CHAPTER 3

“What are you doing?”

Baekhyun shudders, eyes shut tight with hands balled at his sides as Park Chanyeol twists him around and pins him against his locker. The metal rings upon the impact and the clang ricochets down the hallway.

“Open your eyes and look at me,” an angry voice growls at him. “Who are you?”

It’s one thing to have your long-time crush talk to you in a way that makes you want to shrink into yourself. And then it’s another to have him manhandle you like he has a right to. Baekhyun loses focus once he opens his eyes and struggles to train them on Chanyeol, dazed at the lack of oxygen he is getting. A joint stumbles in his knee and he falters just a bit, the guitarist holding him upright again in interrogation.

“S-Sorry,” Baekhyun manages to say. “I just… I saw – there was an envelope on your locker – and it…”

“What gives you the right to touch anything that’s on my locker?” Chanyeol asks; Baekhyun can almost see the guarding wall he has put up in defense. What’s making him so wary all the time, he doesn't know. He’s triggered something though; that’s all Baekhyun can figure out for now.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t… mean to. I just wanted –”

“What’d you see?”

Baekhyun’s mouth gapes in declaration, “Nothing! I didn’t see anything, I swear.”

Heated eyes search and scrutinize him for a second before Chanyeol lets him go with a deafening slam against blue again. Trembling, Baekhyun slides down.

“If I find that you saw something or kept something or even so much as know something you’re not supposed to, I'll find you." His eyes linger on the smaller's name tag before glaring at him again. "And I won’t be nice like today, Byun Baekhyun.”

Without another word, without seeking further explanation, that is, the visibly fuming student walks away. Heavy breaths settle in the empty spaces of his lungs, and when Baekhyun stares down the hallway in the direction that Chanyeol had left, he sees the back of the guitar trudging away as if nothing had happened – as if he is trying to forget anything that ever happened before the moment he is living in now.

But... why?

What is the reason Chanyeol is trailing an eraser behind him, removing trace of the path he’s walked over as soon as he makes the next step forward? A light buzzing vibrates in Baekhyun’s temple as he leans his head on the locker again with a weak press, the multicolored envelope flittering under his plain white sneakers in its attempt to drift away with the coming breeze. And the bottle of pills, Baekhyun keeps safe in his pocket, hoping that one day he will have the courage to give it back to its proper recipient. For now, he recollects his staggering breath.

In the name of self-reflection, Chanyeol likes to think that nothing he does has to have a reason to it. But he likes to think this way, of course, because it goes against the way he acts.

Whenever the question of his actions occurs to him, Chanyeol tells himself that he ditches class every day because he can do whatever he wants to. He has the ability to maintain a stable grade point average no matter how many lessons he misses out on and despite the teachers' claims, punctuality isn’t required of him to showcase stellar marks. In truth, however, he knows that it's all an excuse. He skips and purposely forgets the hours school is in session because he cannot bear to be there. The cowardly reason is so specifically and undeniably there, but he rejects it. It’s like the nick in his guitar he refuses to have polished – a scar he doesn’t care to – doesn’t want to – heal.

Gripping a handful of assignments he hasn’t finished, Chanyeol sighs deeply. When he thinks about it, he doesn’t have to have a reason for neglecting them either, like the way he neglects everything else in his life. Uncaring, he shoves them deep into the pocket of his guitar bag and draws out his instrument instead. This is his definition of priority.

“You’re here pretty early,” a voice says then, slightly accented. The guitarist looks up to see the band’s bass player entering the auditorium.

“Same to you,” Chanyeol says, giving a tilt of his head to greet his band mate. “Or do you always come this early?”

“I’m on schedule,” Zitao tells him. “But what brings you here today, Prince Charming?”

Chanyeol scowls at the nickname, something the others had begun calling him after a particular incident when he had been bombarded with females screeching out for his phone number. It’s a memory he’d like to give to someone else, truth be told; he’d never been good around crowds of girls like Suho is.

“I had nothing to do – and I’m running away.”

“From what?” Zitao asks in amusement.

“Responsibilities.”

Shaking his head, Zitao settles down in his chair and zips open his bag to reveal a polished bass. Out of all the band members, he takes the best care of his instrument – something to respect, Chanyeol realizes, yet he finds that he cannot follow suit. He needs to be a little reckless in his life, as ironic as it seems. He can’t seem to be anything but when he tries.

“Anyway, why are you here so early all the time?” Chanyeol asks, giving his guitar a few experimental plucks to release a string of notes. He pieces random ones together to create a sort of tune, one he makes on the spot. It falls into his ears at a nice pace, but he doesn’t keep it. He rarely elaborates on these come-and-go music pieces; although he likes the bits he finds, he likes to leave them be just the way he discovers them. It’s a gift music gives to him that he doesn’t want to take.

“Extra practice is probably a good way to put it,” Zitao says with a smile. He turns up the amplifier and warms his fingers up with a sped-up version of Canon D. Chanyeol responds in acoustic.

“You know, Suho’s been looking for a replacement.”

Chanyeol’s eyes shift just the slightest, but he keeps them focused on the strings of his guitar. “What do you mean?”

“He doesn’t like the way Luhan sings,” Zitao answers, hands paused on his bass. “Or that’s what he says. I think he’s just pissed off about his attitude problem. You know how Lu-ge always pisses everyone off.”

“Where is he gonna find someone who knows our songs as well as Luhan does? Or someone who can deal with Suho’s in the first place?” Chanyeol asks, “The talent show isn’t soon, yeah, but it took Luhan two years to get where he is now. Suho isn’t gonna find someone good enough by the end of the year, trust me.”

“Well, he wants to try,” Zitao says with a sigh. “And you know how Suho is. He puts his life on his black card. He can probably get a celebrity to sing with us if he’d wanted. Swipe, swipe – problem solved.”

“But that would say we’ve given up on ourselves, wouldn’t it? That we’re not good enough as just EXO.”

“Being good enough has never really been Suho’s problem,” Zitao responds. “That’s not his main concern with this band anyway. He doesn’t believe in the intangible things we create here. What he needs are results, and that credit card gives them to him every time.”

Chanyeol pictures that: having one object solve everything he’s ever struggled over. It’s probably the first time he is envious of Suho.

“So, are you gonna do something about it?”

“Probably not,” Zitao answers, placing his bass back on the stand. “But don’t let me stop you. I’m just a coward, that’s all.”

What if I am, too? Chanyeol thinks. I’m a coward, too, just like you.

He stares at the corners of his homework peeking out over the pocket of his bag and lets himself think. No matter how he puts it, though, the memories make the arrows point back at him and labels him with a word he hates. It’s a word Oh Sehun had used to call him on many occasions during their rift.

Wimp.

“I’m hanging out with Chen today.”

Something, Kris says, had changed in Sehun the moment he met the transfer from China in their first year of high school.

It hadn’t been noticeable at first, at least not to Chanyeol. He’d never found it strange like Kris had that Sehun was branching out and making new friends other than them. That year, unfortunately, their tight trio had been broken due to differing class placements: the older two joined in one homeroom while Sehun had to brave a year alone in another. To Chanyeol, it’d made sense that in order to make up for the lack of his best friends in his class, Sehun had befriended Chen. Chanyeol understood that much.

But it’s something to ponder about when Sehun starts swearing with words Chanyeol and Kris have never even heard of themselves, when the previously naïve boy starts to exit their almost weekly trips to the tiny store by Chanyeol’s house with items they don’t recall him paying for. They’re small, meaningless things at first, the gum packs and jellies Sehun steals from the racks with a fit of laughter, but soon enough the problem grows bigger.

“What do you know?!” Sehun had asked when they’d questioned him. Chanyeol still remembers the flames in his eyes, but even now, he cannot place where this fury stems from. “What do you know about me? The you think you know about us?”

Sehun had always been a little different from them, Chanyeol recalls. Although the three of them possess different talents and charms, Kris and Chanyeol had always been more similar than any other combination between the three of them. Academically, Kris and Chanyeol were always blessed, while Sehun was just smart enough to move up a grade each year with the rest of his peers. To compensate, of course, the youngest was a great athlete, complete with the set of a built body and a talent for shooting hoops with amazing accuracy. But neither of his two best friends had ever taken an interest in sports, and it'd been no surprise when Sehun had been in the midst of preparing himself to become the upcoming captain of the school's varsity basketball team while Chanyeol and Kris had been putting their heads together to come up with a band name. No matter how many basketball rounds they played with their youngest friend, it was how it would play out. Their interests simply set them apart.

Experimenting between strums and finger-picking techniques, Chanyeol had always loved to sway with the mood of his guitar. Kris, on the other hand, had always loved creating that very mood through his hollow drums to emit powerful, moving beats. And Sehun, fiddling with a basketball during their many jam sessions, had felt just a little, if not a lot, left out.

“What’re you up to?”

Sehun wipes the sweat out his eyes as he takes a breather.

“Shooting hoops down by the courts. Wanna come?”

“Nah,” Chen slurs into the phone, tone lazier than usual. “I’m high.”

“Again?” Sehun asks, kicking the basketball coming towards him from the court the rest of his teammates are playing on. He takes a swig from his bottle. “The is it this time? You sound like .”

“It’s good, man. Good stuff. Wanna try? I’ve got a little left; it’s new too.”

“I have a game tomorrow,” Sehun explains, laughing. “No thanks.”

Chen doesn’t speak for a moment, a moment that Sehun doesn’t notice but unconsciously fears, and then he crackles into the phone:

“Wimp.”

It’s a word he hates, but Sehun doesn’t say anything smart back.

“Call you later,” he says instead, and hangs up. There are no benefits to having Chen as a friend anymore.

There are some perks, Baekhyun believes, to living in a boarding school. The first is that he can spend as much time as he needs to in the library and not worry about getting lost on his way home at night. The second, as most say, is that the students receive a lot of afterschool opportunities.

Some pursue music, as Chanyeol and the rest of EXO do. Others pursue volunteer opportunities, such as tutoring underclassmen as Yixing hyung does. Baekhyun hasn’t found anything he is passionate about yet, but spending his time as a teacher’s assistant isn’t all that bad. Two and a half hours after school ends, Baekhyun wraps up the computer desk and tidies his seat.

“I’ll be leaving first, Mrs. Kwon! I’ll be back after dinner to pick up the leftover paperwork,” he writes in the note he leaves on his homeroom teacher’s desk. Baekhyun is straightening the creases in his uniform blazer when his eyes catch a picture he has never seen on Mrs. Kwon’s desk before.

It doesn’t make sense.

Baekhyun is sure the person he sees in the photo is Chanyeol and an elderly grandmother, but in the frame is Mrs. Kwon as well, an infant cradled in her arms. The guitarist in the photo is slightly younger, maybe fourteen or fifteen, hair a dark brown instead of orange and a rare smile spread across his face. It’s the same smile Baekhyun had seen on Chanyeol the first day he’d spotted him; one that has left a mark on Baekhyun. He finds himself staring.

“You ready to go?”

A familiar voice brings him out of his momentary reverie and Baekhyun looks up to see Yixing.

“Oh, hi, hyung. Yeah, I’m ready,” he responds, hoisting his backpack up once again and trailing out to where Yixing is waiting for him. He decides not to think about the picture just yet.

“How was it today?”

“What, tutoring Jongin?” the older asks with a laugh. “It was okay. Kyungsoo helped me out a lot; he’s better at math than I am.” Side by side, the two walk down the hallway.

“That’s good. How’s your internship application coming along?”

Yixing smiles for a moment then shrugs. “Okay, I guess. But I still don’t know if I’m qualified to be a legitimate tutor yet.”

“You’ll do well; you always do,” Baekhyun reassures, and Yixing ruffles his hair in affection.

“What about you? What have you been doing this whole day?”

They walk down the stairs and out of the building to the darkening sky outside. Crossing the quad, Baekhyun responds, “Oh, you know. Grading papers, rechecking and submitting roll call, entering grades. Fun stuff.” Yixing slings an arm around him and brings his other hand from out of his pocket.

“Reward for your good deeds, my little brother,” he says, presenting a strawberry flavored lollipop before the younger and chuckling. “Eat it after dinner, okay?”

“Thanks hyung,” Baekhyun responds, taking the treat and storing it safely in the pocket of his blazer. It’s always thanks to Yixing that he can feel at ease. The grin on his face proves it.

“Bad news though: I think I’m getting a new student next week,” Yixing announces when they’ve neared the dining hall, sighing almost inaudibly, “so… I might not be able to come out and eat with you like this for a while.”

“I thought all tutors end by dinner,” Baekhyun replies, a pause in his steps. They slow down to a paced walk and Baekhyun tries not to sound disappointed.

“Do you know EXO’s drummer, Kris?” Yixing asks. “I guess he really needs a tutor because he’s busy balancing out his schedule with practice and all, so the Headmaster recommended me. Apparently, the only time he can make it is after band practice and that ends pretty late so I even got permission to extend my curfew. I’m changing my schedule around a little so that I can make time for all three students; that’s why I can’t come out by dinner.”

“… For how long?” Baekhyun asks.

Yixing shrugs. “Until he needs me I guess. His mom is willing to pay me by the hour, but I don’t know yet. Sorry, Baekhyun, I really am.”

It’s a lot to take in, but Baekhyun shakes his head. “It’s alright, hyung. Don’t worry about me.”

There is no doubt that Baekhyun is a smart student, but sometimes, he wonders where he is going with his life. So many of his peers already know what colleges they want to take entrance exams for, and the majors they want to pursue, but frankly, Baekhyun has never had a straightforward goal in life. He's always just tried his best to do well in any subject under his nose.

It’s not a rare thing when he feels like he is very much behind, but the thought of Yixing taking one extra step forward and consequently away from him weighs a little too heavily on his shoulders. Everyone has laid an outline of the path they wish to take, but Baekhyun can only see two feet ahead of him. He’s never quite been a leaper after all.

8:15PM, upon wrapping up band practice, Chanyeol and Kris head off to the dorms together (Tao stays behind again for some reason – it seems like it’s going to become a habit). The refreshingly misty air fills the guitarist’s lungs despite the summer season as Kris nudges him. Rain is always kind.

“How’re the assignments coming along, pal?” he asks.

Chanyeol just gives him a sideways glance and doesn’t speak on the issue.

“I’m getting a tutor, you know,” Kris continues, “for chemistry because you won’t teach me anything.”

“Why are you telling me that in a tone that says I should be feeling guilty?”

“Because you should be,” Kris answers, “but also because I think it’s time you let people help you, too.”

“What do you mean?” Chanyeol unlocks the door to their dorm building and holds it open for Kris to walk through. The drummer slots his sticks into the back pocket of his jeans and enters.

“I’m not beating around the bush here. I literally mean that you need help.”

“With what?” Chanyeol asks, pressing the button to the elevator with more force than neccessary. It’s an idiosyncratic habit that he always takes the elevator when he’s with Kris but climbs the flight of stairs when he’s alone. (Not a phobia – not really – but Chanyeol doesn’t like the image of getting stuck in an elevator alone.)

“Doing your homework,” Kris responds without hesitation; it’s not the first time he’s told off his best friend. “You need help with homework.”

“I’m not stupid, Kris,” Chanyeol says in annoyance, jabbing the button twice more. “What makes you think I can’t even get some homework done?”

“I’m not talking about your brains, you idiot,” says Kris once the elevator dings with its arrival in the lobby. “Although sooner or later I’m sure you’re gonna regret slugging behind thinking you got down. I’m talking about how you’re not willing to even look at the damn papers.”

“So I’m supposed to get help for that how?”

“I don’t know, but I certainly am not doing that job well as a friend,” Kris says. “Go get yourself a tutor too, or something. Just so that you’ll be sitting at a desk for a couple of hours. It helps, I’m telling you.”

They reach their shared room near the end of the corridor and Chanyeol twists his key into the knob. “Shut up or else I won’t let you in.”

Kris gapes when Chanyeol gives him one last glare before opening the door. “What a douchebag,” he says, and his roommate slips in and slams the door in his face as a response. “Alright, be that way,” Kris shouts to the locked door. “I have the keys anyway.”

Scowling, the drummer stuffs a hand inside his pocket to bring out his keys. They jangle victoriously from his fingers, and a smirk rides up his face as he slots the proper key in the lock when a voice stops him.

“Hi, are you Chanyeol’s roommate by any chance?”

With a raised eyebrow, Kris turns to the shy speaker.

“Yes, and who are you?”

“Uhm – my name is Byun Baekhyun. I’m down the hall, same grade as you. Friend of your new tutor Yixing, if that... makes me any more welcome here.”

“Yeah, and…?”

“I... I have something to give to Chanyeol but I don't know if he wants to see me. Can you please give it to him?”

The boy in front of him has eyes that slant just the tiniest bit downward, but it’s that minuscule slope that makes him look like a disheartened puppy. Good intentions though, Kris likes that.

“Sure I guess.”

With a relieved sigh, Baekhyun presents the pink letter from earlier. “Please don’t misunderstand – it’s not from me,” he explains when Kris gives him a quizzical look. “It accidentally ended up in my possession but I thought Chanyeol should have it back.”

“Alright,” Kris says, taking it. “I’ll give it to him. Thanks, Baekhyun.”

The boy nods and the drummer, winking at him before swinging open the door, enters his room. Upon shedding his uniform blazer, he chucks the pink envelope at his best friend.

“Hey, this is for you. From a kid name Byun Baekhyun – he gave it to me just now to give to you.”

Still irked from earlier, Chanyeol glares at his roommate as he grabs the letter with a fist and pries it open messily.

“I’m gonna knock out early today so don’t bother me, alright?” Kris announces, but the guitarist isn’t listening because the words on the paper he lazily unfolds raise the temperature in the room.

You’re a ing coward. How will you deal with me, Park Chanyeol?

Well then, he thinks. This Byun Baekhyun kid definitely has more nerve than he'd credited him for.

  Author's Notes  

I apologize for the lack of updates ;_; It's summer vacation but my schedule is even busier than before which is so cruel to my mental and physical health. Hopefully the plot will move along a lot faster in the next chapter? Thank you for reading as always, and I will be back when time allows!