There's a little bit of strong language in this chapter (just to warn you!) and everything within the purple squiggles is a flashback (just wanted to make sure that was clear~). ^^

“Where’s Ryeowook?” Yesung had arrived at Coco Bean at his usual time on Saturday only to find his favorite barista missing. Leeteuk, who was filling in for him, looked worried.

“I don’t know, Jongwoon. I haven’t heard from him and he hasn’t answered any of my text messages or phone calls. Sungmin, Kibum, and Kyu have tried too and he won’t answer their calls either. He never skips work like this, so I’m scared that something happened to him.”

Yesung’s heart nearly stopped. He knew he should have taken Ryeowook home the previous night. How could he have left him there, alone, at that park? “Have you checked his house?”

“He won’t tell anyone his address and, believe me, we’ve tried to get it out of him. All I know is that he lives somewhere thirty to forty minutes away.”

“Thanks, hyung!” Yesung already had his cell phone out and was dialing the now-familiar number of the barista in question. “Call me if you hear anything, okay?”

“Will do!” Eeteuk called as Jongwoon disappeared out of the door. Where could Ryeowook be?

~~~

The far-too-loud ringing of his cell phone brought Ryeowook out of his hazy sleep and back into reality. Without opening his eyes, he felt around, following the noise until he found his phone and answered it.

“…Hello?”

“Ryeowook! Where are you?”

“Home…” he mumbled, pulling his heavy quilt closer to his chin and hugging his purple teddy bear closer to his chest.

“Are you okay? Why aren’t you at Coco Bean?”

“I’m…” Ryeowook paused, erupting into a coughing fit. “…fine,” he finished lamely, knowing Jongwoon was not going to believe that for a second.

“What’s your address?”

“No, hyung, you can’t—”

“What’s your address?” The voice on the other end of the phone was deep and dead serious, carrying a note of anger that Ryeowook had never heard before.

“…Mountain View Apartments. Four oh three,” he mumbled out before he let the phone slide out of his hand; it landed with a soft thud next to him and, if he listened hard enough, he could still hear Yesung’s voice.

“Ryeowook? Answer me! Ryeowook! RYEOWOOK!”

~~~

Thump. Thump. Thump.

That pounding was annoying.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

It was probably driving his neighbors crazy too, and it really wasn’t doing anything for his headache.

Thump. “Ryeowook!” Thump. “Wookie, come on!” Thump. “Ryeowook!”

Wait. That was his name. The pieces all slid together. Jongwoon hyung was there. The one person he wanted more than anyone else to not see his apartment was pounding on his door.

He drug himself to his feet, letting his quilt slip to the floor; a bad idea, as it turned out, because he almost immediately started shivering from the cold. Obviously, spending a prolonged amount time lying in the snow without proper warm clothing the previous night had been a terrible idea. Walking through the city in his wet clothing had been an even worse idea. He shuffled toward the entrance, wishing a certain hyung of his would stop pounding on the damn door.

“Stop it, hyung,” he coughed out as he wrenched open the door. “You’re making my headache worse.”

Jongwoon froze; his little dongsaeng looked terrible, standing there in the doorway shivering, coughing, pale as a ghost, bags under his eyes. “Oh, Ryeowook…” He shooed the other back inside, closing the door behind him. “You need to lie down.”

Ryeowook looked over at him, raising an eyebrow. “And who was it who made me get up?”

Yesung ignored the comment. “Where’s your bedroom?”

“This way…” the younger man mumbled, stumbling back toward his room, trying not to think about how shabby his house must have looked to Yesung.

Upon entering the small room, Yesung looked around, suddenly distracted by what was on the floor by the wall. He bent down and picked up several pieces of the paper. Ryeowook, who was already embarrassed, blushed a much deeper red when he remember that he hadn’t completely thrown out the papers he’d ripped up and had simply pushed them into a pile near his closet doors. Yesung stared at the scraps in his hands, not comprehending exactly what he was seeing.

“Ryeowook…this is sheet music. These aren’t the pieces I bought you.”

The shorter man didn’t say anything. He just stood there, staring at the floor, wishing he could disappear.

“You said you don’t sing, but this is sheet music with lyrics.”

“I don’t sing. Not in front of others,” he whispered in reply, squeezing his eyes shut. “I…I wrote those. I composed them.” At this moment, the only thing he wanted was to be alone in his house, alone with his sickness and his past, alone with his pain. That was all he needed.

“I don’t understand. Why would you rip these up? From what I can tell, they’re really good.” Yesung watched as Ryeowook began to shake more, slowly sitting down on the floor and drawing his knees to his chest.

“I can’t.” His voice was barely audible, breathy, delicate. But what scared Yesung the most was how completely lifeless it was. “I can’t compose anymore. I can’t. I can’t have anything to do with music. Not after that.” Darkness. Pain. Salty tears. The taste of blood. The memories he’d struggled to lock away forever came flooding back like a tsunami, overtaking his very being.

“After what?” Yesung asked hesitantly; he was almost afraid to voice the question. He watched as tears began to stream down his dongsaeng’s face and he felt his heart tighten in his chest. He carefully wrapped an arm around Ryeowook, straining his ears to hear the story.

~~~

“Kibummm!” Ryeowook smiled happily, running to catch up with one of his best friends. “Kibum, guess what our final project is?”

The younger but seemingly more mature male shrugged. “No idea.”

“We have to compose eleven songs that could potentially be placed on an album together. We can write lyrics too! At the review, one of the professors will pick several of your songs at random and have some of the music students play them for everyone to hear. Apparently they’ve also decided that the student that has the most coherent and well-composed collection of songs will have the opportunity to produce a couple of them with actual singers! Isn’t that awesome?!” Ryeowook was practically bouncing up and down; this was the perfect chance to break into the business. If a well-known artist sung one of his songs and that song became famous…there was no telling what that could lead to!

Kibum grinned. “That’s awesome, hyung! You’ll do great.”

“Thanks, Kibummie! I’m really excited about this project. It’ll be a great way to end my time here, don’t you think?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m going to go get started! I’ll see you later!”

Kibum watched as the other bounced off toward the dorms, smiling. That was his hyung; more passionate about composing than essentially anything else. And with his voice, he could easily become a singer who wrote his own songs, though Ryeowook liked to protest and say his voice wasn’t that great. He glanced at his watch before swearing softly and running off toward the theatre; he was late for class.

-----

About three and a half months later, Ryeowook hugged his notebook to his chest as he stepped out of the library, surprised at how dark it already was but still happy because he’d almost finished his senior project. Smiling to himself, he started back toward his dorm, only to feel someone grabbing him from behind and a sudden, sharp pain in his stomach before he out.

-----

The first sign that he was regaining consciousness were the voices. The muffled, vague, quiet voices around him and the sound of footsteps in front of him. Then it was the blurry images as he wrenched his eyes open.

“Hey! He’s awake!”

He was tied to a chair. That much he could tell. His hands were behind him, tied together. They’d taken his shirt off too; that was the second thing he noticed. He was cold.

“Kim Ryeowook.”

It was the voice of one of the new transfer students, the ones who weren’t very good at composing but had been top of their class at the third-rate college they’d attended previously. He didn’t respond. He was too scared to.

“Answer me!” Seconds after he heard the cry, Ryeowook felt a large fist collide with the side of his face, breaking the skin. Warm blood slid down his cheek.

“Y-yes,” he mumbled out, trying to make himself as small as possible.

“The composition project.”

“Y-yes…” Even though he replied, it seemed like that wasn’t enough to satisfy the boy in front of him; a fist hit him repeatedly in the stomach, making him want to vomit. As it was, he coughed, sending a splattering of blood onto the ground.

“I’m going to get the highest grade.”

“O-okay.” Something sliced through the air quickly; he heard it seconds before it hit his skin, leaving a long, thin line of blood across his chest in its wake. He cried out, his skin on fire, the cool spring night air making it worse; tears mixed with the blood already on his cheek.

“If you turn in those songs you’ve written, I won’t get the highest grade.”

“I w-won’t turn them i-in,” he gasped out, praying that that would keep him from any more harm. He was wrong.

 Another long, thin line joined the one already on his chest and two smaller ones appeared soon after. Later, when he would look at the scars, he would notice how they’d carved an open repeat mark into his chest. A warning. A painful warning.

“I w-won’t tell.” If they didn’t stop, he would lose too much blood. “I promise.”

Another fist connected with his face; he whimpered, not having enough energy left to scream.

“That’s right. You won’t. You won’t ever show your face in the musical world again.” Another punch, this one right in his side. Blood gushed out of the cuts on his chest as he coughed again, almost choking on the blood in his throat. “Let’s go.”

Had he listened, he would have heard a metal pipe clatter to the floor and three pairs of feet traipse out of what had to have been the gardener’s shed.

They didn’t untie his hands.

            -----

When he woke up, he was lying in a stark-white room, lights beating down on him and blinding him when he first opened his eyes. He heard talking and immediately cringed. Then he realized it was a female’s voice.

“He’s doing a little better, Doctor, but he hasn’t regained consciousness yet. He may need another blood transfusion.”

“Tell me if anything changes.” A new voice, a masculine one, then receding footsteps. He closed his eyes quickly when a pair of footsteps came in his direction.

A sigh. That female voice. “What happened to you?”

-----

He was released from the hospital five days later. He went back to campus, clutching his notebook tightly to his chest. The nurse had given it to him when he woke up, saying the gardener had found it next to him in the shed that morning. He had flipped through the pages; all of his work was there, but there was a note in the back. Music or death. That’s all it said. That was enough.

When he heard that Ryeowook was back at school, Kibum ran to the computer programing department and collected Kyuhyun, one of their best friends. The pair made their way to his dorm, only to find him sitting at his desk, staring at a blank piece of paper, his pencil shaking in his hand. There were bandages on his face and arms and he looked like a scared bunny rabbit.

“Wookie? Ryeowook? Are you okay?” Kibum took a step toward him and the boy in question flinched.

“I’m fine,” he whispered. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Kyuhyun spat out, sounding a little angry to mask his terror. He’d never seen Ryeowook like this.

“I’m fine, Kyu.”

“What are you doing, Wook? I thought you’d basically finished all the music for your project. Didn’t the teachers love it?” Kibum quickly changed the topic, knowing that they were getting nowhere.

“They’re bad. I can’t turn them in,” Ryeowook whispered in response, never taking his eyes off the page. “No repeats. I can’t. No repeats.”

“Wook, you’re not making sense. You’re the best composer in your class! You showed me your songs and they were fantastic!” Kyuhyun was angry and confused and wished his friend would stop acting so weird!

“I can’t, Kyuhyun.” Tears started to pour out of Ryeowook’s eyes then, alarming both of the boys standing beside him. “I can’t. I just can’t.”

“What happened to you, Ryeowook? Why were you in the hospital? There are rumors floating around that the gardener found you half-dead on Monday morning.” Kibum’s voice was gentle, coaxing, and he put a reassuring hand on his friend’s shoulder. Asking this question was a terrible idea.

“Nothing! I’m fine! Leave me alone!” Ryeowook snapped at the two, sounding furious. He ignored everything they said to him, waiting until they finally left in defeat to throw down his pencil and crawl onto his bed and sob.

-----

He didn’t talk to anyone after that. The only time he spoke was if he was called on in class, and he didn’t always speak then. When it came time for final project grading for the composition majors, he silently turned in a neatly organized notebook of eleven songs.

When he got it back, he noted the slightly disappointed look on his teacher’s face. “They’re not horrible, Ryeowook,” she’d said. “But they’re not as good as the other songs you’d written.” He’d gotten a B minus. He mentally sighed in relief.

Then it was graduation. He walked across the stage, taking his diploma without even a hint of a smile. Everyone wondered what exactly had happened to the cheerful little Ryeowook that they had known.

His parents helped him find a cheap apartment and agreed to help him with rent until he’d found a steady job. About a week later, he called them and told them he’d found a job and they wouldn’t need to help him. He started to work at Coco Bean, a small coffee shop that Kibum had mentioned several times. Gradually, due to the nature of his work, he began to open up a little more, a smile occasionally sneaking its way onto his lips. Seven months after he had graduated, he called Kibum.

“Hello?”

“Um…Hi, Kibum…” he mumbled, shy.

“Ryeowook! I haven’t heard from you in a while.” There was a note of playfulness in his voice; he wasn’t mad.

“I’m sorry! Kibum, I’m so sorry! I’m sorry for ignoring you and never answering your texts or calls and being a horrible friend!” Ryeowook bit his lip.

“Wookie, you’re not a terrible friend. You were hurting and you needed your space, that’s all. I understand. Are you okay now?”

“I’m better,” he whispered, looking around the little coffee shop. “I’m working at Coco Bean. It’s nice here. Teukie hyung is nice.”

On the other end of the line, Kibum gave a small smile. “I’ll drop by and come see you, okay? Don’t disappear on me.”

“Okay. I’ll be here.”

~~~

The last words of his story had barely left his lips when he’d passed out, leaning against Yesung, who was sitting beside him on the floor. The other man simply sat there in shock. Ryeowook had been through so much; he’d kept so much pain bottled up inside himself for nearly two years, not telling anyone anything and refusing to accept their help. He had given up his dreams and was afraid to even pick up a pencil and write music for fun. Slowly and carefully, Jongwoon wrapped his arms around the scared little lamb, picking him up and placing him on the bed, pulling the quilt over his frail body. He stood over the boy, reaching down and brushing the hair out of his face. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to take all the pain, all the hurt, away.

~~~

A couple of hours later, Jongwoon went back into the room to check on Ryeowook for the millionth time, but this time the boy seemed worse. His shirt was wet with sweat, something Yesung knew would not help him get any better. Mentally sighing, he went to the closet, selecting a different shirt from the shelves. He slid the wet shirt off over Ryeowook’s head gently as the other slept, his breath catching in his throat when he saw the scars on the small man’s chest. Those boys really had carved into his flesh; he hadn’t been exaggerating that point. Yesung hesitantly reached down, running his fingers lightly over the scars, trying to remember how to breathe.

“Ryeowook…those bastards really hurt you.”

~~~

A splitting headache is never a good thing to wake up with, but when Ryeowook blinked open his eyes, he nearly passed out again from the pain in his temple. The only thing that kept him conscious was the sound of a voice, that one voice that he loved to hear, the one and only voice that he had spilled his story to.

“Hyung…” His own voice was weak, frail, quivering; it paled in comparison to the voice he wanted to hear and it embarrassed him.

“Shhh, you don’t have to say anything, okay? You’re really sick, you silly boy. Here, let me help you sit up.”

Ryeowook felt a pair of hands grasp his arm, helping him somehow manage to get into an upright position.

“Open your mouth.”

Without thinking, he obliged to the command; seconds later, something metal passed his lips and warm liquid slid down his throat. Neither person said anything until the bowl of soup in Jongwoon’s hands was almost gone.

“I think that’s enough for now,” he whispered. “Get some rest.”

Ryeowook smiled a little as his eyes slipped shut. “Thank you, hyung.”

~~~

It was late, nearly eleven o’clock. Yesung went into the room to check on Ryeowook one last time before he went to go buy some more medicine from the twenty-four hour convenience store on the corner only to find the younger man awake and struggling to get up. Immediately, Jongwoon gently pushed him back down onto the pillows.

“No, Ryeowook, you need to relax, okay? I’m going to go get you some medicine; I expect you to be here on this bed when I get back.” He turned to leave; a hand grasped feebly at his sweater.

“Hyung…don’t leave me…” Ryeowook whimpered, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. “I’m…scared, hyung…” 

The sound of that voice, that barely-there, shaking, obviously-terrified voice, made Yesung’s heart break. He sat down on the edge of the bed, grasping Ryeowook’s hand with his own.

“Ryeowookie, if I don’t get you some medicine, you’re not going to get better,” he whispered, willing the younger man to understand. He couldn’t leave if Ryeowook was looking at him like that. The hand in his was shaking.

“Just don’t go. Please.”

Yesung sighed softly. “I won’t go. I promise I won’t go anywhere.”

“Hyung…” Ryeowook gave a wavering smile as his eyes slipped shut and he fell back into a deep and troubled sleep.

“I won’t go anywhere,” Jongwoon repeated, staring at Ryeowook’s face, his heart aching. 

So, by a great of fate, I have little homework today so you get an update! ^^ I'm curious as to what some of you thought happened to Ryeowook before you read this~~

Anyway, hope you like the chapter~! 

love,

afallingstar