【ENG】Practice Makes Perfect （文字部分）

sedentiment

16px

10px 25px

配这篇文的插画在这儿：https://www.ycfmusical.top/forum ... id=17489&extra=

Originally written for @aamukaste for the SRRX exchange on AO3~ https://archiveofourown.org/works/30601346/chapters/75490358


It was a little-known fact that Zheng Yunlong actually did know how to play the piano.

Sure, he wasn’t practiced enough to be more than the barest standard of passably competent at it, even from Ayanga’s admittedly sometimes-biased perspective, but he was capable of accompanying his own singing with at least a few basic chords when he was so inclined, which was very rare when Ayanga was around to play for him instead.

Ayanga went through cycles of acceptance about this. Most of the time he didn’t mind, was secretly glad that this was another area that Dalong could rely on him for, even if he still occasionally nagged Dalong that sharpening up an extra skillset could only benefit him, to which Dalong always lazily retorted that Ayanga had enough random extra skillsets covered for the both of them. And besides, he wasn’t the singer-songwriter type like Ayanga – he was perfectly happy to focus the bulk of his attention on singing and acting, and Ayanga certainly couldn’t argue with how he sparkled on stage in his chosen areas of focus.

Still, sometimes there were days like today, when Ayanga got it in his head to go full banzhang on Dalong all over again, sitting him in front of the upright piano in Ayanga’s house and trying to force him to practice.

“Is this really necessary?” Just as in their school days, Dalong complained loudly while making no attempt at actual resistance, letting Ayanga smack his arms into the proper posture. “Do you really want to spend my last few days in Beijing playing piano teacher?”

“It is,” Ayanga insisted, plopping some sheet music in front of him. “That variety show you’re going to be on likes to challenge the guests to impromptu talent shows. You’ve got to be prepared this time.”

“Well yeah, I am prepared – my talent is singing, obviously. Or I can always just make weird faces for them until they’re happy if they want to go that route too.”

“I’m not kidding about the challenge part though – especially for guest singers! And you should watch out for that one host. He always insists that anyone who went to music school, even for voice, should know how to accompany themself on piano.”

“I’ll just correct him, then.” Dalong yawned, his back slumping back down into a hunched curve before Ayanga poked him in the waist and made him sit upright again with a yelp. “Besides, we technically went to a dance school, not a music school.”

“So you’d rather dance on the talent-showing segment then?” Ayanga smiled sweetly at him. “I can help you brush up for that if you prefer. Have you been doing your leg stretches lately, or do you need me to press you into shape first?”

“Mercy, mercy, I’ll play,” Dalong sighed. He looked at the sheet music and smiled despite himself. “Aww Gazi, you in a romantic mood? It’s even the arrangement we sang on the show together.”

“Shut up and play,” Ayanga scoffed, ignoring the warmth that crept into his ears. “I just thought you should warm up with something familiar.”

Dalong squinted at the sheet music, taking his time arranging his fingers into position for the first chord, and Ayanga couldn’t help but turn his gaze to just how damn good his hands looked on the piano keys, the spacing between his outstretched fingers showcasing the unlikely grace of his angular knuckles. He was almost too late to notice the pinky that hovered over a black key instead of a white.

“There’s no sharp there,” he frowned, nudging the wayward pinky into place before Dalong pressed his fingers down.

“I know, I know, banzhang, I wasn’t done yet, no need to get so excited.” Dalong grumbled but accepted the adjustment.

Dalong plunked through the first few bars, and slowly and somewhat torturously, like a music box that hadn’t been cranked enough, the familiar instrumental opening motif of “Seasons of Love” reverberated through Ayanga’s house before shifting down to a long-held chord.

“Live in my house, I’ll be your shelter.” Even after all the times they had sung this together, Dalong’s voice in this lower register never failed to reverberate in Ayanga’s chest long after the sound waves had dissipated. But wait, he couldn’t let that distract him.

“Hey, you forgot the chord between your singing lines. Don’t just stop playing once you start singing!”

“But I’m concentrating on singing and getting in character – I don’t have time to analyze all these black ants crawling on the page.”

“Come on, I know you can do it,” and Ayanga went to stand behind him, leaning over his shoulder and wrapping his arms around him to place his smaller hands over Dalong’s. Dalong twitched at the sudden contact, but he obediently let Ayanga press him finger by finger onto the correct keys. Despite how Dalong’s hands looked like they could have been cast from bronze like a Rodin sculpture, his skin was soft, and the slightly fuzzy hair on the back of his hands was even softer against Ayanga’s palms. “Left hand, sol ti re, right hand, ti re.” Ayanga could feel the bones of Dalong’s knuckles shift under his skin, deceptively delicate as he pushed his fingers down to play the keys.

It was so very tempting to let his mind wander to just how delightful Dalong’s hands felt beneath his, but he had to focus on getting Dalong through the descending flourish before the next sung line.

“Just pay me back,” and as Dalong sang, Ayanga rolled his fingers one-two-three over Dalong’s for the arpeggio, the motion oddly seductive, as if he were slowly creeping his fingers up Dalong’s arms, “with one thousand kisses.” Another arpeggio, but this time Ayanga didn’t get to finish the chord before Dalong turned his head to catch his lips with his own, sealing in the last lyric.

Ah, who was the cheesy romantic after all?

Abandoning the keyboard, Dalong turned his hands over to clasp Ayanga’s, holding him firmly in place as he licked into his mouth. Ayanga’s mind blanked momentarily as he hungrily returned the kiss, forgetting the awkward leaning position he was still in. A cacophonous jumble of notes jangled from the piano as their joined hands collided carelessly with the keys.

In his defense, they hadn’t seen each other for a while before this. But business was still business.

He shook his hands free of Dalong’s grasp and stood back up straight. “You’re not getting out of practice that easily. Now play it without me.”

Dalong didn’t complain, but Ayanga didn’t miss the rebellious twinkle in his eye before he turned back to the sheet music. He really was a quick study – this time the “Seasons of Love” intro went by much more smoothly, until the last chord, when Dalong let his thumb slip with obvious intent from the black key to the white.

“Oops,” Dalong turned back to face him with faux innocence in his eyes, wide smile twitching with barely suppressed laughter. “I just can’t seem to get it. Can you show me again, banzhang? Hands on?”

“Zheng Yunlong,” Ayanga warned.

“Please, Gazi?” Dalong pleaded, and that pout was definitely unfair. “My hands are too clumsy – I need yours to guide me.”

“Clumsy my ass,” Ayanga muttered darkly, but reached over again anyway. Dalong had pouted, after all.

He barely pressed the key enough to make a sound before Dalong pulled the exact same maneuver again, surprising no one. This time Dalong wrapped his long fingers around Ayanga’s wrists, pulling him forward so that his entire weight was leaning on Dalong as he was drawn into another lingering kiss over Dalong’s shoulder.

“Dalong,” Ayanga complained once he broke free for air. “Can’t we at least try getting through the whole song first?”

“No need – it’s all coming back to me now. In fact, I’m so good at piano after that practice that I don’t dare to display my abilities on the show anymore – they might force me to become the next Lang Lang if they knew what I could do.”

If his hands were free, Ayanga would have smacked him.

Dalong’s stupid grin relented a bit into something more serious. “Why are you so fixated on this today, anyway? If I really need piano accompaniment for practicing at home or whatever, you always have me covered.”

Ayanga buried his face in Dalong’s shoulder, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed. What was it about Zheng Yunlong that always drew out this childish, petulant side of him? Whatever it was, it was also why Ayanga never felt afraid of expressing it around him. “I won’t be able to cover you on that show next week. I can’t cover you when I’m in Beijing and you’re in Shanghai.”

Dalong’s fingers squeezed reassuringly around his wrists. “So what, you’re trying to teach me how to fish so I can feed myself for a lifetime?”

“I meant it when I said I’ll cover you.”

Dalong didn’t say anything, just let go of Ayanga’s wrists and turned all the way around to give him a proper kiss that had Ayanga’s knees weak where he was standing.

“Sit down. I’ll give you a proper show.”

Ayanga did as told, sitting beside him on the piano bench.

Dalong rolled through the intro with remarkable fluency, if not grace, and not for the first time, Ayanga marveled at how quickly he could pick things up once he applied himself fully.

“Live in my house,” Dalong sang, darting his eyes over to stare into Ayanga’s once he was holding the piano chord and didn’t need to peer at the sheet music any longer. He broke their eye contact reluctantly only to read the next chord. “I’ll be your shelter.”

He playfully wiggled his fingers in the air before reliably moving through the descending fill, and Ayanga wanted to kiss and slap him at the same time. He settled for leaning into his shoulder instead, joining him in the last word of “Just pay me back with one thousand kisses.”

“Be my lover,” Ayanga couldn’t resist singing, letting Dalong fully concentrate on the piano before he joined him again on “and I’ll cover you.”

Dalong probably hit more than a few wrong notes as the song sped up, but he was on tempo, and the way he smiled made Ayanga forget to correct him.

They made it through the whole song, more or less. There were a few parts where Dalong gave up on hitting all the flourishes in favor of staying on beat, but as long as he held down the base chord, Ayanga reached over to the high notes to dial them in, adding extra trills and hats while he was at it. Of course, there were still the occasional wrong notes, and they didn’t make it through all of their lines without laughing, but Ayanga couldn’t think of a time when this song had sounded better.

Wrong notes aside, Dalong’s hands looked like they had been designed for the piano. His long fingers effortlessly spanned wide intervals, and his tendons stood out like violin strings, elegant in their slender strength, capable of supporting all 184 centimeters of Ayanga and equally capable of undoing him as well.

“I’ll cover you,” they sang together in unison, voices mingling even as the piano abruptly stopped when Dalong lifted his hands from the keyboard to wrap around Ayanga’s waist, and he pulled him in for another kiss.

“You were so close to finishing properly too,” Ayanga laughed against his cheek. “I feel like I should make you keep practicing until you can play it start to finish without mistakes.”

“It’s good enough for variety TV.” Dalong slipped his hand under Ayanga’s loose t-shirt and gently ran a blunt nail over the soft skin on the side of Ayanga’s waist, making him shiver in his arms. “Maybe even good enough not to cut.”

“I’d call the station every day to complain if they dared to cut your section. But there’s no chance of that happening. Do you even know how good you look playing the piano? They’re going to have to set up a close-up camera just for your hands.”

“Mine?” Dalong wrinkled his brow quizzically, bringing one hand up to wiggle his fingers in front of Ayanga’s face. “What’s so special about this? I think the fans talk about your adorable round hands much more.”

“Are you kidding me?” Ayanga caught Dalong’s hand with both of his and brought it back down to the keyboard. “Look at your handsome dragon claws! Such well-defined angles, so strong-looking when you press down on the keys, so tender on the softer parts, that is, if you practiced more so you didn’t have to stop to find all the finger placements every two seconds. Although,” he reconsidered, watching as Dalong acted out Ayanga's effusive praise with exaggerated gestures, fluttering his fingers across the keys dramatically, “maybe that’s for the best.”

“What, now you don’t want me to practice anymore?”

“You look almost too good. They really might force you to be the next Lang Lang.”

A devilish grin flashed across Dalong’s face. “So tell me, Gazi, you like it when I do this?” He stretched his thumb and pinky wide, the tendons in his hand standing out as he played a random tenth interval, letting the rest of his fingers stroke the keys in between almost indecently.

Ayanga swallowed.

“Or this?” With his other hand, Dalong caressed the keys one by one from top to bottom, starting from his thumb, each not too far from the other so that his hand curled prettily, letting his pinky hover in the air and making Ayanga’s breath catch until he finally tapped it down and released the breath Ayanga was holding.

The notes were completely discordant, but Ayanga couldn’t care less thanks to the blood rushing to his head (among other regions.)

“How about this?” And Dalong walked his fingers up the bare skin of Ayanga’s forearm, sending tremors up his spine. “Come to think of it, I’d rather play you instead.”

“Ugh, what a gross line.” Ayanga made a face but let him lead them to the bedroom.

游客，本帖隐藏的内容需要积分高于 100 才可浏览，您当前积分为 0

Next week Dalong would have to leave for Shanghai again, and Ayanga would soon be busy with his own recordings and rehearsals and photoshoots, both of them building their dreams, more tangible each day.

But for now, in this dream between dreams, they still had a few precious days in Beijing together to make the most of.

-

Dalong ended up surprising everyone on the set of the variety show with the simplistic beauty of his impromptu piano playing, only to have that section ultimately cut from the final show when the producers couldn't find a way to edit out the obviously visible bite marks on Dalong's fingers in the keyboard close up (and the director had been so excited about filming Dalong's hands that they had forgotten to set up the B camera for that shot.) Especially when it was clear the biter had slightly longer front teeth.

“Sorry Gazi, I did try. Lang Lang can rest easy - he's safe from competition for now.”

Ayanga laughed over the phone.

“Such a tragedy! But on second thought, it's just as well I get to keep your sexy piano playing hands to myself~”

“Who's the gross one now?” grumbled Dalong.