Sunrise [Yungi FF]

9. First Snow

Yunho tried to keep things casual. He did. But he knew he had to do something when he kept thinking about that night - about Mingi - whenever he helped someone just because he was nice. Or when he was affronted with outsider's opinions on him and realized it never changed who he was.

Especially when he realized he was more than what people's thoughts shaped him to be.

He didn't know if it was love or just infatuation. Maybe it was just fascination. But he had to see Mingi again, if not just to say thanks.

One thing he knew for certain was that he didn't want Mingi to disappear from his life as a drunk man who tried to hit him. He didn't want that because he knew who Mingi was.

So after helping Serin that night, he sent Mingi a message.

Hello? (Tuesday 17:01)

And that was when he found out he couldn't stop until Mingi replied.

Let's meet. I want to talk to you. (Tuesday 21:35)

Are you okay? (Wednesday 12:13)

Did something happen? (Thursday 18:46)

I'm not angry at you. You don't have to hide. (Thursday 22:56)

Five messages. Zero replies. The screen glared up at Yunho, the blue ticks mocking him like crooked smiles. His aching heart was a plea for him to send another message, to not lose hope, but his brain had long recognized the pattern and had accepted the possibility that there was no point in continuing.

Yunho thought about what Jongho had told him:

"It's been three days. He either got into a serious accident, or that's just who he is. A playboy."

It offended him when he first heard it, so he argued.

"He's just embarrassed. Or busy. He genuinely wanted to help me. He planned the dinner for me. So why would he just leave like that without saying anything?"

After two days, he ran out of things to say. So he started listening to Jongho. To the tiny voice in the back of his head.

He still thought about Mingi when he worked. He still missed the sense of security he had when Mingi talked to him whenever he questioned who he was in other people's eyes. The only difference was, he started to feel angry.

Angry that Mingi was ignoring him. Angry that Mingi didn't even apologize. Angry that Mingi almost hit him.

Finally, on Thursday, he woke up and thought, "What if Mingi was just playing around? What if he was like others, thought that I was weak, pathetic, and useless, and decided he didn't like me?"

That was the turning point. After that, whatever Mingi said, whatever he did, lost meaning.

"Hello? Yunho?" Jongho's voice was coated with worry.

It was 8:40 in the morning and Yunho was still at home, on his bed. He muttered something into the phone.

"Where are you? Are you sick?"

"No," said Yunho. He tucked his knees into his chest and wrapped an arm around his legs.

"Then what is it?"

Tears stung Yunho's eyes. Something sour blocked up his nose. He thought about something a particular caller said to him yesterday. It was insignificant and stupid, but that reminded him of the one time he was compared to a chatbot or the dozen times he was deemed unworthy of his job as a bank teller.

The curtains were drawn in his room and he hadn't turned on the lights, so he was still enveloped in darkness. Under that invisible force, he felt an overpowering wave of distress.