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THANKFULLY NOTHING BETWEEN YOU AND ME HAS CHANGED
"SET THE LIGHTING!" yelled the video director to someone in the dozens of staff members around the stage. There was a piano on the middle of it, with a man sitting on the stool, nervously cracking his knuckles. That man was Yoongi, as he wore an all-black suit to match his pitch-black hair. He wasn't sure of the exact reason why he was this nervous—it was a recording, it wasn't as though there was a real audience other than his company's staff members and the video director.
His company had rented out an entire theatre in Seoul in order to film the video he was shooting for his fans. While he did his usual warm-up with his fingers, one of his makeup artists was fixing his foundation, making sure his skin looked pristine for the cameras that would be following him as he played. He would have to get used to those quite quickly.
"We're trying to do this in one take, right?" the director asked Yoongi from off of the stage. He nodded enthusiastically, earning a thumbs up from the director before he ran toward his set-up in the middle of the house of the theater. One take, if I don't completely mess this up.
What he didn't know, in his bout of nervousness, was that there was someone who walked in from the back of the theater and took a seat.
Belle crouched down as much as she could in order to avoid being seen by Yoongi. But as she watched him, she realized that that wasn't going to happen. He was fully immersed in the piano, eyes stuck to it as she could tell a million thoughts ran through that brain of his.
She watched as he took a deep breath, shutting his eyes firmly.
"Ready..."
He put his fingers on the piano.
"Action!"
There was a pause, the cameras aimed up toward Yoongi on the stage who sat in front of a black piano, the lighting on him harshly as everything else was dark.
Then, the beginning of Liebestraum began to fill the theater, under the calloused fingertips of Min Yoongi.
The notes of the classical piece floated into the thick air, delicately and gracefully, as though it was the sun setting on a horizon of white-blanketed hills of a deep winter—but the melody brought warmth. It brought the stars in the night sky above a glowing fire, and a feeling of drifting, into a slumber, off into a dream a minute in, Yoongi's calloused fingers taking the audience with him, to the dream which brought the sun again, and a warm breeze that blew harsher as the seconds passed, pushing the clouds in the blue sky. It was brighter, more intense than the night, a place which brought salvation and longing, for a beloved love just out of reach, the harsh wind being the barrier that eventually won. The melody was brought back to night, the darkness that was still and warm, though more despondent, slower, and empty of hope. In the last forty seconds, was the memory of the sun as the notes stayed below the pitch black sky, as the bright melody played once more, softer as if was reaching its hand out. Except it never reached enough, and Yoongi's fingers halted on the piano.
