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Rain. A beautiful, yet chaotic plea from mother nature, seemingly appearing in a downpour of emotions that the world itself could no longer hold onto. Rain had always felt like a burden, something that prevented plans and disrupted the flow of traffic, bringing grayer skies and gloomy weather, though tonight, Seonghwa wasn't entirely sure if rain was exactly that. Somehow, the dappling of rain against his apartment window seemed to be calming, like a call for closure, or perhaps, a call for shared grief. The universe was crying, letting down an unrelenting pour of emotions that only sunk back into the Earth itself, recycling the water to be used all over again. Seonghwa wasn't entirely sure if his tears could be used in that sense, as he's cried far too many times in the last few months, but something about the rain felt like a mirror.

He couldn't help but stare out of the window, watching as each trickle of rainwater sleekly ran down each part of his window pane, curling past the sill and dropping below, carelessly wandering down until it crashed back into the Earth once more, repeating the cycle that Seonghwa couldn't help but drift into. To feel, to cry, to let it pass, and to let it repeat. Almost similar to a rainstorm, yet oddly too far apart to picture. He could see himself in the storm, thickened with rain and hazed by thunder, but he wasn't entirely sure if he put himself there, or if the rain followed him.

In the weeks that had come and gone, Seonghwa allowed himself to grow lax. He spent countless hours talking to doctors and nurses, going over the treatment plans and the inevitable move for his mother to begin the true, and unfortunate final steps, towards hospice. He didn't hide any of this from Hongjoong, as he wanted the comfort, the advice, and maybe the affirmation that he was doing all that he could despite everything else.

The end of November clung to him like a blanket, soothing the warm autumn air to finally chill into something cooler, welcoming the throes of winter with open arms. Though, this rainstorm, apparently, hadn't gotten the message. One last hoorah, or so it seemed to be, a final goodbye to warmer days and brighter skies, leaving winter to gloss over in a thicket of white and ice. Seonghwa didn't mind the change, he usually never did, but with holidays rapidly approaching, he began to wonder if he would be spending them at home, or if he'd be grieving. The outlook on his mother's health wasn't good, hardly at all. It had always been in a steady, slow decline, but as of a week ago, things took a turn for the worst. Her lungs seemed to be surrounded by fluid, her heart rate slowing, blood pressure dropping, memories seeming to disappear, all while her energy vanished, leaving her bedridden and nearly unable to communicate. It was heartbreaking, and the mere sound of her voice was enough to send Seonghwa back into the headspace of negativity, wondering if he could've done more, or if he should've never left in the first place.

His visits became more frequent, sitting and eating meals with her, watching her favorite movies and television shows, talking openly about Hongjoong; she smiled all the same, acting as if her illness wasn't ripping away the strength of her life. Classes, for the most part, seemed to be going smoothly, and he could tell that they had grown somewhat inspired from his previous pink sunset that he had created, watching as the class dove in, trying to create a meaning out of such a scene.

No one truly could decipher the meaning, as Seonghwa wasn't entirely sure himself, but one student, Han Jisung, seemed to say something that resonated deeply within Seonghwa's heart, spurring a warmth that was usually only occupied by Hongjoong's words.

"It's almost like the sunset is calling for a new day, a new beginning, like the sun will set only to rise again, but the fence, being broken in half, can no longer hold that person back. The flowers are a symbol for starting anew, allowing someone to blossom even after wilting and beginning again. Right, Professor Park?" Jisung had asked amongst the crowd of his fellow students, causing Seonghwa to pause. He glanced at the painting, adjusting his glasses before he smiled, feeling his heart clench.

"Of course, Jisung. Beginning again, even after an onslaught of storms or darker days, will always bloom just in the way a flower does. Remember that it is okay to fall down, but do remember that how you get up, will always be more important than how you fell down."

He was honest with his words back then, wondering if he too needed to heed his own advice. Though, after taking the sunset painting to his mother, he found himself too caught up in the idea that he needed to create more. More sunsets, more landscapes, more paintings; all because he watched her smile grow and lengthen, almost as if the brightness in her eyes had returned entirely. She was so proud then, so happy and so content, looking over the painting with a grace that was typical of her. Seonghwa's heart melted at the sight, handing it off to the nurse as he went to a specific junk drawer within the home, returning with two hooks that he spaced out perfectly. The wall that his mother was facing now adorned the infamous sunset painting, hung correctly and sturdily, brightening the room with a glimmer for a better future, or perhaps, a new path opening itself up for them both. Ever since he had left, the nurse messaged him every morning, letting him know that his mother's favorite part of the day was waking up to that beautiful sunrise, especially since she couldn't go outdoors to enjoy them anymore. The words, as hurtful and beautiful as they were, made his heart crack, wondering if he should paint more sunsets, more nature scapes, more of something, just to give his mother something to look at while confined in the throes of four very plain, and very isolating, walls.

Amongst all of this, their trip, the one that Wooyoung was beginning to plan, was just around the corner. It was in two weeks from now, and according to Wooyoung, they were headed off to Jeju, spending true time away that would be met with levity and utter bliss. . . apparently. Seonghwa was excited about it, truly, but the nagging fear that his mother could pass at any given moment made him truly wonder if he should venture somewhere that could only be reached by plane or boat. It wasn't a simple drive away, something that Seonghwa couldn't just rush back and forth from. This was a far journey, especially from the likes of where his mother's house was. Hours placed between them, really, which only drove Seonghwa's nerves further.

Hongjoong understood, as he usually had, though he didn't pressure Seonghwa into a decision. He was supportive, like always, talking through every single nerve of doubt or anxiety. Seonghwa tried not to burden the male with all of his problems, but Hongjoong insisted, each and every time, speaking Seonghwa's fears into mere mist, causing them to dissipate without the single utterance of a word. Seonghwa could just watch and listen, adoring the way that Hongjoong handled all of his mannerisms and doubts without a single unwavering glance. His eyes were always alight with hope and levity, shimmering with something that he could only name as adoration, warmed by the smile alight on his lips. Hongjoong was truly a blessing to be around, and for that, Seonghwa is utterly, eternally grateful. Without him, he wasn't quite sure if he'd ever get through what felt to be the trial of his life.

Even now, sitting in his chair, staring out of the window, listening as his conditioning unit hummed to a halt, followed by the continued patter of rain against his window, the world didn't seem as bleak as it once had. He reached down, wrapping his hands around the mug of warmed hot chocolate, accented with a few melting, mini marshmallows, all catering to Seonghwa's gloomy, yet warmed mood. He wasn't clinging to the idea of change like he normally would, allowing the tides of life to continue to evolve around him, showering his life with small bumps in the road and eventual hiccups, but it wasn't enough to deter him. There wasn't a dark path shrouding his future now, and for once, that was just as it was; it was enough.

He was learning what the word enough truly meant now, understanding that it came with a form of acceptance after a trial of sadness and pain. Enough would always come after a place of tribulation, a moment of rocky seas that felt to be enough to capsize one's ship yet never had. It was almost as if the term enough made you feel that you could handle it all, standing firm on two feet, trudging through the worst only to break through to the other side, embracing the light and the fresh air, all because you had done enough. You were enough. That's how it felt, anyway. Seonghwa didn't understand it before, but now, in having Hongjoong, the realization hit him harder than an oncoming truck. He was enough. He was doing enough. It wasn't perfect, nor would it ever be, but it was enough for him.

The sudden ringing of his phone causes his attention to drift away, glancing at the device that had laid quietly just moments ago. He raises a brow, noting the late hour, but choosing to answer it, mentally prepared for anything. But, to his surprise, it was just Hongjoong.

"Hey," Seonghwa answers, tugging his blanket closer, completely covering his legs. "Everything okay?"

"Just checking in on you." Hongjoong's voice was tender, a low melody that immediately brought a smile to Seonghwa's face. "You seemed a bit down earlier, and I just wanted to make sure that you weren't still upset, given the circumstances."

"Upset? No. . . probably not. I mean, I feel it all, but I think I'm just processing."

"I understand," Hongjoong replies with a hum, but Seonghwa interrupts before the other could speak again.

"I don't know if I'll be able to go on the Jeju trip," he says quietly, almost afraid of disappointing the male or ruining the happiness that came with thinking about the trip in itself, but to his surprise, Hongjoong replied lightly, which hadn't been the reaction he was used to.

"With everything going on, I didn't expect you to, Hwa. I haven't told Wooyoung the details, but he knows not to push it. No one else in the group knows, either. I wanted it to be on your terms to communicate it if you wanted to, not my own. It wouldn't be fair to you."

"Thank you," Seonghwa says back, his grip on his phone tightening momentarily. "I appreciate that, more than you know. Jae. . . he wouldn't have done things like this for me."

"Well, considering the other things you've told me about him, I'm not sure that I expected to hear otherwise. But, I'm not him, Hwa. I'd never do things or share things without your permission. This is a partnership, not ownership. Remember that."

"Yeah, yeah, of course– I don't–" Seonghwa sighs. "I didn't mean to imply that you would do those things."

"I know, but I also know that you can't help but worry or compare the two of us. That was your past, something you were used to. I'm not like that, and unlike that douche, I have respect for your boundaries, emotions, feelings, and for the way you handle it all. You're a person, not just my partner or co-worker, but a human that feels, rather deeply, and you're going through a lot. Who am I to strip that away from you?"

"Well, Jae didn't really think twice," Seonghwa murmurs, looking down, using his free hand to mess with the edges of his blanket. "My business was always his. I never had a choice."

"So, he just– what? He told everyone everything because he felt entitled to?"

"You could say that. . . I guess. My father not being around for most of my life was his favorite topic, telling his friends that the reason I'm so anti-social is because I never learned independence from a robust man like my father."

Hongjoong scoffs. "As if he is even a man himself. What a pathetic guy."

"He is pathetic, actually. I've come to realize that I was harboring a man-child in my apartment when he lived with me all those years ago. He just. . . couldn't care for himself. I cooked, cleaned, paid the bills, scheduled appointments; all of it. He just wanted to work, drink, go to the gym, play video games–"

"How old was he?"

"Older than me," Seonghwa replies, earning a groan from Hongjoong.

"You're kidding."

"Not even in the slightest."

"Well, I wouldn't ever do those things to you, Hwa. If I'm playing video games, I would want to play with you, not without you. We cook, clean, shop, and whatever else together, just as long as you want me to."

"Thank you," Seonghwa says again, smiling softly. "That means the world to me."

"Of course," Hongjoong says back. "And if you ever want to try and take on the king of Mario Party, please just invite me over, and I'll be happy to wipe the floor with you."

"Oh, really?" Seonghwa asks, his eyes alight with tease. "You're that confident?"

"Deathly."

"You're on, then. Sometime soon, hopefully."

"You plan the day, and I'll make sure to be there. Snacks, my Nintendo, maybe a drink or two–"

"It's a date," Seonghwa murmurs, listening as Hongjoong chuckles.

"What is this? Number twenty?"

"Are you counting?"

"No–"

"Yeah, you are, you softie." Seonghwa hums playfully, listening as Hongjoong sighs through the line. He couldn't help but want to tease the male, even if just playfully or for a minute, spurring something warm in his chest that he couldn't quite name.

"Do you want me to admit that I've been counting the days since we've gotten together, too?"

"Oh, lord, Joong, don't tell me–"

"Just under a month. A few more days, and we'll be there."

Seonghwa shakes his head, leaning back into his chair, eyes glancing at the window as the rain seems to suddenly soften. "You're impossible."

"Maybe I am," Hongjoong says smoothly. "Or maybe I'm just a hopeless simp. Who knows?"

"I have one word to describe you, Joong–"

"Is it amazing? Or perhaps boyfriend-material?"

"That's. . . two words," Seonghwa laughs softly, shaking his head. "But no, it'd be incorrigible."

"Big word."

"But it fits, especially in this circumstance."

"Fine, fine, I'll take it, but only because your smart brain and use of huge words is attractive to me."

"Attractive, huh?" Seonghwa rolls his eyes. "You can thank my mother for my brains, Joong. Without her, I don't know where I'd be."

There's a moment of silence, something that makes Seonghwa pause, glancing down again, listening to the quiet hum of the call against his ear along with the rain pattering against his window, wondering if he took his words the wrong way, once again.

"How is she?"

Seonghwa shrugs, knowing that Hongjoong couldn't see it. "The same."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Seonghwa replies, keeping his voice low. "She just. . . she's trying, and I don't know why. That's what bothers me."

"Why does it bother you?"

"She could just. . . let go, you know? Why is she holding on when it hurts her to?"

Hongjoong is quiet for a moment, extending the silence of the call briefly before he speaks up, trying to empathize in the only way he could through the call.

"She probably knows how hard all of this is on you, Seonghwa. She doesn't want to leave you behind to face this world alone. I'm sure she realizes that now, you'll believe that you're alone, even though you won't be. Loss isn't easy on anyone, no matter the front you try to place over you."

"I just don't want her to be in pain," Seonghwa says, running a hand through his hair. "If she's doing this for me, I'm not worth it. Her peace is worth so much more, and I'd rather her just. . . you know–"

"I know what you mean. When my grandmother passed, my dad had said the same thing. He didn't understand why she was battling her dementia so badly when she could easily stop fighting it, especially if her mind was struggling to remember the faces she had loved for years. But, in some sense, it's just a part of their soul, I think. It's human nature to flee or fight against whatever is causing you stress, and these people, the ones we lose unexpectedly, those are the ones that fight so hard to stay here because they know something we don't."

"What could she even know?" Seonghwa shakes his head, listening as the rain loudens again. "This world isn't unfamiliar to me anymore. She raised me to be kind, to be sensitive, to love and to be just. Whatever she's trying to preserve. . . there's no need for it, especially if she's in pain, Joong. I just don't want her in pain."

"I don't know what she knows, and I'm sorry that I don't have the answers for you. Grief is just one of those things that no one can predict. All of those phases, those steps that you take towards acceptance, it's a journey that's made for you and you alone. I can't force you to accept the fact that she's holding onto this because she wants to, and I can't force you to want her to continue fighting through this. But she's still here, right?"

"Yeah–"

"Cherish that," Hongjoong says quietly, his voice edging on a sense of comfort. "You'll wish you had the moment that it all fades away."

"It's hard," Seonghwa says, holding back a thicket of tears. "I just love her so much, you know? I don't care to know my dad now, but knowing that I won't have any parents after this just. . . it hurts in a way I can't even begin to express."

"Then don't use your words. Just lean on me. Call me, text me, ask me to come over, I don't care. I'll be there, for whatever you need. This time is hard on you, and all I can ask of you is that you let me help you, and that you let me care for you in the way you care for her. Don't shut me out, Hwa. I want to be there for you."

"I know," Seonghwa says, smiling faintly as a tear curls over his lashes, darting down the warmth of his cheek, curling beneath his jaw. "I know, Joong. I'm trying."

"It's late," he comments, spurring Seonghwa into eyeing the time on his phone. It was nearly eleven at night, which was later than he normally liked to be awake. "Did you eat?"

"I did, don't worry."

"I can't help but worry," Hongjoong replies, though his words lacked any real bite, just overly concerned warmth. "I'll always be just a call away if you need me, Hwa. I'll let you rest, and I'll see you early tomorrow, okay?"

"Yeah," Seonghwa replies, sniffling quietly. "Better be ready to give me a hug."

"Of course," Hongjoong says with a soft laugh. "Anything for you."

"Bye, Joong. Thank you."

Hongjoong hums before he replies, "bye, Hwa. Rest easy."

Setting his phone down, Seonghwa listens as the wind howls against his window, smacking the rain against it as an inevitable pour begins to surge through the city. He was tired, but he didn't really have it within him to succumb to the throes of sleep; not yet, anyway. So, he gathers his mug, tosses his blanket away, tucking his phone into the pocket of his joggers before he moves into a room that he hadn't stepped foot into since his mother was diagnosed.

The faint click of the light causes his eyes to glance around the space, left abandoned and without the memories that once came with it. A wooden easel, very obviously old and used over the years, stood in the middle of the room, just before a window, coated in splatters of old paint with a matching stool nearby. Seonghwa took a step closer, allowing his gaze to linger, looking at the shelves adorned with prizes and awards, followed by his degree amongst a flurry of books that he indulged in while going through college. There was a stack of abandoned canvases sitting off to the right, organized by size, leaning against the wall within their small box. Walking closer, Seonghwa sets down his mug on his desk, reaching for a smaller canvas, something that would be just enough to clear his mind at a time like this. He reaches for the usual supplies, bottles and tubes of acrylic paint, an array of brushes, a small mixing cup, his palette and palette knife, sitting down on the stool before a smaller, white canvas. It didn't feel to be mocking him this time, but it wasn't any less daunting. So, with a breath, he reaches for his phone, opening his videos and photos, pressing play on a video he had taken a week ago, listening to the melody of a piano weave through the speakers of his phone.

Hongjoong had added another element to the song he was making, a soft strum with the guitar now elevated by the delicate tones of the piano, weaving together a combination that seemed taboo at first, yet was now incredibly loved by Seonghwa. Listening to Hongjoong's humming, followed by each and every note of the piano felt to be enough motivation to surge him into dragging an array of colors onto the canvas itself. But, this wasn't looking to be a happy pink sunset again. No; this was darker, something more electric.

He allowed the music to guide him, as well as the sight out of his nearby window, allowing the nearby lightning to illuminate his room, catching his gaze nearly each and every time, drawing him back into the feeling that he tried to avoid. Was he drowning? Was he allowing himself to stay within this current, or was he simply just trying to keep his head afloat?

Each twirl and drag of his brush seemed to create a darker sky, each fluffy press of bristles against canvas marking a new cloud, a new darkening point, a deeper shadow that loomed overhead. Carefully, he allows himself to melt into the serenity of letting these feelings go, giving way to the freedom that his mind held yet didn't seem to force onto him.

He was scared, terrified even, wondering how his life would shift after all of these changes, and somehow, this painting was beginning to reflect exactly that. Even as the minutes trickle into hours, each video that Seonghwa plays of Hongjoong's music, whether repeated or not, drew him even closer to the end of his smaller painting, freeing the burden of a million pounds weighing on the very surface of his chest.

Each dab of white, each stroke of black, and each press of grey loomed larger, creating a vision that seemed to express a million truths to those that would look within. It was an approaching storm, a dark sky with an abrupt flash of lightning, hovering over a worryless city, creeping onto the edges of a rather peaceful field, unaware of what chaos the storm itself would bring. Even as he let his paintbrush sit on the edge of his easel, setting the palette down, he found himself wanting to wring his heart dry. This storm, as paint-riddled as it was in comparison to the one that had calmed outside, acted like a mirror once more. Was he seeing himself? Was he seeing the very shadow of his mother's illness looming over the city he tried to lose himself in? Or was this just a specter of life, overcasting a once-peaceful sky, darkening the world around it, fully prepared to engulf it into the abyss? What was he missing? Why did he feel as if this painting was both a warning and a raging answer to his millions of questions, even if the painting itself couldn't bear the words he didn't wish to hear?

Tools aside, Seonghwa rises from the stool, listening as the final notes of Hongjoong's melody fade out, leaving him standing there, staring and pondering, oddly awake at such a late hour with a mind that felt too chaotic to want to tame. Though, the jolting sound of his phone ringing drags him even further into unease as he eyes the time, knowing all too well what a call this late would even mean. He hesitates, glancing between his phone and the painting before taking the risk, holding his phone up to his ear with an almost anxious heart.

"Hello?"

"Seonghwa," the nurse says, almost with a breath of relief. "I hope I'm not disturbing you this late–"

"I was already up, don't worry. Is something the matter?"

"It's your mother, I'm afraid." Seonghwa's heart drops. "Please, if you can, make your way over here as soon as you can."

"Now?" Seonghwa questions. "I can move my classes and rotate my schedule–"

"Seonghwa–" the seriousness of her tone catches the male off-guard, causing him to pause, listening as the rain suddenly trickles to a halt outdoors. "Prepare for the worst. There isn't much time left."

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