Once again, constricted in those torturous walls, every bow rung meaningless in the boy's head. Part of him was hopeful, really. Seeing children, his age, playing outside, carefree. He would be like them someday, right? Toya really was a natural. Merely a teen, and his talent never once running shallow? He really was made for this. Once, he saw someone outside his window. They had unmistakeable ginger hair, and.. almost mesmerising olive green eyes. In his hand, a microphone. He looked carefree.

He is now a young man. Despite the crushing weights forced upon him, he finds comfort in the bustling streets. Toya walked his way home, the strap to his violin case draped over his shoulder. He heard a familiar melody. He turned, curiously, and.. Toya found himself in the small crowd, watching the ginger perform in such awe.