped moving. He was having a very ominous feeling. “Go on.”
“I do not love this person because of physical beauty or impeccable talent, although those attributes were more than advantageous. I love this person because we just complete each other. I cannot imagine life without this person, and I honestly do not think I will find another individual who understands and loves me as much as this.”
Sooman frowned. “Get to your point.”
Jungsu swallowed. “Father, I love Kim Youngwoon. He asked me to marry him, and I said yes. I am hoping that you will grant us your blessing. At least eventually.”
He was already prepared for this. He had seen it coming, after all. “Jungsu, you’re a smart boy, and I know that you already know my answer. Youngwoon is an unworthy suitor, even for women. You know his background just as well as I do. He will die eventually, at a much younger age than you will think, and by that time you will not have anybody else to depend on.” Sooman closed his eyes. “Yes, son, you must realize that if you choose to marry that man, I will be forced to cut off all ties with you.”
“You don’t need to!” Jungsu pleaded. “Youngwoon adores you, father! He calls you his greatest mentor! As do I, in fact.”
“A relationship with two men together is disgusting. It is common knowledge. No matter how agreeable or civil they are, they are sinners in the end. Even their talent cannot save them.”
“But father, I love him,” Jungsu whispered, voice cracking. “I always have.”
Sooman pursed his lips. “Love is not everything, Jungsu. You can learn to love somebody else-somebody much better for you than Youngwoon.” He heaved a sigh. “Now this is your last chance. If you continue to insist on marrying that man, you are never allowed back in this house again.”
A tear trailed down Jungsu’s cheek. “Father-”
“Choose!”
“I can’t.” The blond looked up at his father, piteous. “Father, I love Youngwoon. I cannot learn to love somebody else. I have tried to, but I couldn’t. Please believe me.” He wringed his hands. “The last thing I want to do is cut you out of my life, but I have made my choice long before this. I will marry him, with or without your consent. I will love you forever, Father, but I cannot listen to you forever.”
Sooman’s eyes narrowed. “You will regret this choice, boy.”
“I know,” Jungsu wiped his eyes, a sad smile forming on his delicate face. “I know that he is probably the worst person to marry in my circumstances, and that I will probably regret ever marrying him in the first place. But I also know that if I don’t take this chance, I will never find out if this is really the true love that every artist strives towards.”
Sooman pressed his lips together. “Get out of my house. Take all your stuff and get out of my house.”
The blond nodded and doggedly did as he was told. It would be the last time he ever saw his father face to face.
Jungsu undertook the two-hour-long carriage ride to Youngwoon’s doorstep, and only burst into tears once he was safe-safe in the arms of the man he loved more than life itself.
8.
This will be my last journal entry in this diary, and not only because I have reached the last blank page. I wish to start anew. I wish to say goodbye to my boyhood and greet my new life as a married man with a fresh start.
It has been daunting, these last few years. My father was relentless when it came to tearing my Youngwoon away from me. Law suits, death threats, slandering rumors, he did everything one could think of. I admire my father’s perseverance and determination for my well-being, but at what cost? I was almost denied several concert opportunities because of false rumors of adultery and nervous breakdowns-they believed that I would never sell. I proved all of them wrong, of course. I learned early on that audiences loved scandals. Take Han Geng and Heechul, for instance.
My father did succeed in putting my imminent marriage on hold, however. Youngwoon asked for my hand three years ago. We are getting married this year in the springtime. I have never been more nervous and happy in my life.
My life is, to put it bluntly, unorthodox. Youngwoon's circle of friends include people who are transgender and homosexual, and many of them are secretly fighting against the government to overturn laws and legislatures that restrict human freedom. It took a long time to become accustomed to seeing biological women wear suits and witnessing two young hormonal boys with their hands down each other's pants, but I quite enjoy it. It's refreshing.
I have nightmares about Youngwoon sometimes. I see him lying in a coffin, cold, pale, and never again able to remind me how much he loved me. I see myself unable to continue, heart shattering into a million pieces, and for the shortest second I start to wish that I had listened to my father and married somebody else. But I always wake up, and I always see my darling Youngwoon sleeping right next to me, eyes lidded calmly and breath coming in soft slow intervals. And those regrets slip away into the night. One day, I know my father’s words will come true. One day, I know Youngwoon will die of an incurable disease.
But I love him, and that is really all that matters right now.
--
end
Pairing(s): KangTeuk, slight!Leeteuk/Krystal, slight!Kangin/Amber, implied!KryBer
Genre(s): Romance, classical music AU, historical, warning!homophobia
Length: 6834 words
Rating: PG-13
Summary: "He tells me that if I practice enough, I will become the greatest pianist in the whole world."
Inspiration(s): I did my term paper last year on pianist Clara Wieck and her role in the changing role of women musicians in the nineteenth century. And many of the sources that I drew upon mentioned her relationship with her friend-turned-husband Robert Schumann and her growing independence from her father Friedrich Wieck. A very summarized version of their (very beautiful/cheesy/tragic) story can be found here. My own story is based on it, but with some slight changes.
Title from Elton John Song. Written for kangteuk's birthday.
```
begin
--
1.
My name is Park Jungsu, and I am seven years old. Today father gave me his diary. He says that it is impr imperative that I learn how to read and write as effishently efficiently as possible because I can practice the piano more that way. He tells me that if I practice enough, I will become the greatest pianist in the whole world, and I want that very much. Indeed you do.
When Jungsu was born, his father Sooman almost immediately knew that he was going to be the most famous concert pianist in the world, and by the time his shy and physically fragile son turned four years old he knew that he was not going to be disappointed. Jungsu was silent, even more silent than a ghost, and the only way anybody knew that he was not deaf was the fact that he always, without fail, did as he was told. One quick order and the boy would be scrambling to carry it out as if his life depended on it.
It made Sooman’s life a lot easier, and every time he woke Jungsu up in the mornings, he knew that it would be yet another productive day. The little boy literally opened his eyes, masked a yawn, changed out of his pajamas, and scurried out of his bed into the living room to practice his scales and arpeggios, all without a word of complaint.
Despite that, life in the Park household for those first few years was not a happy one. While Jungsu practiced, there was always a lot of muffled shouting in the kitchen, and it was normal for him to hear the occasional crash of glass plates or the smashing of cups against the walls. Eventually, Jungsu’s mother had long gotten sick of Sooman’s domineering ways, and left him despite the fact that she would automatically be losing custody of her perfect baby boy. While Jungsu was grateful that the shouting was over, he missed his mother terribly. He made sure never to speak her name in front of Sooman, and though every fiber of his being begged him to do otherwise he never uttered a word when his father tore up the letters that she wrote to him.
Perhaps that was why he came to love playing the piano so much-the freedom that it allowed.
With his mother’s departure came the intensification of his musical training. Sooman invested himself in his son, making sure that Jungsu practiced at least six hours per day until his skills were impeccably honed to the degree of mastery. “You will be great,” he promised him, “If you practice, you will be the greatest pianist in the world.”
When Jungsu was six, he had his first recital, where he stunned his audiences with his technical mastery and his mature musical interpretation. Jungsu remembered strutting up to the piano (with his chin up just like his father told him to) and bowing in front of his unimpressed audience, and he remembered how the unimpressed expression soon turned to those of complete awe while he progressed through his concert, well aware that his father was standing behind him at the doorway with all his hopes and dreams placed upon his son.
And Jungsu fulfilled them all. Each and every one.
He dyed his originally black hair blond to stand out on the concert stage. He wore fitted white suits that brought out his feminine features. He studied theatre and drama to add more pizzazz to his performances. He took lessons on model walking, and learned how to charm an audience with just a dimpled smile. He chose the stage name Leeteuk to make his persona more memorable.
By the time the boy turned seven, he was well on his way to becoming the greatest musical prodigy the world has ever had, almost head on with Mozart himself, and at eight he started his first world tour. He stunned the reigning virtuosos, was repeatedly contacted for performance commissions, and was met with raving audiences all bent on hearing the Wonder Child at least once in concert.
Jungsu loved playing the piano, and he loved performing in front of cheering audiences. But most of all, he loved it when he would walk back offstage and see his father’s proud smile beaming down on him.
2.
I played four wrong notes during my recital today. Father was extremely disappointed disappointed in me, and I cannot say that I do not blame him. Technical perfecsion perfection is only the basics in the art of piano playing, and if I am unable to fulfill even that, I am no better than a mere beginner. I really must practice harder or else I will fall behind and lose all the meaning I have to live. We must work harder together. Remember, everything I own is invested in you, my dear boy.
Jungsu was nine years old when he first met Youngwoon.
The other boy was eighteen already at the time, and rambunctious. A stereotypical ladies’ man, he was notorious for attending parties every night, flirting with anything that wore high heels, drinking until he fell unconscious. He was originally intending to become a lawyer like his own father hoped he would be, but he wholeheartedly loved playing the piano, and spent all of his free time away from his studies and parties to learn everything he could about music in general. As time went on, it became harder and harder to choose between the career in law that his father set out for him and the career in music that he wanted oh-so-badly.
It was only after attending one of Jungsu’s renowned concerts that Youngwoon made up his mind and asked to study with Sooman, who accepted him on the condition that he cease his flamboyant lifestyle and start concentrating on his art.
Youngwoon accepted the strict conditions without hesitation and Jungsu, who was originally wary of the Boy Who Talked Much Too Loudly, found that his respect for the older man had increased exponentially with this gesture. Within days, Youngwoon had packed up and moved into the Park household, bent on pursuing his dream with every cell in his body.
After he got over his initial shyness, Jungsu found Youngwoon fascinating. The teenager, though quite cumbersome on the outside, was a very poetic musician, and in between his lessons Jungsu loved to secretly watch him as he improvised beautiful melodies on the piano and experimented with the different sounds that the piano had to offer. Many of the melodies that Jungsu heard the older play play during this time were incorporated into his own compositions, and though he felt bad about having his father praise him on the work of others, Jungsu could not help but smile every time he played through one of his pieces and think back to its main inspiration.
Then one day, Youngwoon came across the most beautiful melody that his imagination had ever produced, and acting on impulse, Jungsu emerged from his hiding place and ran to the piano’s side, startling the older boy.
“Play that again,” Jungsu pleaded, his normally blank eyes suddenly enlivened. “Please.”
Youngwoon’s shocked expression softened and he repeated the melody for his newfound audience member, even going so far as to improvise variations and embellishments, smiling when one particular variation with teasing trills and syncopations made Jungsu giggle. “Want to try?” Youngwoon motioned to the empty seat beside him on the piano bench.
Jungsu shook his head. “I have never played without a score before.”
The older boy smirked. “Well, now is a good time to start. Come on, I’ll show you. Come on, don’t be shy. I don’t bite.”
Hesitantly, the nine-year-old took a seat beside Youngwoon, and watched as the other man’s fingers glided over the ivory keys with no intention of following any set rules or regulations. It sounded beautiful, and Jungu’s eyes turned emerald green with jealousy.
“Your turn,” Youngwoon quipped once he was finished.
Unsure of what to do, Jungsu recited from memory the piece that he had been working on for the past week, which Youngwoon laughed heartily once he realized what had transpired.
“No, no, you have to improvise,” he instructed. “As in, no score, no music, no nothing. Just your art and music in your command. The trick is not to think too hard. Just let your mind go free and let your fingers do the rest of the work.”
So, ever obedient, Jungsu cleared his mind, placed his hands on the keyboard, and started to play. It was simple, and it was awkward, but it was something. He looked over to his confidant, and blushed when he was met with a huge grin and crescent-shaped eyes.
“That’s more like it. See, not difficult at all. Now, you seemed to like the melody that I found just now.” Youngwoon replayed it and winked. “I hereby name this particular melody the ‘Leeteuk melody.’”
And thus began the friendship between Jungsu and Youngwoon.
3.
Youngwoon took me out for a picknick picnic yesterday, and I enjoyed myself immensely. We sat on the grass underneath the sun eating the sandwiches that Youngwoon had prepared, and whistled melodies to each other like little birds in the morning. It had taken Youngwoon a long time to convince my father to excuse me from my scheduled singing lesson, and he only approved of it when I promised to practice an extra two hours later that evening. Of course, as much as I would like to go out for more picnics, I have a concert coming up next week that I must carry out with utmost perfection. Performances come first, my lad. Do remember that picnics do not bring in any income.
Over the years, the two created a routine where during their lesson breaks they would meet at the living room piano and spend musical quality time together. Jungsu found that when he was not flaunting his ego and talking too loudly, Youngwoon was in fact a very elegiac and expressive human being. And Youngwoon found that when he was not staying silent and doing as his daddy told him to, Jungsu was actually a very intelligent and imaginative child. Of course, there was still a dichotomy in their beliefs in life. Jungsu had learned early on that reality came first and foremost, and that circumstances only ended well if dealt with head on. Youngwoon, on the other hand, believed in frivolous things like destiny and love at first sight and magic and happily ever after’s.
And in spite of it all, they got along famously.
“Let’s play a game,” Youngwoon suggested one sunny day in May, presently twenty years old and well on his way to becoming a very handsome gentleman. Both of them were sitting on the piano bench, entertaining themselves by improvising.
“A game?” ten-year-old Jungsu tilted his head in confusion, still as petite and effeminate as ever. “What’s a game?”
Youngwoon stared at his surrogate little brother. “Seriously? You don’t know what a game is?”
The blond boy shook his head, annoyed. He hated not knowing.
“Well, a game is an activity people play when they want to have some fun. I hope that you know what fun is at least, right?”
Jungsu scowled, which made Youngwoon laugh.
“Alright, so the rules. You give me a sound or image or word, and I’ll try to improvise a melody that expresses it. It’s a game I learned back home called word painting. Try it!”
The ten-year-old furrowed his eyebrows in concentration before looking out the glass window where inspiration hit almost instantly. “Singing birds.”
Youngwoon rolled his eyes. “Too easy,” he quipped, improvising melodies on short succinct trills that imitated small bird calls. “My turn. Triumph over a great and powerful evil.”
Jungsu thought for a moment and smiled when a majestic tune just popped into his head.
“Show off,” Youngwoon ruffled Jungsu’s blond hair, instigating a squeak of indignation from the latter. “Now I’m jealous. In such a short time, you’ve gotten even better at improvising than I have.”
Jungsu smiled at the compliment. “My turn, my turn! Play a sunrise!”
Youngwoon grinned, immediately painting the picture of an orange-red glow peeking up over the horizon and lighting up the rest of the land with its warmth. “Notice how it is in the key of C Major, which adds to the majestic color that I think sunrises have. If I wanted to make it a very gentle sunrise instead, I would have used the key of D-flat major, which is a lot mellower in sound. Or conversely, I could have used E major if I wanted to emphasize its gloriousness.”
“That’s really, really cool,” Jungsu breathed out; he had never thought of keys in that sense before.
“Isn’t it?” Youngwoon beamed. “That was the reason why I decided to become a musician in the first place. Just imagine what you can do with only a piano and your ear! Just thinking about all those possibilities makes me want to learn everything there is to know about music!” The twenty-year-old turned his kind eyes towards his companion, frenzied. “Just imagine everything we can achieve together! We can be heroes in the music world!”
Suddenly Youngwoon shot up from his seat, and brought Jungsu along with him, spinning him round and round in a glorious moment of absolute elation. “We can conquer anything! Our names will go down in history! We can change the whole world if we wanted to!”
And, laughing, Jungsu could only bask in his happiness as they continued to spin themselves into a giddy and dizzy stupor, all the while wondering why he never had as much fun before.
Youngwoon somehow permanently broke his finger four days later, which thus ended his budding career as a virtuoso pianist. Jungsu was in Frankfurt at the time, but when he heard about the incident, he cried for the first time since his mother left.
4.
Touring is probably my favorite thing about playing the piano. It is always wonderful exploring new places and performing in front of new audiences. I went to Vienna last week, for example, and met so many renowned stars. In fact, I even met Heechul and Han Geng, the legendary violin-piano duo who were celebrated for their virtuosic performances and notorious for their ambiguous affiliation. While I remain quite neutral on the matter, Father believes that it is disgusting for two men to engage in an intimate relationship. It is rather curious how something that does not cause any harm to anybody could be considered such a grievous sin. It is written in the Bible that a man shan’t lay with another man. Heechul and Han Geng, musical geniuses aside, should rot in hell.
If Youngwoon was a ship, Jungsu was his anchor.
The older boy had had many hardships during his life. Like Jungsu, he lost his mother when he was young, she having died during childbirth-his birth. He also had an older sister who he loved more than anything but who died from polio before she turned eighteen. His remaining family was his father, who all but disowned him after finding out that he was throwing away his law degree for a life in the music industry; the man died several years later from syphilis, still refusing to talk to his son.
Youngwoon confided it all to Jungsu, knowing full well that the younger boy would never judge him or think any less of him. He told him about his deepest regrets in life, his deepest sorrows, his deepest loss. Jungsu knew his best friend inside and out; he knew him at his worst states.
So he was all but expecting the worst when he received a letter from him despairing over his broken finger. Jungsu expected him to walk away from his dream of becoming a world-class musician. He would not have blamed him; if Jungsu had ever broken a finger, he would not have hesitated to take his own life.
Though every inch of him knew that he needed to head straight home to give Youngwoon a shoulder to cry on, Jungsu’s tour was scheduled to last for another two weeks and his father would have nothing stop him from carrying on until the whole world knew of his son’s talent. Consequently Jungsu’s last few recitals, though perfectly executed, were hollow in sound and feeling.
Two weeks turned into three. Three turned into four. And so the subsequent time Jungsu saw his friend was almost a month later. He had arrived back home with a heavy heart, and probably the only reason he walked through the front door so quickly was because his father told him to hurry and take his bags up to his room to get ready for supper. As he passed the hallway, however, quiet humming accompanied by simple harmonic progressions leaked from the living room.
Heart beating against his chest, Jungsu left his bags by the staircase, crept through the doorway, and took in the sight of his dearest friend, right hand bandaged as he made music on their piano with his remaining hand.
Jungsu soundlessly approached and took his natural seat beside him on the piano bench.
“It hurts,” Youngwoon answered Jungsu’s silent questions. “My whole hand throbs, but not as much as my heart does.”
The blond nodded, trying to comprehend. He hesitantly brushed the tips of his fingers over the pale yellow bandages restricting Youngwoon’s right hand, wondering if he could have prevented it somehow.
“I’m awfully sorry.”
Jungsu widened his eyes, stiffening. “For what?”
“I made you worry,” Youngwoon smiled sadly. “I knew that you loved to tour, and yet I ruined it all for you by placing such a heavy burden on you. I just wanted you to know first.”
The blond felt his breath hitch. “Youngwoon.”
“I knew that I should not have sent that letter to you,” the older man murmured. “But you are the only person I trust in this world, and my despondency was too much for me to handle. I was selfish, and I am sorry.”
“If anybody is to blame, it is me,” Jungsu insisted. “I should have come back as soon as I have heard. I wanted to tell you that if nothing else, I could be your hands, and that whatever you can’t play I can play for you! But you know my father, he would never allow me to-”
Before he could finish his sentence he was engulfed in a pair of strong arms, warmth washing over him like a tidal wave.
“I’m so glad you are back,” Youngwoon whispered into his friend’s ear. “You have no idea how happy I am just to see you again.”
Jungsu’s face heated up and he wrapped his thin arms around his friend’s back, sinking into the warm embrace.
5.
Today my father introduced me to a lovely young lady named Krystal Jung. I believe that she is from America and is very rich. I found her remarkably beautiful, especially her voice. She performed one of the art songs Youngwoon composed last month, and it was stunning how a lady could be so proper and yet lose herself so fully into her music. My father has been talking about marriage prospects, and though I find myself unable to regard any woman as more than a female friend, I do believe that I could learn to love Krystal-at least enough to build a life with her. Krystal is a fine choice for a future wife. Remember to be on your best behavior this evening, and to offer her your coat when she gets chilly. Yes, father.
Youngwoon was twenty-two when he finally earned enough from his compositions to move out of the Park household and settle into a place of his own. It was his first of many steps towards adulthood. Unfortunately, the only place he found that was convenient enough and fit his budget was two hours away, which made it quite inconvenient for Jungsu to visit often if at all. Despite mixed feelings on this matter, Jungsu was proud of his friend for finally coming of age and thus integrating into the adult society.
As a boy of thirteen, he was always surrounded by adults who still referred to him as a child who knew nothing of the world as it really was. Even his father, as highly as he regarded his son, emphasized his naivety to the outside world with remarks such as what do children know anyway? and youthful is synonymous to foolish and only growing up can solve the problem of stupidity. It bothered Jungsu to no end, but even as his hair stood up on end every time he heard a phrase like that directed towards him, he pasted on that dimpled smile and pretended to be the foolish young harmless child that everybody expected of him.
Jungsu found it difficult to understand why adults assumed that children were naive and foolish. Quite frankly, the blond very much believed that as one became older, one became increasingly more foolish. Adults confused simple things, and for the strangest reasons they craved subtlety. Every sentence a so-called “sophisticated” adult said required ambiguous wording and undecided intent. In fact, the more ambiguous and the more undecided, the more sophisticated the adult appeared. Jungsu thought it was ridiculous, and he watched everyday as the grownups walked around with their artificial words and insincere manners.
Even as he got older, Youngwoon never changed. Youngwoon continued to have that idealistic grin on his kind face, that strong faith in the power of magic, and that love for the romantic aspects of the world. He never stopped believing in things like miracles and true love, and he never lost his wondrous imagination that granted him freedom in the broadest ways possible.
As a result, Jungsu found himself respecting Youngwoon more and more as each day passed. But he also found himself missing Youngwoon more and more as each day passed. Instead of waking up to little tunes coming from the living room, he woke up to the sound of his father grumbling about those damn impresarios. His days became dull and monotonous, and he no longer had his lesson breaks to look forward to.
He missed Youngwoon terribly. Which was why he was almost beside himself with joy when the first letter of a series of many arrived at his doorstep, each addressed to My dearest Jungsu. The first one, six pages handwritten, told of his new flat in great detail, meticulously describing the color of the windowpanes, the softness of his bed, the emptiness of his room. The second one, which arrived only three days later, was five pages bewailing the hardships of adult life. The third and fourth were diary entries, filled with newfound thoughts on art and music and life in general. The fifth, Jungsu’s personal favorite, was a grand ten pages in length, and was a short story with the angelic Leeteuk and the strong kind Kangin as the lead protagonists.
Jungsu kept them all, and stayed up late at night just re-reading them.
Until the seventeenth letter came. Youngwoon wrote it one sheet of fine manuscript paper and Jungsu had read it eagerly, face morphing from excitement to shock as he progressed through his friend’s black bold script.
My dearest Jungsu,
I met encountered many great composers ever since I moved out. It has been extremely invigorating despite the obstacles that I have had to overcome in the black world called Adulthood.
One of those great composers is Amber Liu; I am sure you have heard of her. If not, I will just let you know that she is notorious for her advocacy towards women. Just last week she dressed as a man to have her opinions heard in the city council. The whole army is probably after her, and though she is supposed to be in prison, she escaped and is currently on the run. And notwithstanding everything, she still has that fierce integrity that never dimmed even when behind bars. Society fears her, but I respect her. Only true artists can make all of humanity cringe in fear, no doubt!
The purpose of this letter is to inform you, my dearest Jungsu, that Amber and I are going to be married once the first buds open in Spring. I hope to see you at my wedding, and I hope that I have your blessings. I look forward to the day in the near future when you find happiness in another person!
With all my love,
Youngwoon
Indeed, though he had never met her in person, Jungsu heard of Amber. Venerated her, even. But after he read that letter, all he wanted to do was to grab Amber and Youngwoon and push both of them off the nearest cliff he found. His breath contracted, and his head spun, and it was all he could do not to burst into tears right then and there.
6.
I continue to concertize, though with a heavy heart. A pen fails to express how much pain I am in. I shall rest now before my pain decides to devour me whole.
Jungsu received letters after that sudden wedding invitation, but they were now read with trepidation rather than with excitement. Before, he had all but ripped them open and breathed all the words in; now, he first had to calm his heart rate, slowly open the folded pieces of paper, and pray that none of the words etched on them would stab him in the back with a verbal axe.
Because of his concertizing schedule, Jungsu had no time to visit his friend until two months after he first moved out. And even then, he was uncertain. Would he be a bother just showing up in front of Youngwoon’s doorstep? Would he be a nuisance to him? Would he, god forbid, not like what he saw?
Questions swam in Jungsu’s mind, but in the end his interminable desire to see his longtime friend overcame all other feelings of doubt, and before long he had arrived in front of the old green door that was the only barrier between them. He knocked once, twice, three times before it was opened. Not by Youngwoon, though.
“Hello, how may I help you?” the man asked, wearing clothes much too big for him.
Jungsu blinked rapidly. “I-I wanted to see Youngwoon?”
“Oh! You must be Jungsu! I thought I have seen you somewhere.” he grinned suavely. “Youngwoon has been looking forward to seeing you again. He reads all of the critic reviews of your performances.”
Jungsu smiled.
“Youngwoon is probably in his work space upstairs. Just go up and knock. My name is Amber, by the way.”
Jungsu’s smile faded. “You are his fiancée?” he asked belatedly after a moment’s silence.
The man-woman!-turned around, frowning. “He told you?”
“Yes he told me!” Jungsu retorted. “I’m his best friend!”
“Alright, alright,” Amber held up her hands in mock surrender. “Just do me a favor and keep your lips zipped up about it. I am hardly friendly with the government, you know.”
Jungsu resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Do you love him?”
“Love who?”
“Youngwoon!” Jungsu’s eyes narrowed.
Amber laughed. “You really care about your friend, huh?”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Well,” Amber shrugged. “We’re getting married, aren’t we? That has to count for something.”
Jungsu narrowed his eyes and stalked towards the exit.
“Where are you going?” the masculine woman asked, startled. “I thought you wanted to see Youngwoon.”
“There is no need for that,” Jungsu retorted. “I have seen what I needed to see. And I would appreciate if you did not let Youngwoon know that I was here.”
But of course, Amber did nothing of the sort and Youngwoon appeared on Jungsu’s doorstep a week later.
“Youngwoon!” Jungsu gasped, startled though in the back of his mind he wondered if he should have seen it all coming. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to see you, of course!” the man in question chuckled, his kind eyes still as kind as before. “You have been so busy with your concerts that I was worried that I would never see you again.”
Jungsu blushed, and motioned his friend inside. Youngwoon took a seat at the living room piano just like before, and the blond busied himself around the kitchen, nervously trying to find the teabags and glassware. Sweat formed on his forehead, and he started to wonder why it had suddenly become so warm in the room.
“You’re uneasy,” Youngwoon stated the obvious from behind him. “I can tell even without looking at you.”
“I’m not uneasy,” Jungsu lied unconvincingly. “Just surprised you came, that’s all.”
“I’m sorry if I came at an inconvenient time-”
“No, no!” the blond answered quickly, carefully placing their drinks on the side of the piano, just like he did when they were both children. “No inconvenience on my part!”
“That’s good to hear,” Youngwoon smiled. “So how has your life been progressing?”
“It’s been successful. I just came back from a tour, as you know. The critics were raving.”
“I would expect no less from the famous Leeteuk.”
Jungsu smiled tightly.
“Has your father introduced you to people?”
The performer nodded curtly. “Many people. I met Han Geng and Heechul a month ago. Brilliant people but my father tells me to steer clear of them.”
“Of course he would,” Youngwoon nodded, grimacing. “Any women?”
Jungsu flushed. “There was this singer named Krystal Jung.”
“You have mentioned her before.”
“Yes. Her soprano voice is beautiful.”
“I see.”
Silence filled their ears as the elephant in the room refused to disappear. “You’re getting married,” Jungsu stated lamely, heart clenching at the sight of a ring around his best friend’s finger. “To Amber, correct?”
“Yes. In the springtime.”
“I see,” Jungsu whispered, voice tense.
Youngwoon seemed to notice his friend’s demeanor from the way he sagged. “Jungsu, you are upset with me.”
Jungsu stood up quickly and started to pace. “What are you talking about? I’m fine.”
“I have known you ever since you were barely nine years old. I know you are not fine.”
“A lot has changed since you left.” The blond clenched his jaw. “Besides, it is none of your business how I am feeling.”
“Are you against my marriage to Amber?”
Jungsu flinched, wondering if everything he never wanted anybody to know was written on his face. “You can marry whomever you wish, Youngwoon. I-I am happy for you.”
“I know you are happy for me. That’s what I am concerned about.”
Suddenly Jungsu felt Youngwoon right behind in his personal space, much too close for the situation he was faced with. “How so?” he tried to keep his voice steady.
“I had hoped you would be at least a little bit,” Youngwoon paused, searching for the right word, “jealous?”
“Why would you want that?” Jungsu asked, feeling his face heat up. He could not have been that obvious, could he?
“Because I did not want to marry Amber,” his best friend replied sullenly. “I love her enough, like a sister, but never enough for a true marriage. She knows this.”
The concert musician swallowed, anger forming in his throat like bile. “Then why are you marrying her? For money?” He scoffed. “I thought you were better than that!”
Youngwoon chuckled. “Amber has even less money than I do. No, I married her because I wanted to move past my love for somebody else.”
Jungsu felt his best friend’s strong arms wrap around his waist and blushed at how the top of his head fit underneath the curve of Youngwoon’s throat. They used to embrace like this when they were children but instead of the casual comfort he used to experience as a boy, the blond teenager found himself shaking, breath stiffening as his heart rate skyrocketed.
“You’re blushing,” the older man remarked, amused.
“I am not!” Jungsu retorted, flushing harder when he realized that he had answered too quickly. I love you.
“Your ears are red.” I love you, too.
And just like that, Jungsu started to smile again.
7.
Youngwoon finished composing his Variations On An Original Theme yesterday. It is probably his greatest work yet. He values intellect and dignity, and this piece exemplifies these traits most perfectly! My pride for him is limitless! I have commenced learning the music, and though I have already technically mastered it, there are so many intricacies that I have yet to be perfected. Hopefully, I will have it prepared by next week, where I have a concert in Seoul in one of the largest concert halls in all of Korea. I want the world to see Youngwoon’s artistry; I want to be his hands. I want the world to hear this theme, the theme that Youngwoon named after me so many years ago.
Sooman wanted Jungsu to marry well. And by well he really meant extravagantly. The man knew that his son could have any woman that he wished, any bride to whom he showed only a smidge of interest. He could have married a grand duchess if he really wanted to.
So why Youngwoon? Why that penniless composer whose family had a history of mental illnesses? Youngwoon’s father had schizophrenia. His grandfather died of syphilis. His great-grandfather contracted meningitis. Who knows what fatal disease Youngwoon carried! In addition, he was male, and it is clearly written in the Bible that homosexuality is nothing but a sin. His son deserved better.
Therefore, Sooman was adamant to stop any romantic developments between his son and his former student. He arranged for Jungsu to meet some decent marriageable women, distracted Youngwoon with beautiful young women more than willing to open up their legs after a drink. But all resulted in naught, as proven one midsummer night when Jungsu knocked on his bedroom door, looking weary but resolute.
“Father, I would like to talk to you.”
Sooman let him in without another word and returned to his work, only subconsciously noticing his son doggedly closing the door behind him. “What do you want to discuss boy? Important matters, am I right?”
Jungsu nodded. “Marriage in particular.”
The elder raised his eyebrows, teasing. “A girl caught your eye? I assume that it is this Krystal girl that you have been spending so much time with these past few weeks? She is a splendid choice.”
“No, father,” the concert musician laughed nervously . “Krystal is a very close friend, but I have absolutely no romantic feelings towards her." He could not tell his father that Krystal had become quite friendly with Amber just several weeks prior. "I was talking about somebody else, somebody who I have loved for a very very long time.”
“Spit it out, boy. I haven’t got all night.” Indeed Sooman did not. He still had so many concert inquiry letters to write and send out by tomorrow.
Jungsu bit his lower lip. “I know you may not agree with my choice of, well, bride, but before I tell you, you must listen to me.”
The pen in Sooman’s hand stopped moving. He was having a very ominous feeling. “Go on.”
“I do not love this person because of physical beauty or impeccable talent, although those attributes were more than advantageous. I love this person because we just complete each other. I cannot imagine life without this person, and I honestly do not think I will find another individual who understands and loves me as much as this.”
Sooman frowned. “Get to your point.”
Jungsu swallowed. “Father, I love Kim Youngwoon. He asked me to marry him, and I said yes. I am hoping that you will grant us your blessing. At least eventually.”
He was already prepared for this. He had seen it coming, after all. “Jungsu, you’re a smart boy, and I know that you already know my answer. Youngwoon is an unworthy suitor, even for women. You know his background just as well as I do. He will die eventually, at a much younger age than you will think, and by that time you will not have anybody else to depend on.” Sooman closed his eyes. “Yes, son, you must realize that if you choose to marry that man, I will be forced to cut off all ties with you.”
“You don’t need to!” Jungsu pleaded. “Youngwoon adores you, father! He calls you his greatest mentor! As do I, in fact.”
“A relationship with two men together is disgusting. It is common knowledge. No matter how agreeable or civil they are, they are sinners in the end. Even their talent cannot save them.”
“But father, I love him,” Jungsu whispered, voice cracking. “I always have.”
Sooman pursed his lips. “Love is not everything, Jungsu. You can learn to love somebody else-somebody much better for you than Youngwoon.” He heaved a sigh. “Now this is your last chance. If you continue to insist on marrying that man, you are never allowed back in this house again.”
A tear trailed down Jungsu’s cheek. “Father-”
“Choose!”
“I can’t.” The blond looked up at his father, piteous. “Father, I love Youngwoon. I cannot learn to love somebody else. I have tried to, but I couldn’t. Please believe me.” He wringed his hands. “The last thing I want to do is cut you out of my life, but I have made my choice long before this. I will marry him, with or without your consent. I will love you forever, Father, but I cannot listen to you forever.”
Sooman’s eyes narrowed. “You will regret this choice, boy.”
“I know,” Jungsu wiped his eyes, a sad smile forming on his delicate face. “I know that he is probably the worst person to marry in my circumstances, and that I will probably regret ever marrying him in the first place. But I also know that if I don’t take this chance, I will never find out if this is really the true love that every artist strives towards.”
Sooman pressed his lips together. “Get out of my house. Take all your stuff and get out of my house.”
The blond nodded and doggedly did as he was told. It would be the last time he ever saw his father face to face.
Jungsu undertook the two-hour-long carriage ride to Youngwoon’s doorstep, and only burst into tears once he was safe-safe in the arms of the man he loved more than life itself.
8.
This will be my last journal entry in this diary, and not only because I have reached the last blank page. I wish to start anew. I wish to say goodbye to my boyhood and greet my new life as a married man with a fresh start.
It has been daunting, these last few years. My father was relentless when it came to tearing my Youngwoon away from me. Law suits, death threats, slandering rumors, he did everything one could think of. I admire my father’s perseverance and determination for my well-being, but at what cost? I was almost denied several concert opportunities because of false rumors of adultery and nervous breakdowns-they believed that I would never sell. I proved all of them wrong, of course. I learned early on that audiences loved scandals. Take Han Geng and Heechul, for instance.
My father did succeed in putting my imminent marriage on hold, however. Youngwoon asked for my hand three years ago. We are getting married this year in the springtime. I have never been more nervous and happy in my life.
My life is, to put it bluntly, unorthodox. Youngwoon's circle of friends include people who are transgender and homosexual, and many of them are secretly fighting against the government to overturn laws and legislatures that restrict human freedom. It took a long time to become accustomed to seeing biological women wear suits and witnessing two young hormonal boys with their hands down each other's pants, but I quite enjoy it. It's refreshing.
I have nightmares about Youngwoon sometimes. I see him lying in a coffin, cold, pale, and never again able to remind me how much he loved me. I see myself unable to continue, heart shattering into a million pieces, and for the shortest second I start to wish that I had listened to my father and married somebody else. But I always wake up, and I always see my darling Youngwoon sleeping right next to me, eyes lidded calmly and breath coming in soft slow intervals. And those regrets slip away into the night. One day, I know my father’s words will come true. One day, I know Youngwoon will die of an incurable disease.
But I love him, and that is really all that matters right now.
--
end