i / i

 

Sehun wakes up to the sound of his teacher yelling at him. Like every day.

      He lifts his head, blinking away sleep. Like it’ll help. Darkness presses in on his eyes, his world swaying around him. “Sir?”

      “God, Sehun, at least listen!” the teacher spits, vehemence enforcing his every word. “You’re not a damned pity case anymore. Will you ever start to care?”

      Sehun flinches back, feeling a pang of anger in his chest. He's about to retort something snarky back when a gentle hand rubbing the inside of his thigh reminds him that any retaliation he makes will be pointless. So he shuts up.

      “I’ll take care of him,” someone says. Sehun sighs, calming down a bit. Jongin.

      But their professor is obviously still shaking in fury. “Get the ungrateful thing out, then, Jongin.”’

      “Yes, sir,” Jongin responds obediently, grabbing Sehun’s hand in his own. Their palms rub together as Jongin stands up and leads Sehun out of the classroom. The door closes softly behind them and they wordlessly start down the hallway. Once they’re both out of earshot of the professor, Jongin squeezes Sehun’s hand and whispers, “You shouldn’t have fallen asleep.”

      “I’m blind, Jongin,” says Sehun flatly. “I probably won’t achieve anything in life because of this.” He drops his friend’s hand, still feeling irked.

      “Stop saying things like that,” Jongin says disapprovingly. “I hate it.”

       “Why do you hang around me, then?”

      “Because I like you, why else?” An arm finds its way to Sehun’s shoulders lazily, fingers tickling at Sehun’s thin collarbones. Sehun shudders involuntarily.

      “Well, since the teacher wanted a break from your sleepy self, let’s go get something to drink and then come back here for lunch, shall we?” Jongin sounds happy. “That shop down the road is open to all customers now. Let’s go.”

      Then Sehun finds himself being dragged out, into the late autumn air, away from the school – and leaving some of his problems behind.

 

 

 

“When did they finish your pool?” Sehun asks.

      He’s at Jongin’s house, sitting on the bench swing in Jongin’s backyard. He digs the toe of his sneaker into the ground and pushes. The swing rocks them back and forth with a creak.

      “A couple of days ago. Perhaps three,” says Jongin.

      Sehun senses that Jongin’s excited about the pool. Jongin begged his parents to install one, and at last Jongin won them over. He grips the stake driven into the cold earth that holds the bench swing, and pushes himself to his feet. He starts to walk along the stones bordering the backyard.

      “Sehun,” warns Jongin. Immediately he’s behind him, one hand on his shoulders and one resting on Sehun’s hip, to guide him. “Be careful.”

      Sehun knows he has to be careful. Jongin tells him every day. Although Jongin’s soft touches and cautious guidance soothes him, he can get used to navigating on his own. “Isn’t it getting too chilly for swimming?”

      As usual, Jongin’s warm breath coming in contact with Sehun’s skin sends shivers up his spine and makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “My mother can heat it up.”

      It’s when Jongin says this that Sehun remembers that the Kim family makes a bit more money than the average household, which is why they can buy a pool and heat it up without effort. Sehun almost slips off a rock and Jongin steadies him. “Is the water nice?”

      Jongin grips his hand, leading Sehun off the rocks. Sehun follows him until the last moment, eyes widening in realization. “Don’t you--”

      Then Sehun’s pushed into the pool, creating an explosion around him. The chilling water swirls and batters him, and he’s submerged for a few moments. He panics and flails. Calm yourself, Sehun. It’s just more of Jongin’s fun and games.

      His bare feet slip on something, and Sehun realizes it’s the tiles on the bottom. The part he’s in is only a couple of feet deep. He comes up spluttering, gasping for oxygen with his chest heaving. He shakes out his hair. “Jongin?”

      Hands wrap around his waist and pull him to the side. Sehun is hoisted onto the steps, the water lapping at his calves. His friend flicks his forehead. “You okay?”

     “Of course,” says Sehun in exasperation. His eyelids flutter closed and Jongin snakes an arm around his neck to tug him closer. “My clothes are wet, though.”

      “So are mine,” says Jongin. “But I wanted to swim. Do you?”

      Sehun remains silent.

      Jongin knows him too well. While Sehun’s not afraid of water and he can swim, Sehun isn’t quite familiar with the pool and he doesn’t know where to go. It’s possible that he can hurt himself because he can’t see the layout of it.

      “I’ll be right here,” Jongin reassures Sehun. “I’ll stay with you until you get used to it later?”

      Sehun gives a nod, and Jongin leads him to a deeper part of the pool. They’re connected by two fingers only.

      Jongin makes Sehun feel his way along the perimeter of the pool by steering his fingers on the walls and making sure Sehun takes note of where the corners are. Sehun starts to get used to it. He knows which parts are deep and how to reach out for the smooth-tiled walls. Jongin’s hold becomes looser and soon he’s slipping out from between Sehun’s clutching grasp. Sehun knows that Jongin isn’t a service dog; when he feels that Sehun can cope he’ll drift out of Sehun’s range for a while and will only come back if he deems it necessary. So Sehun doesn’t feel any sense of betrayal.

      There’s a splash and water sprays Sehun. He’s a bit nervous, because he can’t see Jongin or know of his whereabouts unless he relies solely on sound, so Jongin can easily sneak up and startle him. Sehun doesn’t really like surprises. So he steels himself for any kind of move Jongin may make.

   Although Jongin helps him, he’ll sometimes take advantage of Sehun’s lack of vision. Sehun can’t blame him. The jokes aren’t exactly empty or jabbing.

      Sure enough, someone grabs his ankles and Sehun yelps. Jongin emerges and pats Sehun’s face, chuckling. “You’re so easy to scare.”

       “Maybe it’s because being in total darkness when it happens intensifies the fear. Don’t you watch horror movies?”

      “Do you?” teases Jongin.

      Sehun rolls his eyes, but part of him misses watching any kind of movie. Jongin doesn’t mean it, so he shouldn’t think about it, he reminds himself.

      “Sehun, smile,” coos Jongin. “I rarely see you smiling, so do it for me? Please?”

      Sehun finds himself smiling anyway at how ridiculous his friend sounds when he whines, and Jongin’s noise of delight is worth it.

 

 

 

After the small dinner that Jongin made for him and Sehun, they both sit down on the sofa in Jongin’s living room. The radio’s on but Sehun almost wishes it wasn’t because he enjoys conversation only between him and Jongin. After that, silence. Mostly they just bask in the other’s presence, aware of every inhale and every touch delivered. They understand each other too well, Sehun knows.

      Sehun’s leaning on Jongin’s chest, listening to the heartbeat of the one boy he cherishes so much. Jongin’s gently fingers are running through his hair, smoothing the bangs over his forehead and twirling it. It gets tangled into intricate knots that Jongin laughs at until he locates that little bit of empathy inside of him to pity Sehun and extricate the strands.

      Once Jongin gets bored of this game, he rests his chin on Sehun’s head and plays with the younger’s hands. Sehun feels Jongin’s chest rising up and down with patterned breath. He sees that Jongin’s relaxed and musters up the courage he has and asks:

      “Jongin, be honest with me. What do I look like?”

      Jongin pauses for a minute before he begins to describe. “Well . . . you have pale skin. It’s really pretty. It’s not like a girl’s, exactly, but it has that delicacy.

       “You’re taller than me. Taller than most in our homeroom. Taller than the teacher, even. You got it from your mom’s side.

      “You have pinker lips than me.” Jongin taps them and Sehun turns his head away, a smile tugging at his mouth. “I just learned that they’re soft.”

      “That’s weird,” protests Sehun weakly, crossing his legs. “Why are you going around touching people’s lips?”

      Jongin laughs softly, “I don’t know, I just had an impulsive desire to touch them.” He pushes Sehun’s face back and pinches his cheek. “You have squishy cheeks.”

      Sehun sighs playfully as Jongin fondles his face, feeling babied in every way. Then Jongin goes on, “You have soft hair. It’s lighter colored and silkier than mine. It’s a bit longer, too.”

      In Jongin’s eyes, Sehun sounds perfect. But Sehun knows there has to be something. Some flaw. He feels uncomfortable being described like he’s the prettiest thing Jongin’s ever seen.

      He buries his face in Jongin’s shirt. Then he mumbles the question he’s always wanted to ask.

      “What?” says Jongin, brushing Sehun’s hair back.

      “What do my eyes look like?” Please tell the truth.

      Jongin exhales. Sehun’s frightened for a minute. Does he really want to know? He’s scolding himself for even proposing such a question like that while Jongin’s silence stretches out.

      Then he says, “They’re kind of gray. Clouded over. They just . . . look damaged. I really hate the kids who did that to you. Don’t worry about it, Sehun.”

      When Jongin’s words are out Sehun feels . . . kind of disgusted. Has he really been walking around like that? It’s only natural that people scarcely talk to him with him looking like a zombie.

      “No, I’m sorry you have to see me looking like that every day.” His voice is brisk.

      “Sehun . . . I’m never going to stop seeing you, ever. I--”

     “You’re making it sound like one of those books,” says Sehun, obviously making a joke. But his smile never returns.

      Jongin’s voice is troubled when he responds. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. I screwed up.”

      “No, I shouldn’t have asked,” retorts Sehun. “I’ve always known that my eyes should look weird. What’d they throw at me, anyway? Alcohol? Bleach?”

      “Immature bastards,” Jongin mutters.

      Sehun reaches upwards and his fingers brush Jongin’s nose. “It’s fine. I don’t know why you overreact--”

      “I’m not overreacting!” Jongin’s voice shakes with anger. “No one wants to be bli – I mean, in the situation you’re in! Why do you say it’s fine?!”

      “Is it creepy . . . like, do my eyes freak you out?” mumbles Sehun. He touches the side of Jongin’s face and Jongin leans into his palm.

      “Of course not,” Jongin murmurs. “I’m--”

      “Is this why people don’t talk to me anymore?”

      Jongin seems to freeze up at this and stays like that for a moment before saying at last, “Kyungsoo and Baekhyun talk to you.”

      “Sometimes, but the--”

      “Sehun, please, stop,” Jongin cries out. “I don’t care what the whole high school thinks, you’re perfect. It hurts me to see you bashing yourself like this. Please don’t.”

      Sehun shuts up after that, not bothering to ask any more questions as Jongin holds him just a little bit closer.

 

 

 

Sehun tries to do his work. He can’t.

      He feels his chest tighten and his breathing quicken and wow, his eyes hurt. Is that pain? Never felt that before.

      They’re burning and irritated and he’s blinking really heavily. Also, his mind is whirling and he just can’t collect all those brain cells to do his homework properly.

      Everything’s dark. Painfully dark. It’s a starless galaxy out there, Sehun knows it is. All that vast, cold space enveloping him, and it’s really scary. Sehun’s been claustrophobic his whole life, but the past few years have been torture. Now that torture is slowly declining deeper, straight into the devil’s hands.

      His throat constricts. It’s bothering him. He blinks again, ignoring the load of bricks on his eyelashes, pushing away the tears. He’s not that weak. It just hurts. Everything.

      He can endure pain.

     Sehun reaches out for his water but, in his nervousness, instead ends up knocking the whole thing over and spilling the absolutely freezing drink on himself.

      “,” he mutters crossly, jumping out of his seat.

      Sehun lifts his shirt away from his skin and sighs. This is going to require a trip to the bathroom.

 

 

 

When Sehun opens his eyes, he can see.

      He’s sitting in the library at his school, on one of the computers. The images on the screen are blurry and confusing, swimming in front of his unfocused eyes. When they settle back and create a clear picture, Sehun can see that he’s browsing through the online site of a newspaper.

         A yell echoing through the library reaches Sehun’s ears. “Be quiet!”

      Sehun jumps up from his chair in shock and surprise when the librarian pokes her head into the computer room, red-faced and looking furious. “You, kid.”

       Sehun’s about to reply but she barrels on.

       “You’re not supposed to be here, don’t you know that? This place is off-limits to handicaps! Away with your filth!”

       Sehun, utterly disoriented, is going to say that he can see now and he’s not a handicap anymore when a lemon meringue pie comes flying at his face.

       Sehun ducks and stumbles back. He loses his footing and is about to fall when someone catches him. He leans against their chest, glaring at the librarian.

      “I’ll take care of him, ma’am.”

      Jongin. Sehun always recognizes that husky voice.

       Jongin leans forward and pushes Sehun to his feet. He hugs Sehun’s ribs, tugging him closer. Sehun closes his eyes.

        It’s just a simple kiss. But to Sehun it feels like more than just a simple brush of lips to his cheek. It sends his mind reeling and his world spinning.

       But Jongin pulls back, doesn’t linger. Sehun’s eyelids flutter open, and, confused, he turns to Jongin.

      Instead he finds himself staring up at a man with no face. And, to be honest, as Sehun stands dumbfounded, it’s really scary.

       Sehun wakes with a start.

      Of course, he’s met by the familiar darkness.

       Sehun buries his face in his pillow in alarm, heart pounding. What the hell?

       Well, won’t that always haunt him. Remind him that Jongin will always remain faceless. Sehun shivers and tucks the blanket under his shoulder.

      It all felt so real, but it was just like a stranger had kissed him. Jongin had no appearance.

      Just a voice.

      That, Sehun thinks woozily, his eyes closing again, he is hopelessly in love with.

 

 

 

He kind of feels like a ghost floating through the hallways, Sehun does. Zigzagging all over the place with his hand on the wall, he absentmindedly pads to his next class, with Baekhyun lightly guiding.

      Although Baekhyun is one of Sehun’s . . . friends, he kind of misses Jongin’s warm fingers joined with his and the quiet, teasing whispers in his ears. Baekhyun’s hand underneath his shoulder blade, prompting him to go forward, is reassuring and soft, but not familiar and doesn’t make his heart flutter.

      They have a little system. Once they reach his room, where the history class takes place, the junior squeezes Sehun’s shoulder and Kyungsoo takes over, leading Sehun into the room.

      Once Sehun’s in his seat, Kyungsoo murmurs to him, “You’ll see Jongin soon, okay?” and then he’s gone, and class starts.

      No, Sehun bitterly thinks. You forgot that I won’t exactly be seeing him, will I?

      It’s that pain again. Sehun can feel it like a wound.

 

 

 

But Sehun doesn’t even talk to Jongin more than five times. When they spend their last class together, Sehun only answers the small questions, like “How are you doing,” and “did your day go okay,” and the teasing “did you miss me?” It’s true, Sehun really longed for Jongin to be there every minute but he only nods, never initiating any conversation.

       “Feeling quiet today, I see,” mutters Jongin. Sehun his head and bites his lip, fingers tapping lightly on the keys of his Braille typewriter. The faceless face thing is still lingering in his memory. Spook.

       “How’s your essay coming along?” Jongin’s breath is on Sehun’s ear again, and Sehun panics at the rumble, exhaling uncomfortably and letting out a strange noise, uncontrollably typing out yourvoiceyourvoicegoaway.

      “Stop,” he protests, nudging Jongin away. “You make me nervous, and you messed me up.”

      “Are you okay, Sehun?” Jongin asks, sounding worried. “I’m sorry if I made you anxious.”

      “Please, just please don’t talk to me today,” begs Sehun, feeling unsure of his own words, but it comes out anyway. “Not now.”

      Jongin’s hand, which is on Sehun’s thigh, rests for another second and then withdraws. Sehun hears Jongin sigh, and feels a pang of pity and guilt as the warmth against him disappears. He still misses it.

      “Okay,” says Jongin, uneasiness lacing his words. “Okay.”

      And that’s the last time they talk for the rest of the day.

 

 

 

Sehun knows that what he did was wrong. Today he tries to apologize, but Jongin always conveniently rushes off. Sehun never gets the chance.

      So he relies on Baekhyun to lead him out of school. He trudges after his friend, thumbs hooked in his belt-loops. Baekhyun notices the dejection in his voice and the way his head hangs, hair falling over his eyes, and drops back a bit to talk to him. “What’s the matter?”

      “I upset Jongin,” shrugs Sehun, his lips. In truth, he thinks Jongin is being kind of childish, but he doesn’t entirely blame Jongin for his behavior. He doesn’t mention his opinion.

      “That’s why he’s been all stiff and somber today,” laughs Baekhyun. “What’d you say?”

      “I told him to stop talking to me,” mumbles Sehun, hunching his shoulders ashamedly. “His voice makes me jump.”

      “Makes you squeamish, huh?” teases Baekhyun (Sehun scowls at this). His tone softens then. “Look, I’m not the kind of person to give advice, but I used to have the same problem.”

      “With Jongin?” asks Sehun, surprised. Something nags at him.

      Baekhyun shifts, and Sehun feels his discomfort. “No . . . with someone else. But here’s the thing--”

      “With who?” presses Sehun. He doesn’t know why he wants to know. Curiosity.

      “No one you would know.” Sehun sighs, and then Baekhyun finally caves in. “His name is Chanyeol, but that’s not the point.

      “The point is that if you want to stay friends with someone in a situation like this (though I don’t know how serious this is)--” Sehun snorts—“you can’t let their voice get to you. What I did was focus on Chanyeol’s face . . . and what he was saying. But you only need to worry about what Jongin’s saying.”

      Sehun likes how Baekhyun is very straightforward; they don’t have to go around in circles and meticulously avoid or linger on the fact that Sehun is blind.

      “Now that I think about it--” Sehun can picture his friend frowning—“you have a pretty low voice yourself, so, to be frank, I don’t get why Jongin’s affects you.”

      “It just does,” mutters Sehun hurriedly, wanting to change the subject. “So, I just focus on the words and the meaning? That’s it?”

      “It worked for me.” Baekhyun ruffles Sehun’s hair.

      “What happened to you and Chanyeol?”

      “Oh, we’re still friends.” Baekhyun’s breezy tone is light-hearted, but the answer is awfully short and evasive.

      “You sure? Just that?” A smile twitches at Sehun’s lips.

      Baekhyun merely laughs, not bothering to say anything else on the matter but instead leading Sehun up the stairs to his companion’s house. He opens the door for Sehun and Sehun throws a grateful grin in Baekhyun’s direction before walking in, waving behind him as the door closes, the noise almost drowning out Baekhyun’s farewell.

 

 

 

Despite Baekhyun’s encouraging words, Sehun can’t help but feel that thing again. It’s loneliness, pressing in from all corners of Sehun’s mind, padding the darkness so that it sneers with stronger malice at him. Jongin, Jongin, where are you? God, I need you. I need to see you. I want to see your whole self. Are you as beautiful as you sound? It hurts, Jongin. It’s hurting me. No . . . he tries arguing back and forth with his darkness. It always wins.

      Later, more towards one o’clock in the morning, Sehun lies sprawled on his bed, breath frighteningly labored. His galaxy is like a being; its dampening cloak as dark as its spirit. Why can he feel its presence so intensely? His heartbeat is really loud, cutting through his dull thoughts and later melting into a wall of blunt depression, blanketing any other emotion and smothering it. Sehun frantically shakes his head, willing it, almost mentally pleading with it, to go away. Has he gone crazy?

      Sehun can’t help but start to sob after a while. His claustrophobia is getting worse, reinforced by his starless galaxy. And it’s slowly driving him insane.

 

 

 

 

Jongin’s mother calls the next morning and tells Sehun that Jongin slept in too late today, so he couldn’t walk Sehun to school. Disappointment courses through Sehun as he hangs up.

     Kyungsoo walks him instead.

      “Sorry for the last minute call,” says Sehun apologetically. “Jongin was too late and had to get to school right away.”

      Kyungsoo pats his back. “It’s okay. I like to have company anyway.”

      Sehun’s not sure if he’s the right company. He’s blind, and talking with people and making decent conversation isn’t exactly something he excels at.

      But Kyungsoo makes sure that the walk isn’t too awkward. They talk quietly about the small things Kyungsoo notices. Kyungsoo is a very attentive person, Sehun realizes.

      He’s extremely warm, too. While Baekhyun is more energetic and extroverted, Kyungsoo has a mellow, down-to-earth personality. He even offers to find Jongin, but Sehun politely declines. He doesn’t need help to find his best friend. It’s very nice of him to offer, though.

      Before Language, Sehun sets out to locate Jongin. He asks around, of course, and someone tells him that they saw Jongin walking towards the empty art room. He thanks them, and they offer to guide him to the hallway. He accepts.

      This guy is fairly nice. He doesn’t seem to be afraid or disconcerted around Sehun and his ghostly features, he’s just loquacious and slightly ditzy. When they get to the hallway, his deep voice reverberates off the walls. “Oh, it’s down here.”

      “Thank you,” says Sehun gratefully. Then he hesitates. “What’s your name?”

      “My name?” the guy laughs. “What a funny question. But, never mind. My name is Chanyeol. Park Chanyeol.”

      Sehun gives a lopsided smile. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Chanyeol. Thank you for taking me here, again.” Baekhyun wasn’t exaggerating when he said Chanyeol has a deep voice. Deeper than Jongin’s.

      “No problem,” Chanyeol says nonchalantly. “I’ll see you around, Sehun. It’s Sehun, isn’t it?”

      “Yep.”

      Chanyeol walks away with another good-bye, leaving Sehun standing alone in the hallway.

      Stepping forwards, he runs his fingers against the wall until he feels a plaque. Checking the Braille under the Korean characters, he’s disappointed to find that the nearest door is a supply closet. He keeps walking.

      Sehun finally finds the art room, which apparently no one uses. Why would Jongin be in here? he thinks doubtfully. But he tries it anyway.

      “Jongin?” he calls when he walks in. He waits, hand still clasping the cold door handle. No reply.

      Sehun takes two steps forward out of curiosity – and trips, of course. He cries out in frustration as he hits the floor. Why did he even try?

      “,” someone says, and Sehun is pulled to his feet.

       “Jongin?” he says again, bewildered. He says it with more clarity, though, because he knows it’s Jongin.

      Jongin pulls Sehun in for a hug, even though he’s uncertain. But Sehun breathes in his scent contentedly. Jongin is just there, and he’s happy with that.

      “Why’d you ignore me? I tried . . .” Sehun makes sure the hurt he’s been feeling is expressed through his voice.

      “Because I didn’t feel wanted. Why’d you tell me to stop talking?”

      “I,” mumbles Sehun. “I don’t know. It makes me dizzy.” When Jongin speaks again, Sehun makes sure to focus on his words, and not get distracted by the rich tones of his voice.

      “I can’t just stop talking, you know that. Why does it--”

      “Please,” begs Sehun, “I’m sorry, believe me. I’m so stupid, telling you to stop talking. Can we forget about it? Just honestly?”

      Sehun feels Jongin’s arms tense around him. “Please,” repeats Sehun. “I’ve always had you beside me since I got blinded, I can’t cope without you. It sounds so dumb, I know--”

       “It’s not dumb,” argues Jongin, hands coming to rest lightly on Sehun’s hips. “In middle school I promised to take care of you. I intend to keep that, believe me.”

      Sehun relaxes his muscles with a soft sigh, smiling into the fabric of Jongin’s shirt. Jongin presses his cheek to Sehun’s hair, and Sehun can feel his relief. They stay like this for a while, content with each other’s company.

      When Sehun eventually pulls away, he asks, “Why is no one even in this art room, anyway? What’s the point of it?”

      Jongin takes his hand. “I think that they were going to make art an elective, but the teachers and all the students kept dropping out. Art was kind of a disappointment. The extra supplies that were left behind, well, I guess, stayed. There are some really beautiful paintings, though.”

      “Oh,” says Sehun. His shoulder bumps against Jongin’s. “Why were you in here, though?”

      There’s a pause. When Jongin speaks, he sounds embarrassed. “It’s peaceful down here, and empty, and . . .”

      Sehun rolls his eyes playfully. Of course Jongin chooses to be cryptic. In all honesty, he doesn’t really notice when Jongin slips away. Generally, Jongin is a dark and quiet person. Not exactly dark meaning disturbing, but Jongin is reserved enough and doesn’t give too much away. It doesn’t help when Sehun doesn’t know much through sight. But it sounds like Jongin takes comfort in spending leisure time in the empty art room, where no one can bother him. Jongin has always been thoughtful and artistic.

      Sehun says, “Whatever you were doing in here. It can’t be that bad, can it?”

      “No,” replies Jongin, “but I’m not sure what your reaction will be.”

       But Sehun insists. With an exhale, Jongin leads him farther along (joking about how annoyingly persistent Sehun is) until the reach the back of the room. Jongin doesn’t talk much once they stop.

      “So what were you doing?” asks Sehun once more, confused by Jongin’s silence.

      Jongin takes his hand and lifts it, examining the fingers and running his thumb over Sehun’s knuckles, which jut out in sharp bony ridges. Sehun blinks. Jongin lets out a little laugh. “Oh Sehun . . .”

     Sehun, transfixed by Jongin’s lovely voice, stands unmoving. He’s slightly amused; he never knew Jongin could get so sentimental until recently. He picks up on Jongin’s hesitance, like he’s about to reveal something that might as well disturb or unnerve Sehun. But Sehun trusts him. It’s more than trust. Sehun’s relied on Jongin for so long, and Jongin’s given him chances to relieve himself of the past so many times, it’s like Jongin’s another part of him.

      “I know you’ve been doubting yourself lately,” Jongin says softly, “and I know it’s going to sound like I took this right out of a romance movie, but . . .” When Jongin trails off, Sehun can feel the grip on his hand tighten briefly, and Sehun can guess that the older is gazing off somewhere, perhaps a window, lost in thought. Sehun clings to Jongin, squeezes his eyes shut, and waits.

      Mere seconds pass before Jongin heaves a sigh. “I wanted to prove to you what I can’t show you. So I created something out of paper mache. Or at least like paper mache.”

      Sehun moans. Oh, God.

      “You’re perfect, Sehun,” says Jongin, and, although a little embarrassed, he’s dead serious. Sehun swallows. “You’re just gorgeous like this, and I’ll never leave your side because you can’t exactly see what everyone else sees. I think you’re more special that way, because you can actually analyze what’s beneath the surface. You can read emotions like a book. You get the deeper meaning. You can’t torment yourself for this anymore, idiot.”

      Sehun bites his lip as Jongin guides his hand forward. His fingertips brush against . . . what is it, paper? It’s a raised bump. His hand is moved to the right. Indent, smooth. Indent, smooth. Sehun realizes that it’s just like Braille.

      He can feel a creased forehead. Hair, swept across. A slender face with a sharp jawline and nose. Lips wide in a bright smile. Two sharp-ended teeth in the top set. Sehun’s heart skips a beat. Is this actually him?

      And as Jongin moves his hand upwards again, Sehun can feel his eyes.

      They’re so . . . normal.

       All up until seventh grade, he knew what he looked like. He went everywhere, every day, with confidence in his appearance. It’s been four years. Four years. Jongin made it so easy, showing Sehun what he looks like through feeling.

      Through those four years, Sehun knows their bond strengthened. They’ve gone through a rough patch more than once, yes, but Sehun still can’t imagine what his life would be like without Jongin.

      It’s equally painful, though.

      If Sehun can’t see Jongin, how can he really be there? What if Sehun’s just crazy? Sehun knows what he’s thinking is crazy, but he can’t ignore the nagging voice. His galaxy has always been his witness, cornering Sehun, whispering to Sehun, always with Sehun.

      The paper mache brought everything back. No, no, no. Fight it off, fight it off, fight it off. Jongin made this for you.

      But, in the end, reality comes back and everything’s hollow.

      Sehun laughs shakily. No.

      “Sehun?”

      Sehun lets his hand rest on the cold metal easel where the paper mache is propped up. “I’ve never wanted to know what I look like,” he says, shrugging. It’s mostly true. “I don’t care.”

   Sehun takes Jongin’s silence as a green light.

      “All this time . . .” Sehun turns towards Jongin’s voice. His chest aches with pain. “I never wanted to see the world. My life is cruel, and that’s how it’ll stay. The only thing that matters to me is really all you, now.”

     Jongin’s breath hitches.

     “I just want to see you,” Sehun says furiously, trying his best to hold back a sob. “The rest of it I couldn’t give a damn about. I can’t deal with it anymore.”

      Jongin must be all kinds of perplexed. Once more, Sehun goes on, taking hasty advantage of Jongin’s loss for words.

      “Do you know how it feels to be trapped in your own mind? To live every day in fear and spend it all in the dark, never knowing what’s going to happen? The want to detach yourself from society, from everyone? Do you know how it feels to lose interest in everything, but inside you beg for it all to stop?” Sehun’s shaking now with some kind of unidentifiable emotion.

      Jongin shushes him, “Sehun, please, calm down. Look--”

      Sehun shakes his head slightly. “It wasn’t you. No, I always wanted to tell you about this, but I was afraid that you . . . I just can’t deal with having it trapped inside me. I need help. I need to see you.” He’s repeating his thoughts. I’m going crazy, he thinks. What is wrong with me?

      This time Sehun can hear the alarmed tremor in Jongin’s voice. “Please, Sehun, for me. We’ll get through this, we will, okay?”

      Sehun just hears him and he breaks down in tears, collapsing into Jongin. Soon they’re both on the floor, Sehun trying not to cry too hard into Jongin’s sweater and Jongin just holding him, as he’s always done. He holds him and holds him, the quiet but placating “it’s okay”s spilling from his lips. And Jongin once whispers something entirely different, but Sehun can’t hear it over the sound of his own tears.

 

 

 

Jongin insists on staying with Sehun that night. They don’t talk too much and just spend time together, but the whole time Sehun can feel Jongin’s intense fear, just by the way he grips Sehun’s hand and how jumpy he is, and even by his breath patterns. He must be blaming himself for my reaction, Sehun thinks in amusement.

      Jongin makes him pasta. Sehun’s mother is not home, and won’t be for a long time. They eat in more silence. Jongin intertwines their fingers. His hands are clammy.

      Maybe it’s almost better that Jongin stays this time around, because Sehun starts weeping again. He hates it and he didn’t mean to, but his pent-up frustrations earn him another meltdown. Jongin hugs him from where they are on the bed, arms warm as always. Sehun eventually stops and stares into his starless galaxy, blinking away tears. But he’s not done.

      “You know what’s horrible?” he whispers wretchedly.

     “Sehun . . .” Jongin’s voice is a pained croak by now. “You’re scaring me.”

      “I’ve fallen in love with a voice,” Sehun wails, hands clutching his ribs. “A voice.”

      Jongin makes a whimpering noise as Sehun kisses him. His lips are soft and wonderful and god, it’s heaven. It might as well be another dream.

      What follows is heaven itself. Each time Jongin kisses him, Sehun feels that he is falling deeper and deeper into the hole he dug himself. Falling more and more in love. But Jongin’s just a voice. He doesn’t know if he’s just gone insane, but he seems to succumb to the words in his mind weakly. Every time Jongin says that he loves him, Sehun thinks he’s slipping further and further from reality, but there’s still pain.

It’s very frantic, all of it. Tongues are messy and hands roam, and Sehun’s lost track of how many times his breath is snatched from him. They lose their t-shirts somewhere or sometime, but when Jongin’s finger slips under Sehun’s waistband, Sehun gasps and collapses. “Let’s – stop,” he manages. “Too much.”

      Jongin drops on top of him with a huffy groan. “Let me kiss you once more, please,” he whispers painfully.

      They do, and it’s definitely more than once. But by then Sehun’s already half gone.

 

 

 

Sehun pads into the kitchen, the tiles cold against his toes. Tear tracks are still tracing his cheeks, and he lets out a shallow breath even now. He left Jongin with a simple kiss; oh, how despaired Jongin will be once awake.

      Setting the sticky note on the counter, he grabs his pen. Shakily, he writes a message – in the language that Jongin doesn’t understand. That’s all he leaves.

      Then he leans over and locates the drawer. Pulling it open, he s around until he finds it. He lifts it. Slightly heavy.

      He still remembers what it felt like to kiss Jongin. How Jongin’s embrace was always so fitting and right to him. Jongin was the only person he really dedicated himself to.

      It’s over.

      Sehun laughs. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He’ll go ahead. His darkness will win. It will triumph and be preserved forever, embedded like a thorn in Sehun’s path. His mother always told him to watch where he stepped, for a wrong footstep could destroy anything. Even a life. Tears gather again. He’ll miss her. He’ll miss his cat. He’ll miss Jongin.

      I can’t love a voice. He fell in love with a voice and it destroyed him almost as much as the thorn. He’ll really really really miss that voice.

      Sehun slashes his wrist with the kitchen knife, nicking the vein instantly. He slides down the wall, eyes closed. The blood, thick as his muddled thoughts, sprays him.

      For the first time in four years, he sees.

      But it’s red. A deep red, splashing on the black canvas and spreading.

      As the world fades, so does his starless galaxy.

      But it’s replaced by a bloody galaxy instead.

 

 

 

When Jongin gets down the stairs, eyes wide open in panic, Sehun is still nowhere to be seen. But he smells it first.

      The scent of blood is overpowering, and his stomach flips in trepidation and nausea. Dizzyingly, numbly, he reaches the kitchen.

      Jongin sees the blood and it has a bigger impact on his emotions this time. He covers his mouth, too shocked to even feel the tears pricking at his eyes. No, no, no, no, no, no!

      Lying on the counter is a note.

      Jongin picks it up with a muffled sob, not daring to look over the side of the island. Surely it’s Sehun’s body.

      Jongin sees the scrawling handwriting, the awkward dots pressed deep into the green sticky-note. Green is Jongin’s favorite color, oh God.

      He collapses on the ground, note clutched tightly in his fist. Why? He can barely register anything. Tears. Blood. Death. Pain. Everything is pain. Is this what Sehun experienced every day?

      Of course Sehun would think Jongin wouldn’t be able to understand the note.

      But he can.

      Because Jongin loved him too.

 

 

 

a/n:

eeeee im not proud of this at all...

i feel it went a little fast, but i may just be insecure about it. sehun was kind of a moodswingy person, maybe u guys could see it? idk. i went for the depression and blood and pain right away, so sehun's kind of easy to succumb to his emotions and tears and idek anymore just sekAI

i hope u liked the death because i think im kind of a sadist haha

there shouldn't be mistakes.... if there are incoherent screaming

kaisoo death and baekyeol romance and lukai or/setao death coming up soon! check it out or something hmm hmhmmh

(btw, no authornims or formalities as such, please! call me kika c:)

--kika