It all starts with a death.

 

            Or does it end with a death? Chanyeol can barely think straight these days, he isn’t sure—

 

            What he does know is that when he gets to school, the murmuring is loud and disquieting. He’s shifting uncomfortably in his seat by the middle of first period, uniform itching at his neck as he cranes his head to listen to the bubbling of conversation all around him: just little snippets of words here and there, and then he notices the glances. Everyone’s eyes linger just too long on him as he shoves his face in his book, trying to read the assigned passage, but the words might as well be in an alien language. He feels hot, nearly sweating under the fluorescent lamps and the whispers of the classroom. These aren’t good stares. He can sense it.

            In second period he begins aggressively tapping the desk next to his as its occupant, his closest friend, slips quietly into class just a minute after the bell has rung. The teacher’s a substitute and has started a film on the projector, so the class should be on their phones or quietly throwing paper balls at each other. However, today it’s full of whispering, just as with first period, and the balls of Chanyeol’s feet are grinding into the floor tiles with stress. “Baekhyun,” Chanyeol says in a low but aggressive voice. In the seat beside him, Baekhyun’s dark eyes flicker to meet his own.

            “What the is going on?”

            “What do you mean what the is going on?” His brown-haired friend responds quickly, ducking his head slightly to divert attention. “You don’t know?”

            “Know what?”

            Baekhyun doesn’t respond.  Chanyeol’s finger stabs into the smaller’s desk. “What, Baek?”

            In that second the schoolwide intercom system crackles to life. Everyone’s attention jerks up to the speaker on the wall, waiting.

            “Mr. Lee, please send Park Chanyeol and Byun Baekhyun to the office immediately. Thank you.”

            If the stares and voices were bad before, it’s nothing compared to now as Chanyeol and Baekhyun rise slowly from their chairs. The substitute teacher doesn’t make any move, having fallen fast asleep in his chair. Chanyeol tries to ask more questions with his eyes, beseeching Baekhyun for any word or plan of action, but Baekhyun doesn’t meet his gaze. He only tugs once on Chanyeol’s sleeve, a command to follow, and walks quickly out of the classroom.

            As the door bangs shut Baekhyun whirls around, and Chanyeol’s more than surprised to realize the smaller’s eyes are red and full of tears. “Whoa, whoa, okay, can you please exp—”

            “Shut up!” Baekhyun hisses suddenly. Chanyeol flinches, and Baekhyun makes a strained sort of noise through his teeth in response, raking fingers through brown hair. “Sorry, I’m sorry. I just…”

            “It’s okay,” Chanyeol cuts him off. “Just please tell me what’s going on. People have been ing looking at me like I have two heads.” Their voices echo through the empty hallway, bouncing off lockers and reverberating back into their ears. It makes Chanyeol feel open, exposed.

            “Something happened,” Baekhyun starts, as he begins making bounding strides down the hall. Chanyeol nearly trips over himself to keep up. Baekhyun pulls a sleeve quickly across his eyes, and it comes away dotted wet. “I can’t—even really say it out loud but—Jongin—”

            Chanyeol recalls hearing voices mutter the elusive boy’s name in his classes that day. Jongin. The handsome dancer, transfer student, and standout from the suffocating homogeneity of his Seoul high school. Jongin had tried to blend in, but it was impossible. His shyness was his allure, and everyone took notice, including Chanyeol and Baekhyun. They’d come to know him over the year. He sat at their lunch table often, although whether Chanyeol would call him a friend, he isn’t sure.

            Baekhyun turns a corner, and then another, and opens the door to the school office. The secretary gives them a strange look as she sees them walk in, picking up the phone and quickly dialing in a number.

            “… Jongin?” Chanyeol whispers to Baekhyun, and Baekhyun just presses his lips together, shaking his head. Chanyeol’s about to pry just a bit more when the principal’s assistant walks into the waiting room. “Chanyeol and Baekhyun?”

            “Y-yes,” Baekhyun answers.

            “Follow me, please.”

            In a huge public school like this, you have to do something pretty bad for the administration to take enough notice to send you to the principal’s office, so Chanyeol feels pressure begin to build in his throat. He’s been a prankster all his life, but he can’t remember anything that serious he’s ever done, and nothing at all to Jongin. Baekhyun either, or he’d have told Chanyeol about it. The assistant opens the door to the principal’s room where the woman sits, hands folded in her lap, eyes trained immediately on Chanyeol and Baekhyun’s faces. She’s clearly been sitting there for some time, waiting. Chanyeol forces down the lump with a hard swallow.

            “Please sit down.” The principal waves her hand and as if they were robots, Baekhyun and Chanyeol clunk on command into the cushy chairs.

            “Maybe you’re wondering why I’ve called you here today.” She sighs, leaning back in her chair. “If you’re concerned, neither of you are in trouble.”

            Chanyeol breathes an audible sigh of relief, but Baekhyun is still rigid in his seat, frozen like a mannequin. Chanyeol can feel the tension in the boy’s muscles almost radiating out like a heat wave.

            “Miss…” Baekhyun manages through his teeth. The principal looks up, and Chanyeol stares at him too. “Is—is it really true? It is, isn’t it?”

            The principal’s serious grimace betrays the answer before her words does. “It’s true, I’m afraid. I’m very sorry but Kim Jongin and Do Kyungsoo have passed away.”

           

            Chanyeol and Baekhyun have two very opposite reactions: Baekhyun wilts into the leather of the chair, head falling like a snapped flower; Chanyeol finds his legs moving him to stand, eyes round and wild, lips jerking in an attempt to form words.

            “W-what?” He finally stammers.

            “As a school, we try to let friends of a passed student—or in this case, students—know the news as soon as we get it. We heard that the two of you were close with both Jongin and Kyungsoo.”

            Chanyeol is immobile. Every one of his limbs have seized and he stands like a dumbstruck giant, staring down at the principal sitting down at her desk. Baekhyun shakes with silent sobs, head in his hands, ribs heaving in and out.

            “We’re attempting to track down all the facts, but it’s still very early. I’ll let you know that it’s pretty clear that they were both suicides, and likely correlated, but we won’t let the students know that detail yet. We’ll hold an assembly of the senior class after lunch to notify them, but we’re going to allow the two of you the opportunity to leave classes for the rest of the week and you will be granted extensions on all of your work.” She turns to look at the papers on her desk. “Your friends Kim Minseok and Kim Jongdae have also been notified and given the same privilege. You can leave at any time today, or stay, if you so choose. Your teachers have been notified.”

            Baekhyun is the first to rise after a few terrible minutes. He chokes out a thank you and then he and Chanyeol leave. The walk down the hallway back to the waiting room seems to stretch millions of miles longer than it did when Chanyeol came in, and it’s worse because Chanyeol’s legs feel like solid wood planks. He can’t believe he even makes it out of the school until the warmth of sunlight hits him in the face.

 

            It’s a beautiful, crisp day at the beginning of fall. The leaves are changing from green to orange and red, freckling all the trees like spots of blood. Chanyeol throws up into a potted tree.

 

            Tears are streaming down Baekhyun’s cheeks and nose, which are dusted red with the blush of the cold morning. He shivers, watching Chanyeol heave his breakfast up the other way, and removes his scarf for Chanyeol to wipe his mouth on. Chanyeol gives him silent thanks.

            “How did you know?” Chanyeol’s throat is hoarse, mouth still stinging with acid. Baekhyun’s head is haloed by the pale sun as Chanyeol looks up at him from his crouched position.

            “In my first period someone told me. This girl. Lives on J-jongin’s block. Said she saw the p-police there. Heard something about Kyungsoo b-but… thought it was just rumors… I didn’t know…”

            Chanyeol manages to get to his feet, though his head is spinning dangerously. The two of them stand there in the piercing day, wavering slightly, holding themselves in their own arms. They stay like that for a bit; Chanyeol has no hope of accurately measuring time in his state. Baekhyun is the first to move, bridging the space between them and enveloping Chanyeol into a hug.

            Chanyeol cries into Baekhyun’s puffer coat, hot tears soothing him as they fall. Baekhyun pets his hair softly, though Chanyeol knows he must be doing his best not to cry himself.

            “Do you want to go home?” Baekhyun’s voice cracks.

            Chanyeol nods into the crook of Baekhyun’s neck.

            “My house or your house?”

            Chanyeol is silently thankful that Baekhyun knows to stay by his side. “Your house.”

           

            They catch the city bus. Chanyeol stares blankly out the window as the skyscrapers pass by, a whirling mesh of metal and shiny blue glass that he can make look almost like the sea if he squints hard enough. Soon enough they turn to houses, small apartments stacked on each other in spindly towers. Beside Chanyeol, Baekhyun doesn’t utter a word, only looking down at his scuffed sneakers.

            Baekhyun’s apartment is on a hill. The hike up the winding road seems longer than usual, but any movement at all is like torture for Chanyeol—all he wants to do is curl up in a ball on the floor and shut his eyes. The electric chime of the lobby door is so nauseatingly happy sounding that he almost feels like throwing up again.

            Baekhyun unlocks his door with a click and it swings open. The house is quiet, a bit messy, but welcoming. It’s practically Chanyeol’s second home. He’s spent countless evenings here playing videogames and eating cup ramen with Baekhyun. Chanyeol finally lets his leg buckle and he falls into the soft tan couch without a word.

            “Are you hungry?” Baekhyun shrugs off his backpack and it hits the wood floor with a thud. Chanyeol shakes his head into the pillow. Baekhyun heads into the kitchen anyway, and Chanyeol hears the stove clicking to life and the sound of boiling water. He turns his head just slightly so he can see the top of Baekhyun’s head bobbing around as he rummages through drawers.

            It reminds him of a moment a few days ago. He, Kyungsoo and Baekhyun were wandering through the aisles of the convenience store, Kyungsoo urging Chanyeol to talk to the girl who worked the counter and Baekhyun threatening to do it himself if he didn’t. Chanyeol finally made his move, leaning his elbow on the counter as the girl rung up his candy bar, seeing out of the corner of his eye two heads of hair sticking out from behind a rack of magazines.

             Kyungsoo was one of his oldest friends, Chanyeol thinks numbly, vision once again beginning to blur with tears.

 

            And he’s… dead?

 

            Chanyeol tries to add it up, spin it every which angle, but he still just can’t understand.

            Baekhyun sitting down at the dining table thankfully gives him something else to look at besides the wall. He tries to pay attention to every flick of Baekhyun’s wrist as he stirs, every shift in every curl of hair, the steam rising in lazy tendrils towards the hanging light.

            “They should be coming over,” Baekhyun says quietly between mouthfuls. “Jongdae and Minseok. At some point soon.”

            Their speech is bare, stripped of the usual cackling irony, each word falling flat and sinking quickly. The talk tastes bitter on Chanyeol’s tongue, tainted by the day’s gruesome backdrop, so they fall into silence once more. Baekhyun tosses Chanyeol a blanket and Chanyeol begins to drift off into sleep. He allows his body to shut down, finally, and darkness is pulled under his eyelids like a thick smothering blanket. Perhaps when he wakes it will hurt a little less.