Ripped Chords and Blue Jeans 3/?
Title: Ripped Chords and Blue Jeans 3/?
Pairing: Yoochun/Jaejoong
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: If they were mine, I would teach them how to play *pervs*
Summary: Yoochun is a piano instructor for children of the elite. When a bonafide prodigy lands on his piano bench, Yoochun falls hard
Warning: Underage sex. Yoochun is 24, Jaejoong is 15
A/N: I sort of have an idea where this story is going. Might be only two chapters, might be three or four.
Poster credit goes to crazyaboutchun. Thank you darling! I love it! ♥
Part 3:
Yoochun forwent his teacher work and spent the weekend finishing that song. And the only title he could come up with was “Safety Pins”. He didn’t know why. There were a lot of short notes, a lot of moments of pain, and yet it held everything together.
It had nothing to do with the jeans Jaejoong had been wearing. Nothing.
Yoochun was up late Sunday night grading musical essay he had assigned. He was disappointed in Jaejoong’s brief analysis of modern musical formats used in classical ballets or operas. It could have been so much better. It hurt Yoochun to put a B- at the top, but if Jaejoong wanted a good grade, he’d have to work for it.
Monday morning, Yoochun felt like shit. He sucked down coffee, and then more coffee. When he walked into class, a pang of disappointment flared through him when he saw Jaejoong wearing his uniform, as he was supposed to.
“Good morning, Sonsaengnim Park,” the girls chorused.
Yoochun nodded a greeting. Jaejoong didn’t lift his eyes from the desk, once again, the bashful student. Yoochun had to shut his eyes and go to his desk to “collect” himself.
“How are your projects coming along?” Yoochun asked. Jaejoong wasn’t the only student, and he had to remind himself of that. The girls all had things they were working on.
He spent a few minutes answering questions, and then as Jaejoong continued to avoid him by looking down, Yoochun asked, “What about you, Jaejoong? Everything okay.”
Jaejoong lifted his head, and Yoochun knew there was something different, but … No, no piercing, not hair clip. Nothing out of the ordinary.
“I’m okay, Sonsaengnim. Thank you for asking.”
Jaejoong was not okay. Yoochun turned away from them and started his lecture on how jazz changed the way people looked at music. At the end of class, he had Yuri, Yunyoung and Seonhee play in front of them all. Jaejoong gripped his fingers together in a white knuckled grip, again not joining the others at the piano.
“Can Jaejoong play next?” Jaelin asked, smiling at him.
“Class is over,” Yoochun said. “It’s up to him.”
Jaejoong looked up and tried to smile. “Next time,” he whispered.
“Okay,” they said, and the girls pouted. They chattered amongst themselves about jazz and blue grass.
Yoochun waited until they were all gone, and then rose and shut the door. “What’s wrong?”
Jaejoong crossed his arms on the desk, put his head on his arms. Yoochun walked down the aisle and sat next to him. Carefully, he placed a hand on Jaejoong’s shoulder. Jaejoong flinched and then relaxed.
“You look exhausted,” Yoochun whispered.
Jaejoong nodded. “It’s been a long weekend. C-can I play?”
“Of course.”
Jaejoong stood up, and took his bag to the piano. He unzipped it and pulled out the music sheets. Yoochun stayed at the desk and watched.
Jaejoong’s school jacket slipped off his shoulders.
And that’s what was different. Jaejoong wasn’t wearing his school shirt, just a wife beater. There was a bruise on his shoulder. Yoochun frowned. And then he realized why Jaejoong looked different. The side of his face was swollen and the color was off, like he was wearing make up.
Jaejoong played the song he’d been writing on Thursday.
“Hyung?”
“Huh?”
“What do you think I’ll end up doing with my life?”
“That’s a pretty deep question, Jaejoong. I don’t know. You’re still young. It’s okay for you to not know.”
The notes changed, and Jaejoong stopped talking. Yoochun watched him compose for almost an hour. Frustration waved off Jaejoong. He suddenly seemed so much older than his fifteen years, and not in a good way. Yoochun stood up, stretching from sitting in a small desk for so long. He went to the piano bench. Jaejoong fingers slammed on the same six chords over and over. Yoochun wasn’t surprised to see him crying. He sat down and put his arms around Jaejoong’s shoulders. He didn’t stop playing for a few more chords, and then his fingers stilledand he leaned against Yoochun.
Yoochun tried not to think of how soft Jaejoong’s skin was, how good his hair smelled. His body shivered, and Yoochun shut his eyes with a sigh.
“T-thanks, hyung. I-I’m going to go now.”
“Where?”
Jaejoong stilled.
“You should go home.”
“Yeah, because that’s such a better place.”
Yoochun let him go when Jaejoong struggled to get up. He put his school jacket back on, and then sighed. “Do you have a lighter, hyung?”
“Yeah.” Yoochun went to his desk and grabbed his jacket. He found his lighter, turned around and had an armful of Jaejoong. Jaejoong’s hands slid around his waist, his face pushed against his chest. Yoochun had so many options, and he picked the ones not quite ethical. He slipped the lighter into Jaejoong’s pants pocket, splaying his fingers around the bony hip.
Jaejoong sighed, breath shuddering as he let it free.
Yoochun put his arms around Jaejoong’s waist, drawing him closer. Jaejoong’s warm breath heated his skin through his shirt. Yoochun lifted Jaejoong’s jacket, hand splayed over his back, and the other ran up, over his shoulder. He carded his fingers through Jaejooong’s hair and it was softer than he thought it would be.
“One question,” Yoochun said as Jaejoong’s body shook harder.
“Hm?”
“Are you doing drugs?”
Jaejoong’s shoulders sagged. “Not the question I was expecting.”
“Answer it.”
“A-a little.”
“What does that mean?”
“God, what do you care?” Jaejoong twisted his head and pushed away from him.
Yoochun knew that saying I’m your teacher would be a really bad move. “I’m worried about you.” He stepped closer and touched Jaejoong’s bruised shoulder. “This looks like it hurts, and you have makeup on, and your cheek is a little swollen.”
“I - I got in a fight. That’s all.”
Yoochun didn’t understand. Jaejoong had perfect grades last year, perfect attendance. “I’m going to call your parents.”
“What?” Jaejoong flipped around, eyes narrowed in anger.
“They … they haven’t called to ask about you like the others’ parents have. So I’m going to call them and tell them how you’re doing.”
“If they cared,” Jaejoong said through clenched teeth, “they would have called.”
Jaejoong spun away. He picked up his bag, slung it over his shoulder. The door slammed behind him.
He went to his files, found Jaejoong’s home number and called. A servant answered, and Yoochun left a message. He sat at his desk and thought about Jaejoong. There were a lot of reasons why a rich man’s son would act up, do drugs, pierce his eyebrow. A lack of attention at home, or too much of the wrong kind of attention.
Jaejoong had eight older sisters that all lived on the family estate. They had husbands and some had children. Jaejoong was lost in the shuffle. Yoochun knew his mother had been sick lately, but when she had called, she’d praised Jaejoong so much. Yoochun hadn’t felt that conversation had been fake.
It was possible that Jaejoong got involved with the wrong crowd. It was easy to do. Yoochun had first hand experience with it.
The bruises could have been from a fight, or from a parental beating. Yoochun sighed. He’d wait until Jaejoong opened up to him. No matter how attractive he was, Yoochun was his teacher first, his protector, his responsibility.
♪-♪-♪
Yoochun was just finishing his lesson with Jaelin on Tuesday afternoon when she suddenly stopped playing. “Sonsaengnim Park.”
“Yes, Jaelin?”
“Um, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“I … I like this boy, and it’s embarrassing to ask you because you’re a boy but none of my other teachers are cool like you are and I want to know how to get his attention.”
Yoochun had a distinct idea who this boy was. “Does he know you?”
She blushed and nodded. “We … we have a class together, but … but all the girls like him.”
“Ah,” Yoochun said. “Then you’ll just have to find a way to make yourself stand out from the rest of them.”
Jaelin pouted and said, “I don’t know how to do that. I …”
“Try being yourself around him. Don’t bring him treats or gifts, but say hello to him, preferably without acting like he’s a pop idol and swooning.”
Jaelin nodded. “I … I think I can do that.”
“He’ll be more drawn to someone that wants to be his friend than someone who worships him.”
“Thanks, Sonsaengnim Park. I … I’ll try. But he’s so pretty.” She shut her mouth with an eep, and Yoochun smiled. He didn’t blame this girl one bit. Jaejoong was indeed pretty.
He praised the girl for her lesson (she was working so hard to be able to change music like Jaejoong could). Yoochun sighed after she left. He took out his phone and called Jaejoong’s parents again, and again left a message for them.
Wednesday, Yoochun almost had a heart attack when he came into class. Jaejoong was sitting in the front row. The girls surrounded Jaejoong and cooed over his newly dyed hair. It was burgundy. The back was short and his bangs brushed over his forehead.
The best part was Jaejoong’s smile. He’d grown accustomed to their worship over the last two weeks and he was more or less comfortable with them now. Yoochun was glad. Jaejoong needed friends. Good friends. Friends with the same interests as him that didn’t involve drugs.
“Ladies, a little less studying of Jaejoong and a little more studying of music.”
More than one girl sighed as they took their seats. Yoochun watched Jaelin, and she smiled at Jaejoong, blushing and then turned away.
Yoochun had a hard time concentrating on his lesson, so he cut it short. He sat at the piano and said, “I dont’ know if I mentioned this,” his fingers found the keys and he started playing a jazzy refrain, “but I used to work as a lounge singer.”
The girls ooh-ed.
“It’s not as glamorous as it sounds, trust me. Anyway. I wrote a lot of music back then, and I’ve decided that for your next recital, not this one, but next month, you’re all going to perform your own song. You’re all at a point in your musical abilities where you can take music and make it do what you want it to do. I don’t care what genre you want to play, and if you want to sing, you can. I’m going to sing you a song, but you have to promise me that you won’t tell your parents. It’s not exactly appropriate for fifteen-year-olds, but I think you’re all grown up enough to hear it.”
The first time he touched me
my head twisted through clouds
The second time he killed me
pain laced down my limbs
The next time we met
our kisses burned with tears
The last time he raped me
my heart was torn away
i love you means so little
i love you can’t be true
i love you hurts the most
i love you means i hate you
Yoochun felt his throat closing up during the instrumental break. His fingers hit the keys harder than he meant to. He hadn’t sung this song in so long.
The first time without him
my tears ruined everything
the second time without him
my heart beat a little faster
Ripped and torn, left alone
i love you becomes anguish
broken and sore, all alone
i love you is a lie
i love you is a farce
i love you is a joke
i love you is only a line
i still love you.
He let the last notes die through the room. A few of the girls looked close to tears. Yoochun met Jaejoong’s eyes. His cold, disinterested, beautiful mask was firmly in place.
“That was really good, Sonsaengnim,” Meena said in the silence.
Yoochun smiled. “Thank you, Meena.” He cleared his throat. “Who here has written a song before? Who wants to share it? Don’t you dare say, but it’s not as good as yours, because I’m here to teach you, not to flaunt my own abilities.”
Soonli raised her hand and she said, “I … it’s okay if there aren’t lyrics?”
Yoochun nodded. “Yes, not everyone can write lyrics.”
Soonli came up to the piano. Her song was light and pretty, with a high refrain that had her fingers plucking at the upper octave. It made Yoochun smile, and the girls clapped. He pointed out a few places to improve it. And then Yuri was next.
“Jaejoong-oppa,” Jaelin said with a grin. “You said you’d play today.”
“Don’t make him, Jaelin,” Yoochun said.
But Jaejoong smiled. “I’ll play, but … but I haven’t written anything before.”
“You’ll learn,” Yoochun said with a smile.
Jaejoong sat on the piano bench. Yoochun noted that his uniform was perfect that day. Nothing to let Yoochun know he’d had any problems. Just a different hair cut that suited his features so well. He started playing Louis Armstrong’s Dream a Little Dream. The girls giggled a little and then Jaejoong started singing, voice rough just like Armstrong’s, and the girls squealed. His English wasn’t perfect, but it made Yoochun smile.
“Sing another one,” Yuri demanded.
He sang “Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen”. And then class ended and more than one girl hugged Jaejoong while he was still playing.
“Thanks for playing, Jaejoong,” Jaelin said. “I like to hear you play.”
Jaejoong swallowed and looked away. “Y-you’re … you play good, too.”
She smiled like the world had just given her everything she wanted, and then she said goodbye to Yoochun and flounced out of the room.
Jaejoong kept playing a small jazzy beat while Yoochun gathered his things.
“I think she likes you,” Yoochun said.
Jaejoong snorted.
“Yeah, I know. You don’t like girls. Neither do I.”
Yoochun watched as Jaejoong’s cheeks went red.
“Were you raped?” Jaejoong suddenly asked.
Yoochun froze, and then cleared his throat. “No. I was young and stupid.”
Jaejoong nodded. The notes he played turned bitter, sharp. “So are you out to save me from myself?”
“Of course not. Am I worried about you? Yes, because it’s a hard life when you have no other options. You have other options.”
Jaejoong made a noise like he was trying not to cry. Yoochun moved to the piano, and let himself cave to temptation. He ran his hands through Jaejoong’s hair.
“I like it,” he said. Yoochun let his fingers trace over Jaejoong’s ear. “Wear jeans tomorrow.”
“W-why?” Jaejoong shivered as Yoochun touched his jaw, caressed his neck. He let out a deep breath, and his fingers slowed on the keys.
“Just because,” Yoochun answered. His cock was slowly hardening in his pants. “Can I play, too?”
“S-sure.” Jaejoong slid over and Yoochun took the lower notes. They sat and Yoochun put his leg behind Jaejoong’s, nudging until his foot was on the main pedal and Jaejoong’s leg was hooked over his thigh. He met Jaejoong’s slow pace on the keys.
“You have a great voice, Jaejoong,” Yoochun said. “Are you going to sing at your recital?”
“N-no. I don’t like to sing for people.”
“You sang today.”
“It’s … it’s just the girls. And you. No big deal.”
“Are you afraid to be really, really good?” Jaejoong’s fingers stopped. “Or are you afraid that no one will notice?”
Jaejoong sighed and leaned against him. Yoochun took one hand off the keys and put it around Jaejoong’s waist. Jaejoong’s hand rested against his thigh, fingers picking at the fabric. He shifted until his head was on Yoochun’s shoulder. Their hands found a melody, Yoochun bass, Jaejoong treble.
“Don’t do drugs, Jaejoong. Nothing else is as dangerous. I can’t lecture you about what you do and don’t do, but from a recovering addict, just take my advice and stop now before it gets worse.”
Jaejoong stopped playing. He turned his head and it took all of Yoochun’s will power not to turn too and meet his lips in a kiss. Jaejoong’s hand went to his waist, fingers clenching on the muscles. Breath shuddering, shoulder shaking.
Yoochun put both hands on the keys and played depressing and slow music until Jaejoong stopped crying.
“I-I better go,” Jaejoong said, and Yoochun nodded, saying before I do something stupid and irreversible in his head.
“Do you talk to your parents, Jaejoong?”
Jaejoong froze, and then climbed out of Yoochun’s lap and off the bench. “Not really. They aren’t home a lot.”
“I’ve called them twice. They haven’t returned my calls.”
“Shows you how much they care, huh?”
Yoochun turned around. “Are you going home?”
“No.”
Yoochun pulled out his wallet and took a card. “Here.”
Jaejoong stared at him.
“Take it. I want you to call me if you ever need anything.”
Jaejoong looked away, heat rushing to his neck, but he reached forward. The card disappeared in his pocket.
“Your grades in your other classes are slipping.”
“They haven’t noticed.”
Yoochun smiled. “Don’t do less than what you’re capable of as a way to get attention, Jaejoong. It’s not the attention you want or need. Work hard, do well. I know you can.”
Jaejoong snorted. “I thought you weren’t going to lecture me.”
Yoochun laughed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to. Do well. Please.”
Jaejoong nodded. “I … I will. Th-thanks, hyung.”
Part 4: Tattered Jeans
Part 2: Holey Jeans
Part 1: Common Chords
.
Pairing: Yoochun/Jaejoong
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: If they were mine, I would teach them how to play *pervs*
Summary: Yoochun is a piano instructor for children of the elite. When a bonafide prodigy lands on his piano bench, Yoochun falls hard
Warning: Underage sex. Yoochun is 24, Jaejoong is 15
A/N: I sort of have an idea where this story is going. Might be only two chapters, might be three or four.
Poster credit goes to crazyaboutchun. Thank you darling! I love it! ♥
Part 3:
Yoochun forwent his teacher work and spent the weekend finishing that song. And the only title he could come up with was “Safety Pins”. He didn’t know why. There were a lot of short notes, a lot of moments of pain, and yet it held everything together.
It had nothing to do with the jeans Jaejoong had been wearing. Nothing.
Yoochun was up late Sunday night grading musical essay he had assigned. He was disappointed in Jaejoong’s brief analysis of modern musical formats used in classical ballets or operas. It could have been so much better. It hurt Yoochun to put a B- at the top, but if Jaejoong wanted a good grade, he’d have to work for it.
Monday morning, Yoochun felt like shit. He sucked down coffee, and then more coffee. When he walked into class, a pang of disappointment flared through him when he saw Jaejoong wearing his uniform, as he was supposed to.
“Good morning, Sonsaengnim Park,” the girls chorused.
Yoochun nodded a greeting. Jaejoong didn’t lift his eyes from the desk, once again, the bashful student. Yoochun had to shut his eyes and go to his desk to “collect” himself.
“How are your projects coming along?” Yoochun asked. Jaejoong wasn’t the only student, and he had to remind himself of that. The girls all had things they were working on.
He spent a few minutes answering questions, and then as Jaejoong continued to avoid him by looking down, Yoochun asked, “What about you, Jaejoong? Everything okay.”
Jaejoong lifted his head, and Yoochun knew there was something different, but … No, no piercing, not hair clip. Nothing out of the ordinary.
“I’m okay, Sonsaengnim. Thank you for asking.”
Jaejoong was not okay. Yoochun turned away from them and started his lecture on how jazz changed the way people looked at music. At the end of class, he had Yuri, Yunyoung and Seonhee play in front of them all. Jaejoong gripped his fingers together in a white knuckled grip, again not joining the others at the piano.
“Can Jaejoong play next?” Jaelin asked, smiling at him.
“Class is over,” Yoochun said. “It’s up to him.”
Jaejoong looked up and tried to smile. “Next time,” he whispered.
“Okay,” they said, and the girls pouted. They chattered amongst themselves about jazz and blue grass.
Yoochun waited until they were all gone, and then rose and shut the door. “What’s wrong?”
Jaejoong crossed his arms on the desk, put his head on his arms. Yoochun walked down the aisle and sat next to him. Carefully, he placed a hand on Jaejoong’s shoulder. Jaejoong flinched and then relaxed.
“You look exhausted,” Yoochun whispered.
Jaejoong nodded. “It’s been a long weekend. C-can I play?”
“Of course.”
Jaejoong stood up, and took his bag to the piano. He unzipped it and pulled out the music sheets. Yoochun stayed at the desk and watched.
Jaejoong’s school jacket slipped off his shoulders.
And that’s what was different. Jaejoong wasn’t wearing his school shirt, just a wife beater. There was a bruise on his shoulder. Yoochun frowned. And then he realized why Jaejoong looked different. The side of his face was swollen and the color was off, like he was wearing make up.
Jaejoong played the song he’d been writing on Thursday.
“Hyung?”
“Huh?”
“What do you think I’ll end up doing with my life?”
“That’s a pretty deep question, Jaejoong. I don’t know. You’re still young. It’s okay for you to not know.”
The notes changed, and Jaejoong stopped talking. Yoochun watched him compose for almost an hour. Frustration waved off Jaejoong. He suddenly seemed so much older than his fifteen years, and not in a good way. Yoochun stood up, stretching from sitting in a small desk for so long. He went to the piano bench. Jaejoong fingers slammed on the same six chords over and over. Yoochun wasn’t surprised to see him crying. He sat down and put his arms around Jaejoong’s shoulders. He didn’t stop playing for a few more chords, and then his fingers stilledand he leaned against Yoochun.
Yoochun tried not to think of how soft Jaejoong’s skin was, how good his hair smelled. His body shivered, and Yoochun shut his eyes with a sigh.
“T-thanks, hyung. I-I’m going to go now.”
“Where?”
Jaejoong stilled.
“You should go home.”
“Yeah, because that’s such a better place.”
Yoochun let him go when Jaejoong struggled to get up. He put his school jacket back on, and then sighed. “Do you have a lighter, hyung?”
“Yeah.” Yoochun went to his desk and grabbed his jacket. He found his lighter, turned around and had an armful of Jaejoong. Jaejoong’s hands slid around his waist, his face pushed against his chest. Yoochun had so many options, and he picked the ones not quite ethical. He slipped the lighter into Jaejoong’s pants pocket, splaying his fingers around the bony hip.
Jaejoong sighed, breath shuddering as he let it free.
Yoochun put his arms around Jaejoong’s waist, drawing him closer. Jaejoong’s warm breath heated his skin through his shirt. Yoochun lifted Jaejoong’s jacket, hand splayed over his back, and the other ran up, over his shoulder. He carded his fingers through Jaejooong’s hair and it was softer than he thought it would be.
“One question,” Yoochun said as Jaejoong’s body shook harder.
“Hm?”
“Are you doing drugs?”
Jaejoong’s shoulders sagged. “Not the question I was expecting.”
“Answer it.”
“A-a little.”
“What does that mean?”
“God, what do you care?” Jaejoong twisted his head and pushed away from him.
Yoochun knew that saying I’m your teacher would be a really bad move. “I’m worried about you.” He stepped closer and touched Jaejoong’s bruised shoulder. “This looks like it hurts, and you have makeup on, and your cheek is a little swollen.”
“I - I got in a fight. That’s all.”
Yoochun didn’t understand. Jaejoong had perfect grades last year, perfect attendance. “I’m going to call your parents.”
“What?” Jaejoong flipped around, eyes narrowed in anger.
“They … they haven’t called to ask about you like the others’ parents have. So I’m going to call them and tell them how you’re doing.”
“If they cared,” Jaejoong said through clenched teeth, “they would have called.”
Jaejoong spun away. He picked up his bag, slung it over his shoulder. The door slammed behind him.
He went to his files, found Jaejoong’s home number and called. A servant answered, and Yoochun left a message. He sat at his desk and thought about Jaejoong. There were a lot of reasons why a rich man’s son would act up, do drugs, pierce his eyebrow. A lack of attention at home, or too much of the wrong kind of attention.
Jaejoong had eight older sisters that all lived on the family estate. They had husbands and some had children. Jaejoong was lost in the shuffle. Yoochun knew his mother had been sick lately, but when she had called, she’d praised Jaejoong so much. Yoochun hadn’t felt that conversation had been fake.
It was possible that Jaejoong got involved with the wrong crowd. It was easy to do. Yoochun had first hand experience with it.
The bruises could have been from a fight, or from a parental beating. Yoochun sighed. He’d wait until Jaejoong opened up to him. No matter how attractive he was, Yoochun was his teacher first, his protector, his responsibility.
♪-♪-♪
Yoochun was just finishing his lesson with Jaelin on Tuesday afternoon when she suddenly stopped playing. “Sonsaengnim Park.”
“Yes, Jaelin?”
“Um, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“I … I like this boy, and it’s embarrassing to ask you because you’re a boy but none of my other teachers are cool like you are and I want to know how to get his attention.”
Yoochun had a distinct idea who this boy was. “Does he know you?”
She blushed and nodded. “We … we have a class together, but … but all the girls like him.”
“Ah,” Yoochun said. “Then you’ll just have to find a way to make yourself stand out from the rest of them.”
Jaelin pouted and said, “I don’t know how to do that. I …”
“Try being yourself around him. Don’t bring him treats or gifts, but say hello to him, preferably without acting like he’s a pop idol and swooning.”
Jaelin nodded. “I … I think I can do that.”
“He’ll be more drawn to someone that wants to be his friend than someone who worships him.”
“Thanks, Sonsaengnim Park. I … I’ll try. But he’s so pretty.” She shut her mouth with an eep, and Yoochun smiled. He didn’t blame this girl one bit. Jaejoong was indeed pretty.
He praised the girl for her lesson (she was working so hard to be able to change music like Jaejoong could). Yoochun sighed after she left. He took out his phone and called Jaejoong’s parents again, and again left a message for them.
Wednesday, Yoochun almost had a heart attack when he came into class. Jaejoong was sitting in the front row. The girls surrounded Jaejoong and cooed over his newly dyed hair. It was burgundy. The back was short and his bangs brushed over his forehead.
The best part was Jaejoong’s smile. He’d grown accustomed to their worship over the last two weeks and he was more or less comfortable with them now. Yoochun was glad. Jaejoong needed friends. Good friends. Friends with the same interests as him that didn’t involve drugs.
“Ladies, a little less studying of Jaejoong and a little more studying of music.”
More than one girl sighed as they took their seats. Yoochun watched Jaelin, and she smiled at Jaejoong, blushing and then turned away.
Yoochun had a hard time concentrating on his lesson, so he cut it short. He sat at the piano and said, “I dont’ know if I mentioned this,” his fingers found the keys and he started playing a jazzy refrain, “but I used to work as a lounge singer.”
The girls ooh-ed.
“It’s not as glamorous as it sounds, trust me. Anyway. I wrote a lot of music back then, and I’ve decided that for your next recital, not this one, but next month, you’re all going to perform your own song. You’re all at a point in your musical abilities where you can take music and make it do what you want it to do. I don’t care what genre you want to play, and if you want to sing, you can. I’m going to sing you a song, but you have to promise me that you won’t tell your parents. It’s not exactly appropriate for fifteen-year-olds, but I think you’re all grown up enough to hear it.”
The first time he touched me
my head twisted through clouds
The second time he killed me
pain laced down my limbs
The next time we met
our kisses burned with tears
The last time he raped me
my heart was torn away
i love you means so little
i love you can’t be true
i love you hurts the most
i love you means i hate you
Yoochun felt his throat closing up during the instrumental break. His fingers hit the keys harder than he meant to. He hadn’t sung this song in so long.
The first time without him
my tears ruined everything
the second time without him
my heart beat a little faster
Ripped and torn, left alone
i love you becomes anguish
broken and sore, all alone
i love you is a lie
i love you is a farce
i love you is a joke
i love you is only a line
i still love you.
He let the last notes die through the room. A few of the girls looked close to tears. Yoochun met Jaejoong’s eyes. His cold, disinterested, beautiful mask was firmly in place.
“That was really good, Sonsaengnim,” Meena said in the silence.
Yoochun smiled. “Thank you, Meena.” He cleared his throat. “Who here has written a song before? Who wants to share it? Don’t you dare say, but it’s not as good as yours, because I’m here to teach you, not to flaunt my own abilities.”
Soonli raised her hand and she said, “I … it’s okay if there aren’t lyrics?”
Yoochun nodded. “Yes, not everyone can write lyrics.”
Soonli came up to the piano. Her song was light and pretty, with a high refrain that had her fingers plucking at the upper octave. It made Yoochun smile, and the girls clapped. He pointed out a few places to improve it. And then Yuri was next.
“Jaejoong-oppa,” Jaelin said with a grin. “You said you’d play today.”
“Don’t make him, Jaelin,” Yoochun said.
But Jaejoong smiled. “I’ll play, but … but I haven’t written anything before.”
“You’ll learn,” Yoochun said with a smile.
Jaejoong sat on the piano bench. Yoochun noted that his uniform was perfect that day. Nothing to let Yoochun know he’d had any problems. Just a different hair cut that suited his features so well. He started playing Louis Armstrong’s Dream a Little Dream. The girls giggled a little and then Jaejoong started singing, voice rough just like Armstrong’s, and the girls squealed. His English wasn’t perfect, but it made Yoochun smile.
“Sing another one,” Yuri demanded.
He sang “Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen”. And then class ended and more than one girl hugged Jaejoong while he was still playing.
“Thanks for playing, Jaejoong,” Jaelin said. “I like to hear you play.”
Jaejoong swallowed and looked away. “Y-you’re … you play good, too.”
She smiled like the world had just given her everything she wanted, and then she said goodbye to Yoochun and flounced out of the room.
Jaejoong kept playing a small jazzy beat while Yoochun gathered his things.
“I think she likes you,” Yoochun said.
Jaejoong snorted.
“Yeah, I know. You don’t like girls. Neither do I.”
Yoochun watched as Jaejoong’s cheeks went red.
“Were you raped?” Jaejoong suddenly asked.
Yoochun froze, and then cleared his throat. “No. I was young and stupid.”
Jaejoong nodded. The notes he played turned bitter, sharp. “So are you out to save me from myself?”
“Of course not. Am I worried about you? Yes, because it’s a hard life when you have no other options. You have other options.”
Jaejoong made a noise like he was trying not to cry. Yoochun moved to the piano, and let himself cave to temptation. He ran his hands through Jaejoong’s hair.
“I like it,” he said. Yoochun let his fingers trace over Jaejoong’s ear. “Wear jeans tomorrow.”
“W-why?” Jaejoong shivered as Yoochun touched his jaw, caressed his neck. He let out a deep breath, and his fingers slowed on the keys.
“Just because,” Yoochun answered. His cock was slowly hardening in his pants. “Can I play, too?”
“S-sure.” Jaejoong slid over and Yoochun took the lower notes. They sat and Yoochun put his leg behind Jaejoong’s, nudging until his foot was on the main pedal and Jaejoong’s leg was hooked over his thigh. He met Jaejoong’s slow pace on the keys.
“You have a great voice, Jaejoong,” Yoochun said. “Are you going to sing at your recital?”
“N-no. I don’t like to sing for people.”
“You sang today.”
“It’s … it’s just the girls. And you. No big deal.”
“Are you afraid to be really, really good?” Jaejoong’s fingers stopped. “Or are you afraid that no one will notice?”
Jaejoong sighed and leaned against him. Yoochun took one hand off the keys and put it around Jaejoong’s waist. Jaejoong’s hand rested against his thigh, fingers picking at the fabric. He shifted until his head was on Yoochun’s shoulder. Their hands found a melody, Yoochun bass, Jaejoong treble.
“Don’t do drugs, Jaejoong. Nothing else is as dangerous. I can’t lecture you about what you do and don’t do, but from a recovering addict, just take my advice and stop now before it gets worse.”
Jaejoong stopped playing. He turned his head and it took all of Yoochun’s will power not to turn too and meet his lips in a kiss. Jaejoong’s hand went to his waist, fingers clenching on the muscles. Breath shuddering, shoulder shaking.
Yoochun put both hands on the keys and played depressing and slow music until Jaejoong stopped crying.
“I-I better go,” Jaejoong said, and Yoochun nodded, saying before I do something stupid and irreversible in his head.
“Do you talk to your parents, Jaejoong?”
Jaejoong froze, and then climbed out of Yoochun’s lap and off the bench. “Not really. They aren’t home a lot.”
“I’ve called them twice. They haven’t returned my calls.”
“Shows you how much they care, huh?”
Yoochun turned around. “Are you going home?”
“No.”
Yoochun pulled out his wallet and took a card. “Here.”
Jaejoong stared at him.
“Take it. I want you to call me if you ever need anything.”
Jaejoong looked away, heat rushing to his neck, but he reached forward. The card disappeared in his pocket.
“Your grades in your other classes are slipping.”
“They haven’t noticed.”
Yoochun smiled. “Don’t do less than what you’re capable of as a way to get attention, Jaejoong. It’s not the attention you want or need. Work hard, do well. I know you can.”
Jaejoong snorted. “I thought you weren’t going to lecture me.”
Yoochun laughed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to. Do well. Please.”
Jaejoong nodded. “I … I will. Th-thanks, hyung.”
Part 4: Tattered Jeans
Part 2: Holey Jeans
Part 1: Common Chords
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