Two things in the run for most bitter thing in all South Korea: the coffee at SM’s private coffee shop, and Chanyeol’s face while drinking it.

The clock strikes midnight. The diner is about to close, yet the dim lights on the eight feet ceiling are still bright enough to shine on the chestnut-colored furniture. The barista’s tired eyes don’t go unnoticed. The coffee machines are already cooling down from an entire day of work. The usual Jazz music stopped playing a while ago. The waitress is busy wrapping the leftover pastries in food wrap before storing them in the freezer until local charities arrive to pick them up. The cleaning lady pretends to clean the dust of the modern looking paintings placed around the walls while giving the remaining customers the dirtiest of looks—including Chanyeol and Sehun.

Sehun is busy ranting about his life. So much that he does not notice time passing or whatever is going on around him. His quiet voice sounds even smaller when followed by his exaggerated and dramatic gestures. His oversized sweater takes over his skinny body, and the way he moves his arms when he speaks accentuates the fact that his clothes are at least two sizes too big. It’s not until he pauses his outburst to take a sip of his drink that Chanyeol remembers his own.

Chanyeol’s usual coffee order has been sitting in front of him for almost half an hour and yet he lets it sit untouched. The coffee is cold, bitter and useless. Oh, the irony on how similar they are. The whiteness of the mug contrasts with the darkness of the liquid as much as Chanyeol’s pale skin contrasts with his dark brown features. Its bitterness reminds him of his neglect for all he hoped to achieve by now, and frankly how he feels about life in general. He sits with his mind in the cup. He has an urge to keep lifting it to lips and yet his body seems to lack the power to do so. So it sits and taunts him.

He pays no attention to the background noise of buzzing conversations and the rain pouring outside. Chanyeol wants no part in any of it. His brain feels boring and empty, like all the unused music sheets he has back at the dorm. He craves for some peace. Something that’ll make his life slow down for a few seconds; but there’s nothing but chaos.

Letting out a sigh, he turns his attention back to his phone, dialling the same number for the seventh time already.

The phone number you are trying to reach is not available, please try again later.

He’s about to space out again, but the sudden movement of snapping fingers in front of his nose has him startled and forces him to come back to reality even though he thinks reality right now.

“Yeol.” Sehun says his name and pokes his nose before retreating into his seat. “Are you listening? Wait, don’t answer that. You’re spacing out again.” He crosses his skinny arms over his chest and pouts his lips.

“Sorry.” Chanyeol apologizes. He takes one last sip of his miserable coffee and his nose wrinkles at the unpleasant feeling invading his taste buds.

“As I was saying…” Sehun continues. “Can you believe it? They declined the contract, my contract. They didn’t even bother telling me about it. The modeling industry is highly competitive. I need to take every job I can find. Mom and dad just don’t understand.”

“Oh, no.”

“Chanyeol, I’m serious.”

“The boss not wanting one of his top idols to model for a rival company. Seriously, a tragedy.”

“You’re making it sound like I’m being dramatic,” He says while placing his half empty glass of water on the table between them. “Your sarcasm sounds way too childish for your age, do you know that?”

“I’m aware, yes.” He says as he rubs his tired eyes with his index fingers. “I don’t understand why you’re so upset. There are worse things in life.”

“Like Baekhyun not answering your phone calls?”

“What the hell?” Chanyeol chokes on his own saliva while lightly punching his own chest, looking for relief. “How did you know?”

“Oh, so that’s what’s going on. I just guessed it. You look like a puppy whose owner just accidentally step on its tail.”

There’s a pause—an awkward pause. Chanyeol’s head tilts to the right, his eyebrows furrowed together. He scratches the back of his neck and soon moves his hand to scratch the top of his head, moving his fingers through his messy curls.

“Seriously? You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?” he asks. “I’ve always thought I was the stereotypical dumb blonde, but talking to you makes me feel like a genius sometimes.”

 “Sehun…”

“You need help.”

“I don’t n—”

“Chanyeol, you need help. Ever since Baekhyun left the dorms for unknown reasons you’re like a bomb of stress about to explode. You’re anxious and jittery all the time.”

“Have you ever thought that maybe something’s wrong with him?” He grounds out as his hands close into fists with so much strength his knuckles are turning white. “Remember Kris? Tao? Luhan? They’re all gone. They didn’t even explain it to us for weeks. What if Baekhyun—.”

“And have you ever thought that maybe you need to be patient and wait for his call?” Lucia interjects. “Cliff, you’re not alone. You have me. You have the group. We’re all worried. Baekhyun’s your boyfriend but he’s our friend too. You don’t need to be depressed like that.”

“I’m not depressed. I’m a pretty content man.”

“Yeol, you just said--“

“Hello boys. Guess who’s getting a solo debut?” a short man in a suit interrupts their conversation.

The ambience jazz music starts playing again and the cleaning lady scurries away from the record player like the background melody never stopped. She goes back to acting like she’s cleaning one of the counters. The barista starts polishing the coffee mugs with such delicate and soft movements like they’re made from the most expensive porcelain in the entire world. No one would even dare looking lazy in front of Junmyeon.

Junmyeon’s short frame is irrelevant, because his broad shoulders trigger the exact reaction he expects from it—Respect. Maybe a hint of fear, but definitely respect. Perhaps that’s what makes him look so much like a gentleman.

“Hey, Junmyeon.” Chanyeol greets.

“Who’s debuting?”

“Baekhyun.”  

“Baekhyun?!” both Chanyeol and Sehun repeat at the same time.

“Baekhyun.” Junmyeon reassures. “I don’t know why you’re so surprised. He definitely deserves it.”

“Did you… talk to him?” Chanyeol asks even though he’s not sure he wants to hear the answer.

“Yes. He called me from his new number. Well, I need to go now. Late night photoshoot. See you later.”

“I...I need to go.” Chanyeol stands from his chair, not bothering to put it back into its place. He bows goodbye to the cleaning lady—who does not bow back—and leaves the dining area.

The SM building is only about five minutes away from the dorms. He walks home wearing a cap and a mask to keep a low profile. He walks, feeling the light drizzle of rain and bumping into a few people on his way because he’s always walks without looking up. He tries his best to ignore the piercing chatter of the pedestrians but his mind won’t let him.

Baekhyun didn’t give me his new number. The thought floods his mind and almost has him racing home. He forces himself not to run, but he sure quickens his pace.

He’s leaving me. He doesn’t love me anymore. He locks the door behind him as soon as he enters his room and takes off his shoes.

Chanyeol rolls the damp shirt up his body and tosses it aside before changing into comfortable pants because anything’s more comfortable than wet skinny jeans. Shirtless, he takes a trip to the mini fridge in his kitchen. He grabs the bottle of cold water he filled in from the tap this morning and sits down on his bed. He throws the bottle to the empty seat next to him and opens his notebook.  

No inspiration to write songs right now.

Chanyeol closes his notebook and gets up from the couch. The piano and the music system are all set, like they were waiting for him to come home. So he works with his body, but his mind floats away from him.

Baekhyun come back to me, please.