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cover me up, cuddle me in (settle down with me)

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Taeyong shuts the door behind him, careful not to make a sound. It's around 2:30 am and the hazy glow of the street lights filters in through the window, shedding little streaks of blue light over the general landscape of their living room.

Taeyong sighs. Looks like his roommate had forgotten to draw their curtains. Again.


He toes his shoes off, reaching a hand up to slip the bucket hat off his head, sighing when the hair he had unceremoniously shoved under it flops down right into his eyes.


He thinks, in the back of his mind, about the food that is probably stowed away for him in the refrigerator, ready for him to reheat and eat. He considers stepping into the kitchen breifly, before forgoing it entirely, passing it by in his haste to get to the bedroom.


The sight that greets him there isn't uncommon, and yet, he fails to keep the smile from blooming on his face. No matter how many times Taeyong saw this exact scene, he would never get used to it, everytime just like the very first.


He’ll probably never get used to the giddiness that filled his chest at the sight of Doyoung sprawled out on their bed.


He discards his sweat soaked hat in the basket by the door before walking over to the bed. His eyes dart across the peaceful expression on Doyoung's face, a small smile forming as he feels his own stress melt away. He bends down quietly to place a fleeting peck on Doyoung's nose, chuckling at the way it almost twitches in response.


He makes his way around the bed, pulling out another towel from the cabinet before letting his tired feet carry him to the en suite bathroom for a much needed shower.


Taeyong hated him. He hated his new roommate with every fibre in his being.


All Doyoung did was nag nag nag. 

Didn’t put your keys in the hideous bowl by the door? Get nagged at.

Didn’t close the curtains before going to bed? Get nagged at.

Didn’t put back the spice bottles he’d used while cooking? Get nagged at. 


It was sickening, really — so much that he’d almost considered letting go of their shared apartment altogether. But alas, that wasn't a luxury taeyong could afford.


So he made sure to nag back threefolds about how Doyoung hardly ever put his laundry in the laundry basket, how his socks could be found in the weirdest places all around the apartment, about the wrinkled state of his bedsheets — he would take any and every opportunity to let Doyoung have a taste of his own medicine.

But all that passive aggressive rivalry and enmity came to a haltering stop when taeyong showed up at the door — 2 months or so into their arrangement — quivering like a leaf, on the verge of passing out.


The expression on Doyoung’s face when he lost balance had burned itself into the back of Taeyong’s mind. The weeks of piled up exhaustion and suppressed sickness building up into a giant mountain before collapsing — literally and figuratively — when he stumbled into Doyoung’s arms, promptly passing out.


It took a week and a half for Taeyong to get better again, even with doyoung nursing him back to health. Doing the littlest things for him before he could even think about it. 


Somewhere between Doyoung awkwardly spooning warm soup into his mouth for the first time, and him staying up every night to keep changing the cold compress on his forehead; things shifted.


Taeyong no longer felt the urge to run away at the sight of him. Instead, he found himself burrowing into the warmth by his side, nuzzling into the hand carding its fingers through his hair as he hummed along to whatever song doyoung had chosen to sing to him that night.


If you asked them, they would tell you that it wasn't a singular moment — not a eureka moment by any means — when they realised how much things had changed. 


The change was reflected in the tiny shifts in their behaviour. In the way Doyoung would arrange the spice jars in their respective spots in the cabinet whenever taeyong forgot to; arranging the haphazard mess of shoes by the door into a neat row by the shoe rack; all without a complaint — well mostly. He wouldn't be his Doyoung if he didnt nag.


The shift showed itself in the expression of fond exasperation that found itself on Doyoung’s face as he dragged Taeyong away from the door by the sleeve of his jacket , refusing to let him skip breakfast.


It shone through in the way Taeyong would walk — twirl Doyoung would snicker you twirl to the music — around the house on laundry day, collecting Doyoung’s various pairs of mismatched socks without a protest, dumping them in the basket at his hip with an eerily similar expression of exasperated fondness.


In fact, if anything, the way Doyoung’s habit of drawing the curtains without fail before bed had completely transferred over to Taeyong, was as good a testament to how much they had changed over the course of a few months, as there would ever be.


Things had shifted so much in a span of 6 months and neither of them had even noticed.


Taeyong loved him. He loved his roommate with everything he had in him, more than anything or anyone he’d ever loved before.


It had been almost two years since the fateful mixup that brought them together. He reminisces back to the times when he’d have done anything to have his roommate replaced — and now he can’t even imagine going more than a day without seeing his face, play with his fingers, have his head pet by Doyoung’s patient fingers as they slowly loosened out any pesky knots that had found their way into his hair. 


He remembers the time when they would take any and every opportunity available to get a rise out of each other. They’d come so far since then, he thinks as he twists the dainty little promise ring around the ring finger of his left hand.


He reaches out to swipe his hand over the thin layer of precipitation on the foggy mirror, eyes catching sight of his own silly little smile at the lingering thought of how adorable Doyoung had looked while he nagged at him about ruining the element of surprise by not hiding the ring box well enough. He still feels the warmth of the tight hug Doyoung had pulled him into right after, to this day.


He exits the bathroom adjusting the sweatpants riding low on his waist, wincing at the ice cold floor beneath his freezing toes. He squints at the clock by their bedside table, running the towel hanging around his neck over his head to dry it. The clock on the bedside table reads 3:05 am. Taeyong fishes out a tee shirt from his wardrobe, making quick work of slipping it over his head in his haste to burrow into the little cave of warmth that Doyoung had built for himself.


He lifts the covers gently, slipping under them, careful not to jostle his sleeping boyfriend too much. Finally engulfed in the blanket cave, Taeyong stretches his legs out, ice cold feet coming in contact with doyoung’s own warm ones. Doyoung stirs in his sleep, letting out a miniscule whine at Taeyong's blatant attempt at leeching off his warmth, before turning over and burying himself into Taeyong's chest.


Taeyong turns over to his side, reaching an arm out to rest over Doyoung’s back, pulling him closer. He tucks his chin over Doyoung’s head, feeling all his worldly worries melt away with the happy little sigh Doyoung lets out.