The cobble-paved streets were emptying of the town’s citizens in the frigid winter night. Clouds of steam puffed from the hot horse-drawn carts and cabbies. Acrid smoke from hearths and door lamps filled the air. A slim man, hidden beneath a thick coat and woollen scarf, strode through these dark streets. He pulled up his collar to block out the cold wind and dirty smoke.

The folk he passed by stopped in their tracks, rubbed their eyes, and looked back again. He ignored them; it was probably his dark-lens glasses that were gaining the attention. He had won them from the land-bound sailor at the other town he had stayed the previous night.

The man with exotic sunglasses cradled his belly. He reprimanded himself for pigging out at the tavern. Surely though it was not his fault (he argued with himself); the tavern boy had such a stunning smile that demanded to be admired. It was just unfortunate that the tavern matron had insisted his fee for the show be the food she placed in front of him. His belly gurgled at the memory of the thick beef stew and he quickly covered his mouth with a gloved hand to urge it back down.

A wave of dizziness washed over him. He reached out his other hand to lean against a nearby wall and waited for the weakness to fade away. With nothing else to do, he evaluated his reflection off the shopfront window he realised he was leaning against. He looked ... empty. Overlain the shadows of the blue and white porcelain bows on the other side of the glass was a gaunt and pasty face, hidden beneath large black glasses. Sharp cheekbones glowed a little from the flickering lamp light nearby. A trace of sauce stained his lower lip, which he wiped away with the back of his hand. The tips of his ears were touched with a bright pink from the night’s (lack of) warmth. A particularly strong gust of wind underscored the need for him to find a warm bed.

Another wind brushed by and he tilted his head to the side as if someone was poking a rude finger to the side of his head. Catches of a melodic tune echoed into his ear. It whispered a fragment of a lively jig that stirred an unfamiliar feeling in his chest. The melody of the piano danced towards him. Low notes and high notes floated out to wrap around his arms and he felt himself be pulled along. He stumbled like a drunkard on a festival night.

He followed the piano melody to a brick inn set alone at the end of an alleyway. A street sign gleamed dully in the moonlight: Angel’s Alley.

He took a cautious step into the dark alleyway. The sounds of the piano were definitely coming from the building in front of him. He took another step forwards. It could be said that the wind had a mind of its own; an impatient push forced the slim and cold man towards the thick wooden doors.

Muffled laughter and good cheer greeted him when he pulled open the doors. Golden light filled the expansive space of the inn with orange warmth. A large fire crackled within its alcove to the right. To the left was a counter that separated the public space from the kitchen. And directly in front of him was a black and grand piano.

A merry trotting song registered in his ears but it was the man playing it that captured his attention. He was dressed in a sharp suit; a squishy bow was fixed at his neck. The stranger at the door would normally have described the pianist’s round face as plain and uninteresting, were it not for the unaffected and infectious smile that travelled from his full lips and up to his brown eyes. The man at the door remained entranced by the way the short fingers played over the black and white keys. It was only when the song finished with a flair and applause that the stranger shook himself from his reverie.

A whistle sounded to his left and he looked across to find a youth wave at him from behind the counter. He weaved through the occupied tables of well-dressed night revellers. The youth grinned at him when he arrived at the counter. The amused gleam in his eyes said that he had seen him at the door.

“I wasn’t sure if you were actually a human-sized statue or not,” the youth said with a knowing grin. The stranger ignored the gibe and coolly looked at the boy behind his dark sunglasses. But the boy was undeterred and conspiratorially whispered that the pianist was unattached.

The boy stifled a laugh and clarified that the man at the piano was romantically unattached.

A frown formed behind the sunglasses; weren't they the same thing?

“Taemin!” The shout came from the kitchen and the boy stopped his laughter. Taemin pulled out a dirty rag and made out that he had been wiping down the countertop all along. A muscled young man with a chef’s hat that hung lopsidedly over his brown hair emerged from the kitchen. “Taemin, I know yer have been slacking off yer work!” he said and the boy increased his efforts in making the surface shine. The chef then noticed the man on the other side of the counter. “Oh, are yer hungry?” he asked.

The man’s stomach gurgled again at the mention of food. “No, no thank you,” he hastily declined.

“Really? That’s a shame. We have good pies.”

“Shepherd pie,” Taemin agreed.

“Fruit pie,” the chef continued.

“Fruit pie!” Taemin echoed before confusion washed over his face, “Wait. Fruit pie?!”

“Apple pie,” the chef amended without skipping a beat.

“Apple pie!” And Taemin’s face returned to its cherry excitement in calling out their pie menu.

“Err, no thank you,” the stranger shook his hands to emphasise his reluctance.

“That is a shame,” the chef sadly repeated and scuffed his shoe on the ground.

“Hey Jonghyun,” Taemin nudged the chef’s side. “He was spacing out over Onew just now.”

Jonghyun cocked his head to the side as he processed Taemin’s titbit. A slow grin formed over his face. An unreadable glint reflected from his brown eyes. “Oh, really?”

Taemin nodded his reassurance of the fact.

“Say... care to stay here the night?” Jonghyun leaned forwards and dared to pull down the stranger’s sunglasses. Brown eyes met each other; one spoke of a slyness, the other of irritation. “Yer can try our pies tomorrow morning,” he continued.

A general applause preluded a scale of the piano keys.

Jonghyun eyes flickered from the stranger’s and towards Onew, their pianist. “What do yer say?”

The stranger looked over his shoulder and at the figure making sweet music. He did not notice Taemin pull out a tattered notebook to fill out their room register.

“What is your name, Mister?” Taemin asked him as he started to lose himself in the strange magic coming from the piano. “You will have room number 11,” Taemin continued.

“Hmm...?”

“Hey, Mister!”

Onew swayed on his seat and broke out into a delighted laugher after a particularly happy section of his music.

“Mister!”

“Key," the stranger finally responded to Taemin’s incessant pokes at his side. "Call me Key.”