“Sir? Sir, we have arrived.” The chauffeur says, stopping the car in front of a huge, regal mansion.

Chanyeol nods, snapping out of his reverie. “Thank you,” he murmurs. The driver opens his car door and Chanyeol gets out, smoothing his black shirt down. He walks across the meticulously maintained lawns and into the front doors.

As usual, his house is engulfed in pin-drop silence.

He walks past the flowers of condolence stacked in his living room, past the million-dollar art pieces and the dozen rooms that make up the ground floor of his mansion.

Chanyeol can hear his own heartbeat as he walks up the stairs to his room. His shoes clack on the marble flooring. His room is one of twenty in the enormous mansion. He closes the door behind him and sinks to the floor, head cradled in his hands.

I’m getting married, Chanyeol-ah.

He groans into his palms, a migraine pounding in his temples.

Please do come.

He loosens his tie, and kicks his shoes off, wishing that he could rip his memories off just as easily.

A soft knock sounds on the door. “Yes?” he says.

“Sir, would you like your dinner?” the maid asks him in the softest whisper possible.

“No.” he says. “Not now.”

“Yes, sir.” He can hear her footsteps recede.

His skin is too small for him; his thoughts too large. He wants to rip his soul out and crush it under his feet. He stands up, settling for a warm shower, but his cell-phone buzzes in his pocket.

“Hello?”

“Sir, this is Minseok.”

“Yes, Minseok, what is it?”

“The Balance Sheet is ready, sir. Should I e-mail it to you?”

Chanyeol’s heart sinks to the floor. “Sure, Minseok. Thank you.” He chokes out.

“Thank you, sir.” His PA hangs up. Chanyeol bangs his head against the wall, giving up on that shower.

His phone beeps with the arrival of an e-mail. Sighing, he forces himself to his home-office, resigning himself to another sleepless night.

“Baekhyun-ah, don’t talk to strangers, okay? Keep your phone with you at all times, and don’t forget to call me once you reach. Don’t take food from the vendors; God knows what kind of chemicals and dirty water they put in. Oh, and-”

“Umma!” Baekhyun whines into the phone. “I’ll be okay!”

“Okay, my baby.” His mother croons, patting her son’s cheek. “I can’t wait to see you!”

“I’ll be there soon, umma,” he says, smiling fondly. “Bye, I love you.”

“I love you too, darling. Did you pack all your clothes? Check thrice to see if you’ve forgotten anything, okay? Make sure your phone is a 100 percent charge! Don’t forget to-”

“Umma! I have to leave now; I’ll miss my train otherwise! I’ll talk to you soon, okay? Bye!”

“Bye, Baekkie,” his mother sings. Baekhyun hangs up, smiling. He counts his luggage- one, two, three, four-

Five?

Eyes widening, Baekhyun rushes back into his apartment just as the taxi pulls up.

“Just one second!” he screams, fumbling with the keys. The door opens after five minutes of struggle, and he spots his last bag sitting innocently on the dining table. Baekhyun grabs it and runs as fast as he can for the taxi.

The taxi starts, and he glances at his watch – the train will leave in five minutes!

“Hurry up, ahjussi!” Baekhyun urges, sending up a desperate prayer.

It is eleven-thirty when Chanyeol’s phone buzzes for the twenty-seventh time that night. He struggles against the urge to fling it against the wall and picks it up.

“Hello?” he says. Even to his own ears, he sounds exhausted.

“Sir, this is Minseok again.”

“Yes?”

“Sir, I- I have some bad news…”

Chanyeol’s heart stops in his chest.

“We have just been served with papers. A consumer wants to sue us for a defective product that apparently endangered her life. She’s taking us to court, sir.”

Chanyeol’s mind goes blank. “I- I-” he stutters. “I have to go, Minseok.”

“Sir? Sir, I think you should-” but Chanyeol has dropped his phone. It clatters to the floor and breaks into pieces instantly. Numb, he walks out of his suffocatingly luxurious office and down the stairs. He walks out the doors. The night air is cool on his hot face, and the distant sounds of the city calm him down. His driver jumps up as he walks across the lawn.

“Where to, sir?” the driver asks, pulling the car door open.

Chanyeol ignores him and walks out his mansion gates.

Baekhyun’s mind soars into panic mode when he sees the train on the station as the taxi pulls up. He pushes money into the driver’s hands, too hurried to count and runs out to the platform with his five bags.

He struggles with holding them all; two years’ worth of clothes. He runs as fast as he can with all those bags, desperate to reach the train in time. Just as he reaches the door, the train choo-choos and slowly picks up speed.

Panicking, he flings his luggage through the small door. Finally, the last bag goes in and his legs burn as he rushes to jump in. But he succeeds, and he is in just as the train leaves the platform.

He catches his breath, hands on his knees, thanking every God above.

He glances at his ticket for his seat number and stumbles and pushes and apologizes his way to his seat.

Chanyeol only realizes that he is standing in the train station when he hears the ear-piercing honk of a train. He looks around, his mind slowly sharpening into focus. People mill around him, some rushing to get onto the train, some waving goodbye, others waiting for the next one.

There is a train right in front of him; just about to leave.

He doesn’t think twice. He steps in through the doors, and walks numbly through the coaches before sitting down at the first empty seat he finds. He leans his head on the cool window, trying to think through his pounding headache.

 Chanyeol, you must take care of my baby, his father had rasped out just minutes before breathing his last. Take care of it like it is your own daughter, understand?

Chanyeol had nodded, murmuring something vague. He didn’t understood what his father had said, then.

He does now.

The pressures of having tens of thousands of jobs depend on you. The pains of watching everyone you love grow distant and disappear. The weight of