Park Chanyeol is a mess, but he wouldn't say so himself.

He's the typical sob story victim, though it's more his own fault than anything. Started smoking and drinking in middle school, failed every class, dropped out, was disowned by his family with all means of communication cut off, and works at a dead-end job that he couldn't care less for which he only keeps to pay off his share for the tier-than-dirt apartment he lives in.

Not that he cares. Not that he cares about anything.

Life, for Park Chanyeol, is an incessant, droning song which replays over and over again when the chorus had already gotten old from the moment the composer wrote it down. It's a dead end that never ends, and a nuisance which forces him to get up and be somewhat alive each day.

And he would've continued that way; the daily, tortuous, meaningless repetition until his bones ached and mind slowed and heart stopped, if it wasn't for a certain undecisive surprise who burst into his life and changed the radio station.

Sometimes, there is more unexpected in the expected than one would think.