THE8 | Junhao

FOUR

| CHAPTER FOUR |

There are five stages of grieving.

Denial, that was the first.

As soon as Minghao had seen his father, dead on the floor of his apartment complex... he was in denial.

He told himself it wasn't true, a hallucination, that it was made up thing in his mind, some type of nightmare that wished him nothing but endless torture.

The second stage was anger, he hadn't touched that yet, but he knew he was soon to.

Staring at the casket in front of him, he felt lost.

Many flowers scattered around where his father lied, some pink, some white. It was beautiful, it was definitely what his father would've wanted.

His father always said funerals shouldn't be sad... more so, be the best part of your day. You weren't saying goodbye to the person, no—

—You were celebrating their life.

But the tears that streamed down Minghao's face betrayed him.

He was numb, yet his face was glossy with emotion, eyes bloodshot, cheeks blushed.

His arms were by his sides, gaze solely focused on the casket in front of him, the flowers glaring at him, forcing him to remember that his father was gone, that he was never coming back.

He looks down with a shaky sigh.

Black cascaded down his body, a formal fit for the occasion.

His hair was a mess, and purple bags coated the underside his eyes.

He almost didn't come today. He had trouble even moving after what he witnessed.

He didn't sleep a wink.

His head hurt, and his body ached, but his mind felt the worst.

The horrid memory played over and over like a looped videotape. It was as if his brain wanted to destroy him, to turn his entire being into nothing but mush.

Minghao's hair falls in front of his eyes, but he doesn't make effort to push it away.

He was glad his vision was blocked a bit now, he didn't have to stare at the framed photo of the person he once called dad.

The sound of muffled talking outside is what makes Minghao turn his head towards the entrance, just in time to see multiple men entering the room.

He doesn't say anything, instead, watches the one in the dark suit fall to his knees, bowing at his father's casket, closing his eyes when his forehead touches the floor.

Minghao just watches, face blank.

The man soon rises to his feet again, turning to him, "You're his son, aren't you?"

Minghao blinks, "Who's asking?"

The man smiles, nodding, "I was just wondering." He sighs, eyes trailing towards the array of flowers coating his father's resting place, "I'm an old friend of your father's, we grew up together."

Minghao doesn't say anything.

The man turns back, holding out a hand, "My name is Seungcheol, but I go by S.Coups. You can call me whichever, I don't mind."

Minghao just looks down at the man's hand, silent.

Seungcheol chuckles softly, pulling his hand back.

"I see you're still in shock." He sighs in sympathy, "I'll leave you to mourn for now. Get some rest." He nods, patting Minghao's shoulder before leaving the room, his mob of men following behind him.

Minghao watches them go, silent.