"We're smiling but we're close to tears, even after all these years
We just now got the feeling that we're meeting for the first time."

−The Script, For The First Time

Baekhyun. Taeyeon.

Close to tears.

The hour is ten and the other hand is moving fast past the eight. Tick-tock.

Tick-tock.

Byun Baekhyun is sitting at the dinner table alone, and for the first time (well, not really the first, but he likes to think that it is), loneliness has caught up to him.

Work has departed from his current agenda, and he's home much earlier than he probably should be.

There's a half empty wine glass balanced between two of his fingers, and the fingers of his other hand trace the grooves, the little scars, on the table's wooden surface.

Here, Baekhyun remembers, is where Taeyeon had slipped while cutting the ham on Christmas, causing the wicked knife in her hand to make its mark on the varnished wood. And over there is a half-moon dent, brought into existence by a shard of porcelain from a broken plate.

Dotting the wood here and there are the battle scars from all the times they and their guests had dropped their spoons and forks, and that time that he'd thought it would be okay to cut that thick sheet of paper without a cutting board; that one's the thin line next to the half-moon dent.

The table hasn't been marked for a while now; it's remained practically untouched for the past year.

If Taeyeon was here, he knows she'd probably run her fingers over the unplanned pattern of cuts and lines on the table, mourning the loss of her once glossy wood.

But she's not here.

The only times he sees her nowadays are when she comes home, creeping into bed at midnight with the smell of traffic lingering on her skin, or when she's about to leave for work (again. It's like she lives at work, really).

The only words they exchange nowadays are hello's and goodbye's and I love you, goodnight's; sometimes they're said over the phone. And sometimes, all Baekhyun gets is a text telling him that food's in the fridge if he's hungry.

All those times, he'd heaved a sigh, just like he's doing now. Because if he's honest, loneliness never had to catch up to him; it's been a constant companion of his for a while now.

Baekhyun misses Taeyeon. He'd like to say that it's a distant longing, but it's not. It's more like a tugging feeling demanding the attention of his whole being. He wants to stop the world (heck, stop time itself), if only for a moment, just so he can catch up to Taeyeon and tell her that he loves her.

Of course, he still gets to tell her that; every night. 

But Baekhyun wants the chance to actually look her in the eye, when neither of them are worked to the bone and desperately needing sleep. When they're both wide awake and he can put all his energy into telling her that he loves her.

Really loves her.

It's been a while, he realises, since he completely felt like he was in love. The kind of love that had driven him to write sappy poems when he was 18, even though God knows he's hopeless with words. The kind of love that made him want to stay awake all day and night if it meant that he'd have Taeyeon by his side.

Those were the times when he was in love.

Really in love.

Baekhyun's eyes wander to the frame that sits on the mantel. The sight greets him like an April Fool's Day card (Do they even make those? he wonders), because even though the photo had been taken 4 years ago, it feels more like 20.

It's their wedding photo. There he is, in his fitted tux, with Taeyeon smiling next to him, all teeth and eye smile, practically sparkling in her wedding dress. Sparkling like those shiny stick-on nails she loves so much; it's a wonder she still has time for them.

Taeyeon will always be brighter to him, though. Brighter than anything−even shiny stick-on nails.

Sometimes− and Baekhyun can't help thinking this− it doesn't feel like they're married. He's ashamed to think that, but it's the truth.

Didn't other married couples go on holidays and nice trips to the beach, curling their toes through wet sand? Weren't their other married friends already having children?

He stares intently at their wedding photo, eyes narrowing in his attempt to see past a dusty frame and remember other times, memories of a past life.

Baekhyun eventually settles on closing his eyes, and the images from when he was in love flood his mind.  Things had been different then. Back then, he and Taeyeon had talked about picket fences (No, really, actual picket fences, Taeng. I mean it. I'm serious! Why are you laughing? It's not cheesy), how many kids they wanted, and the names of all the places they wanted to go to.

Baekhyun doesn't remember half of them anymore. Didn't she say something about Paris?

The sound of a key rattling in the door brings him back to Earth. He frowns, eyes flicking towards the clock face; it's not even eleven yet.

She can't be home...

Oh, but she is.

Baekhyun watches as Taeyeon walks through the door, kicking her heels off and hobbling to the counter in her pencil skirt to set the keys on the bench. She's muttering something about her feet hurting and damn, why couldn't I be a little taller−

Finally, her gaze lands on him; their eyes lock and both of them freeze.

Silence envelopes the room. It's not a bad sort of silence, but it's not exactly a happy one, either; it's like coming home to see that someone has covered the whole house in roses. No, violets, Baekhyun thinks. Taeyeon likes violets.

"You're home." The words slip out of his mouth before he gives them permission to.

"Why do you sound