Taekwoon sighed as he stared up at the grey ceiling high above his head. He was lying on the worn mattress he used for a bed, and just about the only space in the room not littered with half-written score sheets or notebook pages. The boy didn't mind the mess; it was proof that he'd spent his summer doing what he loved best - writing music and enjoying his own company. But the college semester would begin again soon, bringing with it the anxiety of going outside and the frustrating routine of turning his creativity to his Musical Composition course's scheduled assessments.

This would be Taekwoon's last year in the course - he knew that - before he was free. But free to do what? Write more repetitive music for faceless corporate big guns who couldn't care less? Live in poverty, busking away his originality for spare cash or posting videos online in the hope of being discovered? Or perhaps he'd be forced to get a "real job" and live in bitterness at having wasted great talent for the sake of security? He squeezed his eyes shut, pushing away thoughts of the future. Whichever way it goes, he thought sadly, it'll be hell. Just get through this year of misery first.

Ever since he was a young boy, and had first set eyes on that fragile, elegant violin in the hands of a street performer, Taekwoon had known he wanted to make music. It had been like magic to him seeing the busker's fingers moving and the bow sweeping across the strings to make such gorgeous sounds. To him, it sounded like raw emotion, translated into something otherworldly and captivating. He could still picture the busker lost in his own world as his instrument sang a passionate rendition of Tartini's Sonata in G Minor - so devastatingly beautiful and striking in every way.

Taekwoon's parents hadn't been able to afford to purchase him his own instrument, of course, but his school had loaned him an ancient violin with which he had instantly fallen in love. He practiced profusely - from cat screeches to actual coherent melodies - and his teachers praised him for his natural talent and determination. Although he'd always been a strange, shy, and outcasted child, he felt he could take on the world with his violin under his chin and a bow in his hand. After a few years, he'd performed at more than a few elementary school recitals, and once he reached middle school, his parents surprised him - having saved for all those years - with his very own, elegant, instrument. Taekwoon knew no greater happiness, finally having confidence in himself and the beautiful music he created with his violin.

High school was a different matter. The kids called Taekwoon "weird" and "scary"; the teachers called him "eccentric" (there was that word again - would he ever find peace from it?) and "antisocial". He hated most classes other than music, made no friends,and never bothered to do more than pass. But in eleventh grade his music teacher - a kind, warm-hearted man called Mr Choi - encouraged him to join the school's choir, which was severely lacking in members and would bump up his extra-curricular activities just enough for him to have a reasonable shot at college.

To Taekwoon's complete surprise, he loved it. Suddenly, the whole school knew of his musical talents, and cheered him on at rehearsals and school events. His image had changed from "weird" to "edgy" and he had friends and admirers from all the schools in the district. He even took up piano alongside violin to complement his sweet, unique vocal timbre, and began to write his own music. He was on top of the world, and he knew once again that so long as he had his music, things would be fine.

That's what he'd thought, anyway, but now Taekwoon wasn't so sure. Was it all really worth it, just to go through the anxiety-ridden depression that came along with this nightmare called college? He just didn't know anymore.

Taekwoon sighed again as he looked at the alarm clock propped on a stack of books next to his mattress. It was his least favourite time of the day - time to collect the mail. He slowly stood up and picked out a set of (relatively) clean clothes from his disorganised floordrobe in one corner of the room. Once dressed, he collected his keys from the kitchenette counter, and made for the door.

Before leaving, though, he decided to double-check his food cupboard. It was mostly empty, having been at least a month since his last food delivery, and Taekwoon scowled at the measly pickings. He disliked having so little of a hoard, and hoped his delivery came soon. Admittedly, his diet consisted mostly of tinned food and cup ramyun instant noodles, which would be easy to get at a nearby convenience store, but Taekwoon simply despised the idea of food shopping anywhere other than online. Facing that kind of distressing ordeal right at the beginning of term was certainly not on his to-do list, but food was an essential commodity he could not go without. After staring mournfully at the supply for a moment, he shook his head, closing the cupboard and turning to head downstairs.

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Taekwoon skulked in the ground-floor hallway, poised to make the dash across the reception to the mailboxes. Hongbin, the wizened old landlady's model-esque grandson, smiled and waved at him through the office window, but thankfully the landlady herself appeared to be distracted for the moment. She was telling a long-winded story about the pipes to a boy Taekwoon hadn't seen around the apartments before, and he almost felt sorry for the guy. He looked young under his dyed blonde hair and snapback, and he wasn't too bad looking, either. Taekwoon almost thought he might have liked to talk to him (or at least watch him from a distance), if he weren't set on grabbing his mail and hightailing it back up the stairs as quickly as physically possible.

Finally on the other side of the reception, Taekwoon unlocked the tiny door to his mailbox, and rifled through the few letters inside. Still no delivery slip. Drat.  Disappointed, he turned to scamper back upstairs, only to run right, smack bang, into one of most annoying beings Taekwoon had knowledge of existing: Lee Jaehwan. 

Jaehwan was everything he hated: loud, a lover of gags and, worst of all he was… an animator (see: cartoons, the visual to the stupid, repetitive music he hated being forced to write). He was studying at the same college as Taekwoon, and sketched manga in his spare time. On a good day, he could almost imagine that Jaehwan meant well and only wanted to be friendly, but today he just wanted to escape back to his apartment. Right now.

"Taekwoonie!" Jaehwan cooed, grinning broadly. "Finally come downstairs for your mail, have you? It's not healthy to stay in your apartment all the time, you know." 

Taekwoon blinked slowly, irritatedly, and glared at the boy as he shook a finger obnoxiously in front of his face; he couldn't do this today. So instead, he huffed, turning sharply on his heel and walking quickly back across the reception. People, he thought, tapping furiously at the elevator button, ought to just leave him alone.