Almost blind | Haobin

47| Almost responsible |47

The headache Hao felt was no longer just a dull ache; it was a relentless drumbeat behind his eyes, pounding like war drums in the silence of the morning-or what was left of the morning. His throat burned like sandpaper dragged across raw skin, and his skin prickled with heat as though he were being slow-cooked from the inside out. He felt weak, stripped of half his strength, as if his bones had turned to mist.

It was already past one in the afternoon. The room was dim, lazy streaks of sunlight filtering through the curtains, but the other side of the bed was cold-Hanbin was already gone.

Hao groaned softly, cursing under his breath as he tried to sit up. Pain shot through his head and neck, his sinuses felt like they'd been stuffed with thorns.

The water glass on the nightstand shimmered like salvation. With trembling fingers, he reached for it and drank greedily, only to wince as the water scraped down his inflamed throat like broken glass.

Maybe going out last night in a short-sleeved shirt had been a terrible idea. No-it definitely had.

Before he could spiral deeper into regret, the bedroom door creaked open. "Are you finally awake?" Hanbin's voice rang out, soft but tinged with amusement. He stood in the doorway, fully dressed, hair already styled into gentle waves, looking like he'd been awake for hours-fresh, composed, a sharp contrast to Hao's wreck of a state.

Hao let out a low, unintelligible noise, somewhere between a groan and a hum.

"I feel like death," he rasped, his voice cracking at the end like a broken violin string.

Hanbin's smile wavered as he walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. "You drank less than I did and you ended up like this?" he teased gently, though his brows pulled together in worry. His hand reached out to press against Hao's forehead, and the moment he felt the heat radiating from his skin, his teasing tone dropped. "You're burning up. Are you sick?"

Hao tried to reply, but was instead overtaken by a sudden, violent sneeze that left his throat ablaze. Hanbin couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him.

"You're impossible," he said, standing. "I made you breakfast...well, it's basically lunch now. You need something in your stomach."

"I'm not hungry," Hao mumbled, already retreating under the covers, burying himself like a wounded animal.

Hanbin was already halfway out the door. "I'll bring it here," he said over his shoulder, not waiting for Hao's protest.

True to his word, he returned minutes later with a tray-bread, boiled eggs, something warm in a mug that smelled like ginger and honey. He placed it gently on the nightstand.

"You're just like my dad," Hanbin said with a small laugh as he straightened up. "He barely woke up an hour ago too."

The word hit Hao like a slap.

Dad.

His eyes widened and he sat up too quickly, the room swaying like a boat on stormy seas.

"Your dad," he said, throat dry. "Did he... say something to you? About yesterday?"

Hanbin blinked. "Like what?"

"I mean..." Hao's voice lowered. "Do you remember?"

Hanbin tilted his head, curious and a little cautious. "He barely talks. You know how out of it he is lately."

"You don't remember?" Hao's voice was nearly a whisper now, but his eyes searched Hanbin's face with desperation. "You really don't remember?"

Memories clawed at the back of his mind-unspoken, unprocessed, almost too vivid to be real.