‘I’m not going to make it … I’m really not going to,’ he told himself, the realisation shattering him into a million splinters.

“Your schedule will be sent to your email address by 10 p.m. tonight,” the red-haired man said, and for a moment, Kiseop’s brain froze. “I … I made it?” he stuttered, and the woman on the panel in front of him shot him a wide, red-lipped grin. “Yes,” the mostly-silent black-haired man said, his voice filled with a burning impatience.

“You’ll be meeting your vocal instructor today, he’s waiting for you outside,” the man completed his sentence just as the door creaked open slowly, and the petite woman who’d let him in ushered him out of the room. Kiseop retreated slowly, bending from the waist at ninety degrees in a bow as he thanked the three people at the elongated table who’d resumed their stern, calculating countenances for the next unfortunate candidate.

Just as Kiseop was led into another room, an arm whisked him out of the corridor and into a small corner. “Annyeong,” a deep, husky, but still-melodic voice said, and instantly, Kiseop dropped into a half-bow. “I just wanted to explain what I expect, as we aren’t going to be wasting any time playing around.” The man said, his voice sharp as he spoke. ‘Damn … he sounds like I’m enlisting into the army!’ Kiseop told himself, a mixture of both shock and amusement flitting through him.

-              -           -

Kiseop flopped down onto his bed; thrashing around on it like was having a fit before calming down. An unexplainable warmth filled his chest, as if someone was holding his skin over an open flame. “Kiseoppie … are you in there?” a soft, faintly-familiar voice called, and slowly, he rose, running a hand through his bed-ruffled hair before opening the door. The only thought in his mind was the long-forgotten face that belonged to the voice.

“Umma?” he whispered hoarsely, his throat instantly constricting with emotion as he feasted his eyes on the slim woman that stood outside his room, a warm smile decorating her cheeks as a maternal hint of pride coloured her dark eyes. “Congratulations!” she squealed, her excitement breaking through the calm smile she’d plastered onto her face as she leaped forward to pull her son into a hug.

“You deserved it … really …” she said earnestly as he smiled dazedly as he looked at his mother, his eyes glassing over with unshed emotion before he pulled her into a tight, warm hug; trying to show her the emotions he knew he’d never be able to tell.

-              -           -

Kiseop entered the studio, his bag swinging from his shoulders as, greeting his instructor as a sheet of music was into his hands. “We’ll be finishing at nine,” was all the man said before the music filled the room.

Two hours later, Kiseop slid into a seat, massaging his roughened vocal chords as he gulped down the hot tea that was handed to him by the man, who he’d come to call ‘Tiger-sunbaenim’.

The sky was pitch black as Kiseop left the building, pulling his hood higher to cover his face as he pulled his bag closer to him as thunder rumbled lowly, growling like a panther waiting to pounce on its prey. He dropped into the seat at the bus stop, and took a quick peek at the schedule before sighing in relief; ‘Good … I haven’t missed it yet,’ he scolded himself for cutting it so close.

Ten minutes later, he was splayed across the seat, half-asleep before he was tapped on the shoulder gently. “Excuse me,” Kiseop started awake to see a muscled boy staring at him; “could I?” the boy motioned to seat Kiseop had planted his bag on, and still sleepy-eyed, he nodded, moving his bag as the boy sat down with a relieved sigh.

“Thanks,” the boy said, and Kiseop nodded unconsciously, “I’m Kiseop, by the way,” he said, offering the black-haired boy a tired smile.

“Annyeong, I’m Eli,”

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