Work Text:
In a world of hatred and lack of compassion, people find solace in the most mundane of things. Some people choose to find themselves in jobs that provide stability, others choose to buy cats to make them happy. But if Jeon Wonwoo was made to choose, he would have chosen love.
Wonwoo put his feet up, lying down to watch the ceiling as Wen Junhui flipped the pages of the philosophy textbook in his hands. The studio was cold—the B-flat humming of the inverter airconditioner hit Wonwoo just as much as the air on his face.
“Are you tired?” Junhui asked, not looking up from his book.
Wonwoo sighed, exasperated. “I freaking despise Tchaikovsky.” He spat out. “This piece is way too romantic for me.”
Junhui hummed, a semi-tone higher than the B-flat key of the airconditioner. “Want me to kiss you?”
“Maybe if you stopped humming that dissonant note.” Wonwoo groaned, putting hands up to his face to rub his eyes, wincing in pain. “I forgot I still had rosin in my hands.” He hissed.
“I have wipes in my bag.”
“I wouldn’t want to use up all of it.”
“It’s alright. It’s you anyway.” Junhui reassures, eyes still locked onto the textbook.
Wonwoo finally sat up to fish for the wipes in his companion’s bag. “No,” he sighed, “I meant, I wouldn’t want you to run out of wipes for after you crap.”
Junhui closed the book—studying Wonwoo’s teasing smile as he wiped rosin out of his fingers. “See, maybe if you stopped teasing me, you’d finally get somewhere with your piece.” Junhui stood up to stand to the door.
“Where are you going?” Wonwoo asked.
Junhui pointed to the studio next door. “I saw Mingyu pass by.”
If Wonwoo had not known better he would have frowned, questioning why Wen Junhui had to meet up with Kim Mingyu.
However, Jeon Wonwoo chose to ignore that he does, in fact, know better—so he frowned and began questioning why Wen Junhui had to meet up with Kim Mingyu. “Do you need a pianist?”
Junhui rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Jeon, you act like a lovesick teenager sometimes.”
But what if Jeon Wonwoo really just wanted to act like a lovesick teenager sometimes? “I think I should blame you for that.”
“Yeah, blame me.” Junhui chuckled, satisfied with Wonwoo’s answer. “Dinner later?”
“As always.” Wonwoo nods.
And Junhui gives him a glad smile, teeth in full display. “Catch you later, Jeon.”
“Did Wonwoo get mad?” Mingyu laughed, warming up his fingers on the piano. “Or just simply jealous?”
Junhui laughed. “Honestly, I think the latter.” He begun snapping open his bright red cello case, letting the Guarneri original breathe in the newly airconditioned room. “What can I do when both of us are competing for the same event?”
Mingyu smiled. “Thank you for trusting me, by the way.”
“Of course.” Junhui sat down to begin tuning his cello. “You’re Jeon’s best friend.”
Mingyu began choking, coughing up on his iced Americano (smuggled in because food and drinks shouldn’t be allowed inside studios). “You call him Jeon?”
The disbelief lacing Mingyu’s voice almost threw Junhui into a laughing fit. “Everyone calls him Wonwoo.” He argued. “I wanted to be different.”
“So you call him in the most unfamiliar of ways?” Mingyu turned back to the obsidian wood of the piano. “I’ll never get the pride of string players.”
“Believe me, I’m tired of it too.” Junhui sighed.
“That’s pretty hard to believe when you’re dating the most dramatic of all the string players.” Mingyu teased. “Anyway, let’s crush him.”
“Now aren’t you just so excited to destroy your ex-lover in a competition?” Junhui rubbed the rosin on his bow.
“Oh, now you shut up.” Mingyu giggled. “That’s uncalled for!”
Junhui smiled, playing the opening notes to his piece. “If it helps me put Jeon Wonwoo in his place, I’d gladly oblige.”
Wonwoo stared at the top of the dorm’s bunk bed, illuminated by the surplus neon blue lighting Jihoon had gifted them as a housewarming (dorm-warming) gift around two months ago since they decided to rekindle the old flames of a spark that once ignited Junhui’s playing endlessly. He began wondering just how much he had to work on—was it going to be enough to maintain his title?
Was it worth maintaining his title for?
“I can hear your thoughts from up here.” Junhui’s voice interrupted his inner monologue (interrogation).
“What am I thinking about, then?” Wonwoo hummed.
Junhui cleared his throat, immediately Wonwoo recognized the action.“Is all this pain worth maintaining my title of best violinist of the nation for?” Junhui said, lowering his voice down an octave as an attempt to imitate Wonwoo’s.
“I hate you.” Wonwoo feigned hurt.
“No you don’t.” Junhui laughed. “How’s your concerto in dick major going?”
Wonwoo kicked the top bunk, causing Junhui to laugh more. “Only you would call the devilish piece a dick major.” Wonwoo whined. “If you wanted to suck mine, then you could have just said so.”
“Disgusting.” Junhui faked a barf, earning him a laugh from his... roommate. “Can I come down there?” He peeped down with only his head turned upside down.
Wonwoo grabbed his comforter up to cover his entire body. “I’m naked.”
“Okay, and?” Junhui raised an eyebrow.
“I don’t want to fuck right now.”
“Who said we’re fucking?” Junhui asked, rhetorical. “Jeon, we’ve never even kissed yet. And I know you’re not naked.”
Wonwoo gave up, putting the comforter down to reveal himself wearing one of Junhui’s oversized shirts. “Aren’t you getting dizzy hanging upside down like that?” He made room for another person. “Come here, dumb cat.”
Junhui stuck out his tongue before obliging, although it was his own will.
They end up lying next to each other, just staring at the blank underside of Junhui’s bed, neon lighting covering their entire beings. They laid side-by-side under Wonwoo’s comforter, enveloped by the soft melodies of Tchaikovsky’s Romeo and Juliet Fantasie Overture.
Wonwoo could feel Junhui’s breathing with his entire 182 centimetre body, in time with the cymbals. If he tried hard enough, he’d be able to hear Junhui’s heartbeat too—but he didn’t.
“The cymbals,” Junhui chuckled, “this is a masterpiece, really.”
Wonwoo looked at his roommate, eyes full of wonder. “Bro, you have galaxies in your eyes, bro.”
Junhui pouted. “You know, one more of that I’m going to be convinced you’re spending way too much time with Soonyoung.”
Wonwoo was used to Junhui’s jokes, but hearing the rising tone and pitch of his person’s voice as he mentioned another man—Wonwoo loved living. “Is that jealousy I hear, Mr. Wen Junhui?” Wonwoo elbowed him lightly.
“You say that like you aren’t this way when it comes to Mingyu.” Junhui smirked, sparing a glance at Wonwoo through his bangs. “He’s your ex-lover and you act like this.”
“Can you blame me?” Wonwoo huffed. “Need I remind you that you somehow turned Elgar’s usually sorrowful cello concerto into a homoerotic love story of two soldiers after the war?”
Junhui sat up, almost hitting his head. “You know that was because of you, right?” He stared into Wonwoo’s eyes—humour glinting brightly. “You and your three undone buttons at the front row.”
Wonwoo rolled his eyes, masking the butterflies with a feigned look of disbelief. “Suck my dick, sweetheart.”
“Jeon, you’re disgusting.” Junhui laughed, getting back into their initial position, enjoying the Tchaikovsky Spotify radio dancing in the air that fine night. “Goodnight, Wonwoo.”
Wonwoo moved in closer, feeling more of Junhui’s warmth. “Sweet dreams, Junnie.”
As slumber soon overtook them, Junhui couldn’t help but sigh at the content that came with holding Jeon Wonwoo’s calloused fingers in his own as the moon shone through their bedroom window.
With this, Wonwoo caught Junhui smiling.
Wonwoo sighed, breathing in the cold December wind of their university’s rooftop. He was at his third rerun of the Tchaikovsky concerto, and Soonyoung was still not satisfied with the amount of emotions Wonwoo had put in.
“You lack the sweetness.” Soonyoung took a sip of his rootbeer. “Can you imagine something like,” he paused, looking up at the starry sky to think, “I dunno, the first time you and Junhui held hands?”
Wonwoo breathed and played the phrase once more, reminiscing the feelings of the very first time he was able to gain the Junhui experience.
“How was that?” Wonwoo asked, shaking his trembling hands.
Soonyoung shrugged. “Better, but I know you could do more.”
“So, how do you get to play with so much emotions?” Wonwoo could feel his own inspiration deteriorating by every passing moment. “And don’t tell me it’s a talent.”
“Okay, then I’ll say that it’s me winning the genetic lottery.” Soonyoung smirked, asking for Wonwoo’s violin. “Oh, the things I’d be able to do if I had my own Guarneri original.” He sighed, playing the same phrase.
Only, Soonyoung’s projection was probably able to reach mountains far and wide with the amount of pressure he put in—and, gosh, even a passive onlooker would be able to perceive the undying yearning brought upon by long-term unrequited love. And as the phrase resolved, Wonwoo swears he wasn’t exaggerating when he was brought to tears.
“Jeon Wonwoo, take those fond eyes away from the furry.” Wonwoo hears the hatch opening accompanied by Jihoon’s amused voice.
“Should I be jealous?” Junhui laughed, resting an arm atop Wonwoo’s shoulder. “You don’t look at me that way, Jeon.”
Soonyoung burst out, laughing as he was entertained by two six-foot tall men bickering like teenagers. “Maybe if you stopped calling him Jeon, Junhui.” He managed between laughs.
“Never!” Junhui brought out the voice Wonwoo dubbed as the Gremlin Voice. “He’ll always be Jeon to me.”
Although his words were laughable, Junhui snuck his hand into Wonwoo’s, his calloused fingers holding Wonwoo’s bow hand.
Not one of the others said anything
“Do you have plans for the Christmas season?” Jihoon asked, sitting beside Soonyoung who was still playing around with Wonwoo’s violin.
Wonwoo looked at Junhui. “Are you coming home this year or are they coming to you again?” He asked.
Junhui smiled, twinkling like the stars above. “They’re coming over this year.” He answered. “They want to meet the three of you.”
Soonyoung shoved the violin almost violently towards Wonwoo’s direction. “Right here, with that dumb smile on your face that looks like Junhui shines brighter than all other stars in the universe.” He faked a barf. “Play that goddamn passage with however it is you’re feeling right now.”
And he did.
And Junhui watched as Wonwoo serenaded the heavenly bodies up above with a brilliance in his tone that he had never heard from any other violinist he had ever encountered—and he had encountered quite a bunch in the Vienna scholarship he was on months back.
Junhui smiled as he realized that he was able to hold in his arms one of the greatest gifts known to mankind (or at least the small circle of musicians in the world).
Junhui smiled as he realized he was falling in love once again.
December always gave away that the orchestra was going to be booked. However, that entailed that Jeon Wonwoo would be spending less and less time with Wen Junhui as their Tchaikovsky competition came up.
Junhui’s was dreading the same thing—although Wonwoo and he booked different studios as they wanted to maximize their practice time, he always made it a point to drop by at least once in Wonwoo’s own, leaving behind Pocari Sweat, or sometimes his entire bag.
Mingyu was a good friend to Junhui, really. They were playing with much better chemistry than all other pianists Junhui had collaborated with; although not one of them could ever be brave enough to admit it to Jeon Wonwoo.
Wonwoo was painfully aware that competing against Junhui would mean that he had to perfect much more than the formalist school of thought—but other than that, he had failed to consider that there were other competitors. All he knew was that Wen Junhui had already perfected his Variations on a Rococo Theme.
He was also painfully aware that Joshua Hong had been stepping in Junhui’s studio for extended periods of time to comment and watch Junhui’s contest piece.
As much as he wanted to enter and give his own comments, he knew he wasn’t in the right place to. He knew that there would always be someone who could comment on a musicality genius that Wen Junhui was.
Junhui caught Wonwoo staring and paused playing, standing up and handing Joshua his Guarneri original to meet Wonwoo at the door. “You missed me that much, Jeon?” Junhui teased.
“I was just going to get water down the hall.” Wonwoo huffed. “How are you?”
“Fourth time I shit today.” Junhui admitted. “Nerves or something.”
“Right! You usually crap around six times a day.” Wonwoo gasped. “Jun, are you losing your touch?”
“You wish.” Junhui laughed, holding the side of Wonwoo’s head, running a hand through the other’s hair. “I’m not going to lose to you, sweetheart.”
“You wish you could beat me in my own game.” Wonwoo challenged, sporting the usual confidence of the world-class concertmaster he truly is.
And seeing the fire light up in Wonwoo’s eyes, Junhui smiled.
And yet as the dreaded day drew closer, Junhui and Wonwoo spent the eve of the competition together in a fancy hotel to allow their bodies to get the best rest in the softest of beds as they softly played more of Spotify’s Tchaikovsky radio.
“Why didn’t you just fuck in your dorm?” Soonyoung asked through the screen Wonwoo was holding. “The walls are thick enough, as far as I know.”
“Wonwoo’s too scared to even try to kiss me, what makes you think we’ll fuck?” Junhui laughed.
Wonwoo kicked Junhui’s leg lightly from under the covers. “I’m not even going to ask why and how you know that they’re thick and soundproof.”
“I’m just saying,” Soonyoung sighed, “if I could play as loud as I could in those dorms, then I think anything else wouldn’t be heard.”
Not one of them had the heart to tell Soonyoung that he could be heard throughout the building whenever he played—no one ever just had anything to complain about because of how Soonyoung always managed to capture everyone’s hearts as he played.
Wonwoo sighed as the call ended, looking at Junhui who leaned against the door of the balcony. The setting sun had colored Junhui’s skin an entrancing shade of orange—making him glow differently as opposed to the neon blue lighting of their dorm room.
It was always an other-worldly experience for Wonwoo to stare at Junhui with the Christmas themes of the Nutcracker tinting his view in loving lenses.
“Junnie,” Wonwoo groaned, “are you ready for tomorrow?”
Junhui smiled. “Of course I am.” He was proud. And Wonwoo was glad.
Wonwoo stood up, meeting Junhui at the glass door overlooking the sea where they had rekindled their old flame with sparks of barely nothing. But this time, the waves weren’t reflecting stars, but the large setting sun painting it in the warmest of shades amidst the Christmas season.
Junhui watched as Wonwoo admired the setting sun, pulling Wonwoo close to him.
And they began swaying to the final waltz of Tchaikovsky’s The Nutcracker, not looking at each other’s faces, but rather finding comfort in the breathing and feeling ragged patterns of heartbeats pressing against their own.
And when Wonwoo finally gathered enough courage, he did what he had been putting off for the past few months.
Just as always, Junhui smiled.
This time he didn’t smile in the dark hallway, nor the night sky with only the moon and stars for light (the city also provided light, but Junhui wanted to be dramatic), and not even in the neon blue lighting of their dorm.
This time, Wen Junhui was painted all colors of warmth from the setting sun and the bright light of the hotel room, one side glistening all shades of red and pink, and the other a comforting yellow.
This time, he smiled against Jeon Wonwoo’s lips.
FINE.
(Jeon Wonwoo won, by the way, with a note on the judges’ paper saying things like the sweetest rendition of Tchaikovsky, and this is what love sounds like).