☂ Final

Imaginary friends are created when a child feels lonely, or sad, or both. Chanyeol was only six years old when his mother died; I appeared the second he lifted his red swollen eyes from his favorite Iron Man pillow.

"Hello, angel." I greeted him with a small wave.

I took hesitant steps towards his small figure - which was similar to mine - and lay next to him. His face was only a few inches away, and I couldn't help but stare.

I was drawn to how his nose crinkled when he sniffed and the way his plump lips trembled in agony; it was saddening enough to make me inch closer to him and give him a tight, comforting embrace.

He was wearing the warm sweater his grandmother knitted for him last Christmas - I knew because I used to watch him - while I was simply enveloped in a light sundress. He must've noticed, since he pulled me even closer to his warmth.

"You lost your mommy, too?" He murmured, pulling back slightly.

"Yes," I didn't lie; I lost mine a long time ago.

We broken children are destined to be forgettable companions.

"I miss my mommy." He started, tears flooding his eyes, "She used to always play with me, now I have nobody to play with."

"I'll play with you." I suggested, the corners of my mouth twisting into the most genuine smile I can muster. I can only be surprised when he throws one back, a glint of hope piercing his orbs.

Chanyeol didn't play with cars, or dolls, or anything like that. He had an obsession with his father's acoustic guitar; we always snuck to the elder's room and borrowed the fretted string instrument. Mr. Park rarely came to the house, and the times he did, he would lock himself in a room with a set of papers. Chanyeol never spoke to him about it - not that he gave him the chance to - but I knew that deep down, he hated it. It was even worse since he had no siblings.

"You're my only friend." Chanyeol once admitted; apparently, he had no friends either.

"You're my only friend, too." I grinned, ruffling his black hair, "And that's okay."

It was not. He should've been hanging with real people, but he was here stuck with me. I guess I should've told him that, but I was too selfish to let him go. I only wanted him for myself.

As a couple of years passed, the only child finally decided to introduce me to Hyejung, his babysitter.

"Hyejung noona, this is my friend!" He said, tugging at her blouse as he pointed at me.

"What fri- Oh, I see. It's an imaginary friend." The babysitter responded.

Chanyeol furrowed his brows at her, "What do you mean? She's right there."

Hyejung sighed then explained, "Only you, dear, can see your friend. She's not real."

"You're a liar!" He snapped, running over to my direction.

They warned me about this, but I wanted nothing more than another life back then. My insides churned and twisted as I was reminded of the bitter reality. I was nothing but an imaginary friend.

"She's not lying." I confess as my head hung low. It didn't take me long before I sprinted upstairs, crying.

The cool breeze caressed my wet skin, and soon Chanyeol's arms were wrapped around me. Just as usual; He was so, so warm and I was so, so cold.

"She said I'm not real..." I started sobbing as he squeezed my shaking hand.

"Eunhee, I can feel you, I can hear your voice and I can see you." He breathed into my shoulder, tracing my scar along with his index finger, "It doesn't matter what she says. You'll always be real to me."

"Promise me you won't forget me, ever." I begged, clutching onto his back.

"I promise." He beamed, holding a pinkie for me to hold and I did.

Chanyeol was an observing kid, and as I was trying to tie up my hair, his nose crinkled. I loved it when his nose crinkled.

"How did you get that scar?" He asked, pointing at the long line traversing the back of my neck.

"I don't know." I didn't have the guts to tell him my mother tried to kill me -and succeeded- in my past life. It would ruin his day, and mine too.

When he became eleven years old, his father bought him his own guitar. That was the first time I've seen Chanyeol laughing with Mr.Park as the latter patted his head.

He held my hand and we ran upstairs once again. He picked up the acoustic guitar and drummed his fingers along the strings creating a simple yet beautiful sound.

"Wow!" I exclaimed, clapping, "When did you learn that?"

"Remember how we used to watch those guys play guitar on the Internet?" He asked and I nodded, "Well, I just picked up on their movements."

"Yeollie, that's genius!" I wiggled my shoulders, "You're a music genius."

"Do you think I should show my classmates?" He bit his lip, uncertainty clouding his soft innocent features.

For the first time ever, I left my selfish self behind as I smiled, "Yes, you should. They'll love it."

It wouldn't change anything, wouldn't it? No, of course not.

I was deeply wrong, because I spent the next evening by myself while Chanyeol played with his new friends. I kicked, screamed and cried my lungs out because of how stupid I felt. It's my entire fault he's going to leave me alone.

He came back later, when the eerie darkness of the night embraced the sky. Hyejung was furious at him, and I secretly liked it. That's what you get for leaving me.

"Stupid Hyejung..." He mumbled as he slammed the door shut, startling my busy mind, "I was just hanging out with my friends, for god's sake."

"Maybe she's right." I voiced out my thoughts and he gave me a shooting glare.

"Are you siding with her?" He gasped, "Eunhee, I thought we were friends."

"I thought we were too." I was beyond angry at that moment, "Guess we're not, since you left me here alone."

"You could've just tagged along." He spat, crossing his arms.

"Really?" It was more of a question I'd ask myself.

"Yes, it'd be fun. I'm sure you'd get along with my friends, especially Minseok!" He nodded eagerly, pinching my cheeks.

I put on my best dress, the one my mother left me. I even brushed my hair and braided it into a long plait. Chanyeol and I walked side to side into a park to the direction of three young boys, and it was only then that it hit me.

They wouldn't see the dress, nor the braid. They wouldn't see anything because I wasn't real, and it drove me insane.

"Guys, I brought a friend." He announced, a smile plastered on his face.

They searched everywhere but to no avail, it was heart shattering. I could've just left, but no, I had to stay. Chanyeol needed me. Oh how I wish I didn't stay.

"Where's the friend?" One of them asked, "Don't tell me you're one of those weirdos who have imaginary friends."

Chanyeol's body tensed, he hated being called a weirdo. The three friends suddenly erupted in laughter, pointing at him with mocking fingers.

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