Dumb

A small smirk half-hidden behind a flop of hair, Hwoarang snapped his notebook shut. The pen he was writing with found its way to the cosy area behind his ear. The need to roll my eyes was almost unbearable, having an idea of what was to happen. Still I looked on - solely out of boredom. Hwoarang shifted ever so innocuously in his seat.

The leather sofa I was sitting on creaked kind of embarrassingly as I reached forward for my glass. I actually hated alcohol. I only drank it then out of boredom - and of course, my dolt cousin's insistence that I drink at least on my birthday. Oh right, that day, yesterday, was my 28th birthday. Old. So yeah, I drank the cocktail or whatever pulling a face. And speaking of Asuka, she seemed close to drunk herself, talking to one of my neighbours. He, Take, seemed a bit more focused on a couple of other things though.

"That's exactly what I think!" Take exclaimed a little too late in reply to something Asuka said. She didn't seem to care, and just laughed, drawn-out and loud, and this time I did roll my eyes. They landed on Hwoarang again. He still had that smirk on his face, focusing on Asuka. A few seconds later and I was stopping myself from smiling, Hwoarang's own being that contagious.

"Another thing we both agree on! Haha! This is freaky right! What about Kabuki, what do you think about – OI!" She stopped mid-sentence, a lime green notebook having hit the side of her head. Picking it up, her eyes found Hwoarang immediately. And there was that scowl I'm so unfortunately used to seeing. She flicked through the pages until she found her name on one of then in capitals. Bringing her face closer to it, despite Hwoarang's huge, disjointed, and frankly horrible lettering, she read aloud: "'He only wants you drunk, stop embarrassing yourself.'"

I looked at Take, whose eyes quickly shot to the accomplished fighter elder-brother-type-cousin of Asuka who was me. Asuka's scowl at Hwoarang deepened, before continuing. "'I'm a guy, I should kno-' What do you know, not everyone's like you, idiot," and she threw the book back into Hwoarang's general direction. He just stuck out his chin and grinned like the sun, eyes shut tight.

I laughed at that point, as Asuka flung one of my pillows more accurately. "Idiot," she repeated, as it successfully messed up Hwoarang's hair. "And why are your notebooks so bright? It was neon pink last time!"

"So there's a chance you'll see it flying towards your head a bit earlier," I kindly explained. I took another sip. "Nn! My god Asuka, what on earth is this?" Truly was disgusting.

Asuka huffed. "No-one's talking to you, shush." She turned back to Take. He seemed to have slipped away, however, and my cousin seemed to be rather unhappy about it. "Wait, where…"

I smiled at Hwoarang, who was still wearing that stupid grin, undeterred by the pillow attack. "He's gooone!" she wailed, slumping back onto the sofa. And sure enough, in literally no time, "You idiot Hwoarang. Do you think it's easy to find a guy who'll talk to a girl who fights for longer than two minutes?" A bit more wailing. "It's getting harder and harder to bowl them over with my winning personality..." At this point Hwoarang mimed having melons on his chest.

"This guy didn't last much longer, did he?" I helpfully pointed out again, before she attempted to kill Hwoarang. "Probably better off this way if that's how easy he scares." I tried not to smile. Asuka growled. Hwoarang fell flat onto his back, mouth open in a silent laugh. My cousin huffed and drained a whole glass of that stuff, and my eyes moved kind of sadly over to Hwoarang. The pen behind his ear stuck out of his mass of hair.

Probably didn't know it at the time, but that was fifteen or so seconds… I'd never forget.

"What… what?"

I walked over to the unconscious Hwoarang on the hospital bed. Seeing his face really made it seem a million times worse. Why is it that people look like children when they sleep?

"I'm sorry," the doctor said for the third time, "but we are grateful that the worst to come out of it is his greatly reduced speech ability. Well, possibly completely mute. Though as we've said, it could have been considerably wor–"

"Yes," I said.

I hovered awkwardly in his room for a couple of hours, perhaps. Word spread of Hwoarang's hospitalisation (as these things tend to do) and a few people dropped by to visit. I can hardly remember who though, my mind being occupied with earlier events. I answered Julia Chang's concerned questions monosyllabically and ended up slumped into a horrible plastic hospital chair at some point. People eventually left me alone, and soon I was the only one with Hwoarang, his nurse popping in occasionally. Checking vitals, and whatnot.

This was about 14 months ago. Some people ask me why I was there for him all that time ago in the hospital. Maybe because I still felt guilty about the stupid rivalry we had that ended a couple of years back. Perhaps it was that, Baek no longer being with us, I was afraid that no-one else would bother to stay with him. Perhaps it was because I'd seen everything that made him like this, and the situation felt so much more real to me than to anyone else. Might have been because I thought I knew him better than anyone.

Whatever the reason might have been, I was there. No-one else was. I sat in the waiting room wondering what the fuck was so serious this time. I was the one who bought a laptop just to look up statistics on TBI and aphasia. I learnt all the damn definitions of those ridiculous medical terms. I felt a pang when I realised I'd probably never hear that terrible, annoyingly loud, hacking laugh again. I joined Hwoarang, if only for a minute, in not breathing as he had another seizure. I was there as he woke. I rolled my eyes at his expression when nurses touched his bare chest. Me.

It seemed like it might have been ages before he woke up, but it wasn't. Even the doctors had the grace to be politely impressed at his steady recovery. I wasn't. I was damn proud.

Since, he'd been communicating primarily through writing. The attack had indeed left him more or less mute. Of course, Hwoarang, being Hwoarang, used this to full advantage: feigning innocence, always winning arguments, getting away with flirting with waitresses.

But then of course, he'd have his down moments. They were rare, but they were severe.

Not too long after his release from hospital, Hwoarang's speech therapist had just left his house, leaving an enthusiastic me and an eager-looking Hwoarang. I was with him for most of the sessions, knowing full well how self-conscious and embarrassed he felt having me there. Because I knew how much more lonely he was.

Since he'd been discharged his speech therapist had been practicing colours with him. This pissed me off a bit; he wasn't a child, he knew the words already. But they kept saying it was best to start simple to build his confidence. She'd have a board with five squares on them: yellow, blue, red, black and white. And she would say each one after the other, making Hwoarang copy. Rote-learning... I'd never liked it.

That day then, the therapist seemed pleased with Hwoarang's progress, reminding me constantly to practice with him. And of course, I was happy to. So the enthusiastic me, focusing solely on giving support and neither of our possible embarrassment, talked colour to the eager-looking Hwoarang until I couldn't take it anymore. He was able to say them almost always coherently when I told him to, "yel-low, blue, red, black, white."

So I acted upon a whim. "What colour's your hair?" Not a dangerous whim at all.

He smiled at first. Ever since he lost his speech his features had become so much more expressive. I couldn't help it; I smiled too. He opened his mouth. For a few seconds his jaw just moved before he shut his mouth again. He swallowed, and tried again. Eventually I heard a "lah" before he clamped his mouth shut once more. A second later he looked away from me and lowered his head.

"Hwoarang," I said, "don't worry, try it again." And I attempted to smile half as brightly as he.

After a moment he raised his head a little, eyes shut as if resting. I could feel him willing that one word to produce itself. He sat in that way for while, not making any sound. He knew what to say, of course. I knew he knew what to say. And he was growing tired of not being able to.

"Yellow," I said. First word being the trigger word and all.

"Yellow, blue," he whispered, "red!" he answered, almost immediately. I don't know about his, but my mood lifted considerably.

So, "hair," I prompted. Just repeat what you said before. Seemed he couldn't. I received a barely audible grunt in response. And with that he gave up. Shaking his head, hugging his knees, he gave up. Everything about him said 'no' without the need of words.

I had promised myself from the start to never be impatient with his speech, and I've kept that pretty well, actually. I've lost my patience once, in all this time. I've shown my frustration once, and it was right then. And no, not my frustration at him, but they age-old excuse, the frustration at the situation.

"Wha-What do you mean, 'no'? Who are you doing this for? People are putting in the effort, aren't they? Doesn't that woman come twice a week repeating the same five words over and over again? Doesn't she get tired of it, but persists because she wants to help you? Haven't I been -" I stopped at his expression. But only for a moment.

"Why are you still holding onto your pride? It's only me here, I don't care if you get it wrong, I won't embarrass you. Hwoarang, no-one wants to make this hard for you, just… just TRY!" And there we have it, me towering over Hwoarang, trying not to lose it. Supportive.

Then I noticed the tears. Sigh. I sat on the floor again. "Say it."

Hwoarang shook his head. I can't.

So I changed tack a little. "Something you can't do, is it? Never thought that was possible. Remember Christie? Who thought it was impossible to think of having a chance with her?" I was ignored for a few moments. Then Hwoarang looked at me, and slowly smiled. "Right. And who ended up… not coming home til the next morning?" He grinned embarrassedly. "Right. See what you can do when you try? That's all you need to do."

Hwoarang opened his mouth in a laugh at that point, but it was more likely that he was laughing because of the lame way I just expressed my thoughts, than his self-confidence suddenly rocketing. I smiled uncouthly myself.

"Yeah yeah, that was a bit corny. Now grow up. And what colour is your hair?"

Smile slipping off his face slowly, he shut his eyes again.

Will, will, will.

"Her… led." He opened his eyes.

We looked at each other. And laughed.

Hair red.

So back to yesterday. Asuka was having a blast with the rest of the people at the 'gathering', being intoxicated and forgetting that it was even my birthday. Most of them weren't even people I knew, just friends of acquaintances, who would apparently drink anything.

Every now and then I'd see Hwoarang's silent laugh. Out of everything, that was the thing me, or any friend of his, would miss the most: his laugh.

Oh and of course, his amazing raw talent for karaoke. Possibly beaten only by our very own Asuka.

Whose voice was regrettably terrible when drunk.

"HAPPY BAAAATHDAAAY to YOOOU…" she screeched, egged on by her girlfriends. Asuka seemed completely oblivious to everyone's hilarity, and as much as it embarrassed the life out of me, I was probably laughing more than anyone. Hwoarang collapsed next to me on the sofa, shaking with mirth. And yes, I felt again that familiar pang: me never getting used to being the loudest of us both. I missed his stupid voice. But I'd never wish to change him. Let him laugh silently.

"Happy BAAATHday, dear JIIIN-JIIIIIIIN…"

Because to be honest, I laughed enough for the both of us.