Chapter Text
Was midnight when Choi shut down the score Pi-o was playing for third time. Pissed and sighing, stressed.
“You’re too slow, Kang Pi-o, do you really think you’re a musician with that weak technique?”
He said bitterly, mocking him. Making him suffer.
He leaned down, close to Pi-o’s ear to whisper.
“You’re really a waste of space, aren’t you?”
Pi-o’s hands were trembling. His wounded fingers ached from playing the piano the all night. He was exhausted, completely drained, and didn’t dare to look up into Jeongyo’s eyes. He already knew what he’d find, pure and unfiltered hate, like the words that were slipping out from that mouth.— The opposite of the voice that used to cheer him.
“Again, since the beginning.” Jeongyo ordered.
Pi-o’s trembling fingers hit the keys again, faster, desperate, tired.
His fingers began to bleed again as he played, smearing across the keys, but all Pi-o felt was a dull ache. Completely detached from pain.
Jeongyo, who had been facing the wall, turned to scold him again. But before he could utter another harsh word, he froze. The keys were covered in blood.— Far more than before. For a brief second, his mask cracked, seeing the bloody keys and Pi-o’s hollow, lifeless expression alarmed him.
But then the memories of the kidnapping and the nine lost years flooded back… and his composure hardened again.
“Stop!” He barked, but Pi-o kept playing, as if completely deaf.
Angry, Jeongyo walked over and grabbed the collar of Pi-o’s shirt hard. Stopping him abruptly.
Pi-o flinched, snapped out of his trance. His fingers bleeding.
“You’re useless,” Choi sneered. Looking at those trembling hands. “Your grandfather was right. You’re a mistake. You don’t even know how to play.”
Did… Jeongyo really say that?
Pi-o’s eyes finally met Jeongyo’s. Tears swelled up, though no one fell, his gaze turned more vacant.
Jeongyo felt a pang of regret, but he ignored it. Burying his concern deep.
A week passed, and Pi-o didn’t show up to the sessions again. No calls, no texts. Jeongyo would be lying if he said he didn’t care, because he did, a lot.
He couldn’t even bring himself to publish the video.
And days kept passing.
On Tuesday, long past midnight, Jeongyo sat in front of the piano, still a faintly stained with Kang Pi-o’s blood when his phone buzzed.
He answered, only to know the worst news possible.
Kang Pi-o had nothing to do with his case. Was Pi-o’s mother, and Pi-o only just found out a few weeks ago.
The phone slipped from Jeongyo’s fingers.
Kang Pi-o was innocent… and yet, he silently took all the blame, enduring Jeongyo’s hatred, all his torment.
He… made him suffer all this time, called him a mistake.
A growing remorse washed over him. He grabbed his phone and dialed Pi-o’s number, but went straight to voicemail. He sent a text, but none went through.
What he doesn’t know, is that the person he’s calling has been drowning since last time they saw.
What he didn't realize was that Pi-o was already standing at the edge of the bridge, staring down at the dark, freezing water under the midnight sky.
Suddenly, Pi-o’s phone lit up as signal restored, displaying a flood of missed notifications from Jeongyo. Among them was a single message: “We need to talk. Call me.”
But it was too late.
When the phone rang again, Pi-o answered.
“Pi-o?” Jeongyo’s voice held a wave of relief. “Pi-o, where are you? I know it’s late, but I was wondering if we could talk—”
“Choi Jeongyo, you were right,” Pi-o interrupted, his voice hollow and completely void of emotion. “I was just copying and memorizing... playing without any real emotion.”
A cold dread settled in Jeongyo’s chest. “Pi-o... where are you?”
“Would you miss me if I were gone?” Pi-o asked quietly, his hands shaking from the freezing cold and his bandaged fingers.
Jeongyo’s breath hitched. Before he even processed it, he was sprinting out of his apartment.
“Thanks for playing with me, Choi Jeongyo.”
“Wait, Pi-o—where are you?!” Jeongyo pleaded, his voice trembling as he ran faster into the night.
“I loved you all these nine years, Choi Jeongyo.”
A thunderous splash echoed through the receiver, followed by heavy silence. The call disconnected.
Jeongyo stared at his screen in horror, tears blurring his vision as his chest heaved. He ran blindly toward the bridge, but when he arrived, the ledge was empty.
Only a phone lay abandoned on the cold pavement. Pi-o’s phone.
“No... no, no, no,” Jeongyo sobbed, his hands shaking violently as he dialed emergency services.