3

To me, my mom was an almost unstoppable force. She stood her ground for years as a single parent—even when straight out of a toxic marriage. Granted, she wasn't immovable; she wasn't superhuman, she wasn't unsusceptible to slippery men still. I disregarded all of these slip-ups of hers that had ultimately cost me a portion of how much ignorance I could revel in as a child, and I respected her as a guardian and trusted her like a best friend. She was still young then, after all, still with much to learn on how to take care of both herself and me. I'd believed that Baekhyun could have become her mainstay, the pencil that drew the lines to guide her to inner peace.

“I think your mother is meeting with another man.”

After eating and washing up dinner in record time, we settled on the sofa. The cushion I had been hugging like a lifeline made its escape from my chokehold.

“…What?”

Baekhyun caught the pillow before it tumbled off my lap.

“That was too blunt, I’m sorry. Do you want me to explain?”

Please, preferably before shock combusts me from inside out.

“I only found out eleven months ago, just before your graduation party. I was…let's say 'tipped off' a few weeks earlier, which had troubled me then, but I didn’t want to jump to conclusions.”

He stole a peek at me.

“But the longer time passed, the more these connections accumulated and…Do you remember when she was called to work off-hours and right after, Chanyeol called out of nowhere that he was in town? I had just dropped him off at his hotel when I…I saw her there. With someone. They were kissing,” he finished lamely.

Baekhyun's gaze had averted to the floor and when he finally looked up again, my expression had remained static, holding the same dropped jaw and widened eyes, rendered paralyzed in a stupor.

His arm flinched, and I suspected for a flash that he would touch me, reach out to me. He didn't. “I know you might not believe me, and I'm not sure how I could prove it to you, or if I even want to. Take it as you will. I'm not even sure what to do, so… ” He shook his head, an action so defeated that I found myself encouraged by instinct to cup his cheek and say something, anything.

“I want to believe in my mom,” I started softly, words drawn out enough for resignation to fleet his face. “But I also believe in you, Baekhyun. I know that you wouldn't lie, or tell me this without having stabbed your brain thinking it over and over because you like to stress yourself out alone like the misanthropic fool you are." I paused to let him poke me in a half-hearted rebuttal. "I don't know what to think. It—it's true that Mom was…affected by how she and my dad finally ended, but I saw her feelings for you so lucid, so I don't…” I struggled to convey my thought process, should it have been possible in the first place. Baekhyun sympathized and palmed my curved hand.

“I understand,” he said to me, a simple but comforting hum that gnawed at my heart.

“I'm sorry,” I whispered. He tried a chuckle and squeezed our fingers together.

“For what? You're not the one having an extramarital affair on me.”

The joke was a bit too pertinent and a bit too insensitive, but I laughed anyway and kneaded his cheek. He leaned into my palm, lowering his eyelids like he was going to fall asleep in that instant. We stilled like this for some minutes before he roused and muttered, “Let's sleep now.” I agreed, untangling my legs from the criss-cross they were in and swinging them off the couch. Baekhyun followed in getting up, but while I started to head toward my bedroom, he stayed rooted in his spot. I questioned him.

“Ever since I found out for sure, it's felt…unnerving to sleep in that bed,” he asked, so embarrassed and ambiguous that it was almost out of character. I paused, observed his disposition, and smiled. Grabbing his hand, I led him behind me.

That night, we fell asleep on opposite ends of the same bed.

We woke up to find ourselves tangled in an arrangement that was far too intimate to be deemed morally right. Baekhyun surrounded me, his arms wrapped around my torso and our legs interlocked. It would have been a feat to manage to curl up closer together, and as we slowly shifted to look at each other in unison, our noses poked and our lips were not much further from doing the same.

“Morning,” he greeted me in a low, sleep-defined tone. I continued to stare at him, finding difficulty in believing that I was not in one of the multiple unfortunate dreams of mine that were sometimes set in scenarios suspiciously like this one.

Satisfied after successfully convincing myself that this was not the case, I tried to extricate myself, but that proved impossible when he responded by heaving me to be completely on top of him.

“Baek,” I mumbled into the bare skin exposed by his shirt's v-neckline. It vibrated when he grunted in meaningless acknowledgment to which I attempted to smile at, though my mouth being smushed proved a hindrance. “Baek,” I attempted again after switching to plant my cheek down instead. “Mom's returning home today.”

He sighed and I was relieved of some constriction albeit still encompassed and immobile. I angled my head up to face him and we engaged in a staring contest.

“You've got eye boogers,” he said, breaking the silence. I flicked my hand up. “I'm kidding. Your hair's a nest, though.”

I resisted the urge to pat down my hair and told him, “And you have bad morning breath. Let go.”

He did not even lift a finger to inhibit my attempt to free myself before I released a huff of resignation.