Kyungsoo’s fingers were moist. It took him a while to realise why: Jongin was crying. He almost asked why, but quickly realised that there was no point in doing so and instead just stood there, allowing his hands to get soaked by Jongin’s tears. A few minutes later – neither he nor Jongin had moved – he suddenly became overcome by emotion – not for himself, but sadness for Jongin and the fact that he, perhaps the only one who understood what Jongin was going through, was going to have to leave him and couldn’t even talk to him – and wrapped his arms around Jongin’s neck, burying his head in his chest. Whatever the reason for Jongin’s tears was – and whether or not he ever discovered it – Kyungsoo was determined to spend whatever little time they had left together comforting him; even if it made Jongin’s life just the tiniest bit better, it would be worth it to Kyungsoo.

Their beautiful yet somewhat odd moment was interrupted by the sound of footsteps. Jongin detached himself from Kyungsoo and walked towards the person who had entered, giving her a questioning look. Not understanding who had entered the room or why Jongin had suddenly moved away from him, Kyungsoo simply stood by Jongin’s half-finished painting, not even bothering to turn in the direction of the sound of the intruder’s footsteps. “You’re Jongin, right? Kim Jongin?” It was a female voice. He recognised it; it belonged to Krystal, a girl in another class. By his reckoning, she had no reason to be in school that day. “Don’t bother hanging out with him. He’s… weird. You should hang out with me instead, Jongin-ah.”

“He won’t answer you.” Kyungsoo answered, noting that she apparently had no idea about Jongin’s condition. “He can’t hear you – he’s deaf.”

“Oh,” was all she said. And with that, the footsteps started again and eventually faded away, leaving Jongin and Kyungsoo alone again. Proof of the prejudice that exists even now in the modern world.

He wanted to yell after her, to tell her that it wasn’t alright to shut Jongin out just because he was deaf. He wanted to tell her that even if she shunned him because he was blind, she should at least give Jongin a chance. But he didn’t. And that was proof of his cowardliness. He wanted to tell Jongin that it was alright, that there was nothing wrong him and that he was and always would be there for him. But he couldn’t. That was proof of how messed up the world was (and still is). For Kyungsoo, that was enough to disprove the theory of an omnibenevolent god.

The bell rang then, indicating that it was the end of their lunch break. And Kyungsoo still hadn’t eaten anything – not that he wanted to eat. As he walked passed Jongin, he took hold of his hand, pulling him out of the room. He only let go once they’d reached their classroom again.

“Right, class. Now that we’re all here, you’ll spend the next hour working on your songs in your groups.” Mrs Shin informed the class once Jongin and Kyungsoo had sat back down in their seats.

“Jongin,” Kyungsoo typed onto the braille keyboard of the seemingly magical tool that allowed him to communicate with the one person he’d ever been interested in getting close to since the death of his mother.

“I don’t want to talk about the song.” If the robot voice that spoke every word typed into the magical machine out loud had had any emotion, Kyungsoo guessed that it would have sounded hostile. And he knew why. He knew perfectly well why Jongin didn’t want to talk about the song: why would he want to discuss writing a song that he’d never get to hear? He’d probably never heard music before; he wouldn’t even know what a song was supposed to be like.

“I know. And we don’t have to talk about it.” Kyungsoo paused, trying to think of something else to say. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Nothing. I don’t want to talk to you.” Kyungsoo flinched at the resentment in Jongin’s words. He couldn’t understand why Jongin was trying to shut him out. “I don’t like you, Do Kyungsoo.” That hurt him even more.

“Why?”

“Because. Just keep away from me. Write the song on your own – at least you can hear it – and stay away from me.”

Jongin didn’t say anything else to him for the remainder of the school day. Kyungsoo tried to write the song on his own just as Jongin had told him to do, but with his inability to see it was difficult for him to remember everything he’d written down in his illegible handwriting.

Once everyone else had left the classroom and was making their way home or to work or wherever they were going to, Kyungsoo walked up to Mrs Shin’s desk. “What is it, Kyungsoo?” she asked in a voice that expressed her exasperation with Kyungsoo.

“How much are those machines – those laptops with the braille keyboards? And where can I get one from?”

 Mrs Shin sighed. “They’re about £500 (at the least). I’m not certain where you can buy them from, but I’ll try and find out for you, alright?”

“Thank you.” Kyungsoo nodded before heading out of the classroom and out of the school building.

His father was awake by the time he arrived home, and Kyungsoo knew that he’d arrived home late due to the ice covering the ground – he didn’t need to be able to see a clock to know that – and was expecting a beating because of that. The pain in his head that came immediately after he stepped through the door of their house didn’t come as a surprise to him, but what did was the familiar fabric that clothed the hand that hit him. He knew what it was after a second: one of the gloves that Jongin had given him.

 “You’re late,” his father growled before he could do or say anything. “And would you like to tell me where you found these delightful little gloves from? Oh, and that scarf too.” The sarcasm in his voice made Kyungsoo feel sick to his stomach. “Answer me! And don’t lie either.”

“Someone… Someone gave them to me. I don’t know who they are,” Kyungsoo lied, about the last part – despite his father’s warning – in order to protect Jongin. Though technically he didn’t really know Jongin was.

“I see…” His father seemed to believe him. “Well, I’ll be keeping the from now on. They’re a nice colour – not that you’d know anything about that.” It was his father’s sarcasm and ridiculing outright derision that was even worse than his beatings. Physical pain could be healed; but his emotional scars were perpetually engraved into his memory and conscience.

Kyungsoo was sent back out into the cold again half an hour later – after he’d been given a ‘proper’ (as his father called it) beating. Apparently his father hadn’t been happy with the food he’d bought the day before and had gotten rid of all it, meaning that Kyungsoo had to go out and buy more.

As he was on his way back from the supermarket, he began thinking about Jongin again. He wondered if there was any way for him to possibly make enough money to buy one of those magical laptops that made it possible for them to communicate. £500 was a lot of money, but if only he could get a job… He shook his head, mentally slapping himself for being so ridiculous. Who would be crazy enough to employ a blind sixteen year old?

Not concentrating on where he was going, he walked straight into a large flat vertical surface – the door of a café, to be precise. As he pushed it, it swung open and he staggered into the café, slightly confused. The smell of food and coffee made him aware of what it was, and just as he was about to turn around and go home, a sudden thought struck him: perhaps he could get a job there? He could make coffee and he was able to tell the difference between coins (so he could work on the cash register).

Someone caught him by the arm then – a waitress – and led him to a table, thinking he was there to eat. “What can I get for you?” she asked, confusing him.

“Oh… I’m not here to order. I was wondering if you had any jobs available.”

His statement caused the waitress to laugh out loud. “I don’t think you’d be able to work here, I’m afraid. I mean, everyone else who works here can see, so…”

Someone else interrupted her then. “Actually, we were looking for someone to sing for the customers, if you’d be interested. You don’t need to see to sing.” The voice grew louder as its owner moved towards Kyungsoo from behind the counter. “So what do you think?”

Kyungsoo nodded eagerly. “I’d love to. I’m Kyungsoo.” He held out his hand and the other shook it.

“I’m Minseok-”

This time it was Minseok who was interrupted. “Hyung. Hyung. Minseok-hyung.” Two others spoke in unison.

“Luhan, Sehun, what is it?” Minseok asked, evidently annoyed with the intruders.

“We have a particularly difficult customer,” one of them said. “He won’t respond to us at all; he’s just writing.”

“Jongin-ah?” Kyungsoo thought out loud. “I think I know him. If it is who I think it is, he’s a deaf mute. That’s why he won’t answer you. Will you take me to him?”

One of the people who had interrupted Minseok – Kyungsoo didn’t know whether it was Luhan or Sehun, but for the sake of the story I will tell you that it was in fact Luhan – led Kyungsoo over to where Jongin in was sitting and pulled out a chair for him.

Kyungsoo could hear the sound of a pen nib scraping against paper now. He felt around the table until his hand collided with another hand: Jongin’s hand – the one that wasn’t writing – and held it.

The page in the notebook that Jongin was currently writing on was suddenly ripped out of the book by an unknown invader (it definitely wasn’t Jongin, and it was actually Krystal – the girl who’d already shunned Jongin because of his disability that day). She began reading aloud what was written on the page she had ripped out. “I am deaf and he is blind. Fate must be very creative to cause our paths to cross – creative or malevolent. We cannot communicate. We cannot become friends. Does that make sense? Is that fair? Why should our lives be dominated by our disabilities? They shouldn’t, but they are and that will never change. We are not meant to be happy and we are not meant to know love. So why does he keep on trying to convince me otherwise?”