Somewhere, at the end of hotel property, Ryeowook lay in his cabin. His girlfriend was in the other room, typing on her keyboard. Turns out, her project partner did screw up the presentation and now she was scrambling to save the day. That was okay though. He needed the time to think. 

He should have been practicing his sets. They weren’t nearly good enough; even by his standards which always seemed lower than everyone else’s. He should have been practicing. But he wasn’t.

Kyuhyun. What was he up to right now? Sleeping? Showering? Ryeowook blushed at the thought but he was alone. He didn’t have to acknowledge the reaction.

Closing his eyes, Ryeowook hugged himself, trying to squeeze out those bad thoughts. They never did him good.

Ryeowook wondered, briefly, if he should apologize for putting his guest through such an uncomfortable dinner. Then he decided against it. He apologized too much.

Sullenly, the petite man gazed across the room. It was neat and organized like a hotel room should be. With furniture looking stiff and the papers all stacked up, Ryeowook could imagine a paying guest walk in any moment now. 

When Mr. Parker had given him the cabin key four years ago, Ryeowook had promised to treat it like a guest. That had proved growing challenge as the years passed. Breaking nothing. Marking nothing. Personalizing nothing. It was hard to do. Yet, here he was, twenty-six years old and without a place to call his own. What an accomplishment.

Slowly, he sat himself up. Light poured in from the other room, making dull outlines of furniture. Ryeowook squinted into the darkness. Yoona’s keyboard tapped in the other room.

Something was wrong.

His girlfriend was here. His guests were okay. He had a paying job and a roof over his head. So why was nothing better?

Frowning, Ryeowook padded over to the hotel desk. It was one of those wooden ones with a mirror in front of them for no particular reason. Turning on the desk lamp, he began to shuffle through the stack of papers. Old bills, letters, some random receipts. Ryeowook wasn’t sure what he was looking for; he just knew it was there.

And it was. The folded paper nearly slipped through his fingers, but he caught just in time. Notes were scribbled on the back but that wasn't the important part. 

****

Ryeowook couldn’t sleep. Maybe because it wasn’t his bed or maybe because it wasn’t his country. Either way, resting didn’t seem an option.

Wandering into the darkened lobby, he was surprised to find someone else there. Upon closer inspection, Ryeowook was relieved to find it was just his sponsor, tinkering on his piano.

“Mr. Parker?” he called out wearily, "Is that you?"

The older man kept playing his piece, “That's odd,” he said without looking up, “Now who would be calling me in Korean so very late at night?”

Ryeowook smiled sheepishly. His English still wasn't the best and he still preferred speaking in his native tongue whenever possible. His boss picked on him often for it but hey, where was the harm?

 “What are you working on tonight, Mr. Parker?” The younger walked up to the deck as his elder finished up his song. 

“Just some performance material for an upcoming festival. Nothing too big.”

The young man looked at the spread of music before him, “It sure looks important.”

“Well,” the musician chuckled, “it’s not so much important as it is fun. All this folk music? It’s fun; like storytelling in my favorite medium.”

Ryeowook smiled, “I don’t think music is considered its own medium, Mr. Parker.”

“Nonsense! Music is a whole other world of expression. But you know that already. Otherwise you wouldn't be here. Now go back to your cabin; the producers are coming tomorrow and you need to be in tip-top shape.”

"I'm still young. I can function with no sleep."

"Ryeowook..." Mr. Parker leveled him serious stare.

 The young man lowered his eyes, pressing his hands against the piano’s smooth edges, “But really, I can’t sleep ... I’m too scared.”

He heard his elderly supporter sigh beside him. They’d had this conversation many times since he’d arrived. It never seemed to help. No matter how many times the musician told Ryeowook he was good enough, there was always some part of him afraid of rejection.

They remained in placid quiet for a couple moments then he heard the other shift.

“Alright, Ryeowook. Come here,” Carefully, he slipped into the spot his sponsor had cleared for him.

“Now look,” the older man pointed to the music stand, “Play this.”

Ryeowook stared at the pages, “Um…Sir, there’s nothing to play.” Two sheets of blank staff paper sat where music should have been.

“Really?" Mr. Parker frowned, "Because I see a piano. And you play the piano. Therefore, there’s something to play.”

Ryeowook felt the corners of his mouth turning up.

“C’mon Wookie. Play.”

At the call of his new nickname, Ryeowook began to play. And when he finished, Mr. Parker removed the blank sheets of paper and set two new sheets of nothing in front of him. Then he would play those. And he played, and he played, and he played again. The pieces weren’t smooth. They were a bit hesitant and faltered often when he had to find the right chord, but he was playing. And it felt great.

Finally, Mr. Parker set the last of his blank staff paper aside leaving an empty stand. Turning to the younger, he smiled.

“Feel better?”

Ryeowook returned the grin. “Yes, sir. That was fun.”

“As it should be. You are a musician. This is what you live for!” He let the young man laugh a little before leveling him with a more serious stare.

“I hope you realize Ryeowook, you are a musician. A great one at that. Whether or not those producers and agents like you tomorrow won’t change how you feel about music. It won’t change your drive to keep going and growing. You’ll push through it in the end. Because you are you. And even if things get rough, you'll always find a home here.”

Ryeowook looked down into his lap. He could feel tears pricking his eyes and felt a little silly for it. After everything he’d been through, this seemed like his last chance. He’d left his girlfriend, his family, and his lousy job for this one shot. If they didn’t like him, where would he be?

A warm hand squeezed his shoulder, making him look up. Mr. Parker’s eyes twinkled at him and he felt a surge of hope. If someone like this was willing to give him a chance, then he must have one, right?

“Thank you,” He whispered in English. It was slightly accented but his supporter didn’t seem to mind.

Instead, the older beamed and picked out some actual sheet music from his stack. Holding it up to the moonlight, he appeared to observe it carefully. 

“These are the lyrics of a traditional folk song. It’s about faith, and love, and moving mountains. I will be performing it on Friday, opening set. But I would like a different arrangement for the accompaniment,” Ryeowook's eyes widened, “Think you’re up for the challenge?”

Uplifted by the infectious zeal, Ryeowook looked his most lively supporter in the eye and said -

****

“I’m up for anything, sir.” His whisper faded quickly in the empty room.

Swallowing, Ryeowook set the paper down. That was four years ago. Everything had changed four years ago. If he could have gone back, he would have certainly warned himself against staying up so late. He would have scolded himself for not perfecting his pronounciation. And he would have better prepared himself for the rejection. But now he was here.

"... you’re a stronger and more striking person than anyone I’ve ever met...."

Kyuhyun's words rang in his mind. Did he mean it? 

His eyes scanned the sheet again. It was the same piece he had played before he'd come in for towels that night except with the original accompaniment. The arrangement was done so you could sing the same tune, but the piano would harmonize differently. And somehow, it had to change.

Grabbing a pen, Ryeowook began to adjust, adding a third layer of ink to the already busy staff lines. His mind buzzed with music, and life, and just a little bit of Kyuhyun. Things had changed from the last time he'd arranged this piece and it was time for things to change again. Finally, he capped the pen.

Picking up the wrinkled paper, Ryeowook looked over the piece one last time. Then closing his eyes, Ryeowook began to sing. 

____________________________________________________________________________

So sorry for not updating in three weeks! ) I could give you a list of excuses but it basically all boils down to writer's block. The most dramatic parts of the story and I can't write. I could cry. 

The next chapter is longer and halfway done so with any luck it will be up before next week.