At the tender age of twenty-six, Byun Baekhyun was pretty much sick of his life. The deciding factor as to why was not important to the young man; he simply knew that he was stuck in a rut which only made the thought of living another day more and more unbearable with each passing hour. Whether it was the lack of caffeine pumping through his dried-out veins, or the horrendously blackish rings lined like rice terraces underneath bloodshot eyes, or the incessant snapping of the mechanical pencil strangled between too-thin fingers, or maybe the fact that it was already well past midnight and yet he was still sitting hunched on his desk, glaring at the stack of design sheets scattered all across the cherry finish of the table, cluttering up the surface much like the bird’s nest atop Baekhyun’s head.

          Or, maybe it was just because he was sick and tired of his mother’s constant moans of When are you ever going to bring a woman home, Baekhyun, or, It’s already time for you to decide on marriage, son, and the biggest crowd-pleaser: I want to have grandchildren before my bones turn into twigs, Byun Baekhyun!

          Yep, there were more than several issues that Baekhyun claims makes his life, simply put, a ing horrible screenplay which played on loop all the live-long day. It was getting ridiculous, if he was being completely honest. And it wasn’t just because he was tired and coffee was the only way to bring even a little electricity into his bones, nor was it the fact that he had run out of BB cream that morning and could not for the life of him ease the terrifyingly bruise-like bags beneath his eyes, neither was it the fact that that season’s collection was not even closed to finished and he had to submit his plates by the end of the week. It definitely wasn’t even the fact that his mother’s broken record of grievances have already etched into each crevice of his subconscious mind to the point where he was deathly aware of just how alone he was.

          Nope, it wasn’t just those things which made his life a living hell. Because, if there was anything that drove Byun Baekhyun completely up the wall, it was the thick stench of way-too-many flower bouquets, the sound of helium balloons flapping about in the stagnant midnight air and the rattling vibration of his iPhone against the front pocket of his $200 slacks.

          But maybe we’re getting too ahead of ourselves. Let’s start from the beginning...

♦

          It wasn’t that Baekhyun didn’t believe in love. Far from it, actually, but as he stood at his older brother’s right hand, watching as a glowing figure in white glided her way down a carpeted cathedral aisle, he could not help but feel more than a little skeptical about just how quickly a person can really fall in love. Call him a cynic, but he could hardly believe that the glint he could see in his hyung’s eyes could really be the illusive “love” when he’d only really met his bride a mere fortnight ago.

          And so, as vows were said with radial bliss, Baekhyun could barely keep his sighs to himself, wondering just how in the name of all things good he’d ended up standing there in a $500 fitted suit, almost stewing in the sweltering heat of downtown Beijing that even the church’s A/C could not shield completely. To top it all off, he could feel the pocket of his coat vibrate mercilessly with endless calls, messages, and emails from his one and only Satanic boss from the seventh layer of Hell, wondering where in the world he could be – even though he’d properly announced his 24-hour trip to mainland China a good week before his departure (clearly, Medusa had not bothered to read the memos – plural).

          However, knowing just how manic his crazier than bat crazy employer could be, it was quite a miracle that the young designer could even keep his hand from reaching into his pocket. And of course, distractions were always a good help. So, when the cathedral doors burst open with a clang right in the middle of the reverend’s address, all eyes darted over to the literally glowing (thanks to the blinding sunlight blasting in through the opened doors, at least), giant figure abashedly hurrying down the aisle looking like a dog with his tail tucked between his legs as a messy mop of chestnut hair, long, wiry limbs, and wide-grinning lips stood at the once empty spot right beside Baekhyun as a nervous chuckle reverberated in a low baritone across the front of the altar. “Continue, please, I’m sorry I’m late…”

          Baekhyun now had a hard time containing his laughter.

          After a cringe-worthy speech which he was sure only about 5% of the attendees had understood, Baekhyun decided that it was definitely much better to linger in the sidelines like a shadow in the night, keeping mostly to himself with an almost-always filled champagne flute nursed between slightly calloused hands and an almost-permanent grimace glued onto his tired face. He watched the reception with a lazy air of disinterest, leaning on the wall with slightly flushed cheeks – he’ll admit to being a little more than tipsy by this point, anything to get him through the night, honestly – and a tight frown, wondering the best way that he could slip out and away and onto an earlier flight back to the homeland so that he could hole up in his apartment once again and laboriously work on the remnants of the designs he had yet to perfect. His phone had long since stopped its incessant buzzing, courtesy of his brother bitterly switching it off on his behalf after catching him sending not one but several lengthy emails to his office not too long ago.

          His mother had earlier cornered him and belted out another three choruses of Find a lovely girl and get married already Byun Baekhyun, and I don’t need any sass from your smart mouth, boy, I painstakingly gave birth to you after 72 hours of labor and deserve more respect, which would have drained all the happiness out of anyone, really.

          But see, it wasn’t even the fact that his mother was breathing down his neck for a daughter-in-law and grandchildren which was problematic for Baekhyun, but the fact that he was, for all intents and purposes… driving on the other side of the road, so to speak. And so, any in-law that his parents would be receiving would be a little more flat in the chest area and a lot more rounded in the crotch area, and any biological grandchildren would require a miracle. Not to mention the magical growth of a uterus.

          Baekhyun was a little too aware of what was happening around him, and it was not a good thing in his opinion. He most definitely preferred being buried in paperwork rather than standing idly by, watching his brother enjoy his life while he wallowed in a pit of despair.

          And so, it was in that state of total awareness that Byun Baekhyun lifted his eyes off the ground for the first time in what seemed like an eternity and met eyes with a messy mop of chestnut hair, long, wiry limbs, and shyly-grinning lips.         

♦

          “Baekhyun-ge, there’s a man on line one for you; says it’s pretty important… Should I patch him through?” The sound of Baekhyun’s assistant’s lazy drawl beeps in from the intercom, almost shocking the socks off of a slightly dazed Baekhyun who sat at his desk, half-asleep with lidded eyes, nursing a hot cup of Joe courtesy of said assistant.

          “Did he say what kind of emergency? Or who he was, preferably,” was Baekhyun’s tired reply. Tired fingers grazed along the leather-bound sketch book placed squarely on his desk with a yellow Post-it taped to the front cover reading, Find a model to suit your designs and you’re on the runway this season, in his demonic -mistress’ curly scrawl.

          “No idea, just sounded like he had way too much candy to me,” Tao mumbled through the line, shrugging nonchalantly from the other side of Baekhyun’s fish tank. Baekhyun sighed. He didn’t need further explanation for this.

          “Block all calls from that number, Tao, I—”

          “The receptionist is on line two, apparently this guy’s on our floor…” interrupted the raven-haired male at Baekhyun’s secretariat desk. “Says he needs to speak to you, pronto…”

          “ my life…” was Baekhyun’s haughty reply as he pushed off his seat. Sluggishly shuffling out of his office, he threw a tired look at the confused assistant. “Call security, this guy won’t go easy.”

          “Who is it?”

          “Stalker #1. Kim Jongdae. ing street magician…”

I tried. But yes, here's part one of this thingy majig.
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