Soul Song 1/?
Title: Soul Song 1/?
Pairing: Yoochun/Jaejoong (side pairings: Changmin/Junsu, Yunho/Yoohwan)
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I'd claim them as my soulmates, but that would make me a liar. They only belong to each other.
Summary: Jaejoong can't hear his soul song, not the way everyone is supposed to. He's given up on ever finding a soulmate. But he can't keep music completely out of his life, especially when Park Yoochun plays his way right into Jaejoong's heart.
A/N: A soulmate fic for everyone that reminded me that I hadn't written one and that I always meant to. Special shoutout to winged-kame for helping me with the idea/plotline.
Part 1:
Jaejoong had stopped playing the pianos. He stopped holding his breath whenever a sweet melody of music trickled by him as he went to work. He tried to ignore the nervous yet hopeful young people moving from piano to piano, fingers shaking over ivory keys. Maybe this time. Even after no one approached after playing their piece, the young people were hopeful.
There were three pianos on his route to work. It was not the shortest route, but the one with the fewest pianos.
The last time Jaejoong saw someone find their soulmate, connect with the person who had the same music in their head, Jaejoong had almost panicked, right on the street. He’d turned around, rushed home, called in sick to work.
The one time he wore headphones to keep himself from hearing the pianos, the police had been called because so many people thought he was ill, crazy, going mad with too much music.
Jaejoong bought a skateboard. It was the fastest way to get to work without going completely insane.
Near one of the pianos was an altercation. Two people fighting over it. Every piano came with a sign that said, “Please only play for five minutes so others have the chance to find their soulmate! Thank you for your consideration! Happy Melody!”
Jaejoong ignored it as he zipped by. He worked at a stationery shop called, “Paper Notes,” selling paper covered in hearts, flowers and music notes complete with silly sayings like, “My heart sings for you!” and “My notes were gray until you turned them to sunshine.” Which didn’t make sense to Jaejoong because the notes of a soul song never changed. The soul song was a melody that radiated your heart and to find the one person who radiated the same music was what everyone lived for.
For everyone but Jaejoong.
His notes were not a melody. They were all the same. Eight of them. F major. Eight F majors.
He’d stopped playing the pianos a long time ago.
There had to be something wrong with him. No one ever had one note as their soul song. Even the doctors said so. It was with horror that one doctor had looked at him and gasped, “Tone deaf.”
And Jaejoong’s world shattered.
Tone deaf. It’s not that the notes in his head were the same, it was that he could not tell them apart. That was all. But he heard music. He heard songs. He liked to sing and he played around on the piano in his apartment. But the most important notes of his life were all the same. He hoped that his ability to hear notes meant he wasn’t actually tone deaf, because there was no cure for it. Maybe soon--
Jaejoong shook his head. Nearing thirty, he knew he’d never find his soulmate.
“Good morning, Jaejoong-ah,” Yoona said as he walked into the shop. She had opened the store almost six years ago, and was one of the more popular stores that catered to those in love with their soulmate.
Jaejoong smiled and bowed and said good morning. The shop was open from nine to seven. Yoona usually worked until one or two, and Jaejoong came in at noon and worked until close. Yoona's son Taemin usually worked the shorter Sunday shifts when they were only open from eleven to five, but because of high school entrance exams, Jaejoong had been working extra. It was only Wednesday. Three more days of walking by pianos before a bit of relief.
Jaejoong went to the counter and used the computer to clock in. The spots of the screen that he touched dinged at him in a familiar tune. He had tried to play that on one of the pianos on the street. But after only one time, he stopped. What if that had been someone’s soul song? What if he had given someone else the heartache of not having a soulmate?
He signed.
“Are you sick?” Yoona asked.
Jaejoong tried to smile. “No, noona, just ... pianos.”
Yoona tilted her head and frowned. Sympathy thick on her face. Yoona had found her soulmate when she was only nineteen, almost twenty years ago. Jaejoong turned away from her.
“There’s a box of new paper in the back. I want it on display before tomorrow.”
Jaejoong acknowledged the order and went about his work.
♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪
“Do you have pads of paper with music staffs on them?”
Jaejoong looked up from a shelf and his mind went momentarily blank. The man before him was younger, probably twenty-four, maybe twenty-six. His hair was pulled up in a thick bun on his head, showing he had long hair. He wore nothing more than a comfortable T-shirt, a pretty coral color that was not quite orange, and jean shorts. Flip flops. His toenails were green. Painted green, and Jaejoong laughed before he could stop himself.
The man smiled back. “I babysit and she wanted to do my toes.”
Jaejoong grinned. “Sorry, I just ...”
“I will tell Seoyeong that her artwork was appreciated by the handsome man in the paper shop.”
Jaejoong flushed at the handsome part.
“I write music,” the man continued, “and I’m on my last sheet of staff paper. I thought I’d buy some more before inspiration hit.”
Jaejoong shook his head. “Sorry. We have lots of paper with music staffs on them, but they’re usually used for love letters and not actual music.”
The man smiled, and Jaejoong died a little because he was so attractive, with a round face and dimples in his cheek, plump lips.
“Well, I’ll look around anyway. I’m always looking for a pencil. Maybe if I buy more, I won’t lose them as often.”
Jaejoong laughed. The man sauntered by him, not in a hurry, stopping to look at some of the pink pads of paper and colored markers. Jaejoong tried to finish organizing the shelves and not look at him. He was so handsome. He was Jaejoong’s height, with broad shoulders and a casual grace to him that had Jaejoong almost whimpering.
He was so relaxed, just utterly content, and that meant he had met his soulmate already. No one that perfectly happy would still be alone.
Jaejoong’s throat tightened and he bit back a noise of distress.
He moved to the front of the store, away from the man, and straightened up the display of small stuffed animals.
A few minutes later, Jaejoong realized that he was hearing music. Nothing out of the complete ordinary, but it was coming from inside the store, and when he was alone, he turned all music off and he even took the bells off the door. It was too painful to listen to music sometimes.
But there was music. Notes, random notes. Not being played, but sung, and Jaejoong moved back toward the front counter of the store, toward the other man. He stood near the center of the store, a pad of blue paper in his hand. He had a bright purple pen, and he was scribbling along the music staff on the paper. That pad of paper said, “You’re playing my song” on every page.
Jaejoong decided he had a nice voice. Deep, a little gravely. Jaejoong wondered if he smoked.
And then the man’s head tilted to the side, his notes stopped, he wrote a few notes and then sang, “La la la la la la la la.”
Eight notes.
Eight F majors.
Wind rushed through Jaejoong’s head.
“What ... You ...”
“Sorry,” he said and smiled. “I guess I’m buying this.”
He shut the pad and put it and the pen and a box of pencils covered with music notes on the counter.
Jaejoong stared, mouth open.
“What?” the man asked, stiffening a bit in suspicion.
“Those ... the last ... those notes ... you just sang.”
His eyes went wide. “What about them?”
“Sing them again.”
“Why?”
“They ... sound ... oh god.” Jaejoong put his hands on the counter and tried to breathe.
Again, eight F majors. Sung in such a strong voice.
Jaejoong swallowed. “Eight F majors,” he whispered.
“Eight F majors? What are you talking about?”
Jaejoong gripped a wrist to his chest. A firm hand touched his shoulder, squeezing a little.
“Are you okay?”
Jaejoong shook his head. “Eight ... didn’t you just sing eight ...”
“No. I didn’t.”
“But I heard ... I heard you ... they ...”
“Not eight F majors,” he said firmly.
Jaejoong swallowed again, and managed to shake himself out of the moment. For a little while.
“Sorry. I ... I’m not that good at music.”
The man looked at him, eyes narrowed a bit in suspicion.
Shaking, Jaejoong rang up his purchases. The man paid with a card, quick to sign, quick to take the bag from him, and Jaejoong stared after him. He’d heard eight F majors. There was no way he had not. The same notes had been echoing in his head since he was sixteen, almost half his life.
Jaejoong wailed, actually wailed and fell to the ground behind the counter. He felt tears on his face.
It was bad enough that he could not hear his soul song. But it was even worse to know that someone else heard it and he had no way to play it for him.
♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪
Jaejoong called in sick to work.
Yoona sighed and demanded to know why.
Jaejoong was silent for a moment and then gushed out the story because in his life, Yoona was the only one who had given him a chance after finding out about his soul song.
“It could have been nothing,” she said carefully. “You don’t know what they sound like.”
Jaejoong fought the urge to argue. But he heard everything else. He’d heard everything else the man had sang. Every clear note. Every deep sound.
The memory had him shaking.
“I will see if Taeminnie can cover your shift, but please come in if you feel better. He has to study.”
“I will, noona. I’m sorry. I’m such a mess.”
“I understand.”
No, you don’t.
Jaejoong hung up the phone and went to his piano and played eight F majors.
It didn’t sound right. It didn’t sound the same.
Jaejoong cried out in frustration. He knew he wasn’t sick enough to call off work. He just did not want to walk by the pianos. He made sure all the lights were off, all the curtains closed, his small apartment as dark as possible with the morning light reminding him how dreary his soul was. He sank back into bed and fought back more tears. Too many tears.
What if it hadn’t been the same?
What if Jaejoong had imagined it?
And if he hadn’t, how could he convince the man, how ... he’d have to see him again, and he hadn’t been a regular customer, just a walk in. Jaejoong would have been lucky to see him again.
As the day brightened his apartment, Jaejoong sighed and got out of bed. He was not sick. He was not ill enough to take the day off work. He needed the money. Finally climbing from bed, he called Taemin to let him know he was coming. Taemin sounded relieved.
Jaejoong wondered why he could hear that, the small inflection in Taemin’s voice, but he could not hear his soul song.
♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪
Taemin did not even say hello to him when Jaejoong arrived. He said, “Thank god, you do look like shit, hyung, but thank god. I have a test tomorrow.”
“Sorry,” Jaejoong muttered.
Taemin waved him away on his way out the door. “Some guy left his wallet here. It’s under the counter. He said he’d be in about five to pick it up.”
Jaejoong’s acknowledgement was drowned out by the bells on the door. He quickly moved to them, took them down, and then went to the back to turn off the stupid, sappy pop love songs blaring through the speakers.
Jaejoong went to the counter and found the misplaced wallet. Worn, brown leather. It folded open, and there in a little plastic sleeve was the ID card for Park Yoochun. The man who had been in the day before. The man who had the secret code to Jaejoong’s soul. He fought back tears and stared at the picture. He was twenty-four, Jaejoong’s same height, almost the same weight. The address listed was one a bit further in town, a nice neighborhood, completely out of Jaejoong’s realm of existence. Without this wallet, there was no way that Jaejoong would have ever seen him again. Was that fate? Did it mean something?
He felt the world rushing around him again. It was three in the afternoon. He had about two hours to practice what to say. The truth? No, he couldn’t. It wasn’t ... there was no way the man would believe him.
But there was nothing else for him to say. Nothing. Because Park Yoochun did not hear eight F majors. He heard another song. Their song. Their soul song. The one thing that meant they were destined. And Jaejoong had no problems being destined to a man like Park Yoochun who was gracious, polite, and kind. And gorgeous. He wrote music and babysat and wasn’t embarrassed about having green toenails.
Their store closed at seven, and it was after six before Park Yoochun walked through the door. Jaejoong had given up hope.
The man was dressed up compared to the day before: slacks and a white button down. His hair was pulled back away from his face in a long ponytail. He even had a bit of makeup on, eyeliner, and Jaejoong’s body swayed. He looked so good. Too good. Too good for Jaejoong.
Their eyes met, and Yoochun’s smile fell, and Jaejoong turned his head, biting his lip. He felt tears in his eyes, and only managed to grab the wallet from under the counter because he had been touching it all day. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t breathe.
“T-thanks,” Park Yoochun said.
Jaejoong nodded and did not look at him.
There were footsteps, taking Yoochun farther away from him. Farther, out of his life, and Jaejoong made a noise of anguish.
The door did not open.
And then, eight notes. Eight F majors, and Jaejoong’s head shot up. He lips trembled and the fragile hold he had on his sanity snapped and he cried, letting tears drip down his cheeks.
“You can’t hear it,” Yoochun said, almost accused.
Jaejoong shook his head. “I know, but neither can you.”
Yoochun looked out the door, arms crossed, and he sighed. “It isn’t eight F majors.”
Jaejoong nodded. “I know that, but please, you have to understand. I ... I can hear everything else. But ... just not ... I don’t know why I can’t hear it. I’ve never been able to hear anything else.”
“How old are you?” Yoochun asked.
“Twenty-nine.”
Yoochun sighed again. “What’s your name?”
Jaejoong tried not to smile, tried not to let his heart soar with hope. Hope. It was a strange thing. “Kim Jaejoong.”
Yoochun turned his back like he was going to leave, but he didn’t and Jaejoong waited. It felt like hours before Yoochun huffed. He went to a shelf and took down some notebook paper and then walked back to the counter. He snagged the pen from the counter and used it to write in the book.
Jaejoong bit his lip and waited.
Yoochun looked up, met his eyes, and they were so guarded, but just as hopeful as Jaejoong’s. He spun the pad around.
Jaejoong looked down at it. Music notes. Eight of them. F majors.
“Don’t tell me what you see, but write it. Underneath mine. Don’t lie.”
Jaejoong’s hand shook as he took the pen. His skin tingled where their fingers touched. Jaejoong’s lines were not nearly as straight as Yoochun’s, but he didn’t need them to be. He wrote out eight F majors.
Yoochun frowned, and turned away, leaning against the counter. He ran his hands over his face with a frustrated growl. “This is insane. How can I actually believe ...”
“Sorry,” Jaejoong whispered. “The doctors think I’m internally tone deaf, but I can hear everything else. Every note, every voice, every instrument. Except these eight. Even on my piano at home, eight F majors don’t sound like that in my head.”
“I am having a hard time believing this,” Yoochun said.
Jaejoong sighed and whispered, “I know. I’m so sorry.”
Yoochun turned around. “B-flat F F C D C B-flat G.”
“What?”
“Write it down.” Yoochun repeated it. “And the beat, write the beat under it. It’s not just the notes.”
Jaejoong’s hand shook even more as he wrote down the notes of his soul that Yoochun held. “I know the rhythm. The rhythm doesn’t change.”
“I have to go,” he said and then below the eight letters, he wrote down his phone number. “I know better than to write down my soul song,” he muttered, almost to himself.
Jaejoong understood. It was easy to play a song when you had the music for it. Easy to fake a soul song. Sometimes the hope of finding your soulmate was enough to ignore what your soul knew, your soul understood what it wanted, who it needed. It was why Jaejoong was so sure about this even if all he heard were F majors.
“This is highly ...”
“Illegal?” Jaejoong offered.
“It might as well be. Fuck. This ... Call me. If they sound ... if they ... Even if they don’t, call me anyway, hell, maybe we can be friends. ”
“I will.”
Yoochun met his eyes and took a very deep breath. And then he smiled, a beautiful wide smile that even shined from his eyes. “I’ll take tone deaf over ugly any day. You are a handsome man, Kim Jaejoong.”
Jaejoong blushed and rubbed his arm. “So are you.”
His smile widened and he nodded at the notepad. “You going to pay for that or should I?”
Jaejoong brought it up to his chest and nodded. “I will. It holds the most precious part of my soul.”
Yoochun glanced at the door again and then swallowed roughly. “Fuck. Just ...”
It actually looked like he might cry.
“I hope they’re all F majors,” he said and then was gone, out the door.
Jaejoong smiled and whispered, “Me, too.”
♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪
Jaejoong was very careful while closing the store, trying not to rush, counting the sold inventory, closing down the till. He put the bells back on the door, the noise not nearly as jarring as normal.
He walked home, skateboard in his hand, and for the first time in a long time, he itched to play the pianos on his route home. He took the short route, where there were five pianos. Only one was in use, by a sweet girl who was floundering a little through her soul song. High notes. Quick and happy.
It made Jaejoong smile. His hand shook with his apartment keys, and he almost dropped them. He entered his dark apartment and fought the urge to go right to the piano.
He lost.
With only a lamp on, he settled the notepad on the top of the piano. He did not even sit. He held his breath and pressed the B flat. It did not sound like an F major. Disheartening sure, but it was only a single note. He waited a few seconds before going to the F major. It hurt a little that this note was part of his soul song. Two of them, and then up to a C, a D, a C, another B flat, and finally a G.
Each note by itself did not sound like an F major. He played them again, a little faster, but still not in the beat in his head. That was hard, but he was determined. He learned the notes first, just so there were no mistakes.
He shut his eyes, felt the beat of the song in his heart, and played the notes to that rhythm.
When they came out as just notes and not F majors, Jaejoong huffed and tried again. But it was the same. Maybe he was doing it wrong, playing it differently, too stiff. He tried again. And then again. He tried until he couldn’t see the keys anymore and he pulled himself away from the piano and buried himself in bed.
Part 2: Peace and Harmony
.
Pairing: Yoochun/Jaejoong (side pairings: Changmin/Junsu, Yunho/Yoohwan)
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I'd claim them as my soulmates, but that would make me a liar. They only belong to each other.
Summary: Jaejoong can't hear his soul song, not the way everyone is supposed to. He's given up on ever finding a soulmate. But he can't keep music completely out of his life, especially when Park Yoochun plays his way right into Jaejoong's heart.
A/N: A soulmate fic for everyone that reminded me that I hadn't written one and that I always meant to. Special shoutout to winged-kame for helping me with the idea/plotline.
Part 1:
Jaejoong had stopped playing the pianos. He stopped holding his breath whenever a sweet melody of music trickled by him as he went to work. He tried to ignore the nervous yet hopeful young people moving from piano to piano, fingers shaking over ivory keys. Maybe this time. Even after no one approached after playing their piece, the young people were hopeful.
There were three pianos on his route to work. It was not the shortest route, but the one with the fewest pianos.
The last time Jaejoong saw someone find their soulmate, connect with the person who had the same music in their head, Jaejoong had almost panicked, right on the street. He’d turned around, rushed home, called in sick to work.
The one time he wore headphones to keep himself from hearing the pianos, the police had been called because so many people thought he was ill, crazy, going mad with too much music.
Jaejoong bought a skateboard. It was the fastest way to get to work without going completely insane.
Near one of the pianos was an altercation. Two people fighting over it. Every piano came with a sign that said, “Please only play for five minutes so others have the chance to find their soulmate! Thank you for your consideration! Happy Melody!”
Jaejoong ignored it as he zipped by. He worked at a stationery shop called, “Paper Notes,” selling paper covered in hearts, flowers and music notes complete with silly sayings like, “My heart sings for you!” and “My notes were gray until you turned them to sunshine.” Which didn’t make sense to Jaejoong because the notes of a soul song never changed. The soul song was a melody that radiated your heart and to find the one person who radiated the same music was what everyone lived for.
For everyone but Jaejoong.
His notes were not a melody. They were all the same. Eight of them. F major. Eight F majors.
He’d stopped playing the pianos a long time ago.
There had to be something wrong with him. No one ever had one note as their soul song. Even the doctors said so. It was with horror that one doctor had looked at him and gasped, “Tone deaf.”
And Jaejoong’s world shattered.
Tone deaf. It’s not that the notes in his head were the same, it was that he could not tell them apart. That was all. But he heard music. He heard songs. He liked to sing and he played around on the piano in his apartment. But the most important notes of his life were all the same. He hoped that his ability to hear notes meant he wasn’t actually tone deaf, because there was no cure for it. Maybe soon--
Jaejoong shook his head. Nearing thirty, he knew he’d never find his soulmate.
“Good morning, Jaejoong-ah,” Yoona said as he walked into the shop. She had opened the store almost six years ago, and was one of the more popular stores that catered to those in love with their soulmate.
Jaejoong smiled and bowed and said good morning. The shop was open from nine to seven. Yoona usually worked until one or two, and Jaejoong came in at noon and worked until close. Yoona's son Taemin usually worked the shorter Sunday shifts when they were only open from eleven to five, but because of high school entrance exams, Jaejoong had been working extra. It was only Wednesday. Three more days of walking by pianos before a bit of relief.
Jaejoong went to the counter and used the computer to clock in. The spots of the screen that he touched dinged at him in a familiar tune. He had tried to play that on one of the pianos on the street. But after only one time, he stopped. What if that had been someone’s soul song? What if he had given someone else the heartache of not having a soulmate?
He signed.
“Are you sick?” Yoona asked.
Jaejoong tried to smile. “No, noona, just ... pianos.”
Yoona tilted her head and frowned. Sympathy thick on her face. Yoona had found her soulmate when she was only nineteen, almost twenty years ago. Jaejoong turned away from her.
“There’s a box of new paper in the back. I want it on display before tomorrow.”
Jaejoong acknowledged the order and went about his work.
♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪
“Do you have pads of paper with music staffs on them?”
Jaejoong looked up from a shelf and his mind went momentarily blank. The man before him was younger, probably twenty-four, maybe twenty-six. His hair was pulled up in a thick bun on his head, showing he had long hair. He wore nothing more than a comfortable T-shirt, a pretty coral color that was not quite orange, and jean shorts. Flip flops. His toenails were green. Painted green, and Jaejoong laughed before he could stop himself.
The man smiled back. “I babysit and she wanted to do my toes.”
Jaejoong grinned. “Sorry, I just ...”
“I will tell Seoyeong that her artwork was appreciated by the handsome man in the paper shop.”
Jaejoong flushed at the handsome part.
“I write music,” the man continued, “and I’m on my last sheet of staff paper. I thought I’d buy some more before inspiration hit.”
Jaejoong shook his head. “Sorry. We have lots of paper with music staffs on them, but they’re usually used for love letters and not actual music.”
The man smiled, and Jaejoong died a little because he was so attractive, with a round face and dimples in his cheek, plump lips.
“Well, I’ll look around anyway. I’m always looking for a pencil. Maybe if I buy more, I won’t lose them as often.”
Jaejoong laughed. The man sauntered by him, not in a hurry, stopping to look at some of the pink pads of paper and colored markers. Jaejoong tried to finish organizing the shelves and not look at him. He was so handsome. He was Jaejoong’s height, with broad shoulders and a casual grace to him that had Jaejoong almost whimpering.
He was so relaxed, just utterly content, and that meant he had met his soulmate already. No one that perfectly happy would still be alone.
Jaejoong’s throat tightened and he bit back a noise of distress.
He moved to the front of the store, away from the man, and straightened up the display of small stuffed animals.
A few minutes later, Jaejoong realized that he was hearing music. Nothing out of the complete ordinary, but it was coming from inside the store, and when he was alone, he turned all music off and he even took the bells off the door. It was too painful to listen to music sometimes.
But there was music. Notes, random notes. Not being played, but sung, and Jaejoong moved back toward the front counter of the store, toward the other man. He stood near the center of the store, a pad of blue paper in his hand. He had a bright purple pen, and he was scribbling along the music staff on the paper. That pad of paper said, “You’re playing my song” on every page.
Jaejoong decided he had a nice voice. Deep, a little gravely. Jaejoong wondered if he smoked.
And then the man’s head tilted to the side, his notes stopped, he wrote a few notes and then sang, “La la la la la la la la.”
Eight notes.
Eight F majors.
Wind rushed through Jaejoong’s head.
“What ... You ...”
“Sorry,” he said and smiled. “I guess I’m buying this.”
He shut the pad and put it and the pen and a box of pencils covered with music notes on the counter.
Jaejoong stared, mouth open.
“What?” the man asked, stiffening a bit in suspicion.
“Those ... the last ... those notes ... you just sang.”
His eyes went wide. “What about them?”
“Sing them again.”
“Why?”
“They ... sound ... oh god.” Jaejoong put his hands on the counter and tried to breathe.
Again, eight F majors. Sung in such a strong voice.
Jaejoong swallowed. “Eight F majors,” he whispered.
“Eight F majors? What are you talking about?”
Jaejoong gripped a wrist to his chest. A firm hand touched his shoulder, squeezing a little.
“Are you okay?”
Jaejoong shook his head. “Eight ... didn’t you just sing eight ...”
“No. I didn’t.”
“But I heard ... I heard you ... they ...”
“Not eight F majors,” he said firmly.
Jaejoong swallowed again, and managed to shake himself out of the moment. For a little while.
“Sorry. I ... I’m not that good at music.”
The man looked at him, eyes narrowed a bit in suspicion.
Shaking, Jaejoong rang up his purchases. The man paid with a card, quick to sign, quick to take the bag from him, and Jaejoong stared after him. He’d heard eight F majors. There was no way he had not. The same notes had been echoing in his head since he was sixteen, almost half his life.
Jaejoong wailed, actually wailed and fell to the ground behind the counter. He felt tears on his face.
It was bad enough that he could not hear his soul song. But it was even worse to know that someone else heard it and he had no way to play it for him.
♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪
Jaejoong called in sick to work.
Yoona sighed and demanded to know why.
Jaejoong was silent for a moment and then gushed out the story because in his life, Yoona was the only one who had given him a chance after finding out about his soul song.
“It could have been nothing,” she said carefully. “You don’t know what they sound like.”
Jaejoong fought the urge to argue. But he heard everything else. He’d heard everything else the man had sang. Every clear note. Every deep sound.
The memory had him shaking.
“I will see if Taeminnie can cover your shift, but please come in if you feel better. He has to study.”
“I will, noona. I’m sorry. I’m such a mess.”
“I understand.”
No, you don’t.
Jaejoong hung up the phone and went to his piano and played eight F majors.
It didn’t sound right. It didn’t sound the same.
Jaejoong cried out in frustration. He knew he wasn’t sick enough to call off work. He just did not want to walk by the pianos. He made sure all the lights were off, all the curtains closed, his small apartment as dark as possible with the morning light reminding him how dreary his soul was. He sank back into bed and fought back more tears. Too many tears.
What if it hadn’t been the same?
What if Jaejoong had imagined it?
And if he hadn’t, how could he convince the man, how ... he’d have to see him again, and he hadn’t been a regular customer, just a walk in. Jaejoong would have been lucky to see him again.
As the day brightened his apartment, Jaejoong sighed and got out of bed. He was not sick. He was not ill enough to take the day off work. He needed the money. Finally climbing from bed, he called Taemin to let him know he was coming. Taemin sounded relieved.
Jaejoong wondered why he could hear that, the small inflection in Taemin’s voice, but he could not hear his soul song.
♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪
Taemin did not even say hello to him when Jaejoong arrived. He said, “Thank god, you do look like shit, hyung, but thank god. I have a test tomorrow.”
“Sorry,” Jaejoong muttered.
Taemin waved him away on his way out the door. “Some guy left his wallet here. It’s under the counter. He said he’d be in about five to pick it up.”
Jaejoong’s acknowledgement was drowned out by the bells on the door. He quickly moved to them, took them down, and then went to the back to turn off the stupid, sappy pop love songs blaring through the speakers.
Jaejoong went to the counter and found the misplaced wallet. Worn, brown leather. It folded open, and there in a little plastic sleeve was the ID card for Park Yoochun. The man who had been in the day before. The man who had the secret code to Jaejoong’s soul. He fought back tears and stared at the picture. He was twenty-four, Jaejoong’s same height, almost the same weight. The address listed was one a bit further in town, a nice neighborhood, completely out of Jaejoong’s realm of existence. Without this wallet, there was no way that Jaejoong would have ever seen him again. Was that fate? Did it mean something?
He felt the world rushing around him again. It was three in the afternoon. He had about two hours to practice what to say. The truth? No, he couldn’t. It wasn’t ... there was no way the man would believe him.
But there was nothing else for him to say. Nothing. Because Park Yoochun did not hear eight F majors. He heard another song. Their song. Their soul song. The one thing that meant they were destined. And Jaejoong had no problems being destined to a man like Park Yoochun who was gracious, polite, and kind. And gorgeous. He wrote music and babysat and wasn’t embarrassed about having green toenails.
Their store closed at seven, and it was after six before Park Yoochun walked through the door. Jaejoong had given up hope.
The man was dressed up compared to the day before: slacks and a white button down. His hair was pulled back away from his face in a long ponytail. He even had a bit of makeup on, eyeliner, and Jaejoong’s body swayed. He looked so good. Too good. Too good for Jaejoong.
Their eyes met, and Yoochun’s smile fell, and Jaejoong turned his head, biting his lip. He felt tears in his eyes, and only managed to grab the wallet from under the counter because he had been touching it all day. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t breathe.
“T-thanks,” Park Yoochun said.
Jaejoong nodded and did not look at him.
There were footsteps, taking Yoochun farther away from him. Farther, out of his life, and Jaejoong made a noise of anguish.
The door did not open.
And then, eight notes. Eight F majors, and Jaejoong’s head shot up. He lips trembled and the fragile hold he had on his sanity snapped and he cried, letting tears drip down his cheeks.
“You can’t hear it,” Yoochun said, almost accused.
Jaejoong shook his head. “I know, but neither can you.”
Yoochun looked out the door, arms crossed, and he sighed. “It isn’t eight F majors.”
Jaejoong nodded. “I know that, but please, you have to understand. I ... I can hear everything else. But ... just not ... I don’t know why I can’t hear it. I’ve never been able to hear anything else.”
“How old are you?” Yoochun asked.
“Twenty-nine.”
Yoochun sighed again. “What’s your name?”
Jaejoong tried not to smile, tried not to let his heart soar with hope. Hope. It was a strange thing. “Kim Jaejoong.”
Yoochun turned his back like he was going to leave, but he didn’t and Jaejoong waited. It felt like hours before Yoochun huffed. He went to a shelf and took down some notebook paper and then walked back to the counter. He snagged the pen from the counter and used it to write in the book.
Jaejoong bit his lip and waited.
Yoochun looked up, met his eyes, and they were so guarded, but just as hopeful as Jaejoong’s. He spun the pad around.
Jaejoong looked down at it. Music notes. Eight of them. F majors.
“Don’t tell me what you see, but write it. Underneath mine. Don’t lie.”
Jaejoong’s hand shook as he took the pen. His skin tingled where their fingers touched. Jaejoong’s lines were not nearly as straight as Yoochun’s, but he didn’t need them to be. He wrote out eight F majors.
Yoochun frowned, and turned away, leaning against the counter. He ran his hands over his face with a frustrated growl. “This is insane. How can I actually believe ...”
“Sorry,” Jaejoong whispered. “The doctors think I’m internally tone deaf, but I can hear everything else. Every note, every voice, every instrument. Except these eight. Even on my piano at home, eight F majors don’t sound like that in my head.”
“I am having a hard time believing this,” Yoochun said.
Jaejoong sighed and whispered, “I know. I’m so sorry.”
Yoochun turned around. “B-flat F F C D C B-flat G.”
“What?”
“Write it down.” Yoochun repeated it. “And the beat, write the beat under it. It’s not just the notes.”
Jaejoong’s hand shook even more as he wrote down the notes of his soul that Yoochun held. “I know the rhythm. The rhythm doesn’t change.”
“I have to go,” he said and then below the eight letters, he wrote down his phone number. “I know better than to write down my soul song,” he muttered, almost to himself.
Jaejoong understood. It was easy to play a song when you had the music for it. Easy to fake a soul song. Sometimes the hope of finding your soulmate was enough to ignore what your soul knew, your soul understood what it wanted, who it needed. It was why Jaejoong was so sure about this even if all he heard were F majors.
“This is highly ...”
“Illegal?” Jaejoong offered.
“It might as well be. Fuck. This ... Call me. If they sound ... if they ... Even if they don’t, call me anyway, hell, maybe we can be friends. ”
“I will.”
Yoochun met his eyes and took a very deep breath. And then he smiled, a beautiful wide smile that even shined from his eyes. “I’ll take tone deaf over ugly any day. You are a handsome man, Kim Jaejoong.”
Jaejoong blushed and rubbed his arm. “So are you.”
His smile widened and he nodded at the notepad. “You going to pay for that or should I?”
Jaejoong brought it up to his chest and nodded. “I will. It holds the most precious part of my soul.”
Yoochun glanced at the door again and then swallowed roughly. “Fuck. Just ...”
It actually looked like he might cry.
“I hope they’re all F majors,” he said and then was gone, out the door.
Jaejoong smiled and whispered, “Me, too.”
♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪
Jaejoong was very careful while closing the store, trying not to rush, counting the sold inventory, closing down the till. He put the bells back on the door, the noise not nearly as jarring as normal.
He walked home, skateboard in his hand, and for the first time in a long time, he itched to play the pianos on his route home. He took the short route, where there were five pianos. Only one was in use, by a sweet girl who was floundering a little through her soul song. High notes. Quick and happy.
It made Jaejoong smile. His hand shook with his apartment keys, and he almost dropped them. He entered his dark apartment and fought the urge to go right to the piano.
He lost.
With only a lamp on, he settled the notepad on the top of the piano. He did not even sit. He held his breath and pressed the B flat. It did not sound like an F major. Disheartening sure, but it was only a single note. He waited a few seconds before going to the F major. It hurt a little that this note was part of his soul song. Two of them, and then up to a C, a D, a C, another B flat, and finally a G.
Each note by itself did not sound like an F major. He played them again, a little faster, but still not in the beat in his head. That was hard, but he was determined. He learned the notes first, just so there were no mistakes.
He shut his eyes, felt the beat of the song in his heart, and played the notes to that rhythm.
When they came out as just notes and not F majors, Jaejoong huffed and tried again. But it was the same. Maybe he was doing it wrong, playing it differently, too stiff. He tried again. And then again. He tried until he couldn’t see the keys anymore and he pulled himself away from the piano and buried himself in bed.
Part 2: Peace and Harmony
.