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#god it just did the quiet bit after the french section into the violin again im going mental
hella1975 · 2 years
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my maths exam is on tuesday and i still only really know two topics of the massive amounts that could possibly be on the test. am i revising? no. am i listening to ewan mcgregor devour el tango de roxanne? yeah
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jimlingss · 6 years
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Brass & Strings [8]
Episode 7 - Episode 8 - Episode 8.5 OR Episode 9 Words: 4.8k Genre: Fluff, Humour (?), Slice of Life, Music!Au, College!Au Summary: Have you ever wondered what happens to the mean girl after high school? Where do they go, where do they end up? More importantly, what happens when they get mixed up with the classic nerd that's always too nervous to answer 'no'? Things become a lot more complicated when Kim Namjoon encounters you. They dub you as 'bat-shit insane' and you're not ashamed. 
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Cr.
Miss. Song is a person who’s had many career changes, from being a ballerina to a musician and now into a teacher. She’s the type of professor that college boys thirst after and girls admire. The lady exudes a sexy pureness, a mix between cute and sensual, that even you cannot rival with. Each movement she makes is with grace and her smile is always gentle, making it hard for others to decline her. “Jennie, Rose and Jihoon. Could I speak to you for a moment?”
The concertmistress immediately carries her belongings to the front podium, joined with the flutist and viola player. “Is there something wrong, miss?”
She smiles. “Well, I was wondering if you three were interested in attending a business party in the next two weeks and play as a quartet. It’s a charity event, created by a close friend of mine and they’re looking for some performers for the evening. Of course, you’ll be compensated for it.”
The three of them exchange a variety of looks from surprise to joy. “W-we’d love to!” Rose almost bounces up and her grin spreads into her cheeks.
You scoff, picking up the pace with shoving your belongings into your bag. “Are you okay?” Namjoon tips his head to the side, observing your scowl. He’s standing by your desk, waiting for you to finish. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m dandy.”
It was always the same.
String and woodwind players receive opportunities most frequently. They’re fought for and provided numerous scholarships, recognized in the industry. It does cause the section to become more competitive but it was still better than the treatment brass and percussionists receive. The entire backbone of the orchestra is often disregarded.
The pretty instruments are the flutes, the violins, the piano. Those are the things children want to play and adults want to listen to. No one cares about french horns or the timpani, god forbid the tuba.
“Oh, you too, Y/N!”
“What?”
Miss. Song waves you over and you’re paralyzed, mid step out of the door. “I did say a quartet after all.”
Namjoon smiles and nudges you forward. You go stumbling towards the group.
Your expectations have shattered right in front of your eyes.
“You did hear, right? Would you be interested in participating in this event? I understand if there are other responsibilities you have to meet. I won’t hold it against you if you refuse.”
“I-”
“But a tuba?!” Rose whips her head back to the professor. “That-...that’s not even supposed to be in a quartet!”
Jennie frowns and shakes her head. “Rose.”
Miss. Song simply giggles behind her hand and her cheeks naturally flush. “In a proper string quartet, there isn’t supposed to be a flutist either.” The flute player promptly quiets down and focuses on the floor in embarrassment. The music professor looks over to you. “I’d love it if you could join us. These three need a bass instrument. I know violin, viola, flute and tuba is a very unconventional combination but I’d think it would be very interesting, wouldn’t it?”
Jihoon stares at you, the male waiting for an answer with the teacher. Rose doesn’t make eye contact and Jennie tries to smile in politeness. You turn your head slightly to the only other person in the room, Namjoon, who is waiting by the door.
The harpist is staring at his phone, scratching his head innocently. When he realizes you’re gazing at him, his irises flicker upwards and the corners of his lips upturn, dimples creasing into each side of his cheek. He stiffly waves his hand and then blinks, motioning to the people behind you who are waiting.
You inhale a huge breath, trying to fight down the excitement. “Yes.”
“Good.” Miss. Song scrunches her shoulders in a chipper manner. “Try to get along ladies. Jihoon, you too. The performance will be in two weeks.”
//
“It’s happening!” Your arms are in the air and you scream towards the sky, up to the azure shade that is not covered with one single wispy cloud. “I’m so fucking happy!”
Namjoon would usually tell you to quiet down, that you’re drawing too much attention but this time, he allows for a moment of glory, not caring about how you’re leaning close to him.
“Congratulations.”
“I thought this day would never come...for tuba to see the light of day…” It’s a tad bit dramatic but it’s been a long time since you’ve felt this adrenaline coursing through your veins.
You knew beauty was fleeting. After a few years, the suitors and dates you have will disappear, no longer chasing after you but someone younger with more energy. The money and shopping is only temporary satisfaction, an escape from your real problems. It was music that would last, your instrument that would stick by you, the passion that you would always have.
But for countless nights, you asked yourself if anyone would even want you. If anyone would want your instrument. Would they even desire to hear you play a note?
“I’m so happy, I could kiss you, Namjoon!”
He scrunches up his nose, looking away from your cheesy grin. “Good luck.” He feels genuinely thrilled. There was always something about the way you loved music, talked about it and how your eyes glittered that made his own chest squeeze. You weren’t just a conceited part-time sugar baby with shopaholic tendencies. There’s so much more.
Namjoon feels privileged to see this side of you.
“I wish I could be with you.” He confesses and then backtracks when the implication of his words hits him. “I mean...play with you, like in the quartet.”
“Maybe someday.” You wistfully breathe out. “A duet?”
The boy pushes up his glasses and nods, hoping for such a day to arrive.
//
Unfortunately, things don’t go as smoothly as you imagined them to be.
“I’m not playing with her. No. I can’t.”
“Pft. Then I’m not playing with you either.”
Jennie sighs in exasperation, standing between you and Rose. “Come on, guys! We have to work together! Let’s just put aside the past and build the path towards the future-”
“How could you even say that?!” Rose sobs out, holding her flute away from you. “She’s the one who scratched me all up, remember? I was assaulted!”
You roll your eyes, preparing to put your brass instrument back in your case. “You’re the one who started that fight. Who are you to talk about assault?! Don’t you dare make up lies!”
“You’re the-”
“I fucking-”
Jihoon who’s holding the neck of his viola slowly steps away, considering the prospects of bolting out the door and never returning. Jennie looks back and forth throughout the argument and she tries her best to resolve the issue but it escalates and she screams- “STOP IT!”
“This is a professional setting! We are working towards becoming professionals and there is an event coming up really soon. We haven’t even practiced for a full minute yet. Please, stop being childish. If you two won’t work together then you both should leave and stop disrupting!”
There’s a full minute of silence.
Jennie exhales, having used all her courage to interfere.
After an exchange of looks…
“I’m not leaving.” “Neither am I.”
The concertmistress props her violin to her shoulder and chin, holding up her bow. “Good.”
Practice doesn’t go by too horrifically. Ten pieces are chosen, some that are relatively easy and others that you’ve played together in the orchestra before, merely rearranged for four instruments. The flute and violin intermingle with the main melody while the viola dances in the background, adding a deeper layer. But your music professor was right. Without the tuba, it wouldn’t be balanced. There would be no one there as the backbone, to support the rhythm and let the vibrations boom across the walls and against the floor, to truly let the music sing.
“That was great.” Jennie compliments and you would have to notably agree. It’s an unusual combination but one that works. “But I think we could fix up this part. Y/N, you should play that in a higher octave, maybe with an accent?”
“I disagree.” The others look at you with raised eyebrows, a baffled expression for immediately rejecting the idea. “I think we should keep it and just try it in molto vivace.”
“O-okay.”
Rose pipes up, “I think that’s a bad idea. You should just listen to-”
“Let’s just give it a try.” Jennie interjects before another argument can occur. “Very lively and faster….”
Everyone picks up their instruments, correcting their posture. Rose lifts the flute to her lips and shoots you a glare while you ignore her, focused on the black and white score. Jihoon and Jennie place theirs on the juncture of their shoulder and chin, lifting up the bow.
Claude Debussy’s String Quartet in G Minor rearranged version begins again.
The violin strings are pulled in harsh but powerful motions, tuba booming next to the fluttering flute that spirals notes through the air. It grows intense with each rise of crescendo, each sharp breath inhaled to support the melody, fingers dancing across keys and fingerboards until-
Snap.
Everyone freezes.
The music dies out, the note that was supposed to be played isn’t and you crane your neck around. Jihoon’s eyes double, Rose gasps and Jennie has become pale. “Your violin!”
“This was all your fault!” Rose screams at you, whipping her head back to Jennie. “Are you okay?! Is your hand hurt?!”
“I-I’m fine.”
“How is this my fault?” You put down your tuba, shuffling your music sheets. “It’s just your E string that snapped. Doesn’t it happen all the time? If your hand isn’t hurt then there’s nothing wrong.”
The flutist screeches horrifically in your ear, making you wince. “How could you be so heartless?!”
It’s exhausting. As much as you wanted to showcase your playing, grab onto the opportunity, the people that you’re working with makes you feel like you’ve never left high school.
You glance back at the violinist that you despise and she is still staring at her precious instrument. Jihoon gulps and Rose is confused on what to do. You exhale a long breath, concluding that your fellow classmates are idiots and useless.
Why do you have to do everything around here? Goddamn.
“Fine.” You can already imagine what Kim Namjoon would say and do in a situation like this.
“What are you doing?” Jennie sniffs as you tug her upwards.
“We can’t practice if your string’s broken. I know a place where we can get it fixed...for free.”
//
Jennie has done nothing wrong to you. It’s fairly irrational of you to hate her so much but there’s something in the way she presents herself towards the world, like a perfect angel who has no flaws. She is never angry, never displays sadness or heartache, an ounce of jealousy or envy. The violinist is a robot who only smiles. She’s practically the Mary Sue in the flesh.
It rubs you the wrong way. She’s kind, generous but not genuine.
“Thank you for helping me, Y/N. I really appreciate it.” She carries her case in both hands, humming with the corners of her mouth lifted. You don’t respond, pushing your Gucci sunglasses closer to the bridge of your nose. “I’ve been playing since I was ten years old, which is a decade now. Any string snapping has only happened a few times, so, I was really startled.”
You brush her off coldly, “cool.”
“How long have you been playing for?”
“Long.”
“Oh.” Jennie nods her head and her modest skirt swishes with every stride. “You’re very good, Y/N. I admire your abilities and technique. Was there any reasons as to why you chose tuba?”
“No.”
“I see. I think tuba’s a really nice instrument, a pleasant brass sound. It looks heavy though. Is it?”
“Yes.”
There’s a minute of quietness, where the bustle of the streets and cars driving past screech louder than the concertmistress’ mumbles. You thank Heaven and Earth that she’s stopped trying to make conversations and her yapping mouth has shut tight. Every second of being in her presence is torture in itself. But then-
“If it’s not too rude, Y/N...Can I ask where are we going?”
You don’t answer her, turning the sharp corner before you’re abruptly pulling open the glass door. “Get in.”
She ducks her head. “Thank you.”
With the built up rage, you unleash it on the desk bell, spamming down the muscle in your finger as rapidly as physically possible. The obnoxiously silvery sound hurts your ears but you ignore the pain. “Will you shut up already?!”
Yoongi growls out at you, swiping at the counter and stealing the bell away. “I’m standing right here! God, Y/N! What is wrong with you?!”
“If you were faster at customer service then maybe I wouldn’t have to press the bell.”
“Are you fucking serious? What do you even want from me?! I’m not here to give you any cash and you’re a disturbance to my workplace.” His frown doesn’t deter you and when he leans in close, you don’t flinch away. “The boss will fire me because of you.”
You scoff, crossing your arms with indignation. “I’m here today as a customer, dumbass.”
“What?”
The pretty girl in the frilly skirt that pools past her knees and coral smock top is revealed when you step aside. Her brunette hair, tucked behind her hair, shines in the light and she politely smiles. “Hello.”
“Uh….” Your cousin blinks for a mere moment before he clears his voice, lowering it from the yelling pitch to a deep timbre. “Hello. What can I do for you?”
Jennie sets the case in front of him. “My string accidentally snapped. I was wondering if you could repair it for me?”
“Yeah, sure.” He takes it and opens it up. “I’ll see what I can do. It probably won’t take long.” As she begins to pull out her wallet, Yoongi stops her. “It’s on the house.”
The violinist blinks twice. “Are you sure?”
“It’s no big deal.” He shrugs, “should take less than ten minutes... I don’t see why not.”
“T-thank you.”
The two of them stare at each other. You only realize that no one’s moving after browsing the valve oil on the shelf for a minute. “Are you going to get going or what, Yoongi?!”
//
The weeks of practicing pass by quickly. In between your classes and the fun outings, you’re honing your skills and rehearsing the parts. The four of you work decently together if Rose isn’t shooting you glares and Jennie doesn’t piss you off. Your professor also passes by a few times, expressing her excitement and enthusiasm for the upcoming event.
“What are you doing here?”
Namjoon rubs his eyes and he melts into a sheepish smile. “Oh, I was just working on some stuff..composition homework...your science project...are you done?”
“Yeah..” You slowly hitch your thumb to the door. “I was about to head back.”
The harpist throws his backpack around his shoulders and he nods. “We should go together then.”
In the chilly night, the taller man walks in time with you, matching footsteps. You tilt your head up to him, staring at his profile. “Hey, Namjoon.”
“Yes?”
“It’s really late out. Didn’t your classes end hours ago?”
He coughs. “Yes.”
You hum, lolling your head to one side as your brain begins to crank. “If you were doing homework, then why did you go into the practice room? And what were you doing standing out in the hall?”
The college boy scratches the back of his neck and his cheeks bloom in a hue of rose but you suspect it’s from the frigid air nipping at his skin. “T-the library is too crowded. I thought it would be better for me to concentrate somewhere quieter. I was about to leave too when you left...so yeah.”
“Oh.”
“How’s practice? Is it going well?” He asks you in curiosity, “are you ready to perform?”
“It’s going okay. I think we’re ready. It’s not as horribly as I thought it would be.” At the same time as he answers ‘that’s good’, a strong gust of wind smacks your figure. Your grip accidentally loosens and the binder of sheet music drops to the concrete. “Dammit.”
You reach down to grab it and Namjoon does too, making you both bonk heads. He lets out an ‘ow’ and you hiss at him, capturing the object again. The only reason you don’t yell at him to watch where he’s going is because he’s Kim Namjoon. If it were anyone else, you’d lash out.
“Here.” He clutches onto your other hand that’s curled around the handle of your tuba music case. “Let me carry it for you.”
“It’s fine! I can carry it myself-”
The words die in your throat when you realize how serious he is, without the usual smile or bright eyes. He stares at you in complete earnestness - expressionless - and you’re baffled he could make such a transformation. You blink twice to make sure you’re looking at the same clumsy and innocent college boy. “Let me help you. Rely on me.”
There’s a bit of silence before you give in. “It’s really heavy.”
The corner of his lip tugs into a smirk. “I can handle it.” He takes the case and suddenly the immense weight is lifted away. The soreness in your shoulder is alleviated, the aches in your arm is soothed. Namjoon smiles and he fakes a gasp, lighting up the mood again. “Woah! It is really heavy. Twenty pounds, right?”
You scoff, feeling thankful that he’s back to the person you know - silly and awkward, pure and naive. “You want me to take it again?” Your arms curl around your binder.
“No. It’s fine.”
“Pft. At this rate, people will think I’m making you carry my things around like a slave.”
The harpist shrugs and he lightly but purposely bumps into you. “They can think whatever they want. I don’t care.”
For a second, your heart flutters.
And you put a hand to your chest, shocked that your soul’s able to be moved. For one, you thought your heart had been turned into concrete. You’re also amazed that it’s Namjoon. It’s not a wealthy, lonely woman who would whisk you away on rendezvous, or the hundreds of attractive people on your contact list that you know who would drop to their knees for you.
Nope. Out of everyone, it’s Kim Namjoon, resident nerd and harp player.
“You’re such a sweet and nice boy, Nams.” You throw your arm over his shoulder, leaning on the man and standing on the tips of your toes to accommodate for the height difference. Your finger casually pinches his cheek. “I could eat you right up! Your future girlfriend is going to be so lucky!”
He giggles and shakes his head. “I doubt it.”
“Why?”
“I’m so clumsy, if I don’t break their belongings, I’d probably accidentally break him or her.”
“Nah.” You ruffle his head of messy locks. “They’ll look past it and see your kindness. Either they’ll be lucky or they’ll use you. But fear not! I’m here. L/N Y/N will be here to protect you from any witches, foxes or douchebags!”
Namjoon grins. “Did you just refer to yourself in third person?”
“Yes.”
The university grounds are connected to a popular hangout avenue, rather convenient for college students to find study spaces and places to eat. At this time of night, however, all of the stores are closing and there are only a few lingering people around.
You stifle a yawn behind your hand and he notices. “If you want, you can stay at my place tonight. Uh- but o-only if you want of course. I won’t force you!”
“I know you won’t.” You laugh into the cold air. “But won’t your back hurt? That couch of yours isn’t comfortable.”
“I’ll be okay.”
You smirk at him, eyes going half-lidded. “We could share the bed, you know. Get a little close and...personal? What do you say, Nams? Up to play some games with me?”
Namjoon nearly combusts right then and there at your suggestive tone. His entire face becomes a tomato shade and he’s flustered, mouth opening and closing like a fish. “Uhh….”
“I’m joking! Calm down.” A huge smile appears as you smack him, stopping in your steps at the bus stop. “I’ll just catch the bus. It’s coming in a minute anyways and it’ll take me right back.”
“You want me to go with you?”
“Are you my father?” You put your hands on your hips, grabbing your case back from him. “You really think I’ll be kidnapped or something? If I punch them once, they’ll die. I’ll be fine.”
“Okay.” Namjoon smiles and he begins to back away. “Call me if something happens?”
You wave at him, chest feeling warm. “Alright.”
//
There’s something not right.
Jimin knows it. It’s under his nose as well, like an itch he can’t scratch. He doesn’t know what it is but he knows there’s something there. These days, he feels like a father, waiting for his teenage son at home with crossed arms, knowing the other man is up to no good.
“What time is it, young man?” Jimin pouts, feet apart with his shoulders. “Where have you been going these days? You don’t even call home or text me?”
Namjoon downcasts his head, quickly slipping off his shoes. Jimin keeps going on his rampage, “you just bailed out on our movie night! I got popcorn too! Now guess who had to eat three bags of popped popcorn?! Me! I feel like butter is leaking out of my pores!”
“Sorry-”
The man’s eyes widen and he drops his arms. “Did you have a date? No..that can’t be it. Are you sick?”
“W-Why?”
Jimin points right at him. “Your face is really red.”
“Uh…” Namjoon begins retreating down the hall. “Nothing happened!”
The door slams a second later.
Jimin groans, truly feeling like a parent. Except, the last time he checked, he didn’t birth out such a big son.
//
The black dress hugs against your curves, modest and business professional, excluding the slit on the side that adds a bit more character. Rose and Jennie stand beside you, Jihoon next to the concertmistress as all of you look out. It’s a charity event with middle aged individuals conversing, hands holding onto champagne glasses. The children giggle, playing hide and seek as a group behind the room’s magnificent white columns.
Surprisingly enough, of all the affluent people around, you don’t recognize any of them. If you did, you’d have to ignore them anyways. No one of status ever wants to be known for having a younger entourage on the side as a stress reliever.
The evening has settled in with all the guests present. “Are you ready?”
You glance over at Jennie who’s holding her violin, wearing her own white gown. Jihoon in a bulky suit, borrowed from his father and Rose is in a teacup dress that’s a darker shade of grey.
“Ready.”
All four of you take your seats, turning the page to the first score of the night. The violin and viola are propped on their shoulders, flute held up high into the air and you put your lips against your brass instrument, kissing the music notes as it leaves the bell. A joyous emotion is conveyed through the melody, the whistle of the violin, the sonorous sound of the viola, the graceful humming of the silver flute and the hearty buzz of your own brass tuba bleeds together.
Some people whirl around with smiles, listening while sipping on their drinks. Other couples begin to dance and children marvel at the golden and silver keys, joining in steps with their parents. The strings, resounding woodwind and the low timbre of your own instrument intertwine together for harmonious melodies to bouncing jingles.
It goes even better than practice. You become focused on the quartet, your partners and the audience is forgotten in the background. The little trance you’re in is interrupted by the standing ovation and Miss. Song’s humongous grin. But as you look up amongst the crowd, you swear you find a broad back and dark strands of hair poking up...a dimple marring their cheeks.
“Y/N?”
“Sorry. What?” You peel your irises away to Rose and she coughs awkwardly.
“I was just saying how..you’re not so bad, Y/N. A lot more bearable when you aren’t trying to be a bitch.”
“Uh-huh.” You roll your eyes. “You’re still just as bad.”
The flutist’s jaw drops and you laugh. Jennie tries to appease her friend and Jihoon giggles to himself. The quartet has a few photos that are snapped from the photographer and after another hour of playing, each of you head off on your own, networking or nibbling on some refreshments at the table.
You try to find the dimpled stranger again but the person has disappeared in front of your eyes.
//
It’s cold and the lampposts barely light up the sidewalk. You wonder if you’re going crazy, rejecting an offer to be driven back with the others, leaving your instrument with theirs to be shipped to the school. You don’t even know where you’re going or what bus to take but-
“I knew it!”
He visibly jumps from your voice and cranes his neck around. “Y/N?” Namjoon laughs nervously, “what a coincidence.”
The pair of you both are fully aware this was no coincidence. Especially since the venue is essentially in the middle of nowhere and in complete isolation.
The muscle in your cheek jerks when you try to repress your grin. You saunter up to him with arms behind your back, a slight skip in your stride before you gleam up at him. “What are you doing here then?”
“Nothing. I was...taking a walk! Yes, taking a walk!”
“You walked...an hour away from campus?”
“Yep.”
“You’re a bad liar, Nams. Did you come to see me?” You put your hand over your chest, gasping dramatically. “How did you even sneak into the event? Wasn’t there only exclusive invitations? Did you climb over the fence?”
“I-....”
The last bus of the night pulls up at the stop and the harpist doesn’t waste a chance to get on, making you scan your pass and follow right behind him. He plops down to the second last seat at the back and you slide beside him. There are two other people around, each with earbuds in, listening to their music and not paying any attention.
Namjoon doesn’t speak a single word, obviously embarrassed with the way he tugs on his stiff suit and forcing his eyes not to wander to the slit in your dress that reveals more thigh than he’s ever witnessed before in real life. He attempts to focus on the sceneries out the window but it’s pitch dark. He can’t see anything for shit.
You scoff when you realize Namjoon won’t say anything and you shift closer.
The harpist shifts away. You lean closer to him. He moves again.
“Will you stop that?!” You bark out before roughly taking his arm, lolling your head onto his shoulder. You use his shoulder as a pillow to rest on. Your eyes flutter shut and the frown slowly fades away. “Stay still.”
Namjoon’s irises flicker to your drowsy face and he relaxes his limbs, allowing you to lean on him. “It’s comfortable.” You murmur past the seams of your lips, exhaustion washing over you. Rehearsal, playing for three hours and socializing with other professionals has left you drained.
The harpist inclines back into the seat, letting the nervousness and tension leave his body. He stares down at your open hand in your lap, the palm that faces upwards. His own fingers twitch, as if an instinct overtakes him to twine his fingers through yours. But he resists.
“No one’s ever really come to a performance...just to see me.”
It’s softly spoken to the point that Namjoon would miss it had you not been beside his ear. It’s been three stops and five blocks since you’ve last spoken. He thought you were asleep already.
“I wished my parents would but when I saw you….Namjoon, it made me happy.”
He gently brushes away a hair that’s tickling your nose. His pupils center around the pink petals of your plush lips and he swallows hard. “How is it possible that you can make me feel so happy?”
It’s a mindless ramble, one where you don’t even realize you’re saying. It feels like you’re balancing between the dreamworld and reality, letting your tongue tumble. Except, it’s not a dream.
Namjoon hears all of it.
“What are you doing to me?”
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