Kris runs out of the cemetery, head whipping around wildly. He cups his hands over his mouth and yells Luhan's name, but there's no reply, not even a whisper of distant crunching leaves underfoot to betray running footsteps.

He checks the backs of every single tree trunk around the place, and every little corner of the forest, but he can't find Luhan anywhere. Panic is starting to take hold of him, setting his heart into overdrive as he flies down the hill, letters clutched tightly in one hand.

Stay calm, Kris, he tells himself. Ask someone if they've seen him. He can't have gone far.

There don't seem to be many people around. Kris rakes a hand through his hair, eyes straying to the papers in his hand; the letter is all creased, but the other, the second sheet, has fared better.

He realises that he hasn't taken a proper look at it yet.

Almost hesitantly, his fingers unfold the sheet, wondering if this is another almost brutally honest letter.

It's not.

The unravelled paper reveals a crayon drawing, the crooked lines declaring the artist to be someone under the age of 6.

Kris peers at the three blobs scrawled in red crayon on the page. Above each head is a different label; the tallest one says 'Daddy', while the second tallest (with strings of crayon hair) is 'Mommy' and the blob in the middle is 'me'.

In the bottom corner are letters that spell "Luhan" (though the 'n' is backwards and capitalised even though the others aren't). 

It's heartbreaking in an almost comical way; something like this should induce laughter and smiles, instead of pulling on exhausted heartstrings.

He traces the wobbly lines with his fingers, visualising a younger Luhan, tongue between his lips as he manoeuvres the crayon with expert toddler precision. He pictures Yoona picking Luhan up from school and seeing this, a picture clearly meant to be seen by the other two members of the family depicted: Mommy and Daddy.

But 'Daddy' was never there. He was never there.

Kris wonders if Luhan had known that this picture was in the envelope.

*

Almost half an hour later, a couple that Kris asks (Have you seen a boy; honey coloured hair, about this tall?) points him in the direction of the beach.

Kris gets into his car and drives along the road that overlooks the shore until he spots someone sitting on the sand, in the middle of the beach.

He turns the engine off and leaves the letter and drawing on the passenger seat, unhooking his jacket from the back of his own seat before stepping out.

The wind is a vicious gust, but Kris barely notices it as he steps onto the sand. He knows this beach; he'd been here with Yoona before. In fact, now that he thinks about it, he realises it's the exact place where they met.

It seems a lot more different now. The white sand doesn't seem as bright, and the tendrils of the sky's orange blood dancing across the sky don't seem as magical. Kris finds it hard to believe that this is the same place.

He catches sight of Luhan in the distance, hunched over, with his arms wrapped around his knees. He's sitting right near the furthest reach of the waves, where the sand is wet and packed and the water laps at his heels, but he doesn't seem to care. There's a stick in his hand, and he's waving it around in the wet sand aimlessly.

Kris draws in a deep breath, fists clenched as if paper is still clutched between his fingers; the letter in one hand, drawing in the other. He wants to yell at Luhan for worrying him, but he knows that it would be the wrong thing to say. I don't want your pity, is the answer Kris knows he's likely to receive.

So instead, he walks up to where Luhan is sitting and plops himself down next to his son, mimicking his position. "Hey," Kris says softly.

 Luhan doesn't say anything. His eyes are fixed on a point in the distance, though the way he looks at it makes it seem as though the horizon is closer to him than Kris will ever be.

Kris has done public speeches and performed in front of crowds of thousands, but no moment has ever been this difficult. He doesn't even know what to say. What do you say after you read a letter that concerns someone who's probably already read it?

After a while, Luhan speaks first. "Did you see it?"

"The drawing?" Kris asks, and Luhan nods. "Yeah, I did. Did you draw it?"

Luhan nods again. "That was my favourite drawing when I was little. I begged Mom to send it to you, but she wouldn't. I got really mad back then, but I realised when I was older that you'd probably never see it." He sighs. "But now you have, and I don't really know what to think."

"I would have loved to see it," Kris murmurs. "You know, back when you drew it."

"Would you?" For the first time since Kris sat down, Luhan looks at him. "Would you really?"

Kris stares back at Luhan, and he sees Yoona. He remembers sitting with her here, even though neither of them were supposed to be out at a place like this. He shakes his head. "I don't know, to be honest."

Luhan nods, accepting that answer. "You know, this wasn't just about her."

Kris frowns, not following. The look on Luhan's face is tearing him apart. "What do you mean?"

"When I was younger, I tried to pretend that it didn't hurt; you know, not having a father," Luhan says, and the words seem to stab Kris through the heart. "For Mom's sake. I figured I would never love you as much as Mom did, and I didn't want to hurt her by saying that I wanted you to be there. But that's all I ever wanted, for you to be there. Just once."

Kris opens and closes his mouth, and it takes him a few tries before he chokes out, "I didn't know."

Luhan's shaking his head. "Of course you didn't." He hadn't meant to sound cold, but it still hits Kris hard. "You know, when I came here, I wondered what it would be like. You have no idea how nervous I was, about meeting you. But you didn't even recognise me. That's when I realised that all my visions of what you would be like were wrong. You weren't ever going to be that dad who smiled at me and ruffled my hair like Mom did." Luhan pauses for a moment, and Kris realises that he's crying; both of them are. "I thought it wouldn't matter that you hadn't been there for most of my life, but it does matter. You can't make up for so many lost years when you don't even try."

Kris opens his mouth to say that he has tried, but he realises that he has no right to say that, because he hasn't, really. He hasn't tried.

"I know what you see, when you look at me," Luhan continues. "You don't really like looking at me, do you? Because you see Mom."

"That," Kris admits, voice shaking even though he's trying his hardest to smile, "and the fact that you look just like her when you're angry. It's just as terrifying."

Luhan actually smiles, but it's short-lived. "She asked you to look after me, didn't she?" he asks, and Kris nods.

"But you're not gonna do it."

Kris turns to him, surprised by the blunt edge in Luhan's voice. "What makes you say that?"

Luhan shakes his head very slightly, eyes trained on the horizon. "Would you have done it if my mother was alive?"

"What?"

"Would you have offered to look after me if she'd come to you with me in her arms, and asked you to leave your life and start a family with us?" Luhan asks. "Be honest."

It takes Kris a long time to answer, guilt dragging him down. But finally, he manages to say, "No."

Luhan nods (that's all he seems to do, Kris observes), letting out a shallow exhale of breath. "I thought so," he mumbles. Then, in a louder voice, "If you wouldn't have bothered then, don't bother now."

***

"You're sure about this?" Kris finds it hard to meet Luhan's eyes. He can't stand the almost expectant look in the boy's eyes, begging him to do something other than this.

After a few moments, Luhan shrugs, as if to say, What else am I supposed to do? He picks up the bag at his feet, which contains all his important worldly belongings, and shoulders it as he steps out of Kris' car.

"I paid for your room," Kris says, rolling down the window and calling out to Luhan. "You know, until you find somewhere else to stay."

Luhan nods, face impassive as Kris starts the engine again. He doesn't really know what to do as Luhan simply stands there, waiting for him to leave, so he raises two fingers in a little wave.

Luhan just nods.

Kris sighs and drives away from the hotel, but he doesn't get far before he pulls over, fingers shaking as they clutch the steering wheel tighter. He squeezes his eyes shut, hot tears escaping.

He can't take this. He'd thought it had been difficult these past years, working till his body ached, training for hours on end, and dealing with public scrutiny, but it's nothing compared to this.

Kris can't seem to let go of the image in his mind of Luhan nodding.

He'd just left his son at a hotel− a boy who had just lost his mother and then poured the rest of his heart out to his father onto the white sand of his hometown only hours earlier.

Kris can't begin to imagine what it's like for Luhan.

Images flash behind his closed lids, burning his mind's eye, so he opens them; the world is slightly blurry and red, but still visible. Kris takes a deep breath, taking his hands off the steering wheel.

It takes him less than a minute to decide.

He pulls out his phone and dials Yixing's number. Not bothering with greetings, Kris asks, "Are you all home now?"

"Yeah." Yixing sounds slightly irritated at Kris' unexplained brusqueness. "Why?"

"Good," Kris says. "I'll be home in a few minutes. Gather everyone. We need to talk."