Hi, Thank you so much!
I posted this for Valentine's Day, written in the first person and narrated by its protagonist Lester Haydar
Title: Idyll in its Decline.
Genre: Drama, Romance, BL
Episodes: without specials, 12.
My father didn't remember who I am. He sometimes thought that I was his brother or my grandfather. I didn't leave him alone unless I had to go to work at the university or a relative or the nurse was with him in my absence.
An afternoon like any other, we spent our time together in the living room.
Among his belongings, I found an old photo album. He looked at it in disbelief at first. However, something caught his attention: a photo where my mother and I -when I was 12 years old- danced to one of his favorite songs.
He began to speak quietly.
“Where did you get this from, brother?”
I said him; “from a box you have under your bed.”
So, he analyzed my mother carefully.
“She must be working,” he expressed.
“Yes, possibly,” I replied.
Then he focused on the boy in the photo and looked at me confused.
“Where is Lester?”
I tried to hold back the tears, but I couldn't.
Suddenly, he caressed my shoulder and told me.
“Don't cry. Your dad is here.”
The next day, being February 14, I thought about going to a small restaurant for lunch after giving my classes. There was a couple at the entrance, he gave her some flowers, but she didn't accept them. They argued for several minutes and finally left.
I entered the place and sat near a window. In the middle of the street, the couple continued their madness. The man threw the flowers on the ground, the woman trampled them. When my parents had their marital problems, it was my father who always decided to remain silent to avoid more conflicts and my mother, once calmer, talked to him about what they should do the next day as if nothing had happened.
Once I finished eating, I thought about going home. Dad was being cared for by a nurse.
But I stopped; “so today is that day.”
I remembered my parents' wedding anniversary. I rushed to buy her flowers and decided to go see my mother's grave. It wasn't convenient for me that my father accompanied me. I didn't think it was fair to him.
An hour later, I headed to the cemetery. But to my surprise, someone else had left a bouquet of red roses next to the gravestone.
I looked in all directions and it was then, for a brief moment, that I was able to confirm who it was. Being one of the few who knew of said anniversary: Victor Dautt, quickly walking away before I could say his name.
I tried to run to catch up with him, but I couldn't. So I left the flowers on my mother's grave and imagined for a moment - an inappropriate thought of my being - that I had received them from him.
