Sehun remembered, vaguely, the times when he could talk just the same as everyone else. He would chat for hours, never knowing what it was like to be silent for even a minute.
He remembered how he would practice rapping every minute of the day. How he and his friends dreamt that one day everyone would look up to them like they did the idols on T.V.
He remembered how words came out of his mouth without him even thinking about them, and at that time, he didn’t realise that the words he was saying could very well be the last to ever escape his lips.

He remembered when he was rushed into hospital, the fear that wrapped itself around every inch of his body and ate away at his thoughts. He remembered lying on the hospital bed that had no colour to it, staring at the ceiling without saying a word. Everything he had dreamed off vanished; no longer in his grasp thanks to the three words that left the doctor’s mouth. “Laryngeal nerve palsy.”

He thought that maybe he’d get better. There was always this hope that it wasn’t serious, that it would pass. But as the years slipped by, Sehun realised that his dreams would stay just that, dreams. They would forever be out of his reach, because he couldn’t talk. He knew that there was no hope, he wouldn’t just wake up one morning and be able to shout, scream, whisper or say all the things he’d kept to himself over the years.
It was an impossible dream. A simple, impossible dream, that slowly Sehun let go of.

With time, Sehun realised that people were too impatient to try to talk to a mute.
He soon lost contact with his friends. They were always too busy, dancing, singing, practicing. They were always doing something, some kind of activity that Sehun the mute couldn’t join in with. Eventually, Sehun gave up. He dropped out of school. He didn’t text his friends anymore, he didn’t ask to meet. He just went on with life, no longer caring that his friends had left him behind.

But when Sehun climbed the steep hill he sat atop every day after running errands for his mother, a smile replaced his painful expression. Luhan wasn’t there yet and Sehun didn’t expect him to be. He had some kind of idea where the older male was, because Sehun wasn’t stupid. He knew what was on the other side of the fence. He’d been there before.

Sehun had stayed inside the hospital for a good week when he was first admitted. He remembered that the doctors had told his parents it was just to be safe, that there was no life threatening issues. But Sehun remembered nonetheless. He remembered, because sat in the same hospital as him was a young boy not much older than him. A young boy that wore the same sad smile as he did. The smile of broken dreams, of loneliness, of longing. A smile that no matter how much Sehun wanted to forget, he wouldn’t; and he didn’t.

Because when he first met Luhan, the boy on the other side of the fence, it was the same smile. The same, pale, thin face. The same helpless doe eyes and young looking face that seemed to have gone through a lot.
And Sehun remembered the voice. Because when he had met him all those years ago, he had said the same word. It was the same, nervous “hello” that caught Sehun off guard. The same kindness of a stranger that had caused the equally as lonely boy to speak to Sehun and the same fear that had caused Sehun to run away.

He remembered how everyday he would make his parents pass the patient’s room when they strolled through the hospital. How he’d peek into the room without them knowing so he could grab a glance of the unknown boy, hoping that the sad smile would be replaced with that of happiness. But it never was, and on Sehun’s last day in the hospital, he still didn’t have the courage to greet the boy. So he left without ever talking to him, just like everyone else did.

But now Sehun sat against the metal fence and smiled. He didn’t care if he had to wait for hours for the sick boy to turn up, because he enjoyed his new friend’s company. It felt like the complete kind of friendship, one that was true and not forced.
 Luhan was Sehun’s only friend, and he had chosen to let the boy in.
He still hadn’t decided if it was through loneliness or something more. Sehun had suddenly felt attached to the male. It was a different kind of attached to the one he felt for his parents and old friends. It was the feeling of needing this person, understanding them. Because they felt the same way, wore the same smile. Though their stories were different, Sehun knew he was meant to meet Luhan. He knew everything was meant to have happened, and though Sehun couldn’t accept some things, he knew that fighting fate was pointless.

So Sehun let Luhan in, because he had already been shown that he couldn’t push him away. And Sehun didn’t want to push him away anymore. He wanted him there.

When night fell, the young boy suddenly felt panicked. He watched the sky with hope, wondering if when he turned around Luhan would be there. But as he moved his neck, Sehun laughed at the childish, sad hope. He knew Luhan wasn’t there. He knew he hadn’t come today.
He walked home that night telling himself that Luhan would be fine. That tomorrow he’d be there waiting for him, apologising for not showing up.

But when Sehun returned to the same spot the next day, there was no apology. There was no Luhan waiting for him with a bright smile. There was no Luhan the next day, or the day after that. As the days passed by, Sehun realised there was something wrong.

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I feel really stupid because I thought I’d already uploaded this but I checked today and the chapter was still marked as ‘hide chapter’. So it’s literally been sat for two week hidden even though it was ready for people to read.

I’ve just realised there’s no talking at all in this chapter. I hope it isn’t boring.