There’s some sort of serenity in the air as I watch Park Chanyeol and his atrocious band create music, despite the loud strings of electrical guitars mixed with drums and low sounds of base. I’ve thought a lot of conflicting things when it came to Chanyeol, especially when I first discovered he can play the drums so artistically; but I’m even more in awe as I watch him sing.

His voice’s a rich baritone that lures unsuspecting victims into its trap and throws warmth against people’s bodies like a lush carpet blanketing their soul. His eyes are shut closed and he seems to be visualizing the song he’s singing into his head; his whole concentration on his song rather than on how many people are watching him.

I stare up at him in the middle of all of these crowded people and I’m sure my face’s very clearly printed with awe. I’m not positive if it’s in awe because it’s Chanyeol and he’s so full of talents or because the sultry sounds that emits from him as he sings are getting to me. Whatever it is that I’m ablaze with, I feel entrapped; my eyes whisked away to be heavily inclined towards him without any ability or will to pull them away. I feel as if I'm encapsulated with breathlessness. My heartbeats a drum away from completely collapsing at the speed they’re running in, and my mood a hundred times lighter than when it was the first hour I was in this crowded place. My legs are jelly, and I’m not a person that would allow herself a slightest regime of weakness; but here I am nevertheless, overstepped like crushed mead by the powerful emotion of Chanyeol’s voice. 

“He’s pretty amazing, isn’t he?” A voice beside me bellow in the midst of the harsh tremble of noises coming from Chanyeol’s band and the wide cheers of the perpetual crowd. Kyungsoo must’ve seen my overtaken expression for him to ask that, and I don’t bother titling my head away from the endearing scene of Chanyeol’s performance. 

“I didn’t even think he can sing.” I say breathlessly. I’m a little bit shy to show such reaction that’s obvious in front of my old crush, but a part of me doesn’t care at all. I wonder if I should feel ashamed about my inability to care. 

Kyungsoo snorts as if it’s the most amusing thing he has heard all day. “There isn’t a single thing Chanyeol can’t do. When he puts his mind into something; he make sure to perfect it, even singing.”

“That’s...” My voice still sounds impractically mind-blown. “... amazing.”

Kyungsoo stares at me in strange tranquility when I say this, and I feel his stare bore into me like knifes on a skin. I turn away from Chanyeol’s performance to give Kyungsoo’s the attention that he wants. His wide eyes are squinted and there’s something that glimmers behind them. A flicker of a thought is clearly lightened in top of his head and the strange quietness that suddenly surrounds him make me nervous.

“You like him, don’t you?” He asks, or says, his voice not harsher like the grating noise in the surrounding people. There’s confidence in his tone and there’s not an inch of subdued anxiety like the one that’s hurriedly encompassing me.

I feel my cheeks craze over with redness, responding to the anxiousness that’s swallowing me. “Of course I do. I wouldn’t willingly hang out with him if I don’t like him for the slightest bits.”

“C’mon,” his tone comes affectionately teasing. “That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

I don’t response. I don’t know what to respond with. Would I tell him no I don’t like him just to be evasive? Or should I tell him the truth? But I don’t even know what the truth is, or if I even like Park Chanyeol in the way that Kyungsoo’s hinting me in? When I used to like Kyungsoo, it was so obvious to me the emotions that I held for him. Seeing him made me smile; staring at him from afar made me giddy; and when I approached him at last in the lunch table; I was rendered a nervous wreck. But with time, I discovered that what I had for him was simply admiration, nothing else. Is what I feel for Chanyeol possibly be rendered something else in the end, too? Can I describe the tingling sensations that enwraps me whenever I’m in a close proximity with Chanyeol as something similar to liking? What if I’m wrong? What if whatever it is that I feel is not as deep as I think? What if instead of thinking I’m sinking low in the prospect of Park Chanyeol, I’m still only hovering on the surface?

I’ve spend so many years of my life gliding against situations and feelings like I’m an outsider to them. My life has been nothing but a remote desert of nothingness. And now that I’m starting to prickle with the beginning of a shadowy presence, I’m petrified of the chances of change. Change has always been my first enemy, whether it happened to be positive or negative. Change terrified me; the concept of shifting from one state to another; to forever erase a part of your life that you once resided in; lived in. Am I ready to change my dauntless life into bravery? And am I ready to accept the flowers that are blooming inside of me like toxic yet soft cotton? And first of all, am I ready to finally start answering questions like Kyungsoo’s question without having to undergo a monologue every time I’m put under the spot?

Kyungsoo looks back to Chanyeol as he hits a low base in his electric guitar, seeming to understand that I’m not yet ready to answer questions in their bold transparency. “I don’t know if Chanyeol has the same feelings or not,” he begins quietly. “Unlike what most people think of him; he’s very complicated, and hardly is he easier to read than most. He gives people whatever they want to see and masks his genuine feelings; I think it has something to do with his problems at home.”

“Problems at home?” I echo, looking at him with wide eyes. I find myself incredibly interested when it comes to things about Chanyeol. Maybe because I don’t know all that much about him. Especially things of his home and parents except what he told me. 

“His mom’s crazy,” Kyungsoo adds, still speaking in a low volume. “She’s really bat insane. She has such high expectations of him. The pressure kinda does things to him. His father’s a useless tool when it comes to this, too, and he doesn’t care that much. Chanyeol used to spend most of his days faking emotions and showing fake cheerfulness so that no one would asks him anything. Even when he moved out of their home, I don’t think he managed to fully stop wearing masks completely. Sometimes I don’t even know what he feels regarding things he likes or dislikes; so I can’t even tell if what he says most of the time is real or not.”

I swallow thickly, avoiding his eyes and staring back at Chanyeol’s direction. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I don’t know,” Kyungsoo shakes his head, as if he truly doesn’t know what willed him to say what he said. “I guess I want you to be careful. Most of the things that Chanyeol gives people are not real.”

My heartbeats shake. It’s almost as if he knows exactly what transpired between Chanyeol and I. I don’t want to believe that what Chanyeol gives is false. Kyungsoo’s his friend and he knew him way before he knew me. Maybe he’s right. Maybe he knows what he’s talking about. I think about the kisses that Chanyeol gave me and whether they meant something to him or they’re just playful nothingness. What about me, did they mean anything to me?

“I’m not saying this to scare you—“ Kyungsoo says quickly, panicking upon seeing the face that I’m pulling. 

I snort. “Well, you’re ty at giving people security, Soo.”

He looks at me with a twinkling pair of eyes, relief coating their edges at hearing the tittering tone of playfulness in my voice. He swipes a hand through his thick black hair and turns to face Chanyeol once again. I notice the corner of his lips curl into a smile. “I’m Soo now?”

“Everyone calls you this,” I murmur, shoving my hands inside the pockets of my jean jacket. “It’s okay to call you that, right?”

“Sure. It feels nice. So are we considered friends now?”

I give him a funny look. “I thought we already are?” Then panic floods my system when I realize that what I said might be taken the wrong way. “Are we not? Oh God, and I thought—“

Kyungsoo laughs out loud, his laughter once would have made me turn unto liquid goo, but now only serves to blossom a satisfied smile on my face. “Calm down, Yuji. I’m just joking with you. You’re so cute.” he raises his hand and prods me in my chin. In the back of my mind I list all of the differences to Kyungsoo and Chanyeol’s hands: his is soft and fingernails chapped, whereas Chanyeol’s hand is calloused and his nails sharp. 

In a previous time a part of me would have felt something at being called cute by Kyungsoo. But now all I really think about is Chanyeol. In my mind there’s things Chanyeol and I did together, or things that he did for me. There are glimpses of Chanyeol’s body and Chanyeol’s smile and Chanyeol’s wide eyes in my head. I remember that when I used to crush on Kyungsoo, I never thought about him consistently in unnecessary times. I only really considered him when I saw him strolling leisurely around the school or when I catch him talking to his friends. 

“He’s about to finish,” Kyungsoo suddenly notices, taking his hands out of his pockets and pointing at Chanyeol. “Let’s go wait for him with the rest.”

We walk away from where we were standing across the stage and move backwards where the rest of his group are. They instantly greet us with wide cheers and wider smiles. I wince. I think I’m never going to get used to people greeting me with such exhilaration, no matter how much time I spend with them. We wait for Chanyeol to get down the stage with soft conversations and occasional laughter. I stay at the edge of the group, looking out for any signs of Chanyeol’s body coming closer and trying to pretend the conversations that are occurring beside and between me are just figments of my imagination.

When Chanyeol does appear with a giant smirk on his face and hair flopped so softly against his forehead and sweat gathered at the sides of his face; everyone greets him with loud cheers and he fakes a deep bow, still maintaining his wide smirk. His eyes shift around almost instantly from the group and searches for mine, and once they lock together with the brown of my eyes, they twinkle like massive eye bulbs. 

“Hey, babygirl,” comes his soft yet low baritone. His eyes flicker across every part of my body and my face, as if searching for something, before flickering back to my face. “It’s always nice to see your face around here.”

For once I let his flirtatious self slide and smile at him, showing my deep dimples. “You were really great out there, Chanyeol. I almost couldn’t recognize you. I didn’t even know you could sing.”

He blinks, surprised by my mellow and soft voice. Then something happens; something that naturally doesn’t happen when it’s concerned around Chanyeol: his ears redden in embarrassment. He scratches the back of his neck self-consciously, and I feel the cursed smirk that alights his face curl around my mouth. 

He avoids my eyes. “Oh well, now you do. It’s not something I’m particularly hiding or anything.”

“Does everyone in school know about this, then?” I ask challengingly. 

He shrugs, his damned smirk returning back to his mouth and his eyes shift around to stare me down; his previous confidence jumping back to him as if it didn’t disappear to begin with. “I think so. As I said, it’s not something I’m hiding,” he pauses, then his eyes twinkle. “Say, if I offered you a drink now, would you be a babe and accept it?”

I sigh. “Just one.”

He blinks his eyes again, surprise very clearly painting the edges of his face. “Damn, sweetcheeks, you’re awfully compliant today.”

I roll my eyes so that he doesn’t notice the tumbling redness that now encompasses my fair cheeks. “You can say I’m still in awe of your performance.” I turn around and walk towards the bar in a flare of sudden courageousness. “You comi