Chapter Text
1.
In-ho took a deep breath before stepping into the theater.
After many years away from Korea, he had finally returned, and for that, he was grateful—no more traveling, no more uncertainty. He wanted stability, something rare for a musician, and securing a position here felt like a step forward.
Even better, the auditorium was close to his new home. A win-win situation.
But still… new people.
Being friendly had always been an issue for In-ho, but being the new guy was even worse. He knew he would be under scrutiny, observed, analyzed, and inevitably judged.
Not that he actually cared about people’s opinions—at least, that’s what he told himself—but the thought of being under a magnifying glass made his skin prickle.
Especially because he knew exactly how much weight his name carried in the music world. Resentment, jealousy—it was all part of the game.
Pushing open the door, he pressed his lips together, hoping not to draw too much attention to himself.
Of course, he did.
Inside, musicians were gathered in small groups, chatting amongst themselves, barely noticing him—until someone called out.
“Hey!” A loud voice rang through the theater, making him flinch. A tall man approached with a grin. “Hwang In-ho, the piano prodigy.”
In-ho blinked, recognition dawning immediately.
The man was a violinist—one of the best, if not the best in South Korea, the first violin of the Seoul Orchestra.
Talking as if he wasn’t considered a prodigy himself.
They met as children, always on opposite sides of the same competitions.
And In-ho had always stayed to hear him play, always watched as Seong Gi-hun took first place in the violin category—just as he took first place in the piano.
They had always stood side by side in the photos, their awards in hand after winning every music competitions.
Whenever they competed against each other, it was always the same—first and second place, their names forever intertwined at the top of the rankings.
They were each other’s greatest opponent.
Fated rivals.
It was almost poetic.
Philosophical, ideal, platonic.
But In-ho had never hated him if Gi-hun won. Not once.
If anything, he had been fascinated by it.
By him.
“Congrats, Hwang.” Gi-hun said to him with a big smile but his eyes were wet as if he cried just some moment before. He clutched his two awards—the violinist first-place and the overall first-place ones.
After years and years of standing side by side to take photos together after winning their competition as violinist and pianist, they were finally talking well for the first time.
The last one competition before In-ho left Korea.
They were both teenagers now, In-ho was always shocked to hear how much Seong Gi-hun improved year by year… Every time he couldn’t believe he could be better than he already was, and every year Gi-hun surprised him being better.
Also, he was getting a lot taller than him, which it was embarrassing a little bit.
And he was getting handsome too.
Like very handsome.
They never talked well before that occasion.
In-ho wasn’t the most talkative person in the world, and he didn’t want to bother people he wasn’t close to.
“Congrats to you, as well, Seong.” In-ho nodded, grabbing his pianist first-place’s award more firmly. “You beat me this time.”
“I’ve heard you’re going to Europe, now.” Gi-hun sighed, pouting. The way he looked so unaffected by the fact that he had just won everything . Like victory meant nothing if In-ho wasn’t there to push him . “I’m gonna miss my piano prodigy, competing against me, taking photos next to me.”
In-ho’s fingers tightened around his pianist’s first-place award, his face warming slightly at ‘my piano prodigy’. “Sorry, I guess.”
“Don’t disappear, Hwang.” Gi-hun smiled—while a tear fell down his cheek—and got closer to him. “I’ll be always waiting for you, you’re the only one worthy competing to.”
But they didn’t compete one against the other anymore.
From a distance, In-ho had kept track of him. He had followed his career, watched his name rise, and, on occasion, even sat among the audience at his concerts in Europe.
And every time he did, Seong Gi-hun noticed him.
Even from the stage, even through the glare of the lights, Gi-hun’s gaze always found In-ho, who was sitting in the audience, admiring him.
And Gi-hun looked at him. Challenging him, telling him not to dare to look away from him.
And In-ho never did. Never could.
There was something magnetic about Gi-hun, something that pulled him in, that made it unthinkable to tear his eyes away.
In-ho had been attend at some of his concerts but he had never approached him afterwards.
They weren’t friends after all, and he didn’t want to bother him.
Gi-hun was just someone like him. Someone who understood the passion, the sacrifice, the way notes weren’t just sounds but something that flowed through them, from their very souls into their instruments.
Art creating art.
His music soulmate.
The last time they had met was months ago, at a music conference in Vienna about a newly discovered Mozart piece. They had exchanged only a few words, nothing more.
Even after all these years, his features were unmistakable—those sharp cheekbones, the easy, boyish smile, the long, lean legs, the trim waist.
And those dark, expressive eyes.
Wow.
It still caught In-ho off guard, how much more handsome he had become than he remembered.
“Yeah!” In-ho returned the smile, still a little hesitant about being in a new place. “Seong Gi-hun.”
“Oh, so you still remember me!” the man said, grinning as offering his hand.
As if they hadn’t shared the stage together at music competitions for years.
As if In-ho hadn’t spent his childhood competing against him, waiting impatiently for his turn just to hear him play.
As if they hadn’t crossed paths so many times in their lifetime.
As if In-ho hadn’t had the biggest crush on him since the very first time they met.
“I still remember that joke you made last time.” Gi-hun continued. “Seong means ‘last name’, right? Kinda awful.” Then, with a playful shove, he added, “You should be ashamed.”
In-ho coughed, a faint blush dusting his cheeks as they shook hands. “Well, I had to break the ice.”
Gi-hun let out a laugh. “You didn’t break it—you made it colder.” He clapped him on the shoulder. “Anyway, you’re our famous new guy! Good, you can rely on me since we already know each other.”
Before In-ho could respond, others started greeting him—warm smiles, nods, waves from across the room.
“So, drink to celebrate?” Gi-hun suggested, circling his shoulders with his arm, as if they were two old friends.
A man with glasses promptly shoved him. “We have to work, you idiot.” Then he turned to In-ho, offering his hand. “Cho Sang-woo, cellist. Just call me by my name.”
In-ho nodded, shaking his hand, then found himself nodding even more as a blur of names and faces was introduced to him.
Too many people. Too many names.
I’ll remember them someday. Eventually.
After introducing himself and talking with almost everyone, In-ho finally stepped into his piano seat.
He couldn’t remember a thing about most of them—not because he didn’t care, but because it was too much. Too many names, too many faces, too many conversations.
It was overwhelming.
With a quiet sigh, he let his fingers rest on the keys, testing their weight beneath his touch. The piano was exquisite—clearly expensive. He pressed a few notes, adjusting to its response, before beginning a series of warm-up scales, letting his fingers dance over the keys.
"Wow, this is really fast," Gi-hun commented from the seat beside him. "Congrats."
In-ho allowed himself a small smile, his hands moving more fluidly now.
Slipping on his glasses, he scanned quickly the sheet music that had been placed on the rack.
"Okay, I’m ready now."
At the conductor’s signal, the orchestra began to play.
A single drop of sweat rolled down his forehead as a wave of anxiety gripped him.
He was the pianist—the heart of the ensemble.
And he was the new guy.
Every eye, every ear, was on him.
He couldn’t afford to make a mistake.
In-ho played every note with precision and passion, following the sheet music with practiced ease. But his true strength as a musician wasn’t just in reading notes—it was in his extraordinary musical instinct.
He didn’t just play the music. He felt it. It coursed through his veins, pulsed in his mind, and flowed effortlessly from his fingertips.
His body was a machine, built to play. But it was his soul that breathed life into it.
A smirk tugged at his lips when he caught the admiring glances of the orchestra members.
Of course they were impressed.
He wasn’t surprised.
He had dedicated his entire life to music.
Some of his earliest memories were of tapping away at a toy keyboard, his tiny fingers exploring sounds before he even understood what they meant.
Then came Rome. He had left home young, crossing continents to study at the prestigious Santa Cecilia Conservatory—the heart of Italy’s classical music tradition. Years passed, and Europe became his second home.
But now, things were different.
He had grown older.
And for the first time in his life, he wanted something beyond the stage.
He wanted to be close to his aging parents.
He wanted to reconnect with his younger brother—the boy he had never really had the chance to know better.
And he wanted to feel a connection to the country where he was born, even though it felt like a distant memory.
Korea was home, yet unfamiliar.
The language still rolled off his tongue, but sometimes, he had to think a little longer before finding the right words.
He continued to play, letting the music flow through his fingers until the moment arrived the violin solo.
Of course, it belonged to Seong Gi-hun.
In-ho’s lips curled into a soft smile as Gi-hun rose from his seat and stepped closer to the piano, ready to perform his solo as Korea’s first violinist. Their eyes met briefly, and Gi-hun returned the smile before lifting his violin.
Then, he played.
With the same passion In-ho remembered from their years as child prodigies. Yet now, it was different.
Still captivating. Still overwhelming.
But also mature.
Seductive.
In-ho took a deep breath, fingers steady on the keys. He couldn’t allow himself to be distracted—not because of Seong Gi-hun.
But when the violinist moved closer, his bow gliding effortlessly across the strings, his gaze flickered toward In-ho—intense, almost in awe.
And In-ho, caught in that moment, played with even more passion.
Eventually, the orchestra took a break.
In-ho didn’t hesitate—he grabbed his pack of cigarettes and slipped outside, avoiding the growing cluster of musicians eager to talk to him and compliment him for the rehearsal. He could feel their eyes, their curiosity, their unspoken invitations to join them.
He still felt like a stranger to them. Which it was normal, he couldn’t have new friends in one day.
Stepping into the crisp air, he pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and took a slow drag.
He knew he was probably coming off as unlikeable, maybe even cold.
He knew what they were thinking about him.
Hwang In-ho, the piano prodigy since he was five years old, is here. Playing with us. Doing us a favor, after ignoring his country’s musicians and theaters for nearly his entire life.
Waiting him for him to fail.
There were too many people. Too many expectations.
Too much.
"Are you running away?" A quiet laugh followed the words, light and teasing. “Again?”
In-ho didn’t even have to turn around—he already recognized that voice, that amused tone. Seong Gi-hun.
As he said, he really wanted to be the one In-ho would eventually rely on.
Slowly, In-ho turned, just in time to see Gi-hun strolling towards him, all casual confidence. Without asking, he plucked a cigarette from In-ho’s pack.
In-ho let him. He didn’t care.
"Yeah," he admitted, exhaling a thin stream of smoke. "Too many new people."
Gi-hun stepped closer—too close—bringing the cigarette to his lips. Instead of using a lighter, he leaned in, letting the tip of his cigarette brush against In-ho’s, the embers glowing between them as the flame passed.
For a moment, their faces were inches apart, smoke curling in the air between them.
It felt like a challenge.
Even as a pang of discomfort grew in his chest, In-ho held his ground, not moving a muscle.
Gi-hun took a slow drag, exhaling lazily. “I know, right?” He smirked, the smoke curling from his lips. “Told you, you can totally rely on me.”
There was a feeling of something wrong with this, In-ho could feel it, but he couldn’t understand why, at least that man did nothing to him.
But his aura.
His aura wasn’t exactly, innocent.
It felt like he wanted something to him.
Like every other musicians did.
In-ho knew how musicians were —hypocrites, filled with envy, always waiting for someone to stumble.
Musicians weren’t friends, were competitors, adversaries, enemies.
If somebody played something wrong, the other musicians would all silently cheer about it, even In-ho did.
It was such a toxic environment.
Even if Seong Gi-hun had always been friendly with him before. Even if they cheered genuinely for each other’s winnings.
But he didn’t knew that well. And maybe he could be different from the kind boy he remembered.
However In-ho had always been attracted to him, like a moth to a flame.
And he hoped he wouldn’t get burned.
He knew musicians too well though, so, In-ho didn’t trust him at all.
Even if he looked like an angel fallen from the heaven.
“It’s great to have you here, piano prodigy.” Gi-hun smirked, with the cigarette on his fingers. “We played amazingly before.”