Oneshot; Henry/Amber; Angst/Romance/hospital!AU; PG13; 5644w

Summary: Henry never came to the hospital where Amber was being hospitalized if it was not the fourth of any month. And on every next fourth-of-the-month, Amber recognized that few things were different from Henry, but she didn’t see why.

Disclaimer: Everything but plot isn’t mine unless stated. Characters belong to the company they’re under.

 

 

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A silver sedan car was speeding up on the quiet road. Clouds had already painted the sky when the sun was just about to come out. Amber stared at the sky through the window. It was still daybreak; the sky was a mixture of pale violet, baby blue, and reddish orange. A kind of skies only summer would have. That endearing sky of July.

 

“Beautiful,” Amber muttered, more to herself, smiling.

 

“Cherish this moment, there’s no guarantee you’ll be able see it again tomorrow,” an old lady commented from the backseat.

 

Amber hated that woman.

 

So instead of responding, Amber just stayed silent and kept staring. Her thoughts wandered everywhere. She was imagining if she could have a moment to just stare at the sky with her bare eyes without any window getting in the way, or without any sound from the old lady at the back disturbing the tranquil she was absorbing. She was wondering if she could have a freedom. Her freedom.

 

But no, she couldn’t.

 

“We’re arrived,”

 

The announcement from the driver made all the fantasies Amber was having in head crushed. The thoughts of freedom scattered. Amber had already arrived at the place she always saw in her dreams and nightmares, the place which actually brought her those nightmares.

 

Korea Cancer Centre Hospital.

 

Amber hated that place.

 

“Let’s get out, Amber. We’re not going waste your time, aren’t we?” Amber hated that place even more that now she heard that old lady’s voice.

 

Amber released his seatbelt and opened the door, only to be greeted by a wheelcair the old lady had prepared.

 

Amber hated that thing.

 

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“How are you feeling, Amber-ssi?”

 

Amber glanced at him for a mere second before answering, “oh, I’m grand! In fact, never been better. I’ve been at my best since two weeks ago! I mean, who wouldn’t be happy if you were told your leg would be amputated in a month?”

 

Amber’s oncologist understood sarcasm. “That’s the only choice you have to take if you want to stare at the sky much longer, Amber-ssi. Your family have agreed this.”

 

“No, doctor, there’s always another choices and chances you refused to give me that I could’ve taken. And you can’t tell how long I’m going to be able to stare at the sky—you’re a doctor, not a human creator,” Amber clenched her fists. She hated that man. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I—”

 

“The chemotherapy’s starting in fifteen minutes. I won’t excuse you.”

 

Amber glared at him before turning her wheelchair, “—I’m going anyway. Fifteen minutes are enough for me to struggle at the restroom—you don’t want me to pee on your desk, do you?—and help myself to get into the therapy room. Afternoon, Dr. Ahn.”

 

Amber closed the door with a loud thud.

 

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It was ten at night. The room was already dark. Amber was supposed to be resting by now, but she wasn’t. She couldn’t. Her whole body was aching from the chemoteraphy session hours ago. She could feel the pain from head to toe. The pain hurt like hell, but Amber didn’t want to fall asleep; not just yet. The pain didn’t demand Amber to feel it—it was actually in reverse.

 

Amber felt like dying. She was dying. She knew she was. That was why she wanted to feel the pain, that was why she wanted to absorb it all. She wanted to memorise the pain so one day when she would’ve been cured from that mothering disease, she could laugh her off it. Amber was a very optimist person.

 

(Optimism always leads to naivety, but the hell with that, Amber thought.)

 

Amber glanced at the nightstand beside her. A plain white little box was placed there. Inside, there was her favorite blueberry cheesecake from the bakery downstairs, near the hospital lobby. The old lady had bought it for her.

 

It was Saturday night. Last month when Amber was in a mental breakdown of knowing she would be amputated, the old lady took her downstairs to the hospital lobby. There was a crowd of people—to be specific, patients—watching some jazz musician performing Al Jarreau’s Mornin’. Amber didn’t like jazz, but she liked the song. She loved the lyrics.

 

Now, expecting there’d be some performers lighting up her stressful night, Amber went downstairs—with the nurse’s help, of course—and her expecation was fortunately true. There was a man who was dressed casually playing the piano. There weren’t many people around and Amber was glad for that, because it meant she could clearly listen to the song the man was playing to.

 

Classics. Amber always loved classics.

 

Amber stopped her wheelcair next to a sofa right in front of the grand piano. She tried to recognize the piece. Amber was confident she could tell every piece without getting wrong—because she was optimist like that. Amber closed her eyes and started to focus on the melodies.

 

It wasn’t Mozart’s nor Bach’s. It didn’t sound so Haydn or Chopin either. For a second she thought it might be Tchaikovsky’s Swanlake, but it didn’t really sound like one. And just right when the man finished playing, Amber got the answer.

 

It sounded like him.

 

When Amber opened her eyes, the crowd was gone. She could only see an old woman sitting not far from her was also enjoying the man’s performance. Amber knew her; she was the owner of the bakery where Amber always bought her favorite blueberry cheesecake at.

 

And when Amber turned to look at the man, a pair of eyes was staring at her. A pair of eyes was boring into hers. A pair of eyes of the man’s.

 

“Well,” Amber cleared to hide her nervousness, “that was nicely done.”

 

The man smiled, “thank you. You’re actually the first who said it to me.”

 

“Me? The first? But that was brilliant. What’s actually on people’s minds?” Amber said in disbelief.

 

“You’ve only heard half of it and yet you call it brilliant. You must have an excellent taste in music,” the man commented, “and to answer your question, you were the first because actually that was also the first time I played it in public.”

 

“Oh,” Amber replied. “You should’ve applied to an agency. Your talent’s no joke.”

 

“I’d love to believe it indeed is not,” the man smiled; this time, wider. “I’m Henry Lau.”

 

“Amber Liu,” Amber shook Henry’s hands. “A patient who’s hospitalized everyday.”

 

“Osteosarcoma,” Henry stated simply.

 

“How do you know that?” Amber was surprised.

 

“A friend,” he shrugged. “How bad?”

 

“Not that bad, I guess. I’m going under surgery that’ll make me lose a leg next month. I—”

 

“Amputation.”

 

“—yes, an amputation, kudos for you. I think I’m going to miss the unbearable pain my left leg always had every after chemoteraphy session, just like now. One leg for the less cancer cells in my body. That doesn’t sound bad does it?”

 

There was a moment of silence before Henry finally broke it. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I believe you’ll go through this. You know you will.”

 

“I know I will,” Amber could feel her eyes getting wetter. . “continue play for me, Henry. You made me feel better.”

And Henry did; he gave a gentle squeeze to her shaking hands before playing some other pieces he composed by himself. Amber enjoyed it. She enjoyed the music, she enjoyed Henry’s company. The notes, the melody, the rhythm, and the occasional glances Henry threw her; they made Amber feel relaxed.

 

The beats inside, ones that Amber thought she had lost were suddenly there. Henry brought them back to her.

 

The last one that Henry played was Moonlight Sonata. One of Amber’s favorites. It somehow made Amber forget about her pain as her eyes were starting to get heavy. Amber knew she should’ve bid Henry a good night and gone back to rest in her room, but she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to go before Henry stopped playing, she didn’t want to go before Henry packed his stuff. She didn’t want to go before Henry did.

 

But damn eyelids. They closed, eventually.

 

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When Amber woke up in the morning, she found herself comfortably lying in her bed. She tried to remember what happened last night and who carried her here.

 

On her mind, she pictured herself in her room, dark as how it was supposed to be last night, half-conscious. She pictured a silhouette of a man adjusting her pillows, carrying her to bed and helping her slipping in the covers. She knew who the man was.

 

Amber looked at every corner of her room but there was no trace left from the man. Not even a note of a phone number. Damn. Frustrated, Amber got up and reached for the bible on the nightstand, praying she could survive until next month. She needed to see Henry again.

 

And the blueberry cheesecake was left, cold and forgotten just like that.

 

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On their next meeting, Amber was greeted by Henry’s condolence.

 

If Henry were other people, she would’ve get offended. But he was Henry, not other people. So she just grinned. “Those damn cancer stem cells are already buried along with my left leg. It’s okay now.”

 

Henry gave Amber a pat on the back and sit next to her.

 

“You’re not gonna play?” Amber asked.

 

Henry shook his head. “Later. I want to just talk to you. I want to know about you.”

 

Amber almost blushed at Henry’s statement. Amber wanted to know much about Henry, too.

 

They talked for one good hour. Henry learnt that Amber used to be a swimmer before she knew she had an osteosarcoma—which was two years ago. Amber only lived with her stepmother—whom Amber loved to address ‘the old lady’—and that Amber got the disease from genetic transmission. Amber learnt that Henry was three years older than her and that Henry lived in a town and only come to the city and played at the hospital once a month because,

 

“Seoul is so far from my place but Tiffany—my wife—works here. She wants me to come and 4 is her favorite number.”

 

Amber didn’t push the subject further but asked him to start playing the pinao. With her eyes closed, she felt her heart breaking.

 

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When it was nearing eleven, Henry left. He didn’t leave Amber anything just like last time. No paper of address nor phone number. Amber wondered why.

 

“Seoul is so far from my place but...”

 

Oh, right.

 

He didn’t want to give her any of it because he still saw Amber as a stranger. A stranger he only happened to know, a stranger to accompany him wasting time while waiting for his wife to end her work.

 

Maybe right now, Henry and his wife are already on their way to some five-star restaurant. Maybe now that Henry is already with his wife and completely forgetting about me.

 

Amber wanted to cry at the thought. Her heart is breaking some more.

 

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Their third meeting started with a loud gasp from Amber when she saw Henry.

 

“You’re bald?” she asked in disbelief.

 

“Enlisting next month,” he walked towards the grand piano.

 

“But you’re not a Korean.”

 

“I’m Chinese Korean. Have been living here since I was five.”

 

“But you got an American accent.”

 

“Lived for ten years in Toronto and New York.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“You’re an American.”

 

“Yeah. Moved here five years ago, and how did you know?”

 

“You can tell I got an American accent. Only few Koreans or Chinese can. So, an American it is. And anyway,” Henry handed her a little box, “for you.”

 

“Oh!” Amber beamed when she saw what’s inside. “I love blueberry cheesecake! Thanks, Henry! What a coincidence that you bring my favorite one!”

 

“Thought you would,” Henry smiled back, “eat it.”

 

She did. And when Amber finally had finished, she asked Henry where Henry bought it from.

 

“A random bakery near the station,” Henry simply stated.

 

Amber didn’t believe him. The cake tasted definitely the same as her favorite cake from the hospital bakery. Amber was one-hundred-percent positive they tasted the same. Not similar, but the absolutely the same. Amber looked at the box—it wasn’t plain nor white. The box was in crimson red with a ‘Bake4Life’ printed on it. The bakery’s name. Amber glanced at the bakery on the corner of the hall but to her disappointment, the bakery was covered with black curtain as it was under renovation. Maybe it’s just a pure coincidence, Amber finally concluded.

 

There was a brief silence of the two of them not saying anything but staring at each other. Amber didn’t even bother to throw the empty box to the bin—she wanted the moment to last—but not until Amber’s eyes landed on Henry’s jacket pocket. There was a small blue box with a pretty white ribbon wrapping the box and a ‘Tiffany & Co.’ printed on it. The head of the box was slightly popping out of the pocket.

 

“A jewellery.” Amber pointed out.

 

“Oh,” Henry took the box and unwrapped the ribbon, “yeah. A necklace with a snowflake charm in white gold.”

 

“Why snowflakes?”

 

“Because I love snowflakes. They’re pretty. They’re everywhere. Aside from Christmas, they’re what people are always after in winter. They’re what you’re breathing in. One may hate winter and its crazy temperature, but no one hates snowflakes.”

 

Amber didn’t realize she was smiling very lovingly at the explanation. She loved this man.

 

She was in love with him.

 

“Looking gorgeous, isn’t it?” Henry grinned. “I wonder if it’ll look perfect on her.”

 

Her.

 

Amber’s face dropped. The smile on her face had completely disappeared.

 

It was for her. Of course it was for her, who else? Tiffany, the lovely wife of his.

 

There were no words exchanged and Henry felt bad for even saying such things. He stole a glance at Amber who was still looking upset over the subject and he felt like being smacked. He felt even worse.

 

The atmosphere was killing him. He then killed it back by clearing his throat, “shall I play?”

 

“Ah,” Amber was snapped from her thoughts. “Yes. yes, please.” Amber was about to position her wheelchair next to the usual sofa when she felt a pair of hands helped her. The old woman’s there. Amber thanked her, and together they listened to Henry playing the piano.

 

For one hour, Henry played Yiruma’s. Amber was the kind of person who would close her eyes when she tried to engage herself to music, but this time, she didn’t. She stared at Henry and kept staring at him.

 

There was sadness. There was sadness within Henry. She could see it all over him—it shone in his eyes, radiated from his body, gleamed on his fingertips. The sadness was even flowing to the melody that the pieces he played showed sorrow.

 

“What’s wrong?” Amber asked once he’d stopped playing. The old woman had been back working at her bakery.

 

“The thought of not coming here anymore makes me feel a bit sad,” he said.

 

“You’re not?”

 

“Yeah. I’m enlisting next month. First of October,” he smiled a little. A sad smile. “I’m sad that I need to celebrate my birthday in the army.”

 

“I’m sad that I have to wave you a goodbye in my month.” Amber couldn’t believe she even blurted it out.

 

But to her surprise, Henry hugged her. “Happy birthday,” he whispered in her ears. “I’m sorry I have to leave.”

 

“Thank you,” Amber mumbled and burried her head in Henry’s shoulder. She could smell Henry’s perfume through his jacket. L’Occitane’s Eau de Badian. Amber smiled. She wore that perfume, too. The thought of wearing the same perfume as him made her happy a little. It felt like she did belong to him.

 

He held her for what felt like forever. When he released her, Amber felt cold. The warmth she’d been looking for wasn’t there anymore. It now felt empty. Amber wanted to hug him, Amber wanted to tell him don’t go, Amber wanted to tell him she wanted him to still be there. To still come on every fourth of the upcoming months, to still play the grand piano. Amber wanted to be by his side while she still had time. Amber wanted Henry to just be there. Be there to cheer her up after her chemotherapy sessions or from any bad news her doctor always had. Amber just wanted him to be there.

 

Amber was too lost in her thoughts that she didn’t realize that Henry’s face is just few centimeters from hers now. So when she looked up and met Henry’s tantalizing eyes, her breath got caught in throat.

 

And when Henry’s lips met hers, closing eyes, she couldn’t be any happier.

 

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It was just a friendly kiss.

 

It was just a friendly kiss, Amber kept repeating those words on her mind. He had a wife, there’s no way he saw you as something more than a friend, Amber added. What happened last night was just a friendly thing, Amber doctrined herself.

 

“God,” Amber muttered in her breath, “you’re making me crazy.”

 

The growls coming from her tummy distracted her from the thoughts about Henry. He glanced at the dining table; a plate of healthy foods were served. But Amber felt sick. Amber was back to feeling sick of everything about the hospital now that Henry had already disappeared from her life.

 

The only thing that would make her happy would be her favorite blueberry cheesecake from the bakery downstairs. She called the nurse and asked for help to go there. She hoped the bakery was already open by now.

 

To her delight, the bakery was already done from the renovation.

 

But what made her blew out of the water was the fact that the bakery now had a name;

 

‘Bake4Life.’

 

And that the used-to-be plain white box was the same from the cake box Henry brought last night. Crimson red.

 

Henry lied.

 

She started to feel pain in head.

 

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Amber dreamt about him.

 

It was at the night’s darkest hour. The entire room was in a complete darkness and Amber was crying. She was burying her head in the pillow, trying to muffle her sobs. The white sheets were wet from tears. Her bones were aching; it was painful. Very painful that she wasn’t sure she could bear the pain anymore. Very painful that she thought she was already at death’s door. Very painful that she thought the pain would make her stop breathing right now. Very painful that she now started to pray that if she would really fly to the promised land in any second after this, she wished that Henry was there—she wished that Henry would be the last thing that she would see.

 

And the next second she breathed, the door was opened. A familiar figure of a man stood there. The same silhouette she saw months ago, the same old person she had been seeking after. But if Henry was there—if it was him—did it mean Amber was really going to die within minutes?

 

The man closed the door and walked towards Amber. He sat on the edge of the bed, his face looking at Amber. The room was completely dark. The falling curtain hid the moonlight. None of them could see each other; yet they still stayed that way, beneath the darkness with silence engulfing them and their breaths running in solemn rhythm.

 

“Henry,” Amber called, “you’re here.”

 

“Yeah,” he repeated her words, “I’m here.”

 

“But it’s the third of October.”

 

“I know.”

 

“But you should’ve enlisted since yesterday’s yesterday.”

 

“I know.”

 

“But you’re here.”

 

“I am.”

 

“But—how?”

 

Henry stretched an arm, hand reaching out the table lamp. Switching it on.

 

Amber didn’t want him to switch on the lamp. She was ashamed, she didn’t want Henry to see her face, to see her tears. She didn’t want him to see her in such a ed up state. But all of that was forgotten right away once she saw his face.

 

Fale as pale as winter, lips as white as snowflakes. The twinkle in his eyes wasn’t there anymore. The orbs were black, dark, hollow. And his hair—his hair, goddamn it. He was bald, but not the kind of bald an army would have—she always thought people in army still wanted to style their hair a bit—but one that people like Amber would have. One that comes as a side effect from chemotherapy. One that every cancer patient would have.

 

. What’s actually with him?

 

“Don’t ask,” Henry interrupted her mind, “I only have so little time so don’t ask. Don’t do anything.”

 

“I,” Amber hesitated, “tell me the reason you’re here.”

 

“I want to say goodbye”—a cough—“because I didn’t give you a proper one last time.”

 

Oh.

 

So it was just about the timing for a goodbye.

 

Not wanting Henry to see her breaking down much more, she then managed to say, “then just say it. You said you don’t have much time. We both don’t want to waste your time do we?” Amber thought if she’d ever heard it somewhere long before.

 

Henry chuckled lightly and when he did, the twinkle was back. It made her tingle.

 

“I actually do, but since you don’t...” Wait. What. You do? But you say—

 

“Stop thinking,” he once again interrupted her mind. Are you some kind of psychic or what?

 

Amber didn’t know what was really happening to them, but the next thing she knew was that Henry pressed his lips on hers. Their mouths met. Her pupils were dilated for a mere moment before she shut her eyes and started to kiss back; floating in the ecstasy Henry was giving. Henry had a tight grip on her shoulders. The kiss started as just a simple touch on lips before Henry bit her lower lip, forcing her to moan and open , and slid his tongue inside. Their tongues curled against each other, fulfilling the longing feelings Amber had been holding.

 

The heat. The heat that kept increasing made Amber feel like bursting. She wanted to hug him, she wanted to touch him. She wanted to make him all hers, she wanted to be claimed as his. She wanted to just have a moment of privacy. A moment of freedom. A moment of just-you-and-me. A moment of bliss. A moment of feeling life before dying. A moment of not feeling like dying when you actually are.

 

But Amber broke the kiss.

 

Henry thought she just needed oxygen so he tried to kiss her again. But Amber stopped him.

 

“Why?” Henry asked carefully.

 

“Henry, we can’t,” she replied, eyes not looking at the man.

 

“And why?”

 

“Tiffany,” her heart ached at the mention of the name, “and because I’m dying.”

 

After a while, Henry opened his mouth and with a voice that sounded so weak, he said, “I see.”

 

And he walked off.

 

And she didn’t die that night.

 

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.

 

“You’ve been doing so good these days.”

 

“Better?”

 

“Good.”

 

“Your answer doesn’t satisfy me, Dr. Ahn.”

 

“Truth never satisfies us, Amber-ssi.”

 

“Doctors are supposed to make patients feel better.”

 

“Doctors don’t tell lies. At least, I don’t.”

 

She sighed in exasperation. “Thanks for that, then. You’re a very good doctor. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go for the chemo. It’s starting in ten minutes.”

 

“It doesn’t start until the patient is there.” Dr. Ahn helped Amber on her wheelchair and opened the door for her.

 

“Thank you, Dr. Ahn. I’ll let you know if I feel like anew.” She slid her wheelchair as she left the room.

 

“Does that mean something good?” he asked, standing just behind the door, ready to close it.

 

“I don’t know. Pray for me.” She said, “afternoon.”

 

“Is this because of him?”

 

She stopped.

 

“That guy who played the piano. Did he do something bad to you? You’ve been so good these days, and by that I mean since the day he left.”

 

“Then that makes it a month, not days.”

 

“I knew she came to your room the other night,”

 

She looked back at him, surprised, eyeing suspiciously. “What?”

 

“I saw him entering your room,” he told her. “And if you ask why I didn’t stop him, that’s because he had the access to. Doctors can’t go against the owner of this hospital, you know.”

 

What? “What do you mean?”

 

But he just shrugged, “time for chemo. Good day, Amber.” And with that, the door behind her closed.

 

.

 

Amber went to Bake4Life right after the chemoteraphy session was finished. She chose the nearest table to the cashier, just so she wouldn’t waste much energy to go to and fro ordering and paying for the cake. Blueberry cheesecake, of course.

 

“You like it so much, huh,” the old woman commented.

 

Amber smiled. “Yeah. This is the best in town.”

 

“In hospital,” she corrected.

 

“No. In town.” Amber insisted.

 

“You’re such a lovely lady,” the old woman chuckled. “Today is his birthday, you know.”

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“Henry. Your piano boy. He doesn’t come anymore.”

 

My piano boy. My piano boy. “Clearly he does not. He’s now serving in army. It’s his birthday today? How do you know that?”

 

“He went here too often. I knew him too well. And honey, he’s not in the army.”

 

What?

 

“You know he lied. You know he didn’t buy the cake at some random bakery near the station. You know he bought the cake here.”

 

That, I do. “What do you—”

 

“Oh, Tiffany!”

 

Amber froze at the mention of that name. The old woman’s now waving to someone quite far behind her. She didn’t dare look back. She didn’t dare see the mentioned lady’s face. She couldn’t help but assume that the mentioned lady is his wife.

 

“Aigoo, you’re getting prettier... here, sweetheart, take a seat!” the old woman pat the chair placed just beside Amber. Oh crap.

 

The heavenly smell came from behind and started to linger around Amber. Tiffany’s perfume. Even when Tiffany had sat, she still locked her eyes on her cheesecake. She wanted to disappear so bad.

 

“Hello,”

 

She knew who just greeted her. She knew whose voice it was. Tiffany’s. She always believed attitude is number one, thus she gathered the courage to finally, finally looked up and saw her face. “Hi,” she greeted back.

 

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Tiffany said.

 

Amber forced a smile and slowly shook her head, “it’s okay. How do you do, Tiffany. I’m Amber.”

 

“I’m pleased to finally meet you. How do you do,” she flashed a smile. “I actually have few things I need to talk about.”

 

. “But we barely know each other, Tiffany.”

 

“But it’s about Henry.”

 

Oh. “How’s he doing?”

 

“Amber, whatever you heard from Henry about me, don’t believe him. He liked to joke.”

 

“What do you think he told me about you?”

 

“That I was his spouse or wife or partner or girlfriend or whatsoever. I was not.”

 

“So you are, now.”

 

“No! I’m his sister... sorta. I’m a foster child. He was, too.”

 

A silence.

 

Dr. Ahn knew Henry came to her room. The old woman said Henry visited the bakery too often. Tiffany said they were sibling and that he was a foster child.

 

And a realization came upon her. Hitting, firing, and making her suffer; just the way those cancer cells did.

 

“He was?” she asked, making sure what she had on mind was the same as what was on Tiffany’s, eventhough she silently prayed she was wrong. Her voice sounded weak, so weak, although she was never that strong person.

 

Tiffany smiled. Tiffany had always flashed a sweet, bright smile since Amber knew her minutes ago. But this time, it seemed sad. Her smiled seemed sad, and her eyes weren’t in contrary. Her eyes were pooled of tears.

 

“What is it? What do I not know about him that you do?”

 

Tiffany gave her another smile, “you might want to see him now.”

 

The smile—it was a broken one.

 

.

 

Amber wasn’t good at Maths.

 

Actually, she hated it. She hated the ƒ(x) formulas. She hated whoever defined ax+by=c. She hated counting; and therefore she never did. And therefore she never did count how many times her heart had ever been broken by a certain guy named Henry, either.

 

“Our father adopted him when he was five. I was adopted a year after. I’m older than him, but he always saw me as his little sister. He was a bit sister complex... and that was why he sort of got depressed three years after I was adopted.”

 

The green grass, the red leaves, the cool breeze. Amber always loved autumn; it has the tranquil she always needed. The place Tiffany took her to was, in fact, really fascinating. But right now, she was not seeing it as one. She didn’t bother to see it as one.

 

“He had never come home anymore. Our father, the hospital owner, forbid him to. Henry was sent to Toronto then to New York, forced to stay at hospitals there. For the sake of himself. Unfortunately his condition just got worse... for some reasons, he was feeling lonely and depressed there. We only got to visit him once a year. So, our father sent him back here, and made him to stay at the cancer centre hospital. He was still lonely though it was not as bad as before. The old woman at the bakery and the grand piano became his friends. They were his only friends.”

 

All Amber did was stare and stare at the solid thing planted in front of her.

 

“And then you came. You came and he was so much happier. He looked so healthy—”

 

“But he wasn’t.”

 

“You’re right, he wasn’t.”

 

Amber kneeled down and started to pick the leaves that was covering the stone in front of her. Carefully, she touches the grave. Deliberately, she mouthed the words carved there.

 

Henry Lau

October 11 1989 — October 4 2012

 

“He went to my room the night before he... died,” Amber uttered, “he was all white and pale. He looked like dying. His hands were cold. I had no idea back then.”

 

“He told me he had wanted you to be the last thing he saw.”

 

And I you, Henry. “I hope I was, then.”

 

“You were.”

 

Tiffany kneeled down just beside Amber and caressed the grave so gracefully as if she was caressing something delicate, something prestigious. Amber looked at her—she noticed how Tiffany’s eyes were rimmed with tears; she saw the sadness in them, she felt just as the same as how Tiffany felt.

 

“You love him,” Amber stated.

 

“He was an amazing brother,” Tiffany wiped another lone tear that escaped her eye. “You’re in love with him. And he you.”

 

Amber smiled. A smile that showed despair and at the same time, relief.

 

“Tiffany,” Amber called. “Can you help me getting back on my wheelchair? I need to head back. I was only halfway through my cheesecake.”

.

.

Ten seconds to ten. The hospital lobby. The grand piano. The wheelchair. The only few people around. The side effect of the chemoteraphy session.

 

Amber closed her eyes. The piano started playing.

 

It was not a piece of Schubert’s, neither was it a piece of any classic composers’. It was the one Henry played for the first time in public, one that sounded like him. One that he played at the night they met.

 

Seconds gone, tears flew. Amber didn’t care. She still kept her eyes shut, she didn’t dare open them. The wonderful moments she had with him was ones she experienced with her eyes shut—the rhythms and the melodies and the kisses. She was afraid that if she opened her eyes, she would not be able to see him again. She was afraid if she opened her eyes, she would not be able to feel him again. Amber always believed in the theory about ‘the best things in life come when we don’t see them.’ Amber was optimist that the theory was not a mere nonsense some people randomly post on websites, and—

 

—she was glad she was.

 

When the music stopped, Amber heard the sound of footsteps creaking the wooden floor. Her whole body started to shake but a pair of hands got a firm hold on hers.

 

The hands were cold but all she felt was warmth. And when she felt hot breath was hovering on her face, she shut her eyes harder, and—

 

—the voice was there.

 

“Hi, Amber.”

 

.

.

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fin

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.

.

 

a/n This fic is long, I know. Lame, I know. And boring, I know. But I enjoyed writing this, so... yeah.

 

Those who’re wondering, Myocardial infarction is the scientific term of heart attack disease. As for the disease mentioned, to put it simply, Osteosarcoma is a form of tumor that mainly affects the knee part of our body (which then will spread to the leg) and is leading to bone cancer.

 

About ‘Bake4Life’... I couldn’t think of any other name lmao. And for the grammatical errors, I’m sorry. I have no one to beta my fic and I’m never the type of person who reads their work once it’s finished. /o\

 

Thoughts? :D