hydra | svt

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

wonwoo

my toes bounce against the concrete in an unsteady rhythm. i glare at the black mirror of my phone before pressing a finger against the wake button: i'm three minutes early and yet i'm still expecting them to suddenly cross the street.

my nerves get the worst of me and i almost hit 'send' on a passive-aggressive message to the groupchat asking how long everyone would be when i hear my name being called out. whipping my head up embarrassingly quickly, i relax at the sight of minghao jogging towards me with his phone in the air.

"hi." he's slightly breathless. a relieved smile worms its way onto my face. "sorry for taking so long. are the others here?"

"nope, just me." minghao hums and my hand hovers over the door handle of the cafe when a flash of rainbow appears and hansol traipses towards us in all his tie-dye glory. i stare at his colourful ensemble with unreadable eyes; minghao does the same, but with less diplomacy and more disgust.

"great, we're all here. are you ready to see jun?" i ask. the two nod unsurely and i pull the door open, greeted by the faint tinkle of the bell. in an instant we're boring our gaze into the barista at the counter but i see no purple hair. perhaps it wasn't his shift yet?

i check the time again: he was due to come out any minute now. we find a small booth tucked away in the back and wait anxiously for junhui to show himself. minutes pass and nothing changes.

the whirring of the espresso machine is starting to drive me crazy and minghao has cleared his throat too many times to be alright; hansol remains the calmest of us three on the outside but i can tell by the gentle gnawing of his bottom lip that he feels something is wrong.

i cough. "i'm going to go and order. what do you guys want?"

minghao asks for a simple green tea and hansol is happy with a regular americano so i shuffle out of the booth and weave my way clumsily through the tables. as i approach, the distant chatter of the baristas becomes louder.

"is wen here? my shift is up," one of them says. i slow my pace and pretend to ponder the snacks in the vending machine as the barista grows more irritated.

"i don't know. he hasn't been clocking in recently. it's been a week now, i think?" at this i falter and almost drop my wallet in surprise. junhui's not worked for a week? i recall the genuine smile plastered to his face whenever i, or any customer, would walk in and i know he enjoyed getting to know the regulars; this revelation unnerved me to no end and i knew i could stall no longer.

at my approach, the baristas quiet and one of them takes my order with a strained smile. i give them the table number and return with a stoic expression and my fingers locked together in anxiety. i dare not raise my head to meet the hopeful gazes of my friends.

"so? is he here?" minghao says with mild excitement, checking his watch again. i take all too long to respond and their worst fears are confirmed.

"is he...okay?" hansol asks, tearing up a napkin.

"he's been missing. for a week. apparently," i push the words out with some force and i wait for their faces to fall.

"missing? what do you mean 'missing'?"

i shrug my shoulders and shake my head, wishing i had a plausible answer.

after the weekend passes, the home stretch before spring break begins and every student is marking off each day with yearning for the rest from homework and extra-curriculars. of course, the class trip is also another thing to look forward to.

to distract ourselves from the evergreen workload, news of mingyu's play had finally done its rounds and the school buzzes as the opening night draws nearer; the girls (and many of the boys) fawned over mingyu's good looks and i watch in amusement as they daydream about him being the perfect boyfriend, when really he was incredibly clumsy and often forgets to return his friends' leather jackets. he is a good cook, though.