Frost

i hope you're happy (but not the way you were with me)

"How is he?" Yeonjun cradled the phone to his ear, scanning the lobby disinterestedly.

"How do you fucking think?" Soobin hissed at him, seething. "In his room, crying his little heart out."

Yeonjun winced. The bags under his eyes winced along with him. "I'm sorry."

Soobin sighs. "Are you okay, yourself?"

"Yes." No.

"Hyung, you sound like you've been run over a few times and left out to dry in the baking sun."

"I'm fine." Yeonjun glanced back at the receptionist at the front desk, and the half-empty lobby. "Listen, Bin-ah, I gotta go. I'll call you again next week."

"Whatever. Don't die on me."

"Mn." He hung up, stuffing his phone into his pocket mindlessly.

"Daniel Choi?" The front desk called, looking around. "Is there a Daniel Choi here?" She asked in English, and Yeonjun smiled, striding forward.

"AYO, Danny-boy's here!" His roommate cheered, calling out to the few others that were chilling in their kitchen. "Make room, Daniel's back!"

Yeonjun sighed, plopping down on the couch next to the loud-mouthed boy and accepting a luke-warm beer.

"We were just talking." His roommate said. "You look like a cold-blooded motherfucker, Choi. Does anything ever fucking bother you?"

"Nah." Yeonjun took a sip of beer, sinking back into the cheap cushions. They both ignored the blatant lie.

His roommate, a nice and chipper (if a little geeky) roommate, Wooyoung, clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Wo-ow!" He crowed. "Hear that, Sangie?"

Their other roommate, an angel-faced boy named Yeosang, was attempting to study in the kitchen. "Jung Wooyoung, if you just shut up for ONE MINUTE!"

"Damn. He's no fun." He pouted, before perking up again. "How did your hearing go? Did you get the restraining order?"

"Mm." Yeonjun had moved to the US only a few months ago, but already, his mother followed him across the sea, demanding money.

Maybe he had had enough. Maybe having to leave someone he loved had finally broken something in him. Or maybe he had finally matured. Maybe moving across the ocean taught him something, and now this no longer seemed as scary as it had before. It seemed solvable.

He had gone straight to court, and now the woman legally couldn't come near him.

But at what cost?

He doesn't remember how he got here. How he found this town, or an apartment to live in. The job he worked, or the University classes he attended. He didn't remember any of it, because all that plagued his mind, day and night, was the constant thought – I miss them.

It was amplified by the texts spammed onto his phone, the constant stream of messages calling him back home. They weighed him down and cut off his wings, until the flight to so-called freedom felt like towing a ton of bricks.

Where are you?

Where did you go?

Why did you leave?

Come back.

I miss you.

The texts from his friends all burned holes in his phone, until he could take it no longer, and tossed the damned thing. And then he wept for its loss.