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It was the most fantastic thing to behold him in months.

Do Kyungsoo sighed in unadulterated glee. The auditorium before him was a much more picturesque sight than the white walls he had become more than used to. The artificial light was okay, but feeling the natural light of day was incomparably superior. The pass in his hand would allow him to be one of the lucky spectators of the event. The event would be a grand contrast to the bleak schedule that had taken him captive, as would the significantly fresher atmosphere.

The people moving around him weren't staring at him, but rather, each and every person was minding their own business, the way that humans should. He had gained a reputation as the 'poor soul in Room 387B', and he wasn't all too sure how. Doctor/patient confidentiality agreements had most certainly been made, but nonetheless, in such a big place with so many people left to lie in their beds all day, word travels fast. "Did you hear? Kim Hyuna died"; "Lee Taemin's secret lover visited him! I can't believe Jonghyun still hasn't found out about Minho!"; "Jang Ilhoon went into cardiac arrest last night. How unfortunate"; it was always the same. He'd grown so used to the uncomfortable ogling of the people around him, their pitiful gazes trailing behind him without any good reason to, it'd become almost routine. The absence was both refreshing and strangely unfitting. 

As he made his way past glass double doors, he began to take in exactly how much of an experience this would be. His ticket was scanned, and he was moved to sit in a seat reminiscent of those in movie theatres. Looking around, he saw grand carvings and sculptures, and wondrous chandeliers. He had known before that the auditorium was merely the repurposing of a Renaissance grand ballroom, but it was only upon arrival that the feeling of the time truly did sink in. Suddenly, his shabby navy slacks and white dress shirt seemed to be too casual. 

He would've pondered for longer if it weren't for the dimming of the lights, and the spotlight shining onto an older man in a silver tuxedo accented in black. A sea of eyes all trained themselves to the stage, no matter how horrendously obstructed their view may have been. 

"Welcome to the Joonghwa Association of Music Annual Charity Showcase!" he boomed with a voice that didn't really need a microphone to project it's way across the room. A vociferous boom of applause and cheering followed his words.  Before launching back into the speech, he paused for a second to let the noise die down, putting on a voice that seemed to summon the power and charisma of the great monarchs, and the past leaders and presidents.

"A great man by the name of Jimmy Hendrix once said, 'If there is something to be changed in this world, then it can only happen through music,’ My father would remind me of this everyday as a child. It may seem slightly silly, but music is truly a positive thing to have in and around you. It soothes the brain, aids in relaxation, and is, you must admit, a worthy form of entertainment. It is also a method of healing. Many of you who are spectating this event are guests invited to watch as a result of serious deterioration in health. We can only hope that the various forms of music we provide will suffice in entertaining you, and maybe even making you feel healthy and full of life once more. 

"Our performers have trained for long hours, and have been disciplined to great extents. They are equipped with instruments branching all throughout the tree of orchestra. I can assure you now that there will not be a single dull moment for you sitting there. So I invite you to sit, relax, and once again, thank you very much for coming here tonight. All proceeds will go directly to hospital funds, and other health research charities. I will now introduce our first act, best known as Miss A!"

Upon finishing, raging applause came once more. Kyungsoo looked up with glittering eyes as the first act came: a saxophone quartet. A flute ensemble, and an a cappella group succeeded them. The acts rolled by, each one mesmerising the pale boy in a different way. There were rock bands, acoustic groups, and endless instrumental ensembles and individual acts. He had never seen something like what he was seeing then and there. It was nothing short of unbelievable. His eyes couldn't move from the spotlight if he tried. Each act was called up, and each had a different aura—a different feeling, if you will. He could feel the intensity of Choi Seunghyun's cello performance, and the vivacious air of the piccolo solo unconsciously brought a smile to his face and a slight swing to his stance. 

He didn't know how much better it could get. It seemed as though the quality of the experience had already shot past the edges of the universe and was wondering in a place unknown to any species or form. He had decided to himself that this was as good as it could possibly get.

He was wrong.

For the second he had made that personal decision, a tanned boy took position in the centre, his eyes almost raven like. His shoulders, his posture, his...everything seemed to scream confidence. In his hand was a violin of a quality that was incomparable to any other. His eyes widened more than he thought they could. This boy had already entranced Kyungsoo, and he hadn't even played a single note. There was a connection Kyungsoo felt, even though their eyes hadn't met. Something about the moment this boy waltzed into the spotlight. That moment would be one that changed both of their lives, in a way that neither believed possible at the time, one staring into an adoring crowd, the other gazing up at the latter. He'd seen him before, in almost every performance he appeared in. Jongin—that was his name. He felt himself fall into the viollinists trance every single time he watched him.

And he continued to gaze, as if to mentally piece this boy apart and figure out why he had such an effect on him.

His eyes.

It had to be the eyes. 

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The audience had never been this intimidating.

Their unwavering eyes stared up at him, the applause dying down. He knew what this moment meant, better than anybody else. The first thought that came to mind was something like "You haven't practised enough you aren't even close to being ready you fool!", but that thought was quickly ushered away by fierce determination and a steadfast need for glory and success.

He swung his violin up onto his shoulder, and counted himself in. One. Two. Three. Four. And the performance began with a dramatic full bow, immediately capturing the audience. He continued in this way, concentrating and never failing to stop counting. He redirected his eyes from the fingerboard just for a split-second to see awestruck eyes and agape mouths. It was all he needed for encouragement. His attention snapped straight back into place milliseconds afterwards. He knew very well that his was the most intricate piece, and the concentration it required was twenty-fold what was required for those of the others. It was an ambitious move to begin his small program with this, but he knew he needed their attention, and right now, he knew it was all his.

It was a bad time for his head to pound from lack of sleep, or his body to begin to ache from lack of proper nutrition. But he knew that petty things such as health shouldn't stop him. It never stopped any of the other great performers. Just. Keep. Going. He continued to count, his movements becoming slightly more strained with the new distractions. With a strong breath and a final semibreve, he'd finished the first song. The audience cheered, and he released breath he didn't even know he was holding. One down, four to go. 

The next piece was a waltz. Slightly easier. Had a slower pace. Definetely doable. And so he began, the song echoing through the building, flowing through pleased ears, and impressing people of all statuses. But his head pounded and his stomach churned, and his head spun to the extent at which he couldn't really  hear what he was playing. Everything seemed to echo beyond coherency and , this was definetely going to be an issue. He finished the second piece, barely.

The third was fast paced once more, and Jongin just wanted to die because oh no. I am not going to screw this up. He knew very well that he could've finished there, but he had too much pride. Funny how pride can so often lead to your demise. He continued, he persisted on to the end, and he could tell that some beats were off-time, and some notes weren't perfect. His shining technique was beginning to fade, and everyone knew that something was very wrong. The applause this time wasn't as frenzied. He stumbled a bit, and his face was growing more pale.

The fourth piece came, a self-composed song. He was so sure he could do it. Just one more Jongin, just one more. But apparently just one more wasn't enough, for as he pulled through the accented down-bow, his head gave way and he collapsed, falling endlessly into a pit of black, the continuation of the song still playing in his ears, his eyes still fierce with determination.

The music stopped. The fall wasn't just a fall anymore. Suddenly, it had become the beginning of a sizeable something. Whether or not that something was good was something nobody knew, but it was most certainly different. And well, you never really know with different, do you?

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A/N:

Hi there friends, the "drama" has begun. 
I'm really excited about this chapter, and I don't quite know why. There's something about writing of people struggling and non-violent conflict that just makes me so giddy. And no, not in the masochistic way. 
Anyway, hope you liked it! Don't forget to comment/subscribe~