“You’re a bit late. It was Happy Hour about five hours ago,” Kris says as Chanyeol approaches the bar.

“That’s alright. I’m too depressed for Happy Hour anyway…” Chanyeol mutters, sitting himself down at the counter. He rests his chin on his hands and watches Kris as he polishes his way through a pile of glasses. “I’ve just had a ty night, and I want to forget it as soon as possible. Is it too late for a beer..?”

“It’s never too late for a beer. And this ought to put a smile on your dial..” Kris replies, and he slaps a piece of paper down in front of Chanyeol.

“What’s this..?” Chanyeol asks, picking it up and blinking at it with weary eyes.

“Just read it, will you?”

Chanyeol quickly scans the flyer, his eyes widening gradually.

“‘So you think you’re laugh-out-loud funny?’” he reads aloud. “‘LOLfest 2014 is the opportunity for aspiring young comedians to shine, with a chance to win a grand prize of $10,000 and a spot in the upcoming National Comedy Festival’…”

Kris remains silent as Chanyeol reads, only letting out the occasional grunt of displeasure when he discovers a particularly spotty glass.

“Where did you get this…? Chanyeol asks, lowering the piece of paper. Kris shrugs, holding a wine glass over a small metal jug filled with boiling water and watching as it steams up.

“Some shady character in a navy trench came in and tacked it up on the noticeboard,” he says casually, wiping the glass clean with a dishcloth. “His legs were bare. Now that I think about it, I’m not entirely sure he was wearing any pants.”

“I have to audition for this,” Chanyeol mutters to himself. “I just have to...”

“I figured you’d be interested. That’s why I took it down and saved it for you, before someone else got their grubby mitts on it.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you. You’re the bloody best bartender a boy could bloody have.”

“Is that all I bloody am to you – someone who bloody dispenses drinks?” Kris says with a wry smile. “Anyway, what can I get you? The usual?”

Chanyeol nods as Kris pours him a beer and slides it across the bar. “I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant at all. You have many other good points as well… even if keeping me well-boozed is your primary purpose.”

“Thanks. I think.”

Chanyeol pauses to take a sip of beer and sets his glass back down on the bar with an ahh of satisfaction.

“If you get to the finals, I could come and watch you, if you want,” Kris offers. He doesn’t look up from the glass he’s polishing. “You know… for moral support, and all that.”

Chanyeol looks up at him in surprise. “You’d do that? But you hardly ever take nights off..”

Kris shrugs. “It’s just one night… it’s not a big deal. I’ll get Minseok to cover for me or something.”

“Well, alright – if I did get that far, it would be great if you came. Anyway, thanks for keeping this for me; I’m definitely going to sign up..”

Suddenly overwhelmed by a new sense of purpose, Chanyeol downs the rest of his beer in one swallow and slams the glass back down onto the counter. He slams it a little too hard, and it shatters into pieces.

Chanyeol stares at the shards of broken glass on the counter, and then looks up at Kris. Kris blinks back at him with a bemused expression.

“Uh… I guess I got a little overexcited there. Just add the glass to my next tab,” Chanyeol says, grinning sheepishly as he slowly backs away towards the exit. “See you later – thanks again..!”

Kris just shakes his head and goes back to polishing glasses, muttering something to himself that Chanyeol thinks he’s probably better off not hearing.





“Okay. Once more – this time, with feeling.”

Chanyeol groans loudly. He’s beginning to regret allowing Baekhyun to help him practice for his upcoming audition. The guy is way too gung-ho.

“I’m supposed to clean this entire auditorium at some stage, you know,” he mutters. “What did your other students die of..?”

“Too bad,” Baekhyun replies flatly. “How often do you have an empty theatre at your disposal to practice in? You want to ace this audition, right? You want to have a shot at winning this contest, don’t you..?”

“Well, yes,” Chanyeol sighs, “but…”

Baekhyun waves his hand dismissively. “No buts. If you want to be great, then you have to practice. Practice, practice, practice,” he says, pounding a fist against his hand for emphasis. “By the time I’m finished with you, you’ll know these routines so well you’ll be having nightmares about them. I want you to have enough solid material prepared so that you can pick and choose what’s appropriate for the occasion; then you can fill in the gaps with improv stuff, and look to the audience for cues if you get stuck. This is really important, Chanyeol. It’ll help your confidence and lessen the chance of you freezing up while you’re on stage. Now let’s take it from the top.”

Swallowing a long string of swear words, Chanyeol nods and begins his routine again. He barely gets five words out before Baekhyun interrupts him.

“Stop,” he says, sighing heavily. “Just stop. Why are you looking at me like that..?”

“Like what..?”

“Like I’m going to eat your soul, for ’s sake..” Baekhyun replies, burying his head in his hands. “Ugh. This isn’t working. Take three deep breaths, say a prayer, get your together and start again.”

Chanyeol sighs wearily and begins to run through the same routine for the twentieth time that night. Baekhyun studies him intently for the duration, but his face remains expressionless, and this time he refrains from commenting until Chanyeol finishes speaking.

“It was pretty good…” he says at last, tapping his chin thoughtfully with his index finger. “But you’re still visibly nervous. I can smell that you're about to yourself before it even happens.”

“Yeah, well, I suffer from stage-fright, for your information,” Chanyeol replies irritably. “What do you want from me?”

“It’s just me, Chanyeol… what's there to be afraid of..?”

“Well, it’s not going to be just you tomorrow, is it? Anyway, it’s quite unnerving to perform in front of someone and be met with complete silence. You could at least humour me by laughing every now and then..”

“Chanyeol, surprise is one of the most vital elements of comedy,” Baekhyun says gently. “I’ve heard these jokes so many times now… of course they don’t make me laugh anymore. Why should I insult your intelligence with forced laughter? But that doesn’t mean I don’t think the material is great; if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t even bother making you practice it a thousand times.”

Chanyeol exhales forcefully, running his hands through his hair. “It’s just… I know what it’s like to get up on stage and die on your feet. I see it happen to other people all the time; they get up there and give it their best shot, and you could hear a pin drop, it’s so ing quiet. I know how awful it feels to be in their shoes.”

“And you think I don’t know? I know what it feels like to die better than you do – in more ways than one,” Baekhyun replies, raising an eyebrow at Chanyeol. “I did this for a long time, you know, and I had to learn the ropes just like everyone else. What I’m trying to do is get you to be more comfortable with silence. Don’t fear it – use it to your advantage. Build up those long, dramatic pauses. You’ve got to have the audience on the edge of their seats, gagging for the next word – and then you knock 'em dead with your punchline. That's what it's all about. Now, there’s going to be a load of people at this audition, so if the idea of talking to so many people terrifies you, don't even think about them… just pretend they're me. Talk to them like you're talking to me.”

Chanyeol sighs and lets his arms fall helplessly by his sides. “That’s easier said than done, but okay. It’s at times like this that I kind of wish I had my own laugh track running in the background..”

Baekhyun chuckles at the suggestion. “Life isn’t a sitcom, Chanyeol. You don’t need a bunch of laughing dead guys to know you’re funny.”

“Laughing dead guys..?” Chanyeol asks, looking at him blankly.

“Uh-huh. Most of the laugh tracks you hear in sitcoms were recorded in the fifties,” Baekhyun replies. “So those people you hear laughing in the background would pretty much all be dead by now. Creepy, huh?”

Chanyeol shrugs. “I think it’s eerily beautiful, in a way… like they’re all immortalised in a single moment of joy forever.”

Baekhyun ponders this for a moment, smiling to himself. “I’ve never thought of it like that… that’s pretty cool. Still, it’s not a patch on the real deal, is it? Standing up on stage and hearing people gasping for air, slapping their knees, stamping the floor with their feet, all because of something you said…. nothing makes you feel more alive..”

Chanyeol sighs wistfully and sits himself down on the stage. “I feel you. It’s the whole reason I put myself through this on a regular basis.”

“Alright,” Baekhyun says quietly. He stands up from his seat and stretches. “I think I’ve overworked you enough for one night. We’ll just hope for the best tomorrow, okay?”

Chanyeol nods and slowly gets to his feet. “Okay. I should probably get back to cleaning, then…” he says wearily. “These floors ain’t gonna vacuum themselves, as much as I wish they would. Thanks again..”

“Not a problem – we’ve made good progress, I think. I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning,” Baekhyun says, and with one last mischievous wink in Chanyeol’s direction, he vanishes backstage with the swish of a velvet curtain.

Chanyeol stands there for a moment, staring at the spot where Baekhyun had been standing only seconds earlier. Before long, the other man pokes his head back through the curtains again, grinning widely.

“Sorry... I've always wanted to do that..” he says, and disappears once more – this time for good.





On the day of the audition, Chanyeol is so nervous he feels like he might vomit and pass out all at once – thankfully he does neither, but he makes a mental note of where the toilets are, just in case. Baekhyun stands next to him in the registration queue, whispering words of encouragement the whole way. Although he’s unable to acknowledge Baekhyun’s presence in public, Chanyeol can’t help feeling overwhelmed with gratitude to have him there.

He takes the stage when it’s his turn to audition, plodding up the steps with leaden feet, and he stands before the crowd of hopefuls and a panel of four judges with a 5-digit number pinned to the front of his sweater. Taking the mic in one hand, he pushes the stand completely to the side, fighting the irresistible urge to hide behind it – not that it would cover him anyway, but intense fear and rational thought tend to be mutually exclusive.

“Hi,” he says, attempting to swallow the baseball-sized lump in his throat. “I’m Chanyeol.”

Inhaling deeply, he looks over to where Baekhyun is seated on the floor in the corner of the room. Baekhyun grins and gives him two thumbs up. Chanyeol winks back at him and, taking another deep breath, he soldiers on.

“Any cabbies or chauffeurs in the audience?” he asks, nodding when a few people raise their hands. “A few of you, huh. I used to have a job as a hired limo driver, so I met lots people who were too rich to drive their own cars. One day, I’m sent out to drive this guy to the airport. He meets me out the front of the biggest house I’ve ever seen in my life, and at his direction I start piling masses of luggage into the boot. Naturally he doesn't lift a pinky to help me..”

Chanyeol pauses for breath for a moment, casting his eyes over the audience.

“So I ask him if that’s all he’s got, and he says yes, and he adds that his wife will be out in a minute. ‘Oh, I don't know if there's enough boot space left for that,’ I jokingly tell him, ‘but if she’s flexible enough, maybe we can try folding her in half..’”

Chanyeol’s ears are graced with polite laughter, and he closes his eyes for a moment, savouring the sound and using it to charge up his confidence. As soon as the silence settles back in, he resumes pacing across the stage, watching the audience as they watch him, their eyes following his every movement; back and forth, like hypnotised spectators at a tennis match.

“I was just having a laugh, but it wasn’t very well-received,” Chanyeol continues. He’s slowly but steadily gaining momentum now. “Then the wife finally emerges from the house; a tall, blonde supermodel of a woman with legs up to her ears...”

He pauses again for effect and looks out into the audience, facing them head on and bringing the microphone closer to his lips.

“I take one look at her and I lean over to whisper in her husband’s ear. ‘I really am sorry, sir, but she's just a tad too long. I think we’ll have to tie her to the roof.’”

A wave of laughter ripples through the crowd this time, followed by applause, but somehow Chanyeol barely notices. It all gets drowned out by the sound of Baekhyun shouting his name, and the incredible brightness of his smile.





“Okay ladies and gents, the following contestants will be going through to the semi-finals,” the MC announces after the auditions are over. Chanyeol stops biting his nails down to the skin and perks up, looking at Baekhyun with a mixture of terror and excitement.

“Don’t stress; you were great,” Baekhyun whispers aside to him. “It’s in the bag, no worries.”

Chanyeol closes his eyes, resting his head in his hands as the MC drones out an endless list of numbers. After a while he zones out, and the numbers all begin to run together into one long, incomprehensible sound. He’s still off and away with the purple fairies when Baekhyun grabs him by the shoulders, shaking him violently.

“You’re through, you’re through!” he yells in Chanyeol’s ear. “They just called your number out!”

“Oh my god, really?!” Chanyeol cries out excitedly, and then clears his throat nervously when he remembers that no one else can see who he’s talking to.

“The semi-finals will be held this Friday night at Charlie’s Comedy Club,” the MC continues. “Please be at the venue at 5 PM sharp to get your name signed off. Congratulations to all semi-finalists. To everyone else, thanks for coming and well done..”

“Did he just say Charlie’s..?” Chanyeol asks, turning towards Baekhyun. “ing hell, I’m going to perform at Charlie’s? Someone pinch me, I’m clearly dreaming..”

“You’re not dreaming,” Baekhyun tells him, throwing his arms around Chanyeol’s neck and planting a sloppy kiss on the side of his face. “You’re a champion, and I’m so proud of you.”

Chanyeol smiles smugly to himself. “I am a champion, aren’t I..?”

“Mummy,” he hears a little girl behind them whispering to her mother, “who’s that man talking to..?”





“Oh god, I can’t do it…” Chanyeol groans, resting his head on the toilet seat in front of him. The tiles are cold and hard against his knees, even through the fabric of his jeans. He’d been picturing this very night in his head over and over for the past few days, and admittedly, falling apart in the bathroom hadn’t really been a part of the fantasy.

“You should probably go and wait backstage now,” Baekhyun says worriedly, comfortingly patting Chanyeol’s back. “You’ll be up soon..”

“Okay,” Chanyeol says weakly, slowly getting to his feet. “Anyway, if I puke one more time, I’ll probably lose an organ..”

Baekhyun helps Chanyeol up and gently pushes him towards the waiting area, where he sinks into the nearest vacant seat he can find amongst all the other petrified contestants, pacing back and forth and muttering to themselves.

“Okay, try to be calm,” Baekhyun tells him. “You’ll be fine. Remember – talk to them like you’re talking to me.”

Chanyeol nods and flashes Baekhyun the most reassuring ‘I’m perfectly fine’ smile he can manage, but it fades as soon as the other man disappears from sight. He hangs his head, praying earnestly to whoever’s listening that he won’t screw up. When he opens his eyes again he sees Chaerin in the far corner, reading aloud from a crumpled sheet of paper; to Chanyeol’s surprise, she looks just as pale and sick as everyone else does, and he doesn’t know whether to feel slightly relieved or even more terrified.

Even the fearless ones aren’t totally immune, it seems.

“Park Chanyeol,” the MC hisses at him, “you’re up next.”

Chanyeol walks onto the stage and stares into the audience, searching the sea of unfamiliar faces for Baekhyun. Then he locates a thin, pale arm sticking out from the crowd, waving frantically at him.

“I’m here, Chanyeol,” Baekhyun calls out, “now talk to me..!”

Chanyeol smiles, the fear holding his heart in a vice suddenly melting away as though it had never existed. With a nod of acknowledgment, he lifts the microphone to his lips and opens his mouth to speak.





Chanyeol practically pirouettes through the doors of Rubbing Elbows later that night, eager to tell Kris his good news. Kris grunts at the sound of Chanyeol approaching but carries on wiping the benches without acknowledging him. Minseok is busy mopping the floor of the bar area behind him, whistling tunelessly while he works; but for the two of them, the pub is completely empty.

Chanyeol pulls up a stool, its legs scraping loudly over the tiled floor. He sits down, leaning on the counter. “Guess what?”

“I don’t know, Chanyeol,” Kris says – rather stiffly, Chanyeol can’t help noticing. “Do enlighten me.”

“I performed at the semi-finals tonight,” Chanyeol tells him. “And, you, Kris Wu my dearest, are now looking at a LOLfest finalist – or at least you would be, if you were actually looking at me.”

“I see,” Kris replies, still not looking up. “Congratulations..”

“But that’s not all,” Chanyeol continues excitedly. “The semi-finals were held at this really famous comedy club called Charlie’s, and after my performance the club manager pulled me aside and invited me back to perform there next week. If they offer me a regular spot, I’ll have it made – I’ve heard that place is practically crawling with talent scouts at any given time..”

“Well, that sounds great, Chanyeol,” Kris says, finally looking up to meet Chanyeol’s eye. “You do realise you were supposed to perform here tonight like we discussed a while ago? Or did it slip your mind..?”

Chanyeol looks at Kris blankly for a moment, his face falling.

“Oh , you’re right...” he groans, slamming a hand into his forehead. “God, I’m so sorry… I was so preoccupied with preparing for the semi-final that I completely forgot..”

Kris shrugs, tossing a dirty dishcloth into a plastic milk crate on the floor behind him. “Whatever,” he says, sighing. “It’s okay… I mean, I really could have done with a warning that you weren’t going to show up, but what’s done is done. On that