Myungsoo is sipping coffee.

It’s dark, no sugar no cream. It’s a little too hot for his tongue, and he savors the feeling of numb taste buds as he once again drowns the pink muscle in delectably hot, bitter liquid.

The coffee shop he frequents is popular, with enough of an ambient atmosphere to encourage people to shut up and keep to themselves instead of chattering too amicably, but busy enough to flood the room with the white noise that comes with busy typing from the starving artist sitting at the table to his left and the student frantically flipping pages on his right. At the counter, an average looking barista rings the bell and whispers a name, as though afraid to shatter the spell that fills the room.

Myungsoo closes his eyes and lets this silence fill his mind.

One by one, first the typing of the starving artist, then the shuffle of papers, and finally the dinging of that bell, the noises disappear from his auditory field. And he is left in the coffee house alone.

He loves it.

Myungsoo visits his coffee house without fail, once a day, every day. He opens the doors at 7:59 sharp, one minute before the shop actually opens, simply because he knows the doors are unlocked and he comes too often for the staff to stop him.

He struts to his seat, a corner by the window, and hopes the weather report is right for once. The blissfully dark clouds promise rain and Myungsoo can’t help but hope they deliver.

He spends the first fifteen minutes soaking the atmosphere in, identifying every customer that walks through the door, and the next fifteen washing them out of his mind. This is also a part of his regular routine. Somewhere between lunch and dinner, Myungsoo will leave, sometimes with new photographs in his camera, sometimes with new inspiration for his photographs, and sometimes with nothing at all.

But today is different.

Today, when Myungsoo sits down to close his eyes, someone else forces them open.

Myungsoo has always reveled in his ability to shut out the world, simply by shutting his eyes. He clings to each image that enters his mind in his empty-world state, each one becoming the center of his mental camera, an image preserved in his mind until he can find the exact image to preserve on his actual camera.

In this empty world, he creates the images.

He creates his world.

Today, his eyes are still closed and it isn’t quite lunch when the sounds of a chair scraping the ground wake him from his empty world realm. He’s a bit startled and can’t help but jump a bit, his feet tapping lightly against the ground due to the very sudden movement.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” The voice that greets him is too soft and too sweet, and Myungsoo’s eyes flutter open as well. “I didn’t realize there was someone else here.”

Myungsoo shuts his eyes to shut out the world.

But the boy before him cannot see this world.

Myungsoo accepts the sweet apology immediately, refusing the absolutely beautiful boy’s offer to move elsewhere. He nods his head, the oversized sunglasses dipping down and threatening to fall off his face. A slender, and very pale finger, darts up subtly and smoothly pushing the dark plastic back to its original location.

Myungsoo isn’t sure why his throat is dry when he introduces himself. “My name is Myungsoo.”

But then the perfect red lips purse up, just for a moment, before the words “Lee Sungjong” leave his mouth, and it seems as though Myungsoo’s empty world can never be empty again.

Myungsoo doesn’t leave the coffee shop until after dinner tonight, opting for a meal of pastries and intellectual conversation over a healthier sustenance. After all, it takes Myungsoo one deep breath, one shiver, one glance at Lee Sungjong to know that this boy will not be healthy for him.

Myungsoo thinks it’s a bit ironic that he who can see as much as he wants, chooses not to, when there are people in this world who can see nothing at all.

Myungsoo thinks it’s a bit ironic that he who lives to eternalize what he sees, wants only to eternalize the lips, the words, the voice of the boy who cannot.

Myungsoo thinks it’s a bit ironic that he who shuts his eyes cannot truly see until he’s met this boy who cannot open them.

Myungsoo does not strut into the coffee shop the next day. Rather, he runs in a bit breathless, crashing into his table and dropping a heavy bag of photos and magazines and blocks of Braille against the table before gently placing his camera atop the clusters and piles.

It’s still 7:59, but the only thought passing through his mind is the possibility of missing him, of missing Sungjong.

As though he didn’t miss him all of last night.

He spends a frantic three and half hours flipping through magazines, ripping out pages of scenery he’d never found this beautiful before, and clicking through old photos –resizing and relighting the images with a new vitality –before the clack of feet not quite sure where they’re walking wakes him from his stupor.

“Sungjong.” His voice comes out heavy, the effect enhanced by the breath he releases, the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding back. The flawless skin and perfect lips pull into a smile, and even with those large sunglasses, Myungsoo knows those eyes are smiling. And he hates himself a little more for wasting his own.

“Myungsoo,” the sweet, sweet voice floods his ears and one by one, first the typing of the starving artist, then the shuffle of papers, and finally the dinging of that bell, all of this white noises leaves his auditory field. “How are you today?”

The starving artist leaves his field of vision, the frantic flipping of pages blurs until that too is no longer perceivable.

All Myungsoo can see is the dazzling smile before him.

He pulls out the blocks of Braille. “You can read these, right?” His words are a bit too energetic, a bit too rushed, a bit too nervous. As though he were afraid Sungjong might disappear any second, if he couldn’t find a way to ground him here.

That delicate finger makes its appearance once again, brushing the raised dots ever so softly, as though the fragile boy were convinced the plastic block would break if he touched it too harshly. As though the fragile boy believed everything was as fragile as he was.

Sungjong smiles. “Photography again?” They’d spoken about it yesterday, and Sungjong had been more than intrigued, with good reason of course.

The dark haired boy chuckles nervously, “It’s strange right?” Talking to a blind person about photography was indeed strange. But for some reason, it felt more right with Sungjong than anyone else. And as the pink lips pursed again before the boy shook his head, gently, as though he’d break the air around him if he moved any faster, Myungsoo can’t help but confirm this feeling once again.

“It’s like you’re trying to show the world what you see.”

Myungsoo knows without a doubt, his latest exhibition will be something unlike any other. He calls the curator in advance to let him know this. To let him know that his mind will be blown, and his heart will be nervous, and he won’t know what to do with any one of the works.

Myungsoo believes this, because this is how he feels about Sungjong.

And his latest exhibition is all about Sungjong.

He is desperately trying to ready his tie, and reminding himself to take deep breaths, and hoping that Sungjong really will show up as he’s promised to, when the curator calls him and the melancholic ringtone blares against very soul.

“You’re crazy. We’ve never done this before.”

Myungsoo gulps. It’s beyond crazy. But so is love.

“I’m doing it now. I’ll be there in half an hour.” He thinks of the hours of work, the individual dots, the color and the lack thereof. He thinks of everything, of everyone, and then just about the one person who matters the most.

“Don’t forget to remove the ropes.”

There are thousands of people at the exhibition. It easily outnumbers his last, maybe even doubles the output of his last. But of course, no one has ever seen a photography exhibition like this before.

In fact, some of these people haven’t seen anything before.

The curator is hounding Myungsoo for a statement, a speech, anything to appease the flock of reporters outside and the numerous art collectors already starting bidding wars over the intriguing pieces. Myungsoo is about to give in when he catches a glimpse of softly swishing hair framing a flawless countenance and oversized sunglasses.

He smiles, the first genuine smile he remembers smiling, before giving the public the only statement they need. He enunciates every word into the microphone, stepping closer and closer to his target as he speaks. “Don’t forget to touch the artwork.”

His fans go wild.

But when he puts the microphone down –where exactly he can’t quite remember, not that it’s important or anything –and receives that blinding smile, Myungsoo’s heart goes wild.

Sungjong’s finger brushes across the plastic dots. “This is the Grand Canyon?” His voice is soft and sweet and very curious. Myungsoo nods and grunts, not trusting his voice, and with good reason. He’s already said three stupid things today, not including the five times he was too busy gaping at Sungjong’s innocence and beauty to remember to reply.

“Myungsoo, I can’t quite find the canyon. Can you help me?”

There are about a thousand knots in his throat, slowing the deep gulps of breath Myungsoo is trying to silently take. The soft chuckles coming from Sungjong’s lips inform Myungsoo that he is failing.

“Sorry.” He doesn’t know how else to respond and is very glad Sungjong can’t see the blush overtaking his face when he pulls Sungjong’s hand into his. He brings it to the center of the canvas, and runs it slowly towards the right.

“It’s beautiful.” Sungjong bring his finger back, running it against the raised dots again, and again. He brings it down a bit, and caresses the canvas there. Moves it up, and repeats the process.

He doesn’t notice Myungsoo’s eyes closing behind him, no longer needing to see the perfection to recreate it in his mind.

So are you.

Myungsoo’s work is the only thing in the papers tomorrow.

Every flight to Seoul is booked for the next three weeks and the only reason there’s a flight after that is because the exhibition has been approved for worldwide tour after those initial three weeks.

The reviews range from smashing to phenomenal and there isn’t an art critic that can speak poorly of it.

Perhaps that’s because there isn’t an art critic that can properly see it.

After all, no art critic has ever been blind before.

Kim Myungsoo’s newest exhibit targets an audience who’d give “The World To See.” Consisting of his most well received photographs in Braille form, Mr. Kim allows the blind a method to see the wonders of the world and his photography. For art enthusiasts who aren’t blind, he incorporates the use of stippling in the form of Braille dots, just small enough to blend the multitude of colors but large enough for the blind to still properly distinguish shape and form.

But Myungsoo is not reading the papers.

Myungsoo is sipping coffee.

It’s dark, a pinch of sugar and no cream. The too hot liquid leaves a bitter aftertaste and the numbness of lost taste buds isn’t quite as enjoyable as before. But when a particularly swift tongue probes his mouth in search of a lingering droplet of sugary goodness, Myungsoo can’t complain.

Because now when he closes his eyes, the world doesn’t become devoid of life.

It simply becomes devoid of everything but the one who matters most to him.

And he loves it.