Baekhyun's POV

She has dark brooding eyes. And every single time I close my eyes, I can feel see her in the darkness, behind my closed lids. I try to stay like that a lot because whenever I open my eyes, she won't be there anymore. Her face glows in my mind, her entire body made of diamonds and crystals. 

She'll with be Kai, either linking arms or sitting together on the coach with Kai's arm casually around her shoulder. She'd be shying away, but I can tell from the flush on her cheeks that she is living for those kinds of moments. Kai makes her alive, and her cheeks turn rosey and her face very zestful. I won't be able to give her those kinds of moments ever in my life. 

It's not that I'm in love with her; I'm pretty sure I'm not. I have never felt the fluttery feeling of love before, except when I watch soppy movies and films- maybe that's why I resort to watching copious amounts of re-runs. Suho calls it an "addiction" but I call it my escape.

I'm able to escape Byun Baekhyun for just a few moments, because he's ing lost in the world. He doesn't know how to do anything (he particularly fails in the department of romance) so I'm trying to get away from him as much as possible. Too bad that he is me.

I'm drawn to her. It's like as if she was a large magnet and I was the negative pole of a smaller magnet, helplessly trying to walk my own path but ending up scurrying after her. That's what happens all the time; I find myself watching her from behind doors, and under tables (this was only because of an emergency because I had accidently found myself in her room. And I was completely caught off-guard when Yoora burst into her room, muttering about how weather was so hot, before taking off her shirt). I swear, I didn't peak. At least, I don't think I did.

I love how Yoora...

I don't like saying that name. God damn, it brings back horrible memories. When I was young, I followed my Father into his work office to watch him interrogate and, occasionally, torture his captives. There was this one couple, they were spies, who wailed for their daughter every day. "Yoora," they cried out to no one in particular. "Yoora, Yoora, I'm so sorry. Please forgive us." I assumed that Yoora was their daughter, the pretty girl with the messy brown hair. The one that I kissed the other day because she looked like she needed one. Her lips were so cold that I can still feel them on lips.

Every single day, I would sit in the corner, listening to those incessant, dreadful wails. They would sit together behind the wooden table, their hands balled into fists, crying tears for their daughter. I would silently cry too, blinking rapidly and looking away so that Father wouldn't see, because I felt bad for them.

One day, Father left the room for an urgent meeting.

"Tell me," I said from my chair. I was sitting a little off to the side. While the couple sat in stiff, wooden chairs with their hands pinned to the table, I was lounging in a velvet, red sofa. "Tell me about your daughter. I think talking about her will help you remember her." I wanted to know more about the girl.

"Yes," the woman said, her watering eyes shifting to land on me. She had dark, brooding eyes as well. She had a heart-shaped face and frail hair that curved around her chin. The woman was made out of bones and skin. "I'm starting to forget her voice. What is your name, handsome young man? And why are you even here watching your father?"

I rubbed my hand against the sofa's arm, feeling the soothing velvet caressing my skin. "My Daddy wants me to become like him." Immediately I felt resentment bubbling in my stomach. I did not want to become like him. I wanted to be a singer! The words almost tumbled out of my mouth but I quickly swallowed them down.

"Anyways, I'm Byun Baekhyun," I let a smile play on my lips. A smile that I have learned to show in order to charm people. A smile that I have learned to master to win stranger's hearts. It's a little lop-sided and more of a smirk, but it works every single time. "Pleasure to meet you."

"Tell me, what'll happen to me and my wife after all these investigations?" the man said. He was almost as skinny as his wife, his shoulder bones jutting out from under his white sleeveless shirt. He sported an untrimmed mustache and a blading head.

"Probably like the other prisoners."

There was a pause. "How does your father kill his prisoners?"

I didn't want to answer. I try not to meander on the fact that my father kills people. I decided to change the subject, but I only had one in my mind. "I've never told this to anyone before, but I actually want to become a singer," I said, brushing my bangs out of my eyes out of being extremely self-conscious. "My Dad just forces me to watch him at work so I can learn from him."

"You'll become an amazing singer," the woman nodded her head, a broad smile growing on your face. "I've heard you singing before and you are a talented, talented boy and you have a gorgeous smile. Promise me that you'll look for my daughter after you become famous." She laughed. "Knock her down with your womanizer smile. You'll recognize her when you're older, because I'm going to tell you every s