Leo locked himself in his room again, no melody comes into his head. He sinks his teeth into his hand to force himself to compose. It bleeds, though the pain is worse inside his own mind. Still, he can't compose. So he reaches out for the bloody pocketknife on his desk.

"Composing is the only thing I'm good for.. if I can't even do that... then no one will love me anymore."

He begins to whine in pain as drops of blood stain the sheet music on his hand. He doesn't even notice his eyes are getting teary until his vision gets blurry and a tear wets the paper. Suddenly, he hears key noises at the door. Leo immediately throws the pocketknife to a corner and crawls onto his bed, curling up, hugging his knees in an attempt to look smaller and move away from the door. He feels anxious, overwhelmed. He can't hold it in anymore. He starts to sob, crying uncontrollably as all the deep, ugly emotions he had been bottling up for so long finally come out. And they won't stop. He's scared, so scared of being seen in this pitiful state. To not be seen as the genius composer anymore. To not be loved anymore. After all, that's all he ever wanted. To make people happy with his songs. To receive love. To love. So why does it hurt so much?