Chapter Text
Therapy wasn’t easy. That was what he had realized over these past three months.
He hated sitting there, picking apart emotions and thoughts he had spent his whole life running from.
It felt like throwing up. bitter and unavoidable.
That sour taste in his mouth. That crushing weight on his chest.
If only that damned accident hadn’t happened that night. If only he had fought the urge to drive while he was completely wasted.
He remembered that night clearly. It was the night Mew announced he was dating Top.
Mew, his long-time crush who had never returned his feelings.
Mew, who now that Ray was in therapy, he realized he had never actually loved. Whatever he had felt, it had nothing to do with love.
But that night, his thoughts were clouded by alcohol. By anger. By jealousy. By the desperate need to hold onto someone. anyone.
The only one who had ever seemed to give a damn.
He couldn’t remember how it happened. Couldn’t remember the moment he lost control. Who found him.
All he knew was that he woke up in a hospital, his father’s heavy breathing the first sound he registered. After that, everything blurred together.
The sentence came swiftly. Therapy was mandatory. A full year, at least. After three months, he was required to start community service.
And now, here he was.
standing in a stuffy room, fisting the fabric of his green cardigan, trying to get the attention of the boy he was supposed to help. A deaf boy, apparently.
That was all he knew.
Sand’s world started falling apart that day. the moment he realized he couldn’t hear himself sing.
It happened in the middle of his performance at YOLO.
One second, everything was normal.
The next, silence swallowed him whole.
He had bolted to the bathroom, chest heaving, panic clawing at his throat. His bandmates had found him there, eyes wild with fear, unable to process the fact that the music, his music, was gone.
An ear stroke. The end of his dreams. The end of his identity.
He fell into depression.
His whole life had revolved around music, and now the one thing that had kept him still, kept him breathing, was beyond his reach. He didn’t know why he was still here.
Nick, his roommate, or rather, the only friend he had left, was the one who finally pushed him to seek help. After three years of shutting himself away, he had dragged him to a community program, refusing to watch him waste away any longer.
Since the stroke, Sand had only worked from home, managing to land a job as a social media admin for a small company. Between that and selling his homemade plum wine, he scraped by.
And now, he was here. Sitting in a small room, hands curled into fists, trying not to be defensive about this whole thing.
Trying to find something worth holding onto. Something to care for. Something, anything, that might make him feel alive again.
Ray’s hand brushed gently against the stranger’s shoulder.
the only way he could think to get his attention.
The stranger turned back slowly, hesitation written in every movement, as if unsure whether the touch was real or just a trick of his imagination.
He was taller than Ray. Not that Ray had given much thought to what he might look like, but whatever he had pictured, it wasn’t this.
He had doe eyes, wide and uncertain, his pupils trembling ever so slightly. The moles scattered across his face made his features uniquely striking. His lips were slightly parted, his gaze unreadable, laced with hesitation.
He looked like a piece of art. The kind you keep behind glass, untouchable.
Ray didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know sign language, and he had never communicated with a deaf person before. The stranger’s hesitant expression quickly shifted into something closer to irritation, though Ray had no idea why.
“What?!” Sand signed, not bothering to hold back his frustration. not that he expected the tiny boy in front of him to understand.
“Um—I don’t… I can’t understand,” Ray said helplessly.
Fumbling, he pulled his phone from his pocket and opened a new note.
Sand could already guess what he was trying to do, but he wasn’t interested enough to reach for his own notebook, which hung from the strap of the bag slung over his shoulder.
“They set me up here for my community service… They told me you’re deaf, and I’m supposed to keep you company for two months. But I don’t know anything else.”
Sand watched, already impatient, as Ray took long seconds to type. He was already regretting his decision to seek help from a place like this.
But this was the only free community service he could access, and he couldn’t afford to make his financial situation any worse than it already was.
Ray shifted on his feet, glancing between Sand and his phone. The silence stretched between them. not that Sand had any intention of breaking it.
After a beat, Ray started typing.
“So… how does this work? Are we supposed to talk? Do activities together? Or do I just sit here while you stare at the wall?”
He turned the phone toward Sand, one brow raised like he actually expected an answer.
Sand exhaled sharply through his nose. Not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh. He reached for his bag, hesitated, then pulled out a worn notebook. Flipping to a blank page, he scribbled something down before holding it up.
“You can sit there and stare at the wall if you want. I won’t stop you.”
Ray huffed, his fingers moving quickly over the screen.
“Great, so you are pissed at me. What did I even do?”
Sand didn’t respond right away. His fingers hovered over the pen, debating whether this conversation was even worth the effort. His gaze flickered to Ray, who was watching him expectantly, arms crossed, lips slightly glossy under the overhead light.
Finally, he wrote:
“You touched me.”
That wasn’t entirely true.
The touch itself hadn’t been the problem. But there was something about the way Ray had looked at him. like he was trying to see him, beyond the surface. It made Sand feel naked. Vulnerable. Like all the things he tried to bury. his brokenness, his sensitivity, the rawness of his existence, were laid bare under Ray’s gaze.
And Sand didn’t want that.
He didn’t want anyone to care. He didn’t want anyone to look at him and see how fragile he really was.
Ray frowned at the words before typing again.
“I was just trying to get your attention. How else was I supposed to do it? Wave my arms like a lunatic?”
Sand stared at him, unimpressed, making no move to respond.
Ray groaned, thumbs flying over the keyboard.
“Fine. I won’t do it again. Happy?”
Sand hesitated for a moment, then jotted down a single word.
“Ecstatic.”
Ray read it, then glanced at him. His lips twitched, like he was fighting back a smile but refused to let himself give in. Instead, he typed one last thing before locking his phone and shoving it into his pocket.
“You’re an ass.”
Sand underlined his previous response, then flipped the notebook around again.
“Ecstatic.”
The second day came sooner than Ray would have liked.
Thinking about it, he was pretty sure he was going to lose his mind. He had to do this for two whole months. meeting Sand three times a week, spending at least two hours with him each time. A real punishment.
Apparently, this program was called “companionship support,” designed to help Sand come out of the isolation he had been in for quite a while.
Ray had been given a sign language booklet, though he had no intention of opening it. It would probably sit untouched until this whole miserable experience was over.
Not that it mattered, but he got the feeling that Sand wouldn’t make things easy for him either.
Ray didn’t know much about him, but judging from their first interaction, Sand already seemed annoyed with him for no actual reason.
And with the communication barrier between them, Ray had no idea how he was supposed to spend time with someone who clearly wanted nothing to do with him.
Letting out a sigh, he grabbed his cardigan, shoved his phone into his pocket, and left for the place where he was supposed to meet Sand.
Ray parked his car.
When he had texted Sand to ask where they should meet for their next session, Sand had replied with nothing but a live location. cold and impersonal.
Not that it mattered. Ray just had to survive these two months. Well, also the therapy. Then he could finally get back to his normal life.
Sand was standing next to a record store, scrolling through his phone, looking every bit as disinterested as Ray expected.
He was wearing a leather jacket over a T-shirt with “The Strokes” logo printed across the front, the faded design stretching over his chest. His jeans clung to his frame, emphasizing just how lean he was.
Ray walked closer, instinctively raising a hand to tap Sand’s shoulder, only to stop himself at the last second. Right. Their last conversation.
Instead, he shifted course, moving to stand directly in front of Sand to get his attention.
It took a moment before Sand noticed him, his focus still on his phone, but when he finally looked up, he let out a sigh.
Ray tried his best not to take offense.
Sand didn’t sign anything. Didn’t bother taking out his notebook. He simply pointed toward the record store’s entrance and walked past Ray without another glance.
Ray hesitated for a second before following.
A record store.
Of all places.
Considering the fact that Sand was deaf, it didn’t make any sense.
And yet, here he was, trailing behind Sand into a place filled with something Sand could no longer hear.
Sand moved through the rows of records with a patience Ray hadn’t seen in him before.
His fingers traced the edges of album covers, eyes flickering with something almost alive. It was the first time Ray had seen him like this. fully absorbed, almost peaceful. Like he knew exactly what these records sounded like. Like if he searched hard enough, if he focused just right, he could still hear them.
The store owner greeted Sand with a warm smile, signing a few words in what looked like hesitant, broken movements. Ray could tell the gestures weren’t fluent. probably just the handful of signs she had taken the time to learn for Sand’s sake.
Ray watched the interaction, something about it sitting uncomfortably in his chest.
How many times had Sand been here?
Why?
Did he just… like looking at the covers? Could he feel the music somehow, just by running his fingers over the artwork? How could he even begin to imagine the sound of something he could never hear?
Ray glanced down, pulling his phone from his pocket. It was only a second. just long enough to check the time, but when he looked up again, something had changed.
Sand’s expression was unreadable, his fingers gripping a record sleeve too tightly. A deep crease formed between his brows, his lips pressed into a thin line.
And then—Ray saw it. A tear slipping down his cheek, catching the light before disappearing into his skin.
Ray stilled.
His fingers twitched at his sides, unsure whether to reach out, to say something, do something. But before he could even decide, Sand wiped the tear away, turning just enough to put his face out of Ray’s view.
He slid the record back into place.
Then, without looking at Ray, he signed a quick thank you to the owner and walked out of the store.
They sat in silence on a bench near the record store. Despite the bitterness Sand had shown Ray since they met, and despite the way he had stormed out of the store, he still waited for Ray to catch up. He could have walked away, could have left Ray sitting there alone. But he didn’t.
Ray shifted uncomfortably.
Something about this, about him, felt different now.
Ray didn’t like it. He didn’t like the tightness creeping into his chest, the way the silence between them felt heavy rather than frustrating. He had wanted to write Sand off as an asshole, someone impossible to deal with.
That would have been easier.
But now, all he could think about was that look in Sand’s eyes. That sadness. The kind that settled deep, like an ache that never really went away.
Ray exhaled sharply and pulled out his phone, fingers moving hesitantly over the screen.
“Do you like collecting records?”
Soft. Softer than Ray had intended.
Sand glanced at him, hesitation flickering in his gaze. Seconds passed without a reaction, long enough that Ray wondered if he was just going to ignore him completely.
But then, finally, Sand reached for his notebook.
Before he could write, Ray gently caught his wrist. Sand tensed, a flicker of confusion crossing his face, but Ray didn’t pull away.
Instead, he turned his own phone around and carefully placed it in Sand’s hands.
For a moment, Sand just stared at him, clearly irritated. But there was also something else in his expression. A softness Ray wasn’t sure how to feel about. He wasn’t sure if he liked it.
After a beat, Sand started typing.
“I liked listening to them.”
He turned the screen toward Ray.
Ray frowned. Confused. Listening?
Hadn’t Sand been deaf since birth?
Sand caught the look on his face and let out a bitter, barely-there smile.
He didn’t know why he was letting Ray in on this. But earlier, Nick had told him to give Ray a chance. to let him be a companion, maybe even a friend.
Something outside of the small, isolated world Sand had locked himself in over the past few years.
Maybe he could try.
Just a little.
Sand hesitated, then typed again.
“I used to hear, you know. I lost it three years ago.”
He started to pass the phone to Ray. Stopped mid-way. Then pulled it back, his fingers hovering over the screen again.
“It happened in the middle of a performance at the bar I used to work at. I was a singer.”
This time, he handed the phone over completely, watching as Ray’s expression shifted. turning into something else. Something softer. More empathetic. A flicker of something else, too. Something like pain.
Ray didn’t respond. Instead, he reached out and pinched the fabric of Sand’s leather jacket between his fingers. A small tug, just enough to get his attention, before getting up.
Then, without a word, he pulled Sand to his feet and started walking. back toward the record store.
Sand frowned slightly but followed anyway.
The second Ray stepped back into the record store, Sand tensed. His grip on Ray’s sleeve faltered, as if reconsidering whether to follow.
But Ray didn’t give him the chance to hesitate. His fingers curled around Sand’s wrist. not tightly, not forcefully, just enough to let him know he wasn’t going to let him slip away.
Not this time.
The owner greeted Sand again, her hands moving in stiff, familiar signs, but Ray barely registered it. His focus was locked on a single shelf. The one Sand had been standing in front of before everything shifted.
Before his face had fallen. Before that single tear had slipped past his defenses.
Ray let go of Sand just long enough to reach for the record he had seen him holding earlier. He turned it over in his hands, feeling the weight of it, the smooth edges, the history pressed into the grooves.
Then he glanced at Sand, whose lips parted slightly, confusion flickering across his face.
Ray didn’t say anything. Just walked toward the old record player in the corner of the shop.
Sand followed.
There were two pairs of headphones resting beside the player. They were old, a little worn, but still working.
Ray set the record carefully onto the turntable, adjusting the needle with cautious precision. Then, without hesitation, he grabbed the first pair of headphones and placed them over his own ears.
Sand watched him, unmoving.
Ray exhaled sharply, then reached for the second pair and held them out.
For a second, Sand didn’t take them.
He just stared at Ray, like he was trying to understand what the hell he was doing. Like he was trying to process why Ray was doing this.
Ray huffed and picked up his phone instead.
“You know this album, right?”
Sand blinked.
He glanced at the record, then back at Ray, before nodding. Slowly. Hesitantly.
Ray’s lips twitched. Something close to satisfaction, though it wasn’t cocky, wasn’t teasing. just warm. Just real.
Finally, Sand reached for the headphones.
He didn’t put them on right away. Just held them in his hands for a long moment, looking down at them like they might burn him. Like the weight of them carried something heavy, something delicate.
Then, with a deep breath, he lifted them over his ears.
Ray gave him a second. A moment to prepare, to brace himself. Then he pressed play.
The needle crackled softly as it found the groove. A moment of static. A breath of anticipation.
Then—
“You can dance, you can jive, having the time of your life…”
Ray closed his eyes for a brief second, letting the familiar melody flood his senses. Then he turned to Sand, watching him, watching the way his lashes fluttered, the way his fingers trembled just slightly where they rested against his thighs.
And then Ray did something neither of them expected.
He started mouthing the words.
Not just mouthing, singing silently, exaggerating the shape of each syllable, making sure Sand could follow.
“See that girl, watch that scene, diggin’ the dancing queen.”
Sand’s breath hitched.
His chest rose sharply, then fell. His fingers curled into his jeans, gripping the fabric so tightly his knuckles turned white.
But he watched.
Watched Ray’s lips form the words. Watched the way his throat moved with the silent melody. Watched the way his expression softened. not out of pity, not out of obligation, but something deeper.
Something Sand had never been given before.
Someone was hearing for him.
Someone was helping him remember.
Ray kept mouthing the lyrics, his eyes never leaving Sand’s. He didn’t rush, didn’t get impatient when Sand blinked rapidly, trying to catch up, trying to hold onto the rhythm before it slipped away.
He stayed with him.
Steady.
“You are the dancing queen, young and sweet, only seventeen.”
Sand’s breath shuddered. His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to say something, but no sound came. His throat bobbed, his shoulders tensed, and then—
Then, suddenly, his face crumpled.
The first tear fell soundlessly, trailing down his cheek before he could stop it.
Ray faltered. His lips parted, but he didn’t know what to do. He had seen Sand annoyed. Bitter. Sarcastic.
But this—this was different. This was raw.
Sand didn’t even try to wipe the tears away this time.
Didn’t turn his face. Didn’t hide.
Because for the first time since he lost his hearing, someone wasn’t just watching him grieve his silence.
Someone was reaching into it.
And for the first time in a long, long while, Sand didn’t feel completely alone.