#but i just realised I spent like 5 hours on these three lines monologues. i asked her to rehearse for two hours tomorrow before the lesson.

[omarfor-orchestra]

When my acting teacher said "quest'anno si studia!" I didn't think I would feel like taking an exam with a three lines monologue

[exobyharu]

PCY - Ch5

Chapter 5 - All about you

(Part 1)(Part 2)(Part 3)(Part 4)...(Part 6)

Summary: PCY does not expect to see you again. Ever. Except in less than twelve hours, he’s about to, once again. This time, he admits that he deserves a punch in the face.

⏰ 9:09 AM 🌏 Hotel (S), City of (L) 🌞 It’s sunny but everyone’s too out of it to actually care 👥 YN, Park Chanyeol, Kim Junmyeon, Byun Baekhyun, EXO’s manager (mentioned)

Notes: After a decade, I am finally back! My biggest apologies for taking forever. I tried to make this one a bit longer than usual. Expect more regular updates! I’m sorry that PCY swears a bit here too.

Words: ~2,300

💙💙💙

Twenty-one missed calls and twelve text messages on his personal phone, all from Junmyeon: they were ominous tells that Chanyeol ought to postpone his scheduled return to the studio. Just when he finally saw the wisdom in what at first seemed like punishment by isolation, his plans of returning with news of a productive break were dashed the moment he woke up to his work phone vibrating to another message, this time, from EXO’s manager.

“Who is the girl?”

The question needed no further elucidation.

Just leave her alone, Chanyeol thought, and then he groaned, pressing his face against his pillow because he was never going to see you again, anyway. What’s all the fuss about?

It was nine in the morning, and four hours of sleep seemed inadequate, considering that he had spent at least an hour packing that evening, and the rest of the night, taking advantage of the unexpected surge of inspiration that had finally come after weeks of uninspired efforts.

He was certain that this song finally had all the missing elements that the writers at SM always complained about. He, himself, was amazed by how smoothly he had managed to put something together at three in the morning, too. Still, this was the song they had always wanted from him and he was five hundred percent sure about it.

It turned out that he just needed to quit being frustratedly self-absorbed and instead, see everything in the eyes of someone else. When he did, the landscape shifted and ideas flowed in. You were the one who made this possible for him. You made him realise that it was probably more sensible to derive inspiration from what was out there, rather than generating egocentric works that other people hardly related to.

A tremendously simple concept. How had he not even considered this?

There was something about how you were able to read into his skilfully-concealed ego problems and this made him even more self-aware. It was one thing to hear it from his friends, and for that, he had been careful ever since. He was confident with the control he had on his narcissistic tendencies. But hearing it from you, who had just met him, made you an unforgettably helpful clairvoyant.

“I think that’s how you can reach out to more audiences,” you told him last night, gingerly munching on a biscotti and possibly, launching an underhanded attack on his ego. “Stop writing about yourself. Write about what’s out there.”

“Like what?” he asked you, burning with so much eagerness that you probably felt the intensity of his stare. Stop writing about yourself. That was a headshot.

“Hmm… Well, let’s see…” you trailed off, swiping through his phone, and scanning the lengthy compilation of his serially rejected compositions. You may as well be a speed reader, seeing how you had managed to reach the end of it so quickly. That was another detail that he forgot to ask you about last night. He will never know then.

“I’m sure this will sound great when I listen to it later, but like I said, it seems that this whole thing is about having a good time,” you explained, stealing a quick glance at the way he kept his fidgety fingers tightly interlocked on the table. Chanyeol caught that and made sure to keep the signs of his bubbling anxiety in check.

Just listen, he had to remind himself. What are you being so nervous about?

“Look, I’m no writer, but if you really want to write a love song, the feelings that I want to get need to be more dynamic than what all of this gives me.”

Operational word: dynamic. Again, the point was that he lacked experience and hearing about it was getting old. He leaned in closer for emphasis – also to make sure that he did not raise his voice in frustration. “You want me to write about things I don’t know?”

You shrugged, showing him the same easygoing attitude as if the idea was naturally forthcoming at the very least. “You can always write about wanting to know instead. You know, how you would rather, or think it would be? After all, people tend to yearn for things they don’t have. It’s one that we all have in common, in my opinion. It’s a universal feeling that’s relatable.”

Longing, huh?

Was it a simple insight? It seemed more like your current state of mind that slipped through. He needed you to voice out more fragments from your internal monologue to confirm his suspicion, but you did not give him that. You scrunched up your nose instead. “Not everyone dreams of a fancy car and a supermodel for a girlfriend, Chanyeol.”

Your comment made him uncross his legs. “Yah! Quit judging my life already, will you?“ At the same time, his knee hit the underside of the table. You were both startled as everything on it shook. Tall people problems. He could not seem to switch off his klutzy side when it mattered most. It made you giggle to see some of his coffee splash onto the screen of his phone. “And I’m not attracted to female supermodels!”

Growing unfazed by his usually exaggerated responses, you raised a speculative brow. “Let me guess… But female supermodels are attracted to you?”

Chanyeol flashed a lopsided grin on purpose. “I do have a mostly-female fanbase, so I can’t say for sure that–”

“Again! My main point, sir,” you interrupted, with a playful roll of your eyes. “If you wanna add to your influence, write about other things.” He almost thought that you were really going to poke his nose with your finger. He guessed that it was just your snarky side showing itself. “Be proactive and do some research by listening to other people too. I’m sure you’ll find more feelings to write about.”

Hence, that night marked the beginning of a more dynamic Park Chanyeol, who would create art and music that may deviate from the typical industrial material he felt that he had pretty much exhausted already. Creation was his passion and he had you to thank for making him realise how he had boxed himself up too much because he was afraid to express his own vulnerability, which, ought to be the point in the first place.

This was why EXO’s main rapper wrote a fucking ballad. And it was a ballad that he could not even sing. But he wrote it and it did not matter to him who sang it. He would rather have someone else do it justice. All that mattered to him was that the song made it through. He wanted to reach out to people, and strangely, it mattered to him that you heard it too. He wanted you to hear your words played on the radio someday, knowing well that you were part of the creative process. You, that girl whose shitty day he tried to turn around, and whose underlying melancholic disposition he wished to uplift but cannot.

Will you ever find what you were looking for? Will your family ever understand you? Were you really unemployed? Or was it something you chose to say so he would stop asking questions already?

He will never find out because he will never see you again. That said, SM just spent wasteful money on hiring somebody to tail him while he was away. What was all the fretting about? Junmyeon was probably going supernova over nothing of substance and their manager had to be getting drunk on his trust issues again. Both of his phones were ringing simultaneously now, and he was about three rings away from answering one and tossing the other across the room.

Junmyeon or Baekhyun? Choose your own adventure, he thought, rolling to his side and sighing as he wearily brought both of his phones close to his face. Probably for the first and only time ever, he chose Baekhyun.

“PARK CHANYEOL!”

Eyes wide and mouth in a frenzied snarl – there had to be no other look on Junmyeon who was now yelling at the other end of the line. Chanyeol was not even surprised to know that it was him using Baekhyun’s phone. It was Junmyeon or Junmyeon. There was no choice in the first place. He half expected the possibility, and just like that, his day was shot. He rose from his bed and pulled out the curtains to see the rest of the city going about its business.

A kajillion other people with stories to write about, he remembered you say. Your voice resonated from somewhere in his head, effectively drowning out the endless buzzing of the phone he held at least a foot away from his ear. When Junmyeon had calmed down, Chanyeol finally started listening in.

“… and since you would not answer their calls, everyone’s expecting me to offer an explanation. They won’t stop pestering me and I would be in a much better mood if I did not have more urgent things to do. Listen, I don’t care wha–”

“I was asleep, okay?” he interrupted, dragging his voice and feeling the weight of exasperation on his tongue. “You can send all those calls to me now. Thank you for taking shit for me.”

“Yah! Don’t hang up!”

“Then how am I supposed to talk to them?!” Chanyeol barked. It was his first instinct, knowing well that the last time he got yelled at like this was when he was falsely accused of spreading their unreleased material online. Surely, how he chose to spend last night was not as much of a mortal sin as a breach of their contract. Because just now, Junmyeon sounded like it was much worse than that.

“Forget it. We’ve dealt with the reporters.”

Reporters? The rapper’s pulse ran cold as he instantly froze where he stood.

“We just need to get you out of there with your security detail. The staff is arranging–”

“Yah! Hold up!” Chanyeol heard the nervous rasp in his voice as panic slowly claimed the frustration that initially controlled him. “What do you mean? Why are there reporters involved?”

“Of course there are reporters involved!” Junmyeon howled. “When you go out on a date looking as you are, Mister Park Chanyeol, with a girl who received ten dozens of roses from you, OF COURSE people will take pictures and talk!”

Chanyeol’s fist flew out, punching the air in front of him. “The he- …How do you guys even know this?!”

“You mean how does social media know about this? It’s all over the internet, Chanyeol. Check your phone! Check GTN27! Wake the fuck up!”

“I am awake! And I am checking my phone now!” he went, nervously fumbling for the other phone that had finally stopped ringing. His fingers trembled, not even able to key in his password properly. It sent his mind reeling, not sure about how much he wanted to find out. Did they discover who you were? Were fans stalking you already? And the media? Were you even safe? The mere fact that they knew he sent you flowers meant that they knew your room number.

“Look, I’m sure it’s not what you think. YN would not–”

“We know,” Junmyeon’s tone was abruptly much kinder and Chanyeol knew that this was because there was finally someone else with him, wherever he was. There were people, in fact. He must have stepped out of a room or something. The rapper was relieved that all the yelling was finally over, at least for now. “Listen, YN YLN? We know she’s not responsible, okay?”

“You–” he choked out, eyes wide and tilting back as the realisation finally hit him. “She’s with you?!”

The immediate response that he got was the voice of Baekhyun, distinct in the background. He was asking for his phone. A second later, Chanyeol heard a whine that was cut off by the sound of a door slamming shut. There was complete silence once again.

“Yeah. We found her before those undercover reporters at the hotel lobby did. You can thank the staff later,” Junmyeon said, his stern voice echoing through what seemed like their empty dance studio.

“Is she okay?!” Chanyeol exclaimed, his eyebrow twitching as he attempted to hold back his emotions – whatever it was that he was feeling. Anger? Worry? Extreme impatience? “Let me talk to her!”

“She’s with the staff.” Junmyeon was dismissive and it was clear that the guy was not going to let him talk to you. “People on the internet dubbed her Biscotti Girl and she hated it. That’s why she gave us her real name. She would not say anything more after that.”

Biscotti Girl? More than the ridiculous nickname, Chanyeol found himself closing his eyes and smiling in relief because it seemed that your identity was not revealed. It was all that he could ask for at the moment. The rest, he could deal with much later. This was all his fault any way.

“Don’t worry about her. I made sure she’s comfortable. Right now, we’re working on getting you here as soon as possible.”

Right. It was difficult to see sometimes, but Junmyeon was on his side. He had always been.  “Now, I’ll quit it with all this leader bullshit. As your brother, is there something you’d like to tell me?”

Other than dumb excuses? Chanyeol did not think so.

“I’ll explain everything to you when I get there, hyung,”

His voice was even, but his mind was racing decathlons for possible explanations that provided you the easiest way out of this predicament. If the entire company had his back no matter what mess he got himself into, he wanted to make sure that you at least had him. It had come to this, after all. He can only imagine how much trouble he’d caused you. So much for writing a song to make you feel better. The song was not even enough to save him this time.

Chanyeol pressed his forehead against the window and groaned.

You. Fucking. Genius.

💙💙💙 - to be continued -