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Venti loathed Xiao. He despised him, hated him, and mourned him as if he was dead. Who would’ve thought that Venti would come to hate the person he once loved most? He felt longing in his chest— a thought so loud it drowned out reason, whispering that this pain would pass––that Xiao was just someone who passed by and left– and yet Venti can’t seem to accept the fact that their love was nothing more than just a chapter in their lives.
His hatred for Xiao was so much that he began to hate seeing their old photos together. He hated hearing his old voicemails. His handwriting that Venti once found comforting, only brought painful memories. It was as if Xiao existed only to haunt him for the rest of their lives. He hated that Xiao was in his life for the longest time, that he couldn’t seem to completely remove every memory there is of him.
He remembers it all. The way he broke down in front of the teal haired guy before he left. He remembers the tears that fell the moment he heard goodbye . He was so frail, he shattered, and it was Xiao who caused all that. Sometimes, when Venti stares at his ceiling at night, he would think of all the possibilities as to why their love failed. But overtime, Venti stopped thinking. He knew it was no use–dwelling on feelings that no longer exist. One night, he closed his eyes, sighed, and finally came to the resolution that he will never know why they fell apart, or why Xiao deemed their relationship as a chore he was forced into. If Xiao can’t seem to give him a proper answer the day they parted ways, Venti thought that maybe it wasn’t that important–that maybe, the answer would be too dense for him to even find any substance in it.
Although Venti was convinced he hated Xiao, there were a lot of times when a thought would creep its way in his mind–a dangerous thought that if he was able to stop the inevitable, they would be with each other up until now. He wanted so desperately to forget the pain his past lover caused him, but he knew he loved Xiao before he hated him. Venti would move heaven and earth just so he could build a life with Xiao. He was so sure they would be together, even if forever did not exist. Xiao was Venti’s life before the teal haired man suddenly faltered from his grasp and it hurt Venti to think that what they had was nothing worthwhile.
Venti was so convinced he would die in Xiao’s arms. He was so convinced that Xiao would die with only Venti and their memories in his mind. Even if it hurt to admit, that wasn’t what the heavens planned for both of them.
And maybe, just maybe, Venti’s starting to be convinced that he was truly wrong.
God forbid he’d regret all the times he had with Xiao.
Because even though Venti hated him to the bones–that he would break anything that had any memory of Xiao in it, he still truly believed that what they had was exceptional.
And it deserved to stay that way.
ONE
The air entered Venti’s bedroom. He figured he might’ve left his window open the whole night—something his old self wouldn’t have imagined he would actually do. The air smelled like the flowers planted just a few meters away from his house. It smelled sweet, fragrant, and nostalgic. He opened his eyes a bit, and noticed that the sun was about to rise, and the sky was starting to color a shade of light blue. It felt like it was Venti’s calling to wake up, so he did.
He sat by his bed, and silence filled the air. He left the window open because he didn’t dare to move from where he sat. His eyes were tired from crying last night. They felt heavy, and painful. But nothing could amount to the pain the break-up caused.
It has been a few months since then, he recalled. It has been months and it still looked like Venti has been wrecked by the strongest storm there is to exist. His hair were undone, his clothes and bed sheets were disheveled, and a broken picture frame was shattered just below his feet.
Just a few months ago he was sure he’ll get over all these, but the more days passed, he realized that maybe he will never truly move on. And because of that, he hated Xiao more, and he also hated himself more.
Venti stood without looking. He walked blindly, not even sparing a glance at the floor, until pain shot through his foot—there were broken pieces of glass. He screamed in pain and realized he wasn’t numb after all.
The broken skin bled, but the pain in his heart was more painful than any wound he acquired over the years. He looked pathetic, more fragile, and wrecked, and who was at fault? Xiao and their goddamned ill fated relationship that lasted far longer than any joyous memory Venti’s had his whole life.
He looked at the wound and the amount of blood dripping from it . It wasn’t deep, so he just stared. It wasn’t even serious, and did not need immediate care, so Venti suppressed the cries that were desperately trying to flow its way out of his mouth. If he had to be strong, he knew he had to start here.
But he knew he wasn’t numb. He knew it was painful . He knew he had to clean it up now, or else he would’ve acquired an infection later on. So he cried, but Venti knew his cries weren’t because of his wound alone. It was mostly because of his realization that he was alone to fend for himself—that Xiao left him without even looking back and thinking that leaving would be the most painful thing to do.
The house was empty after Xiao moved out. The silence in the small apartment was noticeable now that there was only one person left to live in it. Venti wasn’t used to silence. His parents raised him in an environment where noise was the norm, and he can’t say he hated it, but he didn’t love it either. Now that silence was overpowering everything, he somehow wanted to love the noise that enveloped this apartment when Xiao was still here. The noise that made him feel safe. The noise that comforted him.
Venti was used to being pampered, and it definitely was something new for him now that Xiao was gone. It was all up to him: the dishes, the laundry, everything. All of those never mattered to him before, he wouldn’t even dare to move from his side of the bed all day. Sometimes, he blamed Xiao for always telling him not to do anything, because Venti never really knew how to move around the house. However, looking back, they were happy.
They were happy. They fought but would make up the same day. And at that time, Venti never really cared about anything. He never cared about the laundry, he never cared about the dishes, he never cared about cooking food, not because Xiao was there to do everything for him, but because Xiao was there.
All that mattered was Xiao—just him, and nothing more.
Venti sighed, smearing some old ointment on his wound. He didn’t care if it was expired—or even if it was ointment at all. He was always known to be careless, but he became even more so when Xiao left. He was never one to be reckless before even if it was his nature because he knew it will worry Xiao whenever he comes home with even a puncture on his fragile skin. Now that Xiao’s gone, Venti cannot see the importance of being careful. It’s not like someone would worry if he dies right now.
Because only Xiao would worry. Only Xiao would cry if Venti breathed his last right now. And Xiao’s not here anymore. He left already, and it meant he wouldn’t really care if Venti was to leave this world.
While Venti was in the middle of cleansing his wound and putting an ointment, his doorbell suddenly rang. His breath hitched. No one ever came this early. No one ever came at all. Still, a part of him—the part he hated—whispered a name he hadn’t said out loud in weeks. That forbidden name that would, oftentimes, send a chill up through Venti’s spine. Venti stood idly, pain still evident in his body. The front door was not that far from his bedroom, so he didn’t really have to endure the pain for a long time.
He really didn’t want to show as much emotion as he should. If it was really Xiao, Venti swore he wouldn’t come off as someone who wanted to get back immediately. He knew he had to put up a facade, after all, he was the victim, and not the other way around. So he inhaled and exhaled as much air as he could before placing his hand on the knob. He hesitated before he could even twist and open it. When he finally opened the door, there was no one behind it. So much for Venti even hoping Xiao would come back to him. There was no one but a piece of paper in the color of his past lover’s liking.
It was teal— his color. It reminded Venti of the locks he loved to smooth out after a hectic day, of the tattoos that traced strength down Xiao’s arms. It reminded him of everything that he now resents.
Venti buried the feelings rising in his chest, picked up the paper, and shut the door behind him. The fragile hope he’d been clinging to disappeared the moment he realized he was alone again. He didn’t even know why he still hoped to see Xiao. He sat on the floor, his back pressing against the door as if it could hold him together. He examined the paper and found that his name was written on it, in Xiao’s handwriting. His head spun though he hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol. He didn’t know what to do. All he could manage was to stare longingly at the paper he couldn’t quite crumple or destroy. He didn’t know why—especially when he’d sworn he wanted nothing to do with Xiao anymore.
With trembling hands, Venti decided to unfold the paper. He knew he shouldn’t have accepted it in the first place, as it would only reopen wounds that barely had time to heal. But something in him—a small, desperate voice—refused to let it go.
The handwriting was definitely his, it was no doubt. He memorized it—every curve and every stroke. Venti knew it all too well . He knew it better than his own, and yet seeing it now felt unreal, like a ghost reaching out from the past.
And then, two words rang in his ears: I’m sorry.
They echoed, sharp and cruel. Xiao had no right to apologize. Not after everything. Not after tearing Venti apart without any explanation. And yet, the moment those words sank in, the tears came.
His heart swelled, with a grief he didn’t know how to carry. An apology, he realized, hurt more than a goodbye ever did.
It all felt absurd. A bitter laugh slipped past his lips as he desperately clutched the letter to his chest. Maybe it was the moment. Or maybe it was the air that lingered in the apartment—and Venti swore it somehow smelled familiar at that moment.
It smelled like Xiao.
The smell that Venti loved.
The smell that he now despised.
Venti wasn’t sure where he placed the paper. Maybe he’d hidden it somewhere—just like he planned to do with everything he felt. But one thing was certain: no matter how strong the urge to revisit every memory he had with Xiao, he would never again believe his words.
Because all Xiao did was lie.
All he could do was lie.
And all he ever would do…was lie .
TWO
Venti wasn’t really expecting another letter. He wasn’t even hoping Xiao would go through lengths just to send him fragments of their memories over the years. So the second time an envelope was delivered on his doorsteps, he swore he considered shredding it into pieces. But he didn’t.
Out of curiosity, he opened the envelope. It was still the same color—teal. It felt like a ghost who refused to let him rest in peace. Venti wanted to puke. He swore he felt his stomach contents rise up his esophagus. But maybe he was just delusional. He couldn’t quite understand the curiosity this envelope made him feel. But Xiao always made him curious. Venti didn’t understand it—but Xiao always made him curious.
Unlike the first, this one had a few more words—but somehow, they hurt more. Venti thought reminiscing was over, especially now that he was convinced there weren’t any more emotions existing between them. It was over, they were over. Xiao sending the second envelope was no use—-apologizing never even mattered.
But Venti stared at the words as if they were something special. The paper contained just a sentence, and yet it gripped him with a force stronger than all the apologies Xiao never said out loud.
It read: Do you still sleep on the left side of the bed?
That was it. No more, and no less. And yet the words hit him like an ambush—quiet, intimate and cruel. Because Venti remembered. How Xiao never once complained whenever he took that side of the bed. How he’d fall asleep with the warmth of Xiao by his side—a testament that he is not alone, and that he will never be alone. And how, back then, he thought that forever will pass by like this —that they were enough, that they’ll always be.
All Venti could manage was to laugh as if the weight of their break-up was slowly being lifted away. As if Xiao’s words weren’t poetic, but, piercing and devastating. He felt it—a painful stab in his chest. Xiao’s silence already haunted him. But this? Memories disguised as a question? It was worse. And yet, Venti couldn’t stop himself from remembering.
He couldn’t do anything but slowly bring back that flicker of hope. The fragile, foolish, and helpless hope that they could still work.
Venti hated himself for remembering—for letting the ghost of the past haunt him. He should be moving on. He should be forgetting the events that happened when they were still together. He should be patching up his broken pieces, not breaking them any further.
But he knew they were already broken. What else would they be? And he was broken too. And that broken part of him longed for more—of Xiao’s warmth and affection.
And Venti is forced to accept that he will never have those anymore.
He didn’t realize when he stood up, only that he felt dizzy when he did. He never once touched alcohol after Xiao warned him not to—and he never wanted to. Not now, not ever. Because drinking would only make him more fragile. It would only remind him that he was alone, with no one to turn to. That all he had left to call for was that name that tasted far more bitter than any drink could ever be.
Xiao and all their memories were meant to be forgotten.
He could never manage to rip the letter apart. He didn’t want to understand it. He didn’t want to find any meaning in it—because maybe, Venti believes that there was no point in understanding. So he just folded the envelope once more, and slipped it into Xiao’s drawer. Maybe it was his way of holding onto the fact that they were over.
A painful reminder that he will never love the same way he loved Xiao.
Or worse—
that maybe, he was not capable of loving at all.
THREE
Venti had grown used to receiving something from Xiao. Not that it mattered much. He never really minded—except for the way those little things forced him to remember, even if it hurt. The third time a teal envelope appeared on his doorstep, he opened it to find a drawing of flowers.
Cecilias.
The flowers that bloomed when Venti was welcomed into this world—the flowers he quietly considered his first love.
Cecilias symbolized love and pure intentions. Venti was often compared to a cecilia—fragile, delicate, and sweet. It made him feel special and connected to something. It made Venti feel loved and important.
Xiao was aware of Venti’s attachment to his birth flower—to his first love —that’s why he made sure to give him Cecilias in the entirety of their relationship.
Venti rarely saw Cecilias when they broke up. Or rather—he refused to see them. The flowers reminded him too much of Xiao. Of what Venti was. Of what they were . Cecilias were meant to bring happiness—they were meant to bring peace and warmth—Venti didn’t want them to be associated with pain and despair.
Still, he missed them. He missed the sight of the flowers he once held so close. After all, every Cecilia that ever bloomed bore the memory of their love—their beautiful, aching love. But the flowers also watched them fall apart.
They watched it end.
Venti was smiling.
He didn’t know why.
But he was smiling when he shouldn’t be.
It felt absurd—to smile like a lovesick teenager while staring at the drawing of a flower he once called his first love. They said break-ups made people crazy and if he was going mad now, Venti wasn’t fond of the feeling.
But he smiled anyway. He didn’t know why.
And he had no plans of finding out.
Maybe—just maybe—it was because he had longed for the sight of his Cecilias.
Or perhaps it was because he was reminded of the person who made him love the flowers even more
Xiao, who was once his most precious treasure.
FOUR
Venti found himself looking forward to Xiao’s gifts. A few months ago, seeing that color— his color—would have dreaded him. But now, he hoped to see it more. Maybe it was a sign of healing. A sign that he was finally ready to let go.
The fourth gift arrived in a small teal box, containing something Venti cherished deeply.
He had always worn his hair long, refusing to cut it despite the struggle to keep them healthy. He trimmed it often, but never too much. His long hair was part of who he was—an extension of his soul—and he had always loved tying them into twin braids.
When he and Xiao got together, it was often Xiao who did the job of braiding his hair. It became a ritual, a quiet past time, a symbol of their partnership—of their love.
Every stroke of Venti’s braids held the hours they spent together—bitter, and sweet—and it will always stay that way.
After the break up, Venti kept his hair long, but he stopped tying it into twin braids. Not because he no longer had Xiao to tie it for him.
But because he no longer felt the need to, especially when those braids had become a symbol of everything they were . Like his Cecilias, they were a silent witness to their love.
Truly, Xiao’s fourth gift was yet another reminder—
Not just of what they once were,
But of who Venti used to be.
The boy with the braids.
The boy who loved freely, openly, and without any restraint.
And Venti hated it.
He hated how Xiao’s gifts never failed to bring him pain—and yet, in the same breath, they brought him hope.
Nostalgia.
A quiet ache that almost felt like warmth.
The fourth gift was two simple ponytails. Aqua green—Venti’s color. The same shade as his eyes. The same color Xiao once said reminded him of the vast sky.
Venti took them out of the box, held them in his hands and admired them. The ponytails were beautiful—just like how they used to be. Soft, familiar. They smelled like Xiao. And this time, he didn’t flinch. He didn’t gag on the bitterness of the scent that once brought him to his knees. Instead—he smiled.
He smiled like he was okay.
He smiled like he had finally found the answer he didn’t know he’d been looking for.
That day, for the first time in months, Venti wore his braids again. Maybe because he missed Xiao. Maybe because the memories were softer—more tolerable—than the pain now.
Or maybe—just maybe—he was grateful.
Grateful that Xiao reminded him of who he used to be.
Because in that small gesture, Venti remembered too.
Why he fell in love with Xiao.
Why it still hurts.
Why it will always hurt.
And how, somehow, it still feels beautiful regardless of all the pain it caused.
FIVE
Venti had grown accustomed to Xiao’s gifts. They had become a quiet rhythm in his life—a routine he never imagined he would come to anticipate. He no longer felt fear when remembering. It still hurt, yes—but the pain no longer felt like punishment. It felt like proof that something had mattered.
And in that space between ache and acceptance, Venti began to wonder again.
To ask the question he had buried so deeply beneath the grief: Why did we fail?
It was as if Xiao had heard his prayers. Because his fifth gift was not just a letter. A confession of the mistakes that carved pain into Venti’s chest and left behind a nostalgia he never asked to carry.
When his doorbell rang, signalling the arrival of something he had long been waiting for, Venti didn’t hesitate. He rushed to the door and opened it. Another teal envelope lay quietly on the step, resting as if it belonged there—peaceful, still. Unaware of the chaos it carried. Unaware of the screams it tucked between each folded crease. Venti picked it up with trembling hands.
His name was written on the front again—in Xiao’s handwriting. But something about this gift felt different. Something about it felt wrong. Something about it screamed pain. Like grief waiting to be unwrapped.
But beneath that looming ache was the answer Venti has been seeking for all these months.
He unfolded the paper carefully— as if it might break under his fingers. As if the truth it carried might tear, and disappear with one wrong move.
When he completely unraveled its contents, Venti wasn’t sure how to feel. But his tears said everything. They fell fast—uncontrolled—like the floodgates had been waiting for this very moment.
And his heart? It ached so deeply, it felt like it might burst. His lungs tightened, breath catching in the spaces between sobs. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. His voice cracked, collapsed on itself. Only whimpers escaped him—soft, broken sounds that echoed louder than screams ever could.
He pressed the paper against his chest—cradled it with all his might—as if that could slow the ache. As if holding it close could undo the tremble in his bones.
But he had to know. Venti had to see the words. He owed it to himself to read what Xiao had finally chosen to say.
So, with trembling fingers and tear-streaked cheeks, Venti looked down—and began to read.
Venti,
If you’re reading this, then I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to assume you’ve finally forgiven me to open one last letter. Or maybe you just really wanted answers. Whatever your reason, I want to say thank you…..for giving me another chance.
I’ve written this letter countless times. Every draft—starting from the first—felt like a betrayal of what we had, of who you once were, and of what I still feel. But the truth is, Venti, I left because I was afraid.
Not of you. Never of you.
But of hurting you.
You were someone precious to me growing up. You molded me into the person I am today. You were there when I needed someone the most. You loved me wholeheartedly. With you, I never feared anything. You made me strong. You were my pillar. And it scared me—terrified me—that one day I might hurt you so deeply you could never get back on your feet again.
Believe me, I never wanted to leave. I wanted a life with you. I want it still, I want it forever. But I had to leave—to protect you from the pain I will soon bring once I leave this world.
I’m dying, Venti. And I knew you mourned me all these months. I know you stopped loving your Cecilias when I left. I know you missed them so much it burned your heart. I was also aware you stopped wearing your hair in braids.
You stopped being you when I left. And I couldn’t accept that I changed you for the worse. That's why I sent you those—the letter, the picture of your first love, and the ponytails you can use to tie your hair.
I didn’t send them to cause you more pain. I sent them because I want to bring you back. I want to bring back the person who loved me at my worst—the person who loved so freely and so openly.
Even if that person never comes back to me, I still want them to exist in this cruel world. Because the world needs someone like you, Venti. It needs someone tender, peaceful, loving —someone who never knew how to hate. It needs someone who reminds everyone of how it feels to love and be loved.
You are the epitome of sunshine. You are music in its most peaceful tone. You represent quiet mornings, peaceful storms, and nostalgic winters. You were that contagious laughter I wouldn’t recognize anywhere else.
And I never told you this—and I honestly don’t plan to. But you deserve to know. The day I learned about my condition, my first thought was you. If I had told you I had only months left, you would have broken down. You would have lost the life you had in you. And I would have lost you. So I stayed quiet, even if it meant keeping you whole by keeping you in the dark.
Looking back, I wouldn’t have it any other way. If I could go back in time to that moment, I would still choose to stay silent. I would never regret choosing you. Not then. Not now. Not ever. Even if it meant it would break us , I would still choose you.
I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I will never deserve your pardon, Venti. After all, I brought you so much pain when I left—something I never foresaw, something I never intended. But I want you to promise me one thing.
Promise me you won’t forget—even if it hurts.
Promise me you won’t regret everything we once shared.
Because I, too, will be taking that promise to my grave.
It was never your fault Venti. So stop blaming yourself. What we had was something beautiful. It was worthwhile. Not just a mere chapter in our lives. It made me whole, and I know it did you the same.
If you sing again, I hope it’s a song that doesn’t ache. If you look up at the sky, I hope it’s painted with my color. And if you ever choose to fall in love again—I hope you do—I hope they braid your hair the way I used to.
And I hope they remind you of the boy who braided his hair and loved without fear—the boy who reminded me that life, even fleeting, was worth it.
I love you, Venti.
I always will.
Yours,
Xiao
Out of all the letters he received from Xiao, the fifth one was the longest. And it was the most painful—maybe even more painful than that apology, or the goodbye. Venti’s braids danced with the wind. He forgot he left his windows open once again. The air that lingered in the apartment smelled like Xiao, but this time, he did not dread its familiarity. He cried, maybe even longer than he should have. He cried at the memory of Xiao—his beautiful smile, his voice that soothed Venti’s pain, and his gentle touch.
Venti never imagined Xiao would choose to suffer even if it meant he was protected by the ghost that will continue to haunt him forever.
He didn’t know how—and why—but Venti realized that maybe he never loathed Xiao all these months. Maybe what was written in the letter was true—that he didn’t know how to hate. Maybe Venti was just sick of the idea that he was alone—that he no longer had anyone to turn to.
He never loathed Xiao, he just loathed the idea of him leaving.
Venti just loathed the absence that made him miss Xiao more.
And he was sure this loathing would continue forever.
Because Xiao was dying, and his absence will no longer be temporary.
SIX
Venti never imagined Xiao would be the first to go. Or perhaps, he simply refused to accept it—the idea that Xiao would leave this world before him, leaving Venti behind: unattended, in pain—alone. But if this was fate’s design, then so be it. And instead of pulling himself out of the narrative—Venti found himself walking toward it. Because maybe, just maybe, this was the closure he had been chasing all along. The final answer to every question that haunted him in the silence of Xiao’s absence.
He asked around—quietly, urgently. From Xiao’s friends— their friends—ones Venti had pushed away in the blur of grief. The name of the hospital. The room number. The details he once avoided like poison. And when he finally had them, he did not waste a second. Venti walked into the hospital, heart pounding, feet moving on instinct.
For the first time in months, he wasn't running away. He came hoping—desperately, foolishly—that maybe Xiao still looked the same. That maybe he was okay. That maybe, if the gods allowed, he would get one last chance to meet his eyes.
Venti stopped in his tracks. What if he’s too late? What if Xiao didn’t wanna see him? What if the only thing waiting behind that door was silence—a still body, already cold? The fear hit him like a wave. Crushing. Paralyzing.
For a moment he wanted to turn back. Pretend he never came. Pretend the truth didn’t exist. But something inside him—small, trembling, but insistent—pushed him forward.
It was hope.
The same hope he had buried long ago, mistaking it for weakness.
But now, he recognized it for what it truly was.
Love.
And maybe, just maybe, walking through that door—was the most loving thing he could do.
So Venti did. He opened the door—despite the fear, despite the tremble in his hands. And when it finally gave away, he was welcomed by him.
His Xiao.
The boy he loved.
The boy he thought he hated.
The boy who brought him back to his feet, when he couldn’t stand on his own.
Xiao was still Xiao—but something about him felt different. Familiar, yet faded. Like a memory half-drenched in sunlight. Venti had known him long enough to see the difference.
The weight he’d lost.
The dullness in his eyes—eyes that once burned like starlight.
The length of his hair, grown out and nearly void of its usual color.
It hurt to look at him. It hurt more to see him struggle. Because Xiao had always been the strong one. Xiao was his pillar. Even if Venti never once said it out loud.
“Venti?” Xiao’s voice called out, soft and rasped—still the same. Still the voice that could bring Venti to his knees. That same soothing cadence he used when the world was too loud.
“Venti.” He said again—gentler this time, more certain.
And that was all it took for Venti to cross the room in seconds, collapsing into Xiao’s embrace.
He missed this.
He missed them.
He sobbed like time had folded in on itself. Like every second without Xiao was catching up to him now, all at once. Xiao, as weak as he was, lifted a trembling hand to cup Venti’s cheek. He tried to hush him—just enough to see his face again. To see the eyes that once made him believe life was worth living.
“How could you?” Venti choked. “How could you leave me?”
Xiao only smiled—soft, worn, and full of everything he never said. The smile Venti had missed so much it ached.
“I’m sorry,” Xiao murmured, barely above a whisper. But it was enough.
They stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, for who knows how long. There was no need for words. Only silence—the kind they had grown used to during their time apart. The kind that used to hurt, but now it felt like understanding. Like peace.
Xiao tried to speak again, to explain one last time, but Venti only whispered, “I know,”
And that was enough.
There was no need to dig up the pain again. No need to relive every unanswered question, every ache in the dark. Because now, Venti understood. Every silence. Every missing piece. Every reason behind the leaving.
It all made sense now.
When morning came, Xiao was no longer warm. He had finally become the ghost Venti feared all these months—the kind that would make him ache for just one more moment.
But never the kind that would make him hate.
Because now, he had the answers.
And he carried a promise deep in his heart—not to forget.
With the new day breaking, Venti knew—though Xiao was gone, their love would always be a light guiding him forward.