You’re a forest minutes after rain. Everything is quiet for a while when the warm afternoon shower ceases as quickly and unexpectedly as it has begun. I sneak under the covers of our bed and lay my head on my pillow, two feet away from your serene form. I remain still, facing the ceiling with my eyes open. The silence of the room is disturbed only by your calm, rhythmic breathing. You are asleep, aren’t you? You promised to wait for me but it seems I took too long in the bathroom and you were too tired.

I listen to you inhale and exhale through your nose and it is the only sound I can hear, until I roll to your side and wrap my arm around your waist. The birds come out of their hideouts, shaking off the droplets of rain from their wings the moment I put my nose in between your shoulder blades clad in a thin white tank top. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, relishing in the sound of your shower gel and the washing powder your mother uses. The gentle swish of ruffling feathers changes into flapping of the wings of a much bigger bird when I move upward and press a kiss against your nape. The smell of your skin stands out more here; your natural scent that lured me in and made me an addict of the music you compose unknowingly.

In my head, you’re the most talented composer, Song Minho. By this, I don’t mean the songs you write for WINNER, but those you play in my mind whenever I’m next to you. The scent of you is enough to fill my ears with sounds no one else can hear.

This is something reaching beyond imagination, but the working of human brain has always been and will always be a mystery. It’s not that I’ve chosen it or practised it. I could hear smells ever since I can remember - the sickening scraping of mud or the buzzing of freshly-mowed grass - but I didn't pay too much attention to it. It’s been as natural as seeing what's in front of me or enjoying the taste of food.

Only when I got older did I realise that it is pretty unusual to hear what everyone else only smells. My brother could not hear the chirruping of watermelon-flavoured bubble gum our grandmother used to buy for us, neither could he listen to the crackling of burning wood when we had cinnamon rolls for lunch. It made me feel special. More special than I already knew I was.

Is it nature paying me back for my partial deafness, I wondered. It is easier to deal with it thanks to this impression that both of my ears can hear everything, even if it is only an illusory sound of smell. I am gifted and this gift lets me forget about my actual disability.

It also made me develop a penchant for perfume and home fragrances. It’s been fun to whistle to the saxophone-like sound wafting together with the aroma of a lemon-scented candle, or to drum my fingers on the table when a sandalwood one burns with a tapping vibration. Everything precise and clear in both of my ears.

Curious as I am, I did a small research and learnt that this phenomenon is called synesthesia, and I’m not the only one whose senses don’t work exactly how they are supposed to. That was disappointing. I stopped perceiving it as something life-changing and kept that viewpoint until that one day in March two years ago. That was when I met you.

It wasn't attraction at the first sight. I actually thought you looked dangerous, like a fighter or a soldier, and I tend to avoid what makes me feel weak. You might have said hello, but I didn’t hear you. The scary glance you sent me prejudged my attitude to your person. No, I didn’t like the new addition to our team. However, one training together brought a change I could not expect.

Soon I discovered that I was right about you.

You are indeed an epitome of danger, because you make me feel things that I shouldn’t feel. You expose my weakness with an effortless easiness, and do it in a sweetest of ways.

The tang of sweaty bodies would always give me the most awful migraines as it is accompanied by a deafening screech of a bus braking to a stop. I am the first one to finish every dance practice because I cannot stand the odour of sweat when the deodorant wears off after a few hours of intense training. I sneak out earlier than everybody else, not waiting for the moment when it gets unbearable. I doubt anyone else can detect it; if they can, they do nothing to show it. It seems only my nose is ultra sensitive like this, but no one else has to cope with the noise in their head in addition to the stench.

I used the same tested tactic on the day when you were introduced to our dancing routine during your first official training as an YG Entertainment’s trainee. I remember it as clearly as if it was yesterday. I bid my goodbyes the moment the last song finished, grabbed my bag, and left the practice room faster than anyone could think about stopping me. When the door closed behind me, I smiled in satisfaction, inhaling deeply the neutral hum of the cleaning liquid the janitor must have used minutes before to mop the hallway floor. I did not expect you to follow me. I did not expect you to wrap your arm around me in what I think was supposed to be a friendly gesture. I did not expect myself to halt with my mouth hanging open when the smell of you reached my nostrils. A heavy rainfall in my head disabled me from hearing what you had to say. I could only gaze at your goofy face, shivering from the most pleasurable scent-sound that made my insides squeeze.

Wow, you’re so handsome when you smile like this, I realised. When that thought entered my mind, I shook my head, overcome with terror, and managed to escape from under your spell. I flipped your hand away and sent you a scorning look.

“Don’t touch me like that, Mino hyung,” I told you and walked away with heart leaping in my chest.

Little did I know that after some time I would beg you to touch me.

Months passed and as a consequence of knees bumping under the table, fingers touching at the back seat, and finally, kisses stolen backstage, I learnt that the rain turns into a thunderstorm when you make love to me.

If I were to name a moment when I am the most content person in the world, that would be when we lie spent in our bed after lots of kissing, biting, pushing and pulling. The only reason why I never want us to take a shower immediately after we have is the heavy, calming sound of your smell, which wraps itself so tight around me that I cannot move. The cosiness and warmth makes it feel like we have found our retreat, the ultimate shelter from the monsoon that is raging outside the window. Even though I am aware that it rains only in my head, I’m happy you are safe in my embrace. I want to be your place of refuge, just like you’re mine.

We usually stay like this with our limbs tangled till morning, unless you are awake enough to wrap your arms around me and take me to the bathroom. You joke that I put on weight, but you carry my body as if it was as light as a feather.

I’m grateful for this little apartment that we rent in town. It would be impossible for us to do anything in our dorm with everyone around. Well, that is how it originally started, but quick endings and no time to slowly roll back to reality was exhausting for both of us. There was always a risk that someone might come in, the fear that the door hadn’t been properly locked, the hand clasped against my mouth so that your name wouldn’t escape it, waking the others in the middle of the night. Everything would end with a thunder and then the storm was gone with you leaving my bedroom, quickly zipping your jeans after kissing me one last time. I was being left alone, with my body and sheets soaked with rain.

Here I can scream all I want, curse all I need, and indulge in the pattering of rain long after you’re asleep. We don’t have to do anything, just like today. It is enough to sleep together in a literal sense, with our bodies close and your relaxing rainy smell in my ears.  

I would rather not waste a single second on sleeping when I can finally be alone with you, but eventually, my resistance gives in and I can no longer keep my drowsiness on leash. My fingers that have been curled tightly at the front of your top loosen as I fall asleep to the melody of my favourite lullaby.

In the morning, we cuddle and kiss as usual. Only when I realise your breath doesn’t stink, I wake up again to the absence of your warmth around me. One look at your empty side of the bed makes my good mood vanish.

There is a note on your pillow. Your handwriting is messy, but at least I can see your effort in trying to make it readable. The sign for my surname does look like Nam, not Nang, as it  tends to happen.

“Nam Taehyun,” I read aloud, and roll onto my back, holding your note above my face. “I had to go and see my mother. This time for real. I’m really sorry about falling asleep yesterday. I think I was too tired after what we did in the kitchen last night. Your flexibility is no joke, I swear!” I giggle. “You don’t have to remind me, hyung.”

I blush and chuckle some more, and then continue reading, although there is not much left.

“I will see you tonight in the dorm, okay? Take care of yourself and don’t forget to eat breakfast! Love you lots, MH. PS. Don’t be mad.”

I graze your signature with my thumb, smiling.

“I love you too, idiot. I just wish you were here.”

I take what has been the note’s place and bury my face in your pillow, hoping that the scent of you still lingers there.

It’s faint, but I can smell it. The sound of morning rain, the candenced dripping against the windowsill.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

How long has it been since you left? I can hear a clock counting the seconds, even if I’m sure there is none in this tiny apartment. The ticking of the clock doesn’t let you sleep at night, that’s why all we have here is an electronic alarm clock we sometimes need to wake us up for our schedule of the day. The cold pillow smells like the ticking that you hate, because I hate it as much.

Not wanting to dwell on my misery for too long, I get out of the bed and go to the bathroom. My reflection in the mirror stares back at me as I brush my teeth and I decide I really have put on some weight. I’d skip breakfast today if it wasn’t for your note. I’m sure you will ask me whether I have eaten and I would feel bad about having to lie to you.

The best thing to hide my slightly round stomach and curvy thighs is to wear your clothes, which are bigger and more loose-fitting than mine. I rummage through our wardrobe, purposely ignoring my shelves. I realise my mistake in the midst of choosing between a dark blue and a burgundy t-shirt. Having tossed both of them inside your shelf, I run back to the bathroom and look into the laundry basket. There it is - your pyjama from last night: boxer shorts and the white tank top, which still smell of you. I put the cotton fabric over my nose and inhale. Rather than the rain, your slow and steady breath resounds in my head.

Much happier than before, I proceed to make the breakfast. The mouth-watering aroma of frying bacon and eggs used to sound like a pleasant murmur, but now instead of it, there are your footsteps behind me. I almost look around to check if it’s really you, but I make a quick decision not to spoil this tantalising illusion. I close my eyes and imagine you hugging me from behind as I cook for us and pressing your clean-shaven cheek against mine. Ensnared by the recollection of your aftershave, which sounds like the scrapping of a pencil against a piece of smooth paper, I nearly burn the eggs.

It seems that you have become a sound yourself. Even when you’re absent, my mind links certain smells with the things that you do. You’re so deep-rooted in my subconsciousness that if we disastrously parted our ways, I would still be able to hear you all around me. This awareness is comforting and terrifying at the same time. You may not know that, but you will forever be a part of me.

I toast to this realisation with a mug of black coffee, no milk, no sugar. Disgusting, you would say, but the strong decoction reminds me of your voice, rough and electrifying. This is why I like it this way.

Sipping my coffee while sitting on the window sill, I watch the people outside hurry to work or school. It’s nice we got two days off and didn’t have to come to the studio either yesterday or today. Both of us used our favourite excuse of telling everyone we were going to visit our families, separately, of course. I don’t think anyone could ever suspect that instead of going home, we meet in our secret hideout and get drunk with each other. We remain like this until it’s time to sober up and come back to the dorm, hiding all of the kiss marks and traces of nails that have scratched our skin.

I wish you had stayed with me till the end of the day, and not rushed out to join the faceless crowd. You must be on a bus now, probably seated by the window with your face hidden by a cap and a mask. No one around you realises who you are, this is how well you can blend with the people we used to be a few years ago.

Are we special now? Presumably, yeah.

I am one of the 1437194 people in the world who can hear smells. There are 10043 others in Korea, 1963 in Seoul alone. Fifty one people called Nam have the same ability.

I am one in five thousand.

You are one in the entire population.