Work Text:
Jim’s life used to be a monotonous and forgettable melody. Even in the mist of some dramatic flights, he still enjoyed the comforting embrace of a familiar pace. Once in a while, he would find someone to dance with him for a few spins, a faceless stranger whose body would sing a fleeting duet with him for one night. A light gigue to spice up his complacent rhythm. Jim liked to be in control of his own orchestration, reassured by the never-changing steps. Leading his partner on his own tempo, one, two, three spins, and let them go, let them disappear at the edge of the dancefloor.
By now, he knows by heart the different melodies intertwining as the soundtrack of his quiet life.
Family drama stormed in the shape of a dramatic symphony, with his somber accords and furious movements. Cooking was being embraced in quiet jazz and soothing ballads. Like a conductor, he watched his restaurant come to life every night, filled with loyal clients’ melodies, admiring this short-lived moment of musical harmony born in the simplicity of sharing a good meal.
Jim has always been in control of each step, each note, a maestro of familiar and comfortable airs.
And subito, chaos splashed onto his music sheet.
Wen.
Wen was this impetuous tempest of notes, a capriccioso concerto, of vertiginous spins and unexpected variations. Wen was this feeling of getting utterly lost in a music, of becoming its puppet and move blindly to its tune, letting it consume your soul and mind.
Wen was a powerful symphony rising as an untamable allegro and retreating in a torturing adagio. A dangerous and sensual waltz that made Jim lose his step and his heart.
Jim was once a maestro of his own comforting, controlled, melodies. Now, every sound belongs to Wen. All his laughs, his gasps, his whispers, his moans, his cries. He is running to follow his new conductor, jumping from one movement to another, getting dizzy with the variations. Deaf to the rest of the world, he keeps falling, note after note, dragged into an everchanging tempo.
It fills him with both dread and rapture, this burgeoning feeling taking root in his heart. This tentative melody trying to find its resonance, amongst the appassionato nocturnal flights.
He’s spinning, smiling in one turn and breaking down in the next, but whatever the rhythm becomes, whatever fear he might feel at being led to an unknown destination, he can’t let go of these hands. Won’t let his eyes wander away from Wen leading the orchestra.
In this delighting dance of dangerous love and uncertainty, Jim surrenders and lets the music take over. Let it drown him in the melody of Wen, until he can hear nothing else but the beats of Wen’s steps.
He can only pray for this concert to never end and for the requiem to never come.