On the coolest day of July, when popsicles and ice cream still lose to the heat, Baekhyun rolls into the bar one evening at six thirty-seven. They haven’t opened yet, and without the chaos of drunken staggers, barks of laughter, and music blaring two pitches too high, it feels awfully bare.

“Why are you here so early?” Baekhyun turns to the questioner, where Chanyeol stands in an apron beside the entrance, a stack of clear plastic cups in each hand. With a shrug, Baekhyun walks to grab his own apron and put it on.

“Guess I had nothing else to do,” he answers, taking the cups from his coworker and placing them in stacks of four on each wooden table.

~    ~    ~

The two met when Baekhyun changed schools in his senior year of high school. Baekhyun had been told to follow Chanyeol so he could “get the feel of things.” They were exact opposites and Baekhyun couldn’t help but feel crushed by the taller boy’s booming voice. He had hoped the intimidation wasn’t spilling through his nostrils.

“Welcome!” Chanyeol was a giant with a smile too big for his face and limbs too long for fitting in. Baekhyun’s smile was crooked as he hesitantly returned the gesture, paint covered skin pulled tight over sharp knuckles, fingers more thin and bony than soft. “So...painting, huh?”

In less than an hour, Baekhyun knew more about Chanyeol than he knew about himself.

~    ~    ~

On most nights the bar comes truly alive around eight. It fills with the pungent smell of liquor and the faint aroma of cigarette smoke rolling in from the door's consistent opening and closing. But to Baekhyun, it’s an hour later that’s filled with his heart's vitality. Even if everything is foggy, Baekhyun finds clarity.

At nine they stand together on the stage and sing. And despite the thick stench that latches itself to his dark hair and around every thread of clothing, nine is filled with heartfelt harmonies and colorful chords, saxophone ringlets and the euphony of piano pulling him into his favorite rhythm of contentment.

To Baekhyun, nine is about elation. Adoration.

To Baekhyun, nine is vital.

Today it's seven forty-nine when the bar is busy, both boys drying glasses behind the counter furthest from the stage, where only a murmur of chatter and glass bottles clinking reaches them above the ebbs and flows of the band. It’s accompanied by frequent punches of laughter and the shudder of even beats, but the only thing Chanyeol hears is the unusual silence burrowing between them. It’s loud and burdensome.

“These glasses are still wet.” The voice gets lost on it's way towards Baekhyun, a towel in his hand and a cup in the other, but he’s not drying it. His eyes are lost. Chanyeol taps his shoulder.

“Huh?” he snaps to look over at Chanyeol.

“Are you okay? You’re different today...” Chanyeol watches Baekhyun's eyes jump between the drops of soapy water rolling down the cup and between the cracks of his palms. His cuticles are torn and his nails are bitten down. “You can tell me anything, you know that right?” Chanyeol sets the cup in his hands down and sits on the counter.

“Yeah.” Baekhyun does the same and reflects back on his day, from when he first woke up, to the doctor’s appointment. From there it’s just nerves, just busy work and panic in the bored minutes that his mind isn’t occupied, distracted. “I’m just...unsettled.” he breathes, and it catches in his throat. Chanyeol watches the composure decompose around Baekhyun’s shoulders.

Baekhyun talks about the beginning, when everything began to feel incomplete, stress over not being stressed.

He talks about the increasingly frequent sick feeling that sometimes pulls his heart into his stomach and makes him want to either vomit or cry; he can never tell which. The fatigue, never ending and always haunting. The clouds in his head that feel more like rocks than puffs of vapor. The constant ball of worry, a ping-pong ball in his throat. The dissociation, dissolving into thin air, ‘I can’t feel my legs-hands-face-help.’

He talks about the triggers, sometimes immediate and sometimes months in advance. The horrible idea of ever having to wait for anything. The itchy idea of meeting someone new. The terror of going somewhere far, anywhere unfamiliar.

He talks about not knowing. Maybe it’s food poisoning. Maybe it’s a vitamin deficiency. Maybe I’m dying. The blood work said he’s fine. The feeling says he’s not. He thinks knowing will help. The doctor says it’s anxiety. Knowing doesn’t help. Knowing makes him worry.

“You’ve known. Haven’t you? I bet you knew when we first met.”

“Yes, and no.” He picks the lint off Baekhyun’s brown sweater. “Sadly, I can’t predict the future, but you have always been, like, really shy, but not in a bad way. So...no, I didn’t expect it or anything like that. Recently I guess I...kinda knew something wasn’t...right. What really gave it away was when you kept saying no to grabbing coffee with me.” He doesn’t mention the hours he spent worrying over it maybe being his fault. Something he said, because he talks a lot. Something he did, because sometimes he forgets to think. He feels a little better better when Baekhyun smiles at him briefly.

“Well...you’ve always been good about that. I’m sorry I’ve been so distant.” Chanyeol shakes his head and says it’s nothing, and Baekhyun continues. “I’ve been researching it, knowing exactly what it is but hoping it would be something else, something easy and manageable. Maybe even curable. But I still wasn’t prepared when my doctor said it. I don’t want to believe it. I just want to escape. Why me?” The strings in his voice are pulling too hard. Finally, he stops trying to will the dam not to break. He lets go. He starts to cry and puts his face in his palms. “I just don’t know what to do.” It’s so quiet when he says it that Chanyeol almost doesn’t hear it. Everything begins to feel loud, the music in the distance, the obnoxious clatter of glass and cheers, and it probably doesn’t help. Chanyeol rubs a comforting hand on his friend’s back and jumps down, pulling on Baekhyun’s sleeve. Baekhyun’s vision is blurry with tears as he’s pulled behind his friend, but he can hear that the music is transitioning with a loud applause. They walk into the vestibule unnoticed and sit secluded on the mini bench. While it may not be silent, it’s good enough for Baekhyun to breathe with ease. He keeps his palms to his eyes though, just to stop the tears.

“Why should you run?” For a moment, Baekhyun doesn’t understand. Why wouldn’t he run? He lifts his head to look at Chanyeol with confusion. Chanyeol isn’t looking at him. He’s looking at his own swaying feet and his hands are behind his back. Like a child waiting for their parent to return. Baekhyun would laugh if he hadn’t just finished crying. “Maybe you’ll eventually just learn to deal with it better? I dunno. I’ll help you. You can call me when you’re stuck and crying, and we can stay in our apartments and video chat or something.” Baekhyun thinks friends like this are too good to be true. “Do you get anxious here? In the bar? On the stage?”

Baekhyun looks at the ground. He doesn’t feel it singing. He doesn't feel it on the stage. There’s no reason why and it’s almost scary. He thinks he should. He knows he should. But the stage is still everything amazing to Baekhyun. Today is an exception, since the news is still fresh. But even now, the anxiety becomes excitement with each minute closer to singing.

“No...I don’t.” Baekhyun responds. Chanyeol is a giant with a smile too big for his face and limbs to long for fitting in. “Why don’t I?” Baekhyun’s smile is crooked and teary and they laugh.

At the sound of a muffled applause Chanyeol checks his phone. “It’s almost nine! Better hurry, bud.” He pats Baekhyun’s shoulder as they head back inside.

Halfway through the first song, Baekhyun knows Chanyeol is right.

His heart is in the music, settles between the strings of Chanyeol’s guitar, and everything settles right.

When they walk home beneath the stars and shivering from the night breeze, Chanyeol holds Baekhyun close to his side, with his arm over the shorter shoulders. It helps their shivers shrink ever so slightly. Baekhyun realizes something as they're waiting at a crosswalk. He doesn't even think twice before saying it out loud.

“Everything is going to be harder now.” Baekhyun nuzzles his chin and nose into his scarf and keeps his eyes on the red stoplight.

“Hey, you know I won't let you crash.” Chanyeol squeezes Baekhyun close. “You're just learning about it. Like, I think, it probably gets easier...right? You'll be okay. I'll help you.” Baekhyun smiles at him and the stoplight turns green. The end of the street is where they separate. They haven't walked home together in weeks, and the familiar feeling makes Baekhyun feel more at ease than he has in months. He feels cold when Chanyeol's arm drops from his shoulders so they can face each other.

“Alright well…” Chanyeol mumble-whispers, watching his shoes press over the light sheet of snow. Baekhyun watches the streetlights highlight Chanyeol's cheekbones. “I'll text you later?” Chanyeol looks up and they lock eyes. Baekhyun nods, hesitant and unsure. Chanyeol only smiles. Maybe his cheeks are filled with worry, Baekhyun thinks. Chanyeol turns on his heel, the other foot stretched out ahead of him, only to be tugged back by the elbow. He looks back the Baekhyun he remembers from high school. All rosy cheeks and shyness and sweater paws.

“Come home...with me?”