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High above the orchestra playing below, behind the glass balcony, at a table for two. Sehun sits alone, the other chair conspicuously empty. The second floor is lit dimly by glass chandeliers, hanging distantly from the shadowy ceiling. All around him, a constant murmuring of voices that fades in and out of focus, some lilting and high, others deep and quiet. The tinkling of glass flutes touching and the sighing woosh of bottles tipping.

 

A thud sounds, a wineglass appears in front of him, and he looks up. A man smiles at him with twinkling eyes.

 

“Don’t mind if I sit here, do you?”

 

Slowly, Sehun shakes his head. The man’s eyes follow Sehun’s hands as they reach for his glass. He holds it up to what little light there is, swirling the red liquid around idly. Almost empty.

 

The man picks up his own glass, holds it up too, and the two men touch rims before throwing back the wine simultaneously. As they both sit back, the man extends a hand.

 

“Park Chanyeol.”

 

“Oh Sehun,” he answers, taking it, and they shake.

 

“So, Sehun,” Chanyeol says, “what brings you here tonight? What’s your story?”

 

Sehun shrugs, pours himself some more wine. “Bad breakup. You know.”

 

Silence answers him, and he looks up. Chanyeol’s eyes gleam in the light, his arms and legs crossed comfortably.

 

To hell with it, Sehun thinks, and keeps talking.

 

“It actually happened quite a while ago. My boyfriend Luhan and I had been together for a long time, even on today’s terms. Almost three years. But he started seeing someone else, and he knew I was aware of it.”

 

Sehun’s eyes water a little. “Both of us still loved each other, I’m sure of it. I would have followed him anywhere his heart went. He left, though. One night, he just left. I don’t know if you could really call it a breakup. But the physical pain that struck my heart that morning when I found out—it’s never gone away.”

 

Chanyeol’s eyes are full of sympathy as he pats Sehun on the shoulder. “I really am sorry,” he tells him, and Sehun believes it.

 

“Look,” Chanyeol says, “you seem like you don’t know this place very well. You’re always alone when you’re here, I’m guessing.”

 

Sehun nods.

 

“Alright,” he continues. “Then why don’t I take you around, introduce you to some people? It might do you some good.”

 

Some consideration, and then another nod.

 

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt.”

 

“That’s the way,” Chanyeol smiles, and stands up. Sehun follows suit, and Chanyeol points out towards the edge of the floor.

 

“There’s a nice bar back there, guy who runs it isn’t too bad either. Let’s go see what’s happening tonight.” He sets off briskly, Sehun walking a little behind.

 

When they get there, most of the seats are already filled. The guy, true to Chanyeol’s words, is an easy natured man who entertains his guests with bad jokes. Sehun overhears the guests chatting with him on first name terms, and figures they must be regulars.

 

Spotting an empty seat, he sits down, nodding to the bartender. There’s another empty seat nearby and Sehun turns around to tell Chanyeol, but he’s nowhere to be found. He’s about to stand up and go look for him when somebody claps him on the shoulder.

 

It’s the bartender. “Haven’t seen you around before,” he smiles. “You new here?”

 

Sehun nods, slightly anxious. “Ah,” says the man. “That’s what I thought. Well, my name is Jongdae, and I run this bar. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

 

“Pleasure to meet you too,” Sehun replies. “I’m Sehun.”

 

Just then deep bell chimes issue from all around the floor. Twelve of them, he counts.

 

“Midnight,” Jongdae confirms. “You came just in time. Midnight means storytime at this bar.”

 

At Sehun’s quizzical look, he elaborates. “Each night when the clock strikes twelve I tell my story. Then we go around and everybody else does too. I know how nervous and secretive some of you folks can get, so don’t worry—you only tell if you want to.”

 

Sehun’s about to ask why this is a nightly tradition, this telling of stories, and what its purpose is, but Jongdae has already hurried back to his position behind the counter.

 

The talking has toned itself down, and the atmosphere is quiet now as ears and eyes open up to hear Jongdae’s story.

 

“We were so happy,” he begins.

 

“We were the happiest couple you could find anywhere, Minseok and I. We didn’t have much, but we didn’t care. I was working several jobs, and he was employed at a coffee shop. Neither of us got home until late, but when we were together we drank in every minute like it was made of gold.

 

“Then... then the accident happened.”

 

A multitude of sighs and groans fill the area. Sehun sees some onlookers nodding as if they’ve heard this story already, then realizes that if this is a daily retelling, they probably have.

 

“The car didn’t even stop,” Jongdae continues, and Sehun turns his attention back to the story. “The bastard just kept on driving. He was never caught. And it was too late for Minseok by the time the ambulance got him to the hospital.”

 

Jongdae stops abruptly. “We got you,” somebody yells from the audience, and he nods a little.

 

“It was never the same after that. Life, that is. Nothing made me happy anymore. Time still passed as usual, and the days flashed by, but it was never the same. I’ll never forget him.”

 

He sighs deeply, shoulders drooping. “And that’s my story.”

 

The audience claps in sympathy, in empathy. Some are tearing up.

 

The next man begins his story; it’s similar to Jongdae’s. Sehun gets the feeling that many, if not most, of the people here have experienced some kind of heartbreak. His own heart remembers the pain.

 

The man next to him asks him if is willing to share his story too, and after some consideration, Sehun agrees. Conscious of all the eyes on him, he clears his throat before beginning.

 

“It actually happened quite a while ago. My boyfriend Luhan and I had been together for a long time, even on today’s terms...”

 

After he finishes, there’s a round of applause that makes him feel a little better. Despite the pain it brings back, it feels good to share his story with others.

 

Halfway into the next one, somebody taps on his arm, and he spins around to see Chanyeol.

 

“Chanyeol!” he exclaims, remembering. He jumps up. “Where did you go? You missed Jongdae’s story and I couldn’t see you anywhere.”

 

“No worries,” Chanyeol replies. “I’ve heard his story many times before.” He nods to the other side of the floor. “It’s time to go now. I want you to meet Kyungsoo.”

 

Kyungsoo is a quiet man sitting by himself at a table far away from the balcony. He looks up when Chanyeol and Sehun arrive, then promptly looks back down at the table. Sehun sits down hesitantly next to him.

 

“I suppose you want to know my story too?” Kyungsoo says suddenly. Sehun looks at Chanyeol, who nods encouragingly.

 

“Sure.”

 

“Alright.” Kyungsoo says. “I’m warning you, it’s very sad. It might make you sad too.” His eyes are already watering, and before Sehun has a chance to say anything else he begins.

 

“I was tricked by a friend, you see. This friend, we had been friends for quite some time and we were quite close. At the time, I was dating a man named Kim Jongin. We had been dating for quite some time and we were very in love with each other. That’s what I thought, at least.

 

“My friend was always very eager to hear about my relationship with Jongin. I thought he was just excited for me, but one day I saw the two of them together, on a date. He had used everything I told him to take Jongin away from me, and Jongin—Jongin went with it.

 

“I broke up with him soon after, before he could break up with me. I wanted to have the upper hand in at least one way. Then I swore I would forget. I left the city, moved on my own. I still haven’t forgotten. And I miss him so much.”

 

Sehun feels his heart fill with compassion for the man. Kyungsoo looks away, as if he can sense it. “I don’t want your pity,” he says. “I just wanted you to listen.”

 

Sehun feels his own story pushing at its seams, trying to get out. A tradeoff, then.

 

“I’ll tell you mine,” he says, and the other man tilts his head, face darkened by shadows.

 

“It actually happened quite a while ago—”

 

“It’s time to go,” Chanyeol breaks in, grabbing Sehun’s arm.

 

“Chanyeol, what...?” Sehun protests, but Chanyeol’s grip is unbreakable. “I’m sorry!” he yells back at Kyungsoo as he leaves. “I’ll tell you rest later.”

 

Kyungsoo doesn’t reply, and as another man takes Sehun’s spot, he hears Kyungsoo speak again.

 

“I suppose you want to know my story too?”

 

Then they’re out of distance.

 

Sehun looks up at Chanyeol. “What the hell was that for? I was telling him my story.” He thinks of something else. “You left again, didn’t you? Now that I think about it, you weren’t there for Kyungsoo’s story at all.”

 

“Sehun, my friend,” Chanyeol replies, “as you said yourself, you can always tell him the rest of your story later. Now, we are going to meet somebody you already know.”

 

“I don’t know anybody in this place,” Sehun snaps back.

 

“You’d be surprised,” Chanyeol says. “His name... well, I’ll let him tell you himself.”

 

As Sehun and Chanyeol approach a man sitting on a sofa positioned in a small alcove, Sehun confirms that he does not in fact recognize him. There are a couple people sitting around his feet, listening to him speak. Sehun is struck by how loud the man is: even from a distance, his voice rises above the constant murmur of other conversations.

 

Sehun turns to Chanyeol, determined to keep an eye on him this time, but the man is already gone. With a sigh, he sits down.

 

“It looks like introductions are in order,” the man announces. It seems Sehun’s come just in time. “In case you didn’t know already, my name is Kim Jongin. My story is a tragic one...”

 

The rest of his introduction blurs together as Sehun sits in astonishment.

 

Kim Jongin?

 

Through his daze, he hears Jongin begin his story.

 

“I was in love with a man called Do Kyungsoo. I had this feeling he was the one, that we were really just meant to be. But you see, love is fickle. At one point I met one of Kyungsoo’s friends, and we just clicked. It was foolish of me, I’ll admit it. But our love was so fiery, so new, while my love for Kyungsoo seemed to dim in comparison.

 

“You can guess what happened next. Somehow Kyungsoo found out, and we split. And then he disappeared. At the time I wasn’t as upset as I should have been. That was quite stupid of me as well. And later, when I came to my senses and saw that Kyungsoo really was the one—at that point, it was too late. He was long gone, and I had not a hope of finding him.”

 

Jongin coughs, crosses his legs. Beneath his loudness, the air of arrogance, Sehun wonders what delicate conscience lies. He wonders what this man used to be like before guilt and heartbreak caused him to put on a mask.

 

“I miss him so much,” he admits quietly, and Sehun sees the mask crack just a little. Sehun claps along with the others, questions filling up his mind.

 

Just then, the familiar touch descends upon his shoulder. Shaking it off, he stands up to face Chanyeol.

 

“Where to now?”

 

Chanyeol points, and they walk. Behind them, Sehun hears the beginnings of Jongin’s story again, echoing faintly off the walls.

 

“I was in love with a man called Do Kyungsoo...”

 

“Is that Kyungsoo’s Jongin?” he asks as they head over to a secluded corner.

 

“It is,” Chanyeol confirms.

 

“How have they not met each other here?” Sehun wonders.

 

“They are both lost in their own hazes,” Chanyeol replies. “Perhaps if they ever come face to face, they will not even recognize each other.”

 

“That can’t be possible,” Sehun protests. “After all, they were, maybe still are deeply in love.”

 

Chanyeol stays silent.

 

Like Kyungsoo, the next man is sitting alone. He looks up with a start as Sehun sits down, eyes darting around. A cigarette trails from his fingers.

 

“H-hello,” the man stutters. “I’m Baekhyun. You are?”

 

“Sehun,” he answers quickly.

 

Baekhyun laughs nervously. “Funny, I once knew a guy named Sehun.” He snaps his fingers. “Well, I guess I’ll get to it.

 

“I was crazy in love with this guy named Yixing. I mean it. We were going to get married, live in Hawaii or something. Do what we wanted to do for the rest of our lives, while with each other. Then one day he just up and left. I don’t why. I really don’t.”

 

He pauses. “That’s really all I have to say.”

 

The story strikes a chord in Sehun’s heart. His own is so very similar. Once again the urge to share his own story with this man, to commiserate, rises up. Without introduction, he begins, hoping Baekhyun will understand.

 

“It actually happened quite a while ago...”

 

Nobody interrupts him this time. When he’s done, Baekhyun nods.

 

Sehun sits in silence with him for a couple minutes. Long-withheld questions arise.

 

“Baekhyun, why does everyone here tell their stories? What is the purpose?”

 

“Don’t you know the answer yourself?” is the reply. “After all, you told me your own story.”

 

Sehun thinks about this. “I... don’t know,” he admits. “I guess— it makes me feel better.”

 

“Exactly,” Baekhyun nods. “It is a way to cope and then, eventually, to heal. It’s how you move on.”

 

Sehun stands up, still reflecting on his thoughts. A small frown decorates his face as something else occurs to him.

 

“Baekhyun?”

 

The man looks up. “Yes?”

 

“How long have you been here telling your story?”

 

He has to think for a while. “Five years... or so.”

 

Sehun thanks him as he leaves. He can hear Baekhyun begin his story again, but thoughts are racing through his mind. He needs to talk to Chanyeol.

 

Elusive as ever, Chanyeol is frustratingly difficult to find. Finally, Sehun finds him at the table where they first met.

 

“Chanyeol!”

 

Chanyeol only looks at him impassively.

 

“I want answers,” Sehun says. “I— I’m confused. Scared.”

 

“Then,” Chanyeol says, “tell me what you’ve learned.”

 

“There’s something wrong about this place,” Sehun starts, words rushing out of his mouth. “It’s like everything is stuck in an, an endless cycle. The same people, telling the same stories over and over and over again. Baekhyun said it’s the way to recover. But...”

 

His face pales as he continues. “But he’s been here for five years. And he still hasn’t recovered. He’s still heartbroken.

 

“It’s the same with the others. Everyone here...”

 

A horrible, terrible realization strikes him.

 

“Everyone here—including me.”

 

He’s been telling his story repeatedly too.

 

“What is this place?” he cries in desperation. “Who are you?”

 

“Nobody. I’m just a guide.”

 

“Chanyeol—”

 

“There’s one more man I want you to meet.”

 

Sehun slaps his hand on the table. “Not again, Chanyeol! I’m sick of you leading me around and disappearing and being vague. Answer my question! What is this place?”

 

Chanyeol stares at him with those dark twinkling eyes.

 

“Just look, Sehun.”

 

“Look where?”

 

“Down.”

 

Sehun looks.

 

Down into the orchestra playing below. Down at the small violins and music stands and people. Down... down at the conductor, who even at a distance bears a familiar face.

 

Luhan.

 

Sehun’s hands come up to grip the balcony, knuckles pasty white.

 

“This can’t be possible.”

 

But of course it is. Kyungsoo and Jongin both frequent this place as well. And now Luhan is here, has been here all along. And now...

 

“It wouldn’t work,” Chanyeol’s voice sounds, as if he can read Sehun’s mind. “Don’t forget that Kyungsoo and Jongin have yet to meet, even after all these years.”

 

“Yes,” Sehun shoots back, “but I have seen Luhan. I know he is here.”

 

“Think about it,” Chanyeol says. “And, more importantly, listen.”

 

Sehun listens. He listens and listens. “What? It’s just the song. The same song that’s been playing this whole time.”

 

Then it hits him. “This whole time.”

 

He buries his head in his hands. “No, no, no.”

 

Chanyeol doesn’t say anything, but Sehun knows. Luhan isn’t the same person anymore. He wouldn’t recognize Sehun. He’s too lost in the past, in heartbreak. Conducting the same song over and over again, forever, for eternity—until all meaning is lost. He can never move on.

 

“I don’t want to be trapped like this, like them.” Sehun whispers.

 

“My story is over. I’m ready to move on.”

 

He whirls around. “Chanyeol, did you hear that? I’m ready to— ”

 

Chanyeol is gone.

 

“Goddamn it!” he curses. “God ing damn it!”

 

“Chanyeol!” he calls, running, looking. Panic arises, tears at his nerves. “Chanyeol!”

 

All around him, he hears the worn beginnings of stories, sees the endless sea of people. As he searches, the sounds and sights and words seem to surround him and press in, to suffocate him in a monolithic blanket of heartbreak. He feels dizzy.

 

“We were so happy,” a Jongdae lookalike whispers from the right.

 

“I suppose you want to know my story too?” a sad eyed Kyungsoo asks.

 

“I was in love with a man called Do Kyungsoo...” Sehun covers his ears, but it does nothing.

 

“I was crazy in love with this guy named Yixing...” He turns around, keeps on searching.

 

“I suppose you want to know my story too?” No Chanyeol.

 

“We were so happy.”

 

“Five years...”

 

And still the same song, over and over again.

 

“Five goddamn years,” Sehun sobs, falling to his knees. “I can’t do this for five years.”

 

And then,

 

Chanyeol’s voice in his ear.

 

“Try to remember, Sehun. How did you get here?”

 

Sehun looks up and around, peers through the darkness. Nobody.

 

But the question.

 

Where was he before? He must have been doing something. He was— he was...

 

Sehun holds his head.

 

He can’t remember.

 

His memory is blank, all the way up until meeting Chanyeol.

 

Barely aware of what he’s doing, he gets up, and he runs. Through the dark corners of the room, the smudged outlines of tables, the blurry faces. He runs and runs as wine glasses wink and sparkle and disappear from the sides. As blankness threatens even more to overtake his mind.

 

And then, finally, finally, he spots a door.

 

No slowing down, he runs still and as his fingers touch the knob—

 

A whirl, a darkness, a dissolving

 

—and he’s standing outside, the cool night air drifting over his skin.

 

The sudden silence is like a slap in the face. Sehun stares down at the street, then in front of him, where an old run down bar stands.

 

Closed, the sign in front reads.

 

With hesitant steps, he walks up to the door.

 

Thornbirds, says the inscription on top. Est. 1999.

 

Sehun stands there, runs his fingers slowly over the rusting iron swirls as the orange glow of the rising sun creeps up beneath his hands.

 

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