Thanks for all of your supports, my lovely readers. Sorry I can't reply all of your comments and messages bcs I'm still in the middle of exam (just one more year and I can finally bid goodbye to college life!) :" I've decided to continue all of my BaekSoo stories. But this particular fic of mine is a bit special, because even before the news about their dating, I originally write Taeyeon as Baek's mother in this story x) And she kind of having a big role to BaekSoo's relationship in the future x) Oh, well,  I never meant to bash anyone through my fic, my writing style is just usually witty and melancholic like this. I hope you all enjoy the story though >:) see ya, cath up to you later with my other fic. I'm working on Silenced Ennui right now :D bye!

2014,

Ainihaya

넷

Words: 5500+

He fell asleep that night thinking about those red and blue bruises on Baekhyun’s neck. Never in all his life had he been so concerned over someone else’s business. And Baekhyun wasn’t even his first love. He actually had drowned in that womanly feelings quite often before. He closed his eyes; he remembered how his first love had gone. At first it seemed like a small admiration towards his father’s editor—Cho Kyuhyun, even now his name sounded bitter and lonely on Kyungsoo’s tongue—a polite young man in his mid twenties who came to their old apartment always wearing sad black ties. He never spoke much. Kyungsoo never had any chance to talk with the man either. One day, he showed up a bit too late, no usual black ties and no usual stiff face but a new glistening platinum ring in hand, sparkling from the moment he knocked on their apartment door until the second he bid goodbye. And that was the thing. So he’s married now, Kyungsoo thought, and let go of his adolescent, one-sided love. But this time, with Baekhyun, it was all so different.

            When they first locked gaze at each other, Kyungsoo told his heart not to be overly bothered. Do you want him, that sentimental part of his might have asked Kyungsoo one day. Yeah, I do. I do. And he, too, might have ended up hating himself for not being able to withstand those feelings. It was too hard for that. There were moments when he had to tighten the knots of his shoelaces as he strolled down the school corridor and think about the end of his uptight affection. He was at fault. He was full aware of the fact. From the very beginning, this crush shouldn’t have appeared.

            He tried to consider everything. And he knew. He knew he should live a normal life. Fall in love in a naturally, normal way. He should date a girl. Kiss a girl. Marry a girl. Laugh at the past which happened to them together. Grew old with his name on her fingers and her smile inside of his vision.

            That was all it took to lead a common scene. A girl. Who is pretty, and motherly, and good at every girly thing. A girl. And not Baekhyun. Even pronouncing his name seemed wrong on so many levels. He could list a long number of pretty girls in his former town. Some eqquiped with curves, some eqquiped with brains. Some just there to fill up the space. But under it all there would be nothing. Nothing. That wasn’t what he was looking for. This, he’d come to realize, behind the ragged mountains and the damp air shrouding around Goseong-gun, each small snippet of him was yearning for someone else. Someone with elbows and knees flaxen like honey, and chestnut bangs softly touching dim brown eyes.

            And he was Baekhyun. Always been Baekhyun.

            Baekhyun sitting next to class window. Baekhyun in the cold morning, lush hair parted by the wind. Baekhyun and his Radiohead. His Amnesiac. His loud mouth. His annoying, husky voice. His frail figure handcuffed to a whole latitude that was Goseong-gun. In this small country by the sea he was a child of sun. The one who would pop a joke when nobody was listening but they would still laugh at it as though his words were miracle. And still, he was Baekhyun. Always been the haughty Byun Baekhyun.

            Baekhyun with one sock pulled to the bottom. Baekhyun whose eyes were the prettiest shades of brown, evolving from one tinge to another no matter how many times you stare at them. Baekhyun in his bloat jersey. Baekhyun running towards the door, arms slitting the air. With every steps he took, the horizon fanning out above his gauzy back. Perhaps he wanted to make fun of the world when he lifted his head, on spur of moment, and looked up outside, and palpated the skin of his nose, and scratched his lashes, and got back to his feet and smiled with a kind of young, simmering sneer; following the snaky road planted all around the neighborhood. And it was quite funny, actually. The idea of such a curt, scheming smile made its scene from such a pretty, delicate being was somehow unfair. And sometimes it felt as though he was out of range. A million miles from where he was at, hiding in an absent place far across the sea no one could ever touch. But between the thick morning mist, the hazy image of him, the sound of falling leaves, the about to clink school bell, everything was clipped back to life. And Baekhyun would once again perch on the brim of casement the next instant, twisting his lips in the most impulsively alluring way on one pleasing afternoon while plateu and whistle-stop marched a long way beyond him—

            God.

            How does it feel to be such a nectarous creature?

            Kyungsoo laid his face on the bed and thought as he caught reflections in the mirror. Really, how does it—he reached for his pillow and yawned and turned around—how does it feel to be Byun Baekhyun? How does it feel to be showered with love by all the people in your whole secluded neighborhood? The opaque morning hanging over his shoulder. The riddle within him. The bruises on his neck. Blue end red. Brown eyes flaring with leonine spark. That melancholy. He wore running shoes at school. Sometimes black with blue and yellow stripes. Sometimes pure, prosaic white. Sometimes he went on with high coral sneakers and got yelled by elder teachers, depended on his mood and the first subject of the day. Kyungsoo had stopped trying to summon up the details, because in the end Baekhyun would always be Baekhyun. Baekhyun laughing with his eyes pressed into lines. Baekhyun blinking rapidly under the morose sunlight. Baekhyun hoping on one leg. Baekhyun, melted. Baekhyun, dissipated in silence.

            Baekhyun, fading out.

            How does it feel to be this person?

            Somehow certain parts of Kyungsoo didn’t want to know.

****

            The school yard was already so crowded when he got there the next day, drenched in sweat as he parked his bike and saw Amber coming from the back gate. He didn’t associate much with Goseung-gun yet, but he knew for sure that the crowd meant something. But, no. Curious he did not. He just thought that it was weird. Like those people wouldn’t just flock there having no exact aim. Except, of course, something worth the ongoing mob was in front of their eyes. There might be a famous person visiting this small country. Or some kind of variety show crew looking for a peaceful filming set. Either way he wished the answer wouldn’t get in the way of his daily life.

            “Why are they lining up?” he pushed the bicycle key inside his bag and ran towards Amber. “What are they looking at?”

            Startled by his deep voice, the short haired girl stopped walking and glanced around quickly, especially at him and the jammed school yard that seemed like it was in the process of being prepared for World Ward Three. There was a loud screech suddenly, a type of high-pitched screech he never heard back in Seoul, then they locked eyes at each other. Clearly Amber was annoyed by the piping sound from the way her lips scrunched upwards, arms crossed over wide shoulders. Even not speaking, her irritation was shown. By this point, Kyungsoo was getting somewhat scared. Both from her sequentially darken face and the staggering noise itself. He said to himself, oh, I’m outta here, and stepped back and intended to continue his walk to their class, when another piercing cheer went through the air ceiling and he jumped from surprise and their gaze met for the second time.

            Amber nodded her head after a minute, laughing still as a mouse. Still in his hat and yellow raincoat, he clacked his tongue loudly at the sight of his laughing friend while Amber on the other hand had started to tremble, her expression on cloud nine. She told him—amidst giggle—that he jumped like a daunted kitten, which he responded with glare and two smacks on her left arm. He wondered why out of all metaphore, he was always—only—being compared with cute animals. Because that would be so incorrect. It was far too strayed from his legal state. And not just incorrect, that would also be considered as forgery. He knew he had never been that nice of a person.

            A moment later, when her chuckle fully softened, she was once again walking ahead of him. Only this time their hands were connected. Quitely, they passed a small pond in the school garden and went past empty classes. As they began climbing stairs to get to second floor, Amber kept her sight on him for a brief bat of an eye and said, “It must be Taeyeon-ssi.”

            “Baek’s mother?” through the bare corner of the hallway he could harbor his question bounced and echoed. He tried not to, but curiosity was eating him inside and out.

            “Yeah,” Amber stepped on the last rung, strolling alongside the corridor before she stopped by a full height glass window to steal a long glance at the yard below, “one and only.”

            “And? What’s the thing between her and the crowd?”

            A chortle cracked up next to him. A subtile one he never expected coming out from Amber’s loud mouth. “Well, it’s kind of rare for her to usher his son to school,” she explained and roamed around the place, enganging in numerous heed of her own“—I think it’s because she’s so busy, she runs a family business and she spends her time mostly there—so when she shows up like once in a blue moon, people are dying to see. Even—teachers.”

            “Is it because she’s that pretty?”

            “She’s pretty. But it’s more to the fact that she was everybody’s sweet heart in her young times. Small. Pretty. Voice like heaven.”

            “Oh,” he joined beside her, “just like how Baekhyun is—according to you—now?”

            “Yeah,” of course, Kyungsoo thought, yeah. Of course. “Do you want to see her too, Dyo?”

            They came to complete halt before the next full height glass window, a cunning smile on Amber’s smooth face and then Kyungsoo shivered on his spot, reminded that he hadn’t taken off his raincoat. This was what had been nagging him. The wind today was different in other ways; it was a degree tougher than yesterday, swirling across the skin of his nape. Gently he turned his frame facing the cold marble wall and removed the wet slicker off his autumn uniform as he felt Amber’s eyes on his back. Her last question remained strong inside his mind. Sliding through all the hoarding alphabets that were supposed to form the answers, ever so deadlocked answers he had no guts the world to find out about their existences.

            Do you want to see her too, Dyo?

            Ah. Did he want to? Did he—ah. He did. And he wished he could say it loud. But people lie many times, it’s in the rules of life. So should he confess. Should he. Because wouldn’t it be wrong. Because they both were males. And it was his mother. Baek’s mother. Why should he see her. And then again why shouldn’t he. Why was he having a bad feeling about the woman while he was generally an impassive person, and he always had enough of everyone’s business, and moreover it was no point caring about someone else’s matters because 1) he would just end up gaining nothing, and 2) he had too many problems already—hence why. Was it because he saw Baekhyun’s bruises a day before. Was it because he liked the broad-shouldered boy. Was it because he was just so good at recalling things, and even then, he still remembered clearly the day Amber told him the story about Baek’s parents, and how they divorced some short years after their early marriage. This was a surprise, even to himself; he had never been so bothered to pay any attention to others. But in his cramped heart he heard his voice—as he tried to get his thoughts off someone else—chanting the boy’s child-like name with passion and perhaps love.

            B, and a, and e, and k, and h, and y, and u, and ended with n, the fourteenth letter. B for Byun. B for Baekhyun. B for Byun Baekhyun.

            Byun ‘haughty’ Baekhyun.

            —Kyungsoo knew nothing about him.

****

            “C’mere, don’t hesitate,” was what Amber said to lure him when he was about to fold his yellow raincoat and put on his snapback and turn around, “I know a good spot for this,” and next thing they were standing before thin fencing on the third floor.

            Kyungsoo took a deep breath as he watched the crowd grew one and half size bigger. The girl next to him nodded, as if she was approving some secret agreement. She stared at something beyond Kyungsoo’s right shoulder, her gesture remained the same.

            “I swear those people are insane,” he said with a sudden scowl. “People are insane when it comes to some certain things, yanno,” she answered still gazing at his right shoulder—now moving up to his right ear— and Kyungsoo took another deep breath, suppressing his lungs with entrapped air. The crowd was noisy, but he couldn’t hear them from this height, and in point of fact he couldn’t see anything but a bunch of people scraping together around what look like expensive black compact car. He saw only their round head and the car’s upper side, as though they were a group of hungry black ants waiting for their turn to bring home a plate of delicious feast. But then he recalled that the scene was involving no other than his haughty crush. Then he wished he understood what those people really wanted.

            “Wow,” he murmured into the cold morning, “he is rich.”

            Kyungsoo could hear Amber snorted, and it seemed her snot was captured in the way. “You don’t know about this, Dyo?”

            His eyes met hers for a second. “I didn’t have any desire to,” he said softly, rocking back to keep himself from snapping at his friend—it came out in almost mumble, his hands on rail end. There was a gruff silence. It wouldn’t stun him if Amber didn’t buy any of his word. After all he was only lying. He just didn’t know anything about the said haughty boy.

            “You do, now?” finally she opened to ask; her eyes fell on the yard. “You do, now, Dyo?”

            “I do what?”

            “Have any desire to know more about him, Dyo?”

            He mulled it for a moment before answering, “Still do not,” and even if someone had kidnapped him straight away and deported him to someplace dark and desolate with dim lights and leaky roof and sensual saxophone playing at the background like usual old, action movies always gone—those 90’s jazz collections—Kyungsoo still wouldn’t admit the truth. “And for Christ’s sake, stop calling me Dyo. My name is Kyungsoo.”

            The wind was busy wagging its bloomy wave around his unclothed nape when the short haired girl clasped her hands together. Grinning ear to ear. “Sorry,” she laughed. A few people below laughed after her, for some different reasons.“It just slips out naturally.”

            And that quited him, because he didn’t actually mind at all with the stupid nickname. He’d grown used to people giving him some. Dudu, then Do Dyo, then Dyodoro, but at least they never called him Babysoo. No, Babysoo was the worst. Not as close as Kkamjong to Jongin, but it was the worst he could probably get in all his life. And besides Amber wasn’t much of a responsible person. He was convinced—anyway—that now, in five minutes onwards, she would—for all one knows—forget about her own words and repeated her last action; her head would bob to side, and she would try to sweeten her deep voice when she called him with the same, lame nickname. Again, not that Kyungsoo actually mind.

            He glanced in the direction of Baek’s car and the crowd, feeling a twinge of humor. “What are they doing, spending so much time in that car? Mother-and-son morning fight?”

            “Aren’t you a bit demanding, Dyo?” she purred; brushing thumbs across her lips. Had he imagined himself watching Amber doing so before—any of them. Had he been dreaming about it, because he wasn’t actually surprised. “Just wait a minute, and—,” she gasped dramatically, “—see! Here they come!”

****

            —Here they co—

            And come they did.

****

            It happened a bit too hazy and also a bit too fast. He thought Amber was only joking and faking stuffs. And he had to make sure she wasn’t crossing her index and middle fingers because she had the habit to do that whenever she was making up some lies. But he heard the sound of car door being opened harshly, which he had no idea how (or why), then he saw her—Baek’s mother. Quite like a wreck, her emersion was. Her back was on him at first, so he couldn’t see her face. But when she shifted back to drag her son outside and elevated her head at some points, he firmly shut his mouth and looked at her carefully.

            Here the crowd slowly sidestepped from her pace, until quite lately they paused to freeze on their own spots. She didn’t even bother to smile at them. Baekhyun was trailing behind—right hand on her grasp, left hand twirled along his stride. The entire time he was pouting and kicking sand with his toecap, causing the mob to grant him more space, and Kyungsoo grew tired to watch the scene—as it would be he was experiencing a secondhand embarassement—so within one glance, he lifted his interest off him and moved to his mother.

            He squinted his eyes and looked at her more closely. She had on simple clothes; blue jeans, turtleneck top—white colored—, strappy slide wedges, and eventhough she was a tad short, it wasn’t hard to notice her beauty. Her skin was almost the same color as her top, as it were she was a Snow Woman. Her eyes, though, they reminded him of Baekhyun’s. Small, but not too small (and somewhat rounder), almond shaped eyes, whose color were brown and sweet and sugary. Her hair was two shades lighter than Baekhyun’s chestnut colored one, almost strawberry blond. Something was gleaming on her hand, but it couldn’t be a wedding ring. He heard from his classmates that Baekhyun’s mother never had any flings after her divorce with Mr. Junsu, and it couldn’t be the ring from her former marriage either. She couldn’t be that desperate. And her gaze; her gaze was the prettiest he had ever seen in real life. He’d been told a couple of times that Baek’s family consisted of him, his grandparents, his maids, his butlers, and his gorgeous mother, and still he only realized at the moment that God can be unfair sometimes. Baekhyun’s mother looked nothing like she was already in her 30-s. Whereas Kyungsoo’s mother possessed that usual appearance of soap opera housewives.

            “She’s pretty,” he said in oblivion.

            And Amber had to laugh while oggling at him, chin on both of her palms. From among the crowd, someone was praising Baek’s mother beauty, causing him to set his gaze down and accidently landed his attention onto Baekhyun’s socks. “Told you so.”

            He gawked at his surrounding; the crowd below turned dead silent. He wondered why. He must be missing something when he was talking with Amber just now. But he knew as hell it was no secret that Baekhyun’s mother, and Baekhyun himself, had this special power to yank people down their short, lanky feet—and suddenly he felt miserable and it made him afraid just to think further about Baekhyun’s private life. He was out of reach yesterday but starting that instant Kyungsoo learned that they were completely at different levels. That must be what they meant by ‘mind your own grade before dreaming your way to date your crush’.

            “Has she always been this good looking?”

            “Yep.”

            “Ah,” there was a light, almost unbearable sigh. “No wonder Baek is pretty too.”

            “I’m sorry?”

            “I said, no wonder Baek is pretty too,” and I know sure why. “He got that beauty from his Mom.”

            “He got what?”

            “I said, he got that beauty from his Mom.”

            “Dyo I feel like something was caught in my ear hole,” she then confessed, looking genuinely confused. “What did you say again?”

            Kyungsoo paused. Head swungs on other side. He would do that whenever he was at lost for words. Sometimes, just before he opened his eyes in the morning, he wished he could wake up being a talkative (and hot, and not bumbling) Do Kyungsoo instead. That way he didn’t need to be involved with this classic wallflower matter. “I said,” he blabbered, “quit with your staring. Gotta head to class and study math. We have quiz today, remember?”

            And she heard his last sentence well.

            —Because Amber hated math.

            And after she grunted “Crap, totally forgot about that!”, they ran from that place.

            Ran. They ran all the way down the third floor, Amber leading ahead, while Kyungsoo didn’t quite understand what he was aiming for; what he was escaping from. Math ain’t a hard subject. It was one of his saving graces. But Amber hated it, thus she had reasons to be panicked. Kyungsoo didn’t. As they went past doors by doors, classes by classes, his brain won’t stop questioned—had there been no Baek’s mother that morning, would he be running like this also? Had he not see Baekhyun coming to school with his pretty Mom, would he still tasting this queer feeling?

            A queer feeling, throbbing like that combative sensation when you find a big rat family on your stockroom; when you’re struggling to find your childhood toys just to get sentimental over old certain memories. Then he stumbled over his own shoes just as they were reaching their seats, and Baekhyun was there, out of the blue, standing by the class door with the same red muffler from these past three days around his neck. Red, homemade muffler; oh did Kyungsoo’s concern fell on the woolen thick scarf that fast. No one uttered any words when they noticed Baek’s mother waiting before the class entrance—looking straight, cold without any attempt to smile—her eyes telling every single bad thing Kyungsoo could contemplate. Where could her stare have ended? He learnt to mimic her gesture to no avail. Then something in him suggested that she was glaring at his shoulders. Like son, like mother, it seemed so, but no.

            It didn’t simply stop there. She wasn’t just glaring at his shoulder. She was glaring at him. From the ground she stepped those strappy slide wedges on—her, glaring at Kyungsoo, and she acted as if she was trying to dig up holes. And even apart from her stern motion, Kyungsoo simply got it. He got it all.

            Baekhyun’s mother hated him. In fact she really hated Kyungsoo.

            Because she didn’t bother to hide her anger, and it became a sort of awareness. Her eyes turned fiery, following his every edge; anger attached through her frantic breath. Her subtle desire to snap at Kyungsoo was there; too clear, too loud for his ear. And again, Kyungsoo simply got it. He got it all. Because Kyungsoo knew. Kyungsoo knew something he wasn’t supposed to perceive.

****

            —Because Kyungsoo knew about those bruises. Those bruises. Those red and blue bruises on Baekhyun’s neck.

            —And he had the feeling that she was the reason behind them.

****

            “He was an old man who fished alone in a skiff in the Gulf Stream,” the boy began reading the first page of the book, “and he had gone eighty-four days now without taking a fi—oh, well, that’s really sad, yo.”

            Kyungsoo pretended not to hear Baekhyun’s joke, watching laughter burst into the air  as people started cluthing their stomatch to stave off themselves for peeing. Parts of his mind were actually waiting for this to happen. It wasn’t impassable. At least Jongin had taught him that when you laugh too much, you pretty much have bigger chance to pee, and you wish you could bury yourself under the nearest deep blue sea.

            “But he’s right though,” Park Sun-young tapped her fingers on the table, smiling cutely from the table behind him to be sure of it, “that’s honestly really sad.”

            Kyungsoo rolled his eyes. Flipping through the thin pages of The Old Man and The Sea (the best thing about having a novelist father is that you can read many amazing works from many amazing authors and even bring them to your Literature lesson to avoid sharing school-library books with your classmates), holding himself from screaming at his classmates about, “No, jeez, how can you laugh over that lame joke? It wasn’t funny at all. Baekhyun’s joke wasn’t funny at all.”

            Not when Baekhyun was reading Kyungsoo’s treasured book in front of the entire class and their Literature teacher with the kind of voice who seemingly asked to be punched.

            Oh, no.

            Not just his voice, but all those unnecessary winks too.

            And that witty hand movement.

            —Everything.

            He had assumed before that Baekhyun was reckless (and fearless) and do stupid things all the time but this one was just too much.

            “Okay, Baekhyun, that wasn’t how you should’ve read this book,” their Literature teacher warned him. Finally. Thankfully. Or not.

            It was a bit too bland to be counted as warning. He was her dearest student after all. Because she and Baek’s mother are super best friend, that’s why, Amber had explained to him last week when she made the entire class (excluding Baekhyun) attended detention—because, according to her (whilst flaunting her eye smile), they weren’t paying attention. Oh adults and all their nonsense. But what surprised him was the fact that Baek’s Mom had best friend. Or super best friend, just like Amber claimed.

            Ah, Baek’s mother. The memory of her cold stare wouldn’t stop haunting him.

            There was a certainty of anger and fear and resigned about her gaze on Kyungsoo; and it kept on coming back to him the last two days of his present life. As children coming back to their mother; so clingy, and almost mechanically helpless with unsatisfied desire. Mentally, he was quick enough to rate people. From a scale of one to one hundred, he would give her ninety for being so pretty. She was a white lily. A tainted one from the way she carried herself. And she was a black baccara rose at the same time. The flower of blood. She seemed like she was about to kill whoever brave enough to lay their hands on her precious son. Her precious Baekhyun. He smelt possessiveness. Beat him, but Baek’s Mother gave him this vibe that she loved him in a way Kyungsoo could never undertand, which was far from healthy if he had to be frank. And so Kyungsoo demanded more. He wanted to know what was hiding behind her; behind the ever appealing cold mask.

            —What was hiding behind Baekhyun’s fake laugh and also his bruises.

            “I’m sorry, Tiffany-seonsaengnim,” Baekyun narrowed his eyes and nodded apologetically (Kyungsoo felt a terrible taste on the tip of his tongue from just watching the scene), “it’s just really sad, that’s all.”

            “Alright,” she sighed, for whataver reason her tone dropped a pitch lower until it almost came out as whisper. “Let’s continue where you left off.”

            Kyungsoo took a deep breath, ready to roll his eyes for the second time when Baekhyun opened his mouth. “But after forty days without a fish,” he continued; yet Kyungsoo didn’t want to hear anymore, “the boy’s parents had told him that the old man was now definitely and finally salao, which is the worst form of unlucky, and the boy had gone...”

            Then it was quiet.

            He had no idea how long his sleep went on. He had no idea why didn’t Amber nudge him or anything. Maybe because she, too, was asleep herself, which likely be the case. First he wanted to just close his eyes for seconds (because he was tired of Baekhyun making himself looked all happy and cheered up) and next thing Baekhyun’s voice became more and more inaudible.

            But in the end he got himself a really strange dream.

            Kyungsoo smirked in his sleep. Was it about being scouted by Musiq Soulchild for his next studio album? He forgot. Then what else it could be? It could be something, or two, relating Baekhyun. Baekhyun with his head on Kyungsoo’s lap; half laughing, half spilling tears. His bruises wasn’t no longer there.

            “Take me away,” he pleaded softly, looking up at him with a nostalgic crinkle before murmuring, “somewhere far from this place.”

            “No. I can’t. I don’t want to.”

            Silence. “Why?”

            Why? He didn’t know himself. If that wasn’t a dream, he would’ve said ‘yes’. “Because you are a bad wo—no, not yet. You’re a puppy. But someday you’ll grow into a big, bad, wolf, and you’ll end up eating me.”

            “I won’t eat you. I promise. I just want to leave.”

            Time went on but the universe inside his dream was still quiescent. “You know that will not outwit me; surely, you wouldn’t just escape from this small country and not feeling hungry.”

            Baekhyun looked at him again. Frowning. This Baekhyun. This Baekhyun who was so different from the real Baekhyun he knew. This Baekhyun had darker eyes. Darker pants and darker nails. But even then, even in dream, even with this foreign Baekhyun, his eyes were still dozens mixed shade of brown—so warm and pretty and sweet and sugary; his pair of saccharine eyes that made him Byun Baekhyun because no one else could be. Like a drug. Like a full-blooming . “I am not certain. Just take me away. So long as you believe in me, I won’t eat you.”

            “And you know that’s why I refused to lend my hand,” Kyungsoo made quick eye contact with him, “because wolves lie all the time. And you—”

            “And I’m one of them? I know,” the man got up from Kyungsoo’s lap and grinned pathetically. Suddenly Kyungsoo felt his throath was dry. “I know.”

            It made no sense. His dream wasn’t making any sense. And then, as if he had enough of dreaming, he rushed back from this Baekhyun in his sleep, trying to find any method to wake up as though he was in a maze.

            As soon as he ran from his previous spot, darkness was all over his vision. He kept on running, and running, tugging carelessly at everything flat enough to support him when he accidentally tripped over his own shoes (did he ever wear them before) before climbing on one leg and persisting to get back to run. His head was vibrating. For one thing he thought he was in the middle of earth quake—but how to be awake? How to wake himself up? Could it be what they called sleep paralysis? He cried a little bit. He knew at once his Dad experienced sleep paralysis and when the older man couldn’t move, Kyungsoo thought he might turn fatherless and her Mom would marry her ex-boyfriend or whoever person that secretly practice child abuse.

            He tried again. Hands yanking the air. Fingers in reach of something he didn’t quite understand. He could not help but wish that if he were going to die that instant, then at least his parents would work on another son who is much better than Kyungsoo—so please, please don’t ever regret of losing this stupid boy. It wasn’t until he felt a rough hand patting his hair, caressing the gap of Kyungsoo’s thick lock—a thumb brushing the outline of his right cheek, so gently as it were the owner was playing with calm water surface and he feel a need not to break anything—that he finally woken up, staring eye to eye with a small, pair familiar brown of orbs.

            “Hey, New Kid, wake up.”

            And two—fresh—red bruises on the back of lean, craning neck.

To be continued