Baekhyun Byun had two older sisters he regularly blamed for his physical insecurities, social ineptitude, and rose-colored glasses. Pete rated him a “4 out of 10” because they’re friends. Siri was the only woman besides his wife who’d ever flirted with him. Choppy syllables tended to resemble suggestive inflections. 

The universe made a point in showing Baekhyun exactly how lucky he was. It was pouring rain outside, and Yongsun Kim sat by the fireplace. Daron, Hwasa’s son, kicked her head in his sleep. She persisted through the torture to hold his hand. Bad dreams appeared to be going around lately.

“I want kids,” Baekhyun stated like a fact Yongsun couldn’t change — the contagion spread. 

Contraceptives were common place on Sundays. Over three years without an accident proved science was as resolute as human will. Yongsun, popularly known as Solar, didn’t ask Baekhyun to give up his physical insecurities, social ineptitude, or rose-colored glasses. “10 out of 10,” she rated him. But her flirtatious skirting around this subject — children — handed out shoddy “I love yous” Siri could say with more sincerity. 

“You’re not real,” she started strangely; the weather afflicted her. “You’re not real; you’re Baek’s willing fantasy. That’s what Pete told me on our wedding day. Minutes before I walked down the aisle to you.” 

Solar acted in patterns; the unexpected wasn’t expected. A weekly schedule hung in the kitchen to keep their world rotating. Routines stopped her hated “surprises” from sneaking up on her. Baekhyun appreciated the solid foundation of their marriage; the slightest excitement of Captains and Food Drives nearly shattered his conceived reality.

“In sickness and in health. You remember, darling?” Her laughter was disjointed. “You asked if I had indigestion from the breakfast cheese puffs at Cam’s Diner.” 

“There’s a ‘no’ coming up soon, isn’t there?” Baekhyun asked, hopes dashed. Gravity worked its magic. He was cross-legged beside her. Vulnerability wasn’t in Solar’s dictionary before; he only recently added jealousy to his repertoire. Webster had yet to mend the gap between them. 

“You find security in constancy: children bound to you by blood.” Minding the gap between them, she retracted from his roaming hands. “Success isn’t a domino effect.” She committed the unexpected as she concluded, “Your winning streak ends here.”

Boundaries: this was a new concept for him. Baekhyun Byun panicked. Backpedaled. Sirens drove by. Pointing fingers was counterproductive to her figure receding into the foyer.

He begged for forgiveness, “Please come back, Yongsun.” She did. “Sit with me.” She did. The 10 out of 10 sung, “Fly me to the moon, and let me play among the stars.” He got a smooch for, “In other words, baby kiss me.” He defined striped bikinis, bouncing ankles, misshapen sunburns. “In other words, I love you.” 

This incident was soon forgotten; Sunday night was hours away. They mended the inconsistency and went back to minding the gap. “Kids” was not a matter up for debate. Neglecting “why,” Baekhyun Byun remembered the breakfast cheese puffs incident. “I’ll hold your hand through every painful bowel movement, Yongsun Kim.” Siri couldn’t have said it better.

“Come back to bed, Baek,” Solar mumbled, half-asleep. 

“It’s a work thing.” He coughed, pulling Solar's trench coat from their closet’s depths. Hot pink plastic. It wasn’t Friday — another “why” he ignored.

Daron’s mother, Hwasa, picked him up not long ago. An emergency broadcast advised against driving through the storm. Today’s fireside declarations should’ve been thrilling enough to keep Baekhyun for a week at least. Yet he swiped his car keys from the nightstand; the call of the void beckoned him closer to the edge.

Second face resurfacing, Solar laughed the lies away. “Be careful.”

“Remember,” he started strangely; the weather afflicted him. “I love you.”

Moo Mama’s bartender attracted assorted characters. Artists, drunkards, stalkers alike craved her intoxicating attention. HRPD was her second home when fanatics invaded her first. Despite the dangers, she didn’t consider moving; she liked to tempt the void. Baekhyun often asked her “why,” and she answered with the same cliche each time. 

Kidnapping was a step-up for her most recent admirer. He yelled for her from the police station’s holding cells. She sat beside the entrance, perfectly calm. Fingers clenched round a copper urn. Red hair smoothed behind bandaged ears — he wanted an earring to remember her by.

Baekhyun wrapped her in pink. “Did you hit him?” he asked. She held up two fingers. “Good girl.” Detective Yixing Zhang approached with a paper cup: hot chocolate. “Thank you, Detective,” he said. 

“Here’s hoping gratitude is contagious,” Yixing pointedly directed towards Wheein Jung, who took a big gulp. Guilty conscience weighing heavy, he pressed her for the umpteenth time tonight, “Miss Jung, please reconsider pressing charges.”

Throwing away the empty cup, Wheein answered the ever-elusive “why,” “Infatuation drives even the soundest man to insanity.” 

Insanity is doing the same things over and over again and expecting different results, Wheein quoted on the drive home. Baekhyun spent the next morning pouring over the kitchen’s weekly schedule. He erased three to-dos on the vast list. Pete re-rated him a “6 out of 10” for “grabbing his dream by the balls.”

A/N: Fly me to the moon, and let me play among the stars. More on the case of the bartender-kidnapping, cat thief in the next chapter!