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“If I have to solve one more definite integral, I will drop out of college,” Wonwoo swore, closing his calculus textbook with finality. Jihoon leaned back next to him, tilting his head to rest against the couch they were seated on.
“You should probably change that mindset, considering this’ll be the main focus of the midterm,” he reminded. It was meant to sound sarcastic, but his energy has been so thoroughly drained by studying, there was no malice. “I still think it’s pointless to force the liberal arts majors to take math and science classes, when the other disciplines get to fill their elective hours however they like.”
Wonwoo made a sound of agreement, rubbing his eyes to clear the exponents from his vision. He began returning his supplies to his bag. Jihoon stood up, stretched, and made his way to his room. It wasn’t the first time in all their shared study sessions that he’d left Wonwoo to clean up and go.
As an overwhelmed freshman, Wonwoo had simply overlooked the STEM requirement that came with his creative writing major. Jihoon, on the other hand, had purposely avoided it as he began studying music composition. Then he met Soonyoung, a bright-eyed primary education major hoping to open his own daycare-dance studio upon graduating. Soonyoung had approached Jihoon about playing for one of his contemporary performances, and the rest was history. Jihoon was convinced by his new muse to sign up for a math course while Soonyoung still remembered the material enough to help.
As the only members of another discipline in their Intro to Differential Equations course, Wonwoo and Jihoon naturally gravitated toward each other for partner assignments. It wasn’t long before Jihoon had invited him to struggle through derivatives together. At this point, they were creeping into the territory of friends, with Soonyoung happy that his boyfriend was branching out. Wonwoo was just standing when Jihoon reemerged, staring down at a thin strip of cardstock in his hand.
“Are you busy this weekend? The school’s orchestra is having its fall concert on Saturday, and I have a ticket to give away.” Wonwoo was surprised to say the least. He liked Jihoon but doubted he was the first choice as recipient of the ticket in his hand.
“How did you get a spare?” he asked curiously. A slightly irked expression crossed Jihoon’s face.
“One of Soonyoung’s friends volunteered me to fill the pianist role they needed. Each musician gets one free seat, and you seemed…reflective. Like you take time to absorb everything around you. I think you’ll like it.” Wonwoo was sure his friends would only be attempting to rope him into some too-loud party held by people he didn’t even know, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t rag on him for skipping out in exchange for a showcase. “Soonyoung said he was too busy studying for midterms to come see it, but you’re still a pretty good option.”
The hint of disappointment in the boy’s tone did the rest of the convincing for him. “Sure, thanks. I’ve been meaning to get more involved in campus activities.”
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“Who needs a ride to the Omicron Kappa mixer this weekend?” Jeonghan asked the group of friends that surrounded him. The eight boys were laid out on their commons area, doing whatever they could to waste away the spare time they had between classes. They were in various grades, Wonwoo being right in the middle age-wise, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t confused by how the group had formed to begin with.
Joshua immediately raised his hand at the question. “Seungcheol and I are going to be wiped after our economics test. I wouldn’t trust us to find our way back to our own rooms.” The brunet wrinkled his nose at the reminder.
“Fair enough. Anyone else?” Hansol and Seungkwan exchanged looks. Both were underage and wouldn’t dare admit to going while still in range of Jeonghan’s disapproving look. “Mingyu?”
“I can get myself there. And if I have trouble getting back, I’ll just find Wonwoo-hyung.” The boy leaned against the black-haired boy happily. Wonwoo and Mingyu had attended the same high school, and both were more than happy to be reunited when Mingyu received his acceptance letter a year after Wonwoo had.
“I actually can’t this time around,” the elder replied. Mingyu’s smiled faded into a pout instantly, something that probably would have worked on any female on campus. The rest of the background chatter ceased.
“Are you actually planning on drinking for once, Mr. Designated Driver?” Joshua asked incredulously. Wonwoo responded with a shove that knocked Joshua’s elbow into Seokmin’s juice, spilling it into the grass. The minor distraction took enough of the focus from Wonwoo to not feel embarrassed.
“Someone gave me a ticket for the band concert, so I thought I’d go,” he shrugged. Only a couple of looks were subtly exchanged at his confession.
“Did you want someone to go with you?” Jeonghan offered, expression neutral.
Wonwoo shook his head. “Just worry about getting the business majors sufficiently wasted.” Seungcheol’s loud cheering at the request lightened the mood and the boys continued their conversations about nothing.
-----
The night of the performance was brisk enough for Wonwoo to add a leather jacket to his usual dark-jeans-and-sweatshirt ensemble. The leaves that crunched under his feet reminded him that autumn really had arrived and finals would be fast approaching.
His seat was directly in the middle of a row, meaning he had to awkwardly shuffle past half a dozen people before he could settle in. The theater was tall, with beautiful stone architecture and red curtains to match the cushions of the plush seats. The sentimental romance novel-reader in him noted how perfect the setting was for enjoying his first real orchestral performance. Soon enough, the loud jumble of individual instruments practicing that came from the stage made way for a group warmup before the curtains parted and the show began.
The first piece was appropriated titled “October.” It was made to capture the atmosphere the composer felt during that time of year. Wonwoo could almost visualize the soft sunsets through the colorful trees, smell the crisp air. He felt his heart twinge when there was a particularly beautiful harmony, and he looked around desperately to find the source of the melody. Wonwoo discovered the source to be a clarinet, as he could just barely spy someone’s hands moving at the same speed as the tone he picked out from the rest of the sounds.
Though he tried to take in the rest of the set as a whole, Wonwoo’s eyes were fixated on the hands that created the notes that tugged on his heartstrings. When Jihoon’s biggest solo came in a piece called “Seal’s Lullaby,” Wonwoo had to fight the urge to ignore his friend for the steady hands of some stranger he couldn’t even match a face to.
The piece overwhelmed him regardless. There was an almost melancholy tone in the slow pace. He could feel the relationship of a protective mother seal singing her pup to sleep, as the composer having explained the meaning beforehand. Wonwoo’s whole body was covered in goosebumps by the end of the haunting piece.
Wonwoo was barely able to catch his breath by the beginning of intermission. He had been so utterly enraptured by the environment the musicians had woven together, there was hardly any space in his head left to remind him of simple bodily functions. A gentle shake from the woman sitting next to him finally jarred him enough to stand and meander to the lobby.
After a quick bathroom break, he returned to the near-empty seating area. With only a couple of other people already waiting inside, it was easy to spot a very familiar brunet with a bouquet in his lap.
“Soonyoung?” Wonwoo called through the cacophony of warm-up scales that were beginning. The brunet looked up from pouring over his program and smiles at Wonwoo.
“Hey!” He stands to greet the boy with a fist-bump. “Jihoon told me he invited you.” With your ticket, Wonwoo thought confusedly. Soonyoung saw the question in his eyes. “Jihoon doesn’t like for people who are close to him to hear his music. The last time I got to hear an unfinished piece of his was before we were dating, so I didn’t expect him to invite me on his own. By the time he offered, I had gotten a much better seat.”
“You know he just assumed you weren’t coming,” Wonwoo reiterated.
“And miss his first real performance? I’d rather flunk out,” Soonyoung replied in a more serious tone than Wonwoo had ever heard the boy use. “I thought this would be a nice surprise, so I made sure my band friends didn’t tell him.” The lights flickered above them, signaling that the show would be resuming soon. The two nodded to each other and parted ways.
Wonwoo settled deeply into his seat, ready to let the next set wash over him as the first one did. But when the music started, he was taken aback because he now had a very clear view of the focus of his attention throughout the entire first set. Attached to the hands that drew pure magic from his clarinet was a man about his age.
The musician would have easily captured Wonwoo’s attention if he had passed him on the street. He was tall and lanky, like Wonwoo himself, with slicked-back blond hair and small, pixie features. The glow of the stage lights made his hair appear golden, and with the confidence he exuded, Wonwoo could easily believe he was something beyond human.
The song left Wonwoo feeling silky, with all the idealized glamor of a sailor in the 1940s. He pictured himself and this god-like boy exchanging demure glances across a dance hall. He pictured a first meeting with lots of attempts at slick one-liners when the improvised repetition hit. He pictured celebrating the prosperity and determination of the WWII generation with the stranger who could play beautiful music.
When the song ended and the soloists stood to be recognized, Wonwoo clapped so hard his palms stung. Even though he knew there was no way the boy could see past the lights shining on stage, he pretended that the eyes that bashfully scanned the crowd locked with his for only a moment.
The rest of the second half outdid the first. There was never a measure that lacked in power. Wonwoo’s heartrate copied that of the bass. He couldn’t have felt more exhilarated if he were on fire. When all of the performers rose for a final bow, Wonwoo shot up from his so fast his knee hit the chair in front of him, but he didn’t notice. Every inch of his skin was charged with electricity. He could barely keep from racing past the other members of his row in order to get to Jihoon and beg him to introduce him to the god-like clarinet player.
Soonyoung, who had a much better seat indeed, had already reached Jihoon by the time Wonwoo caught sight of him. Wonwoo watched from a distance as Soonyoung batted his eyelashes, probably apologizing for the lie. Jihoon looked like he wanted to scold him, but his face was quickly turning pink as he stared down at the roses clutched in his hands. The pianist allowed himself to be pulled closer, exchanging a kiss on the cheek for one on the temple.
The desire to speak to his musician was clashing with his common sense instructing him to not ruin the moment. Luckily, he was stopped from making his decision by a familiar boy.
“Do you know Jihoon?” The words come from the face Wonwoo had been studying for the past hour or so. Wonwoo could only nod back, drinking in the soft smile adorning his stranger’s face. “You must be his guest then. I’m Junhui, a friend of Soonyoung’s.”
All of the stage presence had melted away, and Wonwoo was almost more nervous knowing this person was actually real and extending his hand toward him. Wonwoo wondered if maybe touching the source of the energy still running through his veins would be enough to ground him and bring him back to his senses.
The opposite happened. When Wonwoo introduced himself in return and grabbed Junhui’s hand to shake, lightning shot through him at the point of contact, and he suddenly couldn’t contain himself. “You were enrapturing. Enthralling. Entrancing. Your performance took my breath away. When you play, I can feel it in my nervous system; it’s just ethereal.” His handshake was as embarrassingly enthusiastic as his heavy praise.
“Those are some pretty big words for a little school concert.” Junhui wore the same shy expression he did when he was recognized for his solo performances, and Wonwoo believed if the man’s passion wasn’t what drew him in, his humility surely did.
“I’m a creative writing major, so words come easily to me,” Wonwoo replied dumbly.
“Really? I love writing!” Wonwoo thought Junhui’s eyes were the most captivating he had ever seen. “I suck at it though. I figured out pretty early that music would be my way to convey stories, thankfully. On that note, Jihoon brought you here. Do you think you’ll be sticking around the orchestra scene?”
“Definitely,” he assured. “I wish I didn’t have to wait until winter for another showcase.”
“You don’t have to. There’s actually smaller performances throughout the year. I can take you to some of the better ones, if you’re interested,” Junhui offered hesitantly. “And maybe I can pick up on some of that snazzy wordplay of yours.” He was smiling, but he seemed to be holding his breath waiting for Wonwoo’s response.
The dark-haired boy simply nodded, a bright smile racing across his face. “I’d like that a lot.”