The rain was cold, hitting Chanyeol's face like needle pinpricks, soaking into his hair and clothes. The night itself was chilly, as summer was giving way to autumn. But none of these was as cold as the way Chanyeol felt, watching Baekhyun's retreating form down the lamp lit street. Anger and frustration still lingered from their argument, but regret and guilt began to filter in, replacing it. He wanted to call out to him or perhaps run down the sidewalk and grab his arm like they sometimes did in dramas. But he was too stubborn to move. Too stubborn to do anything other than rub his hands over his face with a groan. 

Chanyeol's head was aflutter, and not just because of the buzz he had going. Looking back at the bar door he'd just been yanked through by his boyfriend a minute ago, he contemplated going back in and just getting completely tanked. That would be better than standing out here in the rain, looking like a beaten puppy. 

He made to reach for the handle when a voice halted him. 

"Don't." 

Chanyeol did not turn or even flinch at the sound, aware he was totally alone on the sidewalk. The voice was a warm and maternal one, but it cautioned him with a stern tone. Like a parent scolding their child. 

The man dropped his arm and sighed, starting to trudge down the wet sidewalk opposite the direction Baekhyun had vanished. He pulled his hood over his head and shoved his hands into his pockets, feeling his mood plummet faster than the droplets from the dark clouds above. 

The more he played the scene over in his head, the more he wanted to drive his fist into one of the metal lamp posts. And though the lamppost had nothing to do with any of this and didn't deserve the hit, it would probably win the battle, leaving him injured. He was at least sober enough to realize that. 

Had he been even more sober, maybe he wouldn't have gotten all over that university student in the back corner of the bar. A handsome one, he was, but probably not Chanyeol's type. He didn't know what he'd been thinking. The problem was, he hadn't been thinking. Baekhyun had returned from the bathroom to find him clumsily making a very bold advance on the stranger. The look on Baekhyun's face...it wasn't something Chanyeol ever wished to see ever again if he could manage.

He loved Baekhyun; he knew as much. But he always wondered how on earth Baekhyun loved him back. The man had been there for him without fault, his grin never faltering. When Chanyeol's music studies were going rough on him, Baekhyun would be there to remind him he just needed to keep pushing to reach his dream. And when he'd emerged from school jobless and without a sliver of recognition in the music industry, Baekhyun would listen to his compositions and joke about starting up a fan club. Even now, with Chanyeol working as a waiter to pay the bills, Baekhyun supported him and never lost faith. What he'd done to deserve the man, he didn't know, but it always felt like Baekhyun could be snatched from him at any moment. As though whatever great force above would realize it had misplaced Baekhyun in it's great scheme, and would make quick work to correct the error. That Baekhyun would get fed up with how subpar he was, and just move on to the better things he so obviously deserved. 

And then of course was the matter of the voices.

Since a young age, it had been explained to Chanyeol how the world worked. When he'd been old enough to form his own thoughts, he'd wondered what terrible thing humanity had done to deserve this condition. 

The condition being the voices. Some heard them, and some did not. Chanyeol was of the former group, while Baekhyun was of the latter. 

The voices came during one's lifetime, and never left until one's death. All living humans heard the voices of those who’d died because of them, trapped permanently within the confines of their mind, with them at every second of the day and every second of the night like a burden of guilt that absolutely could not be shaken. A harsh reality that was as terrible in practice as it was on paper. Frequently, Chanyeol would catch himself gazing at a total stranger, wondering how many voices they heard, or if they heard any at all. It was a suffering that was silent, hidden from the rest of the world.

Chanyeol spied the faintly buzzing neon sign in the window flashing "open". The convenience store, open into the early hours of the morning, would make for suitable shelter for now. He couldn't return to the apartment just yet; he had no idea how he'd face Baekhyun. He'd need to gather his thoughts.

"You shouldn't have done that" said the warm voice. 

"I know that!" Chanyeol snapped back, voice amplified in the empty store. The young female working the cash looked up from her phone to glance at him, but she didn't look surprised. No, it was entirely common for people to talk to themselves, as most were talking back to the voices, like Chanyeol was doing right now.

He was met with silence in his head, and Chanyeol sighed. "I'm sorry. How many times am I going to have to apologize tonight?" 

"I think you might have a few more in you" the voice replied honestly. It was the voice Chanyeol had heard since birth, the voice that had sung him to sleep at night in his crib despite his father having long left the room. The voice that cautioned and guided him through the entirety of his life whether he liked it or not, because there was no escaping his own mind. Some days it was utterly maddening, and some days, the sound of the voice would bring him exactly the kind of comfort he needed. He never knew whether to curse the human condition for it, or to consider it a blessing. More often than not, the voice, although he'd become accustomed to it penetrating his everyday life, acted as an unfortunate reminder of why he'd never seen his mother but had always heard her in his head.

In a sense, his mother was responsible for him ending up with Baekhyun, having pushed him on to cross the line between friends and lovers. She was in his mind; she knew what he was thinking, and she knew how he felt about the shorter man. The first time time Baekhyun had taken him back to his place in a mess of clumsy kisses and trembling fingers, she'd had the decency to stay quiet, but it was still strange knowing she was there. It hardly ever allowed Chanyeol any true privacy. 

However, his mother wasn't the only one in there.

Three years ago, while he'd been traveling on the subway, a second voice had appeared in his head. It was that of a young boy - he couldn't be much older than 8. The voice was not familiar to him in any way, and he wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing, because he didn't know what he'd done to trigger the boy's death. The young male voice had made Chanyeol a believer in the butterfly effect. One day, maybe the fact that he'd jaywalked across the street to the music store had lead to what killed the boy. Or maybe it was because he decided not to buy the shiny red guitar, and instead opted for a little ukulele with a smiley face painted on it. He just knew he didn't know this boy in the slightest. Maybe it would help to see a face to attach to the voice, but that wasn't an option.

It haunted Chanyeol. The guilt ate him alive. At one point he'd gotten desperate and dug through obituaries for that day in the newspapers, but that lead him no closer to an answer. Once he’d asked the boy straight-up, but he’d been met with silence. He'd just had to accept that it was a random event he couldn't have consciously prevented, although that didn't make him feel any better about it.

The boy didn't speak often, and Chanyeol could easily forget he was in there on most days. But when he did choose to pipe up...

Right now, the boy was quiet, and Chanyeol was grateful. He could easily remember one night almost a year ago when the boy had decided to crop up, pitifully whimpering about his parents and brother. It had woken him from his sleep in the ungodly hours of the night. The boy had cried and wailed, and it very quickly became torturous for Chanyeol. And it just kept going, no end to the lament in sight, with no means of shutting the boy up. Baekhyun had wound up rocking a weeping Chanyeol gently through the night, head cradled to his chest while his fingers carded slowly through Chanyeol’s messy black hair. Neither of them had slept much that night.

Baekhyun didn’t hear voices, and Chanyeol envied him for it. They’d had the conversation back when they were just friends. Chanyeol had grimly confessed to his voices on a rainy afternoon, and while Baekhyun gazed at him sympathetically, he admitted he didn’t hear any voices himself. He didn’t know what it felt like, and it was better that he didn’t.

Chanyeol’s father had one voice he’d once explained was his grandfather. In this respect, the man had been able to help him greatly while growing up, sharing his means of coping, sharing his concerns and his hopes. Chanyeol probably wouldn’t be half as sane as he was now if it wasn’t for that. 

Then there were those who made Chanyeol wonder how they still functioned in regular society. His music teacher in high school said he had eight, at the time. Eight. He found it difficult on some days with just two; he couldn’t even fathom having eight voices crowding his mind. It was information Mr. Kim didn’t share with many, as it did sound like a situation a serial killer might find themselves in. He’d never told Chanyeol who all these people were or why he heard them, but he was pretty sure his music teacher wasn’t some murderer. He hoped that he hadn’t acquired more voices since the last time Chanyeol had seen him; he couldn’t wish that upon anyone. 

“You know you probably could use a new box of Band-Aids” said his mother’s voice as he passed the shelf of basic health and hygiene products. 

He halted, eyeing the small variety of bandages. She had a point. Baekhyun, being as clumsy and accident-prone as he was, always wound up with these cuts and scrapes and had literally no idea how he got them. They went through bandage boxes relatively fast. He’d reached out for a box of Iron Man Band-Aids very clearly meant for children, but couldn’t will his hand to pull the item off the shelf. Buying this would mean he was intending to go put it in the medicine cabinet. At home. Why was he so scared of going back? 

The last look of hurt Baekhyun had given him before walking off remained burnt into his thoughts; he could vividly conjure it to mind with the slightest of effort. Suddenly the cold dampness seeping through the fabric of his jacket was getting to him, and his whole body shivered. Chanyeol snatched the Band-Aid box from the shelf, clutching it loosely to his chest as he continued down the aisle. 

“I don’t know what to do” he admitted softly, passing the fridges. 

His mother tutted. “An argument has yet to be the end for you two. I doubt this will be the exception, Chanyeol.”

“There’s always a first” he replied glumly. 

“Everyone makes mistakes. You love Baekhyun just as much as he loves you. The two of you will work it out, but you need to actually go to him. All this brooding apart won’t do you any good.”

Opening the fridge, he pulled out a bottle of banana milk and tucked it under his arm. His mother was always keen on offering advice, even if it was your typically parental advice. He just didn’t always follow through with her suggestions. Right now she made it all sound so easy, but he wasn’t convinced that Baekhyun would be very thrilled to see his face right now. But they did share a home, so surely he couldn’t be expected not to return at all. Unless Baekhyun hadn’t gone home. 

“What if he just needs a bit of space right now? I drank… He drank. Tomorrow when our heads are less fuzzy, maybe that’d be a better time to talk to him” Chanyeol tried reasoning out, tone only half-convincing. 

“You’re stalling.” 

Chanyeol tried to retort, but ended up grunting because she was right. “Alright, I think I’ve gotten enough advice, mom. Can you please give me a bit of quiet?” he asked, not impolitely. 

“I’m just trying to help, love. You’re going through a tricky time; just don’t end up doing something you’ll regret” she said.

“I already have.”

He heard his mother sigh. “You’re very pessimistic tonight. Try thinking of happy things, hm?”

Chanyeol’s lips twisted. “Awfully hard to do when you’ve just been tearfully yelled at by your boyfriend” he deadpanned. “I just want this all to be over. To be okay. But if I head over, I might just screw things up more, and…and I can’t do that with Baekhyun. Just thinking about it makes me want to…” He didn’t have to finish his sentence; his thoughts did that for him.

“You can say it, Chanyeol.”

“Mom,” he warned, lips turning into a prominent frown. 

“It makes you want to cry. You’re frustrated and confused right now, and sick with worry to a point that has me sick with worry. Just breathe, love.”

Chanyeol hadn’t realized he’d been getting worked up, almost as much as he’d been when he was left standing alone on that sidewalk outside the bar. He snatched up a bag of shrimp chips before trudging over to the cash, dumping his items on the counter. His mind ended up running right back to that damn student at the bar. 

“You’re more insecure than you’d like to admit. Chanyeol, if you weren’t enough, then Baekhyun would not still be with you. I know you’re better than this” his mother continued, almost taking on a pleading tone. Chanyeol remained quiet, handing the girl some bills and grabbing the plastic bag before making a beeline for the door. It jingled on his way out. 

The rain had slowed to a drizzle outside by now, and two cars whizzed past, spraying water over the opposite side of the road. Chanyeol walked. To where, he didn’t know, but he walked, plastic bag swinging in hand and shoes splashing in the puddles littering the sidewalk. His mother could no longer be heard, likely having respected his previous wishes. Somewhere along the way, he crossed a dissheveled man in an oversized hoodie, but Chanyeol paid him no mind other than the fact that he’d chosen to wear purple flip flops in this weather. Ridiculous, he thought. 

He’d walked a handful of blocks when he realized just how heavy the swells of his breathing were, chest rising and falling in great huffs. Maybe he was physically exhausted, but maybe he was just mentally exhausted. All he wanted was a warm, dry bed, to be covered in blankets with Baekhyun’s nose flattened against his back, and a thin leg draped over his own, arm lazily dangling across his stomach. 

Chanyeol was starting to consider his mother’s earlier words. Seeing as Baekhyun wasn’t about to leave his thoughts anytime soon, he envisioned the man laughing. Laughing until he was in stitches and his face hurt, because Chanyeol had very nearly gotten his face off while taking a nap on the couch by an errant vacuum being maneuvered by the smaller man. 

A laugh forced its way out from his throat, but it hurt. The way his ribs moved from the action was painful to him right now. 

And then his mind traveled to a time briefly before that, when he’d taken Baekhyun to the amusement park. The man did not like heights. At all. The poor thing had screamed through the entire rollercoaster ride, clutching to Chanyeol’s bicep tight enough to leave bruises. 

But then he thought about the smaller things, like the way Baekhyun mumbled in his sleep when he was exhausted, or how he always left the light in the bathroom on at night because he had this irrational fear of making the trip alone in the dark to pee. 

Chanyeol only then discerned that he’d stopped walking. His cheeks felt warm, and- crap, he was crying. He brought a jacket sleeve up to quickly rub the wetness from his eyes, only for his eyes to generate more tears. They spilled down his face, mixing with the cold rain dusting his skin. He wiped his face one more time before giving up with a pitiful sniffle. 

All of it was too much. Chanyeol hunched over, a quiet sob wracking his body, but some relief coming from letting it all out. “I’m so sorry” he whispered hoarsely between sniffles, hands rising to cover his reddening face. “I’m so sorry” he repeated, feeling like the words couldn’t be said enough. Words weren’t quite adequate to express the guilt he felt for letting his insecurities get the best of him and doing something so stupid.

“It’s okay.”

At the sound of the voice cutting in, Chanyeol immediately straightened and whirled around, but found himself faced with a woman nonchalantly walking past with an umbrella. His eyebrows knit together.

He knew that voice anywhere. It was the youthful and loud voice that mocked his utter lack of cooking skills despite having none of his own. The voice that difficultly breathed his name in the late hours of the night, and that and reduced him to a useless ball of mush, knowing exactly how to get what it wanted. The voice that always told him he wasn’t worthless and could achieve anything he set his mind to, and said good morning and good night every single day. A voice he’d heard not all too long ago, upset and screaming.

Chanyeol’s throat suddenly constricted, and he couldn’t breathe. Air was not coming in, nor was it coming out. He whipped around one last time, but was still met with the empty street. Everything in his head had ceased to function, much worse than any drunken stupor he could possibly get himself into. His heart had fallen straight through the floor just as quickly as it had started rising in hope when he’d heard those two words. 

It hit him like a ton of bricks, and Chanyeol had to grab onto the cement wall of the empty shop up for rent he was in front of. 

And then he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket with an incoming call.

“You should answer, Yeollie. It’s the hospital” said Baekhyun’s voice quietly with a note of sadness.

Chanyeol just choked on whatever sound had been trying to escape his mouth. 

Two had turned into three.