(*01)

            It had been between the roadblocks of life and death, the final chosen meeting of two humans systematically brought together by circumstances bending secretly to their overlapping wills and wishes. Without the use of oral conversation, much less the need for speech, their bodies held each other under unusually heavy winter rain to form a physical connection some rarely felt and all of a sudden Kim Jongin had good reason to think that the café at the end of the street looked less terrifying covered in night. In fact, even cloaked by the all different blackness and greys that made night and released the aged building from its duty of extorting its enchanting electrical energies, it possessed quite the striking foundation of comfort seeping in the scenery and built into each of the walls that balanced its accommodating appeal in being more people-friendly than people ever could.
            Jongin himself never dared ventured to many places (a choice governed by the fear of being irrational), but even the few venues he did make the effort to travel to didn’t possess the level of attraction this café had with its modern attractions of clean-cut chestnut tables of wood – all adorned with sturdy chairs of oak, four legged and arched to give the comforts of back support that seemed to curve to give efforts in matching his slumping figure. It made him feel of the valued; much like the secluded personal comforts offered by what was long white counter tops paired with dark, walnut woods directly to the right of his backside that succeeded in capturing his interest. He thought of the privacy it could gift to hollow beings, something of little islands specifically for personal adventures a ways from the more active parts of the café that allowed enjoyments to be enjoyed personally as preferred, as they should and were meant to be the thought had floated about his mind quietly. Having the time, since his acclaimed rescuer had long wandered off (leaving behind trails of subtle mystery), he decided he would name such a serene space the Watch-and-Charge Station, as he felt it’s plug sockets and audience-like features had been its most appealing attraction.
            His eyes of darkened melting chocolate gazed deeply at the large open view of the tower tall windows that would reveal the show to the audience, so exposing and yet at the same time fairly revealing. It had pleased him the most, much more than the breath-taking kitchen-like space with its bar-stool resting features, the lounging area of sensual red cushions (begging to be challenged about its contentment) and separated bistro training station set towards the back of the café along with it, stainless mocha floors with its splattered brown paint appeal, impressively large twin ordering flat screens of black, long spout teapot lights that gave the spacious café an almost fairytale look and encouraged the lingering smell of coffee, and even the large chalk wall at the very back that greeted the costumer and passersby alike with messages of love or simply drawn comics relating to coffee. Definitely, it was those gigantic windows that gave the café its edge, a spark of something honest and humane. He could see the world engolfing it as some kind of new trendy hang-out.
            He loved that he could gaze upon the world and have it gazing right back at him, almost an optional meeting of two worlds if he chose to show himself apart from the scattered costumers and brought himself bravely to the front of the store to meet what was outside himself and his separate world inside the café itself. It offered sights of both secluded entertainment and promising business alike, almost like a tradeoff of appeals for attractions similar to amusement parks he connected as he sat. A tickle tickled at the inner walls of his stomach, surging delight to have discovered such a location. He tried to think back to days before of passing by such an establishment. He couldn’t recall it happening, despite having passed it almost every day, but imagining it now had gotten him a sudden craving to start drinking more coffee on his way to his classes set late into the afternoon. Wonder had come about by then, questioning of if his closest two friends, Oh Sehun and Byun Baekhyun, felt similar emotions upon entry during the daylight hours. A laugh rolled off his tongue, but it was soundless against the already still silence of the room. There was a moment of comfort to be had in his solitude, he could feel so naturally and had come to appreciate within those first few moments, but it was soon interrupted. He hadn’t even realized it at first, until he caught sight of his deer-eyed savor standing tall above him with the offering of a dry towel, appearing so very white and soft. He would’ve believed it to be new if one ever uttered such a lie to his face.
            He began to feel touched within that exclusive moment shared between the two, presenting itself as something of slight warmth fluttering at the center of his being. Hands reached in a slow carefulness, eyes began to light with the intentions of a smile. He had attempted to reach out to the stranger, as he had been someone who would rescue him from death willingly after all, offering a friendly nod to temper his guarded grin. His eyes stayed attentive, watching the boy as he sat across from him and nearest the only opening (as far as he could tell in any case). Jongin wondered if he could feel the intensity of the cold shedding off the ferocious storm of rain coming pounding at the door from his back, wondered why he didn’t seem to care about the drenched cloth of his attire sticking so uncomfortably to him. Water was still dripping from his hair and his face, once obviously neatly styled but now haphazarddly ruined in a way he thought perfectly expressed the oddity of awkwardness, was still damp, proving the towel almost useless against the amount of wetness they faced. Still, the claimed hero appeared to pay no mind. Much like Jongin, his eyes just seemed to roam about curiously. They were somehow detached from the consequences of his actions, reminding Jongin of his own actions before. As if snapping back into the situation, or perhaps coming into realization of it, his lips parted to flood the room with grand seas of words.  
            “So,” he was speaking ever quietly, though the tanner male had been too distracted by the eccentricity of his now thickening, curling hair and the way it slicked about. “Are you okay now?”
            There was no answer to his question, of course, just more mindless observing until it was decided that that had been done with and the taller boy went about actually drying his hair instead of tapping gently at misguided locks to hide his wonderment. They sat within their silence then, adapting to darkness and being alone – not to mention being alone in the darkness together, as it had been a new experience to the both of them, be it with friends or strangers. There was a moment of shyness Jongin could sense. It was in the way hands moved too slow as they crinkled tight around the white of cloth and even indirect eye contact was to be avoided, creating all kinds of questions as to what went wondering through minds that was kept so sacred. The paler male had tensed before the victim he had saved no less than an hour ago, jaw cramping from how locked it had become. 
            Jongin watched as he began the attempt for a second round, having finally caught sight of his chapped, quivering heart-shaped lips that were beginning to move around the formation of words. He had leaned himself inches closer to catch language move on his mouth, but, of course, his eyes had been failing him yet again. Still, this striking, truly heroic protagonist had been speaking to him, willingly and cautiously from what he could grasp between words missed and the carefulness in his large eyes.
            “Hey, I’m sorry, but can we talk about what just happened? Please, if you don’t mind? I don’t want to just ignore this. I mean, I know we just filmed a whole, like, news report thing whatever on this, but you didn’t…um, well, you didn’t really actually talk, or really do much of anything, and I don’t want to pressure you or anything, but…”
            His hero had ceased his canon-fire of words mid-sentence (or at least he assumed by how strict lips paused momentarily and clasped back together). Jongin watched the other male grow uncomfortably still in his seat, after having now removed the towel of white from his dripping hair and held his pleading eyes of swirling chocolate pools on his paled fisted hand nesting atop the table. The room remained flooded by awkwardness, constant in flow to match the new founding sensations of a new human presence to couple new unknown human boundaries making them unbearably inaudible. Jongin had found himself heaving a sigh from his cold, paling lips of cinnamon browns; it wasn’t until he felt the slight shaking of the table from an impatient tapping leg under it that he realized the stranger had been waiting for him, but of course he had – that’s how oral conversation worked for most part, forcing out complicated sets of words until anyone bothered to tire of working mouth muscles to let another speak.
            He felt himself lean away now, falling to his seat tiredly. Fingers tapped against wood with a quick, practiced rhythm where one finger was palced at a time to execute a common physical gesture usually representing impatience. The man opposite to him had snapped up in his seat, attention drawn instantly. There was a goofy chuckle playing at Jongin’s lips that made the shorter’s insides tickle with delight (since he thought this was an act of dislike after all). He watched as the reluctant man gave him a simple wave, very short and robotically forced, to make sure he had his attention. He then went on go on to tap his left index finger at his sharp chin and next his interestingly rounded ear. A look of confusion crossed his small face, confusion quite distinct and telling to Jongin.
            “I don’t get it…” the words were being mumbled. The other had leaned in quite an amount to catch one of his words, in the very least one if not all, but had to roll his eyes at his lack of skill when it came to lip reading. Kyungsoo's eggshell white teeth bit along his plumped bottom lip, pooling in unease. “I-Is that…uh, sign language?”
            Eyebrows knitted together in misunderstanding, head tilted: Kyungsoo was giving him jazz hands (or clapping for him, if you consider the language that was sign language, but it was easy to doubt that he was clapping in this situation). A long finger was pointed to the tanner’s ears, hidden behind his still wet mess of brown. He gave his head two shakes, a simple clue. It was one that Kyungsoo easily got by the expression of surprise surfacing over hints of displeasure.
            “Oh, um, I’m really sorry! I probably should’ve noticed or something – and here I thought you were just ignoring me, but of course you probably wouldn’t. Well, I mean, I guess you wouldn’t. You don’t really look like the type to ignore people on purpose, not that I’m really judging or anything, because, I mean, um-”
            One sided conversations were not Jongin’s style, in fact the one-sided element in most of them were one big reason why he escaped participating in lengthy dialogs to begin with. A hand was flashed in urgency, easily interpreted as a sign to stop, and he made a slight shaking phone with his left hand. Kyungsoo was quick to catch on, as expected, and slide over his phone from his pocket. Jongin gifted him with a small grateful grin, distant but compact with appreciation, before taking it in his artful hands.
            Kyungsoo had been taking the time swallowed up to stop and course eyes along the darker toned man, or was until Jongin had caught him and swiftly ignored the gawking to shake the cell phone in his face. A lighter hand had gripped at the bottom of the screen to halt the shaking – ah, right, of course, he forgot to unlock it. Quickly the issue was solved with an input of numbers followed by Kyungsoo’s stiff nod, allowing the reported pitiful victim to go about tapping of fingers on apps and typing away for a prolonged moment. When the phone was returned, the screen blinked messages of communication on a digital pad of yellowed paper.

            (“Whatever you’ve been saying, I can’t hear it. In fact, I actually can’t quite hear anything at all. Yes, if you guessed correctly, that was sign language and, yes, I used it because I am Deaf, so you can go ahead and give yourself a pat on the back. If you don’t mind, however, could you do it after you repeat what you were saying in text?”)

            Jongin watched his eyes animate with life, watching the man’s nod become much more personal and enthusiastic. He gave a simple grin to him in efforts to bring excitement to the situation, eyebrows slumping by how cute the sight had been.  
            “Sure, just let me, uh,” his hand stretched over to Jongin, palm up and patient. He dropped the phone into it willingly (thankful he had the manners not to just snatch it back), their hands casually touching in the exchange. “One sec.”
            Jongin gave a formal nod, going on to sit his chin to his palm as he waited. He absent eyed the storm raging on outside through those large windows, feeling comfort stealthily turn to sleepiness. His blinking was lazy and breathing slow as the stress from all the drama occurring beforehand had finally begun to exit him, but he kept conscious with anticipation that racked through his tingling digits that continued to dry his damp locks. An amused smile s across his face at his bubbling eagerness as he silently waited. Enjoying this moment of taking interest (rather it be in the handsome man, or situation itself), the image of a rosy cheeked Kyungsoo staring at him with breathlessness and paused fingers hovering over screens had escaped him.
            “I’m, uh…done.” The blushing boy was uttering quietly, hand hesitant to interrupt the moment to be savored when it shyly fell against his sweatered arm. Jongin’s eyes had found him then once more, swallowing him up in one glance.
            He brought forth his right hand, so open and relaxed as it slid against the table. Kyungsoo timidly sat the phone to it, taking a moment for their eyes to meet for the first time and he felt his heart flutter in his chest. Jongin sat calm then, offering a peaceful smile undisturbed by the stranger before fingers curled around the tiny machine and he went on to read the message waiting to be answered.      

            (“I was asking if discussing the incident that just happened was a possibility…and if you didn’t mind talking about it with me, since you didn’t with the reporter…”)

            Kyungsoo eyed the deepening of collarbones behind a loose top as Jongin had in a breath and let it tumble out slowly. His dark eyes peered at loose fingers tapping away so quick and accurate. He wondered of how much faster they could text, if they had always been so fast at texting and how much faster them were than his own if he had to compare. He wanted to continue in his observations comfortably, but it was stopped by his phone being offered back to him. He took it, casually and quickly as if to not make it look like he’d been staring again, and let his eyes feast on words pilled over words turned informative paragraph.  

            (“I didn’t even know she was asking about it, to be honest… She kept looking to me and referring to me every so often, but then went right back to that camera of hers without giving me a chance to figure out what she wanted. I already at lip reading, but it’s worse when the person isn’t bothering to really face me – doesn’t really give me the opportunity to figure out anything, so I just kind of let the conversation go. She still rambled on, so I assumed it wasn’t really a problem. I also saw you talking with her after, figured I’d take the easy way and try to get my head back on straight.

            But, anyway, yeah… I don’t mind talking about some of it with you. Mind being specific, though? I don’t really want to tell some long story that's not really your business to begin with and I still need to put together…”)       

            Kyungsoo’s eyes peered at the ceiling after that, his mind contemplating the first question. It took a few dragged out moments, but his aloof counterpart seemed to pay little mind to time-keeping. When the words clicked, the deeper voiced of the two flashed a smile of awarding beauty and got to typing instantly. “Sorry, promise I won’t be long.”
            Jongin yawned at that, accidently of course, drawing Kyungsoo attention momentarily. It was a yawn almost absent of sound, just barely audible and willing. His ears caught onto sounds finally made and it made his smile much more wider. Jongin paid no mind, however, and went to rubbing knuckles against eyelids to keep himself free of his tiredness. He gave his curious on-looker a quick nod that made him remember he was in the middle of having a conversation. Quickly the mass of the memo pad was overtaken by letters and the phone was returned to the barefoot stranger. His eyes glazed over text hurriedly, almost zealously to the eyes of Kyungsoo.  

            (“Hopefully this won’t really offend you or anything…but, did you know that was a green light you were running into? I mean, I assumed, because of the little red hand blinking at the pedestrians, but maybe…?”)

            Another inaudible chuckle fell between them, catching Kyungsoo’s interest of how sound came from humans, and Jongin’s fingers went soaring across the keyboard. Kyungsoo admired their length and understanding of carrying purpose, watching in them filling silence with fulfillment and birthing conversation different from just texting or talking.
            Jongin laid the phone in front of him carefully and let him read out the message to himself. He watched lips open and spread over syllables of words, silently musing over what the voice belonging to those lips sounded like. “I did actually notice the green light, yes. That and the blinking hands and frozen people who couldn't cross. That’s the reason why I didn’t stop.”
            It was fear that settled into the weary being of Do Kyungsoo then, so visibly and instantaneously, melting away his resolve. The honey skinned male had felt amusement bouncing in his throat at how overwhelmed this stranger had felt in such a short time. He watched his fingers move heavily across the keyboard, sweeping keys almost unwillingly. The phone was sent back to him in one slow motion, seemingly very careful of placement and authority.

            (“So, you were really trying to…
                        Am I allowed to ask why?”)

            Joing’s eyes lifted to Kyungsoo hesitantly, holding a quiet staring contest where he tried to assess his level of trust in the stranger. He willed himself to gift the handsome male with an answer, felt there was something in his worrying eyes that made it worth it. When the message was typed and finished, he waited until Kyungsoo met him half way to return the device.

            (“I wasn’t, I don't think… I just needed to come back to my senses. Just kind of did it without thinking, just out of impulse or something. I didn’t really want you to ask…

            …but let’s just blame it on troubles of the heart, or something of similarity, okay?”)

            There was a confirmative nod, careful and obedient, before Kyungsoo closed down the app (saving their conversation in its own separated memo file). He made the rim of a cup with his right hand and tipped it to his lips as he lifted from his seat and performed the most hastiest of disappearing acts. Jongin sat in his disappointment, mulling over alternate endings to their first conversation, and wishing he’d been better equipped to handle strangers. Upon return of said stranger, the wish had passed along with a mug of hot chocolate being pressed to the table before him. A grin of relief brightened his beauty and they drank in peaceful silence, unbothered by the lack of words. Jongin thought to himself of thankful he may have been – if only his hot chocolate had mini marshmallows.