Ongaku (Eum-ak, as he called it in his head) was Jin’s favorite class. It was likely the least practical of them all as far as his future career prospects were concerned, but the same as his pointed little canines, music was just woven into the very fibre of his being. Ever since he was younger, Jin had always been talented musically. He’d learned to play the bipa all on his own before Abeoji found him, and since then he’d collected a few more instruments under the guided instruction of Sensei Ootori. She was sweet, and of all their teachers, she was the only one who seemed wholly unbothered by Jin’s parentage. She often encouraged him to join the choir but he was too shy for that, or at least— that’s what he told himself. (Really, Jin just didn’t want to commit to rehearsals and groups of more students to meet with regularly when he could instead be spending time with Moon-ssi.) But he worked hard at ongaku, knowing full well that after Maho there would likely be very little chance for him to indulge again. (Unless Abeoji all of a sudden developed an interest in making him a court jester which Jin highly doubted.)

The early morning air was brisk and frost lingered on the plants as he made his way across the courtyard that led to the music classroom. Dawn had only just begun to peek over the horizon but Sensei Ootori sometimes let him have the early morning time to practice on his own, provided he didn’t skip meals or his other classes. And this week there had been a strange melody swirling around in his head that he simply couldn’t shake. He hadn’t deigned to share it with her yet, or with his classmate Cha Hae-Rim who was the only other friend Jin could really boast. (They were both talented musically and Sensei often paired them off for duet assignments because she had a trilling soprano voice and his was a soft tenor.) But this was not a song he expected to ever share with Cha-ssi. Not since recent developments had all but chased aside any lingering affection he may have once had for the pretty brunette, many, many years ago now.

It had been almost two months since he’d shared with Moon—ani, with Ahn-Bo-ah (Jin was still getting used to it a bit) how he felt. And, remarkably, his friend had echoed his sentiments. Even just the thought of that moment under the willow tree made Jin’s cheeks heat and a dopey smile took over his features. But frankly, not much had changed since then— which was a relief, maybe, to the always anxious little vampire. He’d originally feared that exposing his sentiments would lead them to an awkwardness that would stretch for months, or worse, but he’d never imagined a reality in which Ahn-Bo-ah returned them. Now he had a lot more context into some of their shared touches and teasing flirtations, but that was all that had happened. They hadn’t changed much in who they were with one another. (Sometimes, Jin wondered what it would be like to kiss Ahn-Bo-ah, but he didn’t let the thought take root— he was lucky enough to have what they did. There was no reason to press for anything more.)

And while most things had remained the same, there had been one small change that Jin allowed. He’d essentially taken Ahn-Bo’s scarf hostage for the remainder of the winter season. It was warm and smelled of amber and spice and it was a comfort, even now, as he hid his nose in the soft folds and gently eased himself into the music room.

There was nobody about. The windows were all shut and the instruments that students used had been covered for the evening, but the lightness of the soft wood floor and the lingering sensation of notes hovering in the air even in silence, made Jin feel like he was home. This space was much more warm and bright than other places in the palace and Sensei had even hung a small norigae in the corner of the room— a gift Jin had brought her after one of his breaks home a few years ago. He smiled every time he saw it and this morning was no different as he made to uncover the piano that had just arrived last term from a friend Sensei had in the West.

It was a beautiful instrument. Carved and lacquered from only the finest quality materials, he was one of the few special students who had been allowed to learn and play it. It was with these particular notes too (the deep, resonant sound) that Jin had begun to compose the small piece that lingered in his brain. It was not light and easy like something he might have played on the bipa or even a shamisen. This was… heavier. More loaded with sentiment that the notes of something a strung instrument could so easily bear. Jin unwrapped Ahn-Bo’s scarf from around his neck and hung it, along with his outer layers, on a small hook in the corner of the room. Then he slid across the matching bench and pulled out the pages he’d been scribbling notes on (illegibly, let’s be honest). There was still quite a bit of time before breakfast wherein he could practice. Jin hummed the opening lines to himself and then played them on the shining keys. He grinned and made to play it from the beginning. There was still some fiddling to do there near the end, but he hoped he’d have time to work through it today. If not— there was always tomorrow.

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