° ᴛᴜɴɴᴇʟ ᴠɪsɪᴏɴ ° || ʏᴏᴏɴᴍɪɴ sʜᴏʀᴛ sᴛᴏʀʏ ✔️

°four°

Yoongi had acquired a gravitational pull of his own, one whose force was so mercilessly dominant against me, and with each passing day that force grew frighteningly stronger. He started to leave school earlier-much earlier than any of the other students, which completely contrasted with his behavior up until this point in the school term. Sungha apparently wasn't coming to school throughout all this, basically confirming Yoongi's statement, and backing up our classmates' widespread rumors.

But things didn't stop with Yoongi's sister. How they managed to uncover such things was beyond me, but the rumors and dramatic stories continued to grow and expand far past that of Sungha.

According to what I overheard, the people were discussing the possibility that perhaps Yoongi's family was cursed. By now they had discovered about his visual impairment, and upon digging deeper into unspecified sources, they found out that his mother had passed several years ago from a terrible illness, and his father had been fired from his job, currently striving to provide enough money to take care of his children with his new and lesser wage.

The Black Cat Family was going viral. And I couldn't stand it.

*****

"Hey, Yoongi, why don't you join my friends and I for lunch?"

"Not a fan of crowds, thanks."

"W-...what about just me, then?"

"Not interested, thanks."

"Mean..."

Yoongi closed his eyes gently and let out a soft breath. If I weren't mistaken, I could've sworn it was an attempt at a scoff, though it came off as nothing but tired and lazy effort. He wasn't putting as much energy into rejecting me, that was for sure. 'Lackadaisical' would be an understatement. He was utterly drained.

"Jungkook and Hoseok already left for the cafeteria, so it's not like I'm being waited on." I casually slipped out my phone and prepared myself to notify Seokjin of the reason for my absence. "They'll understand."

"What're you doing...?"

"I'm eating lunch here with you, obviously."

At last, Yoongi had brought himself to look at me again, and inside my head bells tolled the toll of victory, a slight smile battling to make itself known. Instead, I slid into the nearest seat and spun around to face the blonde boy, carefully setting my lunch down on his desk. All the while he stared at me, those cognac eyes, though nearly void of light, somehow managing to steal my attention and make breathing almost a strenuous task.

Almost.

"How 'bout that lecture today, huh?" I quirked an eyebrow, eyeballs rolling in their sockets almost like a reflex triggered by the memory of our teacher's excruciatingly lengthy, one-way discussion earlier on, a considerable portion of which I slept through. "Man, I can't stand Korean History. It can be kinda cool at times...I guess...but for the most part it just goes right over my head. You know what I'm saying? Like, especially when it comes to the m-"

"Why are you here?"

"Injured my leg. Don't feel like walking to the cafeteria-"

"Quit messing with me."

Acrimony underlaid his voice like a sheet of ice, and tragically enough this wasn't thin ice, but rather the kind that grew exponentially thicker with the passage of time. He knew I was cooking up excuses to avoid providing an honest response.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm joking." I stuck out both of my legs and began bending them repeatedly just to prove my statement. "My legs are okay. I'm actually just here to spend time with you."

I was pushing him further and further past a limit he wasn't fond of touching. He found me obnoxious. Indecipherable. Insufferable. I was certain of it. So why couldn't I shut myself up? Why couldn't I bring myself to realize when my presence wasn't appreciated?

There was only one reason; so long as Yoongi continued to hold up this front of his, nothing would interfere with me tearing it down--piece by piece, if necessary.

"You never answered my question, by the way. Your sight-"

I pressed my index finger against his forehead, softly moving it across his face until I reached his now lidded eye. The skin was smooth, delicate, even, like a fragile crib cradling and preserving what remained of its most prized possession--Yoongi's diminishing sight. It shocked me, as well as satisfied me, that he didn't move away so quickly. Instead, our gazes locked again. And they held one another.

"Tell me how clear I am to you."

He wouldn't budge. I had captured him once more, having gradually reeled him closer in to become securely wrapped in the aura of my attention and voice. It was simultaneously gratifying and mystifying to the point where I, myself, lost track of how long I'd been staring. In my defense, though, whatever spell I was caught under rendered me powerless to the entity of this boy's atmosphere.

"Clearer...than most," he said at last, and his fingertips brushed against the surface of my palm, as though he were halfheartedly attempting to push the hand away. "Even in a tunnel, you're...clearer than most."

"Good."

It thrilled me. Hearing him say this...

...filled me with joy.

It wasn't strange; after all, who wouldn't be happy about making progress?

"Hey, Yoongi. You should stop by the gym after school. I want you to watch a basketball game."

"There's no point. Following that little orange ball around the court is too difficult, my eyes can't follow-"

"Then just train them on me."

Puzzlement. I smiled warmly at his expression.

"Your eyes, Yoongi. Just train them to look at me; based on what you've admitted at this point, that shouldn't be too hard, right?"

What I was doing was risky, but I was more than willing to take that risk. I was sincere, without a doubt, and if Yoongi could sense that, then there shouldn't have been any misinterpretations with my invitation.

I wanted to know him. Nothing more, nothing less. I just wanted to be able to claim that I knew him better than anyone.

"You'll love it, Yoongi. Just trust me."