"Seb, I believe this is killing me," You muttered, as a smile ran away from your face. "I'm sure I could be a movie star, if I could get out of this place."

Sebastian watches you intently as his fingers move slowly against the keyboard's piano keys. The song continues, even as he looks away from his fingers. He knows the song by heart, considering he wrote it himself, and he has never once made a mistake. His warm, blue eyes gaze upon you for a moment, displaying nothing of what he's really thinking. If you were anyone else, he might have shown an awkward expression, or even one of disbelief. But it's you. And the only thing he can muster is an encouraging, but small, smile.

Because he isn't quite sure how successful a stage four cancer patient would be on the big screen.

He took the gig because he had too. Playing the piano for patients at the cancer ward at his local hospital. His club is undergoing renovations, but he couldn't just sit at home, playing for himself anymore. It would be a good use of his time, he thought, to play for some people who may need some cheering up. He didn't expect it to rip his heart out and leave his soul empty.

So many beautiful people ravished by illness. You especially. You've shown him old pictures of yourself. You were so beautiful; full of life, bright, smiling, optimistic... a life ahead of you. Now you're confined to a bed, a beanie on your head, hiding your bald head form his view. You're pale and thin, eyes concave and cheekbones sharp against your skin. Wires and IVs.

Sebastian knows all about dreams and passion and want. It took him years to get the jazz club he wanted- needed- to accomplish his dream of rejuvenating the genre. He wishes he could help you accomplish your dream.

"You should just go." Sebastian says, and he believes you can do it. Even if you have surgery next week, and chemotherapy tomorrow. Even if you can't leave, if you're too weak. Living a life of pain and longing and depression. No family or friends... but him. He believes in you.