cold | junhao

三

Darkness envelopes Minghao when his eyes first flutter open. Even so, he's instantly and completely aware of the unfamiliarity of his surroundings. Slowly, his eyes adjust to the dim flickering fire just in the corner of his vision as it dances in a rampant fury and casts shadows across the walls. The room feels small.

Next he becomes conscious of a stifling heat weighing down on his body, leaving behind an uncomfortable sheen of sweat. Minghao shoves the blankets away from him and sits up, scraping his damp hair away from his eyes and blinking rapidly.

His head whips around, trying to analyse what's going on but failing to in the minimal light. His watch says it's 1 am, but the last thing he remembers is leaving his house in the evening. How did he end up on a stranger's sofa? Why is he swaddled in blankets like a newborn baby?

Feeling around on the sofa, Minghao's hand brushes up against something. With a start of relief he realises it's his phone. Okay, so I didn't get kidnapped, he thinks. That's a good sign.

He flicks the torch on, and swings it round to his left. He spots a dark heap by the door, and walks over to it with slow steps and a shaking breath.

It's his clothes.

Completely soaked through, but definitely Minghao's clothes.

It was raining. He sighs to himself, cursing his bad luck of which as a result, he's who-the-fuck knows where in the middle of the night.

There's a shuffling from behind him, and Minghao twists himself round so quickly he ends up on the floor, tripping over the edge of the rug. A loud thump bounces off the walls. Across the other side of the room, on a sofa perpendicular to the one he'd woken up on, a figure moves. He can only see their silhouette, where they're lying across the sofa, asleep.

At least they were asleep, but seem to be waking up now. Minghao keeps his torch turned on them, watching with hard eyes as the person sits up, bringing a hand up to try and block his burning eyes from the beam of light. "Can you turn that off? I'm quite fond of my vision, thanks." Minghao wordlessly complies, and the other boy stretches his arm out behind him and grasps for a lamp, switching it on and filling the room with a slightly more pleasant glow.

"You're awake?" He asks. Minghao nods. "How do you feel?"

He doesn't get a reply. Jun frowns, looking at the boy across from him with a quizzing gaze. But still he makes no move to talk, so Jun sighs and pushes himself to his feet. He walks past the motionless boy into the kitchen. "D'you want something to eat?"

A few minutes later, another presence joins him. He can feel eyes on the back of his head, so Jun turns around and holds out a bowl of cereal.

"Sorry," he says. "It's all I've got." And when the boy's eyes flicker between the bowl and the microwave just over Jun's shoulder, Jun speaks again. "I already warmed it." He can't read the expression that appears on the boy's face - it looks like a mix of confusion and pleasant surprise, and he inches his hand out to take the cereal from him, offering a small smile as thanks.

Jun can't help watching him as he eats - the way his hair is ruffled from just waking up, and how his lips were so unsure when he smiled, like he doesn't do it that often. Suddenly Jun feels a pang in his chest.

"What's your name?" he asks, and this time isn't surprised when only silence answers him. "I'm Wen Junhui," he says. He doesn't expect the other's eyes to widen and dart up to him, a glimmer present in them that wasn't there beforehand. But all it does is make Jun's heart sink. He recognises me now, he thinks. I shouldn't have told him that, I just ruined it.