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He first got them on his fifth birthday. His parents stayed up with him until the rose-pink light of dawn because the counter that hovers over one’s shoulder only refreshes every sunrise on one’s birthday. They stayed there beside his bed on their knees, praying for at least twenty words for their little boy because they never got enough for themselves, and they know how difficult it is to live in a world where not having words is considered ill-omened.
His mother’s counter always showed no more than five on her every birthday, and she could only utter yes, no, please, help, and always, but his father never got any. So when the sun rose that day and 5-year-old Mingyu’s counter blinked and glowed 320,000 words on his right shoulder, his parents cried as he sat on his bed and uttered his first mom and dad.
“Mom, I got words!”
His mother responds with a smile, tears of happiness glinting as they streak her face.
They listened to him tell them he loves them, something they can’t do for him, and more about his favorite picture book because a child can only contain such excitement for a short amount of time. Their son will be seen as a genius if he gets more words. He’d never suffer.
It was magical to hear his voice. Nearly impossible, but apparently not. As a son of a Wordless couple, that was more words than he could have ever possibly gotten with luck. But they’re thankful he’s one of the blessed. News broke in their neighborhood, and Mingyu became the talk of the town and the most admired among kids his age. It also helps that he grew up tall, dark, and handsome, lofty and hard-working yet gentle and pacific—the kind mothers want for their children.
On every sunrise of the sixth of April, he would get more and more words, and his parents would always be ecstatic for him. By 10 years of age, he already had 1,320,523 words, allowing him to be fluent in more than one language. This escalation shocked everyone around him especially at school where teachers target their commendation to the students with the most words.
Mingyu just stood out like a sore thumb with his words as the count on his shoulder grew larger and larger. At 15 years old, 400,000 more words were added to his counter. This was around the time his middle school classmates would bug him about his life.
People were curious. How can a Wordless couple have a child like him?
“How do you talk at home?” His friend asked, chuckling as if it’s a silly question.
“We learned how to communicate in a different way,” Mingyu replied. “Sign language is really easy; you should try it!”
“No thanks. I’m good with my words.” His friend seemed uninterested, bored since he didn’t give an answer worth gossiping about. Mingyu’s eyes darted to his friend’s counter, 800,000 words illuminated by the neon light.
Despite how people looked and talked about his parents, he used his words well to express himself. His parents can’t talk, so they conversed with their actions, and, of course, sign language.
He learned how to feel people, their love, their hate, all the emotions that can radiate off a person, and learned not to expect to hear things with his ears when he can do it with his heart. And while people always seemed curious about how it’s like to live with Wordless parents, Mingyu never found it different or weird. It’s just how his parents are, and he doesn’t see anything wrong with them.
Mingyu never had bad birthdays.
When he turned 18, the word count flashed 2,820,000 words.
Jisoo nods and shakes his head when he needs to respond. Sometimes, when the situation really calls for it, he moves his hands in ways they would easily understand.
A palm in the air for stop. A thumbs up for okay. A hand on his heart for thank you.
People don’t know how to sign, and he doesn’t know anyone around him who is willing to learn (except maybe for his mom who wholeheartedly adjusted everything in her life caring for him). It just adds to the thousand reasons why it’s not ideal to live as a Wordless. Everyone thinks he thinks differently, which maybe he does, but not any different than a normal person with enough words to use for a lifetime. He’s not weird. He doesn’t speak, but he’s not weird. It’s an absolute horror to go to any social gathering because people treat him like he’s stupid, mouthing words obnoxiously in his face when he doesn’t respond.
He can hear them clearly. He just can’t say anything back, if the glaring counter that says 0 words on his right shoulder is anything to go by.
The school makes it hard for him to believe in himself. He excels, he does everything he can to rise to the top with the others, but it’s just different when you have words. They just get treated differently. With him, it’s always as if he’s either seen as a poor boy with no words who needs help in everything (even in crossing the street—what’s up with that?) or a hopeless boy who just couldn’t be helped because the System decided he doesn’t get to have words. Not a single one since birth.
“Got any words this year?” Mingyu asks to fill the quiet in.
It’s just the two of them at the café right now. They’re not close, never even met before, but this is a group project on that class he just enrolled in and they’re the first ones to get to the meeting place. The other two members are expected to be late—Chan informed them the night before that he has football practice, and Seungkwan is just known to be someone who likes to be fashionably late.
Jisoo offers a small smile in response, slightly shrugging his right shoulder to draw attention to his zero words while Mingyu’s counter is beaming 2,832,700 words.
“Ah,” Mingyu acknowledges. “The System must hate you, huh?”
It’s just a remark, and judging by the even tone of his voice, Jisoo’s pretty sure he doesn’t mean to offend. But every time he hears those words it feels like a punch in the gut.
Someone, the System, decided he shouldn’t have words but everyone around him—his parents, his classmates, his neighbors—should. When he was younger, kids his age would call him names like voiceless (obviously) or loser because he isn’t considered one of the brightest kids no matter how hard he tries. When he laughs, he would hear people around him say he’s a waste of vocal cords. High schoolers can be cruel, too, as they just assume that he wouldn’t have anything good to say anyway and that the System is just trying to stop potentially bad people from abusing their words.
No one really knows how the System works (aside from the System), how it chooses who gets to have words, how many words it allocates to a person, or how and why rationing of words is essential. Jisoo used to think long and hard about it, but he just settled for the System just really hates him. How else could he explain why he doesn’t have words? Yet somehow, people think he’s still to blame for it.
His dispirited thoughts probably translated onto his face because Mingyu suddenly looks ashamed.
“I didn’t mean it like that—”
Jisoo cuts him off with a touch on his hand on the table. He scribbles quickly on his notebook:
It’s okay. I get that a lot. If I had words, I might just conquer empires.
Mingyu chuckles, but it sounds more like a sigh of relief. Jisoo thinks university people are nice. They’re not as blunt about what they think of him.
“You’re not an Alexander the Great type. If I were the System, I wouldn’t worry about you.”
Jisoo nods politely, a blush spreading across his cheeks. It feels really good when people joke with him. He feels normal.
Mingyu is pretty nice.
“But still, I’m really sorry,” Mingyu says again after a while. Jisoo looks at him, confused. “My parents are Wordless, too—at least my dad is. My mom has five words. I haven’t met any other Wordless aside from them, so… it must be so awkward for you. I’m sorry.”
Jisoo is in shock. Two Wordless people? Aside from him? That’s a lot.
“I didn’t want to impose, so I didn’t try anything, but do you know sign language?”
Jisoo stares at him, dumbly. Too surprised to process it all. Two more Wordless people near him.
Mingyu raises his eyebrows and tilts his head forward as he signs, do you know sign language?
Jisoo puts his hand in a fist, moving it up and down like a nod. It’s the first time he could sign when talking to someone else other than his mom instead of nodding his head yes.
Mingyu grins, and Jisoo gazes as his canines winsomely wink at him. “That’s great! You don’t need to write anymore when you’re with me. Can you understand me well? I talk fast.”
Yes. I understand you just fine.
“You must be a great listener.” Mingyu laughs, carefree and comfortable, and Jisoo feels a little proud of himself. “My mom hates it when I talk fast because she can’t keep up with the jokes. I repeat it over and over, but she only laughs because she thinks they’re lame.”
Jisoo doesn’t know what comes over him, but he’s feeling oddly brave enough to make friends with the guy. And the way Mingyu treats him like an equal is not at all making it difficult for him, too.
Let me hear some of your jokes then.
“Alright,” Mingyu clears his throat, a little bashful at the sudden request, but a bit too ready with one. “What did the young shrimp say when his mom asked him why he wouldn’t share any of his toys?”
Jisoo raises a confused eyebrow, what?
“S-Sorry,” Mingyu suppresses a laugh at his own joke. “I’m a little shellfish.”
Jisoo scrunches his face unknowingly at the laughably unfunny joke, trying to contain his laughter. But he fails, giggles spilling out of his lips uncontrollably.
He has no words, but he does have a voice, and while he’s not comfortable hearing himself and the sounds that come out of his mouth, it seems like at that moment he just… forgets he ever cared about his laugh. About how he sounds.
Mingyu looks pleased with the reaction. “See, I got you laughing.”
Jisoo shakes his head, mouthing no as he taps his index and middle finger together with his thumb.
Mingyu lifts his phone when it vibrates, the table trembling a little under Jisoo’s elbows leaning on the surface. “Oh, shoot.” Worry etches on Mingyu’s features as he reads the message. “Chan got an injury on the field. They can’t make it to the meeting.”
Is he going to be okay?
“I’ll have to see, but I’m sure he’ll be fine. Seungkwan just gets a bit panicky when things like this happen.”
Of course, good things must come to an end, Jisoo laments inwardly.
“Will you be okay here? I need to go now,” he says distractedly. Jisoo can’t keep him for long with his friends in need, so he just nods abruptly and gestures for Mingyu to go.
Mingyu flashes him a smile and ruffles his hair. He almost shies away from the touch, but it was too quick and too warm. “Alright, I’m going. Text me if you need help with anything.”
Just like that, and he’s out of the shop.
For the rest of the day, Jisoo ponders on how he just made a friend today as his scalp tingles pleasantly from where Mingyu touched his head.
***
Mingyu ended up texting him first. At first, it was only about the group project, but after the presentation and submission of output, Mingyu never stopped texting him. They texted just like friends in the high school setting, coming of age movies Jisoo used to watch as a teen. They texted day and night, and it didn't feel like they were slipping away from friendship even when they don't see each other much.
Kim Mingyu:
i saw a cute little bird earlie
r
[picture]
it reminded me of you :>
Hong Jisoo:
what… no.
that looks nothing like me ><
Kim Mingyu:
uou’re this adorable! hehehehehe
and you laugh likethis bird too!
Hong Jisoo:
birds sound like CAW! CAW! :o
i do not laugh like that :<
Kim Mingyu:
not this bird! this bird goes chirp chirp~
adorable and sweet just like you
Jisoo has to put his phone down and press his face down his pillow to muffle a bit of a shriek. Mingyu says the cheesiest things, and he’s so close to believing them.
They don’t meet every day, only on the weekends. It turns out that they only share one class every Saturday, so Jisoo savors every minute he gets to spend next to Mingyu. He also introduced him to some of his friends who automatically claimed Jisoo as theirs, too. It only takes one person to like him for others to accept him.
He’s not bad at all, Seungkwan whispered to Mingyu at one point during one of their meetings. Mingyu smiled, casting a fond look at Jisoo who pretends really hard not to notice. Of course, he heard it. And he felt the stare, but he was feeling too sheepish.
Facetime calls are fun, too. Jisoo never imagined enjoying video calls or ever partaking in it, but one night, Mingyu felt too lonely in his dorm room and asked Jisoo to answer the call. When he did, he expected awkward silence because it’s just not the same as a face-to-face interaction where he can feel the person’s feelings through reading the air around them. But Mingyu knows how to turn things around.
After some time, he finds himself really close to Mingyu. He shares his thoughts, talks about his day. Jisoo even told him childhood stories, even embarrassing ones albeit they’re not as embarrassing as Mingyu’s.
Jisoo quietly laughs at the reminder, a warm feeling bubbling in his heart.
Mingyu makes him happy.
Snow tickles the tops of his cheeks as he walks his way to the park. It’s December 30th today. Cold as always yet it’s extra special because it’s Jisoo’s birthday.
Mingyu hasn’t seen him in weeks since he had to go home and leave the city for the holidays, and it was a pit of loneliness without him. The Facetime calls didn’t happen during that time because of how busy he was with family. At some point, Mingyu was starting to lose his mind at how much he misses him. He misses the way he turns pink whenever Mingyu compliments him, the way his eyes would light up when Mingyu brings him food he made randomly every time they meet, the way Jisoo’s laugh has a bit of a wheeze in it. Jisoo floods his head when he’s away from him, yet he still manages to capture every bit of Mingyu’s attention when they’re together.
He won’t lie—it is love (trust him, he had spent a lot of sleepless nights mulling over his feelings), but he doesn’t want to scare him off. Being near to him is and should be enough for now. They’ve only known each other for eight months. He’s not even sure if Jisoo feels the same.
He made him a soft wool scarf, warm yellow in color. He’s so sure this will look good against the beautiful caramel tone of his skin and his expressive tawny eyes. Along with the birthday present, he prepared a hotpot date just for the two of them. It would be most warm if he’s with Jisoo, he thinks as he stuffs his freezing hands in the pockets of his coat.
He can’t wait to see him again.
They’re supposed to meet at the park, which, in hindsight, is a bit of a bad choice since there’s no form of heating in this kind of public place. But they won’t stay long. The hotpot restaurant is just around the corner, and the walk with Jisoo will be so fun, he wouldn’t notice anyway.
And he doesn’t have to wait at all since Jisoo arrives as soon as he does, always on time with everything. He thanks himself for not being late because if he ever makes Jisoo wait in this cold weather for him, he’d never forgive himself.
“Hey,” Mingyu greets, unable to form words into a coherent sentence as he marvels at how adorable Jisoo looks when he’s being swallowed by his oversized coat and jumper. “You look good.”
Thank you. You look good, too. The redness from the tips of Jisoo’s ears spread to his cheeks. Look! I got wo-
Mingyu snaps out of his daydream when he remembers, cutting Jisoo off as he looks away to grab the paper bag that he settled on the bench behind him. “Oh! I got you something,” he says as he hands him the bag which Jisoo takes with both of his mitten-clad hands. Mingyu feels his heart melt at the sight. “H-Happy Birthday!”
Jisoo forgets he was trying to say something as soon as he sees the present. He looks up at Mingyu with appreciation carved onto his irises.
Thank you very much. You didn’t have to.
“I wanted to, okay? Come on, open it!”
Jisoo opens the bag and fishes out the yellow scarf from it.
This is so beautiful. Thank you!
“I made it,” Mingyu smiles as he takes the scarf from his hands to wrap around his neck. “It looks good on you.”
Seeing the way Jisoo instinctively nuzzles his face against the fabric stirs up something inside him.
“Let’s go eat? How about—”
He stops, noticing the gleam of Jisoo’s counter on his shoulder.
3 words.
“You got your words!?” Mingyu exclaims in excitement. He couldn’t help himself—he pulls Jisoo into a tight hug, pressing his nose onto the top of his head like a ghost of a kiss. When he pulls away, his eyes meet Jisoo’s careful ones. “I knew it! I knew you would! May I hear—”
“I love you.”
And the world stops for the both of them.
It takes a second for Mingyu to fully hear him.
Less to realize his ears just heard the most beautiful sound, the dulcet tones Jisoo could produce with his voice. He has heard him laugh before, has heard the melodious sound of his happiness, but not like this.
And the words are out of his mouth before he knows it.
“I love you, too.”
Jisoo’s wary face breaks into a smile, eyes turning into twinkling crescents that crease prettily at the corners. His lips move again, and Mingyu’s ears chase his words.
“I love you,” he repeats his only words as if to make sure Mingyu gets it.
And he does.
Mingyu cups his face in his hands, inching closer to him. Jisoo closes his eyes in hope, tilting his head forward. The gap between them closes, but not before his breath tickles Jisoo’s nose as he repeats his response, carving it on the stars as a promise.
“I love you, too.”