I start to play, I only know chords, it calms me down. I'm playing what I just heard, he begins to sing, he has a beautiful rough deep voice, his voice is raspy but cotrolled, he has a really good technique he knows what to do with his voice, it's very warm. it's hypnotising. I stop playing he sits down next to me and starts playing the piano. I begin to sing, he sings with me and it's beautiful, his rough voice blends with my fragile one and comes out perfectly harmonised. He stops playing, I go on he gets his guitar and we go on. after a little time I look at his hands on the strings when I notice scars, and one that's not healed yet, it's fresh, I've never seen anyone cutting himself. I thought about it, but I couldn't think of a reason why I would do it if I don't do it to die. I grab his wrist. he hauls it out of my hand, something is not quite right. He looks like he has been hurt. I put a hand on his shoulder, sigh and swallow. "Are you okay? dod I hurt you?" "No, I'm sorry" "So you have a rich family" "Yep, and they want me to carry on their legacy" "That's quite a bit of pressure" "What are your parents like?" "pretty dead" "oh, I'm sorry" "no, it's okay, I was raised in a monastery" "Oh, dreadful" he says while making a weird face, I chuckle. "So what do you want to do?" "i want to be a singer but I'm afraid I can't sing with an audience." "We could try, but first we would have to write a song" his phone goes off.