Chapter Text
Thomas came to the orchestral concerts because he had to. Every month without fail sporting the Glade's band shirt he'd sit, eyeing his twin Teresa (always a damn second chair till now) with a dead gaze, as if telepathically begging her to finish and for them to leave before anyone'd picked up an instrument. Every month without fail his band mates would all solemnly pat him on the back (okay, everyone was sniggering), and pray for his ears. That was it. He was the only band kid to plop his ass down and listen to the cacophony of pitched strings, and was let off by his peers for such a good reason to do so (they'd seen Teresa angry; nothing they were in a rush to repeat).
So it's more than odd to find Minho Park, Minho Park, sitting in the back of the theater that Tuesday. Even with the lights dim, Thomas could see the way his eyes seemed to crinkle in the form of hope, a twinkle in the chocolate orbs that made Thomas double check that the curtains were still closed or if he was missing something. Mouth (slightly) agape yet still not spotted, the brunette selfishly had a halting thought that Minho, god of the percussion and of the track, was infatuated with.. who? His sister? As if sensing his thoughts of mischief and panic (mostly just panic), said beauty in question had strolled up to the pair who were a row and opposite lengths of said row apart, stopping first in front of Thomas for a brief scolding about not everyone enjoying being drooled over. Not that Minho noticed. Had it been anyone else, he would have protested. But what happened next was little short of intriguing. Her usual monologue out of the way, Teresa skipped over to Minho (yes, skipped) and gave him a toothy grin. Not that any of this put Thomas' racing imagination to rest. Yet, he is then again surprised. She practically interrogates the poor athlete with questions over some boy in her year and their "currently nonexistent but not for long relationship". What? Either Thomas heard wrong or Minho over here just loves meddling in the sophomore's business. Not that he's listening; his sister is just very obnoxious. Still, Thomas can't help but be a little obnoxious himself when the curtains are rolling and he turns around to see Teresa sitting next to Minho, something half the girls in his grade would literally kill to do. Definitely meddling with his sister. He hisses at her that if she isn't performing why the hell must he be here and she only gives some meager reply about some new first chair violin kid having a solo. Wait some wh- so was Teresa being first chair a lie? Poor Thomas can already feel the heat rushing to his face as he realizes the crap he'll have to take for lying to everyone about his reason to go. Then they'll all forsake him with the thought that he'd forsaken them...
Still, he watches the kid on stage play. He's pretty good, coming from the junior who despised any stringed instrument besides maybe the guitar. Good looking, to be exact. Blonde hair that curls at the nape of his neck and on his forehead that crinkles in concentration, lean body that sways forward with every high note he plays. He looks like the type of main character that's somehow able to use his passion to surpass even the devil of the orchestra. Reminded Thomas faintly of Naruto... If his rasengan could master all of the major and minor scales. And he's pulled out of his thoughts as Teresa snaps at him to get up and clap. Wait it's over? Um. Yeah. A twinge of regret fiddles with Thomas' mind, but he just stands up and claps. Louder and louder. His sister hisses at both Thomas and Minho, who are both so afraid of the girl that they obey, as there's no other choice. In fact they clap so loud that the blonde boy's warm gaze and warmer cheeks look up and land right on them, and to make it worse Minho spits a string of curses and ducks behind the seat in front of him, cheeks sporting a color redder than the roses being given to the kid on stage. Teresa just barks out in laughter, the whopping kind that knocks the breath out of you and causes more than a few bothered heads to turn. Minho stays down until the kid walks off the stage, head bent at a shy angle and cheeks only growing in color. He stays down until Teresa tells him that the coast is clear and he stands back up, both of his knees popping. Huh.
Sitting in the back, alone. Blushing. And that whole hiding when he sees you stunt? Faintly, Thomas wondered if he was onto something.