Baekhyun stumbles off the steps of the bus, spitting in irritation as he trudges forwards, eager to get away from the masses of chattering juniors pushing at him, getting off the bus from behind him.

“No manners, Jesus,” he mutters under his breath. “No respect. Never knew school kids were this foul,” he grumbles with his hands tucked into his jeans pockets and foot kicking a pebble along the path that he had felt underfoot.

It was a route he knows well—no stumbles, no trips. When he walks out of the side street close to the public school, he knew to turn left to head towards the shops, the unofficial meeting point whenever Baekhyun was out of sight of his home tutor; Minseok, his best friend, worked there, at the café as a barista, and Chanyeol… well Chanyeol, his other best friend, liked free coffee.

Eleven forty five, Baekhyun guesses, his light brown hair at the crown of his head already heating under the sun despite their colour. Wednesday.

Ding. Announcing Baekhyun’s arrival.

“Baek!” he could hear his loud-mouthed friend calling to him above the whirring of machines and the clinking of utensils, Minseok firing a quick ‘hey Baek’ from the counter before seemingly disappearing back into the kitchen. “Down the back, table 22!”

Baekhyun rolled his eyes so far he thought they’d be stuck at the back of his head for a second. Not like that influenced his sight anyway.

“I could hear you, you know, with your loud voice,” he hisses, sliding quietly into the couch across from Chanyeol. “It’s about time you invest in a volume dial.”

Chanyeol is tall, some massively tall guy of something like 184 cm in long stumbling limbs—Baekhyun only knows Chanyeol as about a couple of hand lengths taller than him. He had huge, rough hands from his love for the guitar, and a voice that sounded like a hibernating grizzly bear’s snore. And he snorts a little involuntarily whenever he laughs.

“Baek,” came Minseok’s voice, the clinking of glass wear as he sets down a cup infront of Baekhyun’s nose. “Iced. Is that okay?”

Baekhyun hums, grabbing the iced chocolate Minseok made for him, needing Chanyeol’s helpful long limbs to reach over and put the straw beside his lips. “Yeah thanks. It tastes good, hyung.”

He could almost see Minseok beaming.

Minseok, on the other hand, is small, apparently the same height as Baekhyun himself, but a touch of his arms or abdomen and you’d be considering stepping more carefully around him—although soft spoken and gentle, always putting his hand over Baekhyun’s hand whenever Baekhyun felt vulnerable enough to hold onto the crook of Minseok’s elbow, he almost literally clews Baekhyun inside-out with worry whenever he doesn’t get to the café at the right time.

“I’ll be off in 10, the place is teeming right now.”

“I can tell.”

After Minseok leaves again, Chanyeol begins flicking through the menu, with nothing else to do, Baekhyun sipping happily on his drink.

“Oh man look! They put in Minseok’s weird coconut thing that he made into the menu!” Chanyeol was saying, shoving the thick leather bound book of plastic sleeves under Baekhyun’s nose.

“Yes, because I see so well, Chanyeol,” Baekhyun quirks a grin, hearing Chanyeol’s dismayed squeak of apology.

It’s funny, Chanyeol’s apparently so dumb that he always mistakes Baekhyun for….someone not-blind, and always sounds like he’s close to crying whenever Baekhyun playfully calls him out for his little slip-ups that even though Baekhyun would snap at anyone else, it’s hard to hold that grudge against Chanyeol.

When Minseok gets on his break, setting down a caramel slice for the three of them to share, Baekhyun makes sure to ask about the weird coconut thing, demanding to try it, and noticing Minseok’s skin heat with a flush.

There’s that tell-tale loud chimes of bells sound from the pocket of his jeans, and despite everything, the burning looks the people in the vicinity fire him, Baekhyun takes his time fishing it out of his pocket. As a rule, Baekhyun always shoves his phone in upside down in his pocket, with the button at the top, so it’s not hard to gain his bearings and swipe to the right across the screen.

Even though Chanyeol’s always seemingly itching to “help him cross the road”, “open his drink bottle”, Baekhyun usually snaps at him that Chanyeol’s not Russell the wildlife explorer from UP so he should “stop acting like an annoying fat kid” or he’ll end up like one, but now, he shoves his phone into Chanyeol’s hands, demanding him to read the message.

“What if I don’t? It’s from your tutor written in all caps demanding you get home right this instance.”

“Chanyeol you’re a terrible liar, I know it’s from Jongin, every other person seems to think it’s too pointless to text me. So tell me what the he actually said.”

“God ing damn it Baekhyun.”

The first time Baekhyun saw Jongin, things weren’t exactly in the latter’s favour.

“What the , you stupid punks, get the off him,” Baekhyun had snarled, planting himself at the entrance of a back alley stemming off the back of the high school he walked past on the way to the café.

The rustling of clothes and loud rings of smacks and laughter through the empty alley of stone walls had come to an abrupt stop, and Baekhyun could’ve almost seen the four or five boys standing before him glancing at each other before snorting.

“Hah, who the are you?”

“Someone you probably won’t remember even if I tell you who I am,” Baekhyun had flung back, tone as sharp as the slap that he had heard come down on the boy’s cheek.

Thursday.

Two twenty PM.

Baekhyun heard Jongin’s tell-tale awkward shuffling on the carpet outside his apartment door before the bell even rung.

Jongin’s expression soon melts, his lips curving into a pretty, shy smile, eyes fixated on Baekhyun’s own radiant smile as he flung open the door.

“Hey Jonginnie,” Baekhyun’s smile spills across his lips and warms Jongin’s ears.

Apparently Baekhyun’s unseeing grey eyes had spooked the thugs enough, Baekhyun trying not to take too much personal offense.

The boy, crouched beside the trash can, had been trembling when Baekhyun had reached out a tentative hand towards him, and shied away.

There was the tell-tale metallic tang of blood in the air between them, and Baekhyun had insisted on getting him to Minseok’s café where they could maybe get him a band-aid but the very very quiet boy had skittishly jumped and ran off.

“So he can’t talk. Big deal!”

The second time Baekhyun rescues the boy, who he had heard from his attackers to be called Kim Jongin, they were crowded around him, shouting taunts at the tops of their voices.

Aside from that, Baekhyun also heard various loud remarks about Jongin’s useless mouth, and felt an even greater urge to step in—on top of almost practically feeling Jongin’s fear spark in the air.

“Is this another deformed one?”

“I’ll show you deformed,” Baekhyun had spat. “I probably have more sense in my elbow than you in your brain. And it doesn’t take a pair of ugly eyes to be able to see better than you, too.”

“Oh yeah?” came a fresh round of snickering.

The boy Jongin’s confusion had begun to pull even with his fear, and slowly, Baekhyun began to reckon that his reactions were composed of less panic and more logic. He’s calming down.

He had threatened them with something akin to one of the loose bricks in the wall behind him in the face if they didn’t off.

The boy, this time, had stared up at Baekhyun as he slowly approached with a warm smile.

The silence had stretched on for longer than Baekhyun had bargained for.

“So you can’t speak, Jongin?”

Instantly the aura around the boy seemed to dim with fresh uncertainty.

Baekhyun, on the other hand, stumbled to correct himself, they called him Kim Jongin didn’t they, unbeknownst to the fact that Jongin wasn’t as worried about his name as he was about his muteness.

He shook his head.

“No? It’s not—it is Jongin? Hi Jongin,” Baekhyun reached out a hand to him, smiling. “I’m Baekhyun.”

Jongin had thought that Baekhyun didn’t look blind at all. In comparison Jongin felt more blind than Baekhyun in that moment of time.

Baekhyun could smell Jongin’s light, musky scent over the coffee scent drifting from the other’s mug.

“Do you remember the first time we came here?” Baekhyun pokes Jongin’s hand, resting by his mug in the centre of the table between them, a light grin tweaking the corners of his lips.

Jongin’s index finger lightly taps on the back of Baekhyun’s hand, now resting against Jongin’s hand.

He smells nice.

That day Baekhyun had felt dirty fingers in his hair, a bruising grip on his hip, and surprised laughter about his unseeing eyes. Countless times he had snarled and bit back with his words, the only means with which he had any chance to plant fear in his attacker; but the man was badly irrational, even more , and Baekhyun was fighting a losing battle pinned against the wall. Until someone rammed into the man, standing infront of Baekhyun.

Jongin had tugged on Baekhyun’s wrist, obliged to bring Baekhyun home, or somewhere safe, wherever that may be.

“Is it weird that I can… recognise you by your scent now?” Baekhyun had replied instead. “Is it creepy?”

Jongin had taken a good minute or two to think it over, before shrugging as if acknowledging the fundamental need for Baekhyun to base simple observations off whatever his nose and ears tell him.

Jongin had towed Baekhyun along, tugging him by the wrist down the street—even though Baekhyun could easily tell, even without seeing the flickers of uncertainty across his face, that he had no ing clue where he was going.

Baekhyun, when he turned the corner, had turned the tables and suddenly Jongin was being dragged into the café, and Minseok’s automated word of greeting had come to a choked stop as he took in the sight of Baekhyun with someone else other than Chanyeol or himself.

At the time, the barista couldn’t wait to spoil a shy, sweet, cute new kid, and the three friends had crowded around Jongin all afternoon; they learnt he was in high school, he was tall for his age, and he liked dancing, apparently. Though when asked what kind of dance, he became even more silent.

Jongin isn’t too sure what it was that suddenly developed the fact that he and Baekhyun were suddenly much closer than he could fathom.

It might’ve been the second time Baekhyun rescued him, but simultaneously also the first time Jongin had looked him in the eye.

He felt absolutely transparent then.

The misty grey irises churning in Baekhyun’s eyes was more breath taking, less frightening than he could’ve ever betted.

It must’ve been that weird seeing quality that Jongin always thought Baekhyun’s eyes had. So Jongin had smiled a little at him, and was completely thrown out of his metaphorical chair when Baekhyun smiled back.

Countless afternoons, listening to Chanyeol going on about his day.

But Baekhyun was always tuned in to the light tapping of Jongin’s foot under the table at the café as he listens to music with one earphone in.

And Jongin was always watching Baekhyun, every time he blew his bangs, or brushed away a bit of golden brown hair at his neck.

They bonded, a little, over a mutual thing for hot chocolate.

One time, on the steps to the café, Jongin had poked Baekhyun in the side as he met up with him, and in his surprise, Baekhyun had promptly stumbled sideways, almost off the steps of the café until Jongin caught him by the waist.

Baekhyun tried not to blush, half-assedly snapped at Jongin that he wasn’t usually this clumsy, God forbid he should know that there’s another step from how many times he’s been in this dingy place. But he hears the soft snort of Jongin’s amusement, and feigning annoyance, stomps into the café, trying to fan off the blush on his face before Jongin caught up with him.

Some nights, Jongin would call Baekhyun, clearly for the sole purpose of hearing him babble on about something or rather. Turns out, most things Baekhyun goes on about are interesting at least, riveting usually, and maybe it’s just Jongin but somehow Baekhyun’s voice is even more spell binding than his pretty eyes.

Then another time, Jongin walked in the café in time to hear the unmistakeable soothe of Baekhyun’s voice, finding him perched on a tall stool in a corner of the café, a microphone to his lips, eyes closed. His grey, sightless eyes hidden to the world.

Chanyeol sat next to him on another equally tall stool, fingers skimming over hisguitar.

Jongin didn’t remember how to command the muscles in his limbs, and had stood by the door of the café throughout the entire song, watching as all the people began to fall for Baekhyun’s voice.

Watching as Baekhyun’s peaceful demeanour, the light taps of his slender fingers, his soft voice, everything, begun to get under his skin.

Feeling Baekhyun’s voice drag him down as well, amongst the many others already fallen for him.

Even though Jongin wasn’t able to describe the scenery to him, Baekhyun still felt the world around him as real, as alive as when Minseok talks him through every detail.

He could feel the wind, Jongin’s bangs brushed back with his fingers.

Then there was the soft sound of wind ruffling the waters. The gentle, rhythmic lapping of waves on rock, tens of feet beneath them.

Baekhyun trusted Jongin with him. Jongin had a strong hand on his waist, but with the in-coming wind from the sea buffeting against Baekhyun’s face, his small, petite form had been blown back a fraction of a step, and instantly Jongin’s grip shifted to his hand, closing his fingers through Baekhyun’s.

Suddenly safe, suddenly anchored, Baekhyun glanced up at Jongin, and felt his nerves through the small twitches under the skin of Jongin’s palm.

Baekhyun crossed his fingers in the gaps between Jongin’s.

He welcomed the warmth radiating from Jongin’s palms as a little bubble of protection against the winds and the salt of the sea spray.

They flopped down on the grass, side by side.

The afternoon sun was burning against the side of Baekhyun’s face, and he could swear there were ants crawling just under his shirt, if so, he is in immediate danger of having ants crawl in his pants.

Jongin poked his forearm once. Twice. Tentative little dabs of his finger, which had stretched Baekhyun’s lips wide.

Jongin has always been fascinated by the box of his smile.

It’s adorable. It’s something about the way the way the sun above their heads lit up the ends of Baekhyun’s hair.  It’s something about how Baekhyun’s smile blinds him—blinds him until he feels more blind than mute.

Baekhyun made a low noise of distress, and had feebly swatted in the general direction of Jongin’s poking fingers.

He planted a palm over Jongin’s face, felt the huffs of breaths of Jongin’s little giggles against his palm. His heart thumped in his throat and blocked the air through his airways.

Two deformities.

“The mute one with the ugly feet…”

“…the obnoxious, mean one with the scary eyes”

There was laughter constantly ringing in their ears, snickers of disbelief and fake coos that even when they lay awake at night the rings of mockery kept them up.

Jongin had instinctively reached for his fingers to brush the inside of Baekhyun’s elbow.

You’re not obnoxious. Mean.

“But if you think about it, I kind of am pretty mean.”

Jongin rested his forehead against Baekhyun’s, allowing the latter to feel the crease between his brows.

No. You’re not. He briefly breaks off to kiss each of Baekhyun’s eyelids. You’re eyes are perfect too. He made sure to land a second kiss on them before Baekhyun could pull away with a playful face of disgust.

“Jonginnie that was disgusting!”  Baekhyun had laughed before instantly sobering up and grabbing Jongin’s hands. “But you know being mute isn’t a problem, don’t you?”

There are times, like this one, where Baekhyun felt as if he was more mute than Jongin—even though he was born with a functional mouth and tongue, he still felt as though Jongin is still so much better at expressing himself.

“What did they mean though? About your feet?”

Jongin knew without Baekhyun reassuring him. He knew that Baekhyun didn't mean it like a taunt, just plain curiosity, and thus slowly spun around Baekhyun, occasionally turned him around, made sure to land louder than he normally would when he leaped or performed footwork on the tiled floor of Baekhyun’s apartment—and suddenly Baekhyun had never felt less blind all his life, picturing the way Jongin could manoeuvre in absolute grace and perfect precision and form.

“I will give half my hair if your feet are indeed ugly, but even so, I still think ugly feet are worth it if you can do that,” Baekhyun had breathed, stammering his way through his words once the orchestral thuds of Jongin’s feet had come to a quick stop.

Jongin had blushed furiously anyway, because he still believes Baekhyun could really see more than commonly believed.

Maybe Baekhyun prides himself in being a fast learner.

So it’d kind of stuck with him. The mean. The obnoxious. The blind.

It stuck with him the same way Jongin’s smell, the touch of the rough pads of Jongin’s fingers on his tender skin, the thought of Jongin, had stuck with his consciousness. Had entranced him, even when he wasn’t there.

And yet those three words had wormed themselves between thoughts of Jongin and his consciousness, reminding him every living moment, every stumble that Jongin has to catch him from and save his face from meeting the pavement.

How really blind Baekhyun is.

Jongin deserves better, are what the thoughts plague his waking mind end up being—the pacing of his living room, too used to the space to crash into anything, habitually gnawing stubbornly at his nails.

A hand had come up to curl around Baekhyun’s red, bleeding and stumped nails. Jongin had stared, frowning at the blood at the ends of Baekhyun’s pretty, elegant fingers.

Baekhyun had felt Jongin’s warm gaze on the side of his cheek.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he had said defensively. Jongin’s hands tightened around Baekhyun’s thin digits, and had managed to tighten them with a careful air, as if any harsher Baekhyun’s fingers would snap. “Sorry. I’ll stop that.”

The curious gazes prickling at Baekhyun’s skin everywhere they go, his hand nestled comfortably around the crook of Jongin’s arm  and Jongin’s arm resting at Baekhyun’s hip, making sure he wouldn’t suddenly trip and die, made the blood under his skin prick and crawl with unease.

Two disabled trying to take on the world.

That’s what they must look like.

A mute one helping a blind one down the road, and the blind one saying whatever the mute one can’t say.

And Baekhyun can perhaps give Jongin as much as Jongin can give him, which is to say, not a spectacular number for either of them.

Baekhyun can maybe give Jongin a tongue to his words, and what else?

A lot of things.

A lot of things, Jongin wanted to say.

Because when he’s curled in on himself, exposing his back to people so they don’t see the ugly tear tracks down his face, Baekhyun’s come along with that smile and looked right past the ballet feet, the skin colour, the tears, the outside.

“We’re not going anywhere,” Baekhyun had muttered to himself, fingers dancing absentmindedly up and down the veins on the underside of Jongin’s forearm. “A blind and a mute.” His laughter was choked and sounded like someone stepped on his hypothetical tail.

He had turned his eyes on Jongin. They were pretty, dull orbs the colour of sleet, but that doesn’t stop Jongin from feeling extremely vulnerable, exposed whenever Baekhyun looked at him like this.

“What can I give you?” his voice had dropped to a whisper.  “I promised to take care of you, and yet, how could I, when I can barely deal with myself? When I still need Chanyeol and Minseok to baby me?”

A lot of things.

And a lot of things were what Jongin’s lips had said, pressed against Baekhyun’s.

Thursday

Two thirty PM

Baekhyun’s finger tickles the bottom of Jongin’s chin, his hair splaying out across his thighs, his head resting on Jongin’s knees.

Jongin giggles, reaching down to tap Baekhyun’s finger before carding his hand through Baekhyun’s soft chestnut brown hair.

Baekhyun hums, soon turning into hums of some song Jongin didn’t know, with his eyelids closed delicately over his eyes, and eyelashes resting on his cheekbones.

Baekhyun’s beautiful, the only thoughts Jongin’s mind comes to as he bends down to brush his lips briefly against Baekhyun’s forehead. Then briskly brushing Baekhyun’s bangs back to cover his forehead. Baekhyun’s eyes were already curled with his wide smile, going so far as to crinkle the bridge of his nose.

Baekhyun’s eyes are beautiful—his eye smile even more so, and really, the grey of his eyes are sort of part of what makes his eyes so pretty. 

A/N

I needed a quick ending okay?

it probably didn't make much sense, there were flashbacks everywhere but I TRIED TO MAKE THE FLASHBACKS PAST TENSE BUT I THINK I FAILED

anyway. happy valentines day.