Almost blind | Haobin

61| Play Me Again |61

The hallway smelled faintly of disinfectant and old paint, the kind that lingers long after the walls have been repainted three times. Hanbin walked stiffly ahead, his shoulders drawn tight and jaw clenched so hard it looked like it might snap. His hand hung useless at his side, cradled loosely by the other like he wasn't sure if he wanted to protect it or rip it off entirely. "They said no basketball. Not even drills," he muttered, voice low, almost like it hurt to admit it out loud. "No gym, no weights. No court. Just... rest."

Hao didn't answer right away. He didn't need to. He could hear what Hanbin wasn't saying loud and clear - the panic curling underneath the words. "And what? I'm supposed to just sit around and wait while everything I've worked for disappears?" Hanbin added, his voice sharper now, tinged with something bitter. "By the time I'm back, half the team's gonna outpace me."

"You'll survive two months."

"I won't." Hanbin shot him a glare, but Hao just smirked. It wasn't mockery - not really. More like a quiet way of pulling him back from the spiral. "They make it sound like I'm fragile or something," Hanbin said, pushing open the stairwell door with his good hand. "Like one wrong move and I'll snap in half."

"You did fall out of that damn treehouse. What exactly did you expect?" Hao muttered, arching a brow like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Hanbin let out a dramatic gasp, throwing both arms in the air. "That was years ago!" he cried, as if the sheer passage of time should've erased the consequences. "If you'd gone to the doctor back then instead of limping around like a stubborn idiot," Hao said, voice rising in disbelief, "maybe you wouldn't be in this mess right now."

Hanbin exhaled hard, almost a laugh, but not quite. "You're not helping."

"I am helping. You just don't like that I'm right."

"You need to calm down," Hao added, his voice steady but tight with concern. He was watching Hanbin carefully, the way his hand kept twitching at his side, the way he shifted his weight like he was hiding pain. "You've been using that hand for years without even thinking about going to the doctor, even though you knew it was bothering you."

Hanbin groaned, exasperated, and dramatically threw his good hand in the air. "It was years ago, Hao! Years! I'm still alive, aren't I?"

"That's not the point," Hao shot back, his brows drawing together. "If you keep ignoring it, you might not be able to use it at all. What then?"

Hanbin crossed his arms stubbornly. "It's stupid. Rehab isn't gonna help. It'll just waste time I could be using for literally anything else."

Hao stopped walking and gave him a long, slow look - the kind that said he was moments away from completely losing his patience. "One more word," he said in a voice that dropped into dangerous amusement, "and I swear I'll throw you down the stairs. Then you'll definitely need rehab but for both hands. And maybe a leg."

They had just reached the top of the staircase. Hanbin stopped, raised an eyebrow in challenge. "Oh yeah?" he said, lifting his chin. "Well, guess what." He yanked his hand free from Hao's light hold and took a bold step back. "Let's see how you make it downstairs without clinging to me for support." A smirk played at the corner of his lips, smug and confident.

Hao blinked at him in disbelief. "You're joking."

"I'm deadly serious," Hanbin replied dramatically.

"You're not even funny," Hao muttered, already narrowing his eyes at the staircase like it had personally wronged him. "You know I can walk just fine-"

"Right, but not without reaching for my hand like I'm a damn banister," Hanbin cut in, a teasing lilt in his voice.

"Because it makes me feel better, God i hate you," Hao snapped, pointing a finger at him. "You know the stairs mess with my depth perception. What if I miss a step and crack my skull open?"