“You play beautifully.”
Sungyeol stops dead, long fingers coming to an awkward halt. He knows that voice. He’s been thinking about it far too much recently. He jerks backward, turning to face that voice, cheeks starting to colour from embarrassment.
“I’m sorry, I— um… I thought it was empty,” he trails off weakly, staring pointedly at the blue poster tacked up on the facing him, and not at the boy with the nice voice and soft-looking hair.
Sungyeol feels his hands go slightly clammy.
“I’ll go now…“ Sungyeol says quickly, and moves to collect his things.
He rolls up his book of sheet music (The Best of Joe Hisaishi) and turns to pick up a brown paper bag full of ingredients for tomorrow’s lunch. Unfortunately for the tall kitchen hand, awkwardness seems to radiate from his every pore, and he fumbles, fruits and vegetables spilling from their carrier. Cursing under his breath, Sungyeol hurries out of the music room, praying his face isn’t as red as the tomato he’s just dropped.