Epilogue;

A shallow flash of vellum white appeared in a black pitch infinity—like light coming out of a deep well—the smell of rosmarine and million lilacs perfumed the imagination. A familiar voice appeared, talking in words extent from his understanding, in a low tone and ancestral accent—somehow sounding like the genie in his dreams, or the beggar outside the shop. He also sounds like a businessman or the reporter on the television morning news show. Everything feels soft and silky, like lying over solid water.

The brightness completely overmounted the dark insulation, and turned into something between little snow mountains and embossed concrete ceiling. The sounds of snow hitting the window and wind whispering between the gaps of the walls were enchanting, yet it was creeping artistic. Lowering his view was a painting of a pinchem on an olive branch and it was beside the windows, and there were more snow, wind and frost.

He blinks a couple of times, seeing the black part of his lids, trying to shake off the heaviness on his eyes. He looks to his left and saw a blurry figure of a guy—color mix of browns, white and denim blue. Getting in to the vision, it was Suho, standing two feet away from him just by the door, holding a box. The things he sees slowly registers on his nervous system, everything reverting from bright to dim. He props himself up to a reclining position, spines hurt like they weren’t moved for days.

Suho slowly walks towards him, handing over a box that spells his name in a series of pictures of letters. He carefully read the letters, looking at the older one, asking if he reads it correctly. He opens the box, and a flood of polaroids bestowed on his eyes. Every single one catches his attention—they were beautiful. He picks out one by one, and let Suho read the notes on the back of it.

“101213. This is your flower shop.”

“101613. Your bedroom.”

“100613. Your favorite cereal: flakes, almond, clusters, pears and yoghurt. Did I forget something?”

“102913. The street when we walked and it was really cold.”

“110313.  Daffodils.”

“111813. It wasn’t snowing, so I took you again to the beach so I can take a photo of you there. Look at you.”

“101913. The bath tub, you know.”

“100313. The first picture that I took of you.”

“100413. The first picture that you took of me.”

He smiles at everything he hears—those precious notes made his heart flutter. But as he looks to Suho, his face was of dismay and he looks like he couldn’t hold the pictures in steady.

“Why?” He asks as Suho places back the picture he was holding. He didn’t responded.

Baekhyun looks back at the box and pulled out more photos, but didn’t lent it to Suho to read the notes. At the bottom of the box, he saw a white paper, very wrinkly and crumpled, pestered with grays like they were wet with tears, but it looks like it was forced to straight out. He flips it open, not being able to read, he hands it over to Suho.

Suho sighs. “Do you really want me to read this?”

“Yes, please.”

He sighs again.

“Hello Baekhyun,

I’m glad you’re reading this letter right now. Are you feeling alright? I also handed over your treasures to Suho, just ask him and see the things you wanted to see all this time. I promise I did my best on taking photos of almost everything, even it was quite stressful.”

Suho pauses for a moment, tears uncontrollably falling from his face, forming necklaces in his cheeks. Baekhyun wonders why, but he didn’t reacted to Suho’s sudden breakout.

“I—I have been wishing to the genie in your dreams to grant your wish. My persistence annoyed him so he didn’t talk to me for a week. But when he was back in the mood, he told me that your wish was already granted, since you were young! But he said that you could only see if you’ll open your heart on to someone, and it did happen. I am lucky to hear those three words from you. I feel really great and happy since then. So, Baekhyun, don’t ever feel that you’re left alone, because all this time, your wish was granted. It just took time for you to see the beauty of the world. Hearing that story from you was really inspiring, and I am glad that your wish is finally yours. Please take care of my—my gift to you. You are the person I only love, the person I will only love.”

“Baekhyun-ah, Baekkie, I love you forever. And I love you so much, I’ll do everything to make you happy… to make you live.”

“Please, love me forever too. I’m sorry and good bye. I love you again, cereal master.”

“Forever yours, Chanyeol.”

————∞————

The skies were dark and deeply sad at Christmas Day, bringing in the sudden dramatically changing of the weather in to a spring-like warmth. The people were happy and celebrating, yet there was still a place where a sad song plays. Luhan was there too, as it was Chanyeol’s funeral. He took Baekhyun’s disease, to let him live and to let him see the beauty of the world.

“I thought we promised!?” Luhan screams at Chanyeol, lying in white silk, only seen from a glass view at his coffin.

“How dare you leave me!? I am cured, Chanyeol! Why are you there!?” He continued his outrage—his tears falling everywhere—people already pulling him away.

It was different from his calm and relaxed nature. It wasn’t Luhan. It wasn’t him who loved his only friend, Chanyeol, seeing him dead was worse than his cancer.

But Baekhyun didn’t attend his funeral; it was too hard for him to accept. He instead went to the beach, guided himself to the large rock at the waters—where they used to sit on, watching the sun setting into deep violets and bright oranges. He slowly places white lotuses—as it resembles him—on the waters, watched it flow with the waves of the ocean, like beautiful white crowns. The stars at the upper sky also appeared, curtaining the sky in Christmas lights imitate and twinkling jingles—a perfect view for him, and probably, for Chanyeol too.

“This place is indeed beautiful.” Baekhyun tells Chanyeol, who was already above the skies, as he throned over the large cobalt rock, his ears listening to the whistles of the pale green grass just above the shore. Tears from his face started falling like crystals melting, burning his face—precious were they—but he couldn’t hold them back, for the love of his life is already a soul away from him. He looks up in the clouds, no light entering his eyes but sadness and spray of rain. He mumbles his prayers, his message of love to the heavens—

“I wish you can see this, though.”