Morning Coffee Part 3
Jiyong didn’t know what to do. Why did he run out like that anyway? Was it because he was scarred of rushing things? He didn’t know, but it wasn’t the kiss he was regretting, but the fact that he walked out on Seungri the way he did.
They hadn’t seen each other since that time Jiyong “accidentally” kissed Seungri. He didn’t know what to do, was scared that things would become awkward, so rather than confronting Seungri the next day, he had his tail between his legs and avoided the boy altogether. He hadn’t seen Seungri in awhile, but those were his intentions. He was merely assuming that Seungri was going to reject him and end their friendship, just like that. It took him some time to think things over, wonder if he was rushing things or not; he barely knew a thing about Seungri.
But, those past few days gave him time to think. He still went to work, still did his usual routines, but he found himself spacing out more than often, absentmindedly stroking his fingers over his tingling lips, then realizing it and quickly pulling his hand away.
There was no doubt about it. He definitely felt bad about running away like a coward. He wasn’t ready to confront Seungri, so instead, he slid the small white board underneath the boy’s door, small, unsure words written on the surface.
I’m sorry.
He never got a reply.
---
Seungri didn’t know what to think of the message. Sorry for what exactly? For the kiss? For running away? For what?
He traced the letters, erasing the note slowly, and picked up the marker, wrote I understand.
Except, he really didn’t understand. So he left the white board with the message on his kitchen counter and walked out the apartment door.
---
Meet me at the park near the apartment at 8:40.
Jiyong had texted Seungri the message somewhere around five, and now it was almost eighty-thirty.
He didn’t receive a reply, so he wasn’t sure if the younger was going to meet him at the park. Regardless, he quickly walked there after work and waited. Bundled in a hoodie, he pulled his beanie further over his ears and shoved his hands in his pockets. It was colder since it was nighttime, but he stood and waited anyways. Jiyong checked his phone a countless number of times, each time receiving no response from Seungri. It was eight-fifty now.
Just when he was about to give up and leave, he heard soft footsteps behind him, and he quickly turned his head to look over his shoulder. Seungri, huddled in his own hoodie, didn’t make eye contact, didn’t want to make eye contact. Jiyong could see he didn’t bring his journal, it was too dark outside to see. They stood awkwardly for a few seconds, and Jiyong began walking.
After walking around for a bit, no contact, no gestures, Jiyong stopped at a large tree, sat down and leaned his back against its cold trunk. The leaves of the tree scattered on the ground, reds, yellows, oranges, distinctive colors that could automatically tell someone it was fall. He wondered if through Seungri’s perspective, each and every color, detail, and shape, meant more than what was on the surface, if he saw things in details and designs, patterns of sorts rather than just leaves detached from a tree.
Seungri followed suit and took a seat next to Jiyong, not close, but not far either, and pulled his knees to his chest. Their breaths were visible in the chilly night air, clouds of white fading away into the night. Jiyong took out his phone and began typing a message, he clicked send.
I freaked after that day. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, even if we’re barely just starting out.
Seungri rested his head against the tree trunk, closed his stinging eyes. He didn’t know how to respond to that. It took him awhile, but he did eventually.
I’ve been thinking these past days that the reason you’ve been avoiding me was ‘cause it was a mistake to kiss someone deaf, thought you were scared you might actually end up liking someone with that disability.
The moon was shining bright, casting a white luminescence over the city and lighting up the shadows of the night. Seungri’s nose had gone numb, and Jiyong’s ear’s froze up some time ago.
What? No, Seungri, never. I like you the way you are, and I would never ask you to change that.
Seungri felt tears threatening to spill from his eyes, but he held them in, although the moonlight still made his eyes look watery and glossy. He’d always wish that he started out without hearing rather than losing it while in the midst of appreciating sound, and since the accident, he became the unusual one, the kid that couldn’t hear, so people avoided him. He didn’t matter to them, since he couldn’t hear and converse; there was no point in small talk, or just talk in general. He was pitied and felt sorry for, but he didn’t need their sympathy, just a normal life. He reached out into the dark, searching for Jiyong, and grasped the cold hand in his own, twining their fingers together. They pieced together, almost perfectly.
Jiyong pulled Seungri so that they were side by side, basking in each other’s warmth, and put their entwined hands in his hoodie pocket. They both starred up at the starry night sky, twinkling and shining beautifully, and as Jiyong turned to look at his dongsaeng, he thought the sky was nothing compared to Seungri’s sparkling eyes, full of his passion for life.
Seungri sensed Jiyong’s eyes on him, and he turned to face his hyung, their heads a close proximity to each other, he could feel Jiyong’s warm breath tickling his cheek bones. When their lips met in a chaste kiss, Jiyong’s heart started pumping, faster, and suddenly his whole body began to warm up as blood coursed through him with a rush. He knew his lips were chapped from the cold, but Seungri’s lips were soft, smooth, made Jiyong feel like putty. They eventually broke apart for air, but kept close, Jiyong trailing his now moist, somewhat smoother lips lightly along Seungri’s gorgeous face, across his cheek bones, over his eyelids, just trying to remember every detail.
He wasn’t an artist though. Seungri was just a work of art.
---
-My aunt and uncle want me to get a Cochlear Implant. They’re damn rich. Anyway, though, they said their health insurance would cover the surgery.
Jiyong was on his break, so he met up with Seungri at the park. They were sitting at a picnic table, leafless trees of skeletal looking branches on one side and a vast open area of field on the other. Seungri’s head rested on Jiyong’s lap, and he stared up at the afternoon sky. Jiyong absentmindedly ran his fingers through the boy’s soft strands of black hair, withdrew it only to write a response. He used the younger’s chest as a flat surface to write on.
It wasn’t exactly warm out, but rather unpleasantly cold. It was okay though; they were wearing jackets, underneath them plenty of layers, and the warmth radiating off their bodies to protect them from illness. The sky was grey, and there was a light breeze in the air, chilly enough to raise bumps on skin.
Seungri thought the colors of their surroundings were contrasting beautifully that day. The distinctive shades autumn, orange, yellow, red, and the grey tinge of the sky, it reminded him of the day seven years ago when he got his hearing aid, when he was happy he could hear again, and his hopes for recovery especially high. It also reminded him of the day four years ago when his hearing aid would no longer be of any use, he was completely deaf, and all hopes he had, he gave up on them.
-What’s a Cochlear Implant?
-It’s this device that’s gonna help me pick up sounds and eventually, I’ll be able to hear and speak. Well, remember how to hear and speak.
Jiyong was so dumbfounded with the fact that Seungri could possibly be able to hear things again, speak again, that he blanked out for a couple minutes.
-Holy fuck, Seungri, that’s wonderful! When do you think you’ll be getting it done?
-Not anytime soon. I’ve gotten so used to appreciating life as it is, without noise. But anyway, it’s not my choice. My aunt and uncle are the ones deciding this. I guess they’re gonna see if their insurance covers the surgery, and if not, they won’t waste $70k unless it’s crucial.
-Are you fucking kidding me? Of course this is, this surgery is gonna change your life, how can they not think It’s crucial?
-Jiyong, it’s okay. I’m content with my disability. After years of not being able to hear, you just kind of get used to it and realize things for how it is.
He couldn’t believe it. They had the money, so why weren’t they going to help their own nephew live a better life? Whatever extent crucial was in their heads, it was definitely fucked up. Jiyong just couldn’t accept it as a legitimate excuse.
Jiyong set the journal and pen aside and bent down to kiss Seungri on the forehead. He wondered how nice it would be to be able to whisper sweet nothings that meant everything into Seungri’s ear, little proclamations of affection, things that came straight from his thoughts that were full of the fondness he had for his dongsaeng.
Seungri didn’t notice how Jiyong’s lips lingered just beside his ear for a few seconds.
---
It was the first time he’d ever been in Jiyong’s apartment, and the first he realized upon entering was that it was clean. Everything had a modern look to it, lots of black and white with a mix of additional colors of the rainbow: blue, red, yellow, green. In the corner, next to a tall window lie a black baby grand. Sheets of music were strewn haphazardly along its surface and on the stand. By the looks of it, Seungri could tell the piano was old.
Jiyong followed his line of vision, noticed him looking at his most valued possession, and grabbed the boy’s hand, dragging him over to the instrument. He moved some of the music aside and cleared space on its surface. He grabbed a pencil and wrote on the back of one of the papers.
-Put your hands on it, like this.
He flattened Seungri’s palms against the smooth top of the piano and proceeded to sit in front of the keys.
-I’ve been working on this piece for you.
Yes, of course he knew Seungri couldn’t hear anything, anything including music. In his mind, he felt that even though the boy couldn’t hear the music physically, he could still feel it, feel the emotions he played into the piano, those emotions escaping through the sound waves in the air and reaching Seungri. He didn’t need to hear to be able to feel Jiyong’s feelings.
So, he began pressing on the keys in a sequence of melodies and harmonies, music filling his apartment, but only loud enough to be heard in the room.
Vibrations hit Seungri palms, traveled through his body, through his bones, and reached his steadily beating heart. His fingers curled, uncurled, and he closed his eyes. Right now, it was sound he was feeling, something he’d lost the ability to hear a long time ago. He could feel it, and it made his body warm and tingly. He opened his eyes to see Jiyong staring at him affectionately, a small smile on his face, and Seungri felt tears on the verge of spilling. He was getting emotional, but only because Jiyong, the Jiyong who knew what sound meant, knew how hard it must feel to lose the ability to hear it, and the Jiyong who tried to help Seungri live a happy life, showing him that sound wasn’t only something you could listen to, but feel, and it was a wonderful feeling.
Seungri pulled his hands back and walked over to where Jiyong sat, took a seat himself, legs on either side of the piano stool. He was grateful to have this boy in his life, and he wanted to express it, just like Jiyong had done just moments ago. The music continued, but when Seungri leaned forward, began nibbling at the older’s ear, it stopped, abruptly, and then their lips met, almost desperately. Seungri’s tongue was smooth, his lips were soft, and Jiyong began nibbling on his lower lip. The younger brought his hands up to lightly grasp his hyung’s neck, his thumbs absentmindedly stroking the soft skin just below the ears. Jiyong, in return, gripped the boy’s hips and pulled him closer, Seungri practically sitting on his lap. Their lips were wet and their faces were flushed. Jiyong was the first to pull away, their breaths short and choppy as they panted. His hands crept beneath the thin fabric of Seungri’s shirt, and they rested on the flat, warm surface of the boy’s abdomen, smoothing over the tender skin and moving to rest against his lower back. He rested the side of his head against Seungri’s clothed chest, pulled him closer against him, and he listened to the quickened pace of his rhythmic heartbeat, his own heart beating to a pattern.
Jiyong wondered if hearts made music together when they belonged with each other. Then he wondered why he was being so cheesy.
They sat like that, Jiyong listening to Seungri’s heart, pulling the boy against him, and Seungri resting his head on top of Jiyong’s, trying to remember every detail.
Seungri didn’t need to hear Jiyong’s heartbeat, because right then, it was beating strong enough that he could feel it.
---
-If it’s too personal, you don’t have to answer, but…
How did you become deaf?
The bed was a queen, and it was perfectly cushioned and soft. Seungri was lying on his stomach, and Jiyong was resting his head on the curve of his dongsaeng’s back, his legs bent at the knees as he stared up at the ceiling. The blinds were only halfway closed, making the lighting in the room a nice white-blue shade.
Seungri was hesitant upon reading the note, but he responded anyway.
-I have an asshole for an older brother. We got in a fight at a concert, and he shoved my head against one of the speakers, left me like that for awhile until someone saw us, and I woke up not being able to hear.
Jiyong clenched his hands, balled them into fists angrily. Seungri’s life seemed like one tragedy after another, and he felt remorseful for ever complaining about his life.
He didn’t reply. He didn’t want to say anything like I’m sorry. Seungri probably got it a lot anyhow.
Jiyong turned his head to look over at Seungri. The boy had the side of his face pressed into the pillow, his eyes closed. The sheets of the bed were white, the pillows were white, the blanket they were lying on was white, and Seungri looked beautiful against them. He contrasted perfectly against it with his black hair, black shirt. He lifted the shirt just a little and nuzzled his face into the small strip of pale skin that was revealed. He could feel Seungri shiver, but the boy made no effort to move. Jiyong rested his upper body on his forearms, laid on his stomach like Seungri, and slowly began pulling the shirt higher, the younger’s back becoming more and more visible. He was beautiful like this, and there was a small smile hiding on his lips.
He rested the side of his face in the palm of his hand, used the other one to continue pushing the shirt up, a smile planted on his own lips. Once the black fabric was caught at the arms, Jiyong leaned down and placed a light, gentle kiss on Seungri’s spine, placed another at the dip of his back.
Seungri turned on his side, sat up and crossed his legs, the shirt falling back down to his hips. He grabbed at Jiyong’s hands and pulled him up, and the older mirrored the position. He was smirking, and Seungri just shook his head. He grabbed at the hem of Jiyong’s shirt and pulled the fabric off, Jiyong doing the same to Seungri, and they both sat there, shirtless, dorky smiles on their faces.
Jiyong was the first to lean forward and capture Seungri’s lips with his own. He crawled forward and straddled the younger, cupping his face in his hands as the boy gripped at his bony hips. He pushed Seungri down against the bed, hovered above the body below him, and kissed every feature on his face lovingly.
Baby, you’re beautiful. He knew Seungri couldn’t hear it. Of course. He whispered it against soft, trembling lips regardless.
Somewhere along the line, their shorts ended up in a pile on the ground, and somewhere along that same line, Seungri’s legs were spread wide and wrapped tightly around Jiyong’s hips, which were thrusting in and out of Seungri’s taut hole, hitting a spot in the boy that made him yell in pleasure, and he was in ecstasy.
It was like music to Jiyong’s ears. This was the closest he’d probably ever get to hearing Seungri’s voice, other than his laughing. The voice was beautiful as it rang throughout the room. He threaded his fingers through Seungri’s and held them above the boy’s head as he continued his fluid motions, in and out.
Jiyong saw stars when he came. Before he reached his climax, he whispered breathily against Seungri’s cheek:
I love you.
But Seungri couldn’t hear it, and Jiyong knew it.
---
Nearing towards the middle of autumn, snow had already begun to fall from the sky. He had close up duty that night, so of course, he took the chance and stayed hours after, practicing music on one of the grand pianos. The sound was rich in noise, nicely tuned, and notes meshed wonderfully together to create a song he had been learning, Comptine d’un Autre Été. His fingers glided gracefully across the black and white keys of the instrument, gracefully from years and years of practice, of inspiration.
He ended the composition, silence ringing in his ears, the last chords of the song resonating throughout the store peacefully and fading away into nothing.
On his way back to the apartments, snow began falling from the night sky, light and feathery. They were large flakes of ice, large enough to be able to catch in the palm of your hand, and Jiyong did just that. There was a lot falling down on the city, so much that in a matter of minutes, the ground would soon be covered in a thin layer of ice already.
Jiyong stood still, looked up into the night, and watched as the white flakes fell soundlessly, descended smoothly from the dark, grey clouds. Some landed on his face and melted into water, the cold solid-liquid flake numbing his cheeks and turning them a rosy red afterwards. If he could, he would lie down right then and there and just watch the snow fall until there was no more snow to fall. Instead though, he continued the walk back home, catching snowflakes on the way. He wondered if Seungri was also watching the snow fall from his window.
His phone vibrated in his back pocket and he pulled it out to read the message.
Where are you?
He was in the middle of typing a reply, in the middle of almost finishing his text (I’m on my way home, miss me? Haha<33) and pressing send, in the middle of crossing Third street, crossing while the light was still green, and he was hit, just like that, in a matter of seconds. The impact of the vehicle was too strong, there was too much force on his frail body, and everything went black.
---
It had been a week by now, maybe two, and Seungri hadn’t heard anything from Jiyong. He felt his heart slowly cracking, day by day, when Jiyong didn’t reply, when the text was sent but there was never a response. He didn’t know what he did wrong, he didn’t know what happened. He found his cheeks wet with tears every time he looked at his screen to find it empty. He couldn’t call, it would just be useless.
It had been weeks by now, and he hadn’t gotten a reply since.
It had been days, and he finally gave up.
Part 4