Na Jaemin is an award-winning storyteller; except he replaces his voice with stilled photographs. The beauty that takes his breath away, the feelings he experiences from behind the lens – they are all being described in a series of printed pictures under the exclusive frames with small clumps of marigolds on all four corners. The golden colour of the frames fades gradually, coupled with the dimming lights with each section of the exhibition. On the last section, the petals of marigold fall off as the frames turn cream under the warm orange hue. It is the whole concept of the exhibition – The Fading Ones.

“Why ‘The Fading Ones’? Can you please elaborate?” The famous reporter with the tagline “Haechan, 37.5% viewers rating” asks, holding out the microphone right in front of Jaemin’s chin.

Jaemin pauses for a while. His eyes are glued to the electronic device he calls friend in front him, mind processing the rehearsed sentences to this expected question. “Ah…” He lets out a disappointed sigh. The words he prepared the night before are too formal, he realizes now.

The reporter notices the beads of cold sweats under the half swiped up bangs of the photographer. He then gestures at the cameraman to put the camera off. “It’s okay. Take your time,” he ends the sentence with a small laugh. “It has been what? Almost 9 months now? Since your last exhibition…” Haechan pats Jaemin’s back in a friendly manner, considering that he has been covering every photography exhibition Jaemin showcases for the past 4 years.

“It’s not that, actually…”

The thing is the wound deepens more than his expectation. The immeasurable longing for the person who inspires him the concept leaves him breathless, as if a rock is pushing against his chest. The nights he spends tearing up over his loss are hard to describe with words.

“I— I just— Okay, let’s start again, shall we?”

Jaemin forces his face muscles to creep up a small smile as Jeno, the cameraman, sets up the camera once again. He shakes his whole body slightly, loosening up the string of tension around his 177 cm figure. Haechan checks on his condition one last time and as he exhales deeply with a nod, the camera starts rolling.

“Hi, everyone! Welcome to Haechan’s corner with 37.5% viewers rating! And today, we are thrilled to show you this magnificent photography exhibition from the pride of South Korea, the one and only, my favourite photographer, Na Jaemin!”

The camera then zooms in to Jaemin’s face.

“I heard that the concept of this exhibition is The Fading Ones.”

Here it comes.

“Can you please elaborate a little bit about the concept? Why did you choose the concept? What inspired you? Or who inspired you?”

Jaemin’s lips feel dry. Once the microphone stops in front of his mouth, he throws his sanity away and stabs the bleeding imaginary wound in his heart. A name – that’s all it takes to break his inner strength down. Renjun; A simple Chinese name of two syllables rolls off his tongue smoothly. He emphasizes the ‘r’, pronouncing the name as if he is a native Mandarin speaker.

“Renjun…” he repeats after himself. “Renjun…” His tongue seems desperate to sound the name again. “The concept, the whole gallery, everything is inspired by him.” Jaemin steps aside, revealing the picture of a Chinese man in brown plaid shirt and black slack pants, right leg extending into the air, forming a complete split. His hands spread widely, giving off the image of a butterfly at first glance. His face hangs low opposite of the hospital tiles, but a hint of small smile can be seen on his reflection. It is the photograph that takes his breath away every single time. It is the photograph that introduces him to a magical world painted by Renjun. It is the photograph that holds all his luck in this world.

“The Fading Ones refer to the time limit we have in our lives,” Jaemin continues, eyes straight into the camera. “Just like how time fades away, we do, too.” His eyes steal a quick glance on the photograph of Renjun surrounded by flowers opposite of him. “But the right person will leave their footprints in our hearts forever, even if they fade away.”

Haechan’s eyes soften.

“Where is he now, if you don’t mind?”

Jaemin’s lips curl upwards slowly. His eyes glisten with crystals, which he tries so hard to blink them away. “Somewhere beautiful…” He manages to speak before the lump in his throat blocks his voice from coming out. “I’m pretty sure it’s a place surrounded by the stars and the galaxy, as he dances all day long until he’s exhausted. It’s a place where everyone will worship him for his talent.” The image of Renjun twirling comes across his mind. “In other words, I think he’s in heaven, being placed among the angels.”

Haechan pauses. He exchanges looks with Jeno before he turns to Jaemin and asks, “Any last words for Renjun? He might be watching you from above.”

Jaemin has a lot to say, but Renjun already knows everything. The Korean looks down. That is when he notices the petals of marigolds covering the whole floor of the exhibition. His heart stops for a second as a sudden wave of realization hits him hard.

“Dia de los Muertos…” he breathes. “It’s today, 1^st of November.”

“I’m sorry?”

It’s Day of the Dead. With photographs of Renjun everywhere around the four walls of the exhibition, combined with the marigolds on the floor, Jaemin is sure he has summoned Renjun to this promised exhibition.

“Renjun is here with me today,” Jaemin’s face lights up. “Renjun…” he calls out, “Thank you.”

He hopes his photographs are enough to show that it is not just a simple ‘thank you’. Those two words hold thousands of significant meanings behind them, just like the pictures he took.