Steam coated the mirror in front of him, which pleased him. He didn’t want to see his reflection; he didn’t want to see those lifeless, jaded eyes that were overflowing with the allusion of his one true love. The image in the mirror was utterly flawless, the epitome of beauty, and yet, seeing that artificially dyed hair made him nothing but sick. Was it because he dyed it for him? Everything about his reflection made his brain recall each and every grotesque moment of his lover’s last minutes. Flashes of memories caused him to grip the marble counter and fight the hot tears threatening to cascade down his porcelain-like face.

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“This just in, popular composer Kim Joonmyun was in a fatal car accident and has been pronounced DOA. Also in the car was Kris Wu, an up and coming pianist known for his works in China. No word has been given on Mr. Wu’s condition other than he is being rushed to the hospital.”

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When he finally pulled himself together and somehow pushed the deep-seated, self-hating loneliness into the recesses of his mind to assuage it, Kris dried off his damp dirty blonde locks and exited the bathroom. Messiness was the only way he could describe everything: his place, his life, and plainly himself. The place known as “home” was cluttered with empty bowls of instant ramen, crumped up paper containing line upon lines of music notes, and stacked up piano books. Sure he looked like art and made art, but everything behind that beautiful façade was the complete opposite. It disgusted him. Kris used to be able to captivate audiences, and now? Now he was forced to sit day in and day out wondering why it was his love that died and not him. There nothing in this world besides the phlegmatic ivory keys that Kris Wu cared about. Family was out of the question, he had no love life before him, and honestly Kris really couldn’t have cared less about having friends and such. Loneliness made for great inspirations on his pieces. And now with Joonmyun…gone, he’d be right back to square one.

What was the only (major) setback with all of that? Kris didn’t have music to help drag him out of the lonely filled ocean he was sinking so deep into. Dust coated the grand piano next to the big windows, the place that used to be his get away. But now every time he laid his nearly charcoal eyes on the instrument, the muscle in his chest tightened whilst a nausea feeling came over him. A petulant mood fell over him as he simply thought about it. With nothing of importance to do, Kris got dressed, threw on his raincoat and began to walk out of sheer boredom.
 

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It was really no surprise that he got ascribed the job of cleaning up after the people he craved to be. That’s just part of the industry; you’re forced to work your way up. The main thought that flowed through his mind as he took the push broom to go up and down the aisles was when was it going to be his turn? He left China in hopes of having a better chance to be on stage, but clearly he was utterly wrong. Just like back home, Huang Zitao was nobody. He was another pretty face and strong body, nothing new or special to make him stand out amongst the thousands of others. Maybe he was a bit callow, but that didn’t mean he was any less of a performer. ‘Were people giving him the roundabout way because they didn’t think he had what it took?’ Zitao thought. With each push of the broom that reverberated off the high, wood paneling, he felt himself loosing more and more hope. His whole life had been spent doing strenuous workouts, which caused many to quit. With sedulous coursing through his veins, a younger Zitao knew he would never give up on reaching his dream. Despite his once cheerful, resilient self, he was now turning into a person who still be running toward his goal, but was running because they really didn’t have anything else to live for. Besides dance, nothing else really mattered to Huang Zitao. His parents didn’t support his ideas and with all the training he was doing, it was hard to friends, especially because he was a foreigner.

Even though melancholy thoughts clouded his conscience, the Chinese male smiled through them and pushed the sweeper in time with a sudden rhythm. At first Zitao believed it was just his brain playing tricks on him from sleep deprivation. Glancing up to observe his surroundings, he noticed a dark figure sitting on by the piano with slow moving fingers. Zitao could tell the person was an experienced player, and yet, they seemed on edge, uneasy, and uncomfortable. The produced music ceased just as fast it started, ending in the ungraceful clank of many keys. Those gawky intentional notes triggered Zitao to jump from the peace and drop the broom. In doing so, the figure on the bench whipped their head around and froze. It was like the person had no every notice him before and now that someone did, he didn't know how to respond. Zitao knew how it felt. 

“I’m sorry, I was just here cleaning up. Keep playing, you’re really talented.” He picked up his broom to continue, but was stopped as he felt a pair of eyes burning holes into the back of his black hair. Sighing a bit loudly, Zitao craned his head to see the person in the dark, “Really you have a gift, and I want you to keep playing.” He tried to keep his voice soft, even throwing in a smile. And yet his efforts were wasted when the person slammed the key case down, and then walked off stage. Despite the fact that they had left a bad impression, Zitao’s head was still replaying the melody and making him feel warm inside. 


 - Hello, this is the author Rin. I'm sorry if this chapter seems boring, it's just trying to show a little background info. In the next coming chapter I promise it will get much better. Can you guess who is playing the piano or what happened to Kris? It will be told in the next coming chpater. Please look forward to it and thanks for reading!