The sun sets through the distant mountains. From up here, the city looked impossibly small, that the lights of the cars that were heading home looked like a swarm of fireflies moving in lines. The ten-year-old boy never felt the time pass whenever he watched the crimson horizon till the stars appeared. Even now, he could see one or two, shyly glimmering in the lush blue of the sky glow.

This remote cliff had a charm that attracted Wangji. Rather, 'he' had his own way that brought him here every evening.

The first time they met, he flashed a smile Wangji would never forget, and asked him to call him Wei Ying. Maybe it was the honest expression, or maybe it's because he's the first-ever friend Wangji made—he had been coming here every day ever since just because Wei Ying said that he hoped they'd meet again. He only wished that they could continue.

As usual, that same cheerful voice was eagerly telling him about a song he heard, kicked back on a stone bench, the same smile playing on his lips, two scraped knees hugged between his arms. When he talked, it didn't have a particular direction. It went in circles, but still, Wangji found it entertaining.

Wangji only hummed now and then. That was the thing. Wangji had never been the one to talk. He always preferred the silent thoughts in his mind over actual conversations. But Wei Ying kept coming back to him nevertheless.

"Why do you wear that?" Wangji finally decided to ask the question that had been in my mind for a while.

"Huh?" The other looked up at him.

"That necklace." Wangji completed, staring at the silvery chain he kept twining and untwining on his second finger.

"Oh, this?" He took its pendant—a punctured plectrum—on his palm, giving it a weary smile. "It was my dad's."

Just a sentence, but Wangji immediately knew. Maybe the hollow in Wei Ying's eyes felt familiar because he had seen it in his own mirror. "When was it?" he asked. "Your father?"

The surprise in Wei Ying's face was followed by a sigh of realization. "Three months ago. Both of them."

"Do you play it too? The guitar?"

"I try," Wei Ying chuckled. "I don't think I'll ever play like him though."

"My brother said that self-doubt kills more dreams than an enemy."

Wei Ying blinked and then chuckled. "So serious."

The stars were now visible. Wangji had always loved them until it became the alarm reminding him to go back home. He shifted his weight. "You have to leave?" Wei Ying asked.

"Mn," said Wangji, reaching for his pocket, taking out what he had dearly and carefully brought up here. "Take it." He offered it to Wei Ying, watching eyes shift from his palm back to his face. It was a plain black wristband, an outcome of days of practicing weaving one. Something he thought would be a good remembrance.

"You're giving it to me?" His voice was full of surprise.

"I thought you would like . . . accessories," Wangji replied, looking at the necklace.

Wei Ying followed his gaze, and his lips stretched to a smile. "Oh . . . I guess," he chuckled. "But you don't have to do this."

"Take it," Wangji repeated. His voice carried just a fraction of heaviness he had been holding inside, even though it was not supposed to. But that seemed to take its effect.

"Okay, okay" Wei Ying pouted, taking it. "Thank you. I like it."

Wangji should have felt pleased with the response, but this was the last time he'd get to see him, probably the last time he'll ever have a friend. That made his heart bittersweet. With a long inward sigh, he said, "I'll leave."

"Sure," Wei Ying chirped, with eyes that almost twinkled. "See you tomorrow, Lan Zhan."

Wangji had never wished more that the casual greeting would come true.

But this was his goodbye.