Almost blind | Haobin

51| Late arrival |51

Hao had been crying the entire time he'd been in the room. Curled up on the bed like a fragile piece of porcelain someone had carelessly set down, his knees were pulled tightly to his chest, his arms wrapped around them as if they were the only things holding him together. His face was buried against his legs, but the tears still found their way down, soaking the fabric of his sleeves and the bare skin of his knees. Every attempt to steady his breathing only unraveled into more trembling gasps and quiet sobs that echoed like ghosts in the silence around him.

The thought of tomorrow-going back home, possibly without Hanbin-clawed at his chest like broken glass being dragged through him. He hadn't realized just how much it would hurt until now. Every time he tried to calm down, some memory from last night-the way Hanbin held him and kissed him- would surface and rip him apart all over again.

He hated it.

He hated the way he'd let himself believe, even for a second, that Hanbin wouldn't think of something like this. That he wouldn't even consider staying here. Why would he, though? Of course he would. He had talent, he had ambition, and now someone-someone who mattered in that world-was offering him a place. A future.

But Hao thought they were getting closer. Closer than they'd been in years. Closer than he'd dared hope for.

And now it felt like everything they had been building together, slowly and painfully, was crumbling at his feet. Like sand slipping through his fingers no matter how tightly he tried to hold on.

They wouldn't see each other often if Hanbin stayed here. Their connection, still so fragile, would grow cold again, distant. Like before. Like those years Hao had spent alone, barely able to say his name without choking.

But...maybe...maybe Hao was just being selfish. Maybe this wasn't even about him.

Basketball was Hanbin's life. Hao had seen it in his eyes-the way they lit up when he talked about it, the way his fingers moved when he described a play, the way his whole body relaxed when he was on the court. With his small injury, it had been hard for him to be considered for captain back in Korea. But here? Here a coach just handed him that chance, laid it in front of him like a gift.

How could he not think about it?

Still. It hurt.

It hurt in the kind of way that didn't just sting but settled in his bones. Because deep down, Hao felt like he wasn't enough of a reason for Hanbin to stay. Like he could never be.

Even though they weren't even officially dating. Even though no promises were spoken out loud. But last night had felt like a promise. Like something sacred had passed between them.

Hao leaned back against the mattress, eyes burning. He swiped at the wetness on his cheeks and grabbed his phone with shaky fingers. He wanted to call Taerae. God, he needed to hear his voice-the way he always knew what to say, the way he always made Hao feel less like he was breaking apart.

But he couldn't.

Instead, he scrolled until he found Kuanjui's name. They hadn't spoken since winter break started, but right now, he might be the only person Hao could talk to without feeling like a burden.

He took a deep breath, hit the call button, and waited. His own face blinked back at him from the screen-eyes red, cheeks blotchy, lips trembling. It rang once. Twice. Three times.

Then, finally-Kuanjui picked up.

"Bitch, I actually thought you forgot about me," Kuanjui said without missing a beat, dramatic as ever. "What about 'Merry Christmas' or 'Happy New Year'? Wow. I feel personally offended. Fake friends everywhere."