Chanyeol's Epic Fail (not mine)

Interlude

“Baekhyun?”

I scan the room. It’s quiet in the recording studio, perhaps because it’s gotten really late.

I’ve been here since five this morning, running sound checks, checking the levels and mixing the treble and bass to just the right volumes to perfectly compliment my voice.

I didn’t really get a lunch break, my eyes are bleary and I’m sure I’ve just had way too much coffee for a normal,sane person.

Which is good I guess considering I’m anything but sane.

I really shouldn’t be complaining. This is my dream. It’s hard work, but I’ve got to go for it, even if it means my life will never be quite so normal.

“Baekhyun?”

Who’s calling me?

I rip the headphones off my ears.

“Yes?”

“We need to talk.”

It’s my manager.

A short, stout, beady-eyed man with a bad temper and equally bad fashion sense.

He may be an ass to be around, but he’s good at getting things done. He knows the media, and he hasn’t let me down yet.

“It’s about you and Park Chanyeol.”

“What about him?” I deadpan.

“You admitting to being gay on air… I let that slide. Sure, you got a bit more media coverage because of that than you need to, and sometimes scandals like that generate more interest-“

“Scandal?”

What is so scandalous about something like that?

“There truthfully aren’t many artists that are open about that type of sexuality,” he continues, sending me a death glare for interrupting.

“I’ll let that one slide. But there’s one thing I can’t let slide, and that’s Park Chanyeol.”

I scowl.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s bad for your image. Drop him.”

What?

I splutter, coughing up my coffee violently.

What?

“Why? What do you mean?”

“He’s not right. Inconsistent, too unpredictable, erratic, unstable. You need to stop going out with him, or the interest in your music will drop.”

“But-“

“No complaints. The music industry is a hard industry to crack. You have potential, I know you could make it big. You’ve only just debuted, so you need a strong fan base to carry you through. The best way to do that is without Park Chanyeol.”

“I love him.”

“Tough.”

Tears slide down my face.

“I love him.” I repeat.

My manager just shrugs and plants a hand on my shoulder.

I push it off.

“I’m only trying to help. I’ve seen many young artists lose their place with a relationship on top of work.”

He talks like Chanyeol is a chore, a toy. Something to be easily discarded.

“I can’t get rid of him,” I mumble.

“You’re going to have to.”

I don’t want to believe him.

“You give up him, or you give up on your career, your dream! Baekhyun, it’s your choice. I hope you make the right one.”

With that, he walks off.

I am left feeling empty, my hand bracing the wall like I’ll fall down into a never-ending pit if I don’t try and support myself.

I hyperventilate.

I can’t do it.

I can’t just give up Park Chanyeol.

I can’t give up on my dream either.

I don’t know what to do.

I let myself slide to the floor where I sit, tear streaming down my face. I sniffle, grabbing a packet of tissues out of my pocket.

I spilt that coffee, all over the floor. I should at least attempt to clean it up, but I don't have the energy.

There is a buzz, and I rip my phone out of my pocket.

“Hello?” I mumble.

“Uh, Baekhyun?”

“Chanyeol?”

“Uh, yeah.”

I can feel my heart ripping into two. I want to throw up, I want to run and hide or kill myself.

There should be more choices than this.