Piano Lessons 1/?
Title: Piano Lessons 1/?
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Changmin/Yoochun (minor Yunho/Jaejoong and Junsu/FC)
Disclaimer: If I owned them, I'd make Yoochun play the piano naked.
Warnings: AU
Word Count: 2354
Summary: It's the last year of high school, and Changmin doesn't expect it to be any different than the previous three. And then he finds out that Park Yoochun plays the piano. Tickling the ivories never felt this good.
A/N: This story, unlike the previous ones I've posted, is not finished. So updates will not be as frequent.
This story is in first person, told from Changmin's POV.
Chapter 1 - so he is good at something besides looking good?
The first time I heard the pianist, I was walking past the music room on my way to a meeting with my advisor. My feet slowed enough to hear the strains through the door.
The second time I heard it, the door was ajar. I stopped, leaned against the wall and listened as the fingers manipulated the keys in a song I had never heard. I was ten minutes late to my appointment that day.
The third time I had no reason to be in the hall except to hear the music. I listened for more than a half hour, barely registering that the music had stopped. I pushed away from the wall and headed down the hall. A door shut, and then footsteps fell behind me. I slowed, and then stopped, making it look like I was reading the student bulletins on the cork board.
When Park Yoochun walked past me, head lowered and one hand out keeping time to music only he could hear, my knees almost collapsed. I put a hand up on the wall to support me.
Park Yoochun played the piano?
I wanted to chase after him, ask him how come no one knew he played. One step toward him, and then he turned the corner. I had no right to demand such things of him anyway. Park Yoochun probably didn’t even know my name.
The fourth time, he caught me listening. The door was ajar again. Enough that I could see the piano. And him. I couldn’t actually see his hands, but the music flowed over and around itself. A ballad of some sorts, different from the fast paced march he’d been playing yesterday.
And then suddenly our eyes met. I gasped and pulled away from the door. The music never faltered. I left before he was finished.
I promised myself I would not go back, but my body and mind craved music. Not even my embarrassment from spying on the most popular guy in school could keep me away.
The fifth time, the door was almost completely open. Melancholy notes echoed down the hallway. I stopped and listened. From that far away, I could have listened and he wouldn’t have even known I was there. But my feet had other ideas and I was drawn to it, drawn to the deep notes and aching stanzas. This song I recognized, but couldn’t name it. One of the master composers.
Yoochun came into view, and I looked at him while I listened.
Over the last couple of weeks, I was more aware of his presence in school. Before, he was just the popular kid who made jokes in class, had a different girl hanging on his arm between classes, surrounded by his gang of friends.
Did they know he stayed after school and played the piano for hours?
“You can come in if you want.”
I inhaled sharply.
The music didn’t stop.
“You might as well,” he said, not looking at me. “You should probably sit down. You look like you’re going to faint or something.”
I took halting steps into the room.
“Close the door, please,” he said.
The door clicked shut.
He pulled his eyes away from the keys for only a moment to nod his head in the direction of a chair behind and to the right of him. “Have a seat.”
I swallowed and sat hard in the chair.
Now I could see his hands. Long fingers, beautiful nails. I’d never noticed his nails before. The tendons and knuckles moved and swayed as he played.
Quite suddenly, he changed songs, playing a complicated beat with his hands jumping over each other to hit high notes.
Flawless. Fingers dancing over and around and below other fingers, sliding, hitting short notes.
The song made me smile.
He didn’t say anything else to me. What felt like moments later, he stopped.
My heart ached in despair. Keep playing, I silently pleaded.
He pushed the bench back, knocking me in the knees with it. He covered the keys, and then he left.
I stared at the piano. Sighing, I turned away from it. My eyes fell on the clock above the door. Six? It was six?
Yoochun had been playing for more almost three hours.
And I was late for dinner. I grabbed my bag, barreled out of the room and ran down the hall and out the door. I took the stairs two at time.
And froze when there was laughter behind me. Deep, calm, like the lower octave of a piano. I didn’t turn around.
“Next time set the alarm on your phone or something,” he said. “I have a tendency to get lost in music.”
Unwilling to show the slightest humiliation, I didn’t turn, but nodded and then walked away, at what I hoped was a leisurely pace. I told my parents I had been in the library studying and lost track of time. And then I told them that I was being asked to tutor students after school for the next little while, but I promised that I would home by dinner.
When I arrived the next day, he was already playing. I sat down in the same spot. We didn’t say a single word to each other until my phone beeped. I reluctantly got up and headed for the door.
“See you tomorrow,” he said.
A lump in my throat kept me from replying.
I saw him in the hall the next day. I mean, I always saw him in the hall at this time of the day, surrounded by his fan club and the girls making sappy eyes at him. It had always made me slightly ill. Okay, so slightly jealous. That day though, he looked through them all. He looked at me. Nothing in his face gave him away to his friends, but it was enough that I realized that Park Yoochun did know who I was. He may not have known my name, but I was something to him.
That afternoon, we didn’t say anything to each other. Or the next.
Friday.
Can I survive the weekend without listening to him play?
I beat him there. The room was dark, the door open. I went in anyway. I bypassed my chair and sat on the bench, but I didn’t lift the cover. After a few minutes, I grabbed my history book from my bag, propped it up on the piano and started reading. I had really neglected my school work this week, having to stay up until past midnight some nights catching up.
The door shut, and I jumped and flipped around.
Yoochun smirked at me. “Sorry.” He held my eyes as he walked over to the piano, not looking away until he sat down.
“Book,” he said. I moved it, and he lifted the cover.
I turned, meaning to get up, but a hand on my elbow stopped me. I sat next to him as he played. His arm brushed me countless of times, and thinking that I was in the way, I tried to move again. This time a hand on my leg stopped me. His other hand never stopped playing.
My history book sat open on my lap, forgotten.
“Tell me something, Shim Changmin,” he said and I jerked in surprised.
He knew my name.
“Why do you come here?”
My mouth went dry. There were reasons, so many of them, some that I didn’t want to think about, some that involved fingers dancing along things other than ivory keys, some that were too embarrassing, some that wanted to hold this secret over his head. If his fangirls knew about this, they’d all be here swooning at every key stroke.
But then I would have to share him. And I wasn’t planning on sharing him.
“I - I like music,” I finally stuttered.
He smiled. And I knew that kind of smile. My mom always did it when she knew I was lying to her.
“Yeah, me too. Do you play?”
“Not this well.”
His fingers stopped, he looked at me and grinned. “Play something.”
I blushed and looked away. “No, really. I haven’t played for a long time.”
“Come on, please.” He moved over. “Even if it’s something stupid.”
I knew I couldn’t say no to him. I slid over, just a bit, and put my fingers on the keys.
He laughed. “Middle of the bench,” he said and grabbed my hips and slid me over more.
I swallowed. Our legs pressed together.
I put my fingers on the keys again. They shook.
“You don’t have to,” he suddenly whispered. Not in disappointment or ridicule, but support.
“No, I - I just have to remember.”
There was one song all those years ago in piano lessons that I loved. Just one that I played over and over again. The book said it was called Five Little Indians, but the tune was one from countless of children’s songs.
I shut my eyes. The first notes echoed and then I stopped, took a deep breath and started again. I missed a couple of notes, but Yoochun was smiling widely.
He had dimples.
“Awesome,” he said in English.
“Pathetic,” I replied.
He laughed and flung an arm around my shoulders. “Naw, not everyone can play. You’re in the choir, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Yuri says you usually sing the solos at concerts and stuff, so you must be pretty good.”
I blushed and looked away. “I’m alright.”
“Humble. When’s your next show thing?”
“Not for a few weeks.”
“Let me know. I’ll make sure I come.”
I swallowed again. “Okay.”
“Now.” He put both hands at my hip and pushed me to the edge of the bench. He slid back to the middle. He started playing immediately. The song I had stumbled through. Over and over again, and then in the middle of it, he changed the notes, added embellishments and strokes and turned the children’s song into a majestic, perfectly composed master piece.
My phone beeped.
I sighed. Friday.
Yoochun stopped playing and turned to me. He swallowed and then looked away. “I come here on Saturdays, after lunch, you know, in case … ”
“They let you in on Saturdays?”
“Yeah. Professor Kim Jungsoon knows I like to play, so he lets me come whenever I want. Will you come tomorrow?”
I looked away. “I don’t know if my parents will let me. I’m a bit behind in school work.”
He laughed. “Which means you’re not behind at all, you’re just where the rest of us are. You study a lot.”
“I need to get into a good school.”
“I think you have that in the bag, Shim Changmin, valedictorian and top of the class, every single year. Please come.”
“Why?”
It was his turn to look away. “It’s fun to play for someone who enjoys it.”
“I’m sure your fangirls would enjoy it.”
He quirked an eyebrow at me. “Fangirls?”
“They swarm and coo and fawn over you, seeing how many times they can touch you in a day. Yeah, fangirls.”
“Jealous?” he said with a smile.
I blushed again and looked away, but said no a little too quickly and forcefully. I mentally slapped myself.
He was quiet for a long time. “The girls would enjoy it because it’s me playing, not because of the music. Besides, Mr. Kim Jungsoon, only one other person knows I play.”
I swallowed.
“Please,” he said in English, and then again and again.
“Okay. I will ask parents this night,” I said, also in English.
“Tonight,” he corrected. “I will ask my parents tonight.”
His pronunciation was almost flawless.
“Where did you learn to speak English?” I asked.
“Do you know nothing about me, Shim Changmin? I lived in the US for a few years, and then my parents sent me back here when I was fourteen.”
“Your parents live in America?”
Yoochun laughed. “Alright. That’s it. You need to get your nose out of your books for a little while. I thought everyone knew this.”
“Yes, well …”
“No, it’s alright. Just means instead of me getting to know you, we’ll get to know each other. Now scat. You’re going to be late.”
It was the first conversation we had, and I didn’t want it to end. I sighed. He gave me a shove with his leg.
“What if they ground you because you’re late? Then you won’t be able to come tomorrow.”
“Okay, okay. I’m going.” I put my history book in my bag and then reluctantly stood up.
Yoochun started playing again.
I left the room with difficulty.
I was quiet through dinner, and didn’t say much to my mom when she came up to bring me a snack.
“You’ve been studying really late the last few nights. Are you sure you can handle this tutoring thing and keep your grades up?”
“Yes, Mom. It’s not that difficult. They have me tutoring beginning math and history.”
“Okay. Just keep your grades up.”
“I will.”
As she went to leave, I said, “Um, Mom. Tomorrow, this one guy, Yoochun, asked if I could give him some extra help. He has detention until one, but said that afterwards … ”
I trailed off when her mouth turned into a frown.
“You’ve never been this dedicated to helping other students.”
I looked away. Damn it. She always knew when I was lying. “Just trying to be nice. Make some friends maybe.”
The friends’ card always worked. She always berated me for not having many friends.
“Okay. Just be home by dinner.”
“I will.”
I was dancing inside, but I calmly turned back to my work.
That night, every time I shut my eyes, Yoochun’s thigh was pressed against mine, fingers dancing over my chest and to lower places. I should have been freaked out by it, but I really wasn’t. It’s not like girls had ever interested me. And images that accompanied my self indulgences were never clear on who, just on feelings.
Except that night. That night every image was perfectly clear.
Chapter 2 - oh my god, something else he's good at
.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Changmin/Yoochun (minor Yunho/Jaejoong and Junsu/FC)
Disclaimer: If I owned them, I'd make Yoochun play the piano naked.
Warnings: AU
Word Count: 2354
Summary: It's the last year of high school, and Changmin doesn't expect it to be any different than the previous three. And then he finds out that Park Yoochun plays the piano. Tickling the ivories never felt this good.
A/N: This story, unlike the previous ones I've posted, is not finished. So updates will not be as frequent.
This story is in first person, told from Changmin's POV.
Chapter 1 - so he is good at something besides looking good?
The first time I heard the pianist, I was walking past the music room on my way to a meeting with my advisor. My feet slowed enough to hear the strains through the door.
The second time I heard it, the door was ajar. I stopped, leaned against the wall and listened as the fingers manipulated the keys in a song I had never heard. I was ten minutes late to my appointment that day.
The third time I had no reason to be in the hall except to hear the music. I listened for more than a half hour, barely registering that the music had stopped. I pushed away from the wall and headed down the hall. A door shut, and then footsteps fell behind me. I slowed, and then stopped, making it look like I was reading the student bulletins on the cork board.
When Park Yoochun walked past me, head lowered and one hand out keeping time to music only he could hear, my knees almost collapsed. I put a hand up on the wall to support me.
Park Yoochun played the piano?
I wanted to chase after him, ask him how come no one knew he played. One step toward him, and then he turned the corner. I had no right to demand such things of him anyway. Park Yoochun probably didn’t even know my name.
The fourth time, he caught me listening. The door was ajar again. Enough that I could see the piano. And him. I couldn’t actually see his hands, but the music flowed over and around itself. A ballad of some sorts, different from the fast paced march he’d been playing yesterday.
And then suddenly our eyes met. I gasped and pulled away from the door. The music never faltered. I left before he was finished.
I promised myself I would not go back, but my body and mind craved music. Not even my embarrassment from spying on the most popular guy in school could keep me away.
The fifth time, the door was almost completely open. Melancholy notes echoed down the hallway. I stopped and listened. From that far away, I could have listened and he wouldn’t have even known I was there. But my feet had other ideas and I was drawn to it, drawn to the deep notes and aching stanzas. This song I recognized, but couldn’t name it. One of the master composers.
Yoochun came into view, and I looked at him while I listened.
Over the last couple of weeks, I was more aware of his presence in school. Before, he was just the popular kid who made jokes in class, had a different girl hanging on his arm between classes, surrounded by his gang of friends.
Did they know he stayed after school and played the piano for hours?
“You can come in if you want.”
I inhaled sharply.
The music didn’t stop.
“You might as well,” he said, not looking at me. “You should probably sit down. You look like you’re going to faint or something.”
I took halting steps into the room.
“Close the door, please,” he said.
The door clicked shut.
He pulled his eyes away from the keys for only a moment to nod his head in the direction of a chair behind and to the right of him. “Have a seat.”
I swallowed and sat hard in the chair.
Now I could see his hands. Long fingers, beautiful nails. I’d never noticed his nails before. The tendons and knuckles moved and swayed as he played.
Quite suddenly, he changed songs, playing a complicated beat with his hands jumping over each other to hit high notes.
Flawless. Fingers dancing over and around and below other fingers, sliding, hitting short notes.
The song made me smile.
He didn’t say anything else to me. What felt like moments later, he stopped.
My heart ached in despair. Keep playing, I silently pleaded.
He pushed the bench back, knocking me in the knees with it. He covered the keys, and then he left.
I stared at the piano. Sighing, I turned away from it. My eyes fell on the clock above the door. Six? It was six?
Yoochun had been playing for more almost three hours.
And I was late for dinner. I grabbed my bag, barreled out of the room and ran down the hall and out the door. I took the stairs two at time.
And froze when there was laughter behind me. Deep, calm, like the lower octave of a piano. I didn’t turn around.
“Next time set the alarm on your phone or something,” he said. “I have a tendency to get lost in music.”
Unwilling to show the slightest humiliation, I didn’t turn, but nodded and then walked away, at what I hoped was a leisurely pace. I told my parents I had been in the library studying and lost track of time. And then I told them that I was being asked to tutor students after school for the next little while, but I promised that I would home by dinner.
When I arrived the next day, he was already playing. I sat down in the same spot. We didn’t say a single word to each other until my phone beeped. I reluctantly got up and headed for the door.
“See you tomorrow,” he said.
A lump in my throat kept me from replying.
I saw him in the hall the next day. I mean, I always saw him in the hall at this time of the day, surrounded by his fan club and the girls making sappy eyes at him. It had always made me slightly ill. Okay, so slightly jealous. That day though, he looked through them all. He looked at me. Nothing in his face gave him away to his friends, but it was enough that I realized that Park Yoochun did know who I was. He may not have known my name, but I was something to him.
That afternoon, we didn’t say anything to each other. Or the next.
Friday.
Can I survive the weekend without listening to him play?
I beat him there. The room was dark, the door open. I went in anyway. I bypassed my chair and sat on the bench, but I didn’t lift the cover. After a few minutes, I grabbed my history book from my bag, propped it up on the piano and started reading. I had really neglected my school work this week, having to stay up until past midnight some nights catching up.
The door shut, and I jumped and flipped around.
Yoochun smirked at me. “Sorry.” He held my eyes as he walked over to the piano, not looking away until he sat down.
“Book,” he said. I moved it, and he lifted the cover.
I turned, meaning to get up, but a hand on my elbow stopped me. I sat next to him as he played. His arm brushed me countless of times, and thinking that I was in the way, I tried to move again. This time a hand on my leg stopped me. His other hand never stopped playing.
My history book sat open on my lap, forgotten.
“Tell me something, Shim Changmin,” he said and I jerked in surprised.
He knew my name.
“Why do you come here?”
My mouth went dry. There were reasons, so many of them, some that I didn’t want to think about, some that involved fingers dancing along things other than ivory keys, some that were too embarrassing, some that wanted to hold this secret over his head. If his fangirls knew about this, they’d all be here swooning at every key stroke.
But then I would have to share him. And I wasn’t planning on sharing him.
“I - I like music,” I finally stuttered.
He smiled. And I knew that kind of smile. My mom always did it when she knew I was lying to her.
“Yeah, me too. Do you play?”
“Not this well.”
His fingers stopped, he looked at me and grinned. “Play something.”
I blushed and looked away. “No, really. I haven’t played for a long time.”
“Come on, please.” He moved over. “Even if it’s something stupid.”
I knew I couldn’t say no to him. I slid over, just a bit, and put my fingers on the keys.
He laughed. “Middle of the bench,” he said and grabbed my hips and slid me over more.
I swallowed. Our legs pressed together.
I put my fingers on the keys again. They shook.
“You don’t have to,” he suddenly whispered. Not in disappointment or ridicule, but support.
“No, I - I just have to remember.”
There was one song all those years ago in piano lessons that I loved. Just one that I played over and over again. The book said it was called Five Little Indians, but the tune was one from countless of children’s songs.
I shut my eyes. The first notes echoed and then I stopped, took a deep breath and started again. I missed a couple of notes, but Yoochun was smiling widely.
He had dimples.
“Awesome,” he said in English.
“Pathetic,” I replied.
He laughed and flung an arm around my shoulders. “Naw, not everyone can play. You’re in the choir, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Yuri says you usually sing the solos at concerts and stuff, so you must be pretty good.”
I blushed and looked away. “I’m alright.”
“Humble. When’s your next show thing?”
“Not for a few weeks.”
“Let me know. I’ll make sure I come.”
I swallowed again. “Okay.”
“Now.” He put both hands at my hip and pushed me to the edge of the bench. He slid back to the middle. He started playing immediately. The song I had stumbled through. Over and over again, and then in the middle of it, he changed the notes, added embellishments and strokes and turned the children’s song into a majestic, perfectly composed master piece.
My phone beeped.
I sighed. Friday.
Yoochun stopped playing and turned to me. He swallowed and then looked away. “I come here on Saturdays, after lunch, you know, in case … ”
“They let you in on Saturdays?”
“Yeah. Professor Kim Jungsoon knows I like to play, so he lets me come whenever I want. Will you come tomorrow?”
I looked away. “I don’t know if my parents will let me. I’m a bit behind in school work.”
He laughed. “Which means you’re not behind at all, you’re just where the rest of us are. You study a lot.”
“I need to get into a good school.”
“I think you have that in the bag, Shim Changmin, valedictorian and top of the class, every single year. Please come.”
“Why?”
It was his turn to look away. “It’s fun to play for someone who enjoys it.”
“I’m sure your fangirls would enjoy it.”
He quirked an eyebrow at me. “Fangirls?”
“They swarm and coo and fawn over you, seeing how many times they can touch you in a day. Yeah, fangirls.”
“Jealous?” he said with a smile.
I blushed again and looked away, but said no a little too quickly and forcefully. I mentally slapped myself.
He was quiet for a long time. “The girls would enjoy it because it’s me playing, not because of the music. Besides, Mr. Kim Jungsoon, only one other person knows I play.”
I swallowed.
“Please,” he said in English, and then again and again.
“Okay. I will ask parents this night,” I said, also in English.
“Tonight,” he corrected. “I will ask my parents tonight.”
His pronunciation was almost flawless.
“Where did you learn to speak English?” I asked.
“Do you know nothing about me, Shim Changmin? I lived in the US for a few years, and then my parents sent me back here when I was fourteen.”
“Your parents live in America?”
Yoochun laughed. “Alright. That’s it. You need to get your nose out of your books for a little while. I thought everyone knew this.”
“Yes, well …”
“No, it’s alright. Just means instead of me getting to know you, we’ll get to know each other. Now scat. You’re going to be late.”
It was the first conversation we had, and I didn’t want it to end. I sighed. He gave me a shove with his leg.
“What if they ground you because you’re late? Then you won’t be able to come tomorrow.”
“Okay, okay. I’m going.” I put my history book in my bag and then reluctantly stood up.
Yoochun started playing again.
I left the room with difficulty.
I was quiet through dinner, and didn’t say much to my mom when she came up to bring me a snack.
“You’ve been studying really late the last few nights. Are you sure you can handle this tutoring thing and keep your grades up?”
“Yes, Mom. It’s not that difficult. They have me tutoring beginning math and history.”
“Okay. Just keep your grades up.”
“I will.”
As she went to leave, I said, “Um, Mom. Tomorrow, this one guy, Yoochun, asked if I could give him some extra help. He has detention until one, but said that afterwards … ”
I trailed off when her mouth turned into a frown.
“You’ve never been this dedicated to helping other students.”
I looked away. Damn it. She always knew when I was lying. “Just trying to be nice. Make some friends maybe.”
The friends’ card always worked. She always berated me for not having many friends.
“Okay. Just be home by dinner.”
“I will.”
I was dancing inside, but I calmly turned back to my work.
That night, every time I shut my eyes, Yoochun’s thigh was pressed against mine, fingers dancing over my chest and to lower places. I should have been freaked out by it, but I really wasn’t. It’s not like girls had ever interested me. And images that accompanied my self indulgences were never clear on who, just on feelings.
Except that night. That night every image was perfectly clear.
Chapter 2 - oh my god, something else he's good at
.