Kris shuffles lazily into his kitchen, the loud sounds of Tao eating breakfast filling the air. It’s early in the morning, but both Tao and Kris have classes. So, begrudgingly, they’d risen before the sun. Out of habit, Kris flips on the kitchen light, a loud hiss coming from Tao.

“Sorry,” he mutters quickly, flicking the light back off.

“Why would you do that?” Tao whines. “You haven’t needed a light in years. Now I’m gonna be blind, too.”

Kris lets out a forced laugh. “Don’t be such a baby,” he says, only half serious, turning to put some bread in the toaster.

“I’m not a baby,” Tao mutters, and Kris is sure he’s throwing a dirty look his way.

Silence falls between the two of them—or, what would be silence falls between the two of them. Kris, of course, is very keen to picking up even the slightest sounds. He hears the clock ticking on the wall, the quiet buzz of the ancient toaster, the hum of the fridge, and the wind blowing relentlessly against the windows. Kris didn’t particularly enjoy anything about being blind, but if he had to pick his favorite aspect of it, it would be all the noise he heard. Some days it was incessant and annoying, but for the most part, he enjoyed it. The noise at least made him feel like he was never alone. Noises were the only splotches of color on the all-black canvas painted permanently across his eyes. He picked apart each of the sounds filling the room—one particular noise catching his interest. The radio was on, which, in and of itself was an oddity, seeing as how Tao didn’t like much noise in the early morning—but the voice spilling out of the speakers was what really made Kris freeze. He had no interest in what the voice was saying—he was too mesmerized by the gentle lilt and the hint of a smile. It wasn’t a voice that he would describe as deep, but it wasn’t high pitched either. It was careful, cautious, almost shy sounding.

Making up faces for people based on the sound of their voice was a hobby of his. For Kris, voices were the key to someone’s appearance. For example, his friend Tao had a higher pitched, soft sounding voice. Kris imagined he looked somewhat delicate and gentle, but there was a tint of harshness buried somewhere in his features. He was sure Tao could look tough if he wanted to. This voice, though… He imagined big brown eyes, a wide smile, and soft skin. Someone almost childish looking.

“Kris?” Tao asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“Hmm?” Kris replied, snapping back to reality.

“Your toast is done,” Tao responded, the sound of his chair scraping across the floor drowned out the voice on the radio for a moment.

“What station is this?” he asked Tao, pulling his toast out of the toaster and quickly plopping it on a plate.

“I dunno,” Tao said, yawning. “I think it’s the university’s student-run station. I can turn it off if you want,” he offers, but Kris shakes his head.

“Nah, I kinda like it,” he says absentmindedly.

That’s an understatement.

Every spare second Kris has, he’s listening to the university’s station. They seem to have two DJs, because halfway through the day, the soft and gentle voice switches to a deeper one. It’s a nice voice too, but it doesn’t compare to the first. Still, he never switches the radio off. He’s waiting for the moment that the gentle voice will come back, and wash over him in gentle, rolling waves. The voice could talk about anything—the weather, the lunch menu, molecular chemistry—and Kris would be hanging on to each word.

It’s almost midnight before the gentle voice comes back again, and Kris’ lids were just starting to get heavy. Once the gentle voice greets his ears, however, he’s wide awake once more. The gentle voice signs on, and Kris finally has a name: Do Kyungsoo. And, as the night progresses, he feels as though he’s learning more and more about Kyungsoo, even though it’s an entirely one sided conversation. Kyungsoo likes R&B and jazz. He has an odd laugh, but it’s contagious all the same. He’s a broadcast journalism major with an affinity for poetry. And Kris picks up on a few things about Kyungsoo that Kyungsoo doesn’t explicitly say—he’s ambitious and excited, he’s ready to tackle the world, yet a part of him is scared, reserved even, because he really doesn’t know what’s out there. And Kris feels as though he’s never related to anyone more in his life. At length, Kris falls asleep, Kyungsoo’s gentle lilt serving as a lullaby.

__

As Kris walks out of the library, he collides into something— or someone, rather. He opens his mouth to apologize profusely, but the other person is one step ahead of him.

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry,” the voice says, obviously flustered. Even flustered, it’s a beautiful voice: the gentle lilt, the hint of a smile, the tones of caution and shyness coming through clearly. The voice is so familiar to Kris’ ears.  It’s Do Kyungsoo’s voice.

“Are you alright?” Kyungsoo asks him. He realizes he must look like an idiot—mouth agape, frozen in place, facing the direction of that voice he’d longed after for the past month.

“Fine,” Kris manages to croak. He feels a soft hand on his arm.

“You’re Kris, aren’t you?” Kyungsoo asks. Saying that it felt like heaven when Kyungsoo said his name would be the wrong wording—it feels like home, which is infinitely better.

“Yeah,” he says, slowly. “How did you know that?”

“My friend Chanyeol talks about you,” he says, the smile in his voice growing.

“He says good things, I hope,” Kris says, laughing nervously. Kris helps Chanyeol with his Chinese every Friday. He’s a nice enough guy, incredibly patient even when Kris is not (and when Chanyeol is trying to speak Chinese, Kris’ patience manages to run out all too fast. It’s a habit he’s trying to change).

“Of course,” Kyungsoo laughs. There’s a slight pause, and for the first time, Kris hears nothing. There’s actually silence. He’s desperate for Kyungsoo to speak again, because every word is his lifeline, and now that Kyungsoo is here in person, his voice is the only sound that matters to Kris. And so when Kyungsoo is silent, the world is silent. “Do you wanna go grab a cup of coffee?” Kyungsoo asks at length, and Kris agrees without a second’s hesitation, earning a small laugh from Kyungsoo.

As they down their coffees, the conversation turns mostly to Kris, especially since he knows more than enough about Kyungsoo (with a blush, Kris confesses to listening to Kyungsoo’s broadcasts on a daily basis). He talks about how he used to be an art major—right up until he lost his vision. He tells Kyungsoo that sometimes he still draws for fun, usually just to make Tao feel better if he’s having an off day. He talks about his current major, which is music. “It’s great because you don’t need eyes to make really great music,” he says enthusiastically. “It’s an art form that doesn’t have to be seen to enjoyed.” He talks about how he misses being able to see people’s faces—and how difficult that can be when he meets someone new. He tells Kyungsoo about his voice theories, and how the tones of people’s voice affect their appearances within Kris’ head.

“What do I look like to you?” Kyungsoo asks, softly. His voice sounds curious, almost a little excited. Kris can feel the blush rising on his cheeks.

“Well, you look… soft. Big eyes, a small nose, a permanent smile, that kind of thing,” Kris says, awkwardly.

“Do you want to find out how accurate you are?” Kyungsoo asks, still smiling. His voice sounds like it’s on the edge of a laugh—not the mocking kind, more of the loving and happy kind.

“What, are you going to tell me if I was spot on or-” Kris smiles, but stops abruptly as he feels soft hands grab at his large ones. Kyungsoo really does feel soft. He’s soft—and small, which is a bit surprising to Kris. Kyungsoo’s hands are practically drowning in the palms of Kris’, but it feels comfortable and nice. Kyungsoo lifts Kris’ hands to his face, placing one hand on either side of his face. Kris can feel his blush bleeding back onto his skin again.

“Go ahead,” Kyungsoo says softly. And Kris allows his fingers to roam.

The skin of Kyungsoo’s face is just as soft as the skin covering his hands. He can feel that Kyungsoo has a round face, though it’s not exactly chubby. He has a straight nose that doesn’t quite qualify as small or large and large full lips and big eyes (upon discovering that he was correct, Kris mentally applauds himself) and soft hair that brushes over his eyebrows. As Kris’ fingers are roaming, he can feel Kyungsoo smiling and he runs his fingers across the boy’s deep smile lines. After a minute or so, he’s satisfied, and brings his hands back to his lap.

“Well?” Kyungsoo asks expectantly, when Kris says nothing at first.

“I’d say my mental image was pretty accurate,” he says, timidly. Kyungsoo lets out a laugh, and Kris thinks that Kyungsoo’s laugh is his favorite sound in the universe.

Kris and Kyungsoo spend the better part of two hours just talking with each other, their—mostly finished— coffees sitting abandoned on the table growing cold. Eventually, their time together comes to a close, as Kyungsoo informs Kris he’s got to leave in order to make it to the broadcasting station in time for his shift. The two stand, and Kris is pulled into a tight hug, Kyungsoo’s gentle arms wrapping around his waist. Kris can’t help but note that Kyungsoo’s head fits perfectly in chest. As they part, Kyungsoo’s hands find their way to Kris’ once more, and Kris is surprised to feel a gentle pair of lips at the corner of his own. Kyungsoo’s lips only linger there for a second, but Kris feels a bit sad when they’re gone.

“You’ll listen to my segment tonight, right?” Kyungsoo asks, his hands still wrapped up in Kris’.

“Yeah,” Kris says, lamely.

“Good,” the smile is back in Kyungsoo’s voice, wider than ever. “I think the DJ has something he wants to tell you.”