Almost blind | Haobin

41| Frozen ground |41

"I can't feel my legs," Hao whimpered, his voice barely rising above the hum of the airport as he stumbled forward, finally stepping off the plane after a grueling fourteen-hour flight from Korea to Canada. His body felt like a crumpled piece of paper-creased, worn, and on the verge of tearing apart. Every step was like dragging his bones through molasses, and the cold Canadian air outside the terminal felt like a slap after the recycled warmth of the cabin.

The flight had been long, tedious, and mind-numbingly boring. Most of the time, Hao either slept in fragmented bursts or poked at airplane meals that tasted like cardboard with sauce. Even so, his limbs ached like he'd been doing push-ups in a hurricane.

"What did you expect?" Hanbin chuckled, adjusting the strap of his backpack with a wince. His own suitcase lagged behind him like a stubborn pet. Despite his teasing tone, he wasn't faring any better. His lower back throbbed, his eyes stung from dry air and sleep deprivation, and his shoulders slumped with invisible weights. But of course, being Hanbin, he wouldn't admit defeat. At least not first.

The airport buzzed around them-people everywhere, a sea of exhausted faces, rolling suitcases, and murmured greetings in every possible language. It felt surreal, like stepping into another planet. And yet, amidst the chaos, there was a quiet comfort. Because they were together.

They had talked a lot during the flight, surprisingly a lot. At first, it had been small things: places they wanted to visit, foods they were dying to try, stupid jokes about moose and maple syrup. But the conversation had slowly deepened, like water warming under the sun. They'd drifted into memories, childhood stories, inside jokes buried years ago. Topics switched so seamlessly it felt like breathing. And just for a while, things between them felt... effortless. Like before.

"When did sitting for hours become this painful? My legs feel like noodles someone forgot to boil," Hao muttered with frustration, standing in front of the airport's automatic doors. His knees trembled, and he questioned whether they'd survive another five steps.

"Get used to it. The trip back will be the same torture. But hey, at least we didn't crash," Hanbin replied, scanning the crowd with narrowed eyes. His tone was casual, but he stood on his toes every few seconds, trying to get a better view.

He was searching for his dad.

Hao tried to help, though his vision didn't make it easy. The blur of faces turned into smudges of color and motion, and after a few seconds of squinting, he gave up with a sigh. "I already forgot what he looks like," he mumbled, a little embarrassed.

Hanbin snorted softly. "He hasn't changed. Same old walking beam of sunshine-blonde and loud. You'll see."

As if summoned by those words, Hanbin's eyes widened and his face lit up like a lantern. "There!" he shouted, lifting his arm high in the air and waving frantically. "Dad!"

Across the crowd, a man froze, his confused expression melting into recognition. The smile that broke across his face was unmistakably Matthew. With the kind of energy that defied age, he started jogging toward them-half dodging people, half just barreling through.

Hao watched as Hanbin lit up completely. Something inside him twisted, warmth, envy, comfort, maybe all of it at once. He had always liked Matthew. And maybe a part of him wished he could remember what it was like to be welcomed like that.

"Look at him go," Hao murmured, lips twitching into a smile. "I thought you said he was almost forty?"

"Almost is the key word," Hanbin grinned. "Physically he's aging, mentally he's still stuck in high school."

As Matthew reached them, out of breath but smiling wide, he pulled Hanbin into a hug so tight it nearly lifted him off the ground. Then he turned to Hao with open arms, hesitating just a second as if unsure-but Hao stepped forward, and Matthew didn't wait any longer.