Whenever Minho visited Taemin, he could not help but let his eyes linger on an old, fancy scented candle in a jar placed neatly on the shelf. It never caught dust, nor was it ever lit, nor did it ever vanish like many of the things usually did when Taemin occasionally decluttered his shelves.

Somehow he felt that candle meant something, because Taemin’s eyes lingered on it too.

Minho was sure of his suspicion as his eyes lingered on Taemin more than anything else.

Taemin was everything Minho was not, everything that Minho had feared, everything that Minho never thought he would want. But Minho could not help but feel Taemin was his serendipity.

Taemin was a shade of contradiction to his own, but Minho could not help but feel everything to be a beautiful work of art when their shades collided with each other.

Minho wished Taemin could see the colors colliding as well, the shades of his heart far more braver than his tongue.

The candle was his deceased mother’s final gift to him. The very last candle of her collection, all of which she had lit one day before her death, in remembrance of the one who never failed to gift her one on her Birthday- her deceased husband. She had saved one for their son, as farewell, as a memoir, as a promise.

Minho understood why the candle had remained as it had.

Taemin cherished it despite it signifying loss, pain, loneliness.

I’ll light it one day, Taemin had said, She made me promise to light it for her to see from above when I find love.

His words left Minho’s heart in bittersweet ache.

Minho glanced outside Taemin’s window after forcing himself to look away from the candle, reverting to sight the dark grey that hovered in his view, which turned into short moments of a flash of white at every strike of lightning. It began to pour, vigorously, dismally; but Minho continued to stare, enjoying how his view wiped his mind clean of his worries and aches.

It grew darker and darker and Minho could see nothing at all. He finally closed his eyes and turned away from the window, his eyes falling upon the only source of light in the room, an old fancy candle in a jar, placed right before him.

He reacted when a faint smell of vanilla hit his senses and he looked away from the candle toward the one whose face it illuminated.

There was apprehension and fear in the warm glow of Taemin’s face; his voice shaky as he said, I would have lit it the day we met but I am not very brave.

The sound of thunder and rain numbed to let his heart take over, making him smile, Neither am I.

His phrase erased every grim from Taemin’s face and he smiled too, entangling his fingers in the palm Minho had extended to him, modest eyes upon the candle between them.

They were finally seeing the same colors, the shades of their hearts flickering as bright as the flame.