__

Everything’s spinning.

Spinning.

. . .

… Spin… Spinning…

Spin.

Stop.

Stop.

Chanyeol stopped twirling Baekhyun round and round and that sickly convenience store he works in, but the hazy blur won’t focus. Baekhyun’s body felt fast but the world revolving around him was unbearably slow, as if he’d entered a universe that lagged; and it continues to hurl and whirl, Baekhyun’s eyes swimming inside its sockets.

There’s a radio on the counter. It buzzes loudly with white noise, as if tuning onto empty channels. The sound mixes with the noisy thoughts in Baekhyun’s brain—then suddenly the radio makes a loud squeak and wheezes.

“Park… Ch… bzzt, Byu… bzzzt—bzzzt—khyun, bzzzt, bzzt, confirms rumou… bzzt, bzzt… of marriage—bzzzt—bzzt—“

Suddenly the store’s ugly mint-green interior turns into grandeurs of white marbles and golden pillars, with tapestries hung above the ceilings; exquisite champagne—so excellent that the bubbles reflected the light of the chandeliers. The crowd in front of Baekhyun is a big one, but he recognises them all—his parents, his old college friends, a few neighbours… and Jongdae. But Jongdae looks so unrecognisably young, easily spotted with his messy collar and messy hair.

Baekhyun’s standing on a platform, flowers hung above him. Everyone’s silent, but they’re smiling brightly. Suddenly his vision averts to his own hands, and his own lips were curling into a fond smile—but his eyes are terribly confused as he witnesses his own limbs move, slipping a silver wedding band onto Chanyeol’s fourth finger.

… Hang on.

Isn’t that finger supposed to be missing?

But he’s smiling and smiling and he couldn’t stop. His heart swells with so much happiness he’d never felt before, staring at Chanyeol—who stood in front of him, undeniably handsome in his black tailcoat, with a genuine grin on his pompous face. They’re exchanging vows, the words softly uttered under their breaths, gentle and promising, and Baekhyun closes his eyes and tilted his head up, reaching for a kiss, cupping his newly-wedded husband’s face.

The counter from the convenience store suddenly replaces the table where the glasses of champagne had been, and the radio upon it squeaks loudly, filling the room with white noise.

“Fire—fire—bzzzt—Parks Corpora—bzzzt—fire—unknown c-c-c-cause—bzzzt—fire—“

The whole place suddenly shifts and the ceiling crashes upon them all—but Baekhyun was only conscious of remnants of wood pilings and chandeliers being weighed on top of him, and he fell onto his knees, trapped underneath them. His head pounds agonisingly and blood dripped in front of his eyes, but he only cared for the child underneath him in his hold, who suddenly appeared in his arms.

Baekhyun was screaming. The weight was bearable, but he soon noticed the fragile chandelier directly above his head. But he wasn’t at the venue—he was at one of the Parks Corporations’ facilities, with brick and ceiling pressured atop of him. He’d gathered enough strength to lift himself up and protect the child beneath him, both of them profusely wounded and building—and his surroundings were aflame.

The ceiling roared with its embers, and it was only a matter of time before the ceiling crumbles atop of him. Baekhyun screams for help—someone, anyone—his own life didn’t matter. He needed to save the child. His son. His small, precious little—

“Chanyeol! Chanyeol!” Baekhyun screams hoarsely, spotting his lover a few yards away from the fire. Chanyeol immediately recognises the voice and he approaches them—but time was running out.

“Help me,” Baekhyun shouts, tears streaming down his ashen face, sobbing. “Help me—Chanyeol—please—“

Chanyeol stares at him for a while, and reaches out—but Chanyeol’s gaze was fixed to his now missing fourth finger, spurting and pouring with blood out of the stump.

And suddenly, he’s afraid.

“N-No, Chanyeol—Chanyeol, please—“ Baekhyun chokes on his tears as Chanyeol began to back away. The man shook his head, taking his steps backwards, before he makes a run for it, disappearing.

Disappearing out of Baekhyun’s life.

“No—Chanyeol—Chanyeol, please, Chanyeol! Chanyeol!” Baekhyun shrieks, but the voice wouldn’t come out of his throat. The radio buzzes again and the child disappears underneath him—but suddenly appears in front of him, hooked onto a monitor that kept beeping.

“I—“ Baekhyun gasps. “Oh—god—no—“

“Daddy,” Minhyun says, his voice distorted and strange, as if he’d been possessed by the devil. They’re surrounded by fire, Baekhyun still trapped underneath debris—but a hospital bed appears and Minhyun stands in front of Baekhyun, his tiny fists curled, cables inserted onto his nose and throat and his wrists, and the monitor begins to beep violently.

“Minhyun—“ Baekhyun gasps, choking from the smoke. “—Minhyun—no—“

“Daddy, am I going to die?” Minhyun said, tears rolling down his cheeks. Minhyun sobs before he suddenly jerks and his eyes roll to the back of his head, and the rabid beeping of the monitor quickly turns into flatline. But he wasn’t the one on the hospital bed—someone else was; a small figure, its figure blackened and its flesh exposed to the world…

“… No. No, no, no—“ Baekhyun mouths, unable to speak, before his voice becomes the white noise itself and drowned him onto the abyss.

“No, no, NO NO NO NO NO—!”

__

. . .

Gasp.

Baekhyun takes a sharp inhale and he chokes, shooting up on his bed suddenly. He’d felt as if he’d been suffocated and he realises his surroundings—but his heart still threatened to shoot out of his mouth, thumping loudly against his chest.

It’s just a dream. It’s just a dream. It’s just a dream.

Baekhyun perfectly knew well that this wasn’t just any old dream—it was real. Real, as real as his shaking hands were in front of his eyes.

He ran out of bed and barged himself into the bathroom, panting. He rotated the tap with tremoring hands and splashed the colder water onto his face, breathing harshly through his nose. He seemed intent to pour water over the top half of his body, as if he was still stuck under that ceiling debris, pressurised, with his flesh burning away.

He turned off the water and gripped the sides of the sink, the water dripping from his face and hair, gasping and panting. The dreams aren’t uncommon—Baekhyun was used to the nightmares his brain conjured from his own memories—but this had been so upsetting that he was still trying to catch his breath for the next ten minutes, breathing out of his teeth, closing his eyes tightly.

After a few moments, tiny footsteps padded into the bathroom, peeking into the doorway. Minhyun, who got out of bed just a few mere seconds ago, yawned and rubbed his eyes with his knuckle, holding his yellow digger tightly with another hand. His shirt—which had been Baekhyun’s some odd few years ago—trailed over the floor, his small feet occasionally tripping over the fabric, and he tugs the hem of Baekhyun’s shirt.

“Daddy,” he yawns again, mumbling. “Did you have a bad dream again?”

“… Huh? Oh—oh, yeah, I had another one, I’m sorry poppet.” Baekhyun gulps, rubbing his face. “Did I wake you up?”

“Mhmm.” Minhyun nods, sliding his thumb into his mouth. “You were crying and crying and crying.”

Baekhyun hadn’t been aware of the tears—he had washed them away immediately. He sighs and picked Minhyun up, hoisting him up, holding him against his chest.

He vaguely remembers yesterday’s evening, spent with Chanyeol—admittedly, he was guilty: he could’ve just taken time off work and spent more time with Minhyun. Though Chanyeol’s threat occasionally rings through his ears and Baekhyun stays wary—so very afraid and wary, as he tries to keep up to Chanyeol’s standards. The man was considerably hard to please, and he’d been the type to be picky about anything.

Yesterday hadn’t been a disaster, but Baekhyun hadn’t really enjoyed it, either. Chanyeol surprised him with normal talk—they hadn’t discussed about their past (which Baekhyun was frankly glad of) and Chanyeol had just spoke about his company during the time they’re together, whilst Baekhyun sat there and sipped endlessly on water and champagne, only half-listening.

Baekhyun had tired himself out from trying to restrain himself from punching his former lover in the face. And the way Chanyeol spoke—as if he had been God of anything and everything—made it hard for Baekhyun to even take him seriously.

He’d picked up Minhyun from Jongdae’s and gone home in a rush, and was asleep in less than ten. When he came home, it’d been midnight.

Baekhyun sighs and carried Minhyun back to their bedroom—nothing much. A mattress with barely any sheets (Baekhyun gave all his blankets to his son), and a wardrobe that definitely needed fixing. Baekhyun sits on the edge of the bed and breathed in, looping his thumbs under the hem of his shirt and slipping it off over his head.

“Poppet, can you help me put some cream over my back?”

“Yup.” Minhyun nods. He leaves his yellow digger and hobbles towards the wardrobe, retrieving a tub of white cream under a pile of clothes. He sat back on the bed and opens it with a little amount of struggle, dipping his whole hand onto the tub and slabbing it over his father’s back, his tongue sticking out in concentration.

Minhyun rubbed the cream over Baekhyun’s burn scars; scars of seven years old that never really ceased to give Baekhyun the occasional pain and itch. It covered the vast majority of Baekhyun’s back, and then the top part of his back arms and legs—sometimes Baekhyun was glad it was only in the back. He didn’t need to see the painful reminder of that day.

That day.

Minhyun’s soft small pats on his back brought Baekhyun back to reality, and a smile flickers across his face as Minhyun announces ‘I’m done, daddy!’ with a warbled voice. He patted his back once more and pouts his lips like a duck, pressing a slobbery kiss onto his father’s large scar.

“Mwah. There you go, daddy, your back is now nice and pretty.” Minhyun beams, clapping his sticky hands delightedly. Baekhyun laughs and scooped Minhyun into his arms, pressing a kiss onto his forehead.

“Thank you, Minhyunnie, I feel loads better now.” he chuckles, ruffling his hear. He suddenly feels the beginnings of a headache starting to penetrate his skull and he inhales sharply, holding his temple.

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