The library.

Jongdae’s sanctuary. 

One might not think he’d be comfortable in a place that leaves him cloaked in complete and utter silence, but it’s actually the place he feels most at ease; most at home. It’s the only place where he can look around and encounter other people identifying with his newfound struggles in the smallest of ways — struggling to hear their peers’ hushed voices, even reading lips if they’re trying to make contact much too far away. It’s here that Jongdae’s allowed to revel in the quiet amongst everyone else. He fit himself in almost seamlessly.

Besides that, he found comfort in the fact that he didn’t have to try to hear anything as well. After the accident that occurred just a little over a year ago, his hearing settled into only picking up the realm of the loudest of sounds, nagging low hums and deep vibrations. His doctors considered it a miracle he could still hear anything at all, but Jongdae couldn’t help but feel otherwise when he’d walk outside of his apartment and could only hear the most jarring of noises. Even though they weren’t loud, they weren’t anything someone would want to listen to on a daily basis — drilling machinery from a nearby construction site, motorcycle engines revving, children screaming at the park.

Nothing gentle. Nothing soothing.

What of his normal hobbies? Sure, he could try and turn up the volume on his headphones to the highest setting possible, but is it really worth listening to music drowned out and championed by its own bass? Turning up the volume of his television would only serve to give him a hoard of angry neighbors, as well. And a lot of context is lost within having to quickly read subtitles — if they’re even offered.

Sometimes, Jongdae wished he’d lost his sense of hearing entirely.

And whenever he’d find himself encountering thoughts, he’d make his way over to the library to loiter for as long as it took to soothe his frustration. Just like today.

It’s been a few minutes since he’d entered, slipping his previous borrowed text into the return slot before deciding to start his journey at Voltaire. His fingertips danced over smooth and worn spines alike, idly reminiscing the quaint, soft clack he used to hear them make every time he’d set them back down atop the shelf. It’s the most obscure of noises he’s missed the most.

Mid-exploration, however, he comes across something that he isn’t looking for.

A sound.

Not just any sound, but a deep, pulsating sound that Jongdae doesn’t think he should be hearing in a place like this. Of course, loud noises are inevitable anywhere, even at a library — someone will drop a large book or knock something over. But this was different. A deep, rumbling vibration that Jongdae could feel both coursing through the ground underneath his feet, and at the tips of his fingertips, reverberating against the book he’d been holding.

He sets the novel down, and changes course — navigating through the endless dividers of bookcases in search for the source. It fades in and out for a while, and Jongdae’s able to follow it easily. After all, there are only so many places it could be. When he does manage to close in on its origin, he finds that this sound really isn’t just any old anomaly. 

It’s someone’s voice, he thinks, I can hear words.

Jongdae has to pause for a brief moment to recompose himself. Sure, he could only make out one or two words every sentence or so, but it was something. Usually, he couldn’t hear the people he met speak unless they actually screeched at him. If he could hear someone speaking in a library… what exactly was going on here?

He trudged onwards regardless of his confusion, and stopped once again when the voice ceases where a young man stands. He’s tall — about a head taller than Jongdae himself, and he has a mop head of wild hair that somehow matched his large eyes almost frantically scanning through a book held tightly in large, thick hands. What Jongdae finds more peculiar than the other’s voice’s ability to carry, is the pair of pointed, almost elfen ears he sported.

Suddenly, Jongdae thinks he’s stuck in some sort of dream. His face scrunches up in a mixture of confusion and distaste, and he has to wonder if the other could sense something like that, because it’s at this moment when the elfen man lifts his head up. He instantly makes eye contact with Jongdae, and offers him a warm smile, and Jongdae thinks he’ll faint when the other speaks up for the first time in front of him.

“Sorry, did I disturb you?”

Jongdae shifts uncomfortably. He feels weird. Weird for being able to almost hear that sentence perfectly. The young man’s voice is absolutely rich and decadent — just the kind of smooth, gentle intonation he’s been craving to hear for a little over a year now. He wants to hear it again.

He briefly wonders if this guy didn’t understand that he had to be quiet in a library, but the fact that he hadn’t been thrown out yet made Jongdae think that maybe he was interpreting his situation all wrong. In fact, no one was even blinking an eye at this guy. 

Chanyeol waits for an answer, his large eyes unwavering from Jongdae’s fidgeting form. The shorter male, of course, doesn’t quite have it in him to respond. Even though he hadn’t been legally deaf for too long, and can still converse verbally quite normally, it’s still difficult for him to figure out how loud he’s being. Even where silence isn’t expected, it’s paved way for far too many looks from strangers. In a setting where silence is necessary first and foremost, he thinks it’s best if he kept his mouth shut.

The guy in front of him doesn’t seem to question him, however. He just smiles, sparing a glance down towards his book for a brief moment before offering it to the quiet young man beside him. “I’ve read this one far too many times. If you haven’t read it, you should check it out.”

Jongdae’s gaze flitters down towards the offered text before he inevitably accepts it, scanning the title before resting it against his chest comfortably. The Identification of Unknowns.

Who reads something like that leisurely?

More than once, no less?

Jongdae’s lips curl into a small smile, though. He’s always eager to make new friends — especially ones that treat him no differently than he would’ve been treated without this disability. He hid it well, usually, but there were some exceptions. And he knew this guy would need to know eventually.

Now wasn’t the time to think about that. Not when Chanyeol opens his mouth again to tell him that he wouldn’t mind hanging out with Jongdae. “Because you seem like you’re a cool guy if you’re hanging out in this section,” he murmurs, turning back to the bookshelf to reach for another text, and Jongdae dips his chin down towards his chest in his own flustered, timid way to show he’s flattered.

Chanyeol can’t help but think it’s just as cute as the rest of the boy, with wavy, middle-parted hair and thin, round glasses. And those sparkling eyes that crescent in the warmest way when he smiles? To die for, Chanyeol thinks. And he feels like he just might.

Jongdae doesn’t respond to his offer to hang out later, but the way he navigates through the aisles of bookshelves right behind Chanyeol, all the way to the checkout counter, the taller figures it’s a yes. Though he feels a little off about having been talking at the cute boy for quite some time, he doesn’t think it’s completely weird. He’s met some intensely shy, quiet people in his lifetime, and gotten along just fine with them. He understands where boundaries lie.

Once their books are all checked out and they’ve made it outside, however, Jongdae’s quick to show a different side to him.

“Thanks for giving me the book,” he hums. Chanyeol eyes him in surprise, but tries not to make it too apparent. After all, he finds love in Jongdae’s voice. It’s soft and demure in volume, yet strong and powerful in tone. He wants to hear it again.

“No problem,” Chanyeol chuckles, looking down towards the couple books nestled in between his upper arm and torso as he slips his hands into his pockets. “Tell me how you like it when you finish it. I think it’s… pretty eye-opening.”

Jongdae nods, shooting his newly-made friend a shy smile. “Of course.” Chanyeol’s voice is much louder than it was in the library, as expected, and it was even easier to make out every single word that spilled from behind his plump lips. Maybe miracles do happen.

Chanyeol tries not to swoon. “Ah…” he starts, giving their surroundings a once-over. “Do you like coffee? There’s this really nice café around here that I think you might like. I always get a slice of their edelweiss torte. Divine.”

Jongdae tilted his head to the side slightly at the offer, his kitty curls pursing as he pondered the prospect of getting a late lunch with this man. “Is this a date?”

“I— What?” Chanyeol chuckled nervously, his brows nearly arching to his hairline. “I mean… if you want it to be…”

Jongdae laughs, shaking his head as he lifted his book up to swat at the other’s arm. “So now it’s my call?” He paws at the other’s arm now, gaze dropping down towards his feet rather bashfully. “Sounds like you’re trying to play off any potential rejection.”

Chanyeol smiles, waving the shorter off. “I can only take so much.”

“So you get rejected often? That’s not really… believable.”

“Because I don’t get rejected often. I’m a very desirable man, you see. You fell for my charm yourself, too, don’t deny it. I always pick up my victims — I mean, dates... at the library.”

Jongdae can’t roll his eyes any harder. He lets out a soft snort, shaking his head and reaching out to gently urge the other man forward. “Lead the way, lover boy. Let’s go get some fancy cake. I’m in the mood for tiramisu.”





Their first date actually occurs a week after the first day they met.

Officially, that is. It took Chanyeol twenty minutes practicing his speech in his bathroom mirror and three abandoned calls before he decided on asking Jongdae via text. Less intimidating that way. And Jongdae doesn’t complain — though he lives to hear Chanyeol’s voice just one more time at any given point, phone communication’s always been a hassle.

And Chanyeol takes Jongdae to all the right places, too — all of the calmest places, where he can hear the shorter’s voice and the shorter can hear his. The art museum for their first date, the pier for their second, Chanyeol’s own apartment for the third. Jongdae insists upon taking pictures every single time: the two mimicking the museum’s recently-donated avant-garde sculpture, a conch they’d found that housed what would become Jongdae’s new pet hermit crab, the mammoth pizza with every single topping they ordered because Chanyeol didn’t think Jongdae would be able to handle it, and the food coma they indulged in afterwards.

“To commemorate it,” Jongdae would reason. “Sometimes, I don’t feel like I… get the full experience. Seeing pictures helps me remember things as they should be.”

Chanyeol didn’t understand that his boyfriend meant the first time he explained himself, but he started to connect everything as time chugged on; as he started noticing things that he otherwise would’ve just deemed as Jongdae’s personal idiosyncrasies. 

Sometimes Jongdae wouldn’t notice that cashiers or guides were speaking to him. Sometimes Jongdae wouldn’t know where the source of music was or where a group of seagulls were or that there was any noise to pay attention to at all. The shorter male vehemently despised the theatre unless Chanyeol took him to drive-in showings of old silent movies. 

These were all little things, of course — things so small that anyone, even himself would’ve overlooked. But he’d joked about it one day; about how Jongdae must be hard of hearing. And his boyfriend froze, as if he couldn’t breathe. Chanyeol wonders if he’s said something unintentionally offensive to the other, but the look Jongdae gives him looks more guilty than anything. As if he’d been caught red-handed in a lie.

Chanyeol’s typical grin only faded just slightly when it finally dawned on him. He just took his boyfriend’s hand, giving it the gentlest of squeezes as a silent reassurance to the boy. He doesn’t mind, after all. Jongdae’s still Jongdae, with or without any of his senses, no matter what.

“I don’t like people thinking there’s something wrong with me,” he confessed, tiny hand holding onto Chanyeol’s as if the latter would slip away. “I didn’t want to scare you away—”

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you,” Chanyeol sighed, thumb swiping over the back of Jongdae’s hand and tracing its veins. “I never did the entire time I’ve been with you. Why would that change now? Especially when I’ve gotten so comfortable with you. We all have things that make us different. And that’s what makes you most endearing to me.”

Jongdae opened his mouth to speak again, but Chanyeol continued quietly, the vibrations of his deep voice traveling its way through Jongdae’s fingers and straight to his heart. At times like this, Jongdae felt like he was the only one who could hear Chanyeol. He was the only one Chanyeol’s voice was meant for. 

“I like you because we like the same things. Because we like going to the same places and like being together. But I also like you ‘cause you’re different. And a little weird. You don’t like movies, but you like plays and ballets and things you can just sit and watch without any context. You don’t like music, but you’ll listen to me play my guitar. You’ll put your ear against the soundboard, and close your eyes — maybe even hum along. It makes me feel special that you make exceptions for me sometimes. Why wouldn’t I make exceptions for you too? Don’t you like me ‘cause I’m different too?”

Jongdae didn’t know what to say. His lips floundered, and he just settled on shrugging his shoulders while offering Chanyeol the smallest of smiles.

Chanyeol laughed because he understood. Because he didn’t need words, and Jongdae doesn’t either.





When the seasons begin their changeover and the Autumn wind carries crunchy leaves and paints Jongdae’s cheeks a tender pink, Chanyeol takes him to the city park.

If there’s anything the latter would particularly want to commemorate, it’s hot chocolate outlining Jongdae’s feline lips. It’s the way he bundles himself up in those too-big parkas and pom-pom beanies even when the sun’s shining and the wind’s chill is comfortable. 

But today he’s wearing Chanyeol’s jacket, situated over Chanyeol’s hoodie, and that alone made him beam warmth into Jongdae. He thinks his boyfriend looks like a big toddler as he holds Jongdae’s clunky old Polaroid in his hand, the other bounding his way into piles of leaves rounded up by the park’s groundskeepers.

He catches the money shot, just as the boy rolls over onto his back, a laughing mess. His smile’s so wide that his eyes are closed and the reddened apples of his cheeks are most prominent, and his hair’s littered with red and yellow and brown leaves. Just as Chanyeol’s snapped three different pictures of his boyfriend, the latter quickly fumbles for the camera, laughing about how he’s wasting film.

“Nothing’s wasted if it’s spent on you,” Chanyeol says, collapsing beside Jongdae in the pile of leaves and adjusting his hat. “Not time…” They make a satisfying, resounding crunch underneath his large form, and he takes a moment to catch his breath after chasing Jongdae around. “Not money…” He doesn’t know how his boyfriend does it — his lungs and nostrils burn from inhaling the crisp, dry air. “Not love.” But watching Jongdae shake his polaroids without so much as panting with the effort, unaffected by the exercise, he suddenly feels old; run-down. It’s always been difficult keeping up with Jongdae, though. He’s always one step behind, just like his boyfriend was on the first day they met.

He lifts a hand up to rub at his aching chest for a brief moment as he recalls that day fondly. He feels lucky — how many other people just look up and find the love of their life standing right in front of them? It’s almost as if something drew Jongdae to him, he decides boldly, lips curling into the smallest of smug grins.

Jongdae’s hand suddenly slots itself into Chanyeol’s own, giving it a familiar, almost questioning squeeze. Without needing to be prompted, the taller’s gaze meets with his boyfriend’s own, and he parts their hands just enough to use his index finger and write “library” into Jongdae’s rough palm. The shorter male understands immediately, tilting his head back with a soft rustle to peer upside-down towards the stairway leading up to the library just a few meters away.

“You know,” Chanyeol starts, while Jongdae’s attention is focused on him. “We forgot to take a picture there.”

Chanyeol blinks and shoots Jongdae a pointed look before he’s pulled up alongside the latter. “Why would we take a picture in there?”

“Well… we went back to the café. You forced me to take a picture with cake all over my lips and told me I looked fine. Why not go back to where it all started?”

Jongdae smiles, shaking his head as he tugs on his boyfriend’s arm lightly, urging him to walk faster. Chanyeol doesn’t comply — his little way of urging Jongdae to slow down and smell the flowers instead. “But there’s no sound to remember there, really. Why would I want to remember the silence?”

Chanyeol mulls it over with a soft hum, watching as Jongdae shows off his finesse and bounds up the stairway effortlessly. Once he makes it to the top and takes Jongdae’s hand again, he decides upon his answer, “Because it’s the first place we heard each other’s voices.”

Jongdae gives a nod of agreement, wavy hair bobbing just slightly with the brief movement. He wouldn’t admit it, but Chanyeol doesn’t need admittance or denial to see how flustered his answer’d made Jongdae, who ducked his chin towards his chest as he usually did, curling himself into the taller’s side. His head rests against Chanyeol’s chest with a soft thump only the latter can hear. He continues, “And because it’s where I fell in love for the first time.”

Jongdae blames his sputtering on not knowing how loud his voice is; how his hearing impairment is a reason for why he can’t find the words to ask the librarian to take their picture. Chanyeol knows better, lips pursed into a smug smile even after he’d asked for his boyfriend instead, handing over the camera.

The shorter boy almost tries burying his face into his boyfriend’s chest, before he finally turns his attention towards the librarian. His arms tighten themselves around Chanyeol’s waist, covered fingers curling around the openings of his jacket’s arms. 

“I love you,” Chanyeol murmurs as he holds Jongdae close to him; close to his heart, cheek nuzzled into the top of his boyfriend’s head with a contented hum. Jongdae beams, having been able to hear the other’s voice more clear than ever before in that singular moment.

Snap.