Yoon Seri posts an inquiry about the mysterious piano song she heard in Iseltwald on an Internet forum and an anon commenter picks it up.
A Crash Landing on You AU fiction. #serihawky
Illustration by @chummychurri (Twitter)
Cover design by @edelweir...
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June 24, 2021 4:50 PM Incheon Airport
Flying ran in the family, one of those that came with medals and accolades to boot. Those were the whispers about Lee Jeong-hyeok when he was starting out, and how he managed to fast-track his way to the much-coveted left seat. He had some cockpit experience as a child, got impressive grades from flight school, effortlessly collected certificates, and aced his interviews. He made it to captain so quickly that people often assumed he started out as a direct entry captain, which was extremely rare within an airline company that preferred promotions.
Prestige aside, everyone believed his prowess was genetic. He was a natural stick-and-rudder pilot who had the fine motor skills necessary to manipulate switches and controls, the fortitude to handle an in-flight crisis as would be later proven, the ability to multitask coming from situational awareness, and a flair for observing sounds very keenly. With his famous "butter soft" landings in the most trying conditions, one might comment how the captain often conducted a flight like a symphony.
That would not be too further apart from the truth.
His brother used to tell him—reassure him—that learning the piano helped him join the air force. Landing an aircraft was akin to finishing a composition. The tunes were just different, beeps instead of chords, radio calls instead of arias. Obviously one was noisier than the other. Mu-hyeok convinced his younger brother this way, that he was meant to take to the skies and even if he was the first to love the piano between them, it was something he would be happy for Jeong-hyeok to explore.
"There should always be a Lee in the sky."
In Basel, Jeong-hyeok reveled in his freedom to do what he couldn't in Seoul: the license to enjoy his source of comfort and joy, even if that only meant staying cooped up in the practice room for hours. He owned his time and spent it with friends who understood and had the same goals as he did. The place gave him an environment to play Chopin as he ought to be played, to create new rhythms, experiment on sounds, and even play for people from intimate chambers with only 40 people to grand symphony halls seating thousands. It allowed him to speak in a language that he found was warm and accessible to the human soul, far more than words.
But he held onto this happiness like a burden, he shouldn't be too happy for as long as Mu-hyeok flew in military cargo planes in conflict zones. Somehow flight had ironically come to mean captivity to the pianist, especially with how the military pilot could hardly go home. Jeong-hyeok wore this guilt like a medallion around his neck that grew heavy everyday. What could he do for his brother? How could he reach him in the skies?
The tune came to him on the tram one day. It woke Jeong-hyeok up from his reverie that it seemed he had a moment of clarity that he never ever had. He missed his stop then he had to run back, long legs trying to go faster as he chased the melody in the wind like a kite that was about to be cut off from its string. He ran past his friends in school and went to the practice room where he was supposed to prepare for a concert, but instead he grabbed a clean sheet music paper and a blunt pencil as he scribbled those notes down. Only when he had those down pat, did he sit down by his piano, lifting the cover that revealed the black and white keys and his hands spread out and played those tunes and let them take him.
