Almost blind | Haobin

40| Not that bad |40

Hao tapped a finger against the cold metal table, each tap echoing faintly through the sterile, too-quiet common room like a ticking bomb of nerves. His eyes darted to the wall clock-its hands crawling like reluctant insects-then to the white-clad doctors drifting past like ghosts in the background, their shoes squeaking against the polished floor.

He scanned the room again. Empty chairs. Pale walls. Shadows that stretched too long for the midday sun.

A mental hospital. That word still didn't sit right in his chest. It felt unreal, like he'd stepped into someone else's dream-no, nightmare. Hanbin was waiting outside, giving Hao space, but he almost wished he hadn't. Being alone in here made everything louder. Even if its only few minutes.

Then, finally, a flicker of color in the corner of his eye.

Taerae.

He walked toward him like a misplaced character in this bleak picture-drenched in a ridiculously oversized yellow hoodie and glaring red pants that screamed rebellion in a place meant for silence. A walking contradiction. Hao let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. A half-smile tugged at his lips, half fondness, half disbelief, as he stood up quickly.

"You look like a walking traffic light," he muttered with a grin, making Taerae's face crack into a lazy, crooked smile, familiar, but thinner, like someone had pressed pause on his brightness.

Hao stepped forward without thinking and wrapped his arms around him, tightly, grounding himself in the warmth of a friend he'd almost lost in more ways than one.

"How are you holding up?" he asked softly, voice muffled against Taerae's shoulder. Taerae's arms closed around him in return, a little slower, a little more hesitant. His face pressed into Hao's shoulder like he was hiding from something.

"It's... good," he mumbled. "I thought maybe you forgot about me already." Hao pulled back just enough to see his face. The circles under Taerae's eyes looked like they had been painted on with sleepless nights. His hair was a tousled mess, his stubble uneven. But it was his eyes-the way they sparkled without joy, smiled without light-that made something in Hao's chest tighten.

"Forget you? Come on," Hao said, his voice lighter than the weight in his heart. He sat down again, motioning for Taerae to join him. Taerae dropped into the chair across from him, slouching as if gravity had gotten stronger.

"You been sleeping at all?" Hao asked, reaching across the table and gently rubbing his friend's hand. The skin felt too cold. "Same as always." Taerae smiled, but his voice-usually sugary and teasing-was dull, like a song played through static. "You know how it works here."

Liar, Hao thought. But he didn't say it. Not yet.

"I brought you something," Hao said, reaching down beside him to grab a small gift bag. "Happy very, very late Christmas."

Taerae blinked, startled, as Hao handed him the small paper bag. His fingers hesitated for a second before curling around the handles, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and disbelief. "I... I didn't know we were giving each other anything this year," he murmured. "Thank you."

Hao beamed, the corners of his eyes crinkling like wrapping paper pulled too tightly. "It's just a small thing," he said, voice light but eyes searching. "I saw it, and I don't know... I just thought of you."

Taerae's fingers dug into the bag, pulling out a glass snow globe-a yellow duck, trapped in crystal, wearing a tiny red Christmas hat tilted to one side like it had somewhere better to be. For a heartbeat, he just stared at it, his brows furrowing slightly as though trying to decode its meaning.