𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 ☾︎ soonhoon

C H P - 3

"Hey, are you alright?"

Full of worry, Junhui followed the male into the dark room, as he had no idea what was going on--and he hated it. Chan and Minghao hadn't shown up yet, so Soonyoung couldn't have been stressed about them. What was it? Did that short customer say something? "Soonyoung, what's wrong?" He kneeled down beside the distraught figure, who was sitting against the wall, his knees pulled to his chest. "What happened?"

Soonyoung only shook his head. His eyes were wide with panic. "Do you remember that story I told you a long time ago, Junhui? The one about my first love?"

Junhui nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing with the wish to understand.

"I think... I think my mind is playing tricks on me." The blonde slowly peered up at his friend, his eyes still wide as a bittersweet smile stretched his features. He had to keep that smile there, or else his lips would have been trembling. "If not... the world has been cruel."

And with a heavy heart, everything shifted into place.

"Oh, I'm... I'm so sorry..."

----

"Goodnight. Sleep well, okay?"

"Alright," Soonyoung responded obediently. He felt almost like a toddler who was being tucked into bed by his mother; in this case, though, his mother would have to be Junhui.

See, ever since they were old enough to be on their own, Soonyoung and Junhui had been living together; not necessarily because they wanted to, but because Junhui had nowhere else to go. His parents didn't accept a single thing about him--not even his looks--and that had him staying with Soonyoung, of who had eventually became something like a brother.

"Goodnight..."

The beam of light slipping in from the hallway gradually thinned as the door shut.

If Soonyoung had been desperate for sleep, the other's fading footsteps could have been a lullaby.

But only could have.

After waiting just a few moments, Soonyoung sucked in a long breath and pulled the comforter off himself, wiping at his eyes as he tiptoed over to his desk.

"Okay, I can do this..."

His fingers then anxiously tugged at the bottom drawer, and they almost went weak in the process. His mind didn't want to do this to himself--it knew better than to do it--but his heart, oh, it did; his heart needed it, yearned for it. He couldn't live without it the same way he couldn't live without water.

He shakily reached inside the drawer and slid his fingers beneath the binder that hid away the white, almost untouched envelope.

This would take a lot out of him--he knew that--yet still, he forced himself to slip his nail beneath the fold and open it.

And there it was.

Just a piece of lined paper.

His eyes fluttered shut in one last second of mental preparation before, nervously and eagerly all at once, he began to read.