A/N: So even I can't keep up this breakneck pace forever, right? I'm going to slow down this next week, so don't freak out if I don't update every day. I'm doing my best 😉

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When it happened, it happened quickly.

Graham was at the piano, as usual, wrapped up in the intricate third movement of the Rachmaninov, when suddenly he heard a huge noise, a creak, like an old ship would make. The sound came from over his head, where a sound like that should never happen.

He stopped playing and looked up, just in time to see the crack in the ceiling open up and an absolute deluge of water come down on him and the piano.

WTF?

Graham jumped up and leapt away from the water. He ran to the other side of the room, staring at the hole in the ceiling and the water, which seemed to be following him in a small rivulet across the floor.

Mikey's astonished face appeared in the hole, which was now the size of a coffee table. "Graham? Are you okay, dear?"

"I'm okay," he assured her. "You should get away from the hole, though, looks like the edge is going to give way even more."

Sure enough, another big chunk of the ceiling gave one warning creak and came crashing down on the floor. He could now see very well into Mikey's apartment through the hole.

There was a tap on his door, and he opened it to find Mikey, looking concerned.

"I'm calling the landlord right now," Graham got his phone out. "Yes, hello? This is Graham Stevens, your tenant on Myrtle Street? That's right, 1A. Well, something's gone really wrong, a leak or a water pipe broke or something. Yeah, there's a huge hole in the ceiling and water everywhere." He looked at Mikey, who was peering around interestedly. "What? No, I can't repair it with a little plaster like last time." He listened for a moment before saying, "I don't think you understand, there's a fucking hole in the ceiling you could drive a car through, and water is coming through it at about a thousand gallons a minute!" He listened some more. "Okay, okay, I can do that, where is it?"

He hung up and turned to Mikey. "He's on his way, and he told me to go to the garden and turn off the water main." He and Mikey went outside and hunted around, until Mikey finally found it, a great, huge knob under a cover next to the house. Mikey couldn't turn it, so she called for Graham.

He came over and turned it until it wouldn't turn anymore.

"Okay, so that's done, now what?" Mikey asked.

"I guess we wait for Rufus." Rufus was their landlord.

"I'm surprised Cressida didn't come down to see what was going on, she must've heard it up in her apartment, don't you think?"

"Cress has class right now."

They went back in to survey the damage.

The water had spread across the floor of most of the apartment, leaving interesting patterns where it had run down the wall.

"Oh, Graham, your piano!" Mikey was aghast.

"I know, I know," Graham groaned, squelching through the water to survey the damage. Up close, it looked even worse. The water had broken through the top and soaked the soundboard. A big chunk of ceiling sat on top of it. Many of the hammers had also broken.

"Will you be able to repair it?" Mikey asked.

"No, I don't think so. It would cost more than the piano's worth, even if I had the money," Graham replied, running his hand through his wet hair. "Dammit!"

Now what?

After about half an hour, Rufus finally arrived. He was a perpetually grumpy man in his late fifties with a perfectly round potbelly, almost like he had a basketball for a stomach, and Graham had never seen him without his Yankees hat.

"Holy shit," he said, looking around. "You okay?" he asked Mikey and Graham.

They both nodded.

He pulled on rubber boots, which he'd brought with him, and walked under the hole, which was still dripping. "Looks like it's been leaking for a while, and then the pipe just blew." He looked around. "Your piano's fucked, huh?"

"Yes."

"You got a place you can sleep tonight?" He turned a little to include Mikey in his glance and remarks.

"I can go stay with my sister in Queens, no problem," Mikey said.

"I can stay with Cress, up in 3A, for a night. But Rufus, this is going to be more than just one day or even a few days, isn't it?"

Rufus took off his cap to scratch his head. "I'll know more tomorrow, but yeah, this is going to be pretty bad."

Just then Cressida came home, looking like a teenager with her Pikachu backpack.

"Oh my god what happened?" She stood in the doorway of Graham's apartment, staring.

"Water pipe broke." Rufus was a man of few words.

Cressida took in Graham's soaked and disheveled condition. "Did the water fall on you? Were you at the piano when it happened?"

"Yes." He kicked at the water on the floor, sending up a spray. "I'm fucked." He looked at Cressida. "I told him I could stay with you for tonight?"

She nodded, still looking around in disbelief. "You're lucky you weren't killed, Graham!" She gestured toward the piece of ceiling that rested half in and half out of the ruined piano.

"I better call my guys to come over," Rufus said glumly.

Cressida helped Graham gather up what he could to bring to her apartment. He emptied his few clothes into a duffel while she gathered the sheet music that was all over his table, and he followed her upstairs.

"What am I going to do?" Graham asked rhetorically as he paced in Cressida's tiny apartment. "I have no place to live, no place to fucking practice, and the deClerq's in less than two months—"

Cressida looked at him in sympathy. "You can stay here for as long as you need."

"Where am I going to sleep? Your little bed's nice for love making, but it's too small for both of us to sleep in for more than a night or two. And more to the point, where am I going to practice?" Graham's sheer physical presence, his size and deep voice, made her apartment seem even smaller than it was.

"It's not like Rufus isn't going to fix it, right?"

Graham turned on her. "It's going to be weeks, Cress, possibly months! And Rufus isn't going to get me a new piano, is he?" he thundered, making Cress jump. "I'm up shit creek, sans paddle, in case you hadn't noticed."

He looked at her and his expression softened. "I'm sorry I yelled, but god, what am I going to do?" He was beyond frustrated, but that was no reason to take it out on Cress, was it?

"It's okay, I know how upset you must be," Cressida commiserated.

Graham lay down on her bed, hands behind his head, contemplating her ceiling.

Cressida crawled next to him, snuggling into his side, and he lowered an arm around her, rubbing her back.

"Being poor sucks."

Cressida nodded. "Do you think we should go down there and start cleaning up?" she asked, putting a hand on his chest. "Maybe start drying things out?"

But Graham shook his head. "Rufus and his guys are there, and that mess is way too big for us to do anything sensible, anyway."

"You realize we can't shower?"

"I hadn't thought about that."

"Yeah, I have drinking water in the fridge, but I can't wash the dishes or anything."

Graham sighed, and Cressida knew that her lack of running water was the last thing on his mind.

That night, after love, they spooned together to sleep, as it was really the only way they both fit. Graham reveled in the closeness of her, of Cress, whom he loved dearly. This was what it would be like if they were married, he mused, just poverty that stretched as far as the eye could see; a tiny apartment, a tinier bed, no money for anything, let alone a decent piano. He'd have to take any jobs he could get, accompanying people who were auditioning, dance classes, hotel lobbies. He'd never have a career as a soloist, which was all he'd ever dreamed of.

He drifted off to sleep, his arm firmly around Cressida's waist. She turned over in the night and wrapped her arms around his neck. He stroked her back. Sleeping with someone, like actually sleeping, was a very intimate act, almost as intimate as making love.

The next morning, Cressida had class, and Graham had his piano lesson with the professor. They looked into Graham's apartment on their way out, just to see what was being done. Most of the ruined furniture had been hauled away, including the piano and Graham's bed, and huge fans had been set up to try to dry everything out.

They kissed goodbye at the door like an old married couple.

"See you later."

"Later."

Cressida went off to class, filled with the joy of having spent the entire night with Graham, fantasizing about what it would be like to be married to him and live that way every blessed day. He'd play the piano and she'd write, and they'd compare notes from time to time. They'd have a little apartment somewhere, full of sunshine and love.

She nearly swooned just thinking about it.

Graham was waiting for her when she got home, sitting on the stairs, looking at his laptop.

"So? Any progress?" she asked as they went up to her apartment. They went inside and Cressida opened the windows to cool the place down.

"I talked to Rufus, and it seems like it's going to be at least six weeks," Graham said, his depression apparent. "There are mold issues to contend with also, so that after the pipes and ceiling are fixed, they have to treat the walls and floors and everything, and then have the city come and inspect all of it to make sure it's up to code and not toxic and all that."
"Oh god." Cressida sat on the couch next to him and took his hand.

"The prof offered a solution, though, a pretty good one."

"What's that?"

"I stay with her until the competition. She has plenty of room, I'd have access to her piano, and I wouldn't have to worry about money or where my next meal was going to come from or anything."

Cressida released his hand. "What? But Katherine would be there. And it's all the way uptown." She knew she sounded like a whiney little kid, but she couldn't help it. She didn't want him there.

"I know all that, but this solution ticks all the boxes, don't you see? It's not like I want to go, there's just no other way."

"Can't you just stay here with me and find a piano to practice on? NYU has practice rooms or something, we could find out where they are and sneak you in?" Cressida was desperate.

"You honestly think that would work? I need at least six hours a day, preferably more like eight. Where exactly are these practice rooms?"

"I don't know, but I could find out—"

Graham sighed. "Like I said, this solution ticks all the boxes."

What about me? Cressida wanted to ask. Aren't I a box, too?

"I just don't want you there, that's all," Cressida finally said. "I don't like the professor, and I hate Katherine for what she did to you."

"I know, and thanks for the sentiment, really, but it's only for six weeks or so." He leaned in to hug her, pulling her close. "We can make it work."

Cressida shrugged, resigned. "I guess we'll have to. I guess we'll have to."