He was always there, strumming that ratty old guitar with knitted eyebrows and a soul swaying with pain and uncertainty; adoration and felicity. Sometimes he would sing, not always though, but when he did it was silky and hushed as if it was for his ears only.

Minhyuk absorbed himself within it without even realising, well, at least until the bus came and reality splashed into view again like the puddle that he was now coated in. Perfect. It was nice while it lasted. And so, he trudged on with his life, not really caring about much and not really seeing much either. He had thought that life would’ve been so exciting after he’d moved out of his ruddy hometown. It was supposed to be much more interesting and he was going to make something of himself. That wasn’t the case however, and now he only found comfort in the boy who played guitar with his case open for tips, at the bus stop.

It was raining again today as he waited for the bus. The boy was there again, rain wetting his hair and dripping into his eyes and down his neck. His fingers still strummed the strings and moved along the neck, smoothly and precisely. It was hypnotising to Minhyuk. He seemed to play so easily, as if it was a second instinct.

The next day was different, yet it was still raining. The boy had his head thrown back and he sang. He sang to the heavens, and to the birds in the trees, and to the people he’d lost, the people he missed and the people he loved. He sang to himself. He sang to Minhyuk.

Rain drops ran down the boy, Yukwon’s, face, over his cheeks and to his lips. Although, Minhyuk didn’t notice that it was just raindrops that caressed his face. He never noticed the tears that cascaded in ribbons from his eyes.  He didn’t know how his arm ached and how his legs were tired and just how heavy he felt. Maybe that’s why he liked playing in the rain, no matter to the damage that it caused to his guitar, he always mistook his grief for passion.

Yukwon ended the song with a sigh that wouldn’t have been heard over the rain and the bus now pulling up. His soar finger gently rubbed over the strings. The bus drove away and with it went to boy who sat and watched him. He often wondered what that boy did for a living; what he would do if he was in the boy’s position. He’d probably buy a car to get away from this damned bus stop. Maybe, if he had money he just wouldn’t get up, he would sleep forever, run away to a dream land like Peter Pan. He would forget, only he couldn’t. The drizzling would turn into a storm, just like his dreams into nightmares, forcing him to wake up covered in a cold and sickly sweat.

Calm down, Yukwon, it’s alright now, the voice twinkled like chimes in the wind. Just relax and fade away. You don’t need to do this. So he didn’t. He just stopped.

Minhyuk was in such a good mood the next day that he nearly didn’t notice the boy’s absence. He looked up to find nothing and nobody around. Oh. Maybe he’s ill, he rationalised, he has been playing in the rain, and maybe he caught a cold.

But then, he wasn’t there the next day, or the day after that. It was strange and unnatural, like something was missing, like breathing with only one lung. Minhyuk caught himself reaching out to where the boy had stood, but he was only grasping at damp air. He stared for a long while, stuck in position. The bus had long passed but he could bring himself to move, he could find the power to lift his leg, or even a finger. Slowly, he blinked his eyes and swallowed.

The boy who strummed his heartstrings was gone. And the cycle continues.