He couldn't wait anymore. He was always an impatient boy. He needed an answer and he needed it now. He went to look for him in his studio alone.

It was empty, except for the art junk around the room. Canvases, buckets of paint, rollers - all scattered around the studio. Kris liked to keep his things messy.

He glanced at his watch, it was still around lunch time, so he must've gone out for some food. He wandered around the room, browsing through Kris' beautiful art.

A large photograph on a shelf caught his eye. He only saw a part of it, the rest was hidden on a tall shelf, too high even for him.

He found a stool and dragged it along the wooden floor, causing a high screech to echo in the hollow studio. He stood on the old and wobbly stool, steadying himself before standing up straight. The shelf was still a little too high, so he tip-toed.

He reached and searched blindly around the shelf with his hand. His hand found the photograph and he smiled at what it was - him and Kris, smiling brightly at the pub.

He searched around the shelf to see if there was something else of interest to him. His hand knocked into a small bottle of liquid which spilled onto his eyes as he lost his balance on the stool, falling hard on the floor.

Everything was blurred.

***

"A corneal transplant. That's the only solution."

"Do it then." It was a deep and shaky voice.

"It's not as easy as it sounds. Donors are already rare as it is in Korea, never mind a donor that is willing to…"

"I don't care. I don't ing care! Do something!" The familiar voice was shouting now.

He could hear an argument, but he couldn't see it.

"Wufan..." He tried opening his eyes but only saw darkness. "Wufan?" He felt a warm hand around his and squeezed it.

"Why can't I see anything?" He tried his best to keep calm, but he was terrified. He didn't like the dark. Or silence.

His breathing became heavy and rapid. The air was so tense that it was burning his lungs. He felt sick.

"Say something." His voice was hoarse. He could feel the protective hand trembling and his heart stopped as he was pulled into an embrace. The long fingers his hair gently and he closed his eyes, waiting again.

"I promise that you'll be okay."

***

Chanyeol didn't see him after that. Well, it's not like he could really see.

His heart cried and cried but nothing changed. He wanted to punch something, scream at the top of his lungs, cry.

But he didn't. He didn't like to waste time.

Baekhyun was right after all, Kris never loved him. He only wanted his eyes for his art. He should've understood that from the moment Kris first spoke to him, it was only about his art.

He secretly allowed himself to spend every possible second waiting, but he never came. So he stopped waiting. He was never a patient boy.

The doctor told him that they had finally found a donor and surgery would mean that he could see again. So at least he didn't have to wait for that anymore.

It was a total success.

He opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was a blinding light. It hurt, but Chanyeol welcomed the pain.

Baekhyun suffocated him in a big hug, tears were streaming down his face. Chanyeol didn't realise how handsome his friend was until now - even with the runny snot and scrunched up crying eyes.

He then glanced around eagerly, absorbing every detail. The sky looked more blue and serene than he remembered, the room's walls were a warm, creamy colour with some scratched and fallen paint, he saw some flowers in a vase nearby and yearned to get closer to them so that he could appreciate their colours and shapes.

He was interrupted by the doctor and nurses around him, who clapped and shook his hand to congratulate him.

He subconsciously observed every smiling face carefully. He still longed to see those perfect features once more. His brain gave his heart one last chance.

But he was disappointed.

***

"Yeollie…"

"I don't want to see him."

"But he's just outside, please..." Baekhyun said in a soft, pleading voice.

"He wasn't here when I needed him the most. So I'm not going to waste another second on him. I'm tired of waiting. Tell him I don't have the time." His heart was ripping apart, in too much agony to function, so his brain took over. The anaesthetic didn't help his heartache one bit.

And that was the end.

***

He gave himself one final release at his last night at the hospital. He thought of it as closure. He put his headphones on.

Oh~ gravity is working against me, and gravity wants to bring me down…

~ John Mayer - Gravity

He cried.

It was all just a lie.

He let everything out. The remains of his heart turned into ash and ceased to exist. The tears fell out slowly at first, then it turned into soft sobs and finally, he broke down.

He howled. He was angry. Every breath scorched his throat. He didn't want to breathe anymore. Knives were running repeatedly through his chest. His shirt should be covered in blood by now, but it was covered in tears instead. He gained his vision back, but the world was still in darkness.

He hated him, but he loved him too.

He knew that he shouldn't, but he did. He hated himself as well. For loving him, for giving everything to him, for being in that accident.

He had lost his everything, his whole world to that ing accident. He lost the person that was keeping him on his feet, the first man that made him believe in love, the man who made his songs.

And still he waited, even till the very last second.

But it was all in vain.