The Patron

     The crisp chill of autumn clung to the air as penciled graphite scratched across paper, grayish lines swirling into deeper, more passionate as they gave birth to words hidden beneath a mask of artistic expression. Chanyeol furrowed his brow and nibbled on his lower lip, chocolate eyes darting to this spot and that spot while fingers smudged here and there, until the monochrome portrait took on a life of its own. Blowing on the paper, he flicked a few eraser shavings off to the side.

     He popped the underside of his newsboy cap and eyed his creation with heavy scrutiny. There was always something missing from his sketches, yet it did little to deter him from drawing for hours on end, lost in his own musings and detached from the world. Chanyeol may not have been good with words, but for what he lacked in vocal eloquence, he made up for with his artistry.

     Pulling down the tip of his cap, he glanced toward the elderly lady on the nearby park bench. Wrinkled hands were clasped loosely in her lap, chin tilted to chest, eyes closed and mouth slightly agape as she breathed steadily through her afternoon nap. Chanyeol grinned with comical amusement before tearing the portrait from his spiral-ringed sketchbook. He approached her quietly and tucked the sketch into the open flap of her tattered purse, then retreated to the bench to collect his things. Slipping a faded leather backpack over his right shoulder, he checked the time on his wristwatch and picked up the pace.

     He was due for work by 5 p.m. It was now 4:52.

 

🍸🍸🍸

 

     The Blue Lantern was an upscale martini bar, the perfect concoction of laid back jazz and dashing eloquence. Housed on the outskirts of town, it lured a variety of customers — businessmen, artists, musicians, and more. Everyone had a past and a story to tell, and all of them flocked to the bar for the same reason, to escape from the world.

     Chanyeol paid the cab driver before entering the bar through the back entrance. He hung his backpack and hat on the coat rack and smoothed out his black sweater and messy hair. His boss, Kris, was leaning against a nearby doorway, white button-down tucked neatly into his tailored, coffee-brown slacks, shirt sleeves rolled to elbows as he puffed on a freshly lit cigar.

     "About damn time." Kris pointed to his employee accusingly with cigar in hand. "You were doodlin’ in the park again, weren't you?"

     Chanyeol smiled apologetically. "Sorry."

     This marked the third time he'd been late for work this week. Once he fell into one of his artistic spells, it was easy to lose track of time.

     Kris shook his head and took another puff of his cigar.  "You know what to do. So get to it."

     "Yes, sir." Chanyeol ventured down the length of the hallway and into the main bar area. His friend, Jongin, was already stationed at his post behind the black marbled countertop where he prepared diligently for the busy shift ahead.

     Chanyeol stole a look about the bar. It was hard not to fall in love with its charm. Deep mahogany floors were contrasted by white silk that draped from one end of the ceiling to the other. Ocean blue lighting cast a dreamy glow across the shimmery fabric, while a handcrafted chandelier hung in the center of the bar, its glass crystals sparkling in the ethereal light.

     "Hi there, Park!" Jongin flashed a charismatic smile while wiping down the countertop. "Ready to crank out the drinks tonight?"

     A black vest hugged his sculpted frame, white shirt sleeves nestled midway up his forearms. Jongin was known for being ridiculously attractive and a crafty tease. Thus, it was no surprise that he drew in the largest amount of tips from both male and female patrons alike.

     "Hn." Chanyeol nodded, pulling out a fresh bottle of Absolut Vodka, twisting off its cap and replacing it with a metal stopper for easy pouring.

     A waft of cool air invaded the bar with the jingling of the front door, revealing several boisterous businessmen who were ready to scrub the hectic day from their minds with alcohol.

     "Here we go!" Jongin flipped a bottle into the air and caught it with a wry grin. "Ten bucks says they drink that entire bottle of vodka you just opened."

     Chanyeol chuckled as he sized up their first customers of the evening. "I say... two."

     Boasting with the pride of an elder brother, Jongin patted Chanyeol on the shoulder, shameless of his actions despite the fact that he was considerably younger than his wonky friend

     "You're the best assistant bartender a guy could ever ask for,” Jongin beamed crookedly.

     Chanyeol rolled his eyes, smiling as the businessmen took a seat at the bar, each of them ordering a vodka martini.

 

🍸🍸🍸

 

     The bar was abuzz with idle chit-chat that rode upon the soothing lullaby of the grand piano. The pianist’s diligent fingers danced a jazzy tune across the keys, occasionally earning a dollar bill that would be placed in his tip jar, to which he would smile kindly and incline his head in gratitude.

     “Bartender, I’ll take an appletini please.” A woman in her mid-thirties claimed a stool at the bar, curve-hugging, blood-red dress catching many a wandering eye as she flicked waves of flowing onyx over an exposed shoulder.

     Chanyeol nodded. “You got it.” The words fell from his lips just easily enough to count for normal speech. He and Jongin had an agreement — Chanyeol functioned as the backup and cranked out drinks with limited customer interaction, while Jongin made fewer drinks and entertained the customers’ need for liquor-induced conversation. It wasn’t a foolproof system, but it worked most of the time.

     Pulling a chilled glass from the freezer below the counter, Chanyeol set about mixing the pretty lady’s drink, flinching at the sultry stare that burned through his collected visage.

     “You look a tad young for a bartender, sweetheart.” The woman purred through crimson lips, a simple action that would've had most men fawning over her, but it only served to wilt Chanyeol’s nerves. He forced a smile as he filled a glass mixer with ice and measured the appropriate amount of vodka versus apple liqueur required for the drink. Then taking a long, metal bar spoon, stirred to dilute the alcohol.

     Placing elbow to the counter, the lady cradled chin to palm as she continued eying Chanyeol.

     “What’s the matter?” she grinned, “Cat got your tongue?”

     Chanyeol poured the liquor from the tumbler into a martini glass. With a sense of foreboding, he set the drink on a blue napkin and placed it before his customer. “No,” he took a planned breath of air, “It’s just… busy.” His eyes darted to Jongin for help, but the other was too busy flirting with a trio of college girls to notice his partner in crime was in a bit of a pickle.

     The vixen’s grin curled. “Do I make you nervous?” she asked.

     “Yes. I mmmean… n-no! I mean…”

     “Are you okay? Wait...” The woman leaned across the counter, honey-colored eyes twinkling with glee. “Do you stutter?” Chanyeol’s eyes widened as he took a step back. The woman clapped her hands once and laughed. “Well my goodness! Aren’t you just precious! A bartender who stutters!” Several heads turned in their direction as she gushed obnoxiously over Chanyeol.

     When presented with these kind of situations, Chanyeol's condition worsened, words becoming sporadic and jumbled in a failed attempt to salvage his dignity. His back met with the wall of liquor bottles right as Jongin slid into action, charms at the ready as he easily wooed the lady and claimed her affections. Chanyeol took that as his cue to leave and opted for the silence of one of the storage rooms at the back of the bar.

     Even in the musty shadows among the boxes and crates, he could still make out the muffled notes of the grand piano, which helped soothe his frazzled nerves. Chanyeol’s breathing eventually steadied. Out of frustration, he kicked a wooden box and sat on it with a heavy sigh. Everything had been going so well up until today. Usually he did a decent job of hiding his speech impediment. He'd learned to speak only when necessary, and when he did have to talk, did so briefly and with simple words.

     At that particular moment, his cell phone decided to buzz in his pocket. “Hello?”

     “Chanyeol?” chirped a familiar voice, “It’s your mother. I’m glad I was able to reach you before it got to be too late.”

     “I’m wwworking. What do you n-need?” he sighed, more so to himself than his fastidious mother. If at all possible, Chanyeol hated talking on the phone more than he did talking in person.

     “Your father’s birthday party is tomorrow and I expect you to be there.” There was a dangerous timbre to her voice that suggested ill things would come should he choose to skip out on his father’s party.

     Leaning back with another drawn-out sigh, Chanyeol allowed his head to thunk against the wall. “But I have to... work t-tomorrow.”

     “For Christ’s sake, Chanyeol!” He could practically see his mother pacing in front of her glass vanity, clad in a vintage-style negligee, flinging her hands into the air angrily. “Speak normally! I can only understand half of what you’re saying!” she snapped.

     “Sorry,” he managed a steady answer.

     “Now,” she huffed, “You’ll have to tell your boss that you need tomorrow off. No excuses, Chanyeol. Your father has been asking about you and he has every right to see his son on his birthday.”

     “Okay. I’ll….. be there.”

     “Good. It’s settled then. Be here by 6 p.m. sharp. And wear something nice. Some people from your father’s company are going to be here, and you know how strict he is when it comes to appearances.”

     “Yes ma’am.”

     The phone clicked over to silence without so much as a farewell. It was in his mother’s nature to be stern, strict, and to the point. Rising from his seat, Chanyeol placed his phone back into his pocket and exited the storage room. As luck would have it, the first person he encountered was his boss.

     “Taking an unauthorized break are we?” Kris draped an arm around Chanyeol’s shoulders. “Don’t let it get to you. If it makes you feel any better, Jongin tells me that fiery-fox-of-a-woman left you a damn good tip. So at least you got something out of it.”

     But it didn’t make Chanyeol feel better. It made him feel worse. Money as a result of pity was the last thing he wanted. In fact, he’d rather incinerate it. He forced a weak smile that won him a lung-jolting smack on the back from his boss.

     “Thatta boy!” Kris smiled broadly. “Now back to work, Park.”

     “Um… sir?” he began apprehensively, “I know it’s shhhort notice but... I need t-tomorrow off.”

     “You never ask for time off.” Kris blew a smoke ring into the air, watching with satisfaction as it expanded into a wiggly circle. “What’s the occasion? Someone die?”

     “Hah...” Chanyeol laughed tepidly, “It’s my father’s… mm-birthday party and–”

     “You still talk to your old man?” interrupted Kris.

     Chanyeol should’ve been used to getting cut off mid-sentence but it still left a bitter taste in his mouth. Sometimes people would fill in his sentences, or worse, avoid making eye contact with him as if they were embarrassed by him. They had no idea what it was like being impaired of a basic human function that most people took for granted. Chanyeol liked to talk and sing, read stories and tell them, get angry and speak his mind, but he’d learned to stuff down such notions at an early age.

     “Sometimes,” he lowered his head dejectedly.

     Kris nudged his employee with a sharp elbow. “S’fine with me. But work it out with Jongin.”

     “Thanks. I… ap-appreciate it.”

     “Yeah, yeah,” drawled his boss with an airy flick of the hand, “Now back to work, Park.”

     Chanyeol excused himself and returned to his position at the bar.

     “Better?” Jongin asked, topping off five shot glasses in a row with tequila. After placing three of the five before his favorite customers of the night, a trio of college girls with surprisingly deep wallets, he turned to Chanyeol and awarded him with a shot accompanied by a toast. “To surviving the night no matter what hits us!” he smirked.

     Chanyeol humored his friend, allowing their shot glasses to meet with a clink! He kicked back the drink in one gulp and hissed at the smooth, peppery glide of liquor that settled warmly in his stomach.

     Jongin finished his shot at the same time and slapped a hand to the countertop. 

     “So…” he cleared his throat, “About that fantabulous tip from Miss Red Rose...”

     “You can... hhhave it.”

     “Are you sure?”

     Chanyeol spoke below the lively hum of the bar. “Yeah. I have to... be somewhere tomorrow.” He paused a moment to gather his next words. 

     Jongin waited patiently for him to continue. If Chanyeol were only allowed to choose one thing he liked about his friend, it was that Jongin didn’t interrupt, fill in his sentences, or look at him oddly like other people did. He seemed to understand how important it was for Chanyeol to say what he needed to say, and as such, Chanyeol did his best to understand Jongin in return..

     “As payment for mmmanning the fort… I figured you could... t-take it."

     “Got a hot date?” Jongin smirked.

     “Do I ever hhhave a hot d-d-date?” Chanyeol deadpanned.

     The other bartender nodded, plush lips protruding thoughtfully. “True.”

     Chanyeol punched his friend in the shoulder. “Shut up.” He failed at concealing a grin.

     “Excuse me! Bartender!” piped a musical voice. Chanyeol looked over Jongin’s head to see three inebriated college girls leaning across the bar. “We want another round!”

     Jongin bit down his smile, and with arms folded to black marble, leaned dangerously close to the young girls. “What can I get for ya, babe?” He made it a point to look directly into the brunette’s eyes. She still had a couple shots left in her yet, as did the other two, but after that he’d be cutting them off and sending them home.

     “Three shots of tequila,” she replied dazedly while leaning in for a smooch. Jongin turned away with a wink and looked pointedly at his friend.

     “You got it!” sang Chanyeol.

 

🍸🍸🍸

 

     The skilled duo sailed through their shift, cranking out drinks and rolling in the tips as if it were second nature to them. They were a great team, and on most nights, split their tips fifty-fifty. A half-an-hour before closing time, Jongin excused himself for a smoke break, leaving Chanyeol in charge of the bar.

     Since it was late for a weekday night, most of the patrons had thinned out, leaving only an elderly man at one end of the bar and a washed-up businessman at the other. Chanyeol busied himself with cleaning duties — wiping down the counter, washing dirtied glasses and placing several fresh ones in the freezer to cool for the following day.

     Ringing up the last two tabs of the night, he managed a careful thank you to each customer before shooing them out, then flipped the closed sign around before locking the door. He expelled a relieved sigh. Minus the hiccup at the start of his shift, the evening hadn’t been that bad, and they’d even managed to reel in a decent amount of tips. Leaning against the bar, Chanyeol allowed his eyes to close, exhaustion beginning to weigh heavily on his mind.

     “Long day?” Smooth, melodic syllables breached the bartender’s thoughts, and for a moment, Chanyeol wondered if perhaps he’d imagined them. He jolted when he opened his eyes. “Sorry,” supplied a captivating young man who slid onto the nearest bar stool, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

     “I…” Chanyeol paused. Hadn’t he just locked the door? He anticipated a perplexed look, a question, or maybe even a snicker from his last minute customer, but received no such response. Instead, the young man folded nimble hands to countertop and grinned, eyes narrowing joyfully as if to make room for his stunning smile. “How can I hhhelp you?” asked Chanyeol.

     “A shot of bourbon please.” The young man’s request was polite and lively. Chanyeol took note of the burgundy sweater hanging loosely to his humble frame.

     “You got it.” Numbness thrummed through Chanyeol’s veins as he prepared the bold, amber shot. And all the while, he felt much like a dazed bird that’d just flown into a glass window, unable to realize its fatal error until registering its own reflection a split second too late.

     With shaking hands, Chanyeol slid the drink into his customer’s eager hands. The contact between their fingertips was brief but affected him so deeply that his countenance splintered around the edges.

     Chanyeol cleared his throat and pretended to do something important. Being in the business of serving good spirits, he’d met a wide variety of faces and personalities, but never had he met an individual who rattled him to the core quite like this guy did.

     “I had a long day too you know.” The young man eyed his drink thoughtfully, delicate fingertips spinning the shot glass in a lazy circle, honey-colored bangs styled up and back, giving him a deceptively youthful yet handsome appearance.

     “Hm?” Chanyeol replied dazedly. He should steer clear from conversation, but something about this guy captured his interest. “How so?”

     The young man tossed back his drink and sighed at the heady burn. With one eye squinted, he peered through the bottom of the shot glass, smiling wistfully at the warped depiction of colorful bottles lined against the back wall. “I spent the entire day moving into my new office,” he provided, “It wasn’t an easy move but somehow I managed it.”

     Chanyeol nodded, transfixed to the other like a moth to a flame. “I… b-b-bet.” He cringed. Of all times, why must his words fail him now?

     Yet again his customer appeared unaffected by the his speech impediment. “What about you?” inquired the lively individual, eyes transfixed to Chanyeol.

     “Me?” Chanyeol pointed to himself disbelievingly.

     “Yes, you. Who else would I be talking to?” The other’s grin held a tinge of humor.

     “I… mmmy day was okay I… g-g-guess.”

     “Well, okay is better than completely horrible. Right?” The young man flashed another dazzling smile before checking his wristwatch. “Whoops! It’s closing time for you guys. How much for the drink?”

     Chanyeol blinked once, twice, then shook his head. “It’s on the hhhouse tonight.”

     The young man slid off the bar stool. “You sure?”

     “Yeah.”

     “I’ll be seeing you around, bartender.” Mystery guy tilted his head, and with a two- salute, left the bar without ever giving his name. 

     Chanyeol released the breath of air he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Something about that smile had etched itself into the forefront of his memory. It wasn’t the sort of image that could be easily forgotten or pushed aside. That in itself troubled him more than anything.

     “Yo! Earth to Chanyeol!” Jongin waved a hand in front of his friend’s face. Chanyeol snapped out of his reverie, crinkling his nose at the repugnant scent of cigarettes still clinging to Jongin’s clothes. “You alright there? You look kinda pale.”

     “Hm? Yeah. I’m... f-fine. That guy though...”

     “Guy?” Jongin craned his neck for a view about the bar. “What guy? Everyone’s already left.”

     “Nevermind. It’s nothing.”

     Jongin shrugged his shoulders, picked up the empty shot glass from the counter and eyed it oddly. “You missed one,” he said, placing it in line with the other washed shot glasses to the right of the bottle rack. Then he turned and patted Chanyeol on the back. “I’ll take it from here. And here’s your portion of the tips.” He stuffed a folded wad of cash into his friend’s pocket. “Now get the hell out.”

     Chanyeol’s uneasiness dissolved into a staccato of laughter. Jongin always had a way of saying exactly the right things at precisely the right times. 

     “Night,” said Chanyeol with a small, tired smile. Jongin feigned irritation and shooed his friend away like an annoying fly.

     On his way out, Chanyeol stopped by Kris’ office to say goodbye and grabbed his things off the coat rack. The night was colder than usual as he flagged down a cab. He gave his address to the scruffy driver and rested his head against the foggy window, watching the city lights drift by, gaze unfocused and mind deadened by fatigue.

     His apartment resided on the underprivileged side of town — a dilapidated tower amongst a sea of equally decrepit buildings, sidewalks, and streets. A lethargic walk up several flights of stairs brought him to a familiar metal door that creaked when he pushed it open, revealing a long hallway with twenty-year-old carpeting and peeling floral wallpaper.

     Chanyeol approached the second to the last door and jiggled the correct key into the lock before shouldering open the stubborn door to his apartment. Hat and jacket came off first as they were placed on a hanger by the door, followed by his keys, which were dropped onto the kitchen counter on his path towards the refrigerator for a bottle of cold water. He gulped half of it down and stared off into space.

     Compared to most, the night was quiet, save for the buzz of the city and the occasional argument somewhere within the bowels of the apartment building. Chanyeol had grown accustomed to the constant disruption and doubted whether he’d be able to sleep without the noise. Funny how one could come to appreciate something they’d loathed just one year prior. He smiled crookedly at that, and shivering at the remaining chill in his bones, sought the heated sanctuary of the shower to wash the day from his mind and skin.

     Bed springs squeaked and dug uncomfortably into his back as he slid beneath the covers of a full-sized bed. Due to an outdated heating system, the apartment was always a touch too cold during late autumn and winter. Despite many challenges, Chanyeol was happy with his decision to live by his own means instead of relying on his parents. To rely on someone financially was to be indebted to them, a fate he refused to accept for the sake of his own pride and dignity.

     Pulling the blankets up to his nose, he stared out the window to the small patch of city in the distance. Light pollution kept the stars hidden from view, but the twinkling office buildings were a fair substitute, drawing a smile out of the exhausted male as lashes rested heavily against his cheeks. Right before the veil of sleep engulfed his mind, Chanyeol saw someone smiling tenderly from afar, coaxing him into vivid dreams of cozy sweaters, smooth skin, and the feather-light touch of delicate fingertips trailing along his spine.

     “I’ll be seeing you around, bartender.”

 

🍸🍸🍸

 

     Morning had a fresh bagel and mug of steaming coffee in Chanyeol’s hands at his favorite café. He stopped there when it was too cold for drawing in the park, and today was certainly one of those days, the temperature far too low for just a simple sweater. The amateur artist was dressed in the dark leather jacket he’d discovered at a thrift store last year, purchased brand new with the tags still intact. And of course, he couldn’t leave the apartment without his trusted newsboy cap.

     The majority of his day was spent sketching the scenes that struck a chord with him — the homeless man camped out across the street with his scruffy dog, the barista with his brow furrowed in concentration as he whipped up orders, the woman sitting at the corner table reading the day’s newspaper with a solemn look on her face. Just like the people who came into the bar at night, these people had a story to tell. Chanyeol had a fascination for such stories, ones that were seen and not spoken, secret tales that ran deep into the core of a person’s heart and soul. And so he wondered, what was his story? Ironically, the story that should’ve been the easiest to decipher proved to be the hardest.

     A reminder call from his mother smothered his creative spirit. Chanyeol had one hour to be at his father’s birthday party, an event that he was hard-pressed to attend. With reluctance he ventured back to his apartment and pulled out the black suit and tie he hadn’t worn in ages. The suit was a tad ill-fitted but the important thing was that he could still wear it.

     Knotting the bowtie proved to be a sizable task that had Chanyeol grumbling several disjointed curses under his breath. After conquering his tangled hair and smoothing it back into a sleek style, Chanyeol frowned at his foreign reflection in the bathroom mirror. The impeccable façade was unsettling. This wasn’t him at all. Why couldn’t his parents understand that?

     Nerves were keyed up when the cab pulled through the iron gate and dropped Chanyeol off at his parent’s house. The large circular drive was lined with expensive cars, men in black suits strolling into the party with exquisitely dressed women clung to their arms. Vintage street lamps provided a classic glow across the white mansion as a sophisticated garden hugged its face like a floral scarf, windows resembling gleaming eyes that promised an evening composed of fine wine and social camaraderie. Chanyeol already felt out of place, which wasn’t a good sign, seeing as how he hadn’t even stepped through the foyer yet.

     Falling in line with a group of chattering individuals, he passed through a grand entryway that gave way to the melancholy tune of the classical band and the mouth-watering scent of expensive horderves. He could never understand the allure of a life filled with grandeur when it came with the price of unrealistic expectations, which to some may have been a fair trade, but to the humble bartender was nothing short of pure torture.

     Having no coat or hat to hand the butler, Chanyeol fidgeted nervously, warranting a polite smile of recognition from the peppery-haired man. Chanyeol returned the gesture as he passed before worming his way through the party in search of his parents.

     “Chanyeol!” Mrs. Park approached, elegant black dress fitted perfectly to her petite frame, hair styled into an intricate bun highlighted by diamond earrings and a gorgeous ruby hair clip. To the average person she appeared beautiful and kind, however, Chanyeol knew only harsh words and judgments lay buried beneath her flawless exterior.

     “MMMom–”

     “Shhh!” Mrs. Park glanced warily about the party and ushered her son to a more secluded corner.

     Chanyeol had expected this sort of reaction. His mother was ashamed for anyone to hear her son speak, and as much as he’d like to deny it, it hurt knowing there was nothing he could do about it. Chanyeol smiled politely and kept his voice low. “Can you… hhhhelp me with this... b-b-bowtie?”

     Mrs. Park shook her head. “Honestly, Chanyeol. After all these years you still can’t do it right?”

     “Sorry.” Actually Chanyeol thought he’d done a pretty good job with his bowtie. It merely felt nice to receive one sliver of attention from her. It was disheartening how much their relationship had changed over the years.

     His childhood had been spent with a mother who’d doted on him constantly and bragged about how wonderful her son was to anyone who was willing to listen. Back then she'd never appeared embarrassed by her son’s speech impediment. But as Chanyeol had gotten older and the expectations of him had risen, Mrs. Park began giving him the cold shoulder, reprimanding her son constantly for his shortcomings and lack of improvement despite his weekly therapy sessions.

     Chanyeol put forth his best effort towards making his parents proud, but in the end, it hadn’t been good enough. So he’d decided not to spend the rest of his life pleasing others. He dropped out of college without warning, and to this day, it remained one of the best decisions he’d ever made for himself.

     Admittedly, he secretly blamed his father for their disjointed family. Time and time again, Mr. Park had brought up the company and insisted that his son continue the family business. Instead Chanyeol had dropped out of college, landed a mediocre job at a martini bar, and moved into a shoddy apartment. Ever since then their family had been cruising down a rocky road full of potholes and wrong turns. Chanyeol couldn’t understand his parents’ logic. If they wanted a son to run the family business so badly, they could’ve had another son, it would’ve made things much easier for all of them, yet they were determined to force him into a life he, quite frankly, did not want.

     “Go greet your father.” Mrs. Park patted down Chanyeol’s bowtie with an approving nod, diamond earrings sparkling in the light. “And do try to be civil. We have guests. I won’t tolerate any arguments tonight.”

     “Yes... mmma’am.” With a deep breath and a spike of courage, Chanyeol stepped into the ballroom, intent on locating his father. 

     The sooner he went along with the plans for the night, the sooner he could go home and pretend like the night had never happened to begin with. Only then would he be able to forget the suffocating suit, noose-like bowtie, slicked back hair, and judgmental gazes that picked him apart piece by fragile piece. Curling a finger into his shirt collar, he tugged to loosen it a bit. The air was stifling in this godforsaken place.

     Chanyeol found his father nestled in the center of a group of people, telling one of his many stories about a work related crisis he’d managed to overcome. While waiting, Chanyeol accepted one of the horderves from a wandering waiter and nibbled on it slowly, completely dissatisfied with the overly complicated taste as he waited for his father to wrap up his little story session. What must’ve been ten minutes felt more like a century.

     “Excuse me, gentlemen,” Mr. Park interrupted, smile genteel as he weaseled his way out of the surrounding group, “I must speak with my son.” With wineglass in hand, he approached Chanyeol and patted him on the back, a deceptively approving glint sparkling in his eye. “You made it.”

     “Yes... sir.” Chanyeol was careful to keep his voice lowered lest it be carried to eager ears and gossiping mouths.

     Mr. Park’s smile faltered as he cleared his throat and looked about the party much like his wife had done while speaking with their son. “Still no improvement?”

     “I–” Chanyeol was cut off before he could utter another syllable.

     “Your mother tells me you’ve been skipping your therapy sessions.”

     “I don’t... nnnneed them. I’m doing f–”

     “Fine?” filled in the savvy businessman, expression stern as he scrutinized his son in front of dozens of guests, smile unbearably pleasant yet horribly fake. 

     This was precisely what Chanyeol had been dreading. Every single time he and his father talked, it always ended in a long-winded lecture. Mr. Park had always been strict and held a low tolerance for disobedience.

     “That is what worries me. The last time you looked this well you relapsed.”

     Chanyeol bit the inside of his cheek. It was true that he’d been skipping out on his therapy sessions, but honestly, they hadn’t helped so he saw no point in continuing treatment with their family friend and doctor, Kim Junmyeon.

     Chanyeol wanted to argue and speak his peace, but it was his father’s birthday, which had to count for something. By force of sheer willpower he stuffed down his feelings and provided a pacifying response. “I’ve setup an... ap-appointment with someone... nnnnew.”

     Mr. Park arched a curious brow. “Oh? And is this individual qualified?”

     “Yes. I hear he’s the... b-b-best.”

     Taking a large sip of white wine, the elder cleared his throat, placing the wineglass on the tray of a passing waiter before righting the sleeves of his suit. “Very well. Because I know it’s pointless to disagree with you, I will accept your decision so long as you continue treatment.”

     “Thank you... sir.”

     “Should you need financial assistance, do not hesitate to call.”

     Chanyeol had the encompassing urge to laugh. Why his father would offer such a thing when it was well known that he’d decline the offer was beyond the scope of his comprehension. Mr. Park appeared to understand his son to at least some extent and avoided further discussion of the matter.

     “Come.” Mr. Park placed a hand to Chanyeol’s back, guiding them back towards his chattering colleagues. “There are some people I’d like you to meet. Don’t worry. I’ll do all the talking.”

     For once Chanyeol was actually grateful.

 

🍸🍸🍸

 

     As it turned out putting the party out of his mind wasn’t as easy as Chanyeol had hoped it would be. His father had yanked him from one group of businessmen to the next, showing him off like some prized possession, speaking of Chanyeol’s so-called promising future. Needless to say, he was relieved when the birthday cake was finally cut and the guests began to thin out. As the oh-so-loyal son, it was customary to remain at the party to extend his thanks and see the guests out, however, he left early with the excuse that he had an appointment in the morning. His parents appeared to accept that and sent him on his way without so much as one smile, hug, or wish of encouragement.

     Not two seconds after he stepped through the door to his apartment, the bowtie was yanked loose, shirt ed, and dress shoes kicked off to the side. Chanyeol flopped stomach down onto his tattered gray sofa and groaned into the musty cushions. He was content to lie like that for quite some time, turning his head to the side to stare at his reflection in the black television screen across the living room. It was on days like this that he wished he could be someone else for a while. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel quite so exhausted after faking it all day.

     It was during this silent wish that the memory of the attractive patron from the bar flickered through his mind. The guy had seemed so happy and warm and kind. Chanyeol wondered what it felt like to be truly happy like that, where it showed through your eyes and the way that you smiled.

     Chanyeol watched as his lips curled up at the corners, eyes narrowing just a fraction as if to make room for his smile, and for a moment, he almost thought he could taste spicy bourbon on the tip of his tongue. With a hammering pulse and wired nerves, he snapped out of his trance and sat up with a start, reflection displaying a level of confusion that felt strangely familiar. Chanyeol shook away the feeling and got ready for bed.

     He didn’t have an appointment tomorrow but needed to figure something out. Eventually his parents would want details about his therapy sessions. Obviously that was a problem when he didn’t have a speech therapist anymore. Chanyeol chuckled softly at that. He had more issues than he knew what to do with.

 

🍸🍸🍸

 

     The following day Chanyeol had a number of things to accomplish before his shift at the The Blue Lantern. He needed to pay the month’s rent before the landlord got cranky about it being almost two weeks late. He also needed to make a trip to the grocery store since all he had in his refrigerator was some condiments and a few slices of expired lunch meat.

     With newsboy cap pulled over the tips of his ears, leather jacket zipped snugly against his frame, and hands curled into pockets to keep them warm, Chanyeol ambled down the sidewalk toward the grocery store a few blocks away. Contrary to the frying heat of summer, the biting chill of oncoming winter provided a sense of refreshing alertness that cooled his lungs and put a hop in his step. Rounding a corner, Chanyeol stumbled upon something that made him halt in his tracks.

     What was previously a rundown store was now an office. Through the blinds he could see a cozy and inviting waiting room. It was just enough to pique his curiosity. He took a step back and read the elegant silver letters embossed across the glass door – Byun Baekhyun, M.S. CCC-SLP**. He couldn’t believe it. Of all the places he could’ve found, he’d stumbled upon a speech pathologist. What were the chances?

     “Can I help you?” asked a sunny voice. Chanyeol whipped around, surprised to see the young man from the bar dressed in khaki slacks, a navy blue sweater, with a coffee from the café in one hand and a leather briefcase in the other.

     “Um… I… you...” Chanyeol floundered so miserably that he considered digging a hole and crawling into it. Such ideas were quickly dissolved when the young man flashed a radiant smile.

     “Bartender! I knew I’d be seeing you around! Are you here for an appointment?”

     “I… nnnno. I mean… yes. I guess?”

     The young man’s grin softened as he tucked the briefcase under one arm and fished a set of keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door. “Come in. It’s nice and warm in here. Plus you look sort of like Rudolph with that rosy nose of yours,” he chuckled while holding open the door.

     Chanyeol wasn’t sure what made him accept the offer. All he knew was that he felt a reassuring warmth mixed with a dash of unexpected nostalgia. The waiting room was nicer than it’d looked like from the outside. There were two cocoa-brown sofas settled in the corner with a corresponding coffee table situated atop a maroon rug. A framed degree and certificate adorned one wall, while on another several pieces of local artwork provided the perfect splash of color.

     “Why don’t we get you started on some paperwork?” The young man approached the check-in window, sat his coffee on the counter, and reached for a clipboard before turning and handing it to Chanyeol. “Fill out this paperwork and ding the bell when you’re finished. There’s no rush. This is my opening day so you’re my very first appointment.”

     Chanyeol accepted the clipboard, still feeling a bit dazed by this coincidence and entire situation. How odd that the precise thing he was looking for happened to fall into his lap.

     “And make yourself comfortable.” Baekhyun ushered his client to the sofa and smiled apologetically. “Had I known you were coming, I would’ve brought an extra coffee from the café.”

     Chanyeol opened his mouth to respond, to tell Baekhyun that he shouldn’t feel obligated to go out of his way just for him, but the words got caught in his throat. Baekhyun politely excused himself to prepare for their session.

     It’d been several years since Chanyeol had filled out new paperwork. He’d always seen their family friend, Junmyeon, for his speech therapy sessions. Although he was most comfortable with familiarity, Chanyeol thought it was high time that he start from scratch. Maybe this time things would be different since he was finally making more of his own choices and not just doing what his parents wanted. Maybe this time he’d be able to improve.

     With a click of the pen and a newfound determination in mind, he scribbled his answers into the provided spaces, but paused when he came to one section — Family Member / Emergency Contact. He thought about his family, his coworkers, and even his friend Jongin, but no one truly understood what he was going through, what he’d been going through since he was child.

     Pen scratched across paper as Chanyeol provided his answer – None.

 

(**Note: M.S. CCC-SLP = Masters of Science with a Certificate of Clinical Competence in Speech Language Pathology)

 

🍸🍸🍸

 

     Baekhyun’s office was nothing like what Chanyeol had expected. He’d expected to see your typical immaculate computer desk, a couple of stiff chairs, and a shelf full of books about subjects he knew little about. Instead he found that the speech pathologist had an affinity for comfort.

     The computer desk had been built into the corner of the room with a comfortable desk chair set off to the side. Two large sofas were the center focus of the room, one bright red and the other navy blue, and were accompanied by a bean bag, flat screen TV, and a shelf full of board games. It all seemed quite youthful when in comparison to the owner. If Baekhyun was aiming for an office that didn’t seem like an office, he’d certainly achieved it.

     “Please, make yourself comfortable wherever you’d like.” Baekhyun slid on a pair of eyeglasses as he swiveled in his chair to type something on the laptop. “I need to pull up a few things before we get started.”

     Glancing nervously about the room, Chanyeol pulled his hands from his pockets and took a seat on the red sofa, knee bouncing anxiously while he waited. Baekhyun grabbed a couple of tools from his desk, set the computer in his lap, and with a push away from the desk, wheeled across the room in one fluid motion. Chanyeol tensed, unsure of what to expect and whether he’d regret coming by the end of their session, but it wasn’t exactly like he had very many options. His parents would be expecting a report on his therapy soon.

     “Okay!” clapped Baekhyun with a genuine smile, “Judging from your history, you already know how all of this stuff works, so I’ll save you the speech.” Chanyeol nodded once, distracted by Baekhyun’s eyeglasses, which if at all possible, made him look even much more attractive.

     There was a period of silence that had Baekhyun furrowing his brow. “Wow it’s too quiet in here. Makes me feel like I’m about to give you an interrogation.” He grabbed the remote off of the coffee table and flipped on some music. “There. That’s better.”

     Chanyeol immediately recognized the song as one of his favorites, “I’ll Be Seeing You”, by Billie Holiday. It held the sort of tune that put him at ease while reminding him of rainy nights in the city, puddles on sidewalks, and a tangible love that could be seen but not yet grasped. There was that grin again, blossoming across Baekhyun’s features with the slightest hint of a blush, a flawless rose Chanyeol admired secretly until it filled up his chest and brought a smile to his lips. 

     “I like this... sssong,” he mumbled wistfully, shoulders relaxing as he leaned back into the sofa cushions.

     “Me too.” Baekhyun’s response was genial, gaze tender. Whatever had affected the bartender seemed to have affected the speech pathologist as well.

     They settled comfortably into the warmhearted mood as if they’d done it a hundred times, Baekhyun asking questions and typing a note or two on his laptop while Chanyeol answered honestly without restraint. Once the gates had been opened there was no stopping Chanyeol. He spoke of his difficulties as a child with a stuttering condition, the relentless teasing he’d endured, the overwhelming pressure from his parents, his accomplishments and failures, dreams and ambitions. He hadn’t opened his mouth and spilled this much in years.

     Baekhyun seemed genuinely intrigued by what Chanyeol had to say. He listened with rapt attention, only interrupting to ask the occasional question, never once finishing his client’s sentences, looking impatient, or breaking eye contact like other people did. Eventually the subject of art came up and Chanyeol spoke of his affinity for creating sketches and portraits of people. 

     Baekhyun sat up straight in his chair, eyes alight with curiosity, “Really? I’d love to see some of your sketches. I bet you’re really good.”

     It was with heated cheeks that Chanyeol responded, “Maybe I can... d-draw you... sssometime. That is… if you’d llike.” 

     Baekhyun grinned wholeheartedly and something fluttered against Chanyeol's ribcage.

     “I’d like that, Chanyeol. I could use something pretty to frame and put on my desk.”

     The bartender mimicked his grin, and for whatever reason, pulled off his newsboy cap and ruffled his hair sheepishly. This day had turned out for the better. Chanyeol had all but forgotten about last night, his parents the furthest thing from his mind at the moment.

     “Well, as much as I’d like to chat with you all day,” Baekhyun chuckled, “I should probably do my job. Right?” 

     Chanyeol glanced at the clock and was astonished to find that well over an hour had already passed.

     “Alright,” continued Baekhyun, “Since you indicated that you wanted to start from scratch, I need to do a few tests.”

     The next hour was spent doing an ear, mouth, and throat examination that had Chanyeol holding his breath so he wouldn’t inhale Baekhyun’s enchanting scent, a mixture of sweet cinnamon and autumn leaves that made his mouth water and pulse gallop. He also endured a hearing and swallow test, followed by several auditory comprehension tasks and various vowel and consonant tests. Baekhyun seemed pleased with the information he’d collected.

     “Well?” asked Chanyeol anxiously.

     “I think we can definitely work on improving your speech. I’m going to give you a few things to look over. Then I’d like to see you once a week… if that works for you?” Baekhyun paused, and with a nod of affirmation from his client, continued. “In addition to controlling your breathing and practicing fluent speech at a slower rate, we’ll focus on having you speak in a less physically tense manner since you seem to tense up when you talk. I believe a steady treatment plan with both of us working together will improve your speech significantly over time, as long as you’re willing to put the time and effort into it.”

     Chanyeol had been through this process more times than he could count, however, this was the first time that he felt dedicated and determined to do it. 

     “I’m ready to d-do this… Mr. B-B-Byun.”

     Baekhyun chuckled at the formality and shook his head. “Please, call me Baekhyun. We might as well consider ourselves friends since we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, don’t you think?”

     Chanyeol agreed, all too eagerly as a matter-of-fact. “I suppose,” he grinned bashfully, slipping back on his newsboy cap.

     “Good. Now let’s set you up with another appointment. How about next Wednesday?”

     “Okay.”

     With appointment card held firmly in hand, Chanyeol gave his thanks to Baekhyun and exited through the waiting room, furrowing his brow when he noticed that no one was working at check-in. Perhaps Baekhyun had yet to hire a receptionist?

     The moment Chanyeol stepped onto the sidewalk, he received a peculiar look from a random passerby but shrugged it off. He was far too elated after his successful appointment with Baekhyun to bother stressing over frivolous things. Pulling his jacket tighter, he smiled into the winter breeze and resumed his trip to the grocery store.

 

🍸🍸🍸

 

     The next week was nothing shy of torture. Chanyeol diligently read over the paperwork Baekhyun had given him to review. He’d nearly memorized everything and even practiced some of the exercises because he wanted to impress Baekhyun and see him smile again. And even more so, wanted to be the reason for that smile.

     “You okay there, man? You’ve got this creepy grin on your face.” Jongin flashed his partner-in-crime an inquisitive look as he wiped something sticky off the bar counter. They’d survived the hectic Saturday night but were tired and smelly after a shift spent swimming in second-hand smoke, drunken chatter, and alcohol.

     “Hm?” Chanyeol fell out of his reverie clumsily.

     “You alright?” Jongin reiterated.

     “Oh. Yeah. I’m f-f-fine.”

     Jongin crossed his arms against his chest, dirty cleaning rag still clasped in one hand. “Uh-huh.”

     “I am. Really.”

     “You don’t look okay though.”

     “I’ve been... ssseeing this... guy…”

     “I knew it!” Jongin slammed a hand down onto the countertop, a spark of accusation in his eye.

     “I-It’s not like... th-that!” Chanyeol waved his hands frantically. “He’s... mmmy ssspeech pathologist!”

     Taking on a devilish grin, Jongin lowered his voice and elbowed his flustered friend suggestively. “So how are his therapy sessions? Does he teachyou things?”

     Chanyeol felt his ears heat and cleared his throat. “Not the sssort of things you’re... th-thinking about.”

     Jongin tsked his friend and shook his head. “That’s a real shame,” he huffed over-dramatically, “Maybe the next time you see him you can ask if he has any  exercises for you to do. I’m sure he’d like that.”

     A shot glass fell to the floor and shattered as Chanyeol choked on air. The image Jongin had created burned itself into the underside of his eyelids, warranting a low chuckle from his fellow coworker. “I hate you, Kim... J-J-J-Jongin!”

     Said individual merely laughed while patting his friend on the back. “Ahhh... come on now. You still love me even though I’m a bastard.” Chanyeol snorted and bent to pick up the broken shards of glass. Jongin swatted his hand away and began placing the pieces onto the dirty wash rag in his hand. “You know…” he supplied, voice now taking on a serious tone, “You’re the only person who’s been able to put up with me for this long.”

     And it was true. Jongin had a number of acquaintances, for obvious reasons which involved his bedroom, but kept few friends. Having almost no brain-to-mouth filter and a tendency to be horribly honest either scared away or pissed off most people. Much like Chanyeol, he was a loner and liked to keep it that way. Hence, one of the many reasons why they got along so well.

     “Ditto,” replied Chanyeol with a smile. He knew he wasn’t the easiest person to talk to because of his stuttering, but it didn’t seem to bother Jongin.

     Silence settled over the two bartenders as they cleaned up the broken glass and disposed of it in the trashcan located beneath the counter. “I... shhhould get... going,” said Chanyeol while wiping his hands on his trousers.

     “Appointment tomorrow?” asked Jongin, to which Chanyeol nodded. “Remember what I said. Deep. Throat. Exercises.”

     Chanyeol rolled his eyes as he exited the bar area, though secretly, he was dying of embarrassment on the inside. He picked up the pace and escaped down the hallway before his ears could bear witness to anything else he really didn’t need to hear. Needless to say, when Chanyeol went to bed that night, the image of Baekhyun arched back in his office chair with mouth agape and eyes closed tightly in pleasure shot through him like a red hot poker. But somewhere beneath the fantasy a smile was hidden as well, the exact same smile that graced Chanyeol’s lips as he arched back into his sheets and fractured straight down the middle.

     At the sign of first light, Chanyeol sat up in bed, after which he failed to return to sleep due to overwhelming anticipation. In the hours leading up to his appointment with Baekhyun, he attempted to stay busy. He took a long hot shower in his outdated bathroom, slipped into his nicest sweater and least-faded pair of blue jeans, combed his hair so it looked less like a rat’s nest, and even went so far as to fix a small breakfast of an over-easy egg and lightly salted rice. After all of that he still had two hours left, opting to flip through the local television channels, only to find mediocre entertainment at best.

     Sighing heavily, Chanyeol arose from the sofa and moseyed over to his leather backpack hanging by the front door. He unbuckled the flap and pulled out his sketchbook and the metal tin that housed his charcoal pencils. Rarely did he draw without an image or purpose in mind, however, his hand seemed to have a mind of its own as it tainted the paper with onyx swirls and aggressive smudges. Sometime later, Chanyeol assessed his work and beamed at the result. It was perfect. For once he couldn’t find a single flaw in the portrait he’d whimsically crafted. He placed the sketchbook aside to wash the charcoal from his hands in the kitchen. Then donning his jacket, newsboy cap, and backpack, he stole a glance over his shoulder to the sketchbook sitting on the sofa. He didn’t feel right leaving his drawings behind. With a quick dash to and from the living area, Chanyeol was out the door, sketchbook in hand as he hurried to his upcoming appointment.

     Yet again there wasn’t a single soul in the waiting room of Baekhyun’s office, nor was there anyone seated at the check-in window when Chanyeol signed in and took a seat, hands twiddling nervously in his lap as he watched the loudly ticking clock on the nearby wall.

     Tick... tick... tick.

     “Chanyeol! You’re here early!”

     Chanyeol was so startled at the sudden outburst that he’d jumped, unintentionally hitting his knee on the underside of the coffee table. “Ow,” he mumbled, rubbing the throbbing area that was sure to bruise.

     Baekhyun poked his head out of the check-in window and grinned from ear to ear. “Go ahead and step through the door. I’ll meet you over there.” 

     Doing as instructed, Chanyeol entered the private portion of the office, anxiety hiking up a notch with the appearance of the attractive speech pathologist.

     Baekhyun looked taken aback as he surveyed his client from head to toe. “You look nice today. Sleep well?”

     Chanyeol almost laughed because, no, he hadn’t slept well at all, if three hours of sleep could even be counted as thus. He blamed it on the plethora of less than innocent dreams that’d plagued him throughout the night.

     Chanyeol danced around the other’s assumption. “It’s a... nnnice day. I’m eager to get... started.”

     Baekhyun nodded in agreement, eyes sparkling and teeth impossibly white as he touched a hand to Chanyeol’s back. “I’m glad to hear that. I’m excited as well,” he replied, guiding the taller down the hallway to his office.

     Removing his backpack, jacket, and cap, Chanyeol placed them at the end of the sofa, gulping when Baekhyun claimed a seat just two cushions over. Only one fluffy square stood between them. Chanyeol wasn’t sure how to react and sat rigidly while waiting for their session to begin.

     Before Baekhyun got started, he presented a steaming cup of coffee to Chanyeol. “I thought you might like some coffee. It always helps me to relax and clear my mind first thing in the morning.”

     “Thanks.” Chanyeol held the cup between his hands and blew across the liquid before taking a tentative sip. He was astounded. It tasted exactly like the coffee he ordered at the café, two french vanilla creams, one hazelnut cream, and two sugar packets. “How did you…?”

     “Lucky guess,” replied Baekhyun, a mischievous glint in his eye.

     Chanyeol noted that the pathologist wasn’t wearing glasses today, which was highly distracting, as well as the midnight-blue sweater that hugged his petite frame. It was with a blush that Chanyeol realized he was staring and quickly averted his gaze to the steaming coffee swirling in his mug.

     “Do you mind if I record our session?” asked the other as he readied a small recording device, “I’d like to keep an audio record of our progress.”

     “I don’t mind.” Chanyeol took a long, soothing sip of his drink and felt his posture relax a fraction.

     “I assume it’s safe to say you reviewed the paperwork I gave you?”

     “Yes.”

     Baekhyun nodded approvingly as he pushed the record button and began with an introduction for the records. “Today, November 8th, 2013 marks session one with Park Chanyeol. Date of birth November 27th, 1988. How’s the coffee?”

     Chanyeol was caught off guard by the general question. “Um… g-g-good.” He flinched at his words.

     “Alright!” Baekhyun grabbed his open laptop from the table and placed it in his lap. “We’re going to practice some basic exercises that you’ve probably done before. First of all I want you to close your eyes, sip your coffee, and relax. Being tensed up is part of your problem, because as you stated, the stuttering worsens when you’re under pressure or nervous.” With a nod of understanding from his client, Baekhyun continued. “We have all the time in the world, Chanyeol. Should we run out of coffee, I’ll be more than happy to get us some more.”

     Chanyeol cracked a smile at that, drawing in a deep breath and exhaling it slowly. He’d already read over the exercises and practiced them beforehand. Was it wrong that he was more concerned with impressing Baekhyun than he was with doing this for himself? At least he was motivated, something he’d been lacking for quite some time.

     “Better?” asked Baekhyun.

     “Yes.” Chanyeol’s response was sure and steady as he opened his eyes. He knew one of the key points in several of the exercises was to maintain eye contact, which was easier said than done, especially since Baekhyun’s eyes seemed to look right through him.

     “I’m going to ask you some questions. Speak slower than you normally would and take your time. The point is to keep your speech flowing. If you feel like you’re going to stutter, don’t linger on it, stutter forward. Okay?”

     “Okay.”

     “What do you do for a living?” Baekhyun began.

     “I... wwwork,” Chanyeol immediately readjusted his strategy and focused carefully on each word. “At. A. Martini. Bar.”

     “Do you like it there?”

     “It’s. Alright.”

     “Try not to sound monotone,” Baekhyun provided with an encouraging smile, “Your voice has an attractive allure to it when you talk passionately about something. Remember to use that.”

     Chanyeol cleared his throat and tried his best not to linger on the fact that Baekhyun had just called his voice attractive. “You got it~” He used the familiar line with confidence, though it felt odd using it outside of the bar.

     Baekhyun chuckled, his demeanor similar to that of when they’d first met at the bar, eyes squinting to make room for his breathtaking smile. Chanyeol was so star struck that he’d completely missed the next question. “Hm?” he asked.

     “How are things with your parents?” repeated Baekhyun, taking a leisurely sip of his own steaming mug of coffee.

     “I… well… um...” Chanyeol stirred in his seat.

     Baekhyun sat his coffee back on the ceramic coaster at the corner of the coffee table. “That bad?” he asked.

     Chanyeol opened his mouth to reply but nothing came out. Instead he nodded and took a  swig of coffee.

     “Want to talk about it?” Baekhyun pushed the pause button on the recorder. “Off the record?”

     The bartender sighed and stared at his coffee. “It’s a… long story.” He gave his best attempt at sticking to the exercise. Was he really going to do this? Dish out more secrets to someone he didn’t know? It was a bit scary how easy it was to talk to Baekhyun.

     Baekhyun set his laptop aside, leaned forward and placed a delicate hand to Chanyeol’s knee. The action was innocent and meant solely for the purpose of providing comfort, but that didn’t stop a bolt of electricity from zapping up Chanyeol’s thigh straight to his heart where it skipped a beat. “I’ve got time,” said Baekhyun, eyes holding all the sincerity in the world.

     Chanyeol took comfort in that gaze, and before he had the chance to think it over, the words fell from his lips like water bursting from a dam. He didn’t know what he was doing, what the point was, or what he intended to gain out of spilling his deepest, darkest secrets. All Chanyeol knew was that Baekhyun was there, nodding and understanding, like a pillar of rock solid support. Baekhyun understood him and grasped what he was going through. It was the first time in Chanyeol’s life that he’d finally met someone he could trust to the fullest.

     Somewhere amongst the blur of confessions the bartender realized something, he’d fallen for more than just Baekhyun’s smile and heartfelt understanding. It wasn’t plausible or reasonable in the least, yet it had happened nonetheless, and for once Chanyeol actually used a some of Jongin’s advice.

     “Coffee?” he said suddenly, cutting one of his sentences short.

     “Oh! You need more coffee?” Baekhyun reached for his client’s mug but was met with a shake of the head instead.

     “Would you like t-t-o get c-c-coffee? With me?” Chanyeol stared into the bottom of his empty mug, pulse hammering in his ears as he awaited Baekhyun’s response.

     The speech pathologist arched a curious brow. “You mean like a date?”

     Chanyeol took a deep breath and met Baekhyun’s eyes with his own pleading ones. He didn’t just want Baekhyun’s company, he needed it, craved it like he did a pencil in his hand and a sheet a paper to draw on.

     “Yes.”

     “Sure. I’d like that.”

     A short time later saw them at Chanyeol’s favorite café. The barista greeted them with a cordial wave as the duo claimed a seat next to the window. Pulling wallet from pocket, Chanyeol approached the register and ordered identical beverages — two small coffees with the intent of adding two french vanilla creams, one hazelnut cream, and two sugar packets to each one. Chanyeol couldn’t recall asking for Baekhyun’s coffee preference. He just knew it to be right.

     The barista, Minseok, stole a wary glance over Chanyeol’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t you prefer a large instead of two smalls?”

     Chanyeol wasn’t sure how to respond to such a ridiculous question. Perhaps Minseok had been working too hard as of late.

     “No. I want two smalls.” His words were unusually crisp, catching the barista by surprise.

     “Of course, Chanyeol. Sorry I asked. It was a silly question.” Minseok’s tone was light and kind. He’d been nothing but accommodating to the artist’s frequent visits to the café.Chanyeol looked to Baekhyun and observed as the other drew imaginary shapes into the dark table. The young man seemed wise beyond his years yet had an underlying hint of childish vigor that brought a lazy smile to the corner of Chanyeol’s lips.

     Once the beverages had been prepared, Chanyeol pulled out some cash, paid Minseok and dropped the remaining change into the glass tip jar by the register. The barista flashed a crooked grin before moving to assist the next customer. Stashing his wallet back into the pocket of his jeans, Chanyeol grabbed the two coffees and headed to the condiment counter where he added the other ingredients, then slid back into his chair at the table by the window.

     “Thank you.” Baekhyun accepted the coffee, smiling warmly when their fingers brushed for the briefest of seconds.

     Chanyeol didn’t trust his words, he was far too wired at the prospect of his first date in years, yet he gave his best attempt at calming his nerves and provided a careful response. “You’re welcome.”

     They remained at the café for what seemed like minutes but what was probably hours. Chanyeol thought it strange that Baekhyun had so much time on his hands, and even stranger still, the speech pathologist seemed content with discussing Chanyeol more than himself. Chanyeol wanted to know more about Baekhyun — what he did and didn’t like, where he grew up, what made him decide to be a speech pathologist, and if he had any brothers or sisters — but each time Baekhyun danced around the subject and turned the conversation back onto Chanyeol.

     “Tell me more about you,” Baekhyun said, folding his hands beneath his chin.

     “But I’ve already... t-t-told you... everything.” Chanyeol’s brow furrowed with the downward tilt of his lips. Something seemed off.

     Baekhyun canted his head to one side and bit his bottom lip. “Hmm... I don’t think so. There’s something you’re not telling me, Chanyeol.”

     “What do you... mmmean. I…” A chastising expression from the other had Chanyeol flustered. “I-I-I-I don’t... I mean... there’s nnnothing…”

     In one sudden motion, Baekhyun reached across the table and tucked a curl of unruly hair behind Chanyeol’s ear. “It’s alright. I understand. You’re not ready yet.”

     The bartender was rendered speechless. It wasn’t Baekhyun’s odd behavior that unnerved him, it was another feeling he had, one that told him there was something important that he was missing. It didn’t help that Minseok had been staring at them with a perturbed expression for the greater part of an hour.

     “More coffee?” asked Baekhyun, to which Chanyeol nodded.

     Baekhyun ordered two more coffees at the register. When he returned, Chanyeol was taken aback by the jab of realization that, much like a punch to the gut, knocked the air clean out of him. This wasn’t how he took his coffee. Without even tasting it he knew it was missing a sugar packet. But how could he know that? He looked to Baekhyun and swallowed at the eerie expression that blanketed his attractive features.

     Chanyeol cradled his coffee and drank it without hinting that he knew it’d been tampered with. He did, however, open his sketchbook and tear out the most recent drawing before presenting it to Baekhyun. “You said you... wwwanted something for your... of-of-office.”

     Baekhyun’s face lit up as he held the portrait between nimble fingertips. “It’s beautiful! When did you make it?”

     “This morning.”

     The scene depicted that of the city at night. Charcoal streets and buildings stretched on endlessly as dashes of white mimicked the effect of recent rainfall. Puddles collected along the fictional street where a murky figure stood all by its lonesome, face partially obscured by shadow as it stood waiting for something, an anomaly amongst an otherwise flawless picture.

     The hairs on the back of Chanyeol's neck stood on end. “Do you... like it?” he asked, wrenching his gaze from the paper.

     “Yes,” Baekhyun’s response was close to that of a whisper as he studied the drawing. “It’s perfect.” Syllables rode on the tip of his tongue slowly and deliberately before falling to their death.

     Chanyeol shivered.

     The remainder of their date was spent in tense silence. Baekhyun continued to study Chanyeol's drawing as they finished off their coffee before exiting the café. A wash of frigid air was all it took to sweep away the eerie cloak that had settled over them.

     Baekhyun smiled. “I enjoyed our date, Chanyeol.”

     “Me too," replied the bartender.

     “I guess I’ll be seeing you next Wednesday?”

     Chanyeol stuffed his hands in his pockets, looked up to the sky and fought back a determined grin. “It’s a date.”

     He escorted Baekhyun back to his office and left before he had a chance to say or do something embarrassing. One thing was for certain, he needed to keep this a secret from Jongin. The idiot was bound to implant more inappropriate images into his head should he discover that Chanyeol had actually been on a date, and with his speech pathologist, no less.