Chapter Text
“There’s been a change in schedule”, the director of the chapel announced the day before the last performance of the competition. Pio glanced up and down the corridor to where Jeongyo was standing in the doorway of his own bedroom. The other boy’s face creased in concentration as he tried to absorb the English words.
“What change in schedule?” Pio asked, his own accent thicker than he’d like.
“Mr Choi will preform first tomorrow”, the director announced before turning to the boy. “Remember to be to leave at nine in the morning. Mr Kang will be picked up at twelve”.
Pio turned to Jeongyo. “You’re being picked up at nine tomorrow. They have swapped us around in the schedule”.
Jeongyo frowned in a different confusion than before. “Why?” The one word might have been considered rude but the silver haired woman just smiled, seemingly endeared by the clumsy English.
“We caught one of the other contestants with Mr Kang’s sheet music. Sabotage is frowned upon in this completion. As such, we decided to grant Mr Kang the extra time to practise”. She pulled another blue booklet from under her arm and held it to Pio. The boy gaping at it in shock.
“But I thought we only got one”.
The director smiled slightly. A change in her stern face. “You do but direct sabotage is a different matter”.
Pio took it, noting his name printed across the cover just like his previous copy. With the information given, the director bowed her head in parting to both of them and walked away down the corridor. As soon as she was out of sight Pio was stepping towards Jeongyo and offering the new clean book wordlessly. Jeongyo blinked at it.
“You have mine, I have yours”, Pio stated. Something warm in his chest as he offered his friend a smile. “You gave me yours. Do you think I would let you go without? You can even copy the notes you made if you want”.
The professional competitive side in him screamed that he shouldn’t be offering this to his greatest rival. His mother would kill him for this. But Pio had been letting those voices in his head win too much in the last few days. The pure warmth of Jeongyo giving him his own sheet music to practise with outweighs anything those voices said. Pio was done letting the jealous side of him win. If he was going to beat Jeongyo, then he would do it fairly.
The curly haired boy glanced down at the book before grinning in that sunshine way of his. His hands clasping over Pio’s, grip warm and tingling, for a moment before he took the booklet. “I may have to steal back a few notes”, he acquiesced sheepishly.
The reminder that Jeongyo wasn’t a genius, a talent yes, but not a genius who could have memorised the whole two pieces of music in a week was refreshing. Pio chuckled and turned back towards his room. The other boy bouncing at his heels.
——————
Pio stood at the path to the chapel in his suit as he watched Jeongyo step towards the black car that was to take him to the orchestra hall. The curly haired boy was fidgeting slightly with nerves. His little case with his, Pio’s, sheet music in one hand as the other messed with his shirt buttons.
Pio sighed and stepped forwards, smacking Jeongyo’s hands away to fix the boy’s bow tie. The weight of the storm, of unspoken things and tangled feelings lay heavy between them. Yet it did not dampen the brightness of Jeongyo’s fond smile. “I’ll see you later”.
Satisfied with the boy’s collar, Pio stepped back and nodded. His own nerves squirming in his gut. “I’ll be right behind”, he promised. A small smile of his own tugging briefly at his lips. In some ways, he was glad that he was to preform after Jeongyo. That he would not hear his friend’s performance. That he would not tear himself up over it.
“Good luck”, Jeongyo grinned and waved as if this competition was just another class and not a tenuous line through their relationship. Pio waved back as he watched the boy climb into the car. Unsure how to feel as he watched his friend disappear. The vehicle rolling away down the road.
Neither of them knew then that they would not see each other again for a long time.
——————
Pio practised until his fingers were on the verge of trembling. The extra hours he had been given flying past until the director was fetching him. He swallowed back his anxiety and picked up Jeongyo’s sheet music. The post it note still resting inside. It slid neatly into the case and he stood, following the white haired woman out of the house towards another black car. The vehicle waiting for him as he nodded his head in parting to the staff.
There were two men in the car he noted as he climbed into the back. A driver and a second man. He barely glanced at them as the car pulled away from the house. His brain on the sheet music in his hands. The music playing in his mind as he mentally checked the tempo and the timings. Perhaps he should have realised that something was wrong sooner. Noted that they were driving away from the city and further into the countryside. But his head was too consumed with nerves and checking the music that he didn’t bother looking out of the windows.
In fact he only noticed that something was wrong when the men began whispering to each other in argument. “He’s the wrong kid”, the driver hissed in English. “The one we were supposed to take had curly hair”.
“Did he? She said the one at twelve on this day”, the second guy answered, glancing none too subtly back. Pio froze, hands gripping the music sheets tighter as he tried not to react. Obviously the men in the front didn’t know his understanding of English. Their argument continuing.
“All Asians look the same to me”, the second guy grumbled. “This kid looks rich. We can probably get a good ransom from him anyway”.
“We were supposed to get the other one!” The driver stressed. “He’s the wrong target”.
He was being kidnapped, Pio realised with stomach dropping fear. They were not taking him to the concert hall. They were kidnapping him, apparently for a ransom. But he wasn’t even their intended target. They were supposed to take Jeongyo. The thought made his chest tighten. The men must not have known that the schedule changed. If the competition staff had not decided to swap his and Jeongyo’s timings then it would be the other boy in this situation. Despite the fear now filing him, Pio was relieved that it wasn’t Jeongyo here. He was glad that his friend was safe.
In the front of the car the second man began yelling at the driver. “Stop talking about the other kid. We will have to make do with the one we have!”
“But this changes the plan”, the driver protested. The car swerving slightly as they hit uneven woodland track. The vehicle bouncing over the road.
The second man pulled out a gun and Pio couldn’t help the gasp that escaped him at the sight. His body shrinking back in the seat as the man waved the gun at the driver. “I said shut up”.
“You’re gonna make me crash!” The driver yelped as he recoiled from the weapon.
Pio subtly reached for the door handles as he tried to breathe over his pounding heart. Why as this happening? Why did someone want to kidnap Jeongyo? He was going to miss the competition. Was this because someone wanted Jeongyo to miss the competition? He tried to think of who. Who hated the boy enough to wish him out of the picture. Instantly one face filled his head and he recoiled from the prospect. Surely his mother wouldn’t have done this. Surely not. She couldn’t have.
Pio swallowed and opened his mouth. The words almost desperate. “Did Kang Jihye ask you to do this?”
Instantly the gun was swung around to point at him. The gunman glaring. “Shut up”.
“I’m her son. Just let me go. You’ve got the wrong person”, Pio tried even as he cowered back from the weapon. Fear a wild animal in his mind as tears filled his eyes. He wanted to be back in Jeongyo’s dorm room. The boy snoring on the bed. All cosy and warm. Not here. He didn’t want to be here.
“If he’s her son then we really need to let him go”, the driver voiced. “That makes him more important. The police will be on us like dogs”.
“No, this just means we charge double the ransom”, the gunman declared with a greedy glint in his eyes.
“But the police!”
The gun went swinging back around to the driver’s head. Pio reacted quickly. No plan in his head. Just pure need to not let them take him to where they were planning. He had to get out. Warn Jeongyo that his mother was trying to kill him. He had to move. His long leg swung up the kicked the hand holding the gun. It dropped, a thunderous crack echoing around the car as it went off. The bullet smashing through the driver’s window. The car swerved sharply and Pio held on as it collided heavily with a tree. The whole impact jolting through his body.
For a few seconds the impact stunned him. The seatbelt and his grip on the door protecting him from the worst of the whiplash. Even then he could feel pain radiating across his chest at the strain of the impact. Pain that he ignored as he clicked off his seat belt and stumbled from the car. His sheet music clutched reflexively in his hands as he glanced around at the woodland surrounding him. There was no houses that he could see. Nothing but trees.
A shout from the gunman jolted him into flight. Animal instinct pressing him into a run. A stumbling sprint into the woods that was a far cry from the races he had held with Jeongyo in school. No this was a run for his life. Dress shoes through mud and catching on branches that littered the ground as he simply propelled himself forwards. Sheet music pressed to his chest as if it was a religious icon. His mind praying to it as if it could help him. Praying, pleading, a litany of scared prayers and one name. Jeongyo repeated around in his mind like a chant.
The first shot missed. The crack of the gun making him flinch and duck reflexively. Long legs almost tripping before he caught himself. Blood thrumming in his ears. Jeongyo, Jeongyo, Jeongyo. He didn’t want to die. He wanted to go back to the music room and play with the boy he loved. He couldn’t die here.
The second crack had him recoiling away from a tree stump as a splintered hole appeared in the trunk. His feet slipping and one arm reaching to catch himself on another tree to stop from falling over. Breathe a panicked wheeze.
He had barely picked himself up when pain exploded in his left leg. The suddenness of it blinding. It knocked the air from his lungs and then he was falling. Body hitting the earth and rolling. He was unconscious before he reached the bottom of the hill. His thought was of Jeongyo.
——————
Jeongyo was walking backstage of the concert hall. His hands tingling and the applause of the crowd still ringing in his ears. A self satisfied grin on his face as he skipped towards Pio’s assigned dressing room. His need to see his friend in the few minutes before the other’s performance a buzzing warmth. Yet when he got there, the door thrown open, it was to an empty room. No sign of his friend.
Jeongyo frowned at the sight. Pio should have arrived by now. Was his car caught in traffic? He turned on his heel and marched back towards the stage. “Pio? Where he?” He asked in broken English. But each person who passed looked as confused as he was. A few were on their phones. Words too fast for Jeongyo to catch fully but their faces of concern and worry was enough to make something begin to sink in the boy’s stomach. The words he did catch were enough for him to begin to grow worried. “We can’t get in contact with his car”.
He headed to the doors towards the audience. His need for answers outweighing the rules. He shoved one open and marched around the rows until he could spot Pio’s family. “Where’s Pio?” It was a demand. “He’s not there”.
Kang Jihye was pale as a sheet in her seat. Her hands clawing at the armrests as around them, the audience chattered loudly. Next to her, Do Hyeonsu had his phone out and raised it his ear. “I can’t reach him”, he declared.
“This can’t be happening”, Jihye whispered. Jeongyo ignored her, head turning as the announcer walked into stage.
“Pio Kang is unable to be reached. As such, we will continue the competition without him. The police have been notified. Please be assured that as soon as we know something, we will let family and friend know. But for now, the judges will judge the rest of the contestants”.
Jeongyo didn’t catch all the words. He turned to Hyeonsu. “What did he say?” It was a demand.
Hyeonsu looked to be in shock. “Pio’s missing”, he muttered. “They have alerted the local police”. The words made Jeongyo’s stomach drop. This couldn’t be happening. Pio couldn’t be missing. Yet he knew that something bad had happened. Pio wouldn’t miss this for anything. Something bad had to have happened for him to not be here.
In her seat Kang Jihye let out a wail. “It wasn’t supposed to be Pio!”
Jeongyo’s eyes narrowed in her. Her words did not sound right. “What do you mean?” He reached over the seats to grab her shoulder, shaking it as her tear filled gaze met his. “What do you mean?”
Jeongyo had never seen someone glare at him with so much hate before. It would have chilled him to the bone if he wasn’t so angry. “You!” She screamed. The whole audience turning to look as she rose to her feet. Advancing on him away from the pews as her voice grew frantic. “You! They were supposed to take you! But your times were swapped and now they have my Pio!” Her words cut off with a sob as she collapsed to the floor.
Jeongyo stared in pure shock at the sobbing woman before him. “You sent men to kidnap me?” The question was a stunned whisper. “Why?”
“Why?” Jihye echoed with a manic laugh. “Because you don’t deserve to be up there! My Pio is the only one who deserves to be up there. Not some orphan. You were going to take everything from him. I did this to protect him”.
“Protect him?” Jeongyo shouted. “You had him kidnapped!”
“How could you do this?” The words were a shocked wheeze. Jeongyo turned to see Kang Seungun standing to his right. The old man was gazing at his daughter in disbelief. His wife at his side, hand pressed over her mouth.
“Because of you!” Jihye screamed. “Because of how you treated me, how you treated Pio. How could you acknowledge some random boy and not my Pio? How could you do that to my Pio? How father? How?” She broke off with another loud wail and pressed her head into her hands. “Now my baby might be dead!”
Jeongyo stood in stunned shock as the woman wept. The audience silent around him as the doors burst open and police entered. He watched distantly, as if in a nightmare, as they pulled Jihye from the floor and out of the room. The woman half limp in their grasp. Do Hyeonsu following behind them, his voice unheard as the man tried to ask questions. The doors cutting him off as they closed behind them.
Jeongyo barely noticed as Pio’s grandfather was led back to his seat by his wife. The world passing in a daze as he wandered absently back to his dressing room. Where he collapsed into a chair and pressed his face into his hands. “Pio please be alive. Pio. Please”. It was half mumbled. A desperate worried plea to any god. Jeongyo didn’t even care about the competition anymore. He just wanted Pio next to him.
——————
Pio woke to a white washed room. Only the bare necessities filled the space. Some wooden furniture. A wooden bed. A wooden cross on the wall. The sunlight soft in the windows. It made his head hurt. A dazed throbbing pain that made him squint. He turned his head at the soft sound of voices and watched as three men, monks he realised, walked into the room. They were speaking a language he wasn’t familiar with but they did not seem threatening. Their brown and black robes were unadorned. The crossed handing round their necks reminded Pio of something. He winced as his head ache increased.
“You’re awake”, the eldest monk stated, switching to English upon seeing him. He was a man in his fifties with a soft face and calm blue eyes. “You had a rather nasty fall. My name is brother Simon. This is brother Elijah and Brother Lewis”.
Pio nodded slightly at them. He tried to wet his lips. “Where am I?” The language was stilted and using it made his head hurt, but it came out clearer than expected. “I don’t remember what happened”. In fact he didn’t remember much at all. It was all a disjointed jumble in his skull. As if someone had taken a jar full of his memories and shaken them up. He distantly recalled the warmth of a smile. A boy pressed to his side and piano keys under his fingers. A woman praying in tears and the feelings of guilt and shame in his gut. Fear and pain.
“That’s probably due to trauma”, a middle aged red head monk explained. Brother Lewis he guessed. “You were shot in the leg and fell down a steep slope. It is not surprising that your head is a bit mixed up”. He reached over and tugged the blankets away from Pio’s leg and the boy was reminded of the distractingly sore feeling of the limb. He wondered how he hadn’t felt it until then.
Lewis tutted at it. “I have done my best but the muscle and bone damage was severe. Without a hospital, I could only do so much. You may need crutches or a wheelchair in the future. I’m sorry”.
Pio swallowed, surprised to find that the words were not as devastating as he expected. They were saddening, but some sort of him was relieved that it had not been his arms. “Where am I?” He asked again.
‘The Czech Republic”, brother Elijah answered. He was the youngest of the three monks, far closer to Pio’s age. He had dark curly hair that caused a flash of memory to dance across the boy’s eyes. “What is your name?”
Pio frowned. “Pio”, he sounded out slowly, testing out the feel of it. There should be another part of it but he couldn’t remember. It felt like it was on the tip of his tongue yet he couldn’t reach it.
“Pio”, Elijah completely butchered. The sound made Pio wince.
Simon chuckled at the boy’s face. “Why don’t we call you Peter for now? Less we cause offence but butchering your name even more”.
“That’s fine”, Pio conceded after a moment. “Was I with someone?”
Elijah looked up from examining Pio’s bandages and frowned. “No. The farmers who found you said that you were alone. You were dressed in a suit and was carrying that”. He pointed to a muddy blue book on the bedside table. The cover was smeared with mug and some of the corners was water logged.
Pio picked it up. There had once been a name on the cover but the words were half blurred from the mud. ‘Choi jeo-‘. Pio traced his fingers over the name before opening it to reveal a post-it note stuck inside the cover. It was almost clean, Korean words clear. “Take it. I have already memorised it”. No signature. He couldn’t remember who had written it.
“We thought that was your name. But we couldn’t read it very well. Not all of us speak English”, Elijah voiced. Pio traced the Korean words gently, a sadness in his chest.
“I just have a feeling that I was trying to reach someone”, Pio murmured. Half to himself. The words going unanswered.