You realize your drafts are due in less than two weeks right? Tao signs, his brows furrowed in the same way they always seemed to do when they spoke of deadlines. Kris shifts in his seat, elbows propped up against the table with his eyes towards the empty stage. For some reason, he expects the musician to be there, but instead, only the lone chair gleams back at him.

He returns his eyes back to Tao only when Tao taps him roughly on the shoulder. Bringing his hands up, he signs back at him. I'll get them in by then. You know I always work better under pressure.

Yes, but this is one of your most important drafts you have yet to write. Phoenix Publishing and Media Company, Kris. Only the biggest publisher in China and fifth in the world. We could debut your works in America, if we wanted. 

They look at each other again, Tao's eyes with that sparkle he's known since thirteen, while Kris' have a lack of the same glint, with little to no spark. I'll try my best, Tao.

Whenever I find the muse to write, I promise.

Tao's glance towards him lasts a few more seconds, then falls. Soon they're both fiddling around with the cups of coffee on the counter, until something disturb's Tao's attention towards elsewhere. Kris raises his face to get a look at whatever it is Tao is looking at, only to see the same, familiar face of a boy with a guitar held precious by his side. The musician walks up the stage to take a seat on the stool, the dim lights focusing onto his long frame, while Kris' eyes do exactly the same.

He begins playing. His fingers move across the guitar strings and from the looks of it, the sounds he makes captures the attention of all the cafe dwellers. From the young couple to the businessman on his tablet, to Tao besides him to himself as well. He surveys Tao's face, watching his once stern expression soften, eyebrows no longer firm but now loosened. He watches as a wave of calm comes over to Tao, observing his shoulders begin to fall, no longer pulled taut in the way the business world always forced them to be. As he peers over at the cafe, the same has happened to any and everyone listening: a sense of comfort, a feeling of serene.

He refocuses his attention to the boy playing the guitar, and for a moment, their gazes come together. He looks into the other's hues, and although he cannot hear, and only the silence he's known from his childhood overwhelms him, he swears he can hear what everyone else is listening to, for just a moment. The same calming, lulling sounds of the guitar that warmed him in some other kind of tenderness he had yet to know, yet to experience.

He smiles at him, and the musician smiles back. Then his fingers stop moving, and he watches the cafe return back to its usual, frantic and busy nature. Kris' fingers find their way onto the keyboard, while Tao looks at him in confusion. 

You said you had no muse to write just five minutes ago. And now you're ready to write again, Kris? 

His eyes linger on the musician packing up his guitar, wishing he'd stay around for a little longer. 

I think I've found my muse, Tao.