Sometimes, Yunhyeong wants to scream.

Sometimes, Yunhyeong wants to walk up to them and pull him back.

Sometimes, Yunhyeong wants to get him back.

But most of the time, Yunhyeong stays away.

He can’t stand it—those soft touches. One to the cheek, one to the hair, and one to the nape.

It feels too real.

Too intimate.

But the expressions that comes as a result of the touches.

That feels too much.

His chest tightens whenever he sees his gaze softening, his grin shifting to a smile. The touches reciprocated.

He dislikes it.

Hate is a strong word.

He dislikes it so much.

Does it rile him up?

Maybe.

But he won’t admit it, and he never will.

He can’t handle it much more. And so he turns around and walks away, his hand coming up to cover his mouth as he coughs again. But this time, he does not bother to look at it. He simply lets the breeze carry off the four petals of yellow hyacinth. Far away where he hopes it will vanish forever.