DEAD MEN LAUGHING for CSSVAMPII [1/3]

[yeolliepopday]

For: cssvampii
Title: Dead Men Laughing
Pairing(s): Ultimately Chanyeol/Kris, Chanyeol/Baekhyun as friendship pairing
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s) : Language, ghost!Baekhyun
Length: ~24,000
Summary: For aspiring comedian Park Chanyeol, being funny is no laughing matter. The assistance of a meddling but well-meaning ghost named Baekhyun only complicates matters further, but it might be just what he needs.
Author's note: I kind of took your ‘invisible friend’ prompt and blew it right out of the water, lol. I apologise if this isn't really what you imagined, but I tried. Apologies for the length and the cliché plot; I hope you get a good chuckle out of it, if nothing else.
Enjoy x



This is it, Chanyeol thinks to himself. I’m going to die.

I am a dead man.

The situation is always the same. There’ll be a crowd of onlookers, and Chanyeol will stand sweating before them on a raised platform, their reaction dictating whether he’ll walk away a free man or be brought to his knees. It’s unavoidable, really, for all of his comrades have fallen at some point. Some get off relatively lightly, while others are crucified. Chanyeol is one of the blessed few that are brave (or stupid) enough to repeatedly get up afterwards. As long as he’s still got even one leg to stand on, there’s no question that he’ll be back for more.

Chanyeol closes his eyes and inhales deeply. He has a feeling it’s about to happen again right now. He can hear his own digestive processes, it’s so quiet.

Please, he begs no one in particular. Just one little chuckle. That’s all I need.

Some heavy breathing, perhaps..?

Anything but this terrifying, all-consuming silence..

“Next!” someone from the audience calls out, hands cupped around his mouth to amplify his voice. Others boo at Chanyeol, raising their hands with their thumbs turned downwards.

There it is. I’m a goner.

I’m done.

“Wakey-wakey, hands off snakey - Jinki bailed tonight, so you’re up next,” a gravelly voice hisses in Chanyeol’s ear. He leaps up from his seat like an unsuspecting schoolteacher sitting on a thumbtack. Those ominous daydreams before a performance are always so real and frightening that they threaten to become self-fulfilling prophecies if he dwells on them too much.

“But… I don’t want to go after Chaerin…” he says, anxious at the thought. He’s seen Chaerin perform before, and she’s a hard act to follow; sort of like a younger Sarah Silverman, but more terrifying.

“Well, tough tits,” the club host replies tersely, squinting at the set list on his clipboard. He scribbles something out and begins to forcefully steer Chanyeol towards the stage. “First in, best dressed, Park. You’re the one who got here late, remember?”

Chanyeol sighs and nods his agreement. He knows better than to argue with the powers that be. When it’s your time, it’s your time.

Chaerin shoots through the curtains like a cannonball as soon as she’s done, bursting with aggressive energy as usual, and Chanyeol is introduced and shoved onto the stage before the resounding applause has a chance to die down. He shuffles over to the centre, momentarily blinded by the stage lights, and his eyes fall to the wooden floor, scuffed by the multitudes that stood and fell here before him. He adjusts the mic stand for his height, and the all-too-familiar screech of feedback fills the room, making him cringe. When it fades away, the silence it leaves behind is so clear and sharp it could slice him in two.

Chanyeol reluctantly lifts his gaze to the audience; at the sea of expectant, hungry people, each one ready to chew him up and spit him out if his words don’t hit the spot. He swallows, still tasting the sourness of acid from when he’d not-so-discreetly thrown up in the club toilets a little earlier (performance anxiety - standard procedure).

He closes his eyes one more time, and opens his mouth to speak.

“Hi,” he says, his voice cracking a little. “I’m Chanyeol.”

“We know,” someone immediately calls out.

Chanyeol takes a deep breath and pretends he didn’t hear that.

It’s okay, he tells himself. Just focus. Breathe in, breathe out, and go out with a bang.

And Chanyeol does go out with a bang. It comes in the form of a light fixture detaching itself from the ceiling, crashing down on him while he’s in the middle of a sentence and prompting a collective gasp from the audience.

Unable to walk offstage on his own two feet, Chanyeol is immediately carried away by two hefty doormen, blood pouring freely from a gash in his head. He is denied his usual after-show ritual: puttering home in his little banana-yellow shitbox of a Volvo, turning up the local oldies radio station to full blast and singing along at the top of his lungs - his tried-and-true method for releasing any pent-up post-performance tension. The car doesn’t even have a functioning tape deck let alone a CD player, so he usually jams his cigarettes into the slot to hold them while he drives.

But Chanyeol won’t be jamming anything into any slots tonight. Instead he scores a sweet ride to emergency in the back of an ambulance, where a nice young paramedic dresses his head wound to keep it from bleeding all over the place. She whispers reassuring words to him as he fades in and out, many of which Chanyeol knows he will probably forget by the morning, but the tone of her voice is rich and soothing - comforting in a way he can’t explain. It revisits him while he’s lying alone in a strange bed later that night, with nothing but the occasional nurse checking up on him and some old guy’s emphysema cough to keep him company.

Chanyeol finally drifts off with the thought that he really ought to give up smoking.

When he’s deemed fit to go home, Chanyeol’s sister Yura comes to pick him up from the hospital, having rescued his car from where he left it - in the dodgy parking lot behind the club, where some of its seedier patrons congregate to partake in shady dealings after hours. Chanyeol is listlessly staring out the window when she swishes into the room, greeting him with an affectionate kiss on the cheek; she raises her eyebrows slightly at the sight of his injury, but thankfully doesn’t comment on how awful it looks.

Chanyeol decides not to sulk any longer over his misfortunes. He might have upwards of twenty stitches in his head, but he’s still standing - sort of - so he counts his blessings.

“Time to go,” Yura says gently, resting one hand on his shoulder. Her sunny disposition is unshakable, and Chanyeol has always loved her for it. She has yet to inherit that steely, hardened stare from their battle-axe of a mother, but to Chanyeol it’s only a matter of time before Yura directs disapproving eyes towards him too. For now, though, she’s behind him 100%, always ready to make allowances for her little brother, and it’s part of the reason he can’t seem to settle - why he keeps jumping from job to job, place to place, trying to keep the tiny windblown flame of his teenage dream alive.

Chanyeol is aware that his constant reassurances don’t really help the situation. It's just a temporary thing, he repeatedly tells Yura (and himself, for that matter) - he’s only crashing her apartment until he knows where he’s at. It's been a 'temporary thing' for the better part of a year now, but still Yura never bats an eyelid, and any attempts to force a bit of rent money upon her are repeatedly spurned. Stay as long as you need to, she always says with a genuine smile. That spare room is just gathering dust anyway. Chanyeol knows that she means it, but it doesn’t stop him bribing his conscience by sneaking a few folded notes into her purse every now and then.

“Don’t feel too down about last night,” Yura says cheerily during the drive home. “These things happen. I’m just relieved that you’re okay.”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says quietly, and he flashes her a reassuring smile, turning up the brightness a little for her benefit. “Don’t worry; I’m fine. Now I can join the long list of distinguished people with ugly scars.”

I’ll look back on this in a few years and laugh, he tells himself, pulling the sun visor down to inspect his injury in the mirror. He gingerly traces over the sutures in his forehead with his fingers and sighs; like most of the things he tells himself these days, he doesn’t believe it one bit.

As soon as he’s able, Chanyeol heads down to his favourite watering hole for a drink to celebrate the fact that he’s still alive. It’s mainly his favourite because his good friend Kris owns it and he always gives Chanyeol cheap drinks, but it is quite a nice place in its own right - a quaint little pub called Rubbing Elbows. The name is somehow apt; on weekends it gets so crowded that you generally end up rubbing more than just people’s elbows, but to Chanyeol that’s part of its charm.

Kris looks up at Chanyeol as he approaches the bar, grimacing at the sight of the stitches in his forehead. “That looks painful..”

Chanyeol flops down onto one of the leather-covered stools in front of the counter. “It is. I was lucky it was only a small spotlight. Anything bigger and I probably wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

“You should have told me you were in the hospital. I’d have visited..”

Chanyeol shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, I wasn’t there for very long. Anyway, they said I’d be fine. I just have to take it easy for a little while.”

“Well, how about a pint to make up for it?” Kris says, winking at him. He’s always had that ability to make people feel at ease without ever really smiling; instead his benevolence seems to shine through his eyes like sunlight through frosted glass - a little more subdued, perhaps, but ever present. He takes a pint glass from the rack behind him and fills it with beer, placing it on the bar in front of Chanyeol, who accepts it gratefully.

“On the house. I’m sure you’ll appreciate that more than a tacky ‘Get Well Soon’ card anyway.”

“You know me too well.” Chanyeol raises the glass in acknowledgment and tilts it to his lips. “Ah, that’s the stuff. How about some peanuts flavoured with the DNA of seventy different people?”

Kris dumps an open bag of peanuts onto the counter and sets a bowl down next to it for the shells. “Here you go. You can be the first.”

“Thanks Kris. The special treatment almost makes up for the injury.”

“You’re welcome. Don’t throw the shells on the floor. I’m not your mother.”

Chanyeol laughs. “Thank God for that.”

Kris nods and leans a little closer to Chanyeol. “By the way, I need to ask a favour… how would you feel about performing here two Fridays from now? Jongin’s band was supposed to play that night, but their vocalist walked out after a row, and they haven’t found another one yet. I need to find a replacement act soon or I won’t have any Friday night entertainment that week.”

Chanyeol busies himself with shelling a peanut and pops the kernel into his mouth, chewing it pensively. “That’s unfortunate. Poor Jongin… but sure, I can do that night.”

“Thanks. You’re a lifesaver,” Kris replies. Chanyeol watches him line up a row of shot glasses in front of a group of giggling older women on a girls’ night out. He fills the glasses with tequila and sets down a small plate of lemon wedges and a saltshaker next to them. “There you go, ladies..”

“Hey guys - major pukeage on the floor of the men’s room,” Minseok interrupts them, poking his head out from the back.

Kris groans. “Fucking hell, not again… okay, you know the drill. Whoever cleans it up gets an extra 20% cut of the tip jar.”

“I’ll do it!” Sehun declares, hurrying past the other staff members. He grabs a mop and bucket from the storage closet, falling all over himself on his way to the facilities. Kris watches the bathroom door swing shut behind him and chuckles to himself.

“Works every time..”

Chanyeol wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Gross. I think that’s my cue to leave..” he announces, downing the last of his beer and pushing the empty glass towards Kris. “Thanks again.”

Kris pouts at him jokingly. “So you come here to drink my beer and then bail on me after ten minutes? You’re always too busy for me these days..”

“I really have to work,” Chanyeol replies, standing up from his seat. “I’ve missed enough shifts lately. I’ll come see you again soon, though. That’s a promise.”

“Alright, alright…” Kris says, waving him off. “Off with you, then.”

Stepping out into the cool autumn air, Chanyeol pulls his jacket tighter around himself and hurries down the street towards the Stellar Theatre, where he works occasionally as a cleaner. The Stellar is as old as time itself, a ‘historical treasure’, or so the plaque on the front reads anyway. With its obnoxiously ornate exterior, it sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the other more modest buildings of the main strip, and has been a target for repeated acts of vandalism in recent years. There's not a whole lot to do after nightfall in this part of town, so the local youth have a considerable talent for breaking things.

Scoring a casual cleaning job at the Stellar was an unexpected stroke of luck for Chanyeol. Not that cleaning up after evening performances is a particularly inspiring task - it mostly involves rescuing plastic cups from beneath the seats and vacuuming crushed M&Ms out of the old crimson carpet - but this seems a small price to pay to be granted valuable access to a completely empty theatre. While sweeping the stage floor, Chanyeol will sometimes pause for a moment to practice his routines before the rows of vacant seats. In his fantasies, each seat will be full; the crowd will be buzzing with excitement, their eyes riveted to him the very second he enters the stage. He’ll begin his performance, and their laughter will grow and swell until it raises the roof right off the building.

It’s not until he’s finished vacuuming one of the aisles that Chanyeol realises his ears are ringing. He doesn’t think anything of it at first; he’s been no stranger to the occasional bout of tinnitus ever since that light fixture fell on his head. Trying his best to ignore it, he leaves the Hoover forgotten in the aisle and slowly ascends the creaking stairs to the stage, taking his place at the centre. Inhaling deeply, he begins to run through one of his current routines - under his breath, of course, for there’s something about talking loudly to himself that makes Chanyeol feel self-conscious, even when there’s not a soul around to hear him.

Chanyeol is cut off mid-sentence by a curious racket coming from overhead: the combined sounds of rattling chains and the tinkling of glass. He looks up at the large chandelier suspended above the auditorium.

The last thing he expects to see is something hanging off it.

Something, or someone..?

Hanging on to the chains is a small man dressed entirely in purple - from his plum tailcoat right down to his lavender socks. He's looking down at Chanyeol and grinning.

Chanyeol blinks up at the purple-clad man in wonderment, his eyes following the flashing mass of crystals and electric candles as it swings to and fro. By now the imaginary crowd are booing and hissing and yelling at him to start cracking jokes already, but he's too preoccupied to notice.

"Good show," the purple man calls out. He smirks mischievously. "Full house tonight, I see.”

"Who are you..?" Chanyeol yells up at him. "What are you doing up there..?"

By now there are small cracks spreading through the ceiling, growing like branches and blizzarding the theatre with tiny snowflakes of paint. The man pulls off a perfect triple somersault and lands among the seats - without so much as a thud, Chanyeol can’t help noticing. He slowly stands up, dusting himself off, and strides down the aisle towards the stage.

"I am Byun Baekhyun," he replies, nimbly hopping up the stage steps two at a time. "And I am a faerie of sorts. Well, I mean, you won't find me at the bottom of your garden or anything.."

“How did you get in here?” Chanyeol asks, bewildered. “The show’s over - you’re not supposed to be here.”

Baekhyun folds his arms over his chest in defiance. “Well… why are you here..?”

Chanyeol gestures towards the Hoover, still sitting in the aisle where he left it. “I work here. I’m cleaning up.”

Baekhyun shrugs. “Well, I hang out here.”

“What do you mean, you hang out here? It’s a theatre. It isn’t public property..”

“Aren’t you the one who sneaks onstage to practice your comedy routines when you should be working? It’s a bit rich of you to lecture me, isn’t it..?”

“How do you know about that..?” Chanyeol asks, the colour draining from his face.

“I’ve watched you,” Baekhyun says, smiling at him.

Chanyeol starts to feel faintly sick. “How many times..?”

“A few,” Baekhyun replies, his smile growing even wider.

Chanyeol nods and swallows nervously. There’s something about the way Baekhyun stares at him that makes him feel a little odd. His ears are ringing much more loudly now. He closes his eyes.

When he opens them again, Baekhyun is standing above him, looking a little concerned.

“Are you alright down there..?”

Chanyeol blinks up at him, confused. His ears are still ringing, although not as loudly as before.

“Why am I on the floor..?” he asks, rubbing his head.

“We were talking all nice and normal, and then you just fainted,” Baekhyun informs him. “Are you ill?”

Chanyeol doesn’t reply. He screws his eyes shut.

Maybe I’m hallucinating.

He counts to five before opening his eyes again, expecting the apparition to have dissolved in the meantime, but no such luck. Baekhyun is grinning down at him, just as before.

“Still here.”

Chanyeol shuts his eyes again. When he opens them, Baekhyun is kneeling next to him, wearing an expression of obvious amusement.

“Still here…” he says again, and he cheekily bites his lip. His voice is fuzzy around the edges, and it echoes slightly. It vaguely reminds Chanyeol of the way film characters speak in flashbacks.

Chanyeol closes his eyes once more and counts to thirty this time before daring to open them.

“Still-”

“What-do-you-want-from-me?” Chanyeol hisses in a breathless string of words, cutting Baekhyun off mid-sentence.

Baekhyun leans back a little to sit on his haunches and holds his hands up defensively, palms facing outwards. “Woah. Settle, petal.”

Chanyeol scowls and tries to sit up, but his head spins violently and he collapses back down onto the hard wooden floor, groaning and rubbing the back of his head.

“You must want something from me,” he says through clenched teeth, “or you wouldn’t be hanging around me like a bad smell right now. So just tell me what it is and we’ll get this over and done with.”

Baekhyun looks at him for a moment and then lifts up one arm to sniff beneath it. He makes a face and lowers it again.

“I don’t want something from you,” he says, as though speaking to an idiot. “I’m just trying to figure out how you can see me.”

“What do you mean..?” Chanyeol asks, slowly sitting up and dusting himself off.

“You know, it’s quite curious… I was once a comedian just like you,” Baekhyun tells him. “I even performed right on this stage. I was touted as the next big thing… the one to watch. Right up until my tragically premature death, that is.”

At this last detail, Baekhyun raises a hand to his forehead in mock distress, but the twinkle in his eye gives him away.

Chanyeol stares at him in bewilderment. “You’re dead..?”

“Yep.”

“So… you’re a ghost, then.”

“I guess you could say that.”

“You said earlier that you were a ‘faerie, of sorts’..”

Baekhyun shrugs. “I know I’m small and dressed entirely in purple, but I didn’t really expect you to take me seriously.”

Without pausing for thought, Chanyeol pulls his shoe off and lobs it at Baekhyun’s head so hard that he falls backwards.

“Ow!” Baekhyun exclaims, holding a hand up to his forehead. “What the hell was that for?!”

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Chanyeol stammers, “I thought that if you really were a ghost, it would pass right through you.."

Baekhyun laughs and shakes his head. “Objects won’t pass through me while I’m like this..” he says, closing his eyes, and he begins to fade away slowly until he’s almost completely transparent.

“Try it again,” he whispers, opening his eyes at last, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “I dare you.”

Chanyeol stands there with his feet nailed to the floor, pointing a shaking hand at Baekhyun, his mouth open in a silent scream. After what feels like a lifetime his feet finally uproot themselves and he bolts out of the theatre, leaping over the Hoover like a hurdle on his way out.

As soon as he gets home that night, Chanyeol goes straight to bed, hoping that he’ll forget all about the ordeal after a good night’s sleep. Or, better still, that it will turn out to be merely some sort of one-off hallucination; a side effect of his recent injury.

He sleeps fitfully that night, harassed by nightmares of an auditorium filled with strange little men in purple heckling him during a performance, and wakes up the next morning to a loud knocking on his bedroom door.

“Come in,” he mumbles into his pillow. Yura bursts into the room, dodging the piles of clothing on the floor like landmines to get to the window. Humming to herself, she pulls the curtains aside and sunlight immediately streams into the room.

Chanyeol lifts his head up from the pillow, his wavy brown hair sticking out in all directions. “What are you, my mother..?”

“What are you, a vampire?” Yura retorts, throwing the window open. “I’m just letting some air and light in here. By the way, have you been cooking in your sleep? You left your bacon and eggs unsupervised; I had to take them off the stove because they were all burnt. Please be careful next time...”

“Huh..?” Chanyeol replies, confused by her comment, but she hurries out of the room before he can ask her what she means.

Chanyeol eventually pads barefoot into the kitchen, oversized paisley pyjamas still hanging off his lanky frame, and sure enough, he finds a pan next to the stove complete with two rashers of blackened bacon and some charcoaled eggs. Without thinking, he opens one of the cupboards under the sink, and someone hands him a clean frying pan.

“Thanks,” Chanyeol mutters, shutting the cupboard door. He’s always been slow in the mornings, so it takes a good thirty seconds of standing there holding a frying pan for no apparent reason before the realisation finally hits him. He yelps in surprise, dropping the pan with a loud clanging onto the tiled floor.

“Chanyeol..? Are you alright in there?” Yura calls out from the bathroom.

“Oh… yeah. I just saw a big cockroach,” Chanyeol yells back at her.

“Oh my god! Kill it!”

Chanyeol yanks the cupboard door open again and stoops down a little to look inside. He finds Baekhyun hunched up in there, wearing a saucepan on his head. He holds a finger to his lips.

“Don’t worry, sis. I’ll get rid of it,” Chanyeol calls out, dropping to his knees in front of the cupboard. Baekhyun smiles at him sheepishly and takes the saucepan off his head.

“What are you doing in my kitchen?” Chanyeol hisses, trying to keep his voice from carrying into the next room.

“Uh… surprise..?”

“You could have burned the place down, leaving the stove on like that. It stinks of burnt bacon in here..”

“I’m sorry. I was in the middle of making some breakfast when I heard your sister coming. So I hid.”

Chanyeol lets out a heavy sigh of frustration. “She probably can’t see you anyway. And since when do dead people even eat..?”

Baekhyun pokes his bottom lip out defensively. “I eat, sometimes... haven’t taken a shit in years, though.”

“Chanyeol? Did you get it...?” Yura calls out from the other room.

“It's okay, it's all under control,” Chanyeol yells back at her, and then turns back to Baekhyun.

“Get. Out. Of. My. House,” he says coldly, and slams the cupboard door.

He opens it again a few seconds later, half expecting to find Baekhyun still hiding in there, but it’s empty.

Chanyeol makes an appointment later that morning to see Dr. Zhang. There’s no way hallucinations should last this long - or be this irritating.

“I know it’s short notice, but I really need some stitches removed,” he pleads with the receptionist. “Can you fit me in today?”

“There’s not much of a window,” the receptionist replies hesitantly. “All we’ve got is an opening at 12.30..”

“Perfect - I’ll pop in during my lunch break, thank you very much,” Chanyeol replies all in one breath. He slams the receiver of the convenience store phone down onto its cradle before the receptionist has a chance to reply, startling the well-dressed woman standing in front of the counter with a carton of skim milk.

“I’m sorry - can I help you…?” Chanyeol asks, looking up at her, and jumping a little himself when he notices Baekhyun standing a few metres behind, holding a squeeze bottle of ketchup. He has the nozzle pointing down towards the floor with a wicked grin plastered across his face.

Chanyeol narrows his eyes. “Hey - what are you doing with that..?”

The woman standing at the counter stops impatiently tapping her red fingernails and looks at him oddly. “The milk? I’m buying it.”

“No,” Chanyeol replies, shaking his head. “Not you.”

The woman turns around to survey the empty shop behind her, and then turns her head back to face Chanyeol again, looking at him like he’s lost the plot. In a bid to get rid of her, Chanyeol quickly bags the carton of milk and hands over her change, trying to keep an eye on Baekhyun at the same time.

“You might want to clean that up,” the woman says with one last glance over her shoulder. Confused by her comment, Chanyeol stares after her as she glides through the sliding doors, entranced by the swaying of her hips in that tight pencil skirt. He then leans across the counter to find the words STILL HERE written in huge, looping letters on the floor in ketchup.

Chanyeol opens his mouth, ready to give Baekhyun an earful, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

“Alright, Chanyeol,” Dr. Zhang says, flicking through Chanyeol’s patient record. “So you’re here to get these stitches out..?”
“Well, yes, but there’s another reason I came…” Chanyeol replies, and then he leans forward in his chair, lowering his voice a little. “I know this is going to sound weird, but… since last night, I’ve been seeing dead people.”

Dr. Zhang looks up at Chanyeol from the manila folder in his hands. “I beg your pardon..?”

“I keep seeing dead people. Well… a dead person. So far, there’s only been one of him.”

“Um… is he here right now..?” Dr. Zhang asks, his eyes briefly darting around the room.

Chanyeol subtly cranes his neck to look behind Dr. Zhang, where Baekhyun is sitting cross-legged on the examination bed in the corner. His boots have left muddy stains on what was once a spotless white cover, and he’s loudly sucking on a red lollipop, presumably pinched from the jar Dr. Zhang keeps for younger patients on the shelf above his desk.

Chanyeol sighs and shakes his head. “No,” he lies. “Not at the moment..”

Dr. Zhang nods and returns the patient file to his desk. “Alright, well… let’s get started on those stitches then. Come lie down over here- oh. I could have sworn I just put on a fresh cover…”

Baekhyun quickly hops up off the bed as Dr. Zhang removes the soiled cover and replaces it with a clean one. As soon as Chanyeol lies down, he immediately resumes his place, making himself comfortable on Chanyeol’s chest instead.

Chanyeol gasps in surprise at the unexpected weight. He wriggles around to the best of his ability, trying in vain to shove Baekhyun off. Baekhyun merely smirks and continues sucking away on his lollipop.

“Chanyeol, I can’t take the stitches out unless you keep still,” says a frustrated Dr. Zhang. “These surgical scissors are very sharp.”

“Okay,” Chanyeol wheezes, “I’m sorry.”

“You sound a little out of breath. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Just a little nervous,” Chanyeol replies breathlessly, trying not to flinch as Dr. Zhang begins to remove his stitches. “So, about this person I keep seeing. How exactly do I, uh… stop seeing him?”

“You can’t - you’re stuck with me,” Baekhyun interjects, poking his candy-stained tongue out at Chanyeol.

“Are you sure you haven’t used any recreational substances lately..?” Dr. Zhang asks, raising an eyebrow.

Baekhyun grabs Chanyeol’s head and forces it up and down to make it look like he’s nodding.

“No. Never,” Chanyeol says, straining against Baekhyun’s hands in an effort to keep his head still.

“Please keep still, Chanyeol..”

“Right. Sorry.”

“It could have something to do with your injury… the scans you had done at the hospital were all fine, but you can have more tests done if it’ll make you feel better,” Dr. Zhang replies, dropping the extracted strands of surgical thread onto a piece of paper towel. “Or, if these ‘visions’ persist, I can refer you to a therapist.”

While Dr. Zhang’s head is turned, Baekhyun flicks his chewed lollipop stick at Chanyeol. It hits him right between the eyes.

“I don’t need therapy - I’m perfectly fine. I just want to get rid of the guy…”

“Keep still please. Almost finished…” Dr. Zhang murmurs, sounding relieved at the prospect. “Are these facial tics a recent development..?”

“Sorry...” Chanyeol says sheepishly. “I’ve just been having a few problems ever since I got hit in the head.”

“Well, beyond the suggestions I gave you, I’m not sure what else I can do for you, Chanyeol. I’m a GP, it isn’t really my area.”

“You’re supposed to help me,” Chanyeol mutters, flinching a little at the sting of a fresh alcohol swab. “What kind of doctor are you..?”

“A very busy one,” Dr. Zhang replies, applying one last adhesive strip over Chanyeol’s wound to keep it closed. “A very busy one indeed. There - all done,” he says cheerily, and he all but shoves Chanyeol out the door before he has a chance to say anything more on the matter.

Baekhyun appears beside Chanyeol as soon as he steps outside the clinic, walking faster in an attempt to catch up with him. Chanyeol hurries into the nearest deserted alleyway with Baekhyun in tow and spins around to face him, catching the other man by surprise.

“Do you mind not doing whatever it is that you’re doing..?” he says angrily, trying to keep his voice down.

Baekhyun clasps his hands together desperately. “Look - you’re not crazy, I promise you that. And neither am I..”

“Crazy people never think they’re crazy - that’s what makes them crazy. Now if you don’t mind, some of us are still alive and have important things to do..”
Chanyeol rolls his eyes at the sound of Baekhyun’s footsteps hurrying after him and begins to walk faster.

“I won’t leave you alone until you at least hear me out..”

“Alright. Fine…” Chanyeol mutters under his breath. He turns around to face Baekhyun again, albeit reluctantly. “I have exactly ten minutes left of my break, so that’s all you’ve got to tell me your whole sorry life-and-death story.”

“Well - okay,” Baekhyun replies, and he grabs Chanyeol’s arm, dragging him deeper into the bowels of the alley. His touch is gentle, but he’s somehow strong - too strong for Chanyeol to resist.

“So it’s like this,” he says, “I’m stuck here. I have been for some time now, and I don’t know why. But for some reason, you can see me. And by some strange coincidence, we’re both comedians... or at least I was one, when I was still alive. Surely that must mean something… maybe I’m supposed to help you in some way. Maybe that’s my ticket out of here..”

Chanyeol sighs impatiently. “Look, I feel for you and all, but I’ve got enough of my own problems, and I don’t need your help. Can’t you find someone else to annoy..?”

Baekhyun shakes his head. “Since I died, you’re the only person I’ve encountered who’s been able to see me. I walk around freely everyday, and no one else has even acknowledged my presence. We must have been matched somehow… like, destined to meet.”

“Matched by whom..?” Chanyeol asks, narrowing his eyes suspiciously, and Baekhyun points a finger to the sky.

Chanyeol looks up, frowning. “Oh.”

“I was a very good comedian, you know,” Baekhyun informs him proudly. “I could probably teach you a thing or two.”

Chanyeol rolls his eyes and laughs at the thought. “You’re a modest one, aren’t you… how come I’ve never heard of you, then?”

“Well, I kind of died before my career really got a chance to take off,” Baekhyun replies with a helpless shrug of his shoulders. “But I got around, back in the day. I played a lot of the clubs around here.”

“What makes you think I even need your help?”

“Honestly..?” Baekhyun frowns a little, tapping his chin thoughtfully. Chanyeol can’t help noticing that the very tips of his fingers are slightly transparent. “From what I’ve seen, your material is quite good… but your delivery needs work. You let your nerves get the best of you too easily.”

Chanyeol sighs, anxiously eyeing the entrance to the alleyway. “Look… can we talk about this later? This isn’t really a good time or place.”

“Alright,” Baekhyun relents, but he points a finger right in Chanyeol’s face. “But I’ll be back.” Having said this, he slowly fades away until only his eyes and smile are left, hanging in mid air until they disappear as well.

Chanyeol utters a loud sigh of relief. Then his phone rings, making him jump, and he nearly drops it while trying to retrieve it from his pocket.

“Hey, Yeol - it’s Jongdae. Are you coming tomorrow night?”

Chanyeol’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Coming where..?”

“Didn’t you see the Facebook event I made?” Jongdae drawls. He always sounds either irritated or bored, or a combination of the two.

“I don’t check Facebook much these days,” Chanyeol replies. Scrolling through a bunch of people bragging about their fabulous lives isn’t very high on his list of priorities.

“Well, we’re catching up for dinner. Just me, Luhan and Kyungsoo. You’re coming, right? It’d be good to see you..”

Chanyeol scratches his head, trying to think of an on-the-spot reason to be unavailable on a Tuesday night. Nope - nothing.

“Uh, yeah. Sure. Where at..?”

“Brinkley’s at 8. Be there or be square.”

Chanyeol sighs heavily. Like he can afford to eat out anywhere, let alone Brinkley’s. Admittedly, he’d much rather be square.

“Alright. I’ll be there,” he says, and hangs up.

“Mmm, get a whiff of that bouquet,” Jongdae says, inhaling deeply. He swirls the wine around in his glass, giving it several rotations before finally taking the tiniest sip. “Isn’t it divine? It’s quite oaky..”

“Just lovely,” Kyungsoo replies.

Luhan nods in polite agreement. “A very nice drop.”

Chanyeol pokes his nose into his own glass, nostrils flaring as he sniffs intently, but he can’t detect any distinctly pleasant aromas. To him the wine smells like someone ran a marathon before wringing their sweaty socks out into a wine glass, but he decides to keep this little observation to himself - as well as the fact that he’d much rather have a beer.

“Alright, guys - shall we go around the table and update everyone on how we’ve been? I’ve got some really exciting news, so I’ll go first,” Jongdae announces, setting his wine glass down on the table and excitedly rubbing his manicured hands together.

Chanyeol rolls his eyes. Easily the worst part about these ‘civilised’ catch-up dinners with his high-school friends (apart from the need to wear a collared shirt) is being forced to sit there and listen to each person telling everyone else about how great they’re doing - and then having to concoct a story of his own that doesn’t sound completely sad by comparison. He’s half-heartedly listening to Jongdae prattling on about the recent promotion that bumped his salary up another figure when his ears start to ring, and he turns his head just in time to see Baekhyun appear next to him, perched upon the vacant seat at the head of the table.

Chanyeol tries his hardest to shoot Baekhyun a look that says what are you doing here?! but then it occurs to him that he probably only looks constipated.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Baekhyun says, “you’re wondering what I’m doing here. But if you thought I was going to just give up on you that easily, well… you’ve got another thing coming.”

“Yeol, what are you staring at..?” Luhan asks, frowning.

“I'm just trying to, uh... read the specials board…” Chanyeol replies with a nervous chuckle. He cranes his neck a little, pretending to squint at the chalkboard hanging up on the wall behind Baekhyun’s head. “Oh look, sweetbreads - my favourite. Yum yum..”

Baekhyun smirks. “Nice improvisation there.”

Chanyeol shoots him a murderous glare but remains tight-lipped.

“Do you even know what sweetbreads are..?” Jongdae enquires, raising an eyebrow at Chanyeol.

“Uh… isn’t it just bread that’s sweet..?”

When the others laugh at his response, Chanyeol makes a mental note to Google what sweetbreads really are when he gets home.

“Oh dear… you really are a riot,” Jongdae chuckles, shaking his head. He continues his interrupted spiel, clearly reveling in the sound of his own voice. After a minute or two, Chanyeol can feel his eyes beginning to glaze over, and he can tell from Luhan’s faraway expression and Kyungsoo’s incessant fiddling with his cutlery that they’re probably just as bored.

Baekhyun narrows his eyes at Jongdae’s over-enthusiastic hand-rubbing. “What’s this twit trying to do? Create fire?”

Chanyeol snorts at the comment, attempting in vain to cover it up with a cough. Trying his best to ignore Baekhyun’s presence, he returns to anxiously awaiting his turn to speak, and planning what he’ll say. He hasn’t got much to work with; he can’t exactly tell his friends the truth - that he’s working several odd jobs, and mooching off his older sister. Or that he keeps tripping up in his relentless pursuit of that slippery, elusive thing otherwise known as a career in comedy.

No. He can’t say that.

Baekhyun chuckles to himself over Jongdae’s insufferable bragging. “This is the biggest load of wank I have ever had the dubious pleasure to witness. Someone pass the fucking popcorn. I hope it comes in a bucket, because I think I’ll need it afterwards.”

“Please,” Chanyeol mutters under his breath, holding his napkin over his mouth for camouflage. “Go away. You’re not helping.”

“So what about you, Yeol?” Jongdae drawls, toying with his Tiffany cufflinks. “What’s the goss with you lately? What’s with the Harry Potter scar on your forehead? By all means, fill us all in.”

Chanyeol’s eyes widen when he belatedly realises he’s being addressed, and he sits up straighter in his seat, his heart deflating like a balloon inside his ribcage. Three pairs of eyes all blink at him expectantly.

“Oh, the scar. Right. Well… a light fixture fell on my head while I was performing. I wish it was a more interesting story, but… there you go.”

Jongdae flashes a smug grin at Chanyeol. “Still making great strides in the world of comedy, are we..?”

“Oh, leave him alone, Jongdae..” Kyungsoo says, giving Jongdae a good-natured whack on the back.

“Um. Yeah,” Chanyeol replies, nodding slowly, but then he shakes his head. “Well, I mean… no, not really. I just travel around doing whatever shows my agent can dig up for me, hoping I’ll eventually be noticed by the right people.”

“Oh, you have an agent?” Kyungsoo enquires politely, “well, that’s something..”

Chanyeol takes a sip of his wine and tries his hardest not to make a sour face. “I suppose. When you’re starting out, you tend to think that securing an agent means you’ve got it made. In reality, it’s only the first of many hurdles.”

“Getting to travel around must be exciting,” Luhan observes, and Chanyeol nods slowly, reluctant to elaborate on the subject. The word ‘travel’ is laden with negative associations these days… long drives to places that were previously nothing but tiny pinheads on his navigator; dodgy hotels with uncomfortable beds and leaky taps that keep him awake; room service and solitude and semen stains on the blankets (not his, of course). The last time he’d stayed in a hotel after a show, he’d stirred sugar into a cup of instant coffee, only to discover that there were burn marks on the underside of the spoon. And then there’s the sad fact that most of what he’ll get paid for an out-of-town performance will end up being frittered away on petrol so he can get back home again. Whenever possible, Chanyeol will refuse an offer if it’s too far away, but sometimes you have to take what you can get.

“Travelling’s alright, I suppose,” he says eventually, “but I’m a regular at a few different comedy clubs now, so it’s nice to have some guaranteed local gigs. It doesn’t pay all of my bills, but it’s a start.”

“Well, we’ll have to come along to one of your shows sometime, won’t we?” Jongdae says, looking around at the others for approval.

Luhan shrugs. “I’m up for it. I’d love to see you perform, Chanyeol.”

Kyungsoo nods his agreement. “Me too.”

“Greaaaaaaat,” Chanyeol replies, trying to sound enthusiastic about the idea, and failing miserably.

“If you’d like to dig yourself a little deeper, here’s a spoon,” Baekhyun whispers aside to him. He’s clearly enjoying himself.

“Why is this chair here, anyway..?” Chanyeol wonders aloud, ignoring Baekhyun’s comment. He flags down a passing waiter, who politely nods at his request and picks up the empty seat, looking surprised at its unexpected weight. He carries it away with a disgruntled-looking Baekhyun still sitting on it, muttering angry things in Chanyeol’s direction.

Chanyeol smiles to himself and breathes a sigh of relief. Then his chair is pulled right out from beneath his backside, and he tumbles backwards, crashing into the table behind him, much to the horror of the middle-aged couple seated there. For a while he remains where he is on the floor, too dazed to either speak or get back on his feet. He can feel all those pairs of eyes burning into him, but all he can think about is that wicked chuckle ringing in his ears. Baekhyun is nowhere to be seen.

Within seconds, the head waiter of the restaurant suddenly materialises before him, holding out a hand to help him up, and Chanyeol accepts it gratefully.

“I’m afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave, sir,” the head waiter says gravely, beginning to steer Chanyeol in the direction of the exit. “Your drunken, disorderly behaviour is disturbing the other diners..”

“But I’ve only had a mouthful of sock-flavoured wine..!” Chanyeol protests, turning his head to look helplessly at his friends, but they seem unwilling to meet his eye.

The head waiter escorts Chanyeol out of the building, pushing him roughly through the sliding glass doors; he stands in front of the restaurant for a moment, waiting for one of the others to come out and see if he’s okay, but no one shows up. Wandering over to the front window, he studies his friends from afar with the eyes of a passive observer. He watches the three of them as they put on their widest smiles for their camera phones, and he sees how quickly those smiles dissolve as soon as the devices are put away.

Chanyeol shakes his head and shuffles off to his car with his hands buried deep in his pockets. He sinks into the driver’s seat with a heavy sigh and rests his head on the steering wheel.

A little later, he hears a knock on the front passenger window, followed by the sound of the door opening.

“I knew I’d find you in here.”

“Probably because you keep following me,” Chanyeol mutters. He accidentally sounds the horn with his forehead and bangs it against the wheel in surprise, swearing loudly.

“Are you alright there…?” Baekhyun asks worriedly.

Chanyeol clenches his jaw so tightly it begins to tremble. “I’m fine,” he replies through gritted teeth.

“Are you going to stay like this all night?”

“No, not all night. Maybe just until my soul stops hurting.”

“Yikes. I’d better get comfy, then..” Baekhyun replies, and he makes himself comfortable in the front passenger seat, his feet resting up on the dashboard. Chanyeol lifts his head for a moment, ready to tell Baekhyun to get his dirty dead-person shoes the hell away from his car - as well as the rest of him, for that matter - but thinking about it is as far as he gets before giving up and returning his forehead to the steering wheel.

“You really need to stop randomly showing up like this,” he says after a lengthy silence. “It’s doing my head in.”

Baekhyun sighs loudly. “Alright, alright… I'm really sorry. You didn’t seem overly enthused about being there, so I figured I was doing you a favour, in a way. I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble.”

“I understand that you're trying to help me. It’s just that your methods are very…” Chanyeol pauses for a moment and lifts his head from the steering wheel to look at Baekhyun. “What's the word I'm looking for..?”

“Groundbreaking?” Baekhyun offers. “Effective..?”

“Intrusive,” Chanyeol says flatly.

Baekhyun’s jaw drops in mock outrage. “Well, I never..”

“I can't have you just popping up in my personal life and wreaking havoc, especially if no one else can see you,” Chanyeol says. “You're going to get me locked up. As for what happened in the restaurant… well… let’s not even go there.”

Baekhyun shoots Chanyeol a sympathetic glance. “Do you want to talk about it..?”

“No,” Chanyeol sighs, rubbing his forehead. “Not particularly..”

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it..?” Baekhyun coaxes him, and Chanyeol shakes his head at first, but he eventually gives in.

“I don't know why they invite me out with them, to be honest. I'm almost certain they don't actually like me; that they just like having me around because it makes them feel superior. Maybe that's just me being paranoid… I don't know.”

“You can’t compare yourself to them, Chanyeol.”

Chanyeol laughs bitterly. “Why not? I'm a poster boy for mediocrity, whereas they’re all successful in their own right. Comparing myself to them is inevitable… and it’s okay, I get it. I’m slowly coming to terms with my own small existence, but I don’t need them rubbing my nose in it too.”

“Chanyeol, you don’t belong in there. With those people.”

“Do you think I don’t know that..?” Chanyeol mutters, but Baekhyun only shakes his head.

“No… I don’t mean you’re not good enough to be there… quite the opposite, actually.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Let them be rich and shallow, if that’s important to them,” Baekhyun says, leaning back against the seat with his hands behind his head. “To me, though, success isn’t measured by how much you have. It’s how much you’re able to give back. Do you see what I’m saying..?”

Chanyeol sighs. “I suppose so.”

“Then again, maybe I’m just saying that because I’m dead,” Baekhyun adds thoughtfully. “You don’t care about success or money when you’re dead; just the people you’ve left behind, and all the things you never got to do or say. And you might worry about being remembered, at first… but then I’ve seen how it hurts my family to remember me. I visit them occasionally, and I know they can't see me, but the urge to put my arms around them is unbearable. If it would spare them the pain, I would rather they didn’t remember me at all.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you die..?” Chanyeol asks, turning to face him, but Baekhyun only shakes his head.

“I’d rather not talk about it. I know I’ve been dead a while now, but I’ve lost all concept of time, and the wound is still just as fresh as it was back then. Sometimes I wonder if it will ever heal.”

“It’s okay,” Chanyeol says quietly. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“Why would you even want to waste time on people that make you feel worthless?” Baekhyun asks, and Chanyeol shrugs.

“I don't know. I often wonder the same thing myself, but they’re some of the few friends I have. I can’t really afford to be choosy.”

“If you like, I’ll be your friend. Then you won’t need them.”

Chanyeol raises an eyebrow, amused by the suggestion. “Oh really..? What good is a friend if no one else can see him?”

Baekhyun looks him in the eye and smiles. “He can help you out in ways no one else can.”

Chanyeol considers this for a moment, nodding slowly. “I guess. I never really thought of it that way..”

They sit in shared silence for a while; a gentle rain begins to fall outside the car, and Chanyeol follows the droplets with his eyes as they chase each other along the surface of the windshield. Baekhyun stares out the window, his face pressed up against the glass. Chanyeol watches him for a moment, puzzled by the absence of condensation from his breath, and then he remembers that Baekhyun would have stopped breathing a long time ago.

“Chanyeol… why did you decide you wanted to be a comedian?” Baekhyun asks, breaking the silence at last, but he keeps his gaze firmly fixed to whatever’s out the window. “What made you love comedy as much as you do?”

“I don’t know…” Chanyeol replies, pondering the question. “I suppose I do it because I love making people laugh. And I’m not terribly good at anything else, either.”

“No, really,” Baekhyun says, turning in his seat to face Chanyeol. “Tell me. What do you get out of it? And don’t tell me it’s for self-validation, or because you want to be famous - I’m pretty sure there’s more to it than that.”

Chanyeol sighs and thinks about his response for a moment.

“I didn’t really have a lot of friends growing up,” he says eventually. “Instead of going to people’s houses to play after school, I’d come home, make myself a snack, and watch videos of my favourite stand-ups for hours until my mother chased me off the couch with a rolling pin so she could watch Days Of Our Lives. And it always made me feel better, because I felt like they were talking to me… like I wasn’t all alone down there in my personal hell, being ripped to bloody shreds by my own demons. I thought to myself, I could be like that. If people were going to laugh at me anyway, I could learn to laugh along… to turn the tables on them, and help them learn to laugh at themselves instead. So that’s what I did. I learned to laugh along, and I stopped taking myself so seriously. And then it seemed as though all the things that used to hurt me didn’t really hurt so much anymore.”

Baekhyun studies Chanyeol carefully for a moment and nods. “Good. Good answer..”

“But somewhere along the way, I’ve forgotten how to laugh at myself again,” Chanyeol continues quietly. “And as much as I love making people laugh, getting up on stage still scares the shit out of me. That fear is the main thing that holds me back… I’m still not really sure how to overcome it.”

Baekhyun nods. “Stage fright is natural, and common. I used to get it too, back when I was starting out. But you get over it eventually.”

“How?” Chanyeol asks. “How did you get over it..?”

Baekhyun chews his lip in silence, seemingly lost in thought.

“Well, I suppose you have to keep reminding yourself that stand-up is essentially storytelling,” he says eventually. “You're just telling a few funny anecdotes to a bunch of your friends at a party. The only difference is, they aren’t your friends, and it’s not a party. Also, they won't be all tooty on champagne, so they'll all be judging you mercilessly.”

Chanyeol rolls his eyes. “Wonderful. Anything else..?”

“Yes. I want to know - who are your favourite comedians?”

“That's easy,” Chanyeol shrugs. “Dylan Moran. Demetri Martin. David O'Doherty..”

“I see you like the D's,” Baekhyun says, chuckling. “Why do you like them?”

Chanyeol is momentarily stumped by the question. “Well… because they’re funny-”

“Wrong!” Baekhyun exclaims, and he prods Chanyeol right in the sternum, making him flinch. “That is not why you like them. Well, it is, but… why are they funny? Why do they make you laugh? Out of all the funny people in the world, why do they come to mind first..?”

Chanyeol shrugs, forced to admit defeat. “I… I don't know.”

“Well, allow me to enlighten you, Chanyeol - you like them because you can relate,” Baekhyun replies. “They share your experiences and opinions of things both trivial and vital. They have something to say, and they believe in what they’re saying - all they’re doing is delivering it in a surprising and humorous manner. Do you see what I mean?”

Chanyeol sighs and rubs his forehead. “I guess so..”

“Good,” Baekhyun replies. “And you have to stop worrying about the audience judging you. It’s only human nature, so why dwell on it? Instead, whenever you’re up on that stage, I want you to picture every single one of them as you when you were a kid. At the heart of each person in the audience is a young, vulnerable Chanyeol with his own foibles and insecurities, craving understanding and acceptance - an opportunity to relate to his fellow human. So talk to him. Tell him that he’s not alone.”

Chanyeol nods slowly, unsure of what to say. “Okay. This is a lot to take in..”

Baekhyun reaches over to pat him on the shoulder.

“You have a natural talent, Chanyeol. You just need a confidence boost; a bit of refining. And I can see how badly you want this. With my help, you could really be great, but I need your help too. So… will you let me help you?”

Baekhyun holds out his hand, and Chanyeol looks at it for a long time. Eventually he sighs and reaches out to shake it, and it surprises him how warm and solid it is.

“Okay, fine. I suppose I don’t have much of a choice. Just don’t make me regret agreeing to this, okay..?”

“You won’t regret it,” Baekhyun assures him. “I promise.”

“And I think before we get started on anything, we should probably establish a couple of ground rules..”

Baekhyun nods and pulls a notepad and pen from his pocket. He begins scribbling into it furiously. “Right. Ground rules. Got it.”

“Okay, firstly, you are only to communicate with me when I am alone - otherwise I will pretend you don’t exist. And can you at least give me some sort of warning before you randomly show up..?”

“Okay…” Baekhyun says, tapping his chin with the pen. “When I'm about to appear, I'll make your ears ring, or the lights flicker, or something along those lines. How’s that..?”

Chanyeol shrugs. “Fine. Whatever.”

“I can even do some fun transition effects if you like. Fade in, fade out… that sort of thing.”

“I don't care what you do. A little heads-up would be nice, that’s all,” Chanyeol says wearily. “Now, I hate to be rude, but I’d like to be by myself now, if that’s okay.”

Baekhyun lets out a nervous chuckle. “Oh right… of course.” He gets up from the passenger seat and gives Chanyeol a friendly wave before quietly shutting the door.

As soon as Baekhyun is gone, Chanyeol lowers his head onto the steering wheel again, trying to collect his scattered thoughts, but something in the back of his mind tells him that he’s still not really alone.

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