Comments: God, I love these two.
Summary: And Yehsung thinks; "This just feels right."
People are like pianos. Whenever you bang on them too much, they go out of tune. They still sound gorgeous, but there are still some people who can pick out the tweak in their voice.
Yehsung has never told Ryeowook this, but whenever the brunet places himself in front of a piano, even a keyboard, he becomes this different person. It's almost as if he's in a trance. His eyes glaze over, his mouth presses into a thin line. The singer and the joker in him melt away and leave this bare core, enabling him vulnerable to the world.
It hurts Yehsung to see Ryeowook looking so beautiful.
The weather is awful outside. Cold, dreary, slushy. No one feels like going outside, even when they have to. So Yehsung decides to play a bit of piano. He does this secretly, of course, because he doesn't want to wake anyone. It's because of the weather that everyone is sleeping so soundly.
Yehsung could never play the piano right. His fingers were too stiff, his wrists too sore. But he knew simple tunes. The birthday song, Mary Had A Little Lamb. A bit of Fur Elise.
Too-stiff fingers press down on the porcelain white keys; testing, speculating. He can't finish the rest of the song. The farthest Yehsung can get in Fur Elise is E, E flat, E, E flat, E, B, D, C, A. It's such a familiar song to him that he knows these keys by heart as he plays them, enjoying the rich sound.
As Yehsung hits the A key, someone looms over from behind him, rendering him motionless as two fair hands come up in front of him and resume the rest of the song on the piano. Startled, Yehsung raises his chin, but as soon as he feels that soft, brown hair against his cheek, he doesn't second guess himself.
The song isn't playing anymore, so Yehsung glances down at the fingers poised over the keys. He can feel Ryeowook's calm in-and-out breathing against his hair, and he exhales in relief. Relief because this sudden comfort, this unexpected euphoria; they pull him into their grasp.
Yehsung takes hold of those still, fair hands, and grasps them in his own. They're radiating warmth, as opposed his radiating cold. Those hands slip away and slide up Yehsung's sweatered arms, taking their time in marvelling the feeling of the gentle cotton.
They reach Yehsung's shoulderblades and pause. Once Yehsung can feel Ryeowook's arms wrapping around his shoulders, he dutifully leans back into the hold and presses his cheek against the younger's, his hands coming up and covering Ryeowook's shaking ones.
Sometimes actions speak louder than words. And sometimes words aren't required.