“When someone you love dies, and you’re not expecting it, you don’t lose her all at once; you lose her in pieces over a long time — the way the mail stops coming, and her scent fades from the pillows and even from the clothes in her closet and drawers.”

— John Irving, A Prayer for Owen Meany

Chanyeol pushes open the reddish brown door by his shoulder while one of his hands holds a briefcase and the other already busy loosening the tight knot of his tie. He undoes two upper buttons of his white shirt and allows his neck to get some cracks on each side; it helps to relax his muscles and reduces the tiredness he feels all over his body. Work had been hectic this past week and only today he allowed himself to get home early, a little bonus for his own hard work. Dragging his almost numb feet to his bedroom upstairs, he had no plan other than to take a quick shower then sleep, or taking nap while spending long session of a hot bath. As always. Like his usual daily routine every day, every boring day for three ing years.

The tall man stops on his track as he feels something under his shoes. He removes his foot to see red coloured origami paper folded into a shape of a heart on the floor. Bending down, he picks it up. It is Baekhyun’s, he automatically recognizes as his eyes already travels across the room, expecting to find the sight of the small male with honey hair and a pair of small eyes made into crescents every time he greeted Chanyeol home with that bright smile of his, or at least to detect the smell of coffee the male always makes for Chanyeol. Yet, nothing to be found. The fact makes his eyebrows subconsciously knitted together.

Where is he?

Putting aside his aching muscles screaming for bed, Chanyeol makes his way toward the kitchen which is connected to a small garden at the back of the house. For all he knows, Baekhyun likes to spend most of his time there, if not in the ceiling room.

And there he is. Through the sliding glass door, Chanyeol can see the narrow back of his husband. The small guy was watering his flowers, every now and then he would free one of his hand and move it in the air while swaying his body subtly to each side rhythmically. That seems like his way of singing and dancing. Chanyeol stands there for few more minutes longer than he intended to, slightly amused just by looking at his small husband happily gives each shower for his plants. There are so many flowers more than Chanyeol can count (not that he would actually count); red, white and yellow roses are blossoming, so do orchids, aster, and many other flowers he doesn’t know the name of. Baekhyun still sometimes sways his head slowly to his left and right soundlessly, still oblivious of Chanyeol’s presence. Not until he turns to shower a part of the garden near the doorway where Chanyeol is standing.

For a moment, Chanyeol sees those caramel eyes widen as they meet his. Then comes a curve of the smile of his thin, yet rich pink lips, eyes almost disappeared into two crescents. The smaller immediately waves and skips his way toward Chanyeol.

Baekhyun puts his palm up and presses the pinky side against his chest. Welcome home, he says happily, or so it seems if his cheery smile could be any indicator. Too cheery. Chanyeol replies with a nod and affected, barely visible smile.

Do you want a cup of coffee? Baekhyun asks again quickly, and Chanyeol can only see the letter C his fingers made hanging in the mid-air to know what his husband means. Or rather, he doesn’t need anything to understand it anymore since Baekhyun always asks him the same thing every time he comes back home. Always. And without actually waiting for Chanyeol’s answer, the shorter male already shoulders his way toward the kitchen cabinet, to where he pulls out the white mug Chanyeol always opt to use and a jar of ground Arabica beans.

As the familiar warm scent of coffee steams in the air, Chanyeol drags his exhausted legs toward the living room. Scattered on the coffee table is a pile of mails on top of a brown package. Chanyeol briefly examines them and finds none for himself, all the envelopes, including a letter from someone named Kim Jongdae, two catalogues, and medium-sized brown package have Baekhyun’s name on the recipient address.

It’s not something new. Baekhyun gets mails weekly, mostly after buying items online. At one glance, Chanyeol knows at once the brand name of the sender on both the package and catalogues. Shirt again? He wonders. Because Baekhyun rarely goes outside, he doesn’t need it much but he keeps buying anyway. Chanyeol brushes it off as a housewife- or in this case househusband problem.

The said male announces his coming by soft thud of his steps and faint noise of ceramic against wooden table as he places the mug of coffee in front of Chanyeol, smiling. He always smiles. No matter how bad Chanyeol day was, or how wrecked he looks every time he steps into the house, the same bright smile always greets him.

The smile he unconsciously takes for granted.

Before the smaller can retreat back to his garden, Chanyeol pulls gently on the thin wrist, earning himself a shocked expression on Baekhyun’s face for few seconds before Chanyeol’s hand move to his palm and puts down an object onto his opened palm. The red paper heart.

“It’s yours, right?”

Baekhyun sits down. Either Chanyeol notices or not, there was a flash of hesitation in his eyes while he chews on his lower lip.

Did you open it? Baekhyun asks with slow and patient hand gestures, even after 3 years with him, Chanyeol still knows so little about sign language.

“No. Of course no.”

Chanyeol smiles. He is a person who respects privacy, surely he would not touch anything that wasn’t his. Yet, to his unknown unfortunate, he misses the disappointed glint in Baekhyun’s eyes despite the smile he offers back.

How he wish Chanyeol did open it.