Loud.

           Hundreds of children frolicking about the playground, their laughs turning to screams that sounded more akin to shrieks of terror than shouts of joy. Thunderous and unrelenting, they sound like sirens against the gentle murmurs of a voice to which I've long since grown accustomed.

           Don’t look at them, Minho.

           Just listen to me.

           I’m all you need.

           The dark sand of the play box feels damp, yet soft beneath my small toes, and I can’t help but watch with a strange combination of envy and fear pitted in the depths of my stomach. The first day of school, certainly a cause for nerves, but the envy of a desire I know will not come true burns stronger in my gut. I could make friends, if he wasn’t around. I could talk amongst everyone like I was one of them, laughing and playing like they all do with each other, if only he were gone.

           Smiles and laughs, gentle touches and quiet whispers, giggles and the sounds of friendship that ring through the air.

           Ignore them, Minho.

           You only need me.

           I sit and silently watch along, his voice tingling with a sickening satisfaction as he spoke again.

           Good boy.

           “Do you still hear him?”

           “Yes.”

           “Do you still see him?”

           “Yes.”

           “Take these.”

           Water, pills, my satisfaction. My silence. My cause for repose.

           My veins, pulled and stretched to the brink of exhaustion, finally relax and he does not speak. I can open my eyes without fear because he is no longer sitting on the edge of my bed like he usually is, his eyes that look so similar to mine, yet so hate-filled and detestable, are no longer watching me with their sinful gaze.

           I am quiet, and so is he.

           It’s been raining more and more recently, you know. Though I feel so separate from civilization, entire universes away from the sane and accepted society I long to return to, the sound of thunder serves to remind me that I’m really not so far off. I hear what everyone else hears, that crackling roar, that slamming of cymbals that descend from the heavens. It’s a beautiful sound - a sound I am not ashamed to say has made me cry on more than one occasion.

           I don’t think it needs to be said, but I will say it anyway.

           I love the rain.

           I can watch it for hours, and sometimes I do. If I’m going to be honest, there really isn’t much else to do here. Watching the raindrops patter down the cold glass windows is the sole entertainment I’m allowed, but I do enjoy it. They look like tears, but they do not hurt like the tears do. They aren’t ugly and unwelcome like tears are. They don’t slice at your eyes and cut at your nose and cheeks until your face is tarnished beyond recognition. They’re beautiful - cascading and clear and sparkling in the dim lamplight of my room.

           Sometimes I turn my lights off, close my eyes, and think of the rain I used to hear thundering against the roof of my own home. I pretend that I’ve left. That I’ve made it out of here and once again, I’m home. He doesn’t speak because he’s up and gone, and I am alone and at peace. Fingers tangled in the bedsheets and my heartbeat murmuring a gentle tune of satisfaction, I am safe.

           But then he pipes up, speaking only to remind me of my own foolishness.           

           You’re not going anywhere.

           So, the pills wore off already? I thought I had a bit more time than that.

           His voice is a searing pain that surges through every fiber of my creation. It burns, it paralyzes. When he speaks, I can’t breathe. When he whispers, I am frozen.

           And when I see him, I fall apart.

           “I remembered something today.”

           The psychiatrist's office, intricate in its decor and numbing in its atmosphere, is infinitely more relaxing than anything the hollow hallways near my room have to offer. That sickening white labyrinth is enough to make my stomach churn just at the mention. 

           Just one of endless reasons that I love being in his office. 

           “Oh? You did?” He asks before lifting a cup of water from the table and sipping pensively. I can’t help but my lips, suddenly realizing that I’m a bit more parched than I had realized. When was the last time I had something to drink? Yesterday? This morning? It isn’t quite clear, and for the life of me I just can’t remember. The days blend into nothing when you’ve been here so long. A week could have passed for all I know. A week of the very same monotonous routine that never changes. 

           Sleep, wake, eat, listen to the rain. Repeat until you’re more insane than when you started. 

           Routines will make you crazy, but I think that’s why they exist.

           “Yeah,” I reply. I can’t help but notice the windows across from me. They’re far larger than the ones in my room. They seem to be dripping with temptation, whispering words of freedom that I can only listen to, but not act upon. “It’s a dream I used to have a lot.” 

           I’m not sure what I hope to achieve by so casually ing such a fact into the air, but I’m not sure what else to do. It’s been months, months of the same, and nothing has changed. I just want something, no matter how minuscule, to budge. I can’t stomach any more of the same routine day after day. If this doesn’t change anything, so be it. But it’s worth a try - anything is.

           “Want to tell me about it?” He asks, adjusting his glasses and leaning in ever so slightly over the wooden coffee table between us. Such an action puts me more at ease. He is listening. His eyes are alert and his ears are attentive. He does not judge, he does not demean, he only listens with an unwavering patience that I’ve never seen from anyone before.

           “Well... it’s a bit... hazy, now, but it’s always the same,” I begin, suddenly feeling ashamed at the mere notion of talking about my dreams to someone. But I close my eyes and push through the embarrassment, forcing myself to recall details long hidden away after near years of absence. “I’m... walking. I’m not sure where I am. Everything’s white. And, uh... I see somebody. But I can’t see their face. Every single time I just can’t see their face. Even when I try to look, I just can’t.”

           He nods and adjusts his glasses again. It seems to be a habit of his, to unconsciously reach up and pinch at the thick black frames in front his eyes. It’s calming - but it seems that every action of his is.

           “And... when I approach him, he opens up his arms and he says something.” I pause and try to remember the exact words uttered from the faceless person in a dream I haven’t had in so long.

           It’s a bit difficult. Not just my memory, but my mind, is always in a bit of a fog. And it goes without saying that I’ve never been all that skilled in differentiating between real and imaginary, and dreams are just one more realm that I cannot separate.

           “...I can’t remember.” I admit pathetically. I hang my head low, far more interested in the plush carpet beneath my feet than the sympathetic stare of a doctor I admire far too much to have pity me. Though sympathy is better than judgement, it’s still far from what I desire.

           “That’s okay,” he says reassuringly. I’m sure his face matches his tone perfectly, but I am far too ashamed to look at it. “Just do me a favor.”

           I nod with my head still tilted down toward the ground, the feeling of shame burning stronger and stronger with every laugh I hear from him in the back of my mind.

           “Next time you have this dream, if you do, I want you to try and listen to what that person says,” he requests with that same gentle voice that sings from his full lips. He’s so patient, so kind, so much different than the hate I hear every single day. “Then tell me. Okay?”

           I nod once again, but I still seem to be fixated on the carpet before me.

           “Our hour is up,” he says, a slight tinge of disappointment, faked or not, I’m not quite sure, in his voice. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

           I nod shortly and quickly say my goodbyes before scurrying back to my prison of a room.

           Sleep, wake, eat, and listen to the rain. Repeat until you can’t take it anymore.

           Well, I supposed something has changed.

           I suppose I’m listening for something else now.

           It’s raining again. The raindrops sound like someone tapping their fingernails impatiently on a wooden surface, waiting and waiting for something until the waiting just drives them mad.

           I love the sound.

           But today, I hear something else along with the tapping of liquid on the roof. Something else entirely. The pattering of something quite distinct from that of the rain.

           It’s the scampering of footsteps.

           It’s not a doctor, that much is clear. The sound of slapping against the cold linoleum is the sound of bare feet on the floor, not the stark white sneakers the doctors all sport as they scurry down the hallways, attending to as many patients as they can before they can clock out and go home, crack a beer and call it a day.

           The footsteps are soft, growing louder and louder before they stop at my door, and a head of a person I’ve never seen before pokes its way through the frame.

           And at that moment I can’t speak. My mouth feels dry and caked, tongue lapping lifelessly at the cracked skin around my lips. I can’t even breathe. My lungs feel like they’ve tightened far too much for such a thing. My limbs have turned lifeless, and I can’t move.

           And, above all, I cannot see.

           Because I swear the boy before me has suns instead of eyes, and I am blinded.

           “Wow, someone my age!” He says with a smile. And then it’s quite clear. His eyes are not just suns, but his teeth shine like stars, his eyes are like planets, and his body, thin and narrow as it was, a universe, untouched and unknown and beautiful beyond imagination. “Everyone’s so old around here, I never thought I’d meet another kid!”

           His hair is long, about shoulder length, and the most beautiful chestnut brown I have ever seen in my entire nineteen years. He’s wearing the standard issue hospital gown, but he doesn’t look shapeless and devoid of life in it like the rest of us do. He looks like an angel, dressed head to toe in the only color of white I have been able to bear since my arrival to this place.

           He is a universe - and I am just a speck of dust in the limitless space he commands.

           “What’s your name?” He chirps. His voice is like a song, filled with a cheer I never imagined to hear in such a place, laced with a beautiful melody that my ears long to hear again and again until the years stack up and my ears no longer function in my old age.

           I my lips once, twice, before finally managing to form the proper shapes and noises with my mouth. “M-Minho,” I stammer foolishly, “Choi Minho.”

           He smiles again - dear lord, that smile - and I have no idea what else to say. There are no words that could match the sheer beauty of the spectacle before me, no sentences the entire world has to offer that could possibly stand toe to toe with the boy who grins with the power of all the planets combined.

           “Minho! That’s a good name!” He laughs and hops up on the bed, the mattress shifting only slightly beneath his light weight as he rolls onto his stomach and props his chin onto his hands, kicking his slender feet back behind him. The gown he wears slips down and reveals his legs up to his knees, the pale white and smooth skin shining almost too bright for my already damaged eyes. For a moment, I’m a bit stunned. He’s so friendly, so forward, I’m not quite sure how to react. Luckily, he opens his mouth to speak before I even get the chance. “My name is -”

           “Lee Taemin!” A voice booms, a screeching sound that breaks the air of pure euphoria that has somehow saturated the entire room. The boy - or, Taemin, rather, such a beautiful name it hardly seems fit to stay in my thoughts, of all things - whips his head around, his brown hair following in a flutter behind him. “What are you doing out of your room?!”

           I silently curse the doctor for interrupting us. Just moments before that beautiful boy was going to tell me his name in the voice I had come to love after nothing but a few short words, she had barged in and done the job herself.

           “I’m busy,” Taemin hisses. He sounds so changed from before, his tone now irritant and hateful rather than filled with the cheer and delicate joy that I had heard. “I’m making a new friend.”

           “You’re not allowed out of your room,” the doctor demands, her tone unwavering and harsh.

           Taemin narrows his eyes. “I’m. Busy,” he repeats, and for a moment, I feel my blood turn to ice and my heart tremble in my chest. I never expected such a terrifying sound to come from such a thin and fragile boy, but the voice I have just heard, grating and furious, was all but undeniable.

           The doctor, finally deciding she’s had enough, grabs onto his arm and fiercely pulls him out of the door. Though he seems annoyed, he doesn’t struggle or mutter any words in protest. He merely shouts before leaving, just a single phrase before he disappears.

           “Nice to meet you, Minho!”

           And I am, again, left alone. But that’s when I realize it. The pills should have worn off hours ago, but that whole time I didn’t hear a single whisper of his voice, not even a laugh or a tired mocking phrase that had become all too common whenever he addressed me.

           Next to the voice of Taemin, he was silent.

           Incredible. Not a single word the entire time.

           I don’t know how it happened, but it did.

           Some things are far too beautiful for words, so beyond the limited capabilities of human language that they go far beyond description and breach into the realm of the otherworldly. You can try for hours to describe such a masterpiece with the inadequate paintbrush that is your own tongue, but you will inevitably fail, left speechless at the luster of a sight unparalleled to human creation.

           Lee Taemin was one such thing.

           And I lay there, stunned into quiet, too shocked to move and too amazed to speak, I cannot see.

           Because his eyes were like suns, and they have left me blind. 

-----------------------------

A/N - This is up earlier than I thought it would be... 

Anyway, hi guys! I was feeling so inactive on AFF I thought I'd write another chapter. I used google docs to type this up, so forgive me if the formatting is a little weird. Typing on my lovely new computer was fun :D (It actually functions, unlike my old one!)

Not much to say here. I never have much to say in the beginning chapters. 

If you guys ship Hanchul, please go read my Hanchul two-shot! I know I've been advertising this story into the ground, but it's really hard to get an audience for a two-shot and it would mean the world of you read it for me :)

Thanks you guys for your subs and comments <3 it really means a lot. I hope you guys like the chapter, and please please please message me if there are any typos! It's late and I'm a bit tired, so I might have missed something while proofreading. 

See you later!

-Gelisi