__

Jongdae sat inside his car, parked in the hospital grounds. Minutes after delivering the news to his friend that his child was dying, he hurriedly walked out of the building and sat inside his car, before he pulled up his knees into his chest and wept. He didn’t know how long he had cried, but when he finally looked up, the sun had settled beneath the horizon and set the sky into an orange glow.

He sniffled, wiping his eyes underneath his glasses. He cursed when they detach once more in the middle, the selotape keeping it together peeling apart. He struggles to fetch another strip of selotape atop of the dashboard in his blurry vision, cutting it with his teeth before wrapping it around the bridge of his frame—and his vision is clear again.

Jongdae realises the small weight on his lap and he recognizes Minhyun’s little backpack. He encloses his fingers in the tiny zipper and opens it up.

There’s his packed lunch Jongdae always tucked carefully in bag, now somewhat empty after he gave the contents to Baekhyun. He dug into the bag, chuckling to himself when he finds Minhyun’s beloved yellow toy digger, its condition like new and perfect, with no scratches on it whatsoever. From what it looked like, Minhyun regularly cleaned and took care of it—the child was so fond of the toy given by his father he was determined to preserve it.

Jongdae dug through the bag and found stray crayon sticks, as well as various pencils. He uncovers a broken head of his own iron man figurine, as well a few pieces of plastic toys. At the bottom of the bag, there’s an envelope somewhat messily sealed, obviously done by a child’s hand. The front of the envelope was addressed to Baekhyun in crayon—possibly written by Minhyun himself.

Jongdae’s heart hammered against his chest, wondering if he should open it or not. Curiosity ate at his brain and, though guilt weighed his fingers, he delicately opened it anyways, careful to peel away the sealing so he could close it again. He pulls out a paper that was scrunched in multiple places, covered with drawings of yellow diggers and what seemed to be a drawing attempt of Baekhyun’s face. In the middle, with letters the size of Jongdae’s thumb, it reads in sloppy crayon:

dear daddy

im sorry im dead pleese dont be sad. i will watch daddy from heaven. thank you very much for taking caire of me i love you very much. pleese keep my yellow diger with you just in case you get sad. pleese dont be sad daddy it will be okay. i love you lots and lots and lots pleese take care of dae dae and papa

minhyun with lots of kisses xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx x xx x x x

Jongdae’s mouth dries.

A goodbye letter.

He stared at the page until it was a blur of incomprehensible lines, his vision dotting until it was just an array of meaningless colours.

When he could regain his composition, he carefully re-folded the letter and slipped it back into its envelope, delicately sealing it again. He puts the letter back at the bottom of the bag and zipped it into a close.

Overwhelmed, Jongdae crawled into the backseat of the car before he laid face-down, his glasses pushing against his face but he paid no heed. He said nothing and he moved no muscle.

Though he’d like to cry, there’s no more tears left to express how he felt.

__

Baekhyun wondered what he could’ve done better.

His mind flew back throughout all these years prior.

Maybe he could’ve worked harder. Maybe he could’ve got a few more jobs.

He looked at Chanyeol, who sat opposite him just across the hospital bed, staring at his hands.

Maybe he could’ve played along with the game.

He looked at his own hands.

Maybe—

Baekhyun looked at his child, there but not really there. He always had these heart murmurs as he slept—that was part of his heart condition. But now, in the silence, Baekhyun could hear it clear as a bell, like a thrumming engine that continuously went on and off. Minhyun’s eyes were half-closed but his pupils seemed to have rolled back so only the whites of his eyes could be seen. Minhyun’s usually rosy-colored cheeks were pale and lifeless.

If it were not for the tubes and the constant beeping of the green line next to him, Baekhyun would’ve thought Minhyun was simply just sleeping. His little child, with his chubby starfish hands curled onto the blankets, sleeping peacefully and soundly, his chest rising steadily.

Then the monitor beeps again and Baekhyun is brought to this despairing reality that he might just be saying his last words to his son for the last time.

He looked up at his ex-husband, who sat at the other side of the bed, wrenching his fingers. Neither of them had said a word to each other. They shared glances, but one of them would look away too quickly before the other could tell what look they had in their faces.

Chanyeol’s head is bowed; his eyes are hidden behind his red fringe, and Baekhyun could see his roots showing through. He’s in his office clothes—he’d perhaps immediately drove here when he got the news. Baekhyun was told that he’d been the one to fill out the forms for immediate surgery when Minhyun was hospitalized, and Baekhyun only needed to sign a consent form as Minhyun’s only legal parent.

Baekhyun wanted to say—“You could’ve done this sooner. You just had to wait for something to go wrong because you refuse to swallow your pride and your head’s so far up your ”.

But could he say that when he contributed to the problem, too? He was a bad father. He couldn’t pay the surgery himself. Instead of asking for help, he was stubborn enough to think that he could pull it off on his own.

It’s already enough to think that Chanyeol was by Minhyun’s side before Baekhyun was.

Baekhyun hears sniffles, and his eyes shifted to his son, wondering if that’d been some sort of sleep apnea that troubled his breathing. To his surprise, the sounds were produced from Chanyeol—Baekhyun couldn’t see much behind the bangs that hung in front of his face, but Chanyeol’s shoulders continuously shook and his finger came up to wipe his own eyes with a tissue sometimes.

Baekhyun had gone past the stage of crying—the tears couldn’t come anymore. What was left was just sorrow and grief weighing his shoulders like a bad dream. In fact, he was simply shifting closer to acceptance—that his son was probably going to die.

There’s no use of putting his little boy forth to any more pain. He could just sign a form right now and put his little baby to sleep. He’d been a bad parent and a sorry excuse for a father.

But Minhyun’s fate wasn’t in his hands now. His fate is in another’s hands—whose hands, Baekhyun doesn’t know, but he knows that it’s not within his grasp anymore.

And all he could do was wait.

He shifts closer to his son, holding onto his little starfish hand. Minhyun’s fingers wrapped perfectly around Baekhyun’s index. The latter smoothed down his wispy hair, kissed his cold cheeks and kissed his button nose.

There is a knock on the door and both Baekhyun and Chanyeol jerked. A doctor, accompanied by a masked surgeon, summons themselves into the room and gave them a look.

“It’s time,” the doctor said softly.

This may be the time Baekhyun will let go.

And Baekhyun’s not ready to let go yet.

Oh God, he’s not ready to let go.

Another group of hospital staff came in and began to pull the bed out of the room, along with the equipment that kept Minhyun alive. Baekhyun held Minhyun’s hand all the way throughout the journey through the halls and wards, Chanyeol following somberly throughout. When the door to the theater threatens to approach, Baekhyun gripped Minhyun’s hands even tighter and bent down to whisper into his ear.

“It’s alright, baby. You’ll be okay. It’ll be okay, alright? Daddy loves you. Daddy loves you so much,” Baekhyun said, the tears beginning to fleck the corners of his eyes again. His words became more desperate and it becomes incoherent from the fast words he spoke, speaking assurances to his son that did not hear them. He gave a final kiss atop of his head before the bed bursts through the theater and he’s not allowed in there—Minhyun’s gone, and his little hand slowly slips out of Baekhyun’s grasp.

Baekhyun stood outside these very doors, with one hand outstretched.

“I…” Baekhyun croaked, as if his mouth was full of pebbles and he was trying to swallow them all.

“I—I love you…”

Baekhyun retracted his hand and clutched it close to his chest.

He slowly dropped to his knees, his hands trembling before his body falls forward onto his elbows. His fingers curl, as if trying to grip the flat floor, his hair framing his face and covering his grieved face, his whole frame shaking.

“P-Please…”

Baekhyun doesn’t know what he’s wishing for anymore. The words come out of his mouth meaninglessly—a plea that nobody would ever come to stop and consider. If there was greater power out there—some sort of decider for a fate—Baekhyun was on his knees for such power. He stands crawled, his tears spilling onto the cold floor and he couldn’t stop his shoulders shaking.

“Please…”

Chanyeol watched his former lover, agonized and vulnerable. He thought that if he didn’t have any resistance left to these sort of emotions, he’d probably be like Baekhyun, too; weeping and on his knees.

The tall man slowly approached him, trying to think of words that would comfort him, but it’ll be okay seemed to be stretching it. There was no promising as to what would happen to the child Baekhyun so dearly loved.

So Chanyeol stood by his side, for the longest time in seven years.

Chanyeol helped him stand. Chanyeol held his hands. Chanyeol lead him down to the corridor to the waiting room. None of them spoke—they simply sat next to each other, the room filled with Baekhyun’s heavy sobs.

They were no longer out of each other’s leagues, but what it took for them to accept each other’s presence seemed to cost too much for its worth.

__

Minhyun awoke in empty space.

Everything is white.

He sat up, sniffing. He rubs his eyes and yawns, looking around, trying to figure out where he had ended up.

“Daddy?” he called out, and his voice echoed. His surroundings are surreal—nothing was visible in his line of sight. This world was simply empty, white space and, though he could stand on solid floor, this floor had no outline and there was no telling how far this world went.

Minhyun got up and started to walk, trying to search for his father. Though when he walked, it seemed that he could get nowhere further than the spot he had been because everything was—well, put it simply, white. An infinite world of white, where the only colour he could see was himself.

There’s a little dot in the horizon. Minhyun cocked his head curiously, wondering as to what it was. He approached it and the little dot got closer and closer, zooming in.

A child—perhaps a year older than Minhyun—becomes visible. He’s a little taller, though he had his back facing Minhyun. Minhyun had walked enough distance to be directly next to this figure, and Minhyun taps his back.

“Excuse me—do you know where Daddy is?”

The figure turns around, and Minhyun