You had gone to a Musical Orchestra Theater today, and the only Saxophone Player caught your eye. As he played, you noticed his reddened cheeks, and brushed it off as that was bound to happen, doing all that blowing. But then halfway, his face grew pale, and his fingers quivered. Before anyone knew it, he collapsed onto the floor. Without hesitation you ran from your seat onto the stage where people crowded around him, confused and worried.

You checked his vitals, and he seemed to be mostly fine. From the looks of his age, he seemed to have collapsed from exertion, making it official that its time for him to retire for his own good. Since you had grown fond of him that day, you signed his papers for retirement, put his Sax safely away in its case, put it in the trunk of your car, put the man, which you found out his name was Paul, into the passenger seat of your car and began driving.

According to his colleagues, he rented a hotel room, and hardly had any possessions except for his instrument, phone, and his cane, which you had set between his legs for him. As you drove to your house, he slowly woke up.

"Oh, bloody hell, that did not feel good." He looks around. "Wait, where am I going? And who are you, my dear?"