Chanyeol stuck his thumbs in his pockets and walked a little faster. The winding lane never seemed to end. He was supposed to be back home at 9 from vocal practice, and it was still 8:24 p.m. He didn't go. He of course threw on his classic outfit- a black hoodie (no shirt), beige cargo pants and a white snapback, his usual outfit to the SM building, to fool the members. He liked his worn trainers, but he couldn't wear them anymore because his toe had poked a hole through the weak material. Sehun gifted him that on his 21st birthday. So he wore the black Converse sneakers that he more or less detested, today. Just today.

He sauntered down the deserted alley, his pace varying. He looked up as he heard boisterous laughter and his eyes met with a drunk, middle-aged lady in an alcohol shop. The owner, most probably, seeing as how she was behind the counter. She stared right back at him, her eyes piercing his. They looked almost... auburn in the light, glinting and deep. She slowly tipped the bottle of soju, her penetrating eyes on him the entire time. Chanyeol then noticed prominent slashes of red across her wrist and felt his eyes widen. Before he knew it, he'd walked up to her and splayed his long arms across the cold marble counter.

"Why didn't you tell anyone... about your hands?"

She cocked her head to one side, chuckled sadly and shook her head.

"My husband left with my child. My parents are dead. My relatives live in Busan but don't care about me. They probably even didn't know that it was my birthday a few days ago."

She smiled a little, put her nose to the bottle, inhaled deeply and sighed.

"And anyway, why disrupt the flow of something... beautiful, that I'm inflicting upon myself? It gives me a sense of relief, in some crazy way."

Chanyeol looked at the multicoloured bottles of alcohol. A toxic drink that makes you oblivious to the world. It makes you sway at your own pace, lets your mind crumble and your body shatter. All this power, all this control, all trapped in a liter in a bottle, made from fermented fruit. 

"I'm sorry you have to hurt yourself like this to feel relief."

She simply blinked in response. Her eyes bored into him. 

Chanyeol looked away and stuck his hands into his pockets once more. She'd become a mascochist. He carefully continued walking, as if he was picking his words in a tricky situation. The idea of masochism eluded him, baffled him. How could you ever enjoy pain? But he did. Frankly, Chanyeol shouldn't have been shocked. He always had an array of unusual likes. He liked pain, in every single way. It helped bring him back from the clouds and appreciate his luxurious life, and sometimes he deserved it for all his wrongdoings. What kind of screwed-up justification is that? Chanyeol thought. But he couldn't say anything now because he fully understood what he said. This pain, this pain that had been hitting him in the past 216 hours, in waves, in dots and flashes, had been so satisfying. It made sense, but it didn't. 

It was the ninth day since Baekhyun went missing. He didn't tell anyone, or show any signs of discontent or even mentioned anything about running away. Mainly because Baekhyun was never the type to even consider letting down his guard. It was out of habit. He had too many experiences to trust anyone. No one was reliable. Baekhyun believed that his personality and history was his essence, an ever-growing beast that needed to be caged. New experiences were like nutrients for that beast. It devoured unpleasant ones especially well. So it was always something in him. Something very uncanny and puzzling that drew Baekhyun to danger, to be lulled to shooting pain. It could rack every nerve of his until he was screaming on the ground, trembling, crying, but he would never deny it, because oh, oh, it felt so good. And because this seemingly pitiful 'condition' was so uncommon, he wouldn't be understood. 

Chanyeol, like Baekhyun correctly predicted, was forever confounded with Baekhyun's thoughts. Until he started experiencing them. It did feel incredible. He expected just himself to hurt, but his body either felt like it was on fire or it was freezing, never in between. He couldn't understand why, for the life of him, he felt so utterly dazed. Nothing really felt empty because the other members were always there, rubbing his back, nodding at him sadly. Trying to console him, because he was the one who was the closest to Baekhyun. Everyone expected this because Baekhyun was always indecisive, about everything- which food he wanted to order, which outfit he'd be wearing, whether singing was what he wanted as a career, everything- but Chanyeol constantly felt like he was drowing in his own sadness, suffocating, being swallowed by all these untamed emotions that were erupting from him. Emotions that didn't have a name, emotions that he didn't know existed. And every milisecond of it felt so right, felt so snug and beautiful. It terrified him. The only thing he could pick out from the washed-out, indescribable segments of fading thoughts, was that he wanted Baekhyun back. That it hurt without him.

The red lightbulbs on the lamposts flickered hesitantly every now and then. A few bells rang faintly. He turned his head to see a little cramped Japanese-style house. Traditional, as far as he knew. There wasn't a door, just a curtain billowing in the rhythmic November breeze. There was one person inside, an old man, who sat frigidly on a thin pillow. On the wooden table in front of him was a small teapot and a handmade clay mug. Chanyeol could smell it. Ginger mint tea, with, possibly, some black cardamom. The lights flickered again. The old man looked at him, quite suddenly. Chanyeol immediately looked away, staring at his squarish fingernails. They needed no t, because he'd been biting them again. He mentally reminded himself to break this unhygenic habit. The old man was still staring at him and Chanyeol felt increasingly awkward. He fidgeted with his hoodie, not wanting to leave. The place, in the dim red lighting, gave him a sense of peace. The silence was deafening, and felt delightful to Chanyeol's ears.

"Achi ike kudasai." It was barely louder than a whisper, barely audible but he heard it. Just slightly. Chanyeol grasped it as it was slipping by. He didn't know what it meant, but the old man decided to tear the silence with his words, which was more than enough signal. He glanced at his digital watched as it beeped 8:47 p.m. It was late, from where he was. He'd have to catch a bus, and that would be highly unsafe. Due to the magnitude of fans EXO had all over Korea, it was close to impossible for them to travel by public transportation. That's why each member, and other SM idols had a motorbike. They'd use a secret underground route, unknown to the public, that went straight to the building. None of the surrounding residents knew about this route. Therefore, nobody would know where he went for the past few hours. However, that would also mean he'd have to excuse himself from trouble. He turned around and looked at the subdued crimson light, slowly seeping in and out. One last time. He wouldn't come here again because these experiences could only be experienced once. The second, third or even ninty-fifth time would not be able to recreate the unhurried perfection of walking down this road, the light steps, the tap of your shoes, the glimmering eyes that caught yours along the way. He wouldn't be back.

Chanyeol sighed into the cool winter air and made his way to the main road. But little did he notice the two transfixed eyes on him as he left.