xx. Everyone can master a grief but he that has it.

–Much Ado About Nothing

_____

The word cruel isn’t something I’d describe myself as, nor is it insensitive, nor is it uncaring, nor a coward. In fact, I’d like to think that I’m none of those things.

But perhaps I had thought too much of myself. Perhaps I’d become complacent when I had noticed things others hadn’t, then stopped looking any further. Perhaps I’ve been more sensitive than others, but not enough. Perhaps I’ve cared, but drew back when I was scared that I’d get caught in the crossfire.

And perhaps the whole time, I’ve been a coward. A coward for being unable to push past my own limits, a coward for placing my pride above Jongdae’s wellbeing, a coward for letting myself believe that I had done everything I could to help when I haven’t done anywhere near enough.

***

Chanyeol can’t stay for long. And I don’t have anything in mind, so we part ways in heavy silence, but not after he adds my number to his phone and promises to text me.

A truce. Or, more accurately, an understanding deep enough to lay everything, every angry word exchanged, every accusation flung, behind. I think it’s a relief, too, that he cares enough about Jongdae, even if part of me is still mad at the many times he’s failed him. Although I suppose I have too, many, many times, so I lay the thought aside as I head home on the bus.

What can I do? Jongdae’s made it clear that he doesn’t want to talk, not anymore. And no matter how I think back, I can’t understand what I should’ve done. Would I have fixed everything if I had stayed that day to try to convince his mother? Or would I have made it worse by interfering? The question runs itself through my head so many times that I’m dizzy.

Then, as the bus stop approaches, one, singular question comes to mind. What would Jongdae have done?

Jongdae would’ve stayed, no matter how uncomfortable it made him. Jongdae would’ve stayed the moment he realized that I needed him there. Jongdae would’ve done so for Chanyeol, who had hurt him so many times, who had ignored his needs and demanded for his own to be met. Jongdae would’ve done so for me, who promised to be there for him so many times but wasn’t truly.

I swallow. I should’ve been there.

Unable to swallow the lump in my throat, I reach for my phone and dial for his number, hoping he’ll pick up. The wind, chilly today, bites at my fingers, but I ignore it as I listen to the ringtone. It sounds once, twice, three times, before the line connects.

I’m too nervous to even get out my sigh of relief. But, breath billowing in the cold in front of me, I manage, “Hey.”

There’s a pause of silence on the other side. Then, “Is something wrong?”

One deep breath, then another, and I try to think of things to say. I don’t know if Jongdae wants to hear any apologies. I don’t know if he’ll care at all if I tell him that Chanyeol’s not angry at him anymore and they don’t need to go through that conversation, that the other boy knows and that he’s willing to help, whatever that will take. But the words that come out aren’t any of those. “Are you okay?”

Silence follows on Jongdae’s end, and the only thing that tells me he hasn’t hung up on me is the fact that if I strain, I can hear quiet breathing on his side of the line, like he’s contemplating an answer. Contemplating if I deserve an answer.

“I just need some time,” he finally says. There’s nothing in his voice that I can recognize. No blame, no hope, just… empty. “I’ll be fine.”

That’s enough for me to open my mouth to try to say something—anything—but nothing comes out quick enough before I hear the line cut. Briefly, I consider dialing back, but my hands are frozen from the coldness in the air and I know that Jongdae definitely won’t appreciate it, so I stuff my phone, also stone cold, into my pocket and head back home.

***

I don’t make a decision about university. My parents don’t make one either, or at least not one they tell me. I’m in my room, brooding over homework that I don’t think I’ll finish. A week before we present our project. Two weeks before the talent show. I don’t feel anywhere closer to thinking of anything that’ll help, to try to fix something.

My phone rings, and I snap back into reality. The screen flashes, and I hope with everything in me that it’s Jongdae, except the three characters read Park Chanyeol.

Disappointment tastes awfully bitter, and it’s all I can do but hope it doesn’t show in my voice when I pick up the phone. “Hello?”

Chanyeol’s baritone sounds. “I tried to phone Jongdae,” he says without a greeting, “I can’t reach him.”

The clock reads 9:42PM. A little over three hours since I’ve tried to call him, and I haven’t tried again. “I called him a while ago,” I reply, forcing back the thought that it’s so strange talking to Chanyeol like we’re not… enemies. Like we’re on the same side. Like he cares. “He said he wanted some time alone.”

His tone edges on panicked on the other side. “What can we do?”

I’m tired. I’m hopeless. I can’t think of anything that will help, and the fact that he’s asking me, not himself, pushes on a line that’s been made very, very thin with everything piled on top. “I don’t know,” I bite out, patience frayed. “What do you think we can do?”

Silence. Because Chanyeol hasn’t done anything the past couple of months except make it worse, and even though he’s noticed now, it’s very possibly too late. Even if we are on careful terms now, it doesn’t stop the resentment that rises. Resentment at everyone.

As if he can tell what I’m thinking on the other side of the line, Chanyeol says hastily, “I’m going to finish schoolwork. Can we meet somewhere tomorrow? Sort it out? I could bring some of his other friends if that would help. Baekhyun, Kyungsoo—”

All people I don’t know. All people that I don’t know if I can trust. Really, I don’t know if I can trust Chanyeol, but he’s my best shot at the moment, because I sure as hell can’t fix anything alone.

“Just… not yet,” I say. “And we’ll see what we can do.”

The unsaid words after them linger. If there’s anything we can do.

***

Jongdae shows up to classes. He doesn’t speak to me, nor Chanyeol, and both of us respect that distance. Out of fear or respect, I don’t know. The lines for everything are too blurred.

The day flows pass, a jumble of things that I don’t remember well. I try to talk to Jongdae at one point, but he tells me that he’s fine and I don’t need to worry before he’s off, and I wonder how much he believes what he’s saying.

Chanyeol finds me at my locker. How he knows where it is, I don’t ask, but he’s leaning there, arms folded across his chest, and I glance at him, the face I’ve seen countless times in hallways and had made me undeniably angry countless times as well. It’s strange to see him standing there, and I don’t know what to say. Yesterday was one thing, fueled on by anger and pent up frustration, but today…

“You don’t have to stay for study hall?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I have basketball.”

My eyebrows go higher at that. “You don’t need to stay for practice?”

He presses his lips together. “I can make an exception,” he replies just as stiffly, in a way that I can tell that he’s still uncomfortable around me. At least it’s mutual.

“We can go somewhere else,” Chanyeol offers just as awkwardly.

We don’t end up at a café. Nor a library. Instead, Chanyeol a