Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Baekhyun let his eyelids drop close as he felt the low temperature of this floor— of how colder it was than the waiting room he had gotten used to. 

He adjusted his grip on the cardboard handle, gripping it strong enough until a small dent was formed on the spot where his fingers had laid on.

Another round of sigh escaped his lips, before he looked at his reflection in the polished floors, smiling— as if nothing was wrong.

As if his heart was not tight with worry of what was waiting for him in that room. 

He gulped as his fist knocked twice, finally opening the heavy wooden door. 

“Delivery!” he greeted lightly, already stepping in, already bright.

Park Chanyeol was by the window, somehow looking taller than Baekhyun remembered seeing him just two weeks ago. And for a split second— Baekhyun had forgotten the scripted lines he had made sure to practice over and over again when he was waiting for the cups of coffee he ordered. 

Chanyeol looked too calm. 

Then, Baekhyun recovered his composure, crossing the room with practiced ease. 

“I heard you’ve been running on caffeine, Director Park,” he added, placing the hot cup within the director’s reach.

For a split second, Chanyeol looked up, their gazes meeting in a cold frequency that made Baekhyun’s chest constrict.

“You didn’t have to,” Chanyeol said, voice even, already stepping back to sit on his chair.

Baekhyun smiled nonetheless, content enough by Chanyeol’s answer. 

“I was already nearby. Thought I’d stop by.”

“Nearby?” Jongin’s voice cut in, sharp as a blade wrapped in silk.

Baekhyun had not even noticed him at first— the idol was leaning back against the couch, arms crossed, eyes scanning him with open skepticism. While Sehun, an actor Baekhyun had worked with once, sat silently beside him, but no less observant. 

If Jongin was fire, Sehun was ice— cool and assessing.

“I had a booking downstairs,” Baekhyun explained, composure still strong while forcing a small laugh, “I’m handling some of the casts.”

“Mm,” Jongin’s gaze flicked to Chanyeol, then back to Baekhyun, “He’s still doing this until now?”

Sehun exhaled softly, not quite a sigh. 

“He’s persistent, I’ll give him that.”

Baekhyun kept his smile in place, even as his fingers curled slightly around the empty space where the coffee had been. 

“It’s not like that. I just—”

“Well, more selfish, I’d say. Hasn’t changed a bit.” 

The comment echoed without much decoration. Baekhyun’s expression held, but his fingers tightened for a moment at his side before relaxing again.

Baekhyun gave a small shrug, like it did not matter and like none of this mattered as much as it actually did to him. 

“It was never my intention to make things complicated,” he said, looking at Chanyeol now.

Baekhyun let the silence sit. He did not rush to fill it this time, nor did he try to deflect. 

He just stayed there, like he was willing to be looked at— even like this.

“I’ll get out of your way,” he added after a beat, voice softer but still composed, “Just thought I’d stop by.”

Chanyeol did not reply and Baekhyun smiled as he nodded once. Jongin watched him the entire time, unconvinced with his intentions while Sehun said nothing, but his gaze lingered, thoughtful in a way that felt heavier than Jongin’s bluntness.

Baekhyun turned toward the door, just in time before he stepped out, he mumbled.

“Take care, Chanyeol.”

When he stepped out, the door closed behind him with a soft click. He exhaled, the smile slipping from his face the moment no one could see it as usual. 

Baekhyun had stood there, staring ahead, replaying the few seconds of eye contact like it was something he could hold onto.

Pathetic, he thought, a small bitter chuckle found its way to his lips.

As if the universe did not allow him a moment of peace, his phone buzzed in his hand, the screen lighting up, and Baekhyun found his shoulders stiffen. 

Come home now. 

With just that one simple message, the air in his lungs drained all of a sudden. 

For a brief second, something like resistance flickered— gone almost immediately before it was replaced with something else.

He locked the screen, slipping the phone into his pocket as he straightened his shoulders, and let that easy expression settle back into place like nothing had cracked underneath it. 

***

Baekhyun had never remembered his house as a home. 

It was different from most homes he had seen in movies, ones that were bright, filled with framed pictures of happy memories of the families living within the walls. 

His was always dark. 

His house was always letting him know a glimpse of what was going to happen. 

And Baekhyun knew how lucky he was to be able to move out from this hell, to live on his own after his mother had passed away years ago. Yet, Baekhyun could still not escape the devil that was his own father.

Byun Jongho was a complicated man.

He dealt with everything in precision. His words were chosen carefully, pressure applied exactly where it would hurt the most, until resistance felt pointless and compliance felt like the only logical choice.  

To the outside world, he was respectable, admirable even. The kind of man who was able to build things from nothing. But behind closed doors, his control can turn cruel in seconds— sharp with manipulation, laced with guilt, and, when necessary, enforced through actions that left too much trace in Baekhyun’s skin.

Baekhyun closed his eyes briefly, then exhaled. 

He knew where his father was, he must be upstairs, waiting for him in the study that was the silent witness of everything.

He just needed a moment, a few undisturbed minutes to brace himself, but he made his way up anyway. 

The study door was already open when he reached it. Warm light spilled into the hallway, sharp against the rest of the house. His father stood by the desk, back straight, hands clasped behind him like he was inspecting something invisible.

“You took your time.”

“I was working,” Baekhyun replied evenly, stepping inside.

His father turned then, eyes sweeping over him— not as a person, never as a son.

“Sit.”

Baekhyun did not.

“I’m fine,”

A pause was prominent. His father’s eyes sharpened with annoyance. 

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Baekhyun held his gaze for a second longer than he should have— already changing from the child his father used to know, before finally pulling the chair and sitting down. 

“There’s been a development that will benefit both of us.” his father said, moving around the desk slowly. 

And Baekhyun almost scoffed if he did not hold himself, since when had his father cared about him?

“Someone found out about what you are, and they loved it.”

Baekhyun’s fingers stilled against his knee, already knowing where this conversation was going. A thin silence stretched between the air, suffocating him. 

Baekhyun let out a short breath through his nose. 

“Who is it this time?”

Rare.

That was the word everyone liked to use to describe him

Rare enough to be whispered about behind closed doors. Rare enough that the right families kept records, made calls, arranged introductions that looked like coincidences.

His father’s lips curved faintly. 

“The Parks.”

Everything in Baekhyun went still.

“No,”

It came out sharper than he intended.

“This is not a request.”

“Chanyeol would never accept it.”

A small humorless sound of laughter was the only response his father gave him. Baekhyun’s hand curled into a fist. 

“He wouldn’t agree,” he repeated, quieter now, but no less certain, “You know he wouldn’t.”

“Looks like the agreement isn’t his to make.”

The words were surrounded by a calm finality— and Baekhyun knew. He was too confident for this to be something as trivial as a proposal and he felt something hot rise in his chest. 

“You’re talking about his life like it’s a contract.”

“It is a contract,”

His father stepped closer, voice lowering. 

“And you are part of it.”

Baekhyun laughed once, hollow. 

“You’re just going to sell me off because it’s convenient?”

His father’s expression hardened. 

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” Baekhyun looked up at him, something cracking through the composure he had been holding onto all day.

“You’re reducing me to— what? A trait? A transaction?”

“Oh, come on, you have always been just an asset.”

The room went cold while Baekhyun stared at the man he had always called father. For a second, he had hoped he misheard. But his father never took it back. 

“You were born with something rare,” he continued, almost impatient now.

“Do you have any idea how many families would compete for this? How much leverage does this give us?”

Something in Baekhyun’s chest twisted.

“Wealth follows rarity,” his father went on, “Status. Influence. This is an opportunity.”

“It’s disgusting.”

The word slipped out before he could stop it and the silence that followed was immediate. Baekhyun did not look away.

“I’m not something you can trade,” he said, voice low, steady despite the tremble underneath, “I’m not—”

The crack of impact cut him off, just a split second as his head was snapped to the side. Baekhyun stayed still, with cheek stinging, burning from the harsh contact with his father’s palms, breathing shallowly.

He did not touch his face.

He did not react.

He had learned better than that.

“Watch your tone,” his father said coldly.

Baekhyun swallowed. Slowly, he turned his head back. His vision steadied.

“You think this is about you?” his father continued, “This is bigger than your feelings. Bigger than whatever… attachment you think you have. This is the only way you can be useful.”

Baekhyun’s eyes flickered.

Three years ago, he heard the news, news outlets breaking the announcements without stop, echoing the obituary throughout the whole country. 

Chanyeol’s wife— she was gone.

She had passed away in childbirth. It was sudden— tragic. 

And eight months ago, he finally stepped into Chanyeol’s orbit again— with love that was too late, too careful, pretending it was a coincidence when he knew it was not. 

But now, he knew he had no way out. 

It was a luxury he could never have. 

***

Chanyeol entered the dining room of his parents’ residence without much fuss, only a few maids who were frantically professional in their ways of assisting him. 

His father was seated at the head of the table, glasses on his nose, while the newspaper kept him company as his wife was busy preparing dinner. 

“You’re working late again,” his father greeted, almost a mere statement rather than concern.

Chanyeol hummed faintly, pulling one of the chairs before he sat down. 

“It’s nothing new.”

There was a silence before his father settled the newspaper and his glasses on the table. 

“We met with Chairman Byun today, from Byun Enterprises.”

Slowly, Chanyeol lifted his gaze.

“…Why?”

His father did not answer immediately. Instead, he sighed, calling his mother into the dining room before he continued.

Chanyeol already did not like where this was going.

“There’s a proposal on the table,” his father said.

Chanyeol leaned back in his chair, expression flattening. 

“We don’t need anything from them.”

“Not financially.”

“Then what?”

“A marriage.”

Chanyeol blinked once, like the word failed to register properly in his head.

“… What?”

“Byun Baekhyun, you’ve… heard of him, right?”

The name landed heavier than it should have. Something in Chanyeol’s chest tightened with a tight, sharp, and unwelcome twist.

“No.”

It came out instinctively. Yet, his father did not budge.

“The terms are favorable—”

“I said no.”

Chanyeol stood this time, the chair scraping softly against the floor. 

“We’re not discussing this.”

“You haven’t heard the full—”

“I don’t need to.”

His voice did not rise. If anything, it dropped by a colder, harder octave.

“I’m not getting married again.”

The words hung in the air with untouchable finality and for a moment, neither of them was willing to speak. Until finally, his mother’s voice entered the space.

“Oh, son, don’t shut it down so quickly.”

His mother stepped in, gentler in presence but no less prepared. She looked between them, her gaze lingering on Chanyeol just a fraction longer.

Always watching him like this.

Like he might disappear if she looked away too long, worry always present in those eyes.

Chanyeol exhaled quietly, dragging a hand through his hair. 

“You can’t be serious.”

“We are,” his father said.

His mother moved closer, her tone softer.

“At least sit down.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

That made him pause. Not because it was untrue, but because Chanyeol caught that she said it like she knew exactly how untrue his statement was.

Chanyeol looked away first.

“…This isn’t happening,” he said, quieter now.

His mother studied him for a moment before speaking again.

“He came to see you again today, didn’t he?”

Chanyeol’s jaw tightened. 

Of course they knew, something like this would not have escaped their radar. 

“He’s been coming often,” she continued, “more than what would be considered casual.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Doesn’t it?”

Chanyeol let out a short breath, something close to frustration slipping through. 

“He drops by. That’s all.”

“Not for no reason,” his father said.

Chanyeol’s gaze snapped back to him.

“What are you implying?”

“I think that his father wouldn’t propose this without confidence.”

The implication settled in, slow and suffocating as Chanyeol felt it click into place— and immediately rejected it before it could even settle in his comprehension.

“Looks like he loves you.”

His mother’s voice was quiet, gentle, but it cut deeper than anything his father had said. And Chanyeol could only freeze, pausing whatever thoughts and actions he was about to carry out, but then the hesitation was gone.

“That’s not your conclusion to make.”

“But it’s one that we can’t really ignore.”

Chanyeol laughed under his breath, humorless. 

“You’re basing this on what? Office visits and assumptions?”

“We’re basing it on observation, and on what has been offered,” his father replied.

His mother stepped closer. 

“We’ve known him for years, Chanyeol. You have known him for years.”

That was something Chanyeol could not deny. 

High school hallways. Shared classes. Easy laughter that had once come without effort. Before everything was shattered right in front of his eyes.

“He’s a good person,” she continued. 

Chanyeol almost scoffed. Because… If only they knew.

“And a carrier,” his father added bluntly.

The word dropped into the room like a weight and Chanyeol’s expression hardened immediately.

“So that’s what this is about,”

“It’s part of it.”

“Of course it is.”

His voice turned colder.

“We’re thinking about your future,” his mother said quickly, “About stability. About—”

“Control,” Chanyeol cut in.

“No, it’s about keeping you here.”

His mother held his gaze, something fragile slipping through her composure.

“You’ve been drifting apart,” she muttered carefully, “Reckless. You don’t sleep. You don’t stop ever since she left us. And we—”

Chanyeol looked away, not wanting to see the cracks that were starting to slip through in his mother’s composure. 

They were scared for him.

“Chairman Byun’s company is in serious debt,” his father continued, “This marriage would help resolve it.”

Chanyeol frowned.

“So he’s trading his son?”

The words came out sharper than intended because something about it sat wrong in his head. Incredibly wrong. His parents exchanged a brief look. 

“We considered that,” his mother admitted, “It was… odd, at first.”

“But?” Chanyeol pressed.

“But Baekhyun has been around you frequently enough that it did not seem one–sided,” his father exclaimed.

Chanyeol’s chest tightened again for the hundredth time tonight. 

“He wouldn’t—” 

But, then, he stopped.

Wouldn’t what?

As a matter of fact, he would. Because Baekhyun kept showing up, smiling like nothing was wrong, looking at him like—

Chanyeol exhaled sharply, cutting the thought off.

Chanyeol shook his head, still refusing this whole ridiculous idea that was suddenly shoved in his plate without him asking.

“You’re asking me to build a life out of something I didn’t choose.”

“Son, please,” his mother pleaded, “We’re asking you to stay alive.”

“I don’t need this,” he said finally, voice low. 

“Maybe not,” his father said, “but the arrangement had been accepted.” 

Chanyeol exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face.

“This is insane.”

“It’s decided.”

For a long moment, he said nothing. His mother stepped closer, voice softer— but unwavering, clear with concern of a mother.

“You don’t have to love him, at least not now.” she said and the words settled carefully.

“But you need something to anchor you. And he—” she paused, just briefly, “—he already reached for you.”

Chanyeol closed his eyes briefly.

It was three years.

Three whole years since everything had ended before it even had the chance to begin.

Since loss had carved something permanent into him. 

Since he stopped wanting anything at all after the night he had lost his wife and his unborn child. 

And now—

Baekhyun had successfully weaved himself into his life again in the most despicable way possible. 

Bright, persistent, standing too close, too often, like he did not understand distance— or refused to accept it. Even when Chanyeol had always replied to him with nothing but rejection. 

***

Baekhyun knew he should have taken his own car.

That was the first thought that kept circling, useless and too late, as the city blurred past the window in streaks of blurry lights.

He had his own place. His own schedule. His own life— built carefully, piece by piece, far enough from this house that most days, he could pretend it did not follow him anymore.

But tonight was never his to control.

“You’ll come with me,” his father had said over the phone, never asking, “We will arrive together.”

Baekhyun hesitated.

“I can meet you there.”

“No,” his father replied flatly, “You’ll come with me.”

And Baekhyun knew what that meant. So now he sat in the passenger seat, hands clasped too tightly in his lap, watching the speedometer climb higher than it needed to. The engine roared as the car surged forward, weaving between lanes with sharp, unnecessary movements. 

“Dad—”

“Sit properly.”

“I am,”

“Then stop fidgeting.”

Baekhyun pressed his lips together, and the car had accelerated again. A horn blared somewhere behind them.

Baekhyun’s fingers curled into his slacks. 

“Dad, you’re driving too fast.”

His father did not respond, nor did he slow down. Streetlights flickered across the windshield in quick, blinding intervals. The road ahead bent slightly, and instead of easing into it, his father pushed harder on the accelerator. 

Baekhyun’s breath hitched.

“Slow down,” he said, quieter this time.

The car swerved just slightly— just enough. Enough to make his pulse spike and his palms to go clammy with sweat.

“If you don’t listen to me, if you leave,” his father said suddenly, voice calm in a way that felt wrong, “I will die.”

Baekhyun froze.

“And it will be your fault.”

Baekhyun swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Don’t say that.”

“Then don’t give me a reason to.”

The car sped up again and Baekhyun’s chest tightened.

“You think you can walk away?” his father continued, “From me? From everything I’ve built for you?”

“I didn’t ask for—”

“You didn’t ask?” His father let out a short laugh, “You think you’d be anything without me?”

The words hit where they were planned to. Baekhyun stared straight ahead, blinking once, slowly.

“You have your job because of the name I gave you,” his father went on, “The connections. The access. Everything you think you earned?”

Another sharp turn.

“It was handed to you.”

Baekhyun’s nails dug into his palms. He never argued, not because he agreed, but he had learned by now that arguing always made things worse. 

The car finally slowed as they approached a red light.

For a brief second, everything stilled, the calm before another storm hit.

Baekhyun exhaled shakily, shoulders tight, lungs burning like he had forgotten how to breathe properly.

“I’m not asking you to do anything unreasonable, this is for your own good.” his father said, voice smoothing out like nothing had happened, “so just keep quiet later in that table, and go with whatever the fuck I will say.”

Baekhyun let out a quiet, stuttered breath.

The light turned green— and the car moved again, slower now.

Like the last few minutes had not laid out the way it did.

Baekhyun turned his head slightly, watching the city pass by the window, not wanting the corner of his eyes to take even a glimpse of his own father. His distorted reflection stared back at him.

He looked— smaller.

And he hated that.

Hated that no matter how far he got, how much he built on his own, it never seemed to matter when he was here.

He thought of Chanyeol— of the way he had always looked at him with distance and vigilance. Like Baekhyun was something to keep at arm’s length.

And now— this.

Baekhyun closed his eyes briefly.

He’s going to hate me even more.

The thought inevitably settled deep.

///

When the car finally stopped, Baekhyun stepped out of the car, legs steady only because they had to be.

“Fix your expression, you look tense.” his father commanded as he adjusted his cufflinks.

Baekhyun did not respond, he had merely followed his father.

Inside, the host greeted them immediately, guiding them toward a private room at the back. The door slid open and there they were.

Chanyeol sat near the window, tall and composed in a way that felt almost untouched by everything around him. His parents were seated already, posture relaxed but attentive.

Baekhyun stopped for half a second.

He had been preparing the whole day for this moment, but the moment Chanyeol looked up and their eyes met, something in Baekhyun’s chest tightened painfully.

Chanyeol’s expression did not change.

But his hand— resting loosely at his side— shifted slightly, fingers brushing over his wrist, rubbing once, twice.

It was a habit Baekhyun had grown to remember.

Chanyeol was overwhelmed.

Baekhyun forced himself to move again.

“Chairman Park,” his father greeted smoothly, stepping forward with practiced ease, while Baekhyun bowed deeply, smiling already in place to greet the couple.

Baekhyun bowed when expected, said the right things when prompted, laugh spilling out in the right moments.

He could do this.

He had always been good at this.

But his armor slipped in a brief second when his father’s hand landed on his shoulder— firm, just a little too tight— body stiffening instinctively.

It was subtle, nothing more than a hiccup. 

Chanyeol still noticed. The way Baekhyun’s posture locked before it forced itself to relax again. 

Baekhyun kept his gaze lowered, hands folded neatly in his lap. He could not trust himself to look at Chanyeol again just yet, his attention was far gone, not listening to any of the conversation, but rather only having some fragments arriving in his ear.

But, then…

“And of course,” Baekhyun’s father said, voice smooth, satisfied, “a grandchild would be a huge blessing.”

The words dropped like a bomb to Baekhyun. 

He had known the purpose of this marriage. The sole purpose of the Parks choosing him to be the only candidate as Chanyeol’s spouse. 

His fingers still tightened nonetheless, his gaze falling again, his body crippling even further to his seat as the fear of looking into Chanyeol’s eyes continued to grow. 

Across the table, Chanyeol’s hand stilled against his wrist.

Chanyeol’s mother smiled faintly, composed. 

“Of course, that’s the hope.”

His father nodded. 

“It’s something we would also look forward to.”

Baekhyun felt something cold settle in his stomach, realizing that there was never a possibility of refusal. This had never been a discussion he was allowed to be a part of. 

He mustered up the courage to glance up— just for a second. 

Chanyeol was already looking at him.

His eyes were sharp, unreadable, and if Baekhyun was right, he could almost see the contempt that oozed through them.

Baekhyun looked away first.

Of course he did.

If he held that gaze any longer, he was afraid something would show.

Fear.

Guilt.

Hope.

All the things he was never allowed to bring into this room. And as his father’s hand pressed lightly against his shoulder again— a reminder, Baekhyun swallowed and sat still, exactly like how he was expected to. 

***

Baekhyun knew the exact time the article was published. 

He had been staring at his phone for an hour, thumb always hovering on top of the screen to refresh the page, anticipating any change that could come through. 

And it finally did. 

[BREAKING NEWS] Park Chanyeol to Remarry: Union with Byun Baekhyun Confirmed

He stared at that headline.

The photo attached in that article was clean, managed— one of Chanyeol’s shots from a press conference, sharp suit, composed expression, immaculate as he always was. Beside it, a more recent photo of Baekhyun, pulled from some event he barely remembered attending.

They looked like strangers placed side by side.

Below it, the article continued, elaborating on the union.

The Park family has confirmed the upcoming marriage of Director Park Chanyeol to Byun Baekhyun, a well-known makeup artist behind the success of many entertainers. Sources note that Byun Baekhyun is a rare male carrier, a factor that has drawn significant attention among elite family circles in the topic of inheritance. 

Baekhyun’s eyes lingered on that line longer than the rest.

He let out a quiet breath upon the realization that the most concealed part about himself was released to the public just like that, reduced to something people could admire.

The stillness in his apartment was almost deafening— it was too soft, too lonely. 

The world was running their mouths about him— about his marriage that was going to happen under the pretense of happiness. 

It should have been overwhelming. 

It should have sounded like a lie. 

The disbelief, anxiety, guilt— they were all there. But, beneath them, something smaller found its way to bloom. 

He got to stay. 

He got to try every single day to get the forgiveness he had yearned for. 

He got to be where Chanyeol was within reach— every single day. 

Even if it meant being looked at like that.

Baekhyun’s back met the soft surface of the couch while he stared up to the ceiling. His mind wandered back to the look in Chanyeol’s eyes during that night’s dinner. 

It was a rejection without ever needing words. 

That was fine.

Was it?

He thought back— eight months ago, standing outside that same office door for the first time after years, meeting the man he had hurt too deeply. 

He had not gone there expecting warmth, if anything, he had expected this. 

All of this distance, coldness, disinterest.

And when Chanyeol gave it to him, Baekhyun stayed without even realizing.

“I deserve it,” he mumbled quietly, the truth from his heart slipping through as he could not prevent it. 

He just kept going back. 

Not because he thought things would get better, and definitely not because he believed Chanyeol would forgive him.

But because every time Chanyeol looked at him like that— like there was something fundamentally wrong with him— it aligned. It made sense. It had fit into something Baekhyun had already accepted long before.

That he did something too unforgivable.

And this was what it looked like after.

Baekhyun let out a faint breath, something close to a laugh but without humor.

He was pathetic.

But still— he kept going back. Because leaving would mean he was letting himself off too easily.

Baekhyun’s fingers curled slightly against the fabric of the couch and his chest felt too tight, his ribs constricted in the ways that he had always known all his life from the fear of his own father.

Now, Chanyeol was tied to him.

Out of control, decisions made without consideration, and just something out of choice.

“I’m not like him,” he said under his breath.

He was not his father.

But then— why did it feel so similar? Why did it look the same from the outside?

His stomach twisted. Because if Chanyeol saw it that way— if Chanyeol looked at him and saw that—

Baekhyun squeezed his eyes shut.

Baekhyun exhaled shakily, dragging a hand over his face.

He despised the way his father could still reach into his life and rearrange it like this. He hated that even now, even after everything he had built on his own— he was still here.

Still caught, still part of it, still burned under the shadows of his childhood.

And worst of all— he hated that Chanyeol would only ever see this version of him.

***

Baekhyun kept his focus lasered on Wendy’s face. 

She was an artist Baekhyun had worked with for as long as he could remember. He was always with her in multiple of her schedules— concerts, music shows, and even charity galas, like this one. And it seemed the singer had taken advantage of the magic his hands could do. 

“Hold still,” he murmured, tilting Wendy’s chin slightly.

She laughed under her breath. 

“You always say that like I’m about to run away.”

“You do fidget,” Baekhyun replied lightly, brushing the final shimmer across her cheekbone, “I’m just preparing for it.”

“Mm, perfectionist,” she teased, but she stayed still anyway.

Baekhyun leaned back, studying his work, assessing whether other touches were needed in places he might have missed.

“Okay, you’re good to go,” he exclaimed with a bright voice.

Wendy turned her head slightly, checking herself in the mirror, eyes lighting up. 

“Oh, this is good. Really good.”

“Well, I hope so.”

She smiled, then her expression shifted— playfulness slipping in.

“So,” she said, casual in a way that was not really casual at all, “I didn’t know you had something going on with the director.”

Baekhyun’s hands paused for just a fraction of a second before continuing to pack his brushes. He smiled easily.

“Do I?”

“Don’t play dumb,” she laughed, “The article? The wedding? Director Park?”

Baekhyun shrugged lightly, zipping his kit. 

“News travels fast.”

“Apparently,” she mumbled, watching him through the mirror, before continuing more thoughtfully, “And the carrier thing too… I mean, it’s been known among people who knew, but I didn’t expect it to be announced like that, with the wedding.”

The dainty fingers stopped moving for a split second, but he did not let it show.

“Yeah,” he said lightly, “They really went all out.”

Wendy studied him, something softer replacing the teasing. 

“Does that bother you?”

Baekhyun shook his head. 

“It’s not new.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s easy.”

“Well, it’s not something I can change, and I think it would make things simpler in the future.” Baekhyun smiled teasingly, implying the inevitable future he had in his hands, even if his heart tugged. 

Wendy did not notice, just letting her mouth fall wide, as laughter echoed between them before someone called her name from across the room.

“Coming!” she called back, standing.

She glanced at Baekhyun again. 

“Still, congratulations.”

Baekhyun nodded, smile intact.

“Thank you.”

The backstage noise rushed back in, louder now that the conversation had ended.

Baekhyun stood there for a moment, staring at nothing, before setting the suitcase that carried all of his kits upright.

///

The basement parking lot was quieter, no one was really exiting the building now that the ceremony had just started.

Other than him, apparently. 

Baekhyun walked toward his car, keys already in hand, while his suitcase was in the other.

Yet, his footsteps faltered when he caught the sight.

His father stood beside his car, arms crossed, with a scowl that was too prominent in his face.

Baekhyun’s grip could not help to tighten slightly around his keys. 

For a second, he considered turning around, running away from whatever that was waiting for him. 

But he did not.

He approached instead, steps careful and calculated.

“…How’d you know I’m here?” Baekhyun asked, voice even.

“That’s not important,” he curtly answered, “Get in the car.”

Of course not.

Baekhyun stopped a few steps away. 

“I have somewhere else to be.”

His father looked at him, unimpressed. 

“You’ll do what I said first.”

Baekhyun did not respond and he did not agree. The car doors opened with a press of a button from him, and his father stepped closer, settling himself on the passenger seat and Baekhyun hesitantly followed. 

The car door shut with a soft click and Byun Jongho did not waste a second.

“Do you understand what position you’re in right now?”

Baekhyun’s chest tightened slightly. 

“I do.”

“Do you?” His father tilted his head, “Because from where I am, you look like you’re still under the impression that you have options.”

Baekhyun just stayed quiet, words failing to leave his throat.

“Your marriage will be taken care of. The arrangements, the contracts, everything is already in motion.”

“What… do you need from me?” he asked quietly, fearing escalation if he did not comply. 

“You’re going to make this work.”

Baekhyun’s fingers curled.

“I told you I’ll cooperate,” he said.

“That’s not what I meant,” his father’s lips curved faintly, “You’re going to make him love you, whatever you call that.”

Baekhyun went still.

“That’s not—”

“You know that I can make sure everyone knows exactly who planned all this,”

Baekhyun’s eyes dimmed, realization settling in his chest when he understood the undercurrent in his father’s words.

“That’s not fair,” Baekhyun whispered.

“Life isn’t fair.”

His father had approached closer, enclosing him in a suffocating space that was making him smaller as seconds passed. 

A hand closed around his neck, cutting off his air supply, tight enough to leave a bruise. Baekhyun’s body reacted before his mind could catch up, fingers flying to his father’s wrist, trying to pry it away, breath catching as panic rose sharp and sudden in his chest.

“Do you know what happens if this marriage collapses?” his father asked, “Do you know what kind of attention that brings to the Park family?”

Baekhyun shook his head quickly. 

“Don’t—”

“I can ruin that for them,” his father said simply, “And for you.”

The threat had settled in exactly where Byun Jongho needed it to be.

“The Park family doesn’t tolerate embarrassment well. Do you really want to be the reason their name gets dragged into something ugly?”

Baekhyun shook his head immediately. 

“Then do your part.”

Just as abruptly, the pressure vanished. 

His father let go like nothing had happened, hand dropping away with unsettling ease. Air rushed back into Baekhyun’s lungs in a shaky inhale, his body still frozen where it was, fingers lingering in the space where the grip had been, as if it might return at any second.

Silence settled. Baekhyun sat there, every thought colliding at once.

Fear, guilt, and desperation.

“…What if he hates me?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

His father did not hesitate.

“Then you make him hate you less.”

Like it was that simple, and feelings were something that could be negotiated.

Baekhyun let out a quiet breath, something inside him sinking.

“…Okay,”

His father nodded once, satisfied.

“Good.”

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a card, then handed it over.

“A direct number, you’ll contact him. There’s a suit fitting tomorrow.”

Baekhyun stared at the number for a second before taking it. His fingers felt cold.

“Don’t waste time,” his father added before he left the car as if nothing happened.

For a moment, Baekhyun just sat there. His hands were still slightly trembling from the essence of his interaction earlier with his dad.

The silence inside the car pressed in, more suffocating than the basement had been.

He looked down at the card in his hand, then at his phone.

His chest tightened.

Make him love you.

The words felt wrong. It seemed impossible. Chanyeol had changed, he was no longer the highschool student Baekhyun was able to wrap around his fingers.

But the threat sat heavier. 

Baekhyun exhaled slowly, unlocking his phone before he typed.

Chanyeol-ah, this is Baekhyun.

See you tomorrow for the suit fitting!

***

Baekhyun was a loud kid.

Not obnoxiously loud— but just easy, likeable, and bright. The kind of person people gathered around without thinking too much about it. Laughter followed him down hallways, conversations leaned toward him, and attention was something he knew how to hold.

It was an escape.

At school, he decided who he was.

At home, he did not get that choice.

And control here did not come from force— it came from being liked, from knowing exactly what people wanted from him and giving it just enough to keep them close.

Baekhyun was good at that.

While, Chanyeol had been… different.

He was not shy by any means— he was just not interested in competing for space the way everyone else did. He watched more than he spoke, listened more than he reacted. There was something stable about him, something grounded that did not budge no matter how loud the room got.

Baekhyun noticed him early.

Because Chanyeol had looked at him in a way that was different from everyone else.

There was no expectation in it. No attempt to get closer.

Just genuine attention.

And that made Baekhyun uneasy.

And well, it did not take long to figure it out.

The way Chanyeol’s gaze lingered a second too long. The way he listened when Baekhyun spoke— even when the conversation did not involve him. The way he did not interrupt, did not compete, and did not try to impress.

It was soft.

But Baekhyun was good at reading people.

And it was easy to figure out that Chanyeol was head over heels for him.

Baekhyun recognized it for what it was— and instead of stepping back, he leaned into it.

“Can you hold this for me?”

It was not really a question.

Baekhyun handed things over without waiting for an answer— his bag, his notes, small inconveniences that Chanyeol never refused.

“Thanks,” he would say, already halfway turned away.

Sometimes he forgot to take them back, yet Chanyeol never complained.

Or maybe, other times, when there were assignments, group works, and things that Baekhyun could have done himself if only he tried a little bit harder.

Baekhyun always kept it light.

Never cruel enough to be obvious.

Just enough to keep Chanyeol where he was— close enough to reach, distant enough to not matter because that was the balance.

That was also the kind of attention young Baekhyun needed. 

Unconditional.

And Chanyeol— he was always there.

Baekhyun forced his thoughts to stop, blinking, pulling himself out of his own head.

There was no point going in circles.

The mirror was reflecting someone who was cleanly composed, so put together.

Baekhyun leaned in slightly, tilting his chin to the side as his fingers worked with the professionalism of someone who had done this countless times. The concealer blended seamlessly into his skin, layered carefully over the faint discoloration along his neck.

Purple, fading into something duller.

He adjusted the lighting, checking the coverage again.

“Okay,” he murmured to himself, like it was just another job.

Nothing that would catch attention.

Years of experience— of knowing exactly how to hide, how to enhance, how to make something disappear.

///

Baekhyun stepped inside the fitting room, smile already in place.

“Wow, they really did not hold back, huh?” he said lightly, glancing around. 

Chanyeol stood near the mirror, already halfway through trying on the first suit. He looked up and Baekhyun saw it again— that unreadable expression.

“Morning,” Chanyeol said.

Baekhyun’s smile refused to falter. 

“Morning.”

He set his things down, slipping easily into the space like he belonged there with the confidence he had always practiced for his entire life.

His gaze flickered to Chanyeol again.

“…That looks really good on you,” Baekhyun said, tone light, almost teasing, “Actually, no— that’s an understatement. It’s unfair, honestly.”

Chanyeol glanced at his reflection. 

“It’s a suit.”

“It’s you in a suit,” Baekhyun corrected, easy, warm, walking even closer, “Big difference.”

There was no pressure and expectation in it. Just full of admiration that was carefully contained and something that Chanyeol did not respond to. 

Baekhyun noticed that, as always. 

So he pulled back— just slightly.

“Sorry,” he added, softer now, a small shrug, “Occupational hazard. I notice these things.”

It was a boundary given before Chanyeol even had to ask for one.

“It’s fine,” Chanyeol said after a moment.

Baekhyun nodded, like that was enough.

“Try turning,” he said, gesturing lightly, “Let me see the back.”

Chanyeol did. Baekhyun stepped behind him, eyes scanning, mind focused. 

“Okay, it’s perfect, just minor adjustments and it’s good,” Baekhyun gave a brief touch to the cufflinks, “my future husband is too handsome.” 

It was innocent. 

But Chanyeol stood near the mirror with his jaw tighter than before. 

He was not here because he wanted to be. He was here because families said so, because expectations said so, because duty had a louder voice than anything he actually felt.

And as Baekhyun walked away when the tailor’s voice called for him, Chanyeol was left in his own emotions that he had to suppress. His arms were crossed as soon as his back met the couch, like he was shielding his own peace.

Across the room, Baekhyun laughed.

It was soft and bright— completely out of place in Chanyeol’s ears.

“Does this one look better?” Baekhyun asked, turning slightly as the tailor adjusted the shoulders of the suit. The fabric was a deep charcoal, clean line hugging his frame just right.

Chanyeol’s gaze lingered longer than he intended, then sharpened, like he was punishing himself for noticing. The way the suit fit Baekhyun’s waist, the neat fall of the sleeves— everything about it was right. 

Like Baekhyun belonged here. 

Like he deserved this.

Chanyeol hated that.

“Perfect, sir,” the tailor said, smoothing the front, “Very elegant.”

Baekhyun beamed, small and polite, dipping his head. 

“Thank you.”

That smile again— as if nothing had weighed in his mind and as if he was not stepping into something forced. As if this was all going according to his plan.

Chanyeol looked away, irritation tightening his chest.

How could he look so happy?

Baekhyun turned toward the mirror fully now, adjusting the lapel with careful fingers. For a brief moment, his expression softened— not the polite smile he gave others, almost thoughtful.

Almost absentmindedly, he tugged at his turtleneck’s collar, just a small movement of pulling it up higher against his neck.

“Chanyeol?”

The word slipped out lightly, natural, like they were not two humans forced into proximity.

Chanyeol’s head tilted up.

Baekhyun was looking at him now, eyes bright, almost expectant. 

“What do you think?”

“It’s fine,” he said flatly.

Baekhyun did not flinch. Instead, he nodded and smiled, like that was enough, like Chanyeol’s indifference did not sting at all.

“Okay,” he simply responded, turning back to the mirror.

Chanyeol’s hands clenched at his sides.

He failed to understand. He did not understand how Baekhyun could stand there, laughing with the tailor, chatting easily, like this was just another day, like he was not about to marry someone who clearly did not want him.

Like he was not standing in front of someone who hated him.

And worst of all— acting that he did not deserve that hatred.

Chanyeol’s gaze flickered back to him, sharper now, searching for anything that would crack that composed surface.

But Baekhyun just adjusted his sleeves, smoothing the fabric with gentle care.

“Can we try the lighter one too?” he asked, voice soft.

“Of course, sir.”

The tailor moved quickly, already reaching for another suit.

Baekhyun glanced once more at the mirror, then at Chanyeol, offering a small, almost shy smile— showing that he was trying despite everything.

Chanyeol looked away before he could think further.

Because the more he watched, the less it made sense.

So he stayed silent, jaw tight, eyes cold.

And told himself that Baekhyun’s happiness was nothing more than an act.

Even if, for a fleeting second, it had not looked like one at all.

***

Baekhyun had always liked soft lighting rather than harsh ones, even if the harsh ones helped him to see his work better at times. 

But soft lighting like these, blurred around the edges, made his clients feel more ready. 

“Close your eyes for me,” he murmured.

His client obeyed immediately, shoulders relaxing as Baekhyun’s fingers brushed lightly along his eyelids. His touch was careful, calculated— never pressing too hard. The brush glided in soft strokes, blending pigment into seamless flush. 

“There you go, you’re doing really great,” he said quietly. 

“You always say that,” he laughed softly, but there was relief in it.

“Because it’s always true.”

Baekhyun smiled, even though he could not see it. His voice carried it for him— he was always someone people could trust without thinking too much about it. 

Baekhyun tilted the client’s chin slightly.

“Look up for me.”

“Mm,” he peeked up through his lashes, “You caught up on my nerves, didn’t you?”

“You are nervous, am I wrong?” Baekhyun said, light and teasing, dabbing carefully beneath his eye, “But that’s okay.”

He huffed a small laugh. 

“You’re too good at reading people.”

He stepped back a little, studying his work with a quiet focus. He always did this, like any other makeup artist— this pause, this moment of consideration. Not just whether the makeup looked good, but whether it felt right on them.

“You want the look to be just soft, right?” he asked.

“Yeah. I don’t want to look like someone else.”

“You won’t, just a more confident version of you,” Baekhyun said gently.

“You’re really amazing at this,” he said suddenly.

Baekhyun blinked, then smiled, a little bashful. 

“I’m just doing my job.”

“No, really,” he turned slightly to look at him, “You make people feel so safe.”

Huh.

Safe.

Something he had never felt before.

The word settled somewhere deep, somewhere unfamiliar.

Baekhyun laughed it off lightly. 

“That’s the goal.”

If only it worked both ways.

He reached for another brush, keeping his movements smooth.

“Baekhyun-ssi,” the client called, voice turning a little more curious.

Baekhyun hummed softly. 

“Mm?”

“I heard the wedding is really soon,”

The brush paused— just for a fraction of a second. Then it continued, as if nothing had happened.

“Ah,” Baekhyun said, his tone was easy, “Yeah, it’s this week.”

“That’s such a boring way to say it, you don’t sound excited at all.” 

Tease was too evident in his client’s voice.

“I am!” he exclaimed, he even smiled when he said it.

His hands moved again without much thought, muscle memory creeping in as his thoughts flew somewhere else. Even if the conversation had carried its way towards something else entirely.

Baekhyun still remembered the first time he approached Chanyeol after everything had already fallen apart.

He was not smiling then. 

His hands were not as steady as they are now. 

He had not gotten the courage to act shameless like he always had.

“Chanyeol,” he had said, voice small, careful— like he was afraid even saying his name would make things worse.

Baekhyun swallowed. 

“I wanted to apologize.”

“For what?”

The question had been sharp— not because Chanyeol did not know. It was because he wanted Baekhyun to say it.

To own it. 

Baekhyun’s throat tightened. 

“For everything. I didn’t mean for it to—”

“Intent doesn’t change the outcome,” Chanyeol had cut in.

Baekhyun nodded quickly, eyes stinging. 

“I know.”

And he did.

He was never asking for forgiveness.

He had not expected it.

He just needed Chanyeol to know that he knew.

That he carried it.

That he would always carry it.

And somehow, despite everything he had broken—

Despite the way Chanyeol still looked at him like there was nothing left worth saving— Baekhyun had started to feel something he did not deserve.

In the spaces Chanyeol did not fill with anger, in the silence that was not violent, and in the steadiness that never changed.

It was the only illusion of safety Baekhyun had. 

And somewhere along the way, without meaning to, Baekhyun had fallen.

Far too late.

And into something he knew he had no right to keep.

***

The wedding day had arrived way too quickly for both Chanyeol and Baekhyun. 

There were no grand feelings, nor any sense of a grand occasion that had settled in their core. 

Just a slow, inevitable duty.

Chanyeol sat in front of the mirror, already dressed with an immaculate fine suit— his hair styled, every detail arranged to perfection. He looked exactly like what everyone expected him to be.

The door clicked open behind him.

“You’re ready early.”

Baekhyun’s voice was light, almost cheerful, like this was any other morning, as if there was no ceremony waiting to bind them together in a few hours.

Chanyeol did not turn.

“I don’t like being late.”

“Mm, I figured,” Baekhyun stepped inside, setting down his kit with quiet familiarity, “Can I?”

Chanyeol met his eyes in the mirror.

For a second, he considered saying no.

But this had already been decided weeks ago.

“I can do your makeup that day.”

Baekhyun had said it so casually, like it was not a strange request at all.

They had been standing in the middle of another fitting, another suffocating reminder of what was coming. Baekhyun had been smiling then too— soft.

“It’ll just be small touches,” he added quickly, “Nothing too noticeable. Just… so you look your best.”

Chanyeol did not respond, just watching Baekhyun’s movements from his seat without a word. 

“Close your eyes for me,” Baekhyun said now, standing beside him.

The same gentle tone he used with his clients. Like Chanyeol was someone he needed to handle gently.

Chanyeol despised it. 

The brush was light against his skin. Careful movements that were barely there, but purposive. Baekhyun worked quietly, his presence close but not overwhelming, never crossing into something that would feel invasive.

He hated how familiar Baekhyun seemed in this space and how natural it looked, like he belonged here, like this was something intimate instead of just another obligation.

“You don’t have to tense up,” Baekhyun murmured.

“I’m not.”

Instead of arguing, Baekhyun just adjusted slightly, pinky brushing briefly along Chanyeol’s cheekbone to steady his hand.

The contact was fleeting.

But something about it stayed longer than it should have.

Baekhyun pulled back just enough to study his face, eyes focused. There was no trace of hesitation in his work— only genuine care, like he was trying to get everything exactly right.

He had no courage to bring anything up, not yet.

Even if Chanyeol was sitting there, glaring at him with dark eyes, full of loathing for the person Baekhyun was.

Chanyeol had noticed. 

There was something almost careful in the way Baekhyun touched him. Like he was afraid of pressing too hard or like the fleeting peace that was between them was going to break if Baekhyun was being dissonant in the slightest bit.

Chanyeol’s lips pressed into a thin line.

He did not understand. 

He had tried and failed.

Too many times.

“Almost done,” Baekhyun said.

A pause was there before a quiet promise was declared— so thin that it almost merged into the air. 

“I will always try my best, Chanyeol.”

Baekhyun smiled, moving again to take another brush from his kit, and the words he had said just hung there.

It was not only about marriage. But rather, about the expectations and about everything Baekhyun had broken and was now, somehow, trying to mend.

“I’m not interested in your effort,” Chanyeol continued, voice cutting, “Just do what you’re supposed to do. Nothing more.”

Baekhyun’s hands faltered as his dainty hands were about to bring the brush closer, just for a second. 

His gentleness persisted.

“…Okay,” he said.

And just like that, the softness was tucked away, folded neatly behind something polite and distant.

“Okay, you’re done,” Baekhyun added after a moment, stepping back.

Chanyeol did not thank him, stubborn in his own stance as Baekhyun packed his things quietly, movements just as steady as before. If his hands trembled, he hid it well.

If something cracked— Baekhyun never let it show. 

“Good luck, Chanyeol,” Baekhyun said, a fake delight in his voice.

Then he left.

The door clicked shut and Chanyeol was alone again.

Chanyeol stood up, his hands moved to adjust his expensive watch, head tilted to glance down at his own reflection in the mirror.

He did not have time for this. No time to think about Baekhyun, about the past, about any of it.

He had something else to focus on.

That was the past— something he had no intention of burying.

But, this was his present now.

A present with an unavoidable demand that he could not look away from.

An heir.

It was heavy, the word alone felt too suffocating. But, deep down, he understood. 

Building this empire with his father, being the first and second generation at the same time, it was something that demanded continuity. And his parents had seen that. 

Expectation wrapped in obligation, in duty, in something that left no room for choice.

This marriage was not just about appearances.

And Chanyeol— he felt the walls close in.

Because there was no way out of this, no space to breathe, and there was never a version of this future where he was not trapped in it.

Bound to someone he could not forgive. 

Expected to build something he did not want.

And forced to stand at the altar in a few hours and pretend this was anything but a confinement.

/// 

The slow music started to fill the spaces that were meant to feel sacred. Guests had filled the venue, every seat occupied with more unfamiliar faces than familiar ones to Chanyeol.

He stood at the altar, hands clasped together in front of his body to keep them still.

No one looking at him would think that there was something wrong.

But his chest felt tight.

Even mere breaths felt too much like performance.

And the door opened— revealing Baekhyun in his light ivory suit, carrying a simple wedding bouquet of calla lilies. 

Baekhyun stepped in and he did not rush. His steps were careful, maintaining his eyes locked with Chanyeol’s as he stepped closer and closer.

Baekhyun looked— happy.

Undeniably happy.

Chanyeol’s jaw tightened, while Baekhyun’s lips curved into a small smile as he walked closer.

Baekhyun’s heart beat too loudly and his steps grew heavier with each one with the weight of knowing exactly what he was willingly walking himself into.

This was not a fairytale.

This was never love for Chanyeol. 

But for him, the one that came too late, wrong, and wrapped with the weight of the past he wished he could undo— it was here. 

His step ceased when Chanyeol was finally in front of him. 

Baekhyun lifted his gaze— and then the sight of it caught him.

Near Chanyeol’s hairline, barely visible beneath the careful styling, the faint line of a scar rested against his forehead. It was small. Easy to miss if you did not know where to look.

But Baekhyun did not miss it.

His breath faltered, the smile on his lips tightening at the edges as memory flashes sharp and unwelcome— raised voices, something slipping out of control, the sickening moment after where everything had already gone too far.

Because of him.

His fingers twitched at his sides.

He looked back into Chanyeol’s eyes.

And he kept smiling.

Because this was the choice he made.

Even with the proof of what he had done sitting right there, just beneath the surface, never truly hidden.

Up close, Chanyeol could see it clearer— the softness in his expression, the way his eyes shine just a little too bright. 

And it irritated him.

The officiant began speaking, but the words blurred into the background.

Promises, vows, and commitments he had echoed out of formality.

Chanyeol meant none of it.

All he could see was Baekhyun, standing too close, looking at him as if he was everything.

“I do.”

Baekhyun’s voice was steady and Chanyeol’s stomach twisted.

When it was his turn, the words felt stripped out of his throat, but he said them anyway.

“I do.”

The room seemed to exhale.

“You may kiss,”

The words landed between them, leading to a pause just for a fraction of second, before Baekhyun finally stepped closer carefully.

His hand lifted slightly, barely settling against Chanyeol’s sleeve, asking Chanyeol to come closer, which he never did.

So, Baekhyun closed the distance.

The kiss was soft, gentle, everything Baekhyun had been showing since he had appeared again in Chanyeol’s life almost a year ago.

Nothing like what this is supposed to represent.

Baekhyun’s lips pressed against his, careful, almost reverent.

And— he smiled. Small, barely there.

But Chanyeol felt it.

And something in his chest recoiled.

Because that smile— it should have never belonged here.

Not when everything between them was wrong.

He did not kiss back, merely moving his hands from clenching into empty air into grabbing Baekhyun’s slim waist. 

But he did not pull away either.

Because that, too, would be seen.

He stayed— endured it.

Baekhyun pulled back first— slowly. His eyes flickered open, searching Chanyeol’s face for something— anything.

He found nothing.

Still— he smiled.

Hopeful.

Just like he was holding onto something fragile and refusing to let it break.

///

The music flowed again into something livelier now into something celebratory as the ceremony dissolved into reception.

Chanyeol chose to not stay.

He excused himself the moment it was acceptable, slipping away from Baekhyun’s side before anyone could expect otherwise. He moved through the crowd with practiced ease, offering nods, brief replies, the occasional polite smile that never reached his eyes.

Space.

That was all he wanted.

On the other hand, Baekhyun stayed where he was.

For a while, at least.

The space around him filled and emptied— relatives, acquaintances, people he barely knew offering congratulations with warm smiles and curious eyes. He greeted each of them the same way, voice soft, steady, hands gentle when they shook his.

It was easy.

Or at least— he made it look easy.

He adjusted himself to each person without thinking, like he always did. Matching tone, matching energy, offering just enough warmth to make them comfortable. 

It was second nature by now— this careful way of existing around others.

The scent of flowers hung faintly in the air, something sweet layered over polished wood and expensive perfume. 

It should have felt nice.

It did not comfort him.

“How are you still smiling like that?”

The voice came from his side— cutting cleanly through the soft noise around them.

Baekhyun turned.

Jongin stood there, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other loosely holding a glass. His gaze dragged over Baekhyun slowly, not subtle about it— taking in the suit, the posture, the expression.

Baekhyun’s smile did not disappear.

It just softened.

“Hi, Jongin.”

Jongin huffed out a quiet breath, something between a scoff and disbelief. 

“Wow,” he muttered, shaking his head slightly.

“You really—” He stopped, pressing his tongue to his cheek like he was choosing his words, then looked back at Baekhyun with something sharper, “You really have no shame.”

Baekhyun felt it in the way his fingers curled slightly against his palm, nails pressing faintly into skin.

Still— he did not look away.

Jongin took a small step closer, lowering his voice just enough that it stayed between them.

“Standing up there,” he continued, tone quiet but biting, “smiling like you actually belong next to him.”

Baekhyun’s throat tightened.

“After everything you did,” Jongin added.

The air felt heavier suddenly.

Baekhyun dropped his gaze for a moment— not in defeat, not exactly. Just steadying himself and not letting his composure slip.

He nodded once.

“I know.”

Jongin blinked, caught off guard for half a second. 

“You—what?”

“I know,” Baekhyun repeated, softer this time.

Jongin let out a short, incredulous laugh, shifting his weight as he stared at him. 

“That’s it?” he asked, “That’s all you have to say?”

Baekhyun lifted his eyes again.

There was no fight in them.

“What do you want me to say?” he asked gently.

The question was not a challenge. But Jongin’s jaw tightened. He looked away for a second, exhaling through his nose before looking back, sharper now. 

“Maybe stop acting like this is okay,” he said, “Like you didn’t ruin him.”

Jongin searched his face, like he was trying to find something to grab onto— anger, guilt spilling over, anything that would justify pushing harder.

But Baekhyun just stood there.

Quiet, open, and taking it without resistance.

“I mean,” Jongin muttered, “Are you hearing yourself? ‘I know’? And then what— what, you just get to marry him as if it fixes everything?”

Baekhyun’s fingers tightened briefly, then loosened.

“I’m not trying to fix it,” he said softly.

Jongin scoffed. 

“Then what are you doing?”

Baekhyun hesitated just for a moment.

Because the answer felt too fragile to say out loud and how it sounded so selfish, no matter how he framed it.

“I’m trying,” he settled on.

Jongin stared at him, before he then let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. 

“Your best?” he echoed, voice low, “God, that sounded like the problem.”

The music swelled a little louder around them, laughter rising from somewhere nearby, glasses clinking again— everything continuing as if this moment did not exist.

Jongin looked at him for another long second, then clicked his tongue.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered.

And just like that, he turned and walked away, disappearing back into the crowd while Baekhyun stayed where he was.

The noise of the room slowly filled the space Jongin had left behind.

He exhaled quietly.

His smile returned, only a little more fragile than before.

///

“Chanyeol, son,”

He turned at the voice— and immediately felt something in him go still. Baekhyun’s father stood in front of him, with his expression polite in a way that felt like a formality.

“Congratulations,” the man said, extending his hand.

Chanyeol looked at it briefly before taking it, grip firm, controlled. 

“Thank you.”

Ridiculous, he had thought. Congratulations probably should have been his to say instead of this man’s.

The handshake ended quickly.

Neither of them lingered.

“I trust everything went smoothly?” the man asked.

“It did.”

“Good.” 

A small nod. His gaze swept across the venue, taking his time, assessing. 

“This kind of union… it’s important that things are handled properly.”

Union.

Not even marriage.

The man stepped slightly closer, voice lowering just enough to feel intentional. 

“Our families will benefit greatly from this,” he continued, tone almost casual, “There are already discussions in place— expansions, partnerships. Promising directions.”

Chanyeol’s expression did not change, but something behind it sharpened.

“I see,” he said flatly.

Baekhyun’s father smiled faintly, like that was the expected response. 

“Baekhyun understands his role in all of this,” he added, “He’s always been… cooperative when it matters.”

The phrasing sat wrong.

Like Baekhyun was not a person in this.

Just a piece.

Something to position correctly.

Chanyeol’s jaw tightened, but before he could stop it— the thought had formed. Of course Baekhyun knew.

Of course this was part of it.

Every smile. Every soft word. 

I’ll try my best.

Just another way to make this arrangement work. 

Chanyeol exhaled slowly, something colder settling into place.

“Then I suppose we’re aligned,” he said.

Byun Jongho nodded, satisfied. 

“As we should be.”

The man gave a final nod before moving on, already turning his attention elsewhere.

And Chanyeol remained where he was.

Silent.

That cold certainty was settling deeper because now it all fit too neatly.

And if this had been Baekhyun’s plan all along— then Chanyeol had been right to hate him.

***

The day had unfolded exactly the way it was planned. Filled with performances of happiness, vows, promises, and applause.

And now, they were finally in reality. 

In the space they were supposed to call home.

Chanyeol stood near the window, his jacket already off, sleeves rolled just enough to loosen the formality. His reflection stared back at him in the glass— Baekhyun’s shadows moving in it, reminding him that they belong in the same space.

Baekhyun’s movements were not hesitant. 

He moved like someone who already knew this was his, like someone who had decided he had to belong in this space no matter what, even if the air had not made room for him yet.

“It’s really nice,” Baekhyun said, glancing around, voice light.

Chanyeol did not respond.

And Baekhyun did not seem bothered.

He set his things down carefully, smoothing invisible wrinkles from his sleeves before looking over. 

“You must be tired,” he added, softer.

“I’m fine.”

The answer came quickly— flat.

Baekhyun nodded, like that was enough.

There was a small pause— not awkward, just full of waiting.

Baekhyun stepped further, closer now, though still keeping a respectful distance. 

“Today was… a lot, wasn’t it?” He exhaled a small breath, a timid laugh slipping through. 

Chanyeol said nothing.

Baekhyun’s smile lingered anyway because silence did not scare him.

He was used to it— used to filling it gently, carefully, without forcing it to break.

“I was thinking,” Baekhyun started, fingers brushing lightly against the edge of the dresser, grounding himself, “maybe we could—”

He hesitated.

“About high school…”

The words felt heavier out loud even after all this time that passed.

“I think we should talk about what happened—”

“Not necessary.”

The interruption came quick and clean, shutting doors right in front of his face before he could even try opening it.

His lips parted slightly, the rest of the sentence still sitting there. Unspoken words he had turned over in his mind for years, rewritten and prepared countless times. 

He had practiced this.

Alone.

Again and again.

And still— he never got to finish.

“… I understand,” he surrendered, like it did not hurt.

He looked down briefly, adjusting his sleeve, smoothing fabric that did not need smoothing. Then he lifted his head again, a smile returning.

Chanyeol watched it happen.

And felt something in his chest tighten— not because he cared, but because again, he did not understand it.

How Baekhyun could just move on like it was nothing.

Like Chanyeol had not just shut him down.

“Then we should talk about something else,” Baekhyun said lightly, as if the moment had not existed at all.

Chanyeol’s gaze sharpened.

“Like what?”

Baekhyun met his eyes. There was a flicker of something there— uncertainty, maybe— but it did not stay long.

“About how this works,” he muttered.

That, at least, got Chanyeol’s full attention on him. Chanyeol pushed himself away from the window, straightening slightly, slipping back into something more controlled.

“If we’re going to do this,” he said, voice even, “then we should be clear.”

Baekhyun nodded, almost gleefully.

“Yes.”

Chanyeol studied him for a second before continuing.

“This marriage needs to serve its function.”

The word settled there coldly as Baekhyun’s fingers curled slightly at his sides. Chanyeol continued, tone steady and detached. 

“There are expectations. From both families. From the people involved.”

Baekhyun nodded again, quieter this time. 

“I know.”

“Then you understand what that means.”

Baekhyun swallowed. He did.

Of course he did.

But hearing it like this— stripped of anything soft, anything human— still made something in his chest ache.

“We don’t need to pretend beyond what’s necessary, but we do need to fulfill our roles. And that includes sex.” 

Chanyeol said it without any hint of hesitation, nor awkwardness. It was probably the tone he had always used in boardrooms, it was framed as a requirement. 

Baekhyun’s breath caught.

He did not expect gentleness. But he had not expected it to sound like this either.

Too distant.

Like it did not matter who it was with.

That it could have been anyone.

Chanyeol’s gaze did not waver. 

Baekhyun’s fingers tightened slightly, nails pressing faintly into his palm. And still— he nodded.

“Sure.”

The word came out softer than he intended, but it did not shake. Because even if it was not real, even if it was not the love he was waiting for—

It was still proximity.

And Baekhyun had always been the kind of person who held onto whatever he could get.

“I understand,” he added.

Chanyeol watched him for a second longer, like he was measuring something— waiting for resistance, maybe. But Baekhyun did not give him any. It was just quiet acceptance.

Again.

Chanyeol looked away first before any thought could bloom.

Baekhyun shifted slightly, then spoke again, more carefully this time.

“… About having a child,”

Chanyeol’s expression did not change, yet his attention was not diverted. Baekhyun clasped his hands together loosely, grounding himself. 

“Are you… okay with that?”

Chanyeol frowned.

“Are you?”

Baekhyun stilled.

The answer had not been what he expected.

For a moment, he just looked at Chanyeol, something flickering across his face— surprise, confusion, something softer underneath it and he could not bring himself to hide it. 

After this moment of always feeling having no choice but to submit, Chanyeol— the person who he had always hurt— was the only one who had ever asked him. 

Baekhyun’s lips parted slightly.

No answer came.

Because he did not know.

He had never stopped long enough to think about it— not really. Not beyond what was required of him, what was expected, what he had already accepted as inevitable.

And for a moment, the room had shifted just slightly as something unplanned had slipped into a space that was supposed to be controlled.

Baekhyun looked down at his hands.

Then, slowly, he exhaled.

“…It’s okay,” he added, a small breath of a laugh slipping through, like he was easing the weight himself, “I mean—”

He lifted his gaze again, smile returning— brightening again this time.

“I’ll be okay.”

Baekhyun tilted his head slightly, as if thinking it through while he spoke, voice gentle but lighter now. 

“If that’s what’s expected… and if we can make sure our child will live happily, then—” he nodded once, almost reassuring, “I’m okay.”

Baekhyun had said it as if it was not something heavy. It was as if it was just another step he could take without trouble. There was even a hint of something hopeful tucked into his tone. 

“We’ll figure it out together, right?”

His fingers laced together loosely, shoulders relaxed, posture open —like he was trying to make the moment feel less serious, less like a negotiation.

Chanyeol just watched him in silence. And something about that smile— gentle, a little too willing— sat strangely in his chest.

He did not question it though.

Because this was what they were supposed to be doing.

Making it work.

Even if Baekhyun was the only one trying to make it sound like it might.

***

The sound of a knife against the cutting board, the low hum of the stove, and the faint clink of porcelain as Baekhyun set the table were the noises that filled the kitchen. 

Long after the staffs clocked out, Baekhyun had opted to fill his time being in this kitchen. 

He moved like he always did, with careful hands, a comfortable pace, adjusting small things to perfection. The soup had been tasted twice by now, the seasoning corrected just enough. The rice was still warm and plates had been aligned.

It was not perfect by any means.

But it was ready. 

Baekhyun wiped his hands and glanced at the clock, then towards the door. 

He was waiting.

For his husband. 

When the lock finally clicked, something in his shoulders lifted— just slightly, careful to not show too much until it became a burden.

“Chanyeol?”

He stepped out of the kitchen, soft footsteps, stopping at a distance that felt safe.

Chanyeol had just entered, already loosening his tie, expression closed off like always.

“You’re back.”

Baekhyun smiled anyway. 

“I made dinner,” he said, a little brighter, offering genuine affection, “It’s still warm.”

Chanyeol did not look at him as he passed by.

“I’ve eaten.”

Baekhyun paused for a beat, before he nodded.

“Ah, okay,” A small breath of a laugh, “Maybe tomorrow then?”

He said it lightly— wanting to believe there would always be a next time.

Chanyeol’s hand stilled briefly on his cuff, before his gaze met Baekhyun’s. 

“Don’t confuse yourself,”

Baekhyun blinked. 

“What do you mean?”

“Asking these things,” Chanyeol’s tone was calm, but there was something sharper underneath it now, “Like if you say it enough times, I’ll eventually agree.”

Baekhyun held his gaze, he did not shrink. 

“I just thought we could eat together,” he responded.

Chanyeol let out a quiet breath through his nose, something close to a humorless laugh.

“This isn’t that kind of arrangement.”

Baekhyun’s fingers curled slightly at his sides. But he nodded again, accepting it like he always did.

“Well,” he said, still gentle, then, with a small tilt of his head, “I’ll ask again tomorrow, though.”

That quiet persistence and that refusal to stop reaching.

Chanyeol’s jaw tightened.

“You’re not listening.”

“I am,” Baekhyun said, and there was no defensiveness in it, just calm, “You said no.”

“Then stop.”

It was odd. But, Baekhyun beamed.

“I will,” he said easily, “Today.”

The answer sat there— too light, too unyielding in its own way as Chanyeol stared at him. Baekhyun shifted slightly, glancing back toward the kitchen. 

“I’ll leave it there just in case,” he added, “If you get hungry later.”

“I won’t.”

“Okay.”

Still smiling, still soft.

Chanyeol’s irritation flared, sharper now. He had not raised his voice, but those dark eyes were sharper, anger bubbling through.

“How long are you planning to keep this up?”

Baekhyun looked back at him.

“This?” he asked.

“This,” Chanyeol repeated, gesturing vaguely—at him, the kitchen, the table, the entire situation, “The act.”

The word hung between them, but Baekhyun did not react immediately. He just stood there, quiet for a second, like he was considering it properly.

“I don’t think it’s an act.”

The answer was soft while Chanyeol’s gaze hardened. 

“Right.”

Baekhyun just nodded once, choosing to not push or defend, like he understood what that meant coming from Chanyeol.

“I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything,” he said instead, voice returning to something light, easy.

And just like that, he turned, walked back in, and left the conversation where it was. 

Chanyeol stayed, watching the empty space Baekhyun had just left behind.

The kitchen light spilled faintly into the hallway, warm against the otherwise dim room. He could hear the soft movements again— plates being adjusted, something being covered, the quiet continuation of a kindness that had already been refused.

None of it had felt real.

The patience. The softness. The way Baekhyun kept offering, like rejection did not mean anything.

Chanyeol’s jaw tightened.

No.

He was not going to rewrite it and let this version of Baekhyun overwrite the one he remembered.

That was real.

This one was rehearsed— a role Baekhyun had learned all too well.

To him, Baekhyun was not someone new. 

He was never an angel the person in front of him was acting like.

He was just a fragment of his past— something he had buried, something that should have stayed there— now standing in his kitchen instead, always smiling like he belonged.

***

There was never a comforting feeling when it comes to hospitals.

Baekhyun sat beside Chanyeol in the waiting area, hands folded neatly in his lap, posture relaxed in a way that looked natural— almost relaxed, intrigued of what was about to come for them. 

He noticed that a few seats away, a couple leaned into each other, whispering softly.

Before a feeling of envy could even surface, somewhere behind the counter, a nurse called out his name.

Chanyeol stood up first, smooth and composed, as if he had already decided how this would go, aware of the presence of the public’s eyes that was on them.

In fact, that was another side purpose of their appearance in this public space.

To create noise. 

“Let’s go,” Chanyeol exclaimed, voice low, almost sounding disinterested. Baekhyun followed easily, matching his pace without needing to think about it. 

Inside the consultation room, the doctor greeted them with a polite, observant smile, already taking in details before words were said.

“Congratulations on your marriage,” she enthusiastically announced, and Baekhyun returned it with a warm effortless smile of his own, soft and practiced in the way it always was. 

Chanyeol did the same and Baekhyun almost froze seeing that smile for the first time.

It took him by surprise how Chanyeol’s hand settled lightly at the small of his back.

It was not firm, nor possessive, just guiding him forward by a fraction. 

“Please, have a seat,” the doctor gestured.

They sat close enough that their shoulders brushed and Baekhyun could feel the warmth of his husband through the fabric. Something he had not yet had the chance to feel. 

Could feel the steadiness in the way Chanyeol carried himself— composed, attentive, entirely different from the distance he kept at home.

“We’re here to discuss pregnancy planning, yes?” the doctor continued.

“Yes,” Chanyeol answered.

Chanyeol’s tone was still controlled, but it was not sharp. Not the tone he would usually use when it was Baekhyun he was talking to.

Baekhyun watched him from the corner of his eye.

“Are there any concerns or preferences you’d like to discuss?” the doctor asked.

Chanyeol glanced at Baekhyun, once.

“Baekhyun?” he prompted.

It was small, but it was inclusive. Baekhyun blinked, then smiled. 

“Nothing specific, just… guidance, I think.”

The doctor nodded, beginning to explain, her voice steady as she outlined options, timelines, considerations.

And through it— Chanyeol stayed present.

He asked questions when needed. Clarified details, listened.

Once, when Baekhyun shifted slightly in his seat, Chanyeol’s hand brushed accidentally with his wrist— light, fleeting, but probably calculative enough to be seen.

Baekhyun’s heart tugged. He noticed the details he was not supposed to dwell on— the way Chanyeol did not pull away, never once dismissed him, and did not let even a hint of that cold distance show in front of someone else.

Even when the conversation turned to expectations, to timelines, to the necessity of cooperation, Chanyeol remained there. 

There was no sharpness, no edge, no trace of the tension that lived between them behind closed doors.

And that was what stayed with Baekhyun the most.

Not the touch itself, not the proximity, not even the words— but the absence of cruelty. 

Chanyeol had never humiliated him in public, not once. 

Not during the wedding, not in front of acquaintances, not even with people who already knew the truth or suspected it. 

Whatever resentment he carried, however deeply it ran, he kept it contained, locked away where only Baekhyun ever had to face it.

Baekhyun was not exactly sure what that meant. 

Whether it was pride, discipline, or simply another form of distance— another way of drawing a line between what was real and what was allowed to be seen.

The appointment ended smoothly, the doctor offering reassurance, outlining next steps, her tone steady and professional. 

They thanked her, stood, and left without complication, the entire interaction unfolding exactly as it was meant to. 

And just like that, the version of them that existed inside that room— the composed couple, the cooperative pair, the almost-believable intimacy— fell away the moment they stepped outside.

***

Senior year for Chanyeol stretched longer than he thought it would have. 

At the beginning, it was just whispers. Maybe, some laughters that stopped when Chanyeol passed through, occasionally some laughters that went louder. 

But then, the murmurs got louder. 

“Dude, that nerd?”

“Ew,”

“How dare he…”

Chanyeol had frowned when he first heard it. By the time he had successfully wrapped his head around it, it was no longer a mere rumour he could ignore. It had become something they repeated with amusement, with disbelief, with something sharper underneath.

He had never been a kid on top of the chain, just someone who was surviving on a scholarship, never wanting to have any spotlight for himself.

So, when this happened, and when he figured out who was at the center of it— 

“Baekhyun said it out himself! He basically told everyone in the group yesterday.”

He just had to find out the worst way. 

And it did not stop. 

As a matter of fact, it only got worse.

Shoulders knocked into his on purpose, voices dropped just enough to make sure he still heard every word.

“Stay away from him.”

“You think you even have a chance?”

“Disgusting.”

Chanyeol did not respond.

Never gave them anything in return.

He kept his head down, endured it, told himself it would pass.

But, that day, when the locker room was just empty as he walked in, at least he thought it was. Chanyeol had barely taken two steps inside before the door slammed shut behind him.

There were three of them. Way sturdier bodies than Chanyeol, careless smirks, with dangerous confidence that came from knowing no one would dare to stop them.

One of them stepped forward— Hyunwoo. 

Chanyeol had recognized him. Everyone in this school would have. 

He was the one who always hovered around Baekhyun. The one who watched him too closely. The one who had never bothered hiding what he wanted. 

His expression twisted when he looked at Chanyeol, amusement almost meeting his eyes.

“How dare you,” he said, dangerous in a way that made the air tighter, “even get close to him?”

The first hit came fast— hard enough to knock the breath out of him before he could react. Pain bloomed sharp and immediate, his back hitting the cold metal of the lockers behind him.

“Who do you think you are?” another voice came through.

Another blow.

This time to his side.

Chanyeol doubled over, a choked breath escaping him as pressure built in his ribs, in his stomach, in his lungs that suddenly refused to work properly.

“You think he’d ever choose someone like you?”

A hand grabbed his collar, shoving him back upright just to hit him again.

The world blurred at the edges.

The lights above flickered.

“You’re embarrassing him,” the first one continued, grip tightening, “Running around with that stupid crush.”

Chanyeol tasted blood.

“Baekhyun told us everything,” Hyunwoo claimed, almost laughing, “Said you couldn’t take a hint.”

And just moments after, the door had opened with a soft click, too small of a sound for the three boys to even notice someone else was entering. 

Chanyeol heard it. 

It was his only hope of getting away from everything he was facing.

Even through the ringing in his ears, even through the dull roar of pain pounding behind his eyes— he heard it. He saw it. 

A sliver of light cutting into the dim locker room.

And in it— was Baekhyun.

He stood there, just past the threshold, frozen.

The noise, the movement, the violence— it had all hit him at once, too fast to process, too real to dismiss. His hand was still on the door, fingers curled tightly around the edge like that alone could keep him steady. 

His eyes— they went straight to Chanyeol, widening, when he had registered the sight.

Chanyeol was barely upright at that point.

One of them still had a fist tangled in his collar, holding him up just enough to land another hit. His head snapped to the side, something sharp splitting across his forehead as it collided with the metal behind him.

The impact blurred everything for a second.

Warmth spilled down, slow and thick, slipping past his brow, into his eye.

He blinked through it.

And that was when he saw him. 

The jock followed Chanyeol’s line of sight, glancing toward the door. His grip loosened just slightly, more curious than concerned. 

“Oh,” he said, a smirk pulling at his lips, “Speaking of the angel.”

Baekhyun flinched.

“Perfect timing,” another one added, laughter low and cruel, “You should see this.”

Baekhyun’s fingers tightened against the door.

His lips parted— like he was about to say something.

Stop.

Wait.

Anything. 

But nothing came out.

Another hit had landed hard.

Chanyeol’s body folded, the grip on his collar the only thing keeping him from dropping completely.

“Watch closely,” the jock said, voice sharp, glancing back at Baekhyun, “This is what happens when people don’t know their place.”

Baekhyun shook his head.

An instinctive small movement before his voice came out thin. 

“That’s enough—”

But it was not. It could not stop anything.

The jock barely even looked at him.

“Relax,” he muttered, dismissive, “We’re just helping him understand.”

Another blow.

Chanyeol could not breathe, he could not think. 

But he could still see.

Baekhyun was standing there, not moving an inch, not moving forward— never pulling them away.

Not choosing him.

And when they finally let go, Chanyeol dropped hard.

The floor was cold against his skin, grounding in a way nothing else was. The room tilted, the edges of his vision darkening, the sound of their laughter fading as they stepped away, satisfied with whatever atrocity they had done.

The door stayed open and Baekhyun was still there.

Baekhyun took a step forward, too slow, like he was approaching something fragile.

“Chanyeol—”

His voice shook. 

Blood slid down the side of his face, dripping onto the floor beneath him. His gaze stayed locked on Baekhyun, a bitter scoff escaped his mouth and Baekhyun froze.

Baekhyun had stood there, frozen, hands trembling slightly at his sides.

Because he had never meant for it to go this far.

Because he did not know how to stop it.

Because he had been scared.

Because he had hesitated.

Because he had done nothing.

And Chanyeol had seen all of it.

The present came back all at once to Baekhyun, yet the pressure did not leave. If not, it was worsening.

Baekhyun’s back hit the edge of the table, the impact sharp enough to jolt through him before the real pain followed.

His father’s hand pressed hard against his abdomen— too hard. 

“Listen carefully,” the man said, voice low but tight, like anger held just barely in check, “I don’t care how you do it.”

The pressure increased.

Baekhyun’s breath hitched, his hands instinctively coming up to grab at his father’s wrist— not to push him away, just to lessen it, just to breathe.

“You’ve been married for months,” his father continued, “I’m not dealing with this bullshit.”

Another push.

“Make him get you pregnant.”

The words landed heavier than the force.

“We need leverage,” he added, quieter now, like that made it more reasonable, “Do you understand?”

Baekhyun nodded quickly.

The pressure lingered for another second before easing just slightly— not gone, just less.

Enough to remind him it could come back.

His father exhaled sharply, straightening his sleeve like nothing had happened. 

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he said.

Baekhyun lowered his gaze.

“I won’t.”

There was a pause, a stare of Jongho burning into his skin. Then his father stepped back, putting distance between them again— visible distance, the kind that left no marks, nothing obvious. 

Nothing Chanyeol could see.

“Good,” he said simply.

And just like that— it was over.

Baekhyun stayed where he was for a moment longer.

His hand hovered briefly over his stomach, fingers pressing lightly where the ache still lingered, before he lowered it again, straightened his sweatshirt, pretending that nothing was happening. 

Because that was what he did best.

***

The penthouse was really quiet when Chanyeol came back.

And his gaze immediately found Baekhyun, sitting in the living room.

He looked up the moment the door opened, like he had been waiting without wanting to make it obvious. His expression softened immediately, a small smile forming as naturally as breathing.

“You’re back.”

Chanyeol did not answer right away. He slipped off his shoes, set his things aside, movements precise as a fruit of habits he had always done. His eyes flicked briefly toward Baekhyun —just enough to acknowledge him, not enough to engage.

“I said I’d be late.”

“I know.” Baekhyun’s tone stayed light, “You always are.”

There was a faint attempt at teasing there, something soft meant to ease the space between them.

Chanyeol ignored it.

He loosened his tie, rolling his shoulders once, the tension still sitting there like it had not left him all day. The doctor’s words lingered somewhere in the back of his mind. 

Chanyeol had already learned what happened when things were left to chance— when something as important as a child was tied to emotion, to hope, to something fragile enough to break. 

Three years ago had proven exactly that. 

It was not supposed to end like that— it was not supposed to be unfinished.

So this time, he would do it differently. 

Especially with Baekhyun.

No attachment, no illusions— just structure, timing, control. 

Something that secured stability, completed what had been cut short, and fit exactly where it was meant to in the life he had rebuilt piece by piece. And if he kept it that way—  kept it distant, contained— Chanyeol had hoped then whatever happened next would never have the power to ruin him again.

“Baekhyun,”

Baekhyun looked up immediately, without being able to cease the flutter in his chest with the way his name rolled out of Chanyeol’s mouth. 

“Yeah?”

“Strip.”

Baekhyun blinked.

“... What?” he asked hesitantly, taken aback.

Chanyeol did not look away.

“There’s no reason to delay it,” he said, “We both know what this is for.”

The room felt smaller suddenly and Baekhyun’s fingers curled slightly in his lap. Baekhyun had not expected tonight to be the night— it had felt like any other quiet evening, something he could ease into, delay just a little longer. 

But the moment Chanyeol spoke, the suffocating weight came rushing back, his father’s voice threading through his thoughts like it never left— don’t hesitate, make it happen, don’t waste this chance. 

His chest tightened, not from fear alone, but from the pressure of knowing this was not just between him and Chanyeol.

It never had been.

And it was his fault.

Then, with a small exhale, like he was easing the moment himself.

Chanyeol watched him, waiting.

But Baekhyun just stood, smoothing his sleeves, grounding himself in small, familiar movements, before he glanced around. 

“Here?” Baekhyun asked, and Chanyeol’s lips tugged upwards, finding his husband’s question ridiculous. 

“There’s no one but us.” 

True. 

Baekhyun had stood for a few more seconds, hesitation pressed down with all his might, before his fingers finally reached for his first button. 

It was not complicated. 

Each layer that protected his body slipped off one by one, slowly but surely exposing his body to the chilly air of this penthouse. And before he could gather the courage to meet Chanyeol’s eyes, his mouth had run first.

“I’ll follow your lead,” he added gently.

And that— that really did something to Chanyeol.

Chanyeol stepped forward, closing the distance between them in a few quiet strides and Baekhyun did not move back. 

Chanyeol’s hand lifted, pausing for a fraction of a second in the space between them, before it finally landed on Baekhyun’s arms. 

A fleeting touch to pull Baekhyun even closer. 

The beautiful fingers had reached for Chanyeol’s black tie, loosening it even further before sliding it off the sturdy chest. His gaze stayed fixed on Chanyeol’s unreadable dark eyes that were gazing right back at him, burning holes through his bare skin. 

“It’s cold,” he whispered. 

“You won’t be in a few minutes,” 

A firm hold caught Baekhyun’s nape, pulling him in decisively. 

Baekhyun still felt his breath catch as their lips met, his eyes could not bring itself to close, blinking away, making sure this was not a dream as something warm and aching bloomed in his chest before he could stop it.

He had let himself lean into it, let himself believe in the closeness, in the way the distance between them disappeared so easily for the first time. 

His fingers curled faintly, the feeling of Chanyeol’s sturdy chest sending a horde of butterflies in his heart.

The movement of Chanyeol’s lips on his thinner ones, the tongue that probed itself in without asking for permission, were just few of many things that made him light-headed.

This was Chanyeol, finally this close, finally choosing him, even if it did not mean the same thing, even if it was not real. 

A sharp gasp was let out of his mouth when Chanyeol’s arm embraced his waist, lifting him up while the other supported his weight as if he was light as a feather. Baekhyun’s arms instinctively looped around Chanyeol’s neck, clinging onto him as the fear of gravity greeted him in a sudden. 

“Chanyeol—” 

Before he could complain even further, Chanyeol had opened the door of their bedroom, throwing Baekhyun onto the soft mattress without much care.

Chanyeol kept himself distant, holding the moment at arm’s length even as it unfolded, reducing it to necessity.

But despite that, his gaze lingered— just for a fraction too long— on Baekhyun beneath him, taking in the smoothness of Baekhyun’s skin, the unguarded way he lay beneath him, every line softer than he could ever imagine. From the narrow waist to the curve down his supple hips. 

Baekhyun looked so vulnerable— soft that he had not expected, and for a second, it caught him off balance before he shut it down just as quickly, burying it under the same cold detachment he refused to let slip.

He leaned down without thinking, burying his face against the curve of Baekhyun’s neck as if it were easier to hide there than meet his eyes, his breath warm and uneven for a moment before it steadied again.

His hands moved almost immediately, settling at Baekhyun’s waist, then lower— palm spreading, tracing the line of his stomach with a slow agonizing touch that sent a shiver down Baekhyun’s spine.

It was almost as if Chanyeol was contemplating, before a deep chuckle brushed against Baekhyun’s skin. 

“At least I know how comfortable our baby will be here,” 

Baekhyun froze— blush blooming on his cheeks. 

Baekhyun did not expect that— he had not expected anything in this moment to sound even remotely like that— and it caught somewhere deep in his chest before he could rationalize it. 

Our baby.

Chanyeol almost sounded— adorable. 

He knew better— that Chanyeol did not mean it the way it sounded, that it was just part of something practical—but Baekhyun had never been good at keeping distance where it mattered. 

So he held onto it anyway, quietly, letting it root itself somewhere soft inside him, taking it to heart like it was something real, something meant just for him.

Without much time to dwell on his feelings, Baekhyun felt the intrusion of Chanyeol’s finger around his rim, making a repetitive circle until he instinctively brought his legs to open wider.

“Ah—” 

Chanyeol had made him lose his breath when he finally entered one finger, with the second finger following not long after.

Baekhyun’s eyes rolled back, tilting his head back, exposing his smooth neck which Chanyeol did not waste a second to land his lips on. His lips nibbled on the smooth skin, leaving marks behind that would serve as a reminder of what they had done. 

“Chanyeol— I—,” 

Chanyeol did not budge, ignoring all the pleas that came out of Baekhyun’s mouth. His digits moved ceaselessly inside the smaller, prepping him for the main course. 

Baekhyun’s trembling hand moved, from fisting the sheets, to the bulging rock under Chanyeol’s clothed groin, fondling it until a low groan was released from Chanyeol’s throat.

Chanyeol’s expression tightened into a frown as he pulled his shirt over his head, the movement quicker than it needed to be, almost abrupt.

There was a tension in it, something restrained, like he did not want to linger in the in-between for even a second longer than necessary.

He discarded the fabric without care, already leaning forward again, closing the distance with quiet urgency— deliberate in the way he refused to waste time before their bodies met again.

Chanyeol’s length kept hardening in his grasp, growing impatient as seconds passed by. 

“I’m going in,”

Chanyeol thrusted in, slowly at first, looking at Baekhyun’s eyes that were glassy with unspilled tears due to the intrusion. Baekhyun’s thin lip was between his own teeth, bitten to prevent voices from coming out, holding in the pain that was heightening the more Chanyeol pushed. 

Both of his arms were looped on Chanyeol’s neck, anchoring himself, as his eyes stayed shut, forcing himself to be quiet. 

For a moment, his hands lifted, instinct pulling him closer— fingers almost digging into Chanyeol’s back, almost holding on— but he stopped himself at the last second.

Instead, he let go, arms loosening from around Chanyeol’s neck as if he had never meant to keep them there, his hands retreating to clutch at the sheets instead.

The fabric bunched beneath his grip, knuckles tightening, because even now— especially now— he was careful, afraid of pressing too hard, of leaving a mark where he did not have the right to.

“Fuck,” 

It was probably the first time Baekhyun had heard Chanyeol curse, both of them going still as Chanyeol finally filled Baekhyun full. 

Baekhyun’s legs were bent up in the air, their skin closer than ever, more than they could ever pictured themselves to be. Their breaths were labored as Chanyeol buried himself deeper and deeper, pulling out just to slam against the warmth again and again. 

“More, Chanyeol, please,”

Baekhyun had begged, tears had fallen against his cheeks, unknown from his heart that swelled from feeling too much, or the stimulus that was too overwhelming, sending his body to a state of orderly chaos.

A wet trail of Baekhyun’s own pre-cum was already splattered across his own belly, signaling that his high was coming.

Chanyeol’s lips landed on his thinner ones once again, nibbling on it before his tongue slipped in, drawing Baekhyun out of breath as his pace picked up. Baekhyun’s back arched beautifully, painting streaks of white against his own stomach and Chanyeol’s abs. 

And just as Baekhyun was still recovering from his high, Chanyeol continued to thrust into him before finally he slowed down, releasing inside Baekhyun until his womb was painted white with Chanyeol’s seeds. 

Chanyeol let go of the support that was keeping his body from crushing into Baekhyun, surrendering to the gravity that he succumbed to.

Baekhyun let his eyelids drop close, before he wrapped his arms around Chanyeol’s bare shoulders. 

Just this time. 

Just once.

Baekhyun promised.

He exhaled quietly, letting his eyes fall shut for a moment, just to steady himself.

It’s okay, he had told himself.

This is okay.

Because it had to be.

Because he had chosen this.

Because even if it did not mean anything to Chanyeol— Baekhyun would still hold it gently. 

***

Baekhyun rarely took decisions impulsively and this one was no different. 

He had thought about it for months, since the beginning of his move to this place. It had felt too still at times, too empty to the point that the walls felt like it was caving in. 

And it was about Chanyeol— about the small, almost insignificant detail Baekhyun had held onto from years ago, how he used to stop for puppies or kittens on the street, eyes that used to soften whenever he encountered any animal in sight. 

So Baekhyun adopted one.

She was small enough to carry, soft fur, bright eyed, but almighty in filling the space with more joy just through her presence. 

It did not take long for the his house to shift around her— light footsteps across the floor, soft barks breaking the silence, the faint sound of nails tapping against polished surfaces.

Even the housestaff noticed. 

Baekhyun caught a few of them smiling when they thought no one was looking, their voices a little lighter when they spoke about her, the atmosphere in the penthouse loosening just slightly, like something had been missing before and no one had said it out loud.

Baekhyun beamed too.

Baekhyun had named her Clover without thinking too hard about it— at least, that was what he told himself at first.

She reminded him of it— small, soft, something that people thought would bring luck. 

He had thought of Chanyeol when he said it out loud for the first time.

Chanyeol still felt like that to him. 

Someone rare he had not deserved, a fragile boy he had betrayed years ago, and someone who he still shamelessly held onto like it might bring him a second chance.

Clover.

A kind of hope.

Baekhyun had sent a simple message, just a picture along with one text bubble. 

meet Clover!🍀

[image attached]

Hope you are not mad…

She said “I’ll wait for you at home daddy” ❤️

petcube.co/clover2711 

This is the pet cam from the living room,
check it out okayy

Chanyeol had just left the message on read— but warmth bloomed beneath his ribs when his eyes caught the picture of a puppy, glimmering eyes, as its chin rested on her paws. 

And when he came home that evening, the sound, the movement, everything that had been alive greeted his ears. 

Clover trotted to him without fear, she was small and curious, her tail wagged continuously like she had known Chanyeol all her life. 

Baekhyun had appeared from the living room then. Chanyeol noticed he was wearing glasses that he had never seen before.  

“Oh,” he said, like it was nothing, though his eyes were a little brighter than usual, “You met her.”

Chanyeol glanced up. 

Baekhyun nodded. 

“I thought…” He trailed off, then smiled instead, “The place felt a bit quiet.”

Then, lighter, “You can check the camera during work if you want. I’ve sent you the details.”

Chanyeol did not respond right away, but his gaze dropped back to the dog.

It nudged lightly against his leg.

Expectant, uncomplicated, not understanding why there was no pet that came her way when she had been spoiled rotten by Baekhyun.

Chanyeol did not move, but he never pushed away either.

The way Clover had approached him… stirred something he had not felt in a while— something instinctive that he did not have time to name before he shut it down.

And yet, it lingered. 

Not as attachment, not as fondness he would admit, but as a faint, unfamiliar looseness in his chest.

Clover simply existed beside him— and for the first time in a long while, Chanyeol found himself not immediately resisting the presence of something in his space.

***

Sehun and Jongin’s visit came a few days later. 

They had arrived together, familiar enough with the penthouse to step inside without hesitation. 

“Oh, you guys are here,” Baekhyun greeted first, “Chanyeol’s in his study, he’s gonna be here in a minute.”

The dog ran toward them first this time, tail wagging, curious as when she encountered Chanyeol for the first time.

Sehun crouched slightly, letting it sniff his hand, a faint smile pulling at his lips. 

“You got a dog?” he asked, glancing up.

Baekhyun nodded, cheerful as always. 

“Yeah. Her name is Clover.”

“It suits the place,” Sehun said simply, giving the dog a light pat before standing again.

Jongin did not react the same way. His eyes moved past the dog quickly, landing on Baekhyun instead, expression already sharpening.

“You’re really settling in,” he said.

The words sounded casual— but they were not. 

Baekhyun smiled.

“Well, I’m trying my best,” he replied lightly.

Jongin let out a quiet, humorless breath. 

“As if you need to.”

The tension sat there, unmistakable even if it was thin. Sehun did not interrupt, but no agreement was said. 

He just stayed quiet, gaze drifting elsewhere like he had chosen not to be part of it.

Baekhyun chose to not argue, not even defending himself, when he knew he had the right to. 

“Do you want something to drink?” he asked instead, tone easy, like nothing had been said at all.

Jongin’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“Still acting like this,” he muttered.

Baekhyun tilted his head slightly. 

“Like what?”

Jongin scoffed under his breath, shaking his head. 

“Forget it.”

His gaze lingered, sharp and cutting in a way that didn’t need raised volume to land.

“You really think doing things like this changes anything?” he added, glancing briefly at the dog, then back at Baekhyun, “Or is this just another part of the act?”

The word hung there.

Act.

Baekhyun’s fingers curled slightly at his sides, but his smile did not drop as he turned away, already stepping into the kitchen. 

“Do you want tea or coffee?” he asked gently.

Jongin stared at him for a second longer, then looked away, clearly irritated.

“Unbelievable.”

Sehun exhaled quietly, rubbing the back of his neck, but still said nothing.

The dog wandered back toward Baekhyun, brushing lightly against his leg, inviting Baekhyun to bend slightly, absentmindedly running his fingers through its fur, grounding himself in the small, steady movement.

Chanyeol had actually been watching.

From where he stood, slightly removed from the conversation, he saw the way Baekhyun did not react, argue, nor defend himself even when Jongin’s words cut sharper than necessary.

He saw the way Baekhyun redirected, softened, absorbed everything without letting it escalate.

Like always.

Like it was nothing.

Chanyeol’s gaze lingered on Baekhyun for a moment longer than he intended before it finally shifted away. 

But the thought did not leave as easily as it should have.

***

The late afternoon light spilled across the counters, soft and warm, catching on glass and metal in small reflections.

Baekhyun stood on his toes in front of one of the higher shelves, arm stretched upward, fingers just barely brushing the edge of a jar he could not quite reach.

He tried again.

And again.

Each time falling just short.

Behind him, Chanyeol watched for a moment longer than necessary before stepping forward. 

He did not say anything at first— just reached past him, his arm lifting easily above Baekhyun’s head. Baekhyun abruptly froze when the small of his back pressed lightly into Chanyeol’s sturdy chest, the contact brief.

“This one?” Chanyeol asked.

His voice was low, close.

Baekhyun nodded quickly, a little startled. Instinctively, he turned his body towards Chanyeol’s direction when their bodies met in the movement.

“Yeah.”

Chanyeol pulled the jar down without difficulty. 

Before Baekhyun could even adjust his grip, Chanyeol had already twisted the lid open, the seal breaking with a soft pop. He handed it over simplely, like it was nothing.

Baekhyun felt everything though.

The closeness had not left him yet, lingering in the space between them, in the warmth that had not faded from where they had touched. 

His fingers tightened slightly around the jar, and when he looked up, his eyes landed on Chanyeol’s face— it was too close.

“Chanyeol-ah,” he said softly, a small breath of a laugh slipping through, light but a little unsteady, “my heart is beating too fast.”

Chanyeol did not respond.

But Baekhyun did not expect him to.

He was already looking at him— really looking this time, taking in the sharp lines of his face, the quiet steadiness, focusing on his presence that filled space without trying. Something in Baekhyun’s chest fluttered again, stronger this time and it was way harder to ignore.

Before he could think better of it, Baekhyun moved.

Just a small step forward, rising slightly onto his toes, closing the distance the rest of the way to finally brush his lips across Chanyeol’s.

Soft, careful fleeting touch.

Gone almost as quickly as it came.

Baekhyun pulled back just enough to look at him again, searching his expression for anything, something uncertain flickering beneath the warmth.

“… Is this okay?” he asked quietly.

Chanyeol did not answer again. Instead, Chanyeol’s eyes stayed locked with his, staring down into Baekhyun’s soul with an intensity that was almost suffocating, before finally his gaze dropped to Baekhyun’s lips.

It lingered there longer than it should have.

Something inside him had shifted, urging him to move.

His hand came up, firm against Baekhyun’s side, pushing him back until the edge of the counter met his lower back. The movement was not rough, but hesitation was never there. 

Chanyeol closed the distance again— the decision fully his this time.

And the kiss was not soft.

It was a liplock that was calculated, claiming without asking permission, that made Baekhyun’s breath caught between their kiss.

Chanyeol never let himself think too much about it.

About Baekhyun.

Everything that Chanyeol did, his actions, his behaviors, were never more than necessities or obligations that were full of deliberation.

If they were going to live like this— share space like this— then he could not keep reacting to every small thing.

So he did the opposite.

He chose to close the distance himself.

If he made it familiar and if he made it nothing— then it would not matter.

Meanwhile Baekhyun— Baekhyun’s fingers curled faintly against the edge of the counter, heart racing, something bright and fragile blooming in his chest that he did not try to hide or suppress.

He leaned into it even more.

Into him.

Holding onto it like it meant something— even if he knew it never did.

***

Baekhyun should have known that he would never be allowed to feel this lucky. 

Something like that had never been written in his book of fate. 

He should have known that whatever moment he had spent with Chanyeol last night— warm, fleeting, almost tender in a way he did not dare name— was nothing more than an illusion. A borrowed happiness that would never be given to him so easily, not without something taking it back.

Baekhyun moved through the space in this home slowly, absentmindedly tidying what did not need tidying, his fingers still remembering the shape of something he should not have held onto.

Clover padded softly behind him, nails clicking faintly against the floor, unaware of anything except the present.

Baekhyun smiled faintly at her.

Clover had suddenly barked— head turning suddenly towards the sharp ring.

Baekhyun straightened slowly, something in his chest tightening before he even reached the door.

When he opened it— he was not surprised.

His father stood there, composed, immaculate as ever, eyes already moving past Baekhyun to scan the inside of the house like he had the right to.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” Baekhyun muttered quietly.

Without answering, Jongho had stepped in without waiting.

His father’s gaze swept across the room, assessing— taking in the space, the order, the quiet warmth that lingered in small details.

Before it finally stopped— on Clover.

The dog tilted her head slightly, tail wagging once, unaware of what the man in front of her was thinking about.

“...You got a dog.”

It was not a question.

Baekhyun nodded. 

“Yeah. I thought—”

“Yeah, shut up.”

Dismissive.

Baekhyun just fell silent.

His father moved further in, glancing toward the hallway, the corners, the open spaces— subtle, like he was making sure of something. 

Making sure that no one was here— before he finally turned back. 

“Looks like you’ve settled in nicely,” he claimed and Baekhyun’s fingers curled slightly at his sides.

“And yet, there is no happy news on the table yet?” 

Baekhyun’s breath caught.

“I—” he started carefully, “I’m trying—”

Wrong answer.

The shove came without any sign. His shoulder jerked back, his body stumbling as he hit the edge of the table, the impact rattling through him.

“You don’t try,” his father snapped, voice low but edged now, “You do it.”

Baekhyun steadied himself, head lowered.

“I will—”

Before anything else, his father had spoken again.

“Give me the house password.”

Baekhyun stilled.

“…What?” he hesitated, taken aback for a second by the abrupt request, “I can’t—”

“Don’t be stupid.”

The words came sharper as his father stepped closer, voice dropping low.

“Say it.”

Baekhyun’s throat tightened.

“…two seven five six nine two.”

He said it quietly, just barely above a whisper. His father repeated it under his breath once, committing it to memory.

“Don’t you dare change it.”

Baekhyun nodded.

His father glanced once more— quick, almost laced with urgency— toward the hallway, toward the open space behind Baekhyun, confirming again what he already knew.

That no one else was there to see.

And finally— the punch finally landed. 

It drove into Baekhyun’s stomach, knocking the air out of him instantly. His body folded forward, a sharp breath tearing from his chest before he could stop it.

Pain had spread fast and deep beneath his ribs.

His hands came up instinctively, gripping weakly at his father’s sleeve— not to push him away, just to stay upright.

“You think this is a game?” his father said, voice low, controlled again in that terrifying way, “That you have time to settle in, to play house?”

Clover whined softly behind him.

Baekhyun could not look— no matter how much he had wanted to calm the puppy down, making sure she was alright, that nothing was wrong. 

“I’m not asking for much,” his father said, “You have one job.”

His hand pressed harshly against Baekhyun’s abdomen, right where the pain pulsed.

“Get pregnant. Do you understand?”

Baekhyun nodded quickly.

His father watched him for a moment, released him, before  straightening his sleeve as if nothing had happened.

“And don’t get comfortable here,” he added, glancing around the penthouse again, “This isn’t your home.”

Baekhyun stayed completely still, afraid that if he had made a single move, the pain would come again. 

“Anything that damages my reputation, anything that makes this arrangement risky—” he paused, voice becoming colder, “I will kill you myself.”

And just like that— it was over.

His father turned and walked out, leaving the door open just long enough for the outside air to slip in before it shut again.

Baekhyun stayed bent forward for a second longer, one hand pressed lightly against his stomach, breath uneven despite how hard he tried to steady it.

Clover nudged against his leg, whining softly.

Baekhyun exhaled, before he straightened himself, diminishing all darkening thoughts as he forced himself to focus on the present.

By the time he looked down at Clover, his expression had already softened.

“It’s okay,” he murmured gently, crouching slightly to pet her.

***

That night, the house had already returned to silence by the time Chanyeol came home.

Everything was in place. Nothing looked disturbed and it was almost like the atmosphere had forgotten any trace of what had happened earlier, no sign of the intrusion that had slipped in and left. 

Baekhyun was the one who made sure of it.

He heard the bedroom door open, the familiar sound of Chanyeol stepping inside. Something in his chest tightened— not sharply or anxiously like it had been the afternoon, but rather in a way that pulled him forward before he could stop himself.

“Chanyeol-ah,” Baekhyun called softly.

Chanyeol glanced up, already loosening his tie. 

“You’re still up.”

Baekhyun nodded, taking a small step closer.

“I was waiting for you.”

Chanyeol set his things aside, putting his car key carelessly on top of the table, as he had opted to drive alone today. There was no tension in his figure tonight, the sight of Baekhyun waiting for him did not visibly alter his composure.

Baekhyun watched him for a second— before he finally moved, closing the distance without much plan. 

His hands lifted slightly, hesitant for the briefest moment before settling with his fingers brushing against Chanyeol’s arm as he leaned in. His lips found Chanyeol’s without warning— soft and gentle, like everything Baekhyun ever was.

It was not playful. 

Not carrying the shameless request of affection as it usually did. 

But Baekhyun had not dared say it outloud.

He just desperately needed something to anchor him.

Chanyeol stilled.

Then his hand came up, firm against Baekhyun’s shoulder— not pushing him away, but still enough to break the shape of the moment. 

“What are you doing?”

The question was not harsh, but it still did not carry any sign of softness.

Baekhyun blinked, still close, breathing uneven.

“I just—” he started, then stopped, smile flickering faintly, “I missed you. And you said this was okay.”

Chanyeol’s gaze lingered on him for a moment, deciding what to do with whatever Baekhyun had just said. 

Yet, he refused to acknowledge the meaning of it.

Baekhyun noticed the subtle frown that appeared between his brows, before it disappeared and Chanyeol’s eyes darkened. 

Instead of pulling away, Chanyeol had adjusted his grip, turning Baekhyun the other way, guiding him with certainty until the back of Baekhyun’s knee met the edge of the bed. Baekhyun’s balance was broken almost immediately, toppling him on top of the soft surface with Chanyeol on top of him.

And the shift was almost instant. 

Whatever that kiss had meant— whatever Baekhyun had been reaching for— was gone.

Replaced with something less complicated.

“As long as there is nothing more you’re expecting,” Chanyeol curtly stated.

Baekhyun’s fingers curled slightly at his sides as he nodded.

“… Of course,”

That was easier.

Chanyeol leaned down and Baekhyun let him, even pulling him closer and never refusing. Because even like this— even when it was not what he wanted— it was still something.

Chanyeol’s lips finally reached for his again, already moving with the same quiet efficiency as before, reducing the space between them into something functional and predictable, and as he said of what it was— nothing more.

The moment Chanyeol’s palm met the naked skin of his chest, his shirt exposing him to the chilly air— Baekhyun’s hands lifted instinctively— then hesitated.

“Wait—”

Chanyeol paused.

Baekhyun’s gaze dropped for a second before lifting again, something small and uncertain flickering there.

“Can I… keep this on?”

He gestured lightly to his shirt. The request was quiet, almost apologetic.

Chanyeol’s eyes flicked over him briefly. 

“Do whatever you want.”

Indifferent— never worried.

Baekhyun did not explain.

He did not say that the fabric felt like a layer between him and everything else. He did not say that it made it easier to stay calm, easier to breathe, easier to pretend this was not something that still lingered painfully in his body from earlier.

He just kept it on.

And let Chanyeol pull him back into something that felt nothing like what he deeply longed for— but still, somehow…

This was the only place he could go to feel even a little less alone. 

***

Months after the wedding, their life had settled into something that almost made sense— if one did not look too closely to inspect.

Some days, Chanyeol felt closer, somehow.

Baekhyun would not say it was warmth, Chanyeol was not openly affectionate, but present in a way that made the space between them feel smaller. He would reach first sometimes, speak without that edge, stand just a little nearer than necessary.

On those days, Baekhyun let himself believe— even just for a second— that maybe things were shifting for the better.

And then there were the other days.

Days where it was like none of it had ever happened like Baekhyun was just… there— a part of the arrangement and could never be anything more.

Baekhyun never knew which version of Chanyeol he would come home to.

Like that day when Chanyeol’s birthday had eventually come. 

This was the day Baekhyun had always remembered and looked forward to. 

That excitement carried through the whole penthouse. Bright decorations strung carefully along the walls, small balloons tied neatly in the corners, a cake placed at the center of the table like it was also waiting to be acknowledged.

Baekhyun had done it all himself.

“Does this look too much?” Baekhyun asked, holding up a ribbon, then not waiting for an answer as he adjusted it anyway. 

“No, it’s fine. It’s his birthday.”

The housestaff exchanged small smiles behind him, watching as he moved from one corner to another, fixing, rearranging, stepping back, then fixing again. There was something bright about their employer today.

“He’ll be so happy,” one of them said gently.

Baekhyun grinned, a little sheepish, but did not deny it. 

“Really? You think so?”

Hope.

It sat lightly in his chest— never fragile.

Clover trotted after him the entire time, occasionally getting tangled in the decorations until Baekhyun laughed softly and bent down to untangle her.

“Don’t ruin it before he sees it,” he murmured, scratching behind her ears.

Everything was finally ready.

Baekhyun checked the time, then pretended he had not.

But he still checked it again.

Clover stayed close to him, tail wagging every time Baekhyun moved, as if she felt the anticipation too.

And when the door finally opened that night, he was already halfway to approach it, face lit up.

“Happy birthday, Chanyeol-ah!”

The name came out too easily, too warm. But the word was not received the way he expected.

Chanyeol stepped inside, already loosening his tie, expression tired, distant in a way that did not soften when he looked up.

His gaze swept the room.

On the decorations, the cake, the lights, the ribbons, and finally— on Baekhyun.

Something flickered in his expression.

“…What is this?” he asked.

Baekhyun tilted his head slightly, like the answer was obvious. 

“Your birthday, did you forget?” he asked, stepping closer, tone light, almost teasing, with a small smile tugged at his lips, “Well, I didn’t.”

Chanyeol did not respond.

His gaze fell back on the entire set up again. And something in his chest tightened from the overlapping memory that came into him even if he did not want it to.. 

The same room, but with a different voice, and an entirely different person doing the same thing.

But he stepped forward anyway because ignoring whatever this was would be pointless.

Baekhyun lit the candles quickly, almost a little too eager, then looked up at him with a small, expectant smile.

“Make a wish,” he said softly.

Chanyeol did not.

He did not have one. 

He leaned in and blew them out in one breath.

“Thank you,” he said.

It was distant.

Enough to make the moment collapse instantly.

“I’m tired. I’ll rest first.”

Baekhyun stood there for a second— before it turned into a minute, Chanyeol already far into the living room before he disappeared through the stairs.

“… Ah.”

A small sound.

Not quite a disappointment though. He exhaled, then smiled again, softer this time.

“Okay.”

He clapped his hands together lightly once, like resetting himself. 

“Tomorrow would work too,” he murmured under his breath, already reaching for the decorations like the moment had not mattered.

Like he had not been waiting all day.

He had reached for the ladder again, set it up before he climbed it. His faint hums filled the space, still smiling just enough to keep everything from feeling too heavy.

“Clo, don’t chew on that,” he sing-sang absently while his fingers worked at the ribbon.

His fingers applied a harder pressure on one ribbon that was more stubbornly glued to the wall, sending the balance of his body astray due to the force, but as he was adjusting his position— his foot slipped, and in just a matter of seconds, he had lost all his footing. And the world tilted too fast.

“Ah—!”

The sound broke out of him before he could stop it.

His body hit the floor hard, elbows scraping painfully against the surface as he tried to catch himself. The sting was immediate, sharp enough to make his vision blur for a second— but he bit down on his lip before anything else could follow.

No noise, nor fuss.

Just a sharp inhale through his teeth as he pushed the rest down.

It hurt.

But he’d had it worse.

He stayed there for a second, curled slightly inward, fingers pressing against his arm.

“It’s fine,” he whispered to himself quickly, “It’s fine.”

He grimaced, applying pressure on his wounded arm as if it could help. 

Chanyeol suddenly appeared in the doorway, probably drawn by the sound, his expression tightening when he saw Baekhyun on the floor with a ladder beside him that was no longer propped upright.

“What happened?”

Baekhyun looked up immediately, blinking once, surprised by the new presence, before smiling sheepishly— too easily.

“I fell,” he said, almost like it was funny, “Gracefully.”

Chanyeol frowned as he approached closer.

“I know,” Baekhyun cut in lightly before Chanyeol could even say anything, pushing himself up a little, “It didn’t look like it.”

His sleeve had ridden up slightly, exposing the scrape that was red, raw.

Chanyeol’s gaze fixed on it.

Without asking, his hand closed around Baekhyun’s wrist, turning it just enough to see properly.

Baekhyun went still at the contact, not willing to pull away and resist like his mind was telling him to. 

He was just watching Chanyeol. 

“It’s nothing,” Baekhyun said again, softer this time, “I’m okay. There’s probably a first aid kit somewhere.”

His grip was not rough— but it was firm enough along with the imaginary concern on Chanyeol’s face, or maybe that was Baekhyun’s heart deluding himself.

“It’s bleeding,”

“Mm,” Baekhyun hummed lightly, “It’s nothing.”

Chanyeol exhaled quietly, something in his expression tightening— but Baekhyun did not know what to convince himself, whether it was concern or it was anything but. 

“I’ll get the first aid kit.”

Baekhyun blinked, not expecting Chanyeol’s statement. Surprise came first, before he bit his bottom lip as he tried to contain his smile.

“Okay.”

Chanyeol came back a few minutes after, making Baekhyun’s breath hitch because he had suddenly knelt in front of him, with movements that were so precise and focused. He cleaned the wound carefully, his touch controlled— never lingering too much, but it was not careless either.

Baekhyun had watched him the entire time.

Too closely.

He was trying to memorize it.

To burn it in the back of his head if it was possible.

“Does it hurt?” Chanyeol asked.

Baekhyun shook his head immediately. 

“No.”

A lie. An obvious one. 

But Chanyeol did not bother. He just continued, wrapping the bandage neatly with his fingers steady. Baekhyun tilted his head slightly, studying his face, then— almost playfully— exclaimed words to fill the silence.

“You’re being nice today.”

Chanyeol’s hand paused for a fraction of a second, then continued.

“I’m not crazy to ignore someone wounded,” he said— flatly. 

Baekhyun smiled.

“I like this version of you.”

No answer.

Of course.

Baekhyun did not seem to mind.

“Well— I like every version of you, but this one,” he paused, “it’s nice.”

He leaned slightly closer, just enough to close some of the space, his voice softening.

“Can you stay like this a little longer?”

Chanyeol had finished tying the bandage at that second, pulling his hand back, restoring the distance he had always maintained. 

Baekhyun laughed quietly, even if the disappointment still came.

“Okay,” he replied, easy, like he had not just asked for something more.

But his fingers brushed lightly against the edge of the bandage, holding onto it— because even this, even something this small… was something he could keep, something he could stretch, something he could believe in just a little longer before it slipped away again.

***

The camera was still warm, the lights were dimmed but not fully turned off, and traces of Baekhyun’s cheerful voice still lingered faintly in the room. He reviewed the footage briefly, humming to himself, adjusting a small detail here and there. 

Baekhyun had just finished recording for his Youtube that he had neglected far too long since his wedding.

He glanced at the clock then and lit up because of the sight.

Chanyeol should be home soon.

Baekhyun cleaned up quickly, almost instinctively, putting everything back in place before heading upstairs. The penthouse had settled again into its usual quiet, Clover curled somewhere near the couch, half-asleep.

Baekhyun opened the door into their bedroom, stepping further into their walk-in closet. 

He had only meant to take one cardigan that could make him warm as he waited for Chanyeol when something caught his attention.

In his defense, Baekhyun had not meant to look. 

He just noticed something slightly out of place in the closet. A box, pushed further back than usual, like it did not belong with everything else that had been neatly arranged, clearly telling him someone— no other than Chanyeol— had just opened it recently. 

Baekhyun hesitated.

Then crouched, carefully pulling it forward.

Just a glance, he told himself. Just to fix it.

But the lid came off easier than he expected, revealing what was inside, and just then— he felt the time had stopped.

It was an album, worn slightly at the edges.

And under it, was an ultrasound photo, along with a pair of impossibly small baby socks.

Baekhyun’s breath caught.

His fingers hovered, then slowly reached out, brushing the edge of the photo like it might disappear if he touched it too suddenly.

So this was— this was what Chanyeol had lost.

Baekhyun had known, but he never imagined he would come across it this close.

Holding it, it hit him. 

Baekhyun swallowed, uneasiness bloomed beneath his ribs— instead of something trivial as jealousy and sadness, something else had the audacity to surface. 

Something that made him feel like he was standing in a place he had no right to be in.

His vision was getting blurry in a matter of seconds, just as he was putting the aged paper back where it belonged—

At that unfortunate moment— the door had suddenly flung open.

Baekhyun did not hear any of the footsteps that might have signaled he was no longer alone in this house. He did not notice.

Until it was too late.

Chanyeol stood at the entrance, gaze locking onto the scene in front of him.

His most treasured box— the only thing of his past that he could have all to himself in this scene of home that forced him to move on every single day— in the grasp of someone he had no choice but to let in in his life. 

Something in him snapped.

“What are you doing?”

Before Baekhyun could even react, Chanyeol crossed the distance, his hand grabbing Baekhyun’s wrist— hard— twisting it just enough to force him to let go, the album slipping through his fingers. 

“Chanyeol—”

Baekhyun’s back hit the closet with a dull thud, the impact rattling through his spine, breath catching sharply in his throat. The door behind him vibrated faintly from the force, a low sound that seemed to echo in the tight space between them.

One of Chanyeol’s arms braced beside Baekhyun’s head, caging him in, cutting off any space to move.

Too close.

Never in the way Baekhyun had brazenly hoped for.

Baekhyun’s breath stuttered.

Chanyeol’s expression was unlike anything he had seen before— a feeling that had been buried for too long.

“You’re crossing the line, Baekhyun,” Chanyeol said, voice low, tight, barely controlled, “You’re mistaking my patience as a feed to your stupid hope.”

Baekhyun froze. 

Chanyeol’s grip tightened— controlling anything that was left.

Baekhyun felt it in the way his bones pressed together, in the heat of Chanyeol’s hand against his skin, in the way his wrist was forced at an angle that made it ache instantly.

But he forced his mouth to stay shut.

Baekhyun’s eyes flickered up— and he immediately wished they had not.

Because Chanyeol did not look like the controlled, distant version Baekhyun had learned to navigate.

“I have tried my best to respect you,” Chanyeol continued, his grip tightening just enough to make Baekhyun wince, even if he tried not to show it, “Don’t make it hard for me to do so.”

“I—” Baekhyun tried, but his voice came out thin, unsteady.

Chanyeol did not let him speak.

“Whatever you’re doing—” His gaze flickered toward the fallen items, then back at him, “I don’t want it.”

The words landed heavier than the force.

“I moved on, I’ve built a life,” he paused, eyes burning a hole through Baekhyun, “You’re from a version of me that no longer exists.”

His wrist still ached. But it was nothing compared to that feeling of his chest as he looked into Chanyeol’s eyes.

Chanyeol’s voice slowed.

“Do you know how hard it is to look at you and not remember?”

Each word was chosen carefully, almost as if Chanyeol was dying to let this out all his life. His free hand lifted slightly, brushing near his own forehead, just at the edge of his hairline.

“This scar was on you,” he said, quieter now, “and I’m grateful for it.”

Baekhyun’s breath caught.

“Because I get to remember every single day how evil you are. Because I get the reminder that whatever you do will never be real.”

The words felt wrong and something inside Baekhyun stilled completely.

Because what was there to say?

Chanyeol’s grip still had not loosened.

Not even a little.

“Don’t delude yourself that this means anything.”

His jaw tightened.

“Because it doesn’t.”

And yet— he did not let go.

Because underneath everything— there was something else that he refused to acknowledge as the truth sat deeper than all of it.

Deeper than the humiliation, distrust, and the resentment he had carried for years.

It was not just what Baekhyun had done.

It was how much his action mattered.

How much Baekhyun had mattered to him.

Chanyeol’s expression flickered before it hardened again.

Because that part was something unacceptable. That no matter how much time had passed, no matter how much he had rebuilt— he still could not forget the betrayal he had felt.

And that was what made it unbearable.

Baekhyun just stayed still. 

His wrist was still in Chanyeol’s grip and his back was still pressed against the closet. But he did not dare move.

Because he had learned long ago that sometimes silence was the only thing that kept everything from breaking even more.

And when Chanyeol’s grip had loosened, the absence of it felt strange.

Baekhyun’s hand dropped slightly, fingers curling in on the throbbing wrist as if the shape of Chanyeol’s grip was still there, lingering beneath his skin.

Chanyeol stepped back, enough to break the cage.

He ran a hand through his hair, the movement sharp, frustrated, like he was trying to shake something off that refused to leave. Gaze dropping to the things that had fallen— the album, the photo, and finally… the pair of socks that never got to their rightful owner.

“Don’t touch my things again,” he said.

Baekhyun stayed quiet, but even through the absence of an answer, Chanyeol knew that his warning was enough.

Chanyeol did not look at him.

He did not acknowledge the way Baekhyun was still standing there, still trying to make himself smaller in the space he had just been forced into.

Instead, he bent down, picking up the items one by one, his movements controlled in a way that did not match the anger from moments ago. He put every single one of the item back into the box and shoved it back into its place— sealing something away that should have never been opened by his present.

Baekhyun’s fingers curled tighter at his side as he took a small step back— creating more space.

Because that was what Chanyeol wanted.

Because that was what he was supposed to do.

///

The room did not lose its darkness after that.

Even when Chanyeol had let go, even when the box was put back exactly where it belonged, even when the words stopped— the air stayed tight. 

Baekhyun did not follow his husband when he left the room.

He stayed behind.

Long enough for his breathing to stabilize again and at least for the tremor in his hands to fade. 

His grip on the wrist that bore Chanyeol’s mark tightened even more, hoping that the pain he was giving himself was enough to shrink the one from Chanyeol— both from his skin and his heart.

The house looked the same by the time he had come downstairs. 

Clover lifted her head briefly upon realizing his presence, before dropping it again.

Baekhyun moved through it carefully, like if he made too much noise, something might break again.

Chanyeol was gone. 

None of his presence was left in this space Baekhyun was left to drift alone in.

And he had not come back for hours as the light dimmed, silence stretched and deepened.

Baekhyun stayed awake anyway.

When the door opened again that night, Baekhyun looked up immediately, finding Chanyeol stepping into the room without the composure and anger that he carried when he had left him a few hours ago. 

And the smell hit first.

Chanyeol had been drinking.

“Chanyeol…”

No answer.

Baekhyun’s chest tightened.

“Did you eat?” he asked softly, like nothing had happened earlier, like he could still step back into something normal.

Chanyeol let out a quiet breath, something between a scoff and a laugh.

“Does it matter?”

Baekhyun inclined his head slightly.

“I can make something—”

He did not get to finish as Chanyeol moved fast enough to cut him off, slow enough to feel it was done on purpose, his hand catching Baekhyun’s wrist— not as brutal as before, but still firm, still grounding in a way that made Baekhyun’s breath hitch.

The same wrist.

The ache was still there.

Chanyeol pulled him closer, turning him around as the strong arms wrapped around Baekhyun from behind.

The contact was immediate and unfamiliar, never once did Baekhyun imagine he could feel this. 

Chanyeol’s chest pressed against his back, his grip even if it was not careful— it was there, solid and firm enough to make Baekhyun glued in this position without moving.

Baekhyun’s shoulders tensed.

Then slowly— it finally relaxed.

Because Chanyeol was not pushing him away, even with what had come between them that night.

Chanyeol’s face dipped into the curve of his neck— his breath was warm, uneven, the scent of alcohol mixing with his own. 

Baekhyun closed his eyes, somehow through it all, relief still found its way to him.

Yet, he could not bring himself to turn around.

If he looked, if he searched Chanyeol’s face— he might lose this.

And right now— he was afraid of that more than anything.

Chanyeol’s lips brushed against his neck, dragging slowly against the smooth skin. 

Baekhyun’s fingers curled faintly at his sides, holding himself with all his might from embracing his husband back.

Chanyeol’s grip tightened slightly at his waist.

“You know why you’re here, right?” he murmured, voice low with the edges blurred under the influence of alcohol.

Baekhyun’s chest tightened— choosing not to answer.

Chanyeol’s breath ghosted against his skin again, even closer this time.

“I’m not risking anything that actually matters to me,” he said quietly, “So don’t ever confuse this with something else.”

The words settled coldly in his conscience.

“You’re here because you can give me what I need.”

Baekhyun swallowed hard, eyes shut, burying the pain that bloomed. 

Chanyeol’s lips pressed against his neck again, firmer this time, less restrained, like the words had stripped away whatever distance he usually tried his best to keep.

“It’s hard to look at you and not remember,” he added, voice heavier now, something darker threading through it.

Baekhyun’s eyes shut tighter.

Because he knew. Because he understood exactly what that meant. Because it was his fault that he was here.

Chanyeol turned him then, eyes half-lidded as they stared sharply to search Baekhyun’s face.

Baekhyun’s gaze dropped immediately. He could not bring himself to look at the taller.

Not after earlier.

Not with those words still sitting between them.

If he saw that look again— it would break something he did not know how to fix.

He kept his eyes lowered, fingers curling weakly into the fabric of Chanyeol’s shirt instead, grounding himself in something small and safe.

Chanyeol’s hand came up, tilting his chin slightly—but Baekhyun resisted just enough to keep his gaze from lifting fully. It was a silent plea.

For a second— Chanyeol paused, letting go of his hold.

But then, Baekhyun let out a quiet breath, barely steady.

“Don’t go,” he whispered softly. 

He was not asking for more— just asking not to lose what was already there.

Just for tonight.

Again and again, Baekhyun held onto it, as letting go would mean there was nothing left to reach for.

***

Work did not stop for anyone. 

Baekhyun showed up the next day like he always did and the studio was already so much more alive than he had expected.

He slipped into his routine smoothly, setting his kit down, laying out brushes and palettes with perfectly formed habits. His voice, when he greeted the staff, was light and warm, exactly as he wanted himself to behave.

“Baekhyun,”

The voice was not loud, but it cut cleanly through the silence of the room, inviting Baekhyun to look up.

Sehun stood a few steps away, tall and still, hands tucked into his pockets, his expression unreadable in that way it always was. Next to him was Jongin— and the difference between them was too contrasting.

Baekhyun straightened slightly, instinctively, a small smile forming even before he fully registered it. 

“Sehun. Jongin.”

Sehun gave a short nod.

Baekhyun had known this encounter was bound to happen. 

Ever since the list of individuals who were going to participate in this project was in his hands, the two names of the men in front of him were the most striking.

“So it’s true,” Jongin said after a moment, his voice low, edged with something that was not supposed to belong in a casual conversation.

Baekhyun blinked, caught off guard by the tone more than the words. 

“What is?”

“That we’re gonna work together from now on.”

Baekhyun nodded slowly, trying to keep the moment light, to keep it from tipping into something else. 

“Yeah. I got assigned to this project.”

Jongin let out a quiet scoff, looking away briefly like that answer alone irritated him.

Sehun shifted beside him, glancing at Jongin as if to say something— but he did not. He stayed silent, choosing not to interfere, not to soften what was coming.

Baekhyun felt it then— that something was not right. Not that anything was ever right— to be honest.

“… Jongin, maybe,” he called, softer now, not defensive—just trying to understand, “we should try to be more civil,”

Jongin looked back at him, really looked this time, and his expression tightened even more.

The idol stepped closer, the distance between them shrinking in a way that was on purpose, confrontational without needing raised voices, only through a shifted atmosphere.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” he said, voice significantly dropping lower, “Or are you just pretending again?”

“I’m not pretending,” Baekhyun replied, still gentle and careful.

That only seemed to make it worse.

Jongin’s jaw clenched, something sharper breaking through his restraint.

“You ruined him.”

The words were not loud but they landed harder than anything else so far. Louder than any of the hostility Jongin had shown ever since the wedding.

Baekhyun’s breath faltered, but Jongin did not stop.

“He wasn’t like this before you,” he continued, and there was something else there now— something that was not mere anger, “He trusted people. He showed up. He—”

He cut himself off abruptly, exhaling through his nose like he had gone too far, or maybe not far enough.

Baekhyun stood still.

Because he did not know what part of this he was allowed to respond to.

“You think we didn’t see it?” Jongin went on, quieter, choosing each word carefully, “That was already fucked on its own and now it got even worse after this whole marriage bullshit?”

Baekhyun swallowed.

The set around them continued, oblivious. Laughter somewhere in the background. A director calling for a reset.

Life moved on— while this moment stayed still.

It was like something inside Baekhyun had died.

Baekhyun knew this was not as simple as anger or resentment— something about this whole situation was protective.

Jongin had always looked up to Chanyeol— everyone knew that— but it was not just admiration. It was something tied to a past Baekhyun had not been part of. 

When Jongin’s sister had been sick, when everything had been falling apart quietly behind closed doors, Chanyeol had stepped in without hesitation. He had helped in ways no one else had and stayed when others did not.

That kind of gratitude never left.

It turned into loyalty instead.

And Baekhyun— he stood on the side of the person who had hurt that version of a brother Jongin had always known.

Jongin stepped closer again.

“And now you’re here again,” he said, “Like none of that happened.”

Baekhyun shook his head quickly, his voice quieter now, almost lost in the noise around them.

“I’m not trying to—”

Jongin grabbed his collar. The movement was sudden enough to knock the breath out of him.

The fabric tightened around his throat as he was pulled forward, the world narrowing sharply to just the space between them. Baekhyun’s hands came up instinctively, hovering uselessly near Jongin’s wrist.

The familiar fear came fast.

“I don’t care what you’re trying, but if you have a hidden motive, I advise you to stop now.”

Baekhyun’s chest tightened, his breath already coming uneven.

“I won’t let Chanyeol hyung fall for the same trap a second time.”

The words were firm— carried a certainty that Baekhyun made him flinch.

“I’m not trying to hurt him,” Baekhyun managed to say with a small strained voice. 

Jongin’s grip tightened.

“You already did.”

Silence fell between them, heavy and suffocating despite the noise surrounding it.

“Jongin,”

Sehun’s voice cut in, calm but firm.

“That’s enough.” 

Jongin did not let go immediately. His jaw stayed tight, his gaze locked on Baekhyun like he had not gotten the chance to say everything he wanted to.

Then, slowly— Jongin released him.

Baekhyun staggered back slightly, fingers clutching at his collar to steady himself, to loosen everything that made his breath slip out of rhythm.

Sehun stepped forward, grabbing Jongin’s arm and pulling him away before anything else could happen.

“Drop it,” he muttered.

Jongin did not look back. Sehun glanced at Baekhyun once— brief, unreadable— before turning away, dragging Jongin with him.

And just like that— they were gone.

Baekhyun’s fingers still curled into his shirt, his chest rising too fast— what always happened when his body had forgotten how to breathe properly.

The noise around him blurred and his vision wavered slightly at the edges.

Baekhyun took a step back, then another one. Until the edge of the table pressed against his hand, grounding him just enough to stop the tilt.

Breathe.

He closed his eyes.

One.

Two.

Three.

Hold.

Out.

Again.

His chest stuttered. The rhythm broke.

No.

Again.

He pressed his fingers against his wrist, feeling his pulse, counting it like he always did when it got like this— like he had taught himself to do because no one else ever had. Rubbing his palms against any surface he could find to feel the heat of friction— anything, just anything to make him stay in this reality.

The air came back slowly.

Enough for the noise to settle.

Baekhyun exhaled softly, shoulders lowering just slightly as control returned, piece by piece.

When he opened his eyes, everything looked the same.

Baekhyun picked up his brush again.

His hands were steady and his expression was always easy. And just like that— he stepped back into it like nothing had ever happened.

***

Chanyeol was already home when Baekhyun arrived, quite a rare occurrence.

The lights were on, the house always calm with a silence that settled into the walls instead of just passing through. Chanyeol sat in the living room, tie loosened with his sleeves rolled up, a glass of water untouched on the table beside him. 

He looked composed, unlike Baekhyun’s internal turmoil.

Baekhyun paused for half a second at the entrance, a smile arriving at his face.

“Oh, hey,” he said lightly, slipping off his shoes, voice warm in that familiar, easy way, “You’re home early.”

Chanyeol looked up.

His gaze lingered longer than usual.

And Baekhyun felt it— the weight of the way Chanyeol was looking at him like he had not decided yet what Baekhyun was supposed to be tonight. 

Because Baekhyun knew what came after moments like this.

Distance, withdrawal. Or worse— clarity that would drag everything back to the surface, every memory Chanyeol refused to let go of, every reason Baekhyun should not be standing this close to him at all.

Jongin’s voice slipped back into his head, uninvited.

You ruined him.

I won’t let him fall for the same trap again.

Baekhyun’s chest tightened, realizing the irony of it all, that Chanyeol was capable of hurting him too. The way his father did, the way Jongin did.

He already had.

And yet— Baekhyun never wanted to step back when it came to him.

Because this space, this distance that had not widened yet— was the only place that ever felt like it could quiet everything else inside him. 

Not safe, not really, but familiar with something he understood, something he could navigate.

Chanyeol’s anger, his coldness, even his rejection— Baekhyun knew how to move around those. He knew how to soften himself, how to stay just enough without breaking things further.

Even if Chanyeol might push him away again the next second— Baekhyun would still rather reach for him than be left alone with everything else.

So he did not give Chanyeol time, did not let the silence stretch, did not give him a chance to think too much about what should happen in the next seconds.

Baekhyun’s thin lips had landed again on Chanyeol’s. 

Softly enough— like if he made it gentle enough, if he made it easy enough— then maybe Chanyeol would understand how easy Baekhyun could be.

Maybe he would stay.

Just for a little longer.

I love you, Chanyeol, I really do. Please.

Chanyeol stilled slightly at the contact, caught off guard— not by the action, but by how quickly it came and how easily Baekhyun slid into it like there was nothing wrong to begin with.

Baekhyun pulled back just enough to move closer instead, tucking himself into Chanyeol’s space, his face turning inward to press lightly against his chest.

Hiding.

If he did not have to read into Chanyeol’s expression, then maybe this could stay simple.

Maybe the fear still sitting under his ribs would finally quiet down.

Baekhyun nuzzled closer, arms loosely wrapping around him, even when Chanyeol had not moved to return it.

“You’re warm,” he murmured softly, voice light with a faint relieved sign, almost teasing, “I want to stay like this forever.”

The words were easy. Playful, like always.

But the way he held on just slightly tighter gave something else away that even Chanyeol could not help himself to notice, even if he did not understand it fully.

His hands hovered for a second at his sides, uncertain, before one of them slowly lifted to rest awkwardly against Baekhyun’s back— not quite an embrace, but keeping its weight there.

“… Baekhyun.”

Baekhyun hummed softly in response, still not looking up.

“I’m not joking,” Baekhyun added, quieter, “Don’t move.”

Chanyeol exhaled faintly.

There was something off.

The way Baekhyun was saying it— too careful, but almost too quick to hide something beneath.

And suddenly— his memory of yesterday came back. 

The box.

The look on Baekhyun’s face.

The way he had frozen.

The way Chanyeol had— Chanyeol’s jaw tightened slightly.

“I…” he started, then paused, “I apologize for yesterday,”

The words did not come easily.

“I shouldn’t have treated you like that.”

Baekhyun stilled for a fraction of a second, then relaxed again.

That was new.

What Chanyeol said were simple, almost bare, offered without softness, without anything that could be mistaken for affection. But Chanyeol had said them anyway, and somehow that was enough to make something small and fragile bloom in Baekhyun’s chest before he could stop it.

He held onto it immediately.

Like it mattered more than it should.

Like it meant more than it actually did.

Then he smiled, quick and easy, smoothing over everything before it could settle too deeply.

“It’s okay,” he responded quickly with a light tone, dismissive in a way that did not reach his body to relax the way it was supposed to, “I shouldn’t have touched your things.”

But his fingers tightened slightly against Chanyeol’s shirt, just for a second— holding onto the apology, turning it into something softer in his own mind, something closer to care, even when it was not meant that way at all.

Chanyeol frowned slightly.

That was not what he was referring to. 

His gaze dropped to the top of Baekhyun’s head, to the way he kept his face hidden, refusing to look up and something in his chest shifted uncomfortably.

Because for a brief moment, Baekhyun did not look like someone pretending.

He looked like someone avoiding the world, as if everything was too heavy to carry.

Chanyeol tilted his head to see Baekhyun’s face more clearly. 

He lifted his hand, intending to brush Baekhyun’s hair back, to see his face properly— to check, but the moment his fingers got close— Baekhyun flinched. 

Sharp, instinctive, and it was almost like his body moved before he could stop it.

Chanyeol froze. His hand hovered in the air, the space between them suddenly heavier than before.

And Baekhyun realized it immediately— that it was too late, making his breath catch.

Stupid.

The word hit him hard.

You’re so stupid, Baekhyun.

He forced himself to relax, to soften again, to erase it before it settled into something real.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, a small laugh slipping in to cover it, “That surprised me.”

Chanyeol did not lower his hand right away. 

Something about it— about the way Baekhyun had flinched— did not match what he knew and it did not fit into the version of Baekhyun he had already decided on. 

It pulled at something in him he did not want to name. He knew it was not a concern, but it was not nothing either— it was just an awareness he could not easily dismiss. 

Because Baekhyun had never reacted like that before.

His hand slowly dropped.

“Did anything happen?”

Baekhyun tilted his head slightly against his chest, shaking his head immediately after he succeeded in comprehending the question.

“You don’t have to pretend everything’s fine if it’s not.”

Baekhyun smiled.

Even now— even after what he did last night, Chanyeol was still… kind.

“It is fine,” he paused, “You’re here, aren’t you?”

Chanyeol did not answer.

Because he did not know what that meant and because part of him still held onto everything Baekhyun had done— the humiliation, the betrayal, the version of him that had broken because of it.

And yet— another part of him had noticed the crack.

It did not fit the person he thought Baekhyun was.

Chanyeol exhaled quietly.

Then, almost without thinking, his hand lifted again— this time slower—as it settled lightly against Baekhyun’s waist.

And Baekhyun leaned into it immediately.

Even as his chest still felt tight, even as Jongin’s voice lingered somewhere in the back of his mind, even as the fear inside him had fully settled— Baekhyun stayed right there, smiling softly, holding onto the warmth, and telling himself over and over again. 

This was fine.

He was fine.

And that he just needed to be more careful next time.

///

Baekhyun woke up before his alarm got the chance to ring. 

It was still so dark outside— and it almost made him succumb to the gravity of staying in bed. So for a moment, he did not move. Just laying there, eyes half-open, listening to the steady rhythm of breathing beside him that was Chanyeol’s.

Baekhyun turned his head slightly.

He was still asleep, one arm loosely resting by his side, his features softened in a way Baekhyun almost never got to see. No tension in his jaw, no distance in his expression. The faint rise and fall of his chest, the warmth that lingered between them under the covers, the way his hair fell just slightly over his forehead— Baekhyun watched him.

His gaze traced small details— ones he had memorized without meaning to. The small mole of his nose, the faint line near his brow, the scar near his hairline that Baekhyun never let his eyes linger on for too long.

“… My husband is so handsome,” he giggled under his breath, voice barely there.

Baekhyun smiled faintly.

Then shifted slightly, careful not to disturb him as he reached for his phone.

2:58 AM.

Right.

Work.

He exhaled quietly, pushing himself up from the bed, movements slow— he knew exactly how to leave without waking Chanyeol by now.

But the moment he sat up— something felt off.

A sudden wave of dizziness hit him, quite disorienting, as if the room tilted just slightly out of place. Baekhyun stilled immediately, one hand pressing lightly against the mattress to steady himself.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a second.

Waiting, until the feeling passed.

But it left behind something else— a faint uneasiness, a heaviness in his body.

Baekhyun frowned slightly.

“Did I sleep weird…?”

He pressed his fingers briefly to his temple, then shook his head once, brushing it off.

Well, it made sense. He had not been resting properly lately anyway.

Too many late nights. Too much— everything.

“Yeah… that’s probably it,” he murmured to himself, more to settle the thought than because he believed it fully.

He stood up more carefully this time. The dizziness did not come back as strong, but there was still a faint lightness in his head, like he was not fully stable on the ground he was standing on.

Baekhyun just ignored it.

He had responsibilities that were always waiting for him.

He could not afford to think too much about it. Still, before leaving, he glanced back once more.

Chanyeol had not moved, still sleeping soundly beside his spot.

Baekhyun’s expression softened again.

He stepped closer without thinking, just enough to stand beside the bed, looking down at him for one last second.

Then, quietly— almost without realizing— he reached out and adjusted the blanket slightly over Chanyeol’s shoulder, leaning down to give one fleeting kiss on the forehead.

Barely anything, but Baekhyun lingered there for a moment longer than necessary, before he pulled his hand back and left.

***

Christmas was eventually just around the corner.

Snow had started washing across the city, decorating Seoul with warm lights and festive atmosphere to greet the happiest time of the year.

Yet, Baekhyun had been on edge since the morning, though he hid it well enough that no one would point it out. The decorations, the warm lights, the neatly prepared dinner— it all looked perfect on the surface. But underneath it, something in his chest refused to calm down. 

And maybe the queasiness and the dizziness that refused to go away also contributed to it. 

The drive over to Chanyeol’s parents house was empty.

Baekhyun sat beside Chanyeol, hands folded loosely on his lap, gaze fixed on the passing lights outside the window. He answered when spoken to, smiled as usual— but there was a pause before everything, like he was thinking too carefully about each response.

Chanyeol noticed.

But he did choose to not point anything out right away.

Just glanced at him once, briefly, then again when Baekhyun didn’t fill the silence like he usually would.

“…You’re quiet,” Chanyeol said eventually.

Baekhyun blinked, turning slightly. 

“Hm?”

“You’ve been quiet.”

A small pause was there, but then Baekhyun smiled.

“Ah, I’m just thinking about work tomorrow,” he said, “Big schedule.”

Chanyeol did not look convinced, but he also did not push.

///

It was not complicated for the dinner to start.

Chanyeol’s parents were warm, welcoming in a way that were not forced. Conversations flowed easily between them, light topics, occasional laughter— everything that should have made Baekhyun relax to be surrounded by family.

But he could not.

Not when across the table— his father sat there, watching every movement and every word he said.

So Baekhyun had done exactly what he was supposed to. He smiled in the right moments and said the right words.

At one point, his father set his glass down, before rising up from his seat.

“Baekhyun,” he called casually, like something he said most , “There’s a gift box in my car. Let’s get it.”

Baekhyun’s hand stilled for a fraction of a second.

“… Now?”

“Yes. I forgot to bring it earlier.”

He hesitated for a moment, pausing, but eventually nodded.

“Okay.”

He stood up because saying no would lead to something worse.

The cold air outside hit sharper than the comfortable warmth of the Parks’ residence.

Baekhyun followed his father to the car, his steps slower than his father’s, something in his chest already tightening. 

He did not want this.

He did not want to be alone with him.

But he did not stop.

His father opened the car door, then spoke without looking at him.

“You’re too stiff,” he said, voice low and controlled, eyes narrowing slightly, “Relax. No one’s going to believe anything if you look like that.”

A brief pause, then a more pointed command.

“When we go back in, I want you to get all over him.”

Baekhyun froze.

“… What?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“I—” Baekhyun swallowed, shaking his head slightly, “I can’t.”

That came out before he could stop it, too fast, and too honest. His father turned then, slowly, eyes sharp.

///

“I’ll check if they need any help,” Chanyeol exclaimed, setting down his dessert spoon as something in his ribs did not settle right. 

Chanyeol’s parents glanced at the door, before nodding, agreeing.

“Yeah, do that.”

The cold air pierced through his thick sweater when he had stepped out and he did not expect to hear anything.

But he did.

“Excuse me?”

“I can’t do that,” Baekhyun said again, quieter now, but firm in a way he rarely allowed himself to be, “Please don’t ask me to—”

Chanyeol slowed.

The voice was clearly Baekhyun’s.

But something in it felt off, the tone felt off. He moved closer. Chanyeol’s brows furrowed and when he turned around the corner— he saw the sight. 

Baekhyun, backed near the car with his father gripping his wrist.

Something in Chanyeol snapped into place instantly.

“I clearly heard him saying no.”

The words came out cold, leading the pair of father and son to turn towards the deep voice.

Baekhyun’s eyes widened slightly, while his father’s grip loosened, before finally released as if nothing had happened and Chanyeol saw nothing.

His father’s expression smoothed over almost immediately, composure slipping back into place like it had never left.

“We were just talking,” his father chuckled calmly.

Chanyeol did not see the importance of responding, his gaze flicking briefly to Baekhyun’s wrist instead. The exact same wrist he had gripped in the same manner a few nights ago. 

Something in his chest tightened, but he was forced to let it go.

For now. 

“…We should head back,” Chanyeol said instead.

Baekhyun nodded quickly, glancing to his father’s back who had left to enter the dining room once again, leaving him alone with Chanyeol.

“Yeah.”

Chanyeol took hold of the gift box from Baekhyun’s grip, letting Baekhyun walk in front of him.

Chanyeol watched the small of Baekhyun’s back, once, before he found himself not being able to look away.

And he hated how frail his husband had looked at that moment.

///

“So, Baekhyun,” Chanyeol’s father spoke up at one point, smiling, “I heard you have a gig for the game tomorrow?”

Baekhyun blinked, caught slightly off guard.

“Ah— yes.”

“Big event,” his father-in-law continued, “LG Packs versus KIA Lions, right? And I heard an idol is throwing the first pitch.”

Baekhyun smiled politely. 

“Yes, that’s right.”

Chanyeol’s father chuckled. 

“Good. I’ve always supported LG. You’ll be on the right side.”

Baekhyun let out a small laugh.

“Of course,”

But— KIA Lions. 

That name sat heavier, carrying a certain undercurrent that was too unnerving for Baekhyun to ignore. But he did not let it reach his expression. 

He just smiled again like nothing was waiting for him tomorrow that he was not ready to face.

***

The stadium was louder than anything Baekhyun had worked in before.

The scale— it was truly beyond everything Baekhyun had expected. The movement, the pressure, the constant awareness that everything had to be done right and fast. He moved through it with ease, hands professional as he worked, voice soft and reassuring as always.

“Just a little touch-up,” he murmured, dabbing lightly under Sana’s eyes, “You look perfect already.”

Sana smiled at him through the mirror. 

“Always with the compliments, Baekhyun-ssi,”

The way he always was.

The waiting room was calm compared to outside— just a few stylists, close chatter, the hum of preparation before the first pitch. Baekhyun packed away a brush, glancing briefly at the time.

“Excuse me for a second,” Sana said, standing after she received a notification on her phone, “I’ll be right back.”

Baekhyun nodded. 

“Take your time.”

The door closed behind her.

And for a moment, it was quiet. Just Baekhyun and two stylists who were busy with their own business, taking care of the outfits as the air settled into something ordinary.

Until— the door opened again.

Baekhyun looked up and immediately— something in his heart dropped.

It was Jung Hyunwoo.

Older now, definitely sharper, and built differently from the prominent confidence that was worn like something earned and reinforced by years of being untouchable. The same person Baekhyun had once chosen not to stop— had allowed to exist in that moment, even as he stood there and watched Chanyeol get beaten in the locker room.

His eyes landed on Baekhyun and stubbornly stayed there.

“Well, well,” Hyunwoo said, a slow smirk pulling at his lips as he stepped further into the room, shutting the door behind him like he belonged there. 

“So it was true that the Byun Baekhyun is here.”

The stylists froze.

Baekhyun did not.

He straightened slightly, expression smoothing over into something neutral, professional— like this was just another client walking in.

“Do you need something?” he asked.

Hyunwoo laughed under his breath.

“Still like this, huh?” he said, taking a few slow steps closer, “Interesting, irresistible. like nothing ever sticks to you.”

Baekhyun did not answer because he knew that tone too well.

Hyunwoo’s gaze moved over him— not quick, never intended to be subtle.

“You look better now,” he added casually, “Didn’t expect that.”

“Thanks,” Baekhyun replied softly.

Hyunwoo tilted his head slightly, amused.

“And married too, right?” he continued, “Park Chanyeol.”

Baekhyun’s fingers tightened slightly around the brush in his hand as the name sat heavy in the room.

“Yes.”

Hyunwoo let out a quiet whistle.

“Didn’t think you’d end up like that,” he said, “Guess people really do fall for anything.”

The stylists exchanged a glance, uncomfortable but silent through the unspoken tension.

Baekhyun kept his posture steady.

“I’m working right now,” he stated gently, “If you need—”

Hyunwoo stepped closer.

“You always had this thing,” he cut in, voice dropping, quieter now, more pointed, “Playing nice. Acting like you don’t know what you’re doing to people.”

Baekhyun’s breath slowed, measured, refusing to lose his stance and step back. But every part of him was aware of the distance.

“Relax,” Hyunwoo added, smirking slightly. 

His gaze dropped briefly, then lifted again, something darker settling into it.

“You know, the carrier thing,” he said, almost casually, “if I’d known back then… things might have gone very differently.”

The implication was clear that it was starting to become disturbing. Hyunwoo had crossed a line without needing to say it outright.

But something in his chest tightened sharply, his fingers pressing harder into the brush until it almost hurt.

Hyunwoo watched him for a second longer, like he was waiting for something— for a reaction, a crack, anything. Then he chuckled.

“Still good at it,” he muttered, “Figures.”

He stepped back. Like he had already gotten what he wanted.

“Anyway,” he added, turning toward the door, “try not to mess up today.”

And just like that, he left.

The room stayed silent for a moment after the heavy footsteps faded across the hallway.

Then one of the stylists moved first, stepping closer hesitantly.

“… Are you okay?” she asked.

Baekhyun blinked before he let out a small laugh.

“I’m okay,” he said.

“Are you sure?” the other stylist added, quieter.

Baekhyun nodded— even if he was not. 

But there was nothing that they could have done. 

And Baekhyun let it pass— even during day two of the game, where it happened again. Day two had come with the roar of the crowd swelling and falling in waves, the sharp crack of bats, the constant movement of staff rushing past.

Baekhyun was aware of the presence that lingered.

Hyunwoo did not come close this time. He did not step into the waiting room, did not speak directly, did not give Baekhyun anything as obvious as yesterday.

Baekhyun felt it in the way his shoulders tensed just slightly when he stepped out into the open areas, in the way his awareness expanded across the field without him meaning to.

Hyunwoo’s gaze settled too long to be accidental— the whispers that were visibly shared among his team, the laughter that emerged after.

Baekhyun caught it.

Hyunwoo smirked when their gazes met— knowing.

Baekhyun’s fingers tightened faintly around the strap of his kit.

It did not stop there.

A low whistle when Baekhyun passed by with the staff— quiet enough that no one else reacted, but close enough that Baekhyun felt it slide under his skin.

Baekhyun kept walking.

His steps did not falter and his expression stayed up right. 

He even let out a soft laugh at something one of the stylists said beside him, tilting his head slightly, responding like everything was normal, like nothing was pressing in from the edges of his awareness. 

He kept himself light and untouched. 

Even as something underneath him tightened quietly, his chest just a little too tight when he exhaled, his senses just a little too sharp, every small sound feeling slightly louder than it should have been. 

***

Chanyeol had departed a few days ago for a work trip. 

Every single day since then, Baekhyun would wake up in a bed that felt larger than usual, the sheets untouched on one side, the silence stretching wider than it should have.

It was only a few days.

Still, the house shifted in ways he could not quite explain. 

Even Clover seemed to notice, wandering more than usual, nails tapping softly against the floor as she moved from room to room, as if searching for something that had not returned.

Baekhyun found himself doing the same without meaning to, adjusting things that did not need adjusting, filling time with small, unnecessary movements just to keep from noticing how quiet everything had become if he did not have any gig on his plate.

And by the time his birthday arrived, it just slipped into the day as if it did not want to be acknowledged either. 

Baekhyun did not expect anything— he had already decided that much. 

People were busy. Lives moved. Dates did not hold the same weight for everyone.

But by evening, the sky had darkened into something soft, the city lights flickering on one by one. 

Baekhyun sat in the living room with his phone in his hands, the glow of the screen illuminating his face while the rest of the house remained dim. 

Clover rested beside him, warmth slipping into his body from her presence, her breathing the only sound grounding the space.

He stared at the screen longer than he meant to before his thumb found the courage.

Chanyeol-ah

How was your day?

Today is my birthday!

He sent it, then set his phone down, leaning back against the couch as if that would keep him from checking it again— not that it worked. 

His eyes drifted back to it every few minutes, then more frequently.

Nothing came though.

Baekhyun exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a moment.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, barely audible even to himself.

When his phone finally buzzed, it startled him more than it should have. He reached for it too quickly, the motion almost careless in its urgency.

I know

Happy birthday, Baekhyun

Baekhyun stared at the screen.

The words were nothing special. It was simple and almost minimal, and yet, somehow, that was enough to make something soften in his chest, something small and fragile unfolding.

“Ah, he remembered,” he whispered quietly, a faint smile forming— real this time, unguarded in a way no one else would see.

Not long after, the doorbell rang, breaking the soft moment.

Baekhyun blinked, momentarily confused, before pushing himself up from the couch and walking to the door. When the door flung open, the sight of Chanyeol’s personal driver greeted him, standing there holding a neatly packaged box, offering it with polite detachment.

“Mr. Park sent this for you,”

Baekhyun took it carefully, his fingers curling slightly around the edges as if he already understood what it was before opening it.

When the door closed again, the house fell back into silence and Baekhyun just stood there for a minute, just holding it, before finally the box was opened.

Inside was a cake— simple, clean, chosen with silent intention rather than extravagance.

Baekhyun let out a soft breath that almost turned into a laugh, the sound light but carrying something deeper underneath it.

“You…” he murmured, shaking his head slightly, his smile widening despite himself.

Baekhyun, who had learned to make something out of very little, held onto it like it mattered more than it should.

He lit a single candle, watching the small flame flicker gently in the dim room. The light reflected faintly in his eyes as he sat there, hands resting loosely in his lap, letting the moment settle instead of rushing through it.

When he closed his eyes, his wish came in hushed mumbles, letting it be heard by no one.

Then he blew the candle out.

His hand had reached for the paper bag again, finding a simple card that was decorated with a simple writing of Happy Birthday without any handwriting inside, along with a pair of dessert fork and knife beside it.

The sweetness of the cake lingered as he took the first bite, soft and familiar to make him smile with the knowledge that Chanyeol had remembered in his own way.

But, the nausea came suddenly, sharp enough to disrupt the moment entirely.

Baekhyun stilled, his hand pausing mid-motion as the sweetness turned cloying in his mouth, almost unbearable. He swallowed quickly, pressing his lips together as he tried to steady his breathing.

“... Ugh—”

The room felt slightly off, like it had shifted out of place.

He closed his eyes briefly, waiting for it to pass, but it did not. The nausea came stronger this time, abrupt and overwhelming, forcing him to push himself up from the couch in a hurry.

He barely made it.

He dropped to his knees in front of the toilet, the wave hitting all at once as his body folded forward, breath catching as he retched, the sound echoing too loudly in the quiet house.

His fingers gripped the edge of the seat, knuckles turning white as he tried to breathe through the nausea, but another wave came just as quickly, leaving him shaking slightly by the time it finally subsided.

For a moment, he stayed there.

Breathing unevenly, his forehead resting lightly against his arm as he tried to steady himself.

“…What’s wrong with me…” he murmured faintly, voice hoarse, barely there.

The realization had come then.

Is it…

Baekhyun closed his eyes briefly, his grip tightening to anchor himself before he reached up, flushing the toilet, pushing himself upright with effort. 

His reflection in the mirror looked slightly off— paler, his lips parted as he tried to catch his breath.

“… No way,” he whispered.

Before he could talk himself out of it, before he could dismiss it again, Baekhyun turned, moving toward the cabinet with quiet urgency. 

His fingers fumbled slightly as he reached inside, pulling out the test pack he had kept there— just in case.

///

Baekhyun felt the waiting felt worse than anything he had felt before.

He could not look right away when a few minutes that should have been enough had passed. He just stood there, breathing shallowly, eyes fixed on nothing in particular.

And— he finally looked. 

And everything— stopped because the result was clear.

His breath caught sharply, his fingers loosening all at once as the test slipped from his hand, hitting the sink with a hollow sound before falling and his hands came up instinctively, covering his mouth out of surprise.

His chest rose unevenly.

No way.

The test pack lied there on the sink with two clear pink lines glaring back at him almost mockingly.

This…

Baekhyun’s fingers shifted to his eyes, closing it before it applied a pressure on his own forehead as his thoughts raced in multiple directions.

Too many things, too many possibilities.

But then, the warmth came to him, trembling at the edges as his eyes stayed fixed on the result. It bloomed in his chest, even still fragile, spreading before he could stop it.

A baby.

The thought finally formed.

His hand lifted slightly, grazing over his stomach, not sure if he was allowed to yet. His breath came out uneven, but lighter now, almost disbelieving, a faint laugh slipping past his lips.

It barely sounded like him.

Because despite everything— despite the way this marriage had been built, despite the distance, despite the hurt— this was something real. 

Something that would only belong to both of them. 

For a brief, fragile second— it felt like a beginning. 

But the feeling did not stay untouched. Just as quickly as that warmth settled in his chest, something colder followed behind it. 

His father.

Baekhyun’s smile faltered, just slightly, his eyelids closing shut. 

This was exactly what his father had wanted.

A leverage— another form of control.

A way to tie Chanyeol down, to secure something that could not easily be undone.

Baekhyun’s fingers curled faintly where they hovered, his chest tightening again, but differently now— much more conflicted than before. 

Did this mean he had done it?

Had he given his father exactly what he wanted?

The thought made his stomach twist again, not from nausea this time, but from something that felt too close to guilt.

Because if this child became a reason Chanyeol stayed— if this became something that bound him further— then what did that make Baekhyun?

Was he protecting Chanyeol or trapping him?

Baekhyun swallowed hard, his gaze dropping slightly, the earlier warmth in his chest now tangled with uncertainty.

Then another thought surfaced— far more dangerous, sending Baekhyun into a deeper spiral than his previous thoughts.

Does Chanyeol really want this?

Baekhyun’s breath caught.

It was true that Chanyeol had talked about it— about needing an heir, about making the marriage functional, and about responsibility.

But wanting— that was an entirely different thing.

And Baekhyun did not know if Chanyeol truly wanted this.

Didn’t know if this would bring him closer or push him further away.

Didn’t know if this would make things better or make everything worse.

His fingers finally rested lightly against his stomach, hesitant, uncertain, because he did not know what this meant yet and he had yet to know what he was allowed to feel.

The happiness was still there, but it was not alone.

And Baekhyun stood there, caught between the two— between something that felt like hope and something that felt like a mistake— not knowing which one would stay.

***

Baekhyun had been waiting all day on that specific day he knew was Chanyeol’s time to come home.

It was not even late— Chanyeol just looked tired in that quiet, contained way he always carried after work trips or days that stretched too long. His movements were the same as usual, measured and efficient, setting his things down, loosening his tie, exchanging only the necessary words. Nothing outwardly different.

The small plain box sat on the bedside table, unnoticeable due to the mundane color. Baekhyun had placed it there hours ago.

There was nothing decorative about it.

No ribbon or note that he sometimes saw other people made in times like this.

His was just the truth, sitting quietly inside.

Baekhyun had told himself he would wait until Chanyeol had rested and he would not rush it— nothing about it should feel like pressure.

He greeted him with a smile, asked about the trip, kept his tone light— just like always. Even when his fingers curled faintly against his own palm, even when his thoughts kept circling back to the same thing over and over again.

What if—

He did not dare finish it. 

By the time they were getting ready for bed, the house had settled into its usual calmness. 

The lights were dimmed, the air softer, the day folding into routine.

Baekhyun leaned back against the head rest for a moment, watching Chanyeol move around the room before the taller man settled on his side of the bed, the familiar rhythm of it grounding his feelings for a while.

This was it.

His hand hovered slightly before reaching for the box, finally calling his husband’s name.

“...Chanyeol,”

Chanyeol glanced at him while Baekhyun shifted slightly closer, sitting up. The box held carefully in both hands, scared it might break if he was not gentle enough.

“I—” he paused, his smile flickering briefly, the edges of it softer, more uncertain than usual, “I have something for you.”

Chanyeol’s gaze dropped to the box, then back to Baekhyun.

There was no teasing in Baekhyun’s expression this time. And that alone made Chanyeol straighten slightly.

Baekhyun held the box out, waiting for Chanyeol to accept it.

“Would you mind… opening it?”

Chanyeol took it, immediately feeling that the cardboard felt light in his hands— too light for the way Baekhyun was looking at him.

He had opened it without much thought— and for a second, he could not wrap his head around what he was seeing. He did not move an inch. His eyes stayed on the contents of the box, his expression unreadable, but something in it slowed extremely. 

Baekhyun watched him, his hands now empty at his sides, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his own shirt.

“…You’re sure?”

Baekhyun nodded.

“I tested twice,”

Silence settled between them, full with something neither of them was ready to address at the moment. 

Baekhyun— drowning in his own fear and anxiety of what Chanyeol’s response would be.

While Chanyeol— totally silent as thoughts moved somewhere else entirely.

Back to the hospital room, to its white walls and sterile air, to a voice that had once laughed softly in spaces like this one, and to the memory he never let himself sit with for too long.

To his late wife that he had lost too soon.

To the chance of a future he had lost.

His grip on the box tightened slightly.

Because this— this was the same beginning he once had experienced and he knew too well how it could end.

It was not that he did not want this.

But the worry— it came anyway, even when it was not invited, but it was persistent. 

And he did not know what it was attached to.

The baby?

Or— Baekhyun?

Chanyeol’s gaze lifted, finding him again, still in the same place with his hands intertwined with one another, his expression softer now, stripped of everything he usually hid behind.

“I’ll be there,” Baekhyun said gently, it was too obvious he was choosing each word with care, “Whatever you’re thinking… I’ll stay.”

Baekhyun hesitantly shifted closer, muttering his next line that struck Chanyeol too hard— no matter how gentle the statement had been. 

“I hope this isn’t something painful for you,”

Chanyeol looked at him and something in his chest shifted in a way he did not expect.

Because— wasn’t that supposed to be his line?

Wasn’t Baekhyun the one who should be uncertain?

Who should actually be afraid?

Who should be questioning what it meant to build a life with someone like him— someone who had given him nothing but distance, nothing but resentment, nothing but a version of himself that never softened enough to deserve this kind of gentleness?

And yet— Baekhyun stood there, offering it anyway. Even when Chanyeol never knew what to do with that.

Chanyeol just held his gaze for a second longer before looking back down at the box.

Minutes of silence passed quietly, until Baekhyun spoke again, soft and careful. 

“Do you want to touch it?”

The question came out softer than Baekhyun intended, almost hesitant, like he was not sure if he was allowed to ask.

Chanyeol’s gaze flickered then— first to the box, then to Baekhyun, then lower.

Then slowly, Chanyeol moved closer, closing the distance between them even more, before he reached out, carefully, like he was approaching something too fragile.

His hand hovered for a second before settling lightly against Baekhyun’s stomach, the contact tentative at first, feeling not sure of what he was supposed to feel, or if he was even allowed to feel anything at all.

Baekhyun stilled.

His breath caught— not from fear this time, but from something softer, something that spread quietly through his chest. 

Chanyeol’s hand was warm, gentle. 

Present.

Not pushing him away.

Baekhyun looked down at it for a moment, then back up at Chanyeol, a small smile forming without him realizing— his smile was almost shy, not wanting to disturb the moment by acknowledging it too much, his own fingers fighting the urge to land itself on top of the bigger one of his husband. 

Chanyeol’s expression shifted slightly, something unreadable passing through his eyes as his thumb moved just faintly, almost unconsciously as he was grounding himself in the reality of it.

Then, after a moment, his hand lifted. His fingers brushing upward instead, reaching Baekhyun’s face, gently slipping a strand of his hair behind his ear. 

The gesture was quiet. Absent-minded, almost, but it lingered, just like any other action that Chanyeol made. 

Chanyeol looked at him for a second longer, then exhaled.

“…I’ll clock out earlier tomorrow,” he said, voice low, “we’ll go for a check-up.”

***

Chanyeol definitely kept his word.

He came home earlier than usual, the sky still carrying traces of daylight when the door opened. Baekhyun, who had been waiting without admitting it even to himself, looked up almost immediately, something in his chest easing at the sight of him.

“You’re early,” he said, unable to hide the small lift in his voice.

Chanyeol nodded, already setting his things aside as he grabbed a car key from the hanger. 

“We promised we’d go.”

It was simple, but that meant Chanyeol had remembered. Baekhyun’s smile bloomed as he grabbed his things.

“Let’s go, then.”

The hospital smelled the same as every hospital did— clean, sterile, something faintly sharp, fleeting in the air that made everything feel more real than Baekhyun was ready for.

He sat beside Chanyeol in the waiting area, fingers loosely intertwined in his lap, his gaze drifting over small details— the tiled floor, the muted voices around them, the occasional call of a name that was not his.

Chanyeol sat closely next to him, albeit not enough to be touching.

Baekhyun glanced at him once, and again… and again.

Chanyeol’s posture was calm and composed, but there was something different in the way his gaze stayed forward, focused— not distant, not detached. Just… attentive. Like he was lost in his own thoughts.

And Baekhyun had wondered if his thoughts flew to the time in his life where he had experienced this. When it had not been him who sat in this chair beside Chanyeol. 

When their names were called, Baekhyun stood first, instinctively looking back at Chanyeol, who followed without hesitation.

The doctor greeted them with a practiced warmth, flipping through notes, asking routine questions that grounded the moment into something structured, something easier to process.

“How far along do you think you are?” the doctor asked.

Baekhyun answered softly, explaining what he could, his voice steady despite the subtle tension sitting in his chest. 

The doctor nodded, jotting things down before looking up again.

“Early stages, then. That’s good— we can monitor everything properly from here.”

Baekhyun listened carefully, nodding along, his fingers tightening slightly in his lap as the words started to settle into something more concrete.

The doctor continued, voice calm and informative.

“You’ll want to start taking prenatal vitamins immediately— folic acid, iron, things like that. It helps with development in these early stages.”

Baekhyun nodded again.

“I can prescribe them for you today.”

Chanyeol spoke for the first time since they entered.

“What about side effects?”

His voice was low. The doctor glanced at him, then back at Baekhyun.

“Nausea is common,” the doctor explained, “Especially in the first trimester. Some people experience it mildly, others more severely. As you might have known, male pregnancies might be trickier, so it’s important for you to pay more attention.”

Baekhyun’s fingers stilled. The memory of last night came to him briefly.

“If it becomes too intense,” the doctor added, “or if you’re unable to keep food down, you should come back immediately. We will work something out.”

Baekhyun nodded.

“Okay.”

“And cravings,” the doctor continued, a faint smile appearing, “They might start soon, or they might not. Just make sure you’re eating properly, even if your appetite changes. We will give you some notes for reference.”

Baekhyun let out a small breath.

“Okay.”

Chanyeol did not interrupt again.

His gaze stayed on the doctor, following every explanation, every instruction, every detail that might matter. His expression remained composed, but there was a quiet tension in the way his jaw set slightly, in the way his fingers rested still against his thigh, like he was holding onto everything being said.

When the doctor finished handing over the prescriptions and final notes, Baekhyun took them, thanking him softly.

And for a moment— as they stepped out of the room— Baekhyun felt it.

How something in Chanyeol had shifted with unspoken resolution.

***

Chanyeol had chosen the weekend to break the news to his parents.

After the hospital visit, after the confirmation settled into something real and undeniable, the soonest felt like the right time. 

But the days leading up to it were not easy.

The nausea had stayed, lingering in the background of everything Baekhyun did. 

Some mornings, it hit sharply the moment he opened his eyes, his stomach already churning before he even sat up. Other times it crept in slowly, building until it became something he had to quietly step away from, excusing himself with a soft smile, a quick “I’ll be right back”.

He learned how to manage it, or hide it, probably would be more suitable.

He kept ginger candies that could help, drank water in small sips, forced himself to breathe through the worst of it without making a sound. Even when it woke him in the middle of the night, his body was folding in on itself as he sat on the edge of the bed, swallowing it down, pressing his lips together to keep quiet as he silently trotted to the bathroom.

And by the next day, Baekhyun had always acted like nothing had happened.

But it did not mean Chanyeol could look past it.

That morning, Baekhyun reached for a bottle on the kitchen counter, shaking out a small pill into his palm before swallowing it with a quick sip of water.

Chanyeol watched him.

“What’s that?”

Baekhyun glanced up, blinking once before answering easily.

“Ah, it’s B6, it helps with the nausea.”

Chanyeol’s gaze lingered.

“Is that one of the supplements they prescribed?”

Baekhyun nodded, setting the bottle down.

“Yeah,”

Chanyeol did not look away, finally asking the question he had meant to ask for quite a while.

“How bad is it?”

Baekhyun smiled, soft and reassuring.

“Well, it’s okay, not too bad.”

Chanyeol did not respond immediately.

Because in fact, he knew.

He had woken up the night before— briefly, without meaning to— and noticed the empty space beside him. The faint sound from the bathroom. The way Baekhyun had returned later, moving carefully, slipping back into bed like he had not left at all.

It had not happened just once— it was more than what he could call as a coincidence.

And Baekhyun had not said a word.

Chanyeol’s jaw tightened slightly, exhaling quietly.

“…If it gets worse, tell me,” he said.

Baekhyun blinked at the statement, before smiling again, a real genuine smile.

“Okay.”

And for a moment— something in his chest warmed at the way Chanyeol had noticed and had asked. 

///

That weekend, Baekhyun sat beside Chanyeol, hands resting neatly in his lap, his smile softer than usual, something quiet and almost shy lingering in the way he held himself.

Happiness also bled on him when he witnessed how Chanyeol’s parents lit up immediately, surprise melting into joy, their reactions warm and genuine in a way that filled the room with something Baekhyun did not realize he had been missing.

“That’s wonderful news,” his mother said, her voice bright, reaching out instinctively as if to bridge the space between them.

His father laughed softly, clearly pleased. 

“You should have told us sooner.”

Baekhyun smiled, a little overwhelmed with joy.

“Yes… we just confirmed it,” he said.

The conversation flowed easily after that— questions, excitement, small plans already beginning to form, all of it wrapped in a kind of warmth that Baekhyun was not used to receiving without conditions.

He found himself relaxing in this space, leaning to it, just a little.

But it was much quieter when they left, even with Chanyeol’s mom’s excited voice still lingering behind Baekhyun’s head. 

Chanyeol glanced at him when they were about to reach the car. 

“What about your dad?”

Baekhyun’s steps slowed slightly, the question carrying a larger weight than Chanyeol had intended to. 

“He’s probably busy,” he said lightly, “I’ll tell him over the phone.”

Chanyeol watched him. There was something in that answer— something that did not quite sit right.

Just as how Baekhyun did not elaborate, Chanyeol looked away as well, choosing not to question it further.

“Okay.”

***

This restaurant was always chosen by Chanyeol in times like this. 

It was quiet enough to talk, with enough distance between the tables, but still loud enough to keep things from feeling too exposed.

He had reserved the corner table with dim lighting, too comfortable of an ambiance to just be a short stop. It was not the kind of place Jongin would pick, or Sehun either— but neither of them complained when Chanyeol called.

Jongin arrived first, dropping into his seat easily, fingers tapping once against the table before he leaned back.

“You sounded serious,” he said, “What’s going on?”

Sehun followed not long after, quieter as always, sliding into his seat and glancing between them, reading the room before anything had even been said.

Chanyeol’s answer did not come instantly after that— instead, he had ordered, waited for the drinks, let the small talk pass.

It stretched just enough to feel like this was just any other hang out session they scheduled. 

And when he had deemed it enough, he had said the words without much pleasantries.

“Baekhyun is pregnant,”

Jongin blinked, once, then frowned. While Sehun, there was a silence before he responded, but he finally did.

“Wow,” he exclaimed, “Congrats, hyung.”

“…What?” Jongin was clearly surprised. 

“The announcement will be released tomorrow,” Chanyeol continued, voice steady, like he had already gone over this in his head, “I don’t want you to hear about it through articles.”

Silence followed again after that— albeit not long.

Sehun leaned back slightly, processing things further, his expression more controlled— but even that, the surprise could not be entirely concealed.

Jongin, on the other hand— laughed, short, and disbelieving.

“You’re joking.”

There was no word that left Chanyeol’s mouth and that silence was enough. Jongin’s expression hardened.

“…You’re serious?”

“Yes.”

Jongin leaned forward now, elbows on the table, his gaze sharp, searching Chanyeol’s face like he was trying to find something that did not add up.

“Why?” he asked.

Sehun glanced at him. 

“Jongin—”

“No,” Jongin cut in, shaking his head, his frustration surfacing too quickly, “No, this doesn’t make sense.”

Chanyeol’s gaze narrowed slightly.

“It does.”

“How? To you?” Jongin snapped, sitting back again, running a hand through his hair in agitation, “To me? No. Not at all.”

Sehun exhaled quietly, stepping in before it escalated too fast.

“Jongin,” he said, tone even, “regardless of what you think, this is happening.”

Jongin let out a sharp breath.

“That’s exactly the issue,” he muttered, “It is happening.”

His eyes flicked back to Chanyeol.

“And you’re just okay with it…?” 

Jongin’s question lingered with intense frustration— it was too obvious from how exasperated he had sounded. But Chanyeol held his gaze, ticked off by Jongin’s tone.

The tension tightened. Sehun leaned forward slightly this time, his voice quieter but firmer, much more composed than Jongin’s.

“You still have a responsibility to fulfill, whether you like it or not,” he said to Chanyeol.

Chanyeol did not look at him.

“I know,” he paused, “and this is something I’ve been hoping for.”

Jongin scoffed under his breath.

“Is it?”

That did it. Chanyeol’s expression shifted, something colder settling in.

“Jongin, that’s enough.” he warned, his tone was cutting enough to make Jongin pause.

Jongin leaned back again, but he did not back down.

“I’m just saying what you’re not,” he replied, “This— this doesn’t just happen out of nowhere.”

Chanyeol’s patience thinned.

“What are you implying?”

Jongin hesitated, before the words just poured out before he could prevent it.

“What if he planned it? What if— what if it’s not yours? I thought we agreed upon that— that Baekhyun is not someone you could trust again.”

Jongin’s words landed too heavily— his intense frustration clearly depicted in how exasperated he had sounded. Sehun’s head turned sharply upon Jongin’s words.

Chanyeol went still.

“Watch your words, Jongin,” he said, voice low.

Jongin let out a frustrated breath, pushing his chair back slightly before leaning forward again, unable to sit still under the weight of his own thoughts.

“We’ve seen what he’s capable of,” he said, “You expect me to just forget that?”

Chanyeol’s gaze hardened.

“And what exactly have you been doing?” he asked curtly, cutting through the tension, his patience finally snapped in half. 

Jongin blinked, thrown slightly by the shift.

“What?”

“I know you’ve been out of line,” Chanyeol continued, voice controlled, but sharper now, “I’ve let it go so far. That stops now.”

Jongin frowned. 

“You don’t even know—”

“I know enough.”

The words cut clean. Chanyeol stood up as he decided he had enough with this conversation, walking away. Jongin laughed again, but there was no humor in it this time.

“Right,” he said, “You didn’t seem to have a problem when I—”

Chanyeol’s eyes narrowed, his steps stopped as he turned back. And Jongin knew that even if he had stopped halfway, it was too late.

“When you what?”

Jongin’s jaw tightened.

Sehun closed his eyes briefly. 

“… Jongin.”

But he did not stop.

“I grabbed him once,” Jongin admitted, frustration spilling over,  “And he just stood there like—”

“You what?”

Jongin stilled at the difference in Chanyeol’s voice. Nothing he had seen throughout the years of navigating the changes in Chanyeol’s personality. 

Chanyeol stepped closer back to the table they were in, not raising his voice, but it dropped lower.

“He is my husband,” Chanyeol stated, “Do you even realize that?” 

Jongin’s expression faltered.

“And you will treat him like one,” Chanyeol added, sharper now, “Do you understand?”

Silence.

Before Jongin’s voice appeared again. 

“... Yes.”

The rest of the dinner did not recover, not fully. Not even after Sehun tried his best as a buffer, asking Chanyeol to stay despite his initial intention of taking off. Conversation still resumed, but it stayed shallow, careful, like all three of them were skirting around something that had already been said too clearly to take back. 

Jongin leaned back into silence more than usual, his jaw still tight, his gaze occasionally flicking toward Chanyeol like he was trying to reconcile the person in front of him with the one he thought he knew. 

It had never been about anything romantic— never anything close to that. 

It was simpler, and in some ways, heavier. 

Chanyeol had been the one who stepped in when no one else did, who helped when Jongin’s family was falling apart, who stayed steady when everything else felt uncertain. 

That loyalty that had turned into a protective stance— it made Jongin fail to understand— could not accept— how the same person who had once been broken by Baekhyun, was now building a life with him, was now choosing to stay.

///

By the time Chanyeol got home, the house was dimly lit, and there was a bundle of blanket on the couch, shielding Baekhyun from the decreasing temperature of the penthouse.

He was curled slightly to one side, the blanket loosely draped over him, his face paler than usual even under the soft lighting.

Chanyeol paused.

Baekhyun noticed him then, pushing himself up immediately, like he had been caught doing something he should not.

“You’re back,” he said, voice soft, a small smile forming too quickly.

Chanyeol watched him for a second. At how easy the light expression was formed even through the washed-out energy. 

And suddenly— Jongin’s words came back.

He just stood there like—

The way Baekhyun always said he was okay. The way he never made it a problem.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” Chanyeol asked.

Baekhyun blinked, then smiled again.

“Ah, I was watching, but I kind of drowsed off,” he chuckled sheepishly.

Chanyeol let out a low sigh, not responding to that statement and instead, he turned, walking toward the kitchen. 

Baekhyun watched him, unsure of what he should do. 

Chanyeol opened the fridge, reaching inside before pulling out a bottle of lemonade, the cold condensation immediately forming against his fingers.

There were more inside, rows of them stocked, but it seemed Baekhyun had not noticed.

Chanyeol walked back, taking two sheets of tissue to wrap around the cold surface before holding it out to him, protecting Baekhyun’s fingers from the direct cold. 

“I’ve stocked some in the fridge for you,” he said, “You haven’t checked?”

“I saw,” he said, a little sheepish, a little surprised, “I didn’t know it was for me.”

Chanyeol’s gaze lingered on him for a moment as he sat down.

“Sohee’s pregnancy wasn’t difficult,” he said, the name rolling off tightly on his tongue, “But when she felt nauseous, she used to drink this. Said it was a life-saver.”

A small pause.

“It’s worth trying.”

Baekhyun looked at the bottle in his hands, then up at Chanyeol.

Something softened in his expression, the earlier exhaustion still there— but touched now with something warmer.

“…Okay, thank you, Chanyeol,” he said softly.

Chanyeol gave a small smile— faint and restrained, still carrying that trace of distance he did not quite let go of yet, but gentler than before.

“Come on,” he said quietly, “let’s get you to bed.”

Baekhyun blinked before he nodded, already moving to set the blanket aside.

“Oka—”

He did not get to finish as Chanyeol rose up from his seat, already stepping closer before one arm slipped behind Baekhyun’s back, the other moving beneath his knees in one smooth motion. The sudden lift made Baekhyun gasp softly, his hands instinctively clutching at Chanyeol’s shirt as his body was off the couch.

Chanyeol carried him like he weighed nothing.

Baekhyun’s heart stuttered before it finally started racing, the warmth rising to his face before he could stop it. 

He could feel the strength in Chanyeol’s hold, the quiet stability in the way he moved, and— Chanyeol’s musky scent, grounding in a way that made Baekhyun’s chest tighten.

Baekhyun allowed himself to look at the sharp line of his jaw, the way his expression stayed composed, almost unaffected, like this meant nothing more than a simple act of care. 

Meanwhile— Baekhyun felt like he might combust inside.

“… I’m not that sick,” he mumbled softly, though he did not make any move to be put down.

“I know,” he replied simply, not loosening his hold at all. 

The stairs passed quicker than Baekhyun wanted it to, Chanyeol not caring about the feeling of Baekhyun’s body in his embrace, nor the grip of Baekhyun’s arms looped around his neck. 

When they reached the bedroom, Chanyeol stepped inside, walking straight to the bed before lowering him carefully.

Baekhyun barely registered the mattress beneath him as Chanyeol’s hands left his body.

And the absence— was cold. 

Chanyeol straightened, adjusting his sleeves slightly, his expression returning to something neutral, nothing about that moment had affected him at all.

Baekhyun, on the other hand, sat there for a second longer than needed, his heart still beating too fast, his fingers curling slightly against the sheets as he tried to ground himself again.

Because inside— everything felt too full.

“…Thank you,” he said quietly.

Chanyeol only nodded.

“Get some rest.”

As Chanyeol turned to leave to enter the bathroom, Baekhyun could not stop the small smile that lingered on his lips, the warmth in his chest refusing to die down.