Baekhyun feels something soft touch his lips. He smiles and reaches out, briefly bumping his fingers onto Chanyeol’s nose before he glides to his jaw, cupping his face. His spouse kisses him softly, and Baekhyun feels their nose bump and their faces nuzzle a little closer, and he nestles into Chanyeol’s larger figure, tangled on the bedsheets.

—Good morning, Baekhyun feels Chanyeol’s hand skitter over the top of his own, warm and rough and calloused, how are you?

—Good.

—Good. Let’s get you up and about, yeah?

Baekhyun feels Chanyeol’s lips once more—a small, brief peck—before he’s being guided up, Chanyeol holding him up along the way. He slowly makes his way off the bed, feeling the smooth, cold floorboard against the palm of his feet, before Chanyeol guides him downstairs. His lover treks him across the room where he could sit next to the window, and soon, Chanyeol is gone again.

After a few minutes, he feels warmth once more next to him—Chanyeol’s again. Something warm was slowly placed upon his lap and Baekhyun hovers a hand over it, rubbing his thumb against the artefact, feeling the heat of the very recently toasted bread, aware of the rough texture under the pad of his finger.

Baekhyun grabs Chanyeol’s wrist before it slides away, signing a light Thank you over his hand before gently picking up the toast. Warm, wonderful thing it was—he slowly took it to his mouth and chewed, feeling his teeth sink into the slightly dense thing before it becomes a wet mush inside his mouth. The corners of his lips quirk up when his discovers there’s another one on the plate, and he eats that one up, too, before he plays with the remaining crumbs between his fingers.

Then he feels something a little colder on his lips, and his teeth hits something hard. His hand reach up and caught hold of Chanyeol’s hands—and then cool glass. Water had always been a curious thing for Baekhyun—it wetted his lips and left an odd sensation of slight persistent stickiness to his skin, and it flowed and sloshed and moved in such a way that made it easily glide into his mouth and be swallowed down his throat. Then the water is gone, Chanyeol removes the glass, and Baekhyun feels his lover take hold of his wrist again, signing over the back of his hand.

—What do you want to do today?

Baekhyun didn’t need to think about it. Almost excitedly, he clenches his fingers around Chanyeol’s wrist and quickly delivers his answer.

—Can we go to the ocean?

Of course, as always, Chanyeol’s hand slackens and he feels his body slump next to him. Baekhyun’s eyebrows knit together—he’d recently learned that it was a visual expression of displeasure, and, if Chanyeol had two eyes that functioned, maybe he could see Baekhyun’s face. It’s always this, over and over again, every time Baekhyun wanted to go to the ocean—or even go outside. It’s almost as if Chanyeol never wants Baekhyun to go anywhere else, besides this tiny cramped space he calls home.

—Why not?

—Because…

Chanyeol’s fingers move undecidedly, as if he’s thinking of the answer.

—I’m a little busy today.

Baekhyun bites his bottom lip—it’s always some excuse. Chanyeol would always have some excuse not to go to the ocean. Baekhyun acknowledged that Chanyeol loved him more than anything—Chanyeol loved Baekhyun as much as he breathed in oxygen, and it was such a simple request: but time and time again, day after day, Chanyeol managed to pull out an excuse and dismiss him. What was with that?

Baekhyun exhales quickly from his nose, ignoring Chanyeol’s apologetic signing of sorry over his hand. What was wrong with going to the ocean?

Baekhyun had read many books about the ocean. It’s a wonderful thing of existence—the books’ descriptions of such places were magnificent. Baekhyun thought oceans were the best things to exist in his small, tiny world.

Underneath his feet would be small grains of caster sugar; soft breadcrumbs; grainy things that would sink underneath his step and get caught between his toes, like a much warmer pile of snow that he could pick up and feel it trickle one by one, as if it had been solidified water in harder, tinier versions. Ingrained in the odd soil would be stones; stones and pebbles as smooth as floorboards, and clams with millions of ridges and tiny little creatures skittering under his legs. And it would all be nice and warm and he could dig his toes into it, soft and smooth in his palm.

Then the air around him would be warm and breezy, and would taste of table salt in his tongue. The cool air would comb through his hair; a perfect combination of the chill and warmth, like sleeping cocooned underneath blankets around cold air. If he were to quickly move his arm down, he would feel as if he’d combed the air, feeling it woosh greatly through his fingers, and everywhere would be free for him to run about and move, swinging his arms here and there, without obstacle.

And the ocean—oh, the ocean itself! A big, giant bathtub of water; only there are almost no limits, and much, much larger, with the depths as infinite as space. The water, foamy around his legs, yet lighter than the liquid he drinks, and also ingrained with salt and sand. This great expanse is limitless; just miles and miles and space full of water, water, and then some. The water would be warm to his touch, and he could sink himself slowly into it and feel his hair float atop of his head—and, if he gets just to the right position, then he’d just be barely atop of the water’s surface; the closest he’d ever get to flying. It would wade through his fingers, the strands of his hair, the spaces in his clothes and on the surface of his skin, enveloping him in that soft, heavenly feeling of… of—of paradise.

Baekhyun smiles subconsciously, and he detects that Chanyeol had seen him smile, too, and he feels Chanyeol’s lips being pressed onto his cheek. Baekhyun glides his fingers atop of Chanyeol’s hand.

—I want to go there someday. The ocean is so…

Baekhyun’s hand stops signing, unable to find a word to describe as such. Chanyeol, sensing his pause, spells it out on the back of his hand, and Baekhyun sat up.

—…Beautiful, is that the word? The ocean is so beautiful. Can we go there tomorrow?

Chanyeol tenses up again, and Baekhyun was left clueless when Chanyeol’s hand slips off and his warmth slips away elsewhere. Chanyeol didn’t answer anything. Though, from the vibrations of the floorboards and the walls bouncing back movement, Baekhyun could tell that Chanyeol was angry. Chanyeol could do anything, of course—he could say things, which Baekhyun wouldn’t be able to hear—and those things might not be nice things. Baekhyun couldn’t see him being angry either.

Though it seems, after a few minutes of no response, Chanyeol slides next to him once more and sidles up to him, holding him close. Chanyeol gently pressed his lips onto his cheek and kisses him again, and his breaths were warm against Baekhyun’s face.

—I’m sorry, Baekhyun. I love you. Really. But we can’t, Chanyeol signs on his hand, and Baekhyun presses his lips tightly. Sensing his husband’s slight distress, Baekhyun slowly slides his head onto the crook of Chanyeol’s neck and nuzzles onto his skin, peppering his jaw with kisses, feeling their wedding bands collide a little as Baekhyun holds his hand.

—It’s okay, Baekhyun kisses his cheek, You’re doing your best to support me. I love you so much.

Baekhyun exhales softly and feels his eyes tire out, and he closes them; for although he sees the same sight regardless whether his eyes are open or not, open eyes did not provide the same comfort as it did if his eyes were closed.

—Maybe someday, he gently signed atop of Chanyeol’s hand. But he only feels Chanyeol kissing the top of his head and ruffling his hair, and receives no more answers.

Baekhyun is awake.

Sometimes it’s a little hard, sifting through what is a dream, and what is reality. Everything looks the same. Everything sounds the same. The same as in—there’s nothing. There’s nothing at all. As if he’s floating somewhere, in this wide, wide world, dissociating from life itself…

He could feel every fold of the soft bedding cover beneath him, every dip and rise of the covers, every single speck and particle on the quilt. Then the soft billowing of breaths; Chanyeol slept next to him, and they held hands under the sheets. It eases Baekhyun—the fact that this calm, unmoving state, it is as silent as his state of deafness; as if everything had slowed to a stop. Even everything, everything of existence that Baekhyun wasn’t aware of, has went very still.

Then there is an abrupt change in Chanyeol’s breathing, and Baekhyun stops feeling it billow on his cheek. The bed dips slightly and Chanyeol moves away a little, and the warmth seeps away from Baekhyun—but it comes back soon enough and Baekhyun feels something soft touch his lips. It’s something Chanyeol usually did—shortly after he woke up, he’d gently kiss Baekhyun and sign him good morning.

Chanyeol had begun the process of helping Baekhyun to get up, but Baekhyun felt for his hands and enclosed his lover’s wrist.

—No.

—No?

—Let’s lie down a little longer.

There is a pause, but Chanyeol understands. Chanyeol guides him to lie back down and he envelops Baekhyun completely in his hold, wrapping his legs around him. Baekhyun feels Chanyeol’s lips softly pepper around his face, his rough hands sifting through his hair, his thumb rubbing behind his ear. Baekhyun closes his eyes and nuzzles onto his hold.

Though something else must’ve caught Chanyeol’s attention, because Baekhyun could barely make out the Hang on Chanyeol had hurriedly signed onto the back of his hand before the bed springs up, now lighter of one person’s weight, and Chanyeol slips away from his touch. Baekhyun lies down on the bed, and soon the room shook and vibrated—maybe Chanyeol was getting something? Then the bed dips underneath him again and Chanyeol is within his range again, re-embracing him in his arms.

—Sorry. I had to get the door. Chanyeol signs atop of his hands. Oh—so that was why he was gone abruptly.

—What is it?

—Food rations.

Baekhyun stills a little bit. Sometimes, he couldn’t help but wonder what things he would know if he was able to see and hear things. And there were sometimes other things Chanyeol forgets to tell him. Baekhyun, beyond the actions of his small home, didn’t know about anything else—what he knew was that he’d always grew inside this house, and Chanyeol’s family moved in one day because of—what did mother tell him?—shelter? Sheltering? But suddenly one day they’d disappeared—both of their fathers first—then Baekhyun’s brother, then Chanyeol’s sister, then both of their mothers. And years later Baekhyun never felt of them again.

Maybe they moved away—Baekhyun never really understood things. There’s just some things he couldn’t understand, even through smell, or touch. Things like—like the “colour red”. Not only he didn’t even know what “colour” even meant, but it just wasn’t something he could know, or even learn about. Some things he could never know. Some things he could never really face.

Baekhyun feels Chanyeol’s hand again.

—What are you thinking?

Baekhyun could feel Chanyeol’s lips on his neck, nuzzling him closer.

—Lots of things.

—What kind of things?

Baekhyun didn’t really know how to word it. So he didn’t sign back, and Chanyeol got the idea that he didn’t really want to venture it further. So they lie close together, Chanyeol’s fingers rubbing Baekhyun’s knuckles. Chanyeol carries on kissing him gently; it was a way of reassuring Baekhyun that he was still there, looking out after him, and so that Baekhyun had the adequate tactile sensory he needed so that he didn’t dissociate himself and lose himself to paranoia in a limbo-like state. It was hard enough not being able to see, or hear—so he needed Chanyeol to stay as close to him as possible, at all times.

Though at times like these, Baekhyun was easily lulled into a dream-like state; he feels the ocean again. The soft, grainy soil beneath his feet—sand—the warm, breezy air and the wide, wide waters; and once more he was excited again, sitting up. Chanyeol must’ve sensed this abrupt movement and Chanyeol takes hold of him to steady him.

—What is it?

—Can we go to the ocean?

And, once again, Chanyeol stills, faltering. He didn’t move, or sign again for a very long while.

—We can’t. I’m sorry.

Baekhyun, once more, wilted in disappointment. He feels himself slump. Why so? It was the only request he would only make, time and time again—yet Chanyeol, yet his beloved Chanyeol, who would live and die and do everything for him, always refused.

Had Chanyeol ever went to the ocean? Perhaps—because why else but Chanyeol always refuse to take him to the ocean? Supposing Chanyeol had went there, there must’ve been something that made Chanyeol so reclusive and terrified of the ocean. What could be lurking under the waters that Chanyeol is so