Sunsets, Whenever.

Chapter Thirty-Two

-32-

"Oh my god George! Where have you been?" Ranboo gasped, holding himself a mug of coffee.

George opened his eyes and shrugged to his blanket. The frigid from the air condition blew to his coats, and because that he was wet from the last sixty years incident, he was in a deep cold.

"Ranboo?" George squinted as the direct stream of white light nearly blinded his eyes.

"Do you want some coffee or take a medicine?" George placed his coffee in the television counter. "You have some sort of cold, you want me to turn of the AC?"

He sat at his bed and rubbed his eyes. Rubbing his eyes, and caressing the tiny headaches in his head. Then he fixed his messy morning hair and tried to look at Ranboo staightly.

"I am worried," Ranboo sat at the edge of the bed. " It's been a long time, where had you been?" 

George looked around and everything was changed. He was sleeping in a bench sixty years ago and now he is in his room. There is no more vintage lights, cupid quilt, mosaic rug, and a floral painting...

He looked at his night stand and grabbed his charging phone.

"You know, I keep everything in place while you're gone," Ranboo grabbed his cup of coffee, and take a sip. "Be thankful you have a friend like me,"

George looked at the date. September 9, 2021.

He sighed.

"Ranboo," He called, which attracted the boy's attention. "What happened while I'm gone?"

"Nothing much," He sipped before he continued. "I don't know where you came to be honest, but like four months ago you're problematic. So I came to your house but your not there. Good I have the keys. I think you only have some kind of vacation or therapy, so I didn't worry much. And by the way, I do some cleaning in this house and regulate it and even pay the rent! How there you,"

He placed his coffee back to the table before he continue. "Where did you go, by the way. It's just weird that you have gone without like consent or a sign. I just walked here like a weekly chore. I headed to the kitchen to make some coffee but there you are in such a surprise,"

"Sorry," George lazily said. "I'm just trying to disconnect,"

"Well I have no problems for that," Clay reached for the remote and opened the TV. "You still had so many credits left for me," 

"I'll handle them," George sighed, trying to hold his tears.

Ranboo tilted his head sideways. "Are you ok?" 

George remained silent.

"Breaking news: Famous painter "Clay Leonelli" commited suicide in his own household this morning 6:39 AM."

"There shouldn't have these kinds of news this early in the morning," Ranboo sipped a cup of his coffee.

George was silent. 

"Residents says that he had no idea of what happened or any possible cause of this sudden act. Clay Leonelli was well known for his works like "il fiore" and a most popular masterpiece. "Il Mio George" which was displayed and honored on Palazzo Grassi,"

"Look George, he looks exactly like you," Ranboo pointed.

George's eyes glisten. "Wow, that's just a con-incidence,"

"Locals said that Clay had a healthy mind and a healthy lifestyle, but he added a note in his suit saying. "Now that I die, I can paint the sunsets for you. Make yourself sure to watch it," which left a trail of mystery among his supporters and fans,"

"Wow, that was sure mysterious. Am I right George?" Ranboo looked back to check.

But then he noticed George crying.

🎨🎨🎨

George walked outside with his hands burrowed on the pocket of his coat. He looked around the massive buildings that sorrounds the city and also the palm trees as he was near the beach.

He looked at his digital watch. It's 5:03 PM.

George headed to an empty beach away from the nuisance of the city and the noisy streets. And shifted his gaze to the sunset...

No matter how hard he'll force himself. George will never forget the time when they supposed to feed the pigeons on the square with loaves of bread. But now it's the seagulls instead of pigeons, a sandwhich instead of bread, and alone instead with Clay.

And as the flock of seagulls soar to the skies, George looked at the sunset more. And as he looked at it more deeply, he would remember all the bitter sweet memories they have shared while he was in 1960.

Like him being honored for spending time with Clay. All of those cuddles, hugs, and kisses made him savor a worthy past. It's like the time where Clay proved that not all persond that will cope to your life was around. Clay made him heal. He gave him everything. It is maybe not the riches but instead all the post-positive abstract words that ha can ever feel for.

George was bitter-sweet for the choice of him returning to where he belong. If he haven't returned, then his one dream to be featured to museums would never be accomplished. If he hadn't return, he won't paint enough for the sunsets. If George never return, then Clay would never be popular.

George doesn't care if the sunset was beautiful are not, but what's important is the someone who was behind it. 

This is the only superstition that he would believe, and this superstition just tasted like bitter-sweet...

As the sun was slowly swallowed by the horizon of the vast ocean, he stand up from the bench and looked once again. The night starts to spread and the environment turns dark...

This phenomenon is not just something that needs to be remembered, but also their promise...

That they'll love each other. Whenever they are.

-THE END-