Taekwoon wants to say something, but the words won’t come out.

It’s always like that. Taekwoon has a lot of things he wants to say, actually. He knows the words, he can hear it in his head, in his heart. But when he opens his mouth to speak the words won’t come. There’s no sound, all the syllables swallowed back by some unknown force and all he can do is feel helpless.

Taekwoon comes across as dispassionate. Cold, haughty, uncaring. Perhaps he is, a bit. He doesn’t care when others whisper about him, when others are critical because they haven’t taken the time to understand. Because Taekwoon doesn’t have time for people like that, and couldn’t care less about those who don’t deserve his attention. He has others things to worry about, to care about.

Besides, those who know him know that’s not the case. They’ve seen him with children, seen the way he smiles as he marvels at their innocence. They’ve watched how he’s laughed as he plays with animals, love and affection so apparent. Taekwoon is incredibly thankful, because those who know him understand.

Hakyeon, however, is more. Hakyeon is so unlike Taekwoon, composed of the exact opposite fundamental pieces and Taekwoon struggles to wrap his mind around him. It’s embarrassing, because even though Taekwoon struggles to understand him Hakyeon can read him like a book. He can decode even the subtlest shift in Taekwoon’s stance, catching every flash of emotion that dances across his eyes.

Hakyeon is the only one Taekwoon trusts to speak for him.

Hakyeon was born to express. There’s no other way to explain it. Hakyeon was born to be a star, to be loved, to shine and be placed upon a pedestal. While all Taekwoon wants is to sing, all Hakyeon wants to be is loved.

Except Hakyeon isn’t selfish. Because as much as Hakyeon craves to be loved, he always places those he loves on even higher pedestals. He lowers himself so others look good, he’s willing to drag himself through the mud if it means they’ll look better. Everything is always done with a smile, eyes crinkled and boisterous laughter playing everything off as a joke.

Hakyeon knows to express things properly, but sometimes he chooses not to.

Sometimes Taekwoon thinks the reason why he avoids people so much is because of their sheer stupidity. Because how can people not see behind that incredibly fake façade? Surely, they must be able to tell it’s much too boastful and conspicuous to be real? Do they not see how thankful Hakyeon is every time they win? Are the tears that flood his eyes and roll down his cheeks invisible? Are they deaf, too? Are they somehow unable to hear the shaky apologies uttered every time a trophy is presented, even though there’s no reason to be sorry? Can they not sense the insecurity that is so strong and ever-so-present in the way he throws himself so completely into work? When had such a flimsy persona for comic relief begun to hide the humbleness and respect?

When Taekwoon looks at Hakyeon with his brows furrowed and eyes intense, Hakyeon only smiles gently. He understands.

But understanding isn’t enough. Taekwoon can tell, from the slump of Hakyeon’s shoulders to the bags under his eyes to the shaking hands. Hakyeon knows, but some things must be said aloud for reality to hit. One voice inside your head isn’t convincing enough when you’ve got hundreds of other voices screaming the opposite message. Some things must be heard to be believed.

Hakyeon has always been Taekwoon’s translator, but this is something he can’t say for him.

Taekwoon tries. He really tries. He’s tried writing out the words, but the messy scrawls on the paper suddenly seem so superficial and fake and are soon scribbled away angrily. He tries to sing them because singing has always worked but somehow the notes are always too sharp, too grating and Taekwoon suddenly can’t stand the sound of his own voice.

He tries so hard to speak, to comfort, to reassure. He tries to make it up through his actions, and is successful to an extent.

But the words still won’t come.

A/N: Comments are always loved.