F4: Sunflowers ‖ 𝓵.𝓱

27.

An almost eight years old Donghyuck was seated in the corner of the huge beige room. His crying eyes had witnessed all day how many people entered and bowed in front of the picture of his deceased father to leave after that. His eyes also attested how his older sister had to greet every guest, swallowing the pain that invaded her whole self. Just next to the teenager was his mother, who was wearing a cold and blank expression, as if she hadn't lost anything.

The little boy asked himself how she could be so calm when he was feeling like his world was tearing apart.

He spent the whole day like that, to the point that his body was exhausted from crying. Even when Jeno, Jaemin, and Renjun came over, he couldn't bring himself to smile, as he usually did. The group spent the whole day with him, accompanying him in his pain.

The night came and the guests left, even his friends, although they tried to persuade their parents to stay, were forced to go home. Just then his mother approached him for the first time that day. 

How he longed for words of comfort alongside a warm embrace, an "everything will be okay".

But it never came.

"Just because you are a kid, doesn't mean you have to show yourself weak to others," his mom said, standing in front of him while looking down at where he was. Her black hanbok and her perfectly styled hair didn't soften her emotionless expression.

"W-What?" The kid asked, totally taken aback by her words.

"What are you expecting from showing yourself crying in front of others?  You want them to pity you? That's embarrassing," she nagged her son. The little boy tried so hard to stop his tears, but he couldn't. They kept flowing down his face one by one."Feelings just make you weak. If you don't control them, they will control you," she said looking directly into his eyes. "I hope you're done crying, tomorrow at the funeral there will be press and I don't want anyone to capture any photo of you crying. That's an order."

Haechan yanked awake, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead, his chest rising and falling with difficulty as his breathing was erratic. Once again an unbearable pressure invaded his chest.

His gaze traveled around his bedroom until it landed on the clock.

3:36 p.m.

"Oh, shit, I'll be late," he muttered and quickly got up to make his way to the bathroom.

After a quick shower, he picked blue jeans, an oversize gray hoodie, and a beige jacket. He put them on, with a pair of sneakers. His steps rushed down the stairs, not without first having collected his cell phone, his keys, and his wallet.

"Where's the rush?"

His steps immediately stopped after hearing those words, and he felt his body starting to tense. Slowly, he turned to face the figure of his mother seating on the armchair in the living room. She was drinking a cup of coffee while holding her iPad.

"Jaemin's place," he lied, with a blank tone. The eyes of Mrs. Lee inspected him as a scanner.

"Are you going to wear that?" She asked, making his fists clutch on his sides. "Well, try not to be seen too much."