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You just don't get in a stranger's house.

It's pretty easy, really. A universal rule inherited by those who know best, know good, and are supposed to be at least in the standard, like the Byun's most prolific, smartest and wisest son. You see, Byun BaekHyun would've never, ever intruded nor accepted any kind of invitation from a stranger to get in their house. He was an independent korean man in his twenties, yet such thing didn't mean that stranger danger was supposed to lose its powerful meaning. But now, sure, he was standing in front of a guy he'd just seen for the first time and seconds ago, just seconds ago, he was sitting on his couch.

God knows what could've happened in that red leather.

In those blue walls.

On that floor, even.

What about the doors? The stairs? The whole building?

It took him an instant to drown himself in panic, with thoughts of possible problems being louder than some rapper's rhymes in the back. And he really tried to control it, he did. He inhaled, exhaled and got his facts right: He was the one who entered the building... under MinHyun's instructions (less reassuring that it could be), and nothing bad happened nor seemed to be about to happen so far. Also, the stranger was... Well, not that terrible.

Cute, even.

Not that it mattered. No. It didn't freaking mattered at all. Cute and non-cute strangers can be problematic and dangerous just as well, but it was a thing to notice. Just to notice. Just a small, easy-to-ignore thought that passed as a car between trucks. Leaving that aside, he still felt the impact of being, in fact, in some living room. In some apartment. In some horrendous district's awful neighborhood where he just wanted to find a store, clean his business and leave.

This was so uncalled-for.

He wanted to punch his cousin so. Freaking. Bad. 

And the other guy said nothing else and just stared at him and it was frustrating.

Scared, frustrated, nervous. BaekHyun put both hands to his face, breathing heavily as he gained confidence to speak. "I'm so, so sorry, oh my God. I thought this was Panda's studio, the door was open and..."

The taller interrupted. "I know, I noticed. You got lost. You don't have to explain anything if that's all." BaekHyun shyly stared at him and remained silent. He really wasn't in the mood to speak or explain or recall. Just if he had to. Just if he had the chance to explain and get his out of trouble, just then. But what else was there to say?

Just something, again: "Sorry."

"It's okay," the stranger nodded, doing a thing with his hands to downplay the issue. He then paused for a very long time, like ages, and the worries were about to come back. They did, as the boy walked to the door in order to guide him. "Let's just take you out of here."

But no. Maybe. Yes, maybe. Maybe it was the best thing to do: Just leave, walk away with his dignity and get back home to cry out the embarassment while plotting the fictional murder of MinHyun, the worst  cousin ever, the worst of all, who happened to be the cousin, also, of the most stupid guy on earth. Like heck, he trusted the same person who ruined his birthday by puking on the cake twice.

Now the thing is: He wouldn't come back. As he picked up his phone and walked behind the homeowner, Baek knew he wouldn't come back. The shame, the shyness, the whatever made him a softhearted ball of doubts would stop him from thinking about this place again. And