Almost blind | Haobin

38| The Weight of Us |38

The wind slithered down Hao’s spine like icy fingers, crawling under his coat, sneaking past the barrier of his thick scarf. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, trying to suppress the shiver that wasn’t entirely from the cold. Something twisted in his stomach—something heavy, something wrong. Maybe it was because he didn’t truly want to be here.

The wooden gazebo creaked as the wind howled through its beams, offering only the faintest shelter from the relentless snowfall. He had been standing there for minutes now, his boots leaving imprints in the thin layer of snow that coated the wooden floor. His breath, visible in the frigid air, came out slow and controlled, but inside, his thoughts were anything but.

He didn’t want to be here.

But he had no choice.

He couldn’t keep hiding away, pretending Yujin didn’t exist. Ignoring his calls, avoiding his texts—those were only temporary solutions. Two days. It had only been two days, yet Yujin’s name sent an involuntary shudder down his spine. His face, his touch—it all made something inside Hao recoil, a silent scream echoing in his mind. Disgust? Fear? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that something between them had cracked, and he wasn’t sure if it could be fixed.

But he had to try. He had to at least set things straight, to untangle this mess. Even if, in the deepest part of his mind, he already knew—this would not end well.

Then, through the blur of falling snow, he saw him.

Yujin.

He walked with effortless grace, as he always did, dressed impeccably despite the biting cold. The wind played with his styled hair, strands breaking free, brushing against his cheeks, which were flushed pink from the cold. But his expression—his expression was unreadable. And in his hands, he held something delicate, almost surreal against the backdrop of winter.

Flowers. A bouquet of white snowdrops, their fragile heads bowed as if in mourning, tied together with a pristine silk ribbon.

Hao barely had time to process his presence before Yujin was standing right in front of him, close enough that he could see the slight tremble in his hands, the way his fingers tightened around the bouquet as if they were his last lifeline.

“Hao.” Yujin’s voice was soft, but it carried an unspoken weight. His grip on the bouquet tightened, knuckles paling. “I’m glad you came.”

There was hesitation in his tone, the kind that didn’t come naturally to Yujin. He was always so composed, so sure of himself, but now, standing here in the cold, he looked almost… vulnerable.

Yujin forced himself to speak. “Hao..what… happened?”

Hao swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I—” He hesitated, exhaling shakily. "I shouldn't have stormed out of your house like that without saying something... but—" He hesitated, unsure how to justify his actions. It was all ridiculous. Too damn ridiculous. And Yujin— as if he knew.

He looked down, his fingers trembling slightly as he held out the bouquet. “Here. They’re for you.”

Hao didn’t move. His hands stayed buried in his pockets, fingers curling into his palms. He looked at the flowers—the snowdrops, delicate yet resilient, their white petals like tiny lanterns glowing against the lingering frost. They were iconic, blooming even as winter clung to the earth, sometimes peeking shyly through the snow, their fragile beauty defying the cold.

But no matter how stunning they were, their heads always bowed toward the ground, as if burdened by an invisible weight, their entire bouquet carrying a quiet sorrow—an unspoken apology.