#changjork

The early mornings were slowly eating away at Joonyoung; he was not used to the routine with Sphere yet and he was less inclined to give up his old life of clubbing either. At twenty-five, he refused to believe he was at that age were work came before a chance to flirt and dance with girls. He was not thirty yet, he was not prepared to settle down and live the life his brother had yet. Joonyoung refused -- and the days after were making sure he was reminded on a regular basis that he was not seventeen still. Less than five hours sleep was not going to help him last through the day. The beanie on his head was pulled down over the fluff of his hair, he had dark sunglasses on and shorts. A mess of mismatched seasonal wear, followed by his sneakers. Three hasty steps and he was pulling open the door of the coffee shop. A line of three people in front of him made him sigh, exasperated. He hated lines. Mostly lines between him and his coffee. Or him and his alcohol.

At least he didn't look as dead as he sometimes did in the morning, when he was like that, he hid behind the hood of his jacket and refused to make eye contact. His looks were very important to him, more so after being on national television. If people saw him after days with little sleep, he was sure they would not recognize him. Nonetheless, he bounced, swayed and rocked through each order before his own. Hands shoved in his pockets as he craved his usual black coffee and the cigarette that would come with it. Another habit that was killing him when he had no time between scheduled lessons to escape to get one. He'd decided to skip the 6:30 breakfast, instead sleep in and a coffee. His eyes lit up when he was finally at the counter. "Black coffee. As quick as possible," he ordered without looking at the server until he had to lift out his card to pay for it. To which his eyes widened in suprise. It was the bartender; they'd shared conversations more than once and heated arguments a little too.

[text] On my way, jonghyun. I know I'm late [text] Don’t bitch- it’s unattractive

The drive between Kyuhyun’s house and Jonghyun’s house was thankfully quite short, because if it had been any longer, he might not have kept coming. Learning the piano seemed like such a great idea when he’d started out two weeks ago, but as time progressed and Kyuhyun’s moods got worse and worse, he began seriously regretting his choice of extracurricular activities… not that he had anything else to occupy his time outside of the battery store he worked at.

He could already play the guitar really well, but after his accident, it just didn’t seem worthwhile anymore. Kyuhyun couldn’t quite give up his need to be connected with music though—it had been ingrained in every inch of his soul—so if he couldn’t sing and could play guitar, he would settle for piano. How difficult could it be, right?

The problem was that usually once he got to his new tutor’s house, he found he was always slightly more interested in pretending like he hated everything simply to irritate Jonghyun. Day one, the first time they had met, Jonghyun had talked about his zeal for life and how he spoke so many languages and could also play violin and, oh, he just loved to travel and do everything and see everything and be everything. It was enough to make Kyuhyun almost vomit on him and the most he’d been able to muster up was a face that wasn’t opening infuriated and snide remark about fairytales. Maybe once upon a time, Kyuhyun had been similar to his tutor, but not anymore. And maybe that was the real problem.

He knocked on the door and rocked back on his heels slightly, biting his lip. He wondered if being ten minutes late was a deal-breaker for Jonghyun. One of these days, he was going to tell Kyuhyun to just not bother coming in anymore and he would have to give up on the dream of being a pianist as well as anything else.

The droning patter of the rain calls out to him, its simple melody distracting him from his initial path from the restaurant to the coffee shop--or how he saw it: from eternal boredom to enjoyable company, Jonghyun's. Yet even after trickling all his efforts into a clean, direct path, he can't help the weight that tugs his limbs down, anchors him to a spot in the rain just to hear the calm and soothing song for a couple of seconds. His eyes shut, a raindrop falls on his lip, his cheek, one skitters past his chin, a couple kiss his hands; the rest slide off the the thin raincoat he'd made a coworker lend him with the promise of coffee in return. He stays this way, stranded in the daft dance of rain for what seems like hours, although his watch tells him it's been minutes. A dull hum wades from his mouth, swallowed by the sound of the rain, as he finally walks towards the door with quicker steps as if Jonghyun was waiting for him, as if he knew he was going. But that was a detail he always wields--surprise, the unpredictable chance of him dropping in, of him being gone, or of him walking in half drenched from rain he could've surely avoided.