After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music. - Aldous Huxley I am discharged at 1:45 p.m. Taemin is waiting for me in the reception, signing the discharge forms. I have my bulky headphones on, because hospitals are one of the worst places for me to be in. The grief, the pain in the voices here is very, very depressing. That was why I first saw that choking black hue when I opened my eyes.   Dr Lee follows me silently.  I told him everything.    It all poured out of me like an uncontrollable force of nature.  He’s a very good listener. He listened without judging me, only giving me nods and hums once in a while.   “Chromestesia,” Dr Lee had echoed once I was done. “I’ve never seen a real-live synesthiac before. It’s fascinating, actually- one of the most under-researched disorders of psychology. You tell me nobody else knows this?”   “Well… my family doctor knows, of course, but I stopped going to him a very long time ago. Last I heard he was living in a facility…”   “What about your parents?” Dr Lee had asked.    “They’re dead.” I had said simply. Dr Lee had nodded. “I think you’re okay to be discharged, Kibum-ssi. But I expect you to be here after two days. There are still many things I’d like to ask you, if you don’t mind.”   “You’re asking my permission now?” I had scoffed.   “I apologize. I had assumed you were hiding something illegal; I had to probe. But now that I know you don’t pose a danger to anyone, it’s different.”   “What did you think I was doing?”   “To be honest, I thought you were on hallucinogenic drugs.” He had said.   I burst out laughing. “Everyone thinks that at first glance.” I explain.   The first time that I encountered overwhelming stimuli in public was on the first day of school. This was before I knew that the colours I was seeing was not something everyone else saw. The car-ride to school had been silent, so the colours were dull, and low-key. But as soon as my mother opened the door for me, it was hell. The screams of the children, the blaring horns, the crying, the screech of tyres against tar… it was like putting someone into a washing machine with a disco ball. I’d started to cry, unable to understand what was happening. I refused to get out of the car, and my mother, left with no choice drove me back home.   Taemin is glaring at me. His lips are in a thin, tight line and I can feel the anger radiating off him.   “You told me you were fine.” he accuses. Taemin’s voice is a worried auburn, with ribbons of angry, fiery red in between. “You told me you were fine, hyung!” “I am fi-” “Then why am I picking you up from a hospital?!” Taemin screams. “Why did the doctors call me at midnight and inform me that you ing died?! Do you have any idea-” his voice cracks, and along with it, so does my heart.   “Taeminnie…” I whisper, an