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There’s a dull thud; a numb pounding in his head. The casino’s colours are distorted, lights blurred this way and that as if Baekhyun was on psychedelics, buzzing through his head. He could feel himself seated in front of a red-velvet table, and his eyes focus for a second to make out the red-haired man across his vision, at the other side.

Chanyeol looks unlike anything he was before. He was pale, his pupils small and dim, with his hair plastered to his forehead with dampness. A game—he proposed. A deal—he proposed. But there is no one person who has ever won over Baekhyun so far.

Baekhyun will always be three steps ahead of him.

A pitiful game of chess, as Chanyeol had, a few hours ago, challenged him to. With a very severe deal in hand.

“Now, as you promised,” Baekhyun mutters softly—but he doesn’t feel victorious at all, “You’ll sign the papers. I get custody of our son. We part our ways. We’ll never see each other again. You take that ring off your finger and nullify our marriage.”

But Chanyeol stays unmoved, completely stunned. He’d won so many games in his past that he was never able to cope with a loss. He looks at the chess board, all his figures knocked and his King surrounded by Baekhyun’s pieces. Chanyeol slowly trembles, on the edge of his wits—he may be emotionless, but he had never learned how to deal with them once they surface.

“Y—B—Baekhyun—“ Chanyeol choked out, gripping the sides of the table, “… I—the deal—it was a mistake. I… two hours ago… I just realised——I made a mistake. I’m sorry. I’m—I’m so—“

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Baekhyun smiles sadly, “I know you’ve got a taxing career after your father fell ill. You had to run the company. I understand you’re busy—but did you have to abandon me? You’ve forsaken me. You suddenly realised your mistake of marrying a commoner and that doesn’t look good in the media. So in that potty little head of yours, you think it’s a good idea to kick me out of the house and leave me to raise a child alone and act like our vows to each other mean absolutely nothing.”

Baekhyun pressed his lips together.

“But I’ve moved on. During those times you choose to act like I didn’t exist, I’ve moved on. For ’s sake, Chanyeol—even if you were busy, I’d still love you dearly. Even if you only visited me once in a year, I wouldn’t give a damn, because I’d still wait for you. You’ve been gone for so long that I—“
He closed his eyes.

“—You’ve made the deal, thinking that you’ll win. If you’ve won, I would’ve stayed in this silly crumbling marriage for the rest of my life. You made all the conditions, Chanyeol—it wasn’t me.”

Baekhyun slowly slithered his hand for the knife at the side of the table. The blade glints under the pretty lights, and Baekhyun rotates the weapon in his hands.

“We’ll cut off your fourth finger. To serve you as a reminder of what you’ve had. To remind you of what you could’ve had.”

Baekhyun smiles tearfully.

“And I didn’t say that—you’ve said it yourself. It was your deal, Chanyeol, every single word—yours—” he laughs, and his husband looks mortified as he looks at his lap, twitching in his seat.

“No matter how much you play me, Chanyeol, no matter how much I’ll suffer for it—I’ll win. I’ll always, always win.”

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Chanyeol, behind his prim suit and gelled hair, still bore his twenty-something college look—somewhat disgruntled, disturbed, emotional, and unsure of how to react to everything. That’s why he liked windows and mirrors. Around his office, his house—every single building housed under Parks Corporations.

That meant he could catch a reflection of himself every time he casts and eye away, and he could rearrange himself and make this image disappear. This tired, exhausted Park Chanyeol would always be hidden under this plastic façade of a brilliant red-maned CEO, terribly flirty and with that undoubting smirk across his face—and perhaps a hint or two of that act—but behind the great company he never worked hard for and only inherited, he was… surprisingly… human.

After the whole ordeal with his son in the office, he clumsily shuffles back to his room, his step missing that confident, overflowing-with-self-esteem. He doesn’t look in the mirror when he changes out of his sleeping clothes—he doesn’t want to see Chanyeol. The only person he wants to see staring back at him in the glass is Park Chanyeol the Seventh, CEO of Parks Corporations, scion of the country and a man of superpower.

It’s the image he has been obsessed with since his father fell ill. Since he had to take care a lot more of the company.

But the image takes a toll on him. And it’s getting more and more difficult to cope with every single day.

What was a face in the mirror if he doesn’t recognize himself?

A shower—a good scrub on his body, shampoo his hair until it goes limp and tame, and shave whatever hair that managed to grow on his face overnight. Then a pressed, crisp shirt, a black suit free of any foreign particle upon its surface, fresh slacks, tie and dress shoes. A gentle comb on his hair—slight slide parting and purposefully make a few strands out of place so he doesn’t look too tight and suffocating—keep it on with hairspray, and finish it off with two spritzes of cologne on his neck.

It’s Baekhyun’s favorite cologne, as he always notes every morning for ten years, now. After his shower, Baekhyun would always nuzzle into his neck lazily, having woken up just a few minutes ago, and sleepily mutter how he loved Chanyeol’s scent—musky, intoxicatingly sweet, with a hint of lemon from his aftershave.

Chanyeol longs for it to happen again. But his ex-husband sleeps in another bedroom and loathes him to his sleep.

He knows he’s being unreasonably cruel. Unnecessarily evil. But it was the only way to worm back to the only life he had liked living. So, staring at the mirror, he pulls his lips into a curve; a superficial smile. Then, pivoting on his foot, he walks out of his bedroom, fetching his mask from his office before he places it on his face, the plastic snapping onto the back of his head.

God, who is that? That’s not Chanyeol.

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Baekhyun is awoken by Minhyun sliding a toy truck down his leg, making soft noises of various vehicles. Half of the plastic bricks seem to have ended up on Chanyeol’s guest room’s four-poster bed and the pillows have been ravaged by miniature dinosaurs. Baekhyun untangles a figurine from his hair and he groans, trying to stretch without disturbing any of Minhyun’s towers near his legs.

“Hello, baby,” Baekhyun murmurs, draping a tired arm onto the boy, eyes still half-closed. Minhyun honks his father’s nose in reply, pressing the truck’s wheel onto his face gently before he resumes to play, the truck now trekking up Baekhyun’s hand. The latter chuckles and ruffles Minhyun’s hair.

“Up early, poppet?”

“Mhmm,” Minhyun nodded, still deep in his own game, the truck now travelling onto his father’s thigh.

“Come on, let’s go get changed. We don’t want to be late for school, hm?” Baekhyun got up, picking his son up under his arms and getting off from the bed. Baekhyun undresses the boy, automatically folding his pyjamas neatly before fetching Minhyun’s oversized uniform hanging by the rest of their unpacked things (Baekhyun didn’t see a reason to unpack—this stay was only for a month). Though his son doesn’t seem chirrupy this morning and Baekhyun frowns with concern, sitting on his knees to level himself with Minhyun.

“Poppet, what’s wrong? You seem a little glum today,” Baekhyun tilts his head, the boy’s hair. Minhyun stays nothing, staring at the floor, wringing his hands behind him.

“Are you—are you hurting? Does it hurt anywhere?” Baekhyun’s frown gets deeper, suddenly clutching his son, and Minhyun shakes his head again. Baekhyun sighs with relief, but the confusion remains etched onto his features, and he holds his son’s small hand between his own.

“Come on, Minnie. Tell Daddy. What’s up?”

Minhyun is still silent, eyes fixated to the carpeted floor. He looks at his father with his big doe eyes, shifting on his feet, and Baekhyun could see the train of thought in his eyes—but could not decipher what his son was thinking about.

“I love you, Daddy,” Minhyun mumbled, before he stumbles closer to his father and hugs him. Baekhyun’s unsure what’s going on, but he embraces his son anyways, gently rubbing his back, pressing a kiss onto his chubby cheek.

“Love you too, gems. Now come on, cheer up, hm?”

Baekhyun blows a raspberry onto his son’s stomach and Minhyun immediately giggles, falling into laughter, and his father sighs in relief as a smile returns on his son’s face. Minhyun returns to his usual bubbly self shortly after, impatiently tugging his jumper over his head and struggling with the buttons on his pants, asking his father for assistance to zip it up.

“What a big boy—look at my handsome man,” Baekhyun grins, pointing at their reflection in the mirror. Minhyun jumps on his feet and pulls a toothy smile, a gap still evident between his incisors.

There’s a knock on the door and Baekhyun’s grin disappears, replaced by a passive expression. A masked Chanyeol strides in, his uniform fresh as ever, and he straightens his lapels before putting his hands behind his back.

Minhyun wants to hug him, a smile already pasted on his face, but upon remembering his promise, he droops a little and seems to sadden again.

Chanyeol approaches him and Baekhyun pulls his son in protectively by instinct, but Chanyeol leaves them untouched and simply crouched down to one knee instead, nudging Minhyun lightly, noticing that Baekhyun has fixed a glare on him.

“Hello, Minhyun. Going to school?”

“Yes,” Minhyun nods his head promptly, his hair falling all over the place. Chanyeol smiles behind his mask—seeing his son felt like breathing.

“What car would you like to go to school with?” Chanyeol asks. Minhyun stares at him, confused.

“Umm—Daddy and I usually walk to school—or Dae-dae picks me up in his grey car…” Minhyun mumbles, looking at his hands. He thought very hard, his face scrunched up with decisions, before he lit up and looks at Chanyeol.

“Could I have a yellow digger?” he asks innocently, and both Chanyeol and Baekhyun erupts in laughter. Minhyun pouts disappointedly when Chanyeol shook his head, but the red-headed masked man motions for them both to follow him outside the house, where the porch spans into a vast prairie of trimmed grass. However, the fields were nowhere close to empty as Chanyeol opens the door and lets Minhyun see his transportation choices.

It’s a field day for Minhyun—every single vehicle imaginable stands in front of the mansion, their engines whirring noisily (typical Chanyeol, Baekhyun thought). Minhyun had his teaspoon-sized mouth open in shock and admiration, his hands grasping the sides of his face, before he screams a squeal he’s been holding down and breaks into a run, stopping at every car, examining every vehicle.

“Even a taxi will do. You don’t have to be so over-the-top,” Baekhyun mumbles, glad that Minhyun was out of earshot so he could insult his ex-husband as much as he liked. Baekhyun could see Chanyeol’s smirk behind the mask.

“Why not? He loves it. Let the kid live—he’s my son, too.”

“He’s really not,” Baekhyun shook his head disdainfully, and Chanyeol just his head to the side and sighs, putting his hands on his hips. Both of them watched Minhyun poke and peer at every car, unaware that the adoration in their eyes for the small boy were synchronized and the same. Minhyun had stopped at a red Ferrari—an eyesore and outshined them all by far—and was jumping up and down in the distance, pointing at the vehicle.

“Can we go on this one? Can we go on this one?” Minhyun skittered round and round the car, the chauffeur inside it sighing as he warily watches the child loop around the vehicle. Baekhyun exclaims a little when Chanyeol gave a gentle pat on his and walks towards the car, grinning, his ex-husband cursing his name to the Universe before following.

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Minhyun could not stop squealing throughout the whole ride—it was like dream come true. They had the hood retracted and Minhyun enjoyed the winds ruffling his hair, speeding along the motorway, cackling in delight as he tells the chauffeur to go faster (Baekhyun was beginning to get very wary—they were edging on the speed limit). He sat in the front, bouncing in his seat and reaching to the driver’s side to honk the horn multiple times, a grin stretched onto his face despite the numerous shouting he received from neighboring cars.

Baekhyun smiles as he watches his son, but keeps a clear distance away from Chanyeol in the back seat.

No surprise, obviously, when there’s gaping mouths at the school gates when the sleek, streamline sports vehicle pulls up. Minhyun climbs out of the car, completely exhilarated and still giggly, his friends staring at him with open admiration—it wasn’t every day you see your low-economic class friend turn up in a Ferrari.

“That was fun!” Minhyun cackles, clapping his hands, bouncing towards his parents when they climbed out of the car. He tugged at Chanyeol’s slacks, grinning at the man’s masked face, putting his tiny feet on the CEO’s shoe.

“Can we go on the blue one when we go home? Can we? Can we? Pleeaaseee?” Minhyun pleaded, pulling a pouty face—but Chanyeol would’ve agreed nevertheless, with or without his irresistible puppy-like expression.

“Of course. But we’ll have to drive you down to Jongdae’s—we’ll pick you up again—“

Chanyeol senses Baekhyun’s sharp glare, and quickly adds, “—but tomorrow, you can spend your whole day with your Daddy, is that alright?”

“Yes,” Minhyun nods, giggling, and Chanyeol smiles. He looks to his side—his ex-husband looks a little deflated, obviously not agreeing to the prospect of sharing his son with a man he hasn’t seen for seven years. Something tugged at Chanyeol’s heartstrings and he nudges Minhyun.

“Go on. Say goodbye to your Daddy. He’ll see you again this evening,” Chanyeol says softly, and turns away to give them a little privacy. Though as Baekhyun crouches down to hug his son, Chanyeol hears his murmured voice within earshot.

“Minhyun, we can’t trust that man, do you understand?” Baekhyun whispers. Minhyun’s face scrunches into a frown.

“Why, Daddy?”

“He’s a very bad man. He has hurt lots of people,” Baekhyun elaborates. Minhyun looks at the pavement, trying to figure everything out in his head—but wanting to please his father, he simply smiles and nodded.

“Okie-dokie.”

“Good boy. Love you lots, poppet,” Baekhyun mushes his cheeks in and gives him a kiss, to which Minhyun returns it by biting his father’s nose lightly, chortling. Both of them laughed before Baekhyun lets his son go, the little boy skipping along his steps, joining his staring classmates at the school gate to the entrance of his classroom. Baekhyun stuns a little when his son stops in his tracks and coughed, but gave his father a thumbs-up before waddling into his class.

When Minhyun isn’t visible, Chanyeol takes off his mask and sighs, raking through his hair, tidying his image. Baekhyun had fixated his eyes onto the distance, his arms crossed and his bottom lip caught under his teeth, worry and concern stressed across his face—but soon contorts into disgust when Chanyeol lightly touches his elbow.

“Why so begrudging?” Chanyeol sighs, but when he touches his former lover again, Baekhyun doesn’t flinch.

“You’re trying to take him away from me,” Baekhyun said in a small voice, “Aren’t you?”

Chanyeol scowls, losing his lax façade, pointing an accusing finger.

“This is why we divorced. I’m his parent, too, and you always act like you’re always righteous and everything’s yours—“

“—No, you’re trying to describe yourself, and Minhyun is my son. The divorce is absolutely your fault, because you acted like a complete ing ,” Baekhyun interrupts him, teeth bared. Chanyeol was about to say something else, but remembering that he has to ease himself slowly into the relationship, he holds his mouth shut and composes himself.

“Look. I planned the day for us. I noticed that you’re not really comfortable around me. So I’ll act like less of a creep, you play along and I try to get what I want for the month, alright?” Chanyeol sighed. Baekhyun’s head perks up—but Chanyeol couldn’t see his expression because his hair was veiled in front of his face.

“Promise you won’t around,” Baekhyun mutters, sniffing. Chanyeol presses his lips together and he slides his hand onto Baekhyun’s, twining their fingers together, and Baekhyun feels a rush of nostalgia of their formerly happy marriage—but this only made him even sadder.

“Why would I?” Chanyeol says, surprisingly softly, “I’m just trying to recreate one year of our lives in one single month.”

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