Work Text:
now
In his twenty-six years of living, Doyoung has surprisingly moved quite often. The first twenty-one or so years of his life, he stayed in one place. The other five odd years, he was bouncing around from apartments to flats to a weird hotel situation when his little one-bedroom studio flooded and his landlord was out of the city.
He finds the process is second nature now. It is still tiring, but he enjoys the breaks he takes too often to smile and laugh at the old photobooks he finds underneath the bed or reminisce when holding an old souvenir. The ache for his home, his real home in the small city he grew up in with his friends down the street and the scent of his mum’s cooking wafting through the house, grows deeper every time he’s packing.
It is another reason he is so thankful to be standing in front of his childhood home with, hopefully, the last boxes he will have to unpack in a long time. His parents had decided to spend their retirement in another city, and Doyoung jumped on the opportunity to take the house under his care.
He places the box in his hand down and reaches into the backseat of his car to grab another. There aren’t many boxes – he purged through a lot of his collection. Most of the items are sentimental, or clothes he can’t bear to part with (he kept all his clothes, if he is being honest). He pats his jacket pocket and takes out the house keys. A little bunny keyring bounces down as he pulls it out, and he smiles at the sight. He still has them from all those years ago.
Doyoung picks up a box and nudges the front gate with his foot. It creaks open, and he cringes at the sound. He makes a mental note to get it fixed.
He places the box on the front doorstep and makes the walk back to the car. His mental calculations estimate he will have to make this trip at least six times. He sighs. Doyoung, as always, is unfortunate in his timing. Both his parents are currently at a friend’s house, and his brother is at work. He blames himself for not reaching out to any of the friends he had here. Maybe then he would already be inside with some tea and the TV on, but it felt too awkward for him to send a message after all these years.
The fourth box is in his hand, and he makes the walk to the front door yet again. He curses himself for being too weak to carry more than one box at a time.
“Doyoung?”
He slightly jumps at the voice yelling at him. It is familiar, but the dull ache in his arms, and the fact that at any moment now, his spine might snap, disorientates him from his surroundings. Doyoung blinks and places the box down in front of him.
The voice shouts again, “It is you!”
Doyoung turns his head and grins as he sees the owner of the voice. He walks towards the picket fence that divides the house beside his, “Taeyong. You’re still here.”
Taeyong looks the same, in Doyoung’s opinion. His hair is black now, rather than the random colours it used to be, which is the only drastic change he can pinpoint. Otherwise, he looks the same. His nose is still slightly crooked from the time they were playing football and he caught the ball with his face. His lips still curl up into a cat-like smile, and his ears are still pink in the cold.
“Yeah, it’s just me and mum now.” Taeyong gestures to the house. Unlike its owner, it’s different. The white paint that adorns the walls is fresh and not chipped. The grey-stoned path is no longer cracked and broken. Flowers litter the garden where only grass used to grow. “I thought your parents were moving.”
“Oh, they are,” and it pains Doyoung that he will have to be away from his family soon. His brother moved out long ago, and his mum promised to execute their retirement plan after he can spend some time with them. He finds it a little funny – once upon a time, he was begging to leave and now he is begging for everyone to stay. Cosmic karma, he guesses. He is still happy though. He now knows to cherish this time. “I was already thinking about moving back here, and now I don’t have the hassle of house hunting.”
Taeyong nods understandably, “That’s good. It’s nice to see you.” Taeyong holds Doyoung’s gaze. His eyes are brighter now. Still big and round, but with a fire behind them that Doyoung didn’t realise he missed seeing. They’re studying him. Reading his face like a book, and Taeyong could always read Doyoung. His mum used to joke they had a telepathic connection. He supposes that’s why Taeyong looks away first (or the bright red blush adorning Doyoung’s cheeks gives away his thoughts).
Doyoung laughs, awkward in his tone, “I’ll see you then. Neighbour.”
Taeyong smiles. Doyoung can’t look at him anymore, and he knows Taeyong understands.
He hopes.
“Later.” Taeyong walks away afterwards, and Doyoung finally relaxes when he hears the door close.
--
then (july 2015)
Doyoung is sitting in his garden. It’s a typical summer’s day. The sun is relentless as it sears into the ground, and the clouds are thin and few in the endless blue sky. He wonders how pretty it must be at the beach, with the water sparkling as each wave crashes down, and longs for the comfort of the cool wind on his hot, sticky skin. The grass crunches next to him, and he looks up to see Taeyong approaching the table he is seated at.
They have the pleasure of sitting under an umbrella, although it pales in comparison to the beach fantasy in Doyoung’s head, and doesn’t help with the thick, warm heat that’s radiating from every particle in the air. However, being outside is a much better option than inside with a broken AC and the body heat of his family members, so he waits for Taeyong to sit down.
“Why is your garden cooler than mine?” Taeyong stretches his arms, “It’s literally next door.”
Doyoung shrugs as a response. He slumps down onto the table and sighs. Words linger at the tip of his tongue, but his jaw is unable to move. To put it simply, he is too hot to speak
“Look at you. You’re sweating so much,” Taeyong coos. Doyoung’s arm reaches out to touch Taeyong but misses completely and collapses against the length of the table. Taeyong drags his finger along the back of Doyoung’s hand and sighs, “You’re no fun like this. Let me wake you up.” Taeyong’s head disappears under the table. Doyoung isn’t sure what he is up to, and-
“Oh my god,” Doyoung shouts as sits up. He shakes his head and tiny droplets of water fly in all directions. He rubs the water out of his eyes and blinks.
Taeyong grins at the sight of Doyoung drenched in water. He holds up a water gun and waves it in the air teasingly.
Doyoung gapes. He stands up and Taeyong mimics his actions.
“Lee Taeyong,” Doyoung starts, and Taeyong takes a step back nervously, “Give me that.”
Doyoung charges towards Taeyong, who in a desperate attempt, throws the chair on the ground to stop Doyoung’s path. It fails, and Doyoung runs after him as he makes his way deeper into the garden. Taeyong turns around and aims the gun at Doyoung, who tries to move out of the way, but is hit in the gut with a splash of water.
Taeyong stops running and breaks out into laughter. He waves the gun in the air happily, which allows Doyoung the perfect chance to tackle him into the ground. Taeyong lands on the grass with a thud and groans.
“You’re going to break my bones,” Taeyong whines and pushes at Doyoung’s chest.
Doyoung snorts and pulls the water gun out of Taeyong’s hands, “Loser.” He aims the gun at Taeyong’s face, and before the latter can say a word, Doyoung pulls the trigger. Taeyong’s high-pitched shriek consumes the air, and Doyoung tumbles beside him whilst laughing.
Taeyong hits Doyoung in the chest again, but this just causes Doyoung to laugh harder. He aims the gun at Taeyong again, but a shadow casts over them before he has the chance to shoot.
They both fall silent and look up. Doyoung’s mum is standing over them with a large tray in her hands. They take a quick glance at each other and immediately stand up.
“Hi mum,” Doyoung smiles, and his eyes widen at the iced drinks on the tray, “For us?” He reaches his hand out to take a glass, but Taeyong swats his hand away from the tray. Doyoung hisses and blows on his hand.
“Have some manners Doyoung,” Taeyong whispers, and then turns his attention to his front, “Thank you for having me today. Your garden is very lovely.”
Doyoung rolls his eyes at Taeyong’s sudden good behaviour but decides against commenting. Doyoung’s mother laughs, and hands Taeyong a glass of iced water, “Oh Taeyong, you don’t need to say that every time you’re here.”
Doyoung covers his mouth with his hand in shock, and then asks, “Why can’t I have one?”
Taeyong narrows his eyes in Doyoung’s direction, “What’s the magic word?”
Doyoung glances between his mother and Taeyong. This is an argument he has lost before it even started. “Please may I have one?”
She shakes her head with a smile and extends the tray in her hands. Doyoung takes the glass and sighs at the feeling of the cool condensation on his fingers.
“Oh, and do come inside. Your brother has fixed the AC.” She takes one last look at the two of them and then walks away.
“Thank God.” Taeyong sighs in relief
“Oh please,” Doyoung snorts, “God had as little to do with it as you did.”
Taeyong frowns, “I told you I found the AC broken!”
Doyoung grins, “And I told you I believe you!”
--
now
Doyoung is currently in the kitchen. He is in the middle of putting away some plates when a knock echoes through the house. He blinks and looks around, before remembering no one is home.
The knock is from the front door, he realises a second later. Yet, he still feels confused. He isn’t expecting anyone. His parents had informed him they would be home for dinner, and there is no one else who knows of his arrival.
Doyoung glances around the kitchen and spots a fry pan. He supposes it will have to do. He takes a hold of the rubber-grip handle and walks towards the front door. The doorbell rings loudly, which makes him stumble a little in shock – he forgot about its existence.
“Doyoung.” A voice shouts. It’s a familiar voice once again. He relaxes his hand and opens the door.
“What are you- are those cookies?” Doyoung looks down at the plate of golden-brown chocolate chip cookies in Taeyong’s hand.
The latter extends his arms, “My mother insisted.”
Doyoung gratefully takes the plate. The scent takes him back to being eight with a wooden spoon in one hand and small fingers gripping a large mixing bowl. He’d kneel on the chair of Taeyong’s dining table with the other opposite him, fighting over the direction they should be mixing. Taeyong’s preference was always left, but he was easily convinced by Doyoung’s pleas and cries to mix right. Taeyong’s mum would always send them out in the garden as the cookies would bake and they’d fall asleep afterwards on the sofa with their favourite TV show playing and cookie crumbs staining their t-shirts. Doyoung smiles at the memory.
“Doyoung?” Taeyong’s voice rings him back to reality.
He looks up from the plate of the cookies and back at Taeyong, who was still standing under the door archway with an unsure look imprinted on his face.
“Oh, do you want to come in?” Doyoung asks. He hopes Taeyong doesn’t notice the waver in his voice, and there seems to be no acknowledgement as he walks in. Doyoung closes the door behind him.
“Why are you holding a fry pan?” Taeyong points at it, and Doyoung lifts it up. It’s heavy.
Doyoung walks to the kitchen and ignores the feeling of déjà vu as Taeyong trails behind, “I thought you were going to kill me.”
Taeyong’s laugh is as loud and high as Doyoung remembered. “Why would a killer knock? They’d just kill you.”
Doyoung rolls his eyes, “Shut up.” He digs through the cabinets until he finds a container and places the cookies in. Doyoung decides to take a bite into one, and groans in disbelief, “How are these still so good?”
“Thanks,” Taeyong smiles as he leans against the worktop with his hands nervously playing with the rings on his fingers. A habit he still hasn’t gotten rid of.
“Thought your mother made these,” Doyoung says. He closes the container and turns around.
Taeyong’s cheeks turn pink, “Yeah. She did. Whatever…” He trails off. He seems lost in thought, until he asks, “Is your room still the same?”
The question takes Doyoung by surprise. He didn’t have much time before Taeyong’s arrival to take a massive look at the room itself. His parents promised they didn’t touch much, but Doyoung knew better than to trust his entire family with such a thing (his brother had always envied his blind box collection). Doyoung gestures to the stairs, “Take a look.”
“Oh my god, the wardrobe door handle is still broken,” are the first words Taeyong says as he walks into the room. He nudges the wardrobe door with his knee and it opens.
Doyoung scoffs, “All because you wanted to prove you’re strong.” The memory burns in his head as if it was yesterday. They must have been around eleven and twelve, and Doyoung had placed a bet (for the last piece of cake) that Taeyong couldn’t break the door handle – don’t ask why, he can’t explain his eleven year old brain. Easy win, or so he thought. He also ended up taking the blame for the handle, and could still hear Taeyong’s laugh when his mum grounded him for three weeks. It was only funny until the next day when Taeyong complained loudly to Doyoung at school about having to stand in his garden alone.
“You made me angry! You said I couldn’t do it.” Taeyong mutters. Taeyong is still like that, Doyoung reckons, if the pout on his lips is any indication.
Doyoung shrugs, “I don’t remember that.” Taeyong looks at him with a pointed look, to which Doyoung smiles. He does remember how to make Taeyong tick, however.
“Well, I guess that’s just how I am. Wreck things when I’m angry.” Taeyong sits down on the bed, “Hulk core?”
Doyoung laughs. It’s a ridiculous image in his head, “Green would suit you.” He sits next to Taeyong, “But you don’t do that. You could barely hurt a fly.”
“Thank God,” Taeyong laughs weakly. Doyoung pats his back. “Sorry, look at me getting emotional.”
“It’s all good.”
And Doyoung isn’t sure what just happened, or how. It all feels too normal, yet so different. Doyoung knows they’re not the same people they were once before, but sitting here beside Taeyong just talking, it feels so good he can’t describe it in words.
“Oh, this day was fun,” Taeyong picks up a framed photo on his bedside, “I accidentally drank so much bubble mixture that day.” The photo framed inside is of the two of them blowing bubbles. The day was hot and Taeyong’s mum had gifted them a bubble machine. Something they subsequently broke and were forced to blow bubbles the old way. Taeyong looks at the photo and then at Doyoung.
The silence hangs heavy between them. He wonders what Taeyong thinks of him now. Are they just a shadow of their former self? He can’t help but want the look of recognition to flash on Taeyong’s face, like, ‘this is the guy I knew’. Maybe Doyoung isn’t anymore.
Doyoung looks away first. “Explains a lot.”
“Shut up.” Taeyong holds the photo tight to his chest. “Hey, you free tomorrow?”
Doyoung opens his phone calendar. He has no events, but he doesn’t want that to be known. He hums and taps some random buttons for a few seconds. “I believe so.”
“Well, a few of us are getting together at mine. You should come and catch up with everyone.”
Doyoung wonders who exactly will be there. He knows a few of their mutual friends moved away, but he can’t recall who exactly and whether they returned. In fairness, it is his fault. He failed to keep contact with any of them – texts he promised himself he would reply to later stayed unread, and plans were made just to always be cancelled (by him). It was hard in another city to stay so close, but he supposes he could’ve tried.
“It’ll be fun,” Taeyong adds on when Doyoung goes silent.
Doyoung looks up and smiles, although he’s sure it looks more strained than anything else, “Sure. What time should I be over?”
Taeyong stands up and brushes himself off, “Come by at like six. Don’t be late.”
“I’ll try. You just live so far away.” Doyoung teases.
Taeyong laughs, “Whatever. I should go too. My fish needs feeding.” Doyoung scrunches up his nose, a sign of disbelief, to which Taeyong scowls, “I’m being serious!”
Doyoung’s mouth forms an o-shape, and Taeyong laughs once again. Doyoung missed the sound of laughter more than he thought. He waves goodbye as the other walks out the door and sighs.
He has some internet stalking (or “catching up with old friends”, as he liked to call it it) to do.
--
then (august 2015)
“How did summer go by so fast?” Doyoung complains, “I’m not ready to go back to university.”
Taeyong shrugs, “I’m ready. It feels like it’s the right time.”
“You would say that.”
Although they are best friends, Taeyong and Doyoung are unlike each other. Taeyong loves structure and order in his life, while Doyoung yearns for the time to be free and express himself, ‘If not now, then when?’ he often says.
“You went abroad this summer. I was the one stuck here... bored.” Taeyong turns his head to look at Doyoung. He can’t deny that he had an amazing time being a tourist in Europe.
Doyoung laughs, “I was bored without you too. Don’t worry.” He also can’t deny the fact that he looked at every attraction and thought about how Taeyong would have loved it too.
Taeyong smiles.
They are currently strewn across the floor of Taeyong’s room. There are clothes at either of their sides, amongst anything else that was hidden away deep inside Taeyong’s cupboards and drawers. Doyoung is attempting to help him with a deep clean, but he is far too lazy, and the hoodie he is using as a makeshift blanket is so warm.
“Don’t worry. When you’re rich and successful, it will be worth it,” Taeyong nudges Doyoung’s arm with his elbow.
Doyoung turns on his side and adjusts the jacket he’s using as a pillow, “And what will you be?”
“A pretty housewife.” Taeyong’s answer is instant. Doyoung isn’t sure if he is being serious, but he can’t help but laugh at the certainty on Taeyong’s face.
Taeyong frowns, “What? You don’t think I’d make a great one?”
“Definitely not mine,” Doyoung teases. He pokes Taeyong’s shoulder, “I’d divorce you in an instant.”
Taeyong rolls his eyes, “As if you could ever get me.” He sits up and looks down at Doyoung in dismay, “Why did I ask you to help? You’re useless.”
“Should I remind you that you’re also sitting here?” Doyoung is pretty sure they have been still for too long, as he has lost feeling in his right leg.
Taeyong glares at him and then stands up. He takes a few steps forward and picks up a pair of denim jeans.
“Keep?” he asks.
They’re blue, wide-legged and have a variety of doodles and patterns imprinted along both legs. Doyoung tilts his head and thinks. It’s not something Doyoung could pull off, ever. However, Taeyong tends to make every style work, and he is sure this is no exception. Doyoung wonders if Taeyong has ever looked bad in any clothing items, but nothing comes to mind.
“Keep. It’d look great on you.”
Taeyong picks up a t-shirt next. It’s dark grey with big chunky text across the chest and the hem frayed. He shakes it out and holds it up in Doyoung’s direction, “Should I keep it?”
Doyoung can imagine Taeyong wearing it. His current blonde hair would suit the style, but Doyoung thinks if he ever dyed his hair darker it’d be a perfect match. The shirt is ripped in slits down the side, and Doyoung’s sure Taeyong wouldn’t mind the fact his skin would show. Doyoung doesn’t think he’d mind either. Not that his own opinion on the subject matters very much. He isn’t sure why his neck is getting hotter, but he sits up and tries his best to keep a level face.
“Yeah, keep this one too. You’d look hot.” Doyoung pauses, “It’s hot overall. No, it’s uh- It’s nice.”
Taeyong raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything. He throws it on his bed, where his ‘keep’ pile currently lies, and picks up a hoodie. It’s clearly old and used, but Doyoung doesn’t think that takes away from it. It’s a little too big for him, but Doyoung can imagine how cute Taeyong would look slightly drowning in it. He can imagine Taeyong falling asleep wearing it, and how comfortable it would be as he dreams. Taeyong’s in a hoodie right now, Doyoung notes, and he can’t deny that he does look cute. His hair is slightly ruffled from when they laid down on the floor, and the impatient pout on his face completes the look.
“I think you should keep it.”
Taeyong looks at the hoodie and then at Doyoung, “You think I should keep this?” He pulls at a hole in the fabric, “This?”
Doyoung shrugs, “It’d be nice to wear at home.”
Taeyong has a look of disbelief on his face, yet he throws it into the ‘keep’ pile. He taps his foot against the floor and groans, “Okay then… what do you think I should throw?”
There are many clothes surrounding Doyoung right now. He surveys all the ones in his eyeline. It is a hard question, since Taeyong has many clothes, and he looks good in all of them. Doyoung feels this could be the most impossible decision of his life. He looks up at Taeyong.
“What is it?” Taeyong asks.
“I think you’d look good in all of them.”
Taeyong sighs, exasperated, “You’re no good at this.” He sits back down next to Doyoung.
Doyoung shakes his head, “No, it’s just,” He catches Taeyong’s eye, “You’d look good in anything.”
Taeyong doesn’t say anything. He just stares back at Doyoung with an unsure look on his face, and Doyoung ignores the pink blush spotting on Taeyong’s cheeks.
Taeyong looks away first. “I’ll ask Jaehyun about the clothes.”
Doyoung feigns a look of hurt, and Taeyong just laughs.
--
now
Doyoung is late. Only by six minutes, is his justification. However, six minutes become seven and time passes by as he just stands outside Taeyong’s front door. He has his phone in one hand, the big white numbers flashing on his lock screen, and his other hand is curled up into a fist, ready to knock on the door. Yet he can’t. His hand is frozen.
He has stood here a thousand times. Banging on the door when Taeyong was late for school. Dropping him off when it was dark because he was scared to walk the few extra steps. His mum pushing them out the house when they’ve been sat inside for too long. Saying goodbye as if they weren’t going to see each other tomorrow.
‘A thousand and one times now,’ he thinks.
The door opens and Taeyong stands there, a confused look etched on his face.
“Why are you just standing here?” Taeyong asks, “I can see you from the kitchen window, you know?”
Doyoung turns his head to the side and notices the mentioned window. He is sure his cheeks are hot with embarrassment right now.
“Right…” He drifts off. He prays the panic he feels isn’t expressed on his face. His brain scrambles for an excuse, but unfortunately, there isn’t one.
Thankfully, a voice calls out from behind Doyoung and saves him.
“Hey. Why are we standing out here?” Jaehyun takes a step forward and is now level with Doyoung. He looks different from when they were younger. He’s more muscular, firstly. Doyoung is a little taken aback and feels envious of how broad his shoulders are. There is an aura surrounding him that was never there before. Confidence and calmness, he realises, and Doyoung wonders what happened to the shy, nervous guy he used to know. Although, if the way Jaehyun looks at Doyoung and immediately breaks out into dimples are any indication, Doyoung thinks he’s still in there.
“We’re not,” Taeyong says, “Come in. Both of you.” Doyoung feels a hand on his wrist and realises he is being pulled into the house. Jaehyun walks in too and closes the door.
“Of course you’re late,” Johnny’s voice is loud and echoes through the corridor. Doyoung looks around and doesn’t see the man himself and realises he must be in the living room. A laugh follows afterwards, a different voice, and Doyoung gulps.
Jaehyun ignores it and pulls Doyoung into a hug, “I’ve missed you.” Doyoung smiles and pats his back. Jaehyun eventually lets go and gestures for Doyoung to follow him into the living room.
“Doyoung,” Mark is waiting by the door as they enter and he immediately tackles the elder into a hug, “Oh my God, I don’t believe it.” Doyoung laughs and stumbles into the wall as Mark lets go with an apology.
“Missed you too,” Doyoung grins. It feels strange to think the last time he saw everyone, he was a mere twenty-one year old – so naïve and stupid.
Johnny is behind Mark too, and pats Doyoung on the shoulder, “Welcome home. Come sit.”
Doyoung sits on the end of the sofa. He watches the other guys take their seats and fall into conversation easily.
“Did you see Yuta’s Instagram story from last night?” Mark asks, “I swear… that guy.”
Jaehyun looks up from his phone, “I just checked. He’s got a death wish.”
Doyoung has seen the story (during his little catch-up session last night), although then he panicked because it was the first story he had seen in a while and wondered if it was a strange thing for him to do. Their conversation fades as Doyoung is lost in his thoughts. His eyes scan the room he is in and he notices a lot has changed. The walls are filled with paintings (Taeyong’s, he guesses) and landscape photos. The TV stand is clean of cigarette burns and ash trays. The light bulb hasn’t flickered in the past five minutes. It’s clean, and homely, and Doyoung quite likes it.
Taeyong’s entrance into the room breaks him out of his thoughts. He places a large oven dish down on the coffee table and grins, “I made nachos.”
Mark leans forward, “I’m so excited.”
Taeyong laughs, “Dig in. Let me grab some drinks.” He walks back out and Doyoung finds his eyes trailing behind.
“I need to hire him as my personal chef,” Johnny groans and leans back into the sofa.
Taeyong walks back in, “You couldn’t afford my rate.”
Jaehyun laughs, “No friend discount?”
“You’re already eating at my house for free,” Taeyong sits beside Doyoung and turns to look at him, “You okay?” he asks quietly.
Doyoung nods, “I’m going to go to the bathroom really quick.”
Taeyong smiles and turns to face the other boys.
Doyoung leaves the room and heads up the stairs. He also notices the stairway has changed, and there are photos of Taeyong, his mum and their family lining the wall as you walk up. They’re sweet, and he can pinpoint some of the memories behind them, but he stops in his path as he sees one.
He edges closer to the photo, as if his eyes were deceiving him.
It’s a photo of Doyoung and Taeyong a few weeks before he moved out of the city. They’re at the funfair, underneath a brightly coloured attraction, as it was one of the last things they planned to do together, and Doyoung somehow convinced Taeyong to ride the rollercoaster with him. Most of the ride is a blur, but he can still remember how tight Taeyong’s grip was on his arm the entire time.
He turns his head to see Taeyong walking up the stairs, “Oh, here you are.” The latter says, “I thought you got lost.”
Doyoung looks down at him, “I don’t think I could get lost here if I tried.”
Taeyong laughs, and subtly glances between the photo and Doyoung.
“Are you alright?” He asks, “With the guys… it’s all good?”
Doyoung nods, “Yeah. Thanks for inviting me over. I missed them.”
“Thank God,” Taeyong lets out a sigh of relief, “I’m glad.”
“I’ll be down in a few,” Doyoung says, and carries on with his pathway up the stairs. At the top, he glances down. Taeyong is still there looking at the photo.
He heads back down when he’s finished and winces at how loud Johnny is when he enters the room.
“Doyoung!” Johnny exclaims, “Come here.” He pats the space next to him, so Doyoung walks over.
Jaehyun is on the other side of Johnny, and leans over, “Don’t get involved in his bad decisions.”
“I’m involving him to make a good one,” Johnny states in a matter-of-fact tone, and Taeyong laughs from his seat beside Mark, “I’m going to get a tattoo. Which design looks good?”
Doyoung looks down at the phone presented to him. There are many options. He scrolls through the photo album: some doodles, little drawings of frogs, butterflies, a cup of coffee, a little smiley face, the list is endless.
“Why would any of them be a bad decision?” He asks.
“Because Johnny’s so quick to hate,” Jaehyun scoffs, “Remember when he dyed his hair brown and then cried the next day?” Doyoung giggles at the memory.
Johnny pulls at Jaehyun’s arm playfully, “It wasn’t because of that.”
Taeyong snorts, “You texted me how to get dye out of hair.”
“Whatever,” Johnny turns away from the two of them and faces Doyoung again, “I seriously want one. Starting off small is better too, right?”
“I like the sunflower,” Doyoung points at it, “It’d be pretty and it’ll suit you.” Johnny looks at his phone and hums.
“Thank you. At least someone is helpful.” He puts the phone down, “You should come when I get it done.”
Mark laughs. “I want to go!” He says, excited. “You’re going to cry so much!”
Jaehyun snickers, “Oh, then I’ll be there.”
“Don’t scare him,” Taeyong scolds, “It’ll be fine. It’s not too painful.”
“You have a tattoo?” Doyoung asks Taeyong.
Taeyong grins, “It’s just small and silly. It’s in a secret place.”
Johnny rolls his eyes, “He refuses to show us. I still don’t believe it happened.”
Taeyong crosses his arms. “Jaehyun was there!” He yells, “It happened.”
“Yeah, it’s real,” Jaehyun confirms, “I don’t know why he’s keeping it a secret.”
Taeyong shrugs, and they fall into a different conversation about Mark’s co-worker.
Doyoung glances at Taeyong.
Taeyong’s looking at him.
Doyoung looks away.
--
then (october 2015)
It’s a quarter to eleven, Doyoung notes. Taeyong is sitting on the floor beside him, and Doyoung isn’t quite sure why they’re even on the floor, but it’s comfortable, so he doesn’t complain. Taeyong’s finishing an essay, and he claims it’s easier to write in Doyoung’s room, so Doyoung decides not to disturb him.
He walks towards the window and looks outside. The road is empty, and they’re far enough from the city lights that on some days, the stars do fade back into the sky as the clouds pass by. Today is one of those days, and Doyoung opens his window to poke his head out. He would go outside, but it was raining in the afternoon and his mum’s anger over him getting muddy is not something he wants to deal with. The wind is cold on his face, but it feels refreshing. He didn’t realise how stuffy the room is. The stars are bright today, and he loses count of how many he can see. Doyoung finds they never show up on camera, so he tries his best to capture the photo with his eyes.
“Star gazing without me?” Taeyong leans against the window, “They’re pretty tonight.”
Doyoung looks at Taeyong and smiles, “Yeah they are. Finished your essay?”
The latter nods and leans forward so his head is out the window too. Doyoung instinctively holds onto his waist and Taeyong laughs, “I’m not going to fall.”
Doyoung shrugs, “I don’t need your ghost haunting me.”
Taeyong looks up at the sky and sighs in contentment, “I’d be bored if I couldn’t.”
The comment makes Doyoung laugh. He glances at the sky outside, but he now finds he wants to look at Taeyong in this moment. His skin basked in the moonlight and his eyes excited and wide. Doyoung makes sure to capture this memory with his eyes too.
Taeyong looks back at Doyoung and then the room, “It’s getting cold. Let’s close the window.”
They both lean back and Doyoung closes the window. He feels a tug at his hand and lets Taeyong lead him back to the floor. He sits with a little thud and welcomes Taeyong’s head on his shoulder. They both take out their phones and start scrolling through their feeds. Sometimes, there is no energy to talk, and Doyoung respects that.
“No way,” Taeyong sits up and gasps after a few minutes, “Did you hear? Johnny and his girlfriend broke up?”
Doyoung clicks on Johnny’s Instagram story and raises an eyebrow. He flips the phone so Taeyong can see, “Well, he moves on quick.” Taeyong gasps again and takes the phone from Doyoung’s hand. It’s a video Johnny most likely has posted drunk, and Doyoung can only imagine the chaos that will be the group chat when he wakes up.
“I guess that’s what this time of our life is for,” Taeyong shrugs and hands the phone back, “Partying. Dating. Exploring.”
“And how much of that have you done?” Doyoung asks teasingly. Taeyong blushes beside him. It is a well known fact that Taeyong doesn’t entertain meaningless hook-ups and relationships, and he is often the drunk third wheel that Doyoung ends up taking home instead.
“I saw one guy for a few weeks, remember?” Taeyong says, “He was cute.”
Doyoung remembers. He remembers that this guy is a joke, and the news of their failed talking stage made Doyoung happier than it should’ve.
“That doesn’t count,” He reminds Taeyong, “He barely lasted three weeks.”
Taeyong frowns, “You scared him off.”
Okay, there is some truth to that. Doyoung can admit to it. He doesn’t think he is entirely to blame however, if he just wants the greatest for his best friend. Doyoung shrugs and pulls Taeyong back into arms, “Did not. He was a major loser.”
“Yeah… when he cried on the Ferris wheel, I was going to jump off,” Taeyong laughs, “Relationships aren’t that important to me, anyway.”
Doyoung nods in agreement. He looks down at Taeyong, who’s now fiddling with his phone, and smiles.
--
now
Doyoung is currently on his lunch break. It’s been two weeks since he moved back home, and this meant having to start at a new workplace too. Thankfully, he was able to transfer to the branch already here instead of finding a whole new job, and in the process, earned himself a promotion. It’s located in the busier part of the inner city, and he takes notes of all the stores he has never seen that line the street. A little café is calling his name as he walks past, so he turns back around and walks in.
His face drops when he notices Taeyong in the line in front of him.
He has only seen Taeyong once since being invited to his house. Doyoung was in his front garden, collecting the post from the mailbox, when Taeyong came home. He stops outside Doyoung’s fence and they start talking. It was a normal conversation, and they said their goodbyes and carried on with their days. He doesn’t know why it bothers him so much – maybe it’s the normality of it all, or the fact that this isn’t normal for them. Doyoung can’t recall a time where Taeyong would just walk away and not decide to come inside instead, but it’d be a foolish thought to think that could happen now.
Doyoung is a fool, he admits. He’s also a fool for standing here staring at Taeyong, who has been eyeing him suspiciously.
“Doyoung? Hello?”
He blinks and scratches the back of his head awkwardly, “Hey. Funny running into you here.”
Taeyong steps to the side and gestures for Doyoung to stand beside him, who happily complies. “I work near here. What brings you here?”
“Oh, me too. That’s a coincidence.” Doyoung points behind him, and then realises that his building is not within pointing distance. He turns back around shyly.
“It always is,” Taeyong says. Doyoung isn’t sure what he means by that, and is too lost in thought to answer the question Taeyong asks after, “What do you want?”
Doyoung can only focus on one thing at a time, it seems. He feels Taeyong’s hand wrap around his and he follows Taeyong to the pick-up counter. Did he order? He can’t remember.
“Wait, you work now?” Doyoung looks up at Taeyong and asks.
Taeyong laughs, “Of course I work. I’m twenty-seven years old. What else would I be doing?”
Doyoung nods in agreement, “Yeah. Doesn’t feel like it.” Taeyong’s staring at him with an impossible look. His lips open as if he is about to say something, but their names get called and Taeyong lets go of his hand. He grabs a hold of the drinks and passes one to Doyoung. The condensation of the cup is cold against his skin, and he misses the warmth Taeyong’s clammy hands provided. Taeyong then picks up a little bag and hands it to Doyoung.
“A little treat. Have it at work.”
Doyoung looks down at the bag and smiles, “Thanks. Wait, did you pay for me?”
Taeyong walks out of the café with Doyoung beside him and says, “No, you paid with your mind.” He pokes the centre of Doyoung’s forehead.
“You shouldn’t have. How much is it?” Doyoung pulls out his phone.
Taeyong pushes the phone away, “How about you make me dinner tonight? I’ve been craving… let’s see… spaghetti.”
“Spaghetti?” Doyoung repeats. Of all the things Doyoung could make, he finds it to be a strange request.
Taeyong nods. “I’ll be at your door!” He says, “I’ve got to run though. My manager will have my head if I’m late again.” He turns away and jogs. He must really be late, Doyoung thinks, as he has never seen Taeyong move faster than a walk.
Doyoung starts walking in the direction of his office. He takes a sip of his drink and scrunches his nose, “All sugar. What else should I have expected?”
--
then (november 2015)
It’s a tiring day. Doyoung just wants to lay in bed and do nothing. He woke up early for his lectures, only to arrive and learn the first one was cancelled. He mourns the hour of sleep he lost. They also ended late, and he found himself arriving home at 6 pm angry and annoyed. His brother was no help and decided to steal the last of Doyoung’s soda during dinner. He would have ripped his head off if it wasn’t for their dad breaking up the argument.
He stormed upstairs and now he is just staring at the ceiling. He feels silly – acting like a hormonal teenager over a little bit of liquid, but the tiring day was off the back of a tiring week, and he just needs a break.
A text illuminates his phone screen. He picks it up and checks who it’s from. It’s Taeyong, asking if he is free to come outside. Doyoung places the phone down and sighs. He’s tired but the temptation to say yes wins, and he quickly grabs a jacket.
He plans to meets Taeyong outside his front door. One knock later and it opens. Taeyong’s dad comes into view, and the stench of smoke hits Doyoung’s face. He takes a step back and looks up at the man staring down at him. He gulps and speaks, “Hello.” The other doesn’t acknowledge him and closes the door. Doyoung sighs and texts Taeyong he’s outside.
The door opens again a few seconds later and Taeyong slides out, “Did my dad open the door?” Doyoung nods and follows Taeyong out to the pavement, who adds, “Did he say anything?”
“No,” Doyoung shakes his head and glances at the boy beside him, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Long day,” Taeyong says, and Doyoung understands, “I wanted to go on a walk at the park.”
“Come on then.”
They arrive fifteen minutes later, and as expected, the place is mostly empty. The swans that usually cover the lake are hidden somewhere else, most likely asleep. The water is still, and holds the reflection of the moon, so pristine it mimics the beauty of a painting. Taeyong bends down and dips his fingertips into the water.
“Cold,” he comments.
Doyoung shakes his head and laughs, “Dumbass.”
Taeyong stands up and they continue walking, “I still can’t believe you almost punched your brother.”
“Me neither,” Doyoung sighs. The guilt of his actions are now settling in. “I don’t know what got into me.”
“Stress does that to people,” Taeyong reassures, “It’s nothing on you as a person. Are you feeling better now?”
“Yeah, thanks,” Doyoung says, “I needed this.” Sometimes, it’s as if Taeyong just knows when Doyoung’s feeling down. He’s always there like a little guardian angel on his shoulder.
“Good! Oh, look, there are flowers that are still here.” Taeyong runs over to to a flowerbed planted on the side of the park. He sits down by the flowers and pulls out his phone, “In the cold, and they still survive.” He remarks whilst snapping a photo, “Beautiful.”
Doyoung sits beside him and takes out his own phone. He swipes right on the home screen and watches Taeyong through his own camera. He adjusts the lighting and takes his own photo. His ringer must still be on, he realises, as the sound bursts into the quiet, night air.
“Hey, what was that for?” Taeyong whines. He puts his hand out for the phone, and Doyoung reluctantly hands it over.
“You look pretty,” Doyoung shrugs.
Taeyong hands the phone back and looks at him, “You can’t keep saying things like that, Doyoung.”
This makes Doyoung feel confused, and he tilts his head slightly, “Like what?”
“Don’t make me repeat it,” Taeyong groans, “You know what I mean.”
Doyoung frowns, “I don’t.”
Taeyong edges closer to him, “Those comments. Calling me pretty. You need to stop.”
“Oh…” Doyoung taps his fingers against his leg, “Why?” Taeyong blushes and looks away. Doyoung leans forward and asks again, “Why?”
Taeyong looks at him, and Doyoung doesn’t understand how he is supposed to stop when God, he really does look beautiful right now. His skin glistening in the moonlight, his star speckled eyes that Doyoung finds himself getting lost in, his cheeks flushed pink from the cold and lips… Doyoung glances away before he can finish the thought. “Taeyong,” Doyoung whispers.
“Yeah?” Taeyong replies after a few seconds.
“You look really pretty.”
Taeyong smiles and shakes his head, “Doyoung,” he says, “Don’t mention this again.”
Doyoung’s confused now, “Mention what?”
Taeyong gestures for Doyoung to move closer. Doyoung obeys and Taeyong slides his arms around his neck, “This,” he whispers, and Doyoung can only see Taeyong inching closer until their lips are touching and Taeyong’s kissing him, so slow and tender, as if he wants to commit every part of Doyoung’s mouth to memory, and Doyoung doesn’t mind, because he didn’t realise he craved this feeling so, so, much.
In a few quick seconds, Taeyong’s sat on his lap. Doyoung’s lips part, the tip of his tongue meeting Taeyong’s, and he pulls his body closer, not wanting a sliver of space to remain between them. His senses are flooded with Taeyong, on his lips, the thudding of his heart against his ribcage, Taeyong’s scent mixing with the cold air to fill his nose, his fingertips gripping digging into his waist. Listening to the softest of moans at the back of Taeyong’s throat, and it’s so intense, wanting more, needing more, the way Taeyong’s body fits against his so perfectly.
His back is on the floor now. Taeyong leans his head back slightly to catch his breath but Doyoung’s addicted to his taste and pulls him back in an instant. Doyoung can’t think. He can only feel Taeyong.
A few moments pass and Taeyong pulls away again. Doyoung lays him down on the floor. Their heavy breaths fill the space between them. He looks up at the sky. Then he turns his head to see the flowers next to him. Snapdragons in bright shades of red and purple, and round, pink pansies that stood by them. He takes a deep breath in, and fills his lung up with their sweet scent. They’re beautiful, Doyoung realises, it all is.
“It’s getting late,” Taeyong stands up and brushes himself off. Doyoung’s breathless and can’t say a word. Taeyong extends his hand, and he gratefully accepts. They walk home in a comfortable silence with their hands linked the entire way.
--
now
Doyoung hasn’t made spaghetti in a long time. It isn’t something he often had when he was living on his own (mainly because he is used to cooking big portions), and the memories he associates with it were too painful to relive in a kitchen by yourself. He opens the fridge door and takes out some tomatoes. It is still nice to make, however. It’s simple and easy, and always tastes good.
All things considered, he understands why Taeyong chose this dish.
Taeyong arrives a little earlier than Doyoung is expecting – well, in all fairness, he was never given a time – so he crowds Doyoung in the kitchen.
“It looks good,” Taeyong comments as he watches Doyoung stir the sauce, “So good. I could find myself a straw to drink it.”
Doyoung scrunches up his nose, “Are you that hungry?” Taeyong shrugs sheepishly and Doyoung uncovers a plate of garlic bread he already prepared, “Take one.”
“I love baking bread,” Taeyong pulls himself up onto the counter and sits, “We should make some. It’s easy.”
The offer is nice, and makes Doyoung smile, “Yeah. I’d love that.” He pulls out some plates from the cupboards, “Food will be ready in five. Can you wait that long?”
Taeyong groans and kicks his legs in the air, “Fine. I’m counting down.”
Doyoung rolls his eyes. The front door opens and Taeyong stops counting aloud. He quickly jumps off the counter and dusts himself off.
Doyoung’s mother walks in and smiles, “Oh! How exciting to see you both here.”
“Hello,” Taeyong’s smile is sickly. It reminds Doyoung of the way Taeyong would bat his lashes and puff out his cheeks to get them out of trouble when they were younger. “Thank you for having me in your home.”
She laughs and shakes her head, “Never change, Taeyong.”
“Would you guys like to join us?” Doyoung asks.
“We just ate but thank you.” She says, “We’ll be upstairs.” She turns to shoo her husband out of the room, and follows behind, but not before adding, “Have fun on your date.”
“It’s not a…” Doyoung trails off, and Taeyong just laughs and takes the plates from Doyoung’s hands.
“I’ll take these.”
A few minutes later Doyoung finally sits down to eat. Taeyong rubs his hands together, “I’m so excited.”
“Help yourself,” Doyoung laughs at his enthusiasm. He has cooked almost every day since coming home, and the enjoyment that his family expresses when eating has been heart-warming, to say the least. Cooking has always been one of his love languages, and as exciting as it was to have his own kitchen and experiment with ingredients, he missed having people to share it with.
Taeyong smacks his lips together, “You have outdone yourself. Wow.” He twirls some spaghetti on his fork and takes another bite. Doyoung laughs while watching him.
“It’s just spaghetti.” He says, nonchalant.
“Look at you acting humble,” Taeyong jokes, “The big city really did change you.”
Doyoung knows he only means it in a joking manner, but it still stings. He looks down at his plate and an awkward silence falls between them. He doesn’t know if he’s ever struggled to talk to Taeyong. It’s a weird feeling.
He can hear his heartbeat in his chest, and when he glances up, Taeyong’s staring at him with his big, curious eyes and his lips quipped down in a slight frown.
“We have too much history, right?” Taeyong asks. Doyoung chokes on his spaghetti, and Taeyong pushes the glass of water in his direction, “Is that why it’s hard for you to talk to me?” Doyoung drinks some water and looks away, “Look at me?” Taeyong adds on quietly.
Doyoung sighs. He pushes his fork around his plate, “I hate that you can still understand me so well.” Taeyong smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “How is it so easy for you to forgive me?”
“Oh Doyoung,” Taeyong reaches out for Doyoung’s hand, “I was never angry with you in the first place.” He squeezes Doyoung’s hand tightly, “I’m happy you got to leave and see the world. I wanted that for you too.”
“I left you,” Doyoung’s voice is low, and Taeyong frowns.
“No, you didn’t. I stayed,” Taeyong’s still quiet, as if the words are secrets only for their ears, “And in the end, you came back.”
Doyoung looks up and catches Taeyong’s eyes. His smile is still so pretty, after all these years. There’s a new spark in his eyes that was missing from a few nights ago, and Doyoung can’t pinpoint what it is yet. Or maybe he can. Accepting it would be too much.
The gap between their faces is closing. Doyoung didn’t even realise he is halfway out of his seat, but he can’t process anything right now. Not when Taeyong’s let go of his hand and is caressing his cheeks so lovingly. Doyoung’s melting at his touch. Not when they’re this close, after so long, with a gap so daunting to Doyoung he wishes for it to disappear.
“It’d be a mistake,” Taeyong whispers, as if he can read Doyoung’s thoughts, “You know that, right?”
Doyoung pulls away and leans back in his chair. He wants to laugh. A cruel twist of events.
He doesn’t, and opts to look down at his hands, “I know.”
The chair scrapes against the floor, and Doyoung turns his attention to Taeyong, who is now standing up. He wipes his face with a tissue and smiles, “Thanks for the food. It was good.”
“Taeyong, wait-“
“Listen to me,” Taeyong interrupts, “You have been my best friend for my entire life. At the very least, I don’t want our friendship to fade.” His voice cracks slightly, “Just… Don’t be a stranger.”
He lets Taeyong walk away without another word.
--
then (november 2015)
Doyoung’s laying down on the grass. It’s dry, brittle, and snaps under his weight. He wonders how the grass on the other side of the fence can be so soft, bright, alive, and the ones here, in Taeyong’s garden, are on death’s door.
Taeyong doesn’t seem to be having any grass-related revelations. He lays next to Doyoung and points up at the clouds, “Look! It’s you.”
Doyoung scrunches his eyes at the cloud and sighs, “Why do you say that?”
“Hop! Hop Doyoung!” Taeyong cheers, and Doyoung groans.
“I am not a rabbit.” He mutters. He has never seen a rabbit, and if he did, he doesn’t think they would be good friends. It’s a strange comparison, and started when Doyoung was younger and would jump from couch to couch. “Rabbit,” six-year old Taeyong would look up at him and point, which to younger Doyoung was a compliment, as Taeyong was hard to reach as a child.
Taeyong sits up slightly, “You’re right.” He leans over and pinches Doyoung’s cheeks tightly. The younger pushes him off, but this backfires as Taeyong lands on his chest with a thud. They both end up laughing, but that doesn’t stop Taeyong from finishing his sentence, “You’re a bunny.”
“Shut up.” Doyoung mumbles. Taeyong decides he likes the position he’s in and continues using his chest as a pillow. Doyoung points up at another cloud – it’s large and rounded, yet there are two edges that poke up at the top of the structure. “Cat. For you.”
Taeyong shakes his head, “It looks like an elephant.”
“An elephant?” Doyoung isn’t sure whether Taeyong is just messing with him, “Where do you see an elephant?”
“The general vibe,” Taeyong giggles. Doyoung flicks Taeyong’s cheek and the elder whines.
Doyoung is about to start an argument with Taeyong when a voice captures both their attention.
“Taeyong. I thought I told you to water the plants.” Taeyong’s dad is standing by the garden door.
Taeyong immediately sits up, “Oh. I did it this morning.”
His dad’s eyes wander over to Doyoung, who is now awkwardly sitting next to Taeyong. Doyoung can’t recall the last time they had a conversation. His father scoffs, “What happened to your hair?”
Taeyong touches his hair apprehensively, “My hair?” He’s hesitant in his question.
His dad takes out a packet of smokes from his pocket and pulls out a single cigarette, “It looks stupid.” He shrugs and pulls out a lighter next, “Make me a sandwich, will you?” He lights the cigarette and walks back inside.
Taeyong glances at Doyoung and then back at the door.
Doyoung looks down at his hand and realises the grass was balled up in his hand in fists. Taeyong touches his shoulder and sighs, “Hey. You should go.”
“You can come over if you want.” Doyoung offers, “We can watch a movie, or whatever.”
Taeyong smiles, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and shakes his head, “I’m okay. Really. I’ll drop you off.”
A sweet gesture, considering they are neighbours. Doyoung knows it’s a pointless battle, since Taeyong never allows Doyoung to be in his house whenever his father is home.
“Hey,” Doyoung pulls at Taeyong’s hand, who looks at him curiously, “I like your hair.”
Taeyong’s arms find themselves around Doyoung’s neck, and the latter presses their bodies together tightly. Taeyong mumbles a “thank you” against Doyoung’s neck before pulling away. He doesn’t look at Doyoung afterwards, and Doyoung can tell he’s putting on a brave face for him, so he pretends to not notice the way tears glisten in his eyes and accepts his offer of being walked home.
--
now
“Doyoung.”
The voice is loud, feminine, and emanating from downstairs. A second later, he recognises that it belongs to his mother.
“Doyoung.” She calls again. He smiles – a memory of being younger and his mum chasing after him when he’d be late to school blooms in his head.
“Coming,” he yells back as he opens his bedroom door. Sure, the idea of his mum shouting at him to go to school wasn’t appealing when he was younger, but the fact she still calls on him makes him happy. He walks down the stairs quickly and sends her a curious look.
She stands at the bottom of the stairs with a bag in her hands. It’s heavy-looking, and most likely full of containers. He takes it from her with an “Oof”.
“Be a dear and take that next door, will you?”
Doyoung’s eyes widen, “To- to Taeyong’s house?”
He internally cringes at his stutter. He doesn’t want his mum to know they have a problem. They don’t have a problem, he corrects himself, unless… do they?
“Yes. Is that okay?” She taps her hand on his shoulder in an encouraging manner, and he nods. “Great. Be home in time for dinner, okay?” She presses a kiss to his forehead and makes her way upstairs. Doyoung lets out the sigh he is holding in once she’s upstairs.
He wonders why he always finds himself outside of Taeyong’s front door, awkward in his stance. What has he done to the universe for it to curse him as such? This time, however, he finds the courage to knock, and the door is opened by Taeyong’s mother.
“Oh Doyoung,” she grins, “A nice surprise.” She steps aside for Doyoung to come in, so against his better judgement and the twist in his gut, he does.
Taeyong’s mother is much like Taeyong himself. A small figure, dainty fingers, and big, warm eyes. Doyoung wouldn’t be too surprised if they are often mistaken for siblings, but the motherly instinct in her was far too great to be fooled for very long. She is… or was, Doyoung corrects himself again, a large part of his life – a second mother, he used to say.
“You’re so skinny now,” she chastises, “Stay. Taeyong’s upstairs. I’ll make you something to eat.”
Doyoung pulls at the ends of his sleeves. He feels strange standing here, “Oh, I don’t want to be a burden.”
“Nonsense,” she pats his cheek and ushers him upstairs, “That boy has been locked in his room all day.”
Doyoung gulps. He walks up the stairs and it all feels too normal. Running here after being dropped off home after school (even though it was a fifteen second walk) and Taeyong’s mother yelling at him “Come and eat, both of you!” but he would always run upstairs to jump on Taeyong’s bed and the other would complain “I just tidied. My mum’s going to kill me,” and Doyoung would laugh “I’ll have to stay for a few extra hours to save you,” to which Taeyong rolls his eyes and drags him back downstairs.
Or when Taeyong’s mum would walk up the stairs to check if they’re asleep during their sleepovers and Doyoung can’t help but erupt into a fit of giggles so Taeyong has to hold his mouth shut as she peeps in. It always ends in a “Go to sleep boys” and Taeyong whining “I am asleep.”
He reaches the door. Should he just go in? Does he have that right? Doyoung raises his fist to knock, and the irony of the situation dawns on him.
Another awkward door moment.
He knocks anyway, and Taeyong yells “Come in.”
Taeyong doesn’t look up at first, most likely because he’s expecting his mother, and Doyoung fakes a cough to make the other aware of his presence. Taeyong’s eyes dart up and a confused look flashes over his face but is quickly replaced with a smile.
“Doyoung. Hey.” He sits up on his bed, “Come sit.” He pats the spot next to him, and it feels all too surreal. Doyoung closes the door behind him and climbs onto the bed. Taeyong’s sat under the covers, so Doyoung makes a split-second decision and joins him. Taeyong seemingly feels indifferent about it from the look on his face.
“My mum sent me here,” Doyoung starts, “To your house. Not your room,” He pauses, and the pressure feels so high suddenly, it’s becoming hard to breathe, “I came. By myself.”
Taeyong stares at him (Doyoung feels like choking) and then starts laughing, “So proud of you for making your way here.” He pinches Doyoung’s cheek teasingly, “All by yourself? What a big boy.”
If there was any awkwardness in the air, it immediately dissipates. Doyoung shakes his head, “Shut up.”
Taeyong nudges him with his elbow, playfully, “Don’t tell me to shut up. You came here.”
“And this is how you treat your guests?” Doyoung scoffs, “I’m never coming back.”
Taeyong snorts, “Like you could stay away.”
Doyoung smiles, “I guess you’re right,” and all of a sudden, he’s catapulted back in time. Taeyong’s eyes glistening as they look up at him, as if he can read the chaos in Doyoung’s smiles, and his hands pushing at Doyoung’s body, fighting but never truly angry. They’re not twenty-six and twenty-seven, they’re nineteen and twenty, they’re fourteen and fifteen, they’re eight and nine, they’re Doyoung and Taeyong.
Taeyong’s words ring in his ears. A mistake. He doesn’t miss the way Taeyong glances down at his lips, or the way his fingers have gripped his wrists so tight, his blood circulation might be failing. He thinks that explains the pink on his cheeks. It must. It has to. It’s hard to breathe with Taeyong so close and watching him with those eyes. Eyes Doyoung is drowning in. He can’t escape.
“I don’t know why I thought you two would ever stop fighting,” a voice breaks Doyoung out of his thoughts, and Taeyong immediately lets go of his arm, “I swear, they’re supposed to get better as they age.”
“Mum,” Taeyong whines, and Doyoung forces a smile. His mind is racing too fast for him to speak.
“Bought you boys some snacks,” she places a tray of food on the foot of the bed and shakes her head, “I do miss this.”
“Me too,” Doyoung says quietly. It slips out before he can process the words, and Taeyong’s head immediately spins in his direction.
The door closes and both their heads follow the sound. “A ghost,” Taeyong says, “A ghost.”
“Your mother is a ghost?” Doyoung rolls his eyes, “You’ve gone insane.”
“She disappeared without a trace!” Taeyong yells, “Like one second, she was here, and then the next… gone.” His voice quietens down as he finishes to add to the dramatic effect.
“You’re ridiculous!” Doyoung doesn’t know why he is getting so upset. Maybe it’s because Taeyong seems genuinely convinced and it annoys him.
“I don’t hear her.” The panic in Taeyong’s voice rises. “Oh my God… do priests deal with ghosts?”
“Your mother isn’t a ghost,” Doyoung mutters, “And they deal with demons.”
“Kim Doyoung!” Taeyong shouts. For a second, he sounds truly angry. “You can’t call my mother a demon.”
Doyoung gapes, “I’m not! You’re calling her a ghost.”
“Now why would I do that?” Taeyong asks, nonchalant.
“I’m going to punch you,” Doyoung threatens, “So. Hard.”
Taeyong laughs, “Still so easy to wind up, I see.” He pauses, as if he’s contemplating the next word. He grabs the remote from his bedside table and looks back at Doyoung, “Cute.”
Doyoung’s heart skips a beat.
“A movie?” Taeyong asks afterwards, “Maybe a ghost movie?”
“Offering to watch something scary? How grown up of you.” Doyoung comments. It is true, as Taeyong would always refuse to watch a horror movie. Possibly one of the last movies they had watched together was a horror movie however, and Taeyong had taken a liking to sitting on Doyoung’s lap as if he was the seat. Doyoung didn’t mind too much.
(He also didn’t mind the way Taeyong would bury his face in Doyoung’s neck when he was scared, but Doyoung pushes this thought to the back of his brain.)
“Must I remind you I am the elder.” Taeyong snaps back quickly. He is surfing through Netflix’s movie recommendations.
Doyoung shrugs, “Really? You look twelve.”
Taeyong drops the remote and turns to face him, “Take it back.” His face is stern, but his voice gives away his playfulness.
“No.” Doyoung sticks his tongue out, and Taeyong’s lips relax into a smile.
He’s in trouble.
Doyoung’s about to lose the battle.
“Doyoung.” Taeyong starts, and he’s closer now, hand pushing on Doyoung’s thigh like it’s nothing, “Look at me.”
“No.” He can’t break so easily.
Taeyong hums, and Doyoung closes his eyes shut at the sensation of Taeyong’s fingers slowly tracing the veins on his lower arm, “Please.”
Doyoung opens one eye, and there Taeyong is, lips in a slight pout and head tilted slightly.
Doyoung’s life is so hard.
He groans, and Taeyong slides closer, until his hot breath trickles down Doyoung’s shoulder.
Doyoung has never won against Taeyong.
“Fine,” Doyoung mumbles, “You don’t look twelve.”
“Thank you.” Taeyong grins as if it was a compliment, and Doyoung can’t help but smile too. “I want to watch this,” Taeyong directs Doyoung’s attention to the TV, who just nods.
Focusing on the movie is the least of his problems.
The movie starts and it’s able to captivate his thoughts for a few moments. The food is finished by the second act, and Taeyong makes a little home for his head on Doyoung’s bicep. Doyoung glances down and quickly looks away when he realises Taeyong is looking back at him.
Doyoung tries to focus on the movie once again, but the weight of Taeyong’s head is so heavy on his mind. The way his cheeks tense when he laughs and the flutter of his eyelashes when he blinks. Doyoung’s lost in a daydream. He hears Taeyong’s soft snoring beside him after a few minutes, and sighs at the sight of a sleeping Taeyong. Still beautiful, he thinks. Peaceful. Doyoung feels tired just by looking at him, so he adjusts the pillow and pays attention to the movie once more. He doesn’t want to sleep. Even if the bed is so warm, and Taeyong’s draped his arm over Doyoung now.
His eyes are droopy, but he refuses to give in.
He glances at Taeyong once more and sighs.
He never wins.
It’s no surprise to Doyoung’s mother when she gets a text message of a photo of the two boys asleep in Taeyong’s room.
‘Just like old times’, she messages Taeyong’s mother.
--
then (november 2015)
They’re in Doyoung’s car. Taeyong’s singing along with the radio, and Jaehyun’s begging him to stop. Doyoung’s laughing and Yuta is painting his nails whilst shouting at Doyoung to drive slower.
“I can’t drive slower,” Doyoung shouts back over the music.
“My nails!” Yuta groans from the backseat. He turns to Jaehyun with a frown, who takes the tissue from Yuta’s other hand and attempts to clean the edges. Taeyong continues singing loudly, and Doyoung’s certain his voice can be heard by the people outside the car when he pulls up at Johnny’s house.
Johnny loves to throw parties. It’s not something he does often, but when they happen, it’s not to be missed. Doyoung has never lived down missing the summer party of 2013 to this day.
They all pile out of the car and into the house. Taeyong clings onto Doyoung’s side so they aren’t separated. Doyoung doesn’t mind. The party is already in full swing. Alcohol swishing in cups of passers-by, and bodies filing both in and out of the various rooms. The air is much thicker inside, humid almost, and Doyoung finds it’s hard to see with the lights dimmed so low.
“Hey guys,” Johnny’s voice comes from the far end of the living room. He waves the group over.
Jaehyun shrugs and pushes a path through the crowd. Johnny pulls him into a hug when they arrive, and repeats the same for Doyoung and Taeyong. Jaehyun looks around the room and back at the elder, “Since when do you know so many people?”
“What can I say? Word gets out.” Johnny tilts his head slightly and then asks, “I thought Yuta was coming?”
They all turn around.
“Already wandered off,” Taeyong observes, and laughs afterwards, “Typical.”
“He’ll make his way back. Come on, the garden is less stuffy.” Johnny begins walking through the crowd. Doyoung is thankful to be standing so close to him, as he has a strange ability to part the crowd as if he is Moses. Taeyong squeezes his arms around Doyoung’s waist, and Doyoung’s unsure if it’s the lack of oxygen or Taeyong’s touch that’s making him dizzy. They finally make it out into the cold autumn air, and Doyoung takes in a deep breath.
“It’s almost impossible to breathe in there,” he complains. Johnny, a man whose brain can’t be explained, takes it as a compliment. They soon find themselves with cups full of liquor that are immediately swimming down their throats, and Doyoung can feel himself loosen up rather quickly. A few minutes later, a glance at Taeyong, whose cheeks are blushed red and words beginning to slur together, confirms Doyoung’s suspicions.
“Already?” Jaehyun takes the cup away from Taeyong, who frowns. He turns to Doyoung with a knowing look, “Your problem.”
Doyoung shakes his head, amused. “Do I really need to cut you off?”
Taeyong shrugs. The music is loud and energises the air around them. Taeyong sways his hip slowly and asks, “Dance with me?”
Doyoung rolls his eyes, but still finds himself moving along to the beat. Taeyong’s eyes are burning into him, and Doyoung is thankful he can blame the pink on his cheeks on the alcohol.
“You look good,” Taeyong mumbles, “Really good.”
Doyoung chokes on the air slightly. He takes in another deep breath. “Thanks.”
“I think…” Taeyong looks up at his face, and his eyes widen, as if he has made a shocking revelation, “I need to go.”
Taeyong takes a step back. Doyoung reaches his hand out to grab his arm, but Taeyong turns too quickly and is suddenly lost within the crowd.
Doyoung finds Taeyong upstairs half an hour later. He’s sitting on Johnny’s bed with his head is buried in his hands. This room is off-limits, but as close friends, he’s sure Johnny won’t mind if they stay in there.
“Hey,” Doyoung’s voice is quiet, and Taeyong looks up.
“Oh hey. It got too crowded down there,” Taeyong’s smile isn’t convincing, “You know how I am.”
Doyoung takes a seat next to Taeyong, “I get it. A lot of people, huh?”
“And the alcohol,” Taeyong lies down on the bed and groans. His eyes are half-closed and tired as he looks back at Doyoung, “Are you tipsy too?”
“A little,” Doyoung admits, “We might have to stay the night.”
Taeyong sticks his pinkie finger into the air, “Promise to be my bed buddy.”
Doyoung wraps his pinkie around Taeyong’s and squeezes, “Promise.”
“For fuck’s sake, Doyoung.”
“What?” Doyoung frowns.
“You piss me off.” Taeyong mutters, “Why do you look like that?”
“What?” Doyoung asks again.
“Stop acting confused every single time,” Taeyong whines. He kicks his legs in the air, “You’re so annoying.”
Doyoung thinks Taeyong might be a little bit more drunk than he admits.
“I’m not drunk,” Taeyong mumbles, reading Doyoung’s thoughts, “You’re just…” he glances in Doyoung’s direction, “Who told you to wear that?” He slides his finger down Doyoung’s chest, and Doyoung raises an eyebrow.
“You did?” Doyoung says, hesitant.
Taeyong hums, “I did, didn’t I?” The corners of his lips turn up into a smile, “I like how it looks on you.”
And Doyoung’s not sure if it’s the alcohol in his blood or Taeyong’s eyes, but it all clicks.
Taeyong lunges forward, his hands having found Doyoung’s waist, as he kisses with a desperation Doyoung’s never quite tasted on his tongue. The way Taeyong moans when Doyoung caresses the inside of his mouth with his tongue takes him by surprise, but he should have expected Taeyong to be such a sensitive kisser. Doyoung’s hands trail down the side of Taeyong’s frame. They move down and down and grasp at his thigh. He squeezes, and Taeyong exhales.
“Taeyong,” Doyoung breathes against his lips, “You look so pretty.” And he does, eyes fluttering shut, neck so red and pretty that Doyoung dreams of the taste of his skin between his lips, dreams of how he’d look, love-bites and bruises trailing the column of his neck, all Doyoung’s.
Taeyong blushes.
They lay for a few minutes, hot breaths swirling in the air, until Taeyong stands up and brushes himself off, “Let’s go back down. Drink until we forget everything.”
It’s sudden, and there’s an added weight to his words, as if a switch has been turned off. Doyoung’s aware of the implication too. He can’t deny the tug in his chest, but he looks up at Taeyong, so beautiful even in the darkness of the room, and he knows that he can’t deny this man anything, even if it hurts him.
“Fuck it,” And every good inhibition is replaced with the memory of Taeyong’s eyes dancing over his body, “Let’s get wasted.”
--
now
Doyoung sees Taeyong a lot more now.
He saw Taeyong on the front porch and invited him over for lemonade. Taeyong came over to return Doyoung’s hoodie he accidentally stole, and they ended up playing on their Nintendo Switches. Taeyong asks Doyoung if he would help with repotting the flowers and Doyoung says yes. They end up syncing their lunches during work, and he even attended Mark’s housewarming party with Taeyong. Taeyong asked if Doyoung wanted to go to the arcade on a random Saturday afternoon, and that’s how Doyoung finds himself cursing at Taeyong in front of an air hockey table.
“Still undefeated,” Taeyong flexes his arms, “And you’re still a loser.”
“Shut up,” Doyoung mutters. He inserts another coin into the machine, “Round three?”
“If you like getting your ass beat,” Taeyong stretches his fingers, “Why not?”
The world is cruel and unjust. Doyoung kneels beside the air hockey table and groans. He has just lost his fifth match in a row, “Why are you so good?” Taeyong walks over and bends down to pat his head. Doyoung whines.
“Sorry kiddo.” Taeyong’s voice is teasing.
“You’re barely a year older than me,” Doyoung points out as he stands up. He looks around the large room and points at another game machine, “Let’s do that.”
Taeyong follows behind him and sings along to the faint music playing throughout the establishment. Doyoung is fondly reminded of being in this same place ten years ago, and Taeyong singing to a song so loudly the manager had asked them to be quiet. Doyoung had turned so red Taeyong was sure he’d faint.
They sit in the seat in front of the machine. It’s a two-player shooter style game where they have to protect the planet from aliens. Easy, Doyoung thinks.
“I’m going to beat you,” Taeyong sings in the tune of the song.
Doyoung’s head snaps in his direction, “We’re on the same team.”
“Oh.” Taeyong’s mouth drops open in surprise, but he quickly snaps out of it, “I’ll still beat you.”
“You’re so annoying,” Doyoung mumbles, and he places a coin into the machine. It hums to life and the remotes disconnect from their adapters. Doyoung is sucked into the game easily, and notices that Taeyong is indeed better and, he would never admit it allowed, carrying the team. They place on the leader board and Doyoung stands up in a cheer. Taeyong laughs beside him.
“I think we could take first place. You want to go again?” Taeyong pulls out another coin and it shines when it hits the light. Doyoung nods eagerly and picks up the controller again. He’s focused this time, and his fingers tap precisely on buttons, instead of a fumble for whatever is closest. He smiles as he kills some aliens.
Taeyong’s side of the screen is quiet, and he glances at Taeyong between shots and gapes.
“Why are you not doing anything?” he asks, but he doesn’t dare take his eyes off the screen now. Taeyong’s character comes back to life beside him.
“Oh, I was just looking at you.” Taeyong says nonchalantly, “You look pretty.”
Doyoung chokes on the air, and it’s at that moment the game ends. He doesn’t check whether they’re on the leader board, and he doesn’t dare to look in Taeyong’s direction.
“Again?” Taeyong asks, and Doyoung can hear the smile in his voice.
--
then (december 2015)
His phone rings loudly on the table.
Doyoung internally cringes. He forgot to set it to silent. He quickly takes a hold of the phone and hangs up. It’s too late as all the eyes in the lecture hall are staring at him. Thankfully, it goes unmentioned and he hastily checks his phone.
A missed call notification pops up on Doyoung’s home screen. He swipes it away, and instantly, another notification from Taeyong clogs his screen.
‘have u seen jaehyun?”
‘also do u have my lip balm’
Doyoung sighs. He sends back a ‘no’ (even though he did notice Taeyong’s lip balm in his pocket earlier) and silences the phone.
Taeyong’s waiting for him outside when class ends. He waves at Doyoung, who walks over to him. Doyoung’s still feeling a little bitter about the incident in class, but he knows it’s not Taeyong’s fault, and drops the sour expression on his face.
“Have you seen Jaehyun?” Taeyong asks, and Doyoung shakes his head.
“Not even a hello?” Doyoung scoffs, and then adds on, “What’s your obsession with Jaehyun?”
“Jealous?” Taeyong teases. Doyoung rolls his eyes. “He left his glasses in my bag. You know he can barely see without them.”
“Did you call him?”
“Obviously,” Taeyong makes a sound of offense, “I asked Johnny too. He said he’s most likely at the café with Mark.”
“So why did you come here?”
Taeyong doesn’t answer the question and begins walking.
There’s a job fair being held today. He figures that’s the reason the courtyard is so crowded. There are stalls from different companies, but Doyoung doesn’t like to look at them too much. He’s always felt anxious about what to do after university, but he doesn’t let it cloud his thoughts too much, as he still has a little while to go, as Taeyong constantly reminds him.
However, his interest peaks when he sees one poster. A large one, taller than him, and he can’t help but pause in front of it.
Taeyong stops by his side and scans the informative sheet. He then turns to Doyoung and asks, “You’re thinking about leaving the city?”
Doyoung can’t exactly say no. It’s always been a backburner thought in his brain, and with an opportunity laid out so nicely in front of him, he’d be a fool to not consider it. He shrugs, “Wouldn’t it be nice?”
Taeyong’s quick to reply, “What’d be nice about it?”
“I don’t know… the independence, having your own place, meeting new people, seeing new sights, all those things.” They’re basic answers, he’s aware. He just doesn’t want to get into another argument with Taeyong over the deep, longing feeling in his chest about his place in the world, or whatever.
“Or it’d suck,” Taeyong retorts, “You could end up alone, and your job could suck, and your co-workers could be horrible people, and…” Taeyong drifts off for a second, and stops listing when he sees the look on Doyoung’s face.
“It’s not for a while anyway. You don’t need to think so much about it.” Those are Taeyong’s last words before he turns on his heel and starts walking. Doyoung sighs.
“Don’t be upset,” he jogs after Taeyong and grabs his arm when he’s in reach, “It was just a thought.”
Taeyong stops moving so fast and walks beside Doyoung, “I’m not mad. Come on, before we lose Jaehyun again.”
Doyoung doesn’t bring up the topic again.
--
now
It’s a warm day. The sun’s hibernation behind the clouds has thankfully ended, and Taeyong had pestered Doyoung into coming over for a barbeque. His dad is thrilled at the chance to grill some meat, and his brother puffs out his chest, exclaiming his would taste better.
Doyoung rolls his eyes as they walk into the house. Men.
“Let’s stop this argument now,” Doyoung’s mother turns around and presses her finger to her lips. The two of them immediately cease conversation and Doyoung giggles.
Taeyong’s mother greets them, and they make their way into the garden. Doyoung can’t help but laugh at the scene of Taeyong struggling to stand up the grill. Doyoung’s brother runs over to help him, much to Taeyong’s delight.
“It’s evil,” Taeyong frowns. His frown deepens when it’s easily stood up by his brother.
“It’s just you,” Doyoung remarks, “No surprise.”
Taeyong gasps, and Doyoung walks backwards as Taeyong approaches him. “Excuse me?” Taeyong’s voice drips with annoyance, and his eyes are glistening black.
“Why are you so angry?” Doyoung whines, and he stumbles on a rock. He falls on the ground and groans.
A chorus of laughs surround him, and his mother pats his head, “So silly. Go play, boys.”
“You can’t say that. I’m twenty-six!” Doyoung shouts playfully after her, but she waves her hand in the air.
Taeyong sits beside him, still laughing, “You should fall over again.”
“Shut up.”
“Oh, it’s been so long,” Doyoung’s mother comments, “When was the last time we did this?” Doyoung watches the conversation between his mother and Taeyong’s with a smile.
“So long ago. Taeyong’s father kept burning the steak.” Taeyong’s mum replies, “These look delicious.” She peers over at Doyoung’s brother grilling the meat.
Taeyong visibly winces at the subject of his father, and Doyoung just gently squeezes his arm. It’s not something Doyoung has asked about, and Taeyong doesn’t seem to be too keen on the subject either.
“Will you get the plates, honey?” Taeyong perks up at the sound of his mother’s voice and nods.
He stands up and then looks down at Doyoung in confusion, “Get up then.”
“I thought I was a guest,” Doyoung whines but he still trails behind.
Taeyong laughs again, and Doyoung can’t help but smile a little at the sound, “You’ve been here more times this past month than your mother has in the last five years.”
“Whatever,” Doyoung scoffs. He’s glad he’s behind Taeyong so the latter can’t see the pink on the tip of his ears.
Doyoung’s been in this kitchen numerous times. It’s a place that he’s sure he could walk through with his eyes closed. He watches Taeyong open the cabinets and take out some plates.
“Paper plates would be easier,” Doyoung suggests. Taeyong buries himself back into the cabinet. That’s when Doyoung notices a dent on the counter. His cheeks tinge red at the memory. Locking lips with Taeyong, longing glances, soft touches, a kitchen to themselves with no one home. He looks away.
“Why are you so red?” Taeyong asks, and makes a hum of recognition after, “The dent?” His fingers follow the curve of the counter and shrugs, “It adds character. Who cares if you dropped me?”
“I didn’t drop you!” Doyoung snaps instantly. He can’t believe Taeyong would even acknowledge the memory, and it burns red hot in Doyoung’s brain.
Taeyong makes a happy sound and pulls out some paper plates. He then turns back to Doyoung, “Yes you did, but I forgive you.” He places his hand on his heart, “Don’t blame yourself. It’s okay.” His tone is teasing, and it ticks Doyoung’s off.
“You were moving too much.” Doyoung scoffs.
“It’s hard not to when-“ Taeyong stops himself, “Shut up.” They both look at each other, and Doyoung sighs in relief internally when he sees the familiar red blush sweep Taeyong’s cheek.
“You shut up.” He retorts a moment later.
Taeyong stays silent. He’s doing it on purpose, Doyoung knows.
Finally, Taeyong replies. “I never called you weak.”
“I never said you did?” Doyoung’s simply confused and folds his arms angrily over his chest.
Taeyong shrugs.
“I’m not weak.” Doyoung clarifies.
Taeyong raises his hands in the air, “I didn’t say anything.”
“You think I’m weak?”
“I mean…” Taeyong scratches the back of his head, as if in thought, “You did drop me.”
“I did not drop you.”
“You did.”
“Did not.”
“Did so.”
“Did not!”
“Okay fine!” Taeyong yells, “Let’s recreate it.”
“W-what?” Doyoung stutters.
“Come on,” Taeyong’s smile is mischievous, taunting, and Doyoung gulps.
“Wait, Taeyong-“
“What are you boys arguing about?” Doyoung’s mother wanders into the kitchen. Her eyes light up at the sight of the paper plates, and she takes them from Taeyong’s hands.
“He’s calling me weak.” Doyoung frowns.
“Honey,” his mother coos, “Don’t fight losing battles.”
Taeyong laughs at the statement, and Doyoung just groans, following his mother out of the room.
--
then (january 2016)
Taeyong is at the door.
It’s currently one in the morning, and Doyoung had ran downstairs when he noticed the text message from Taeyong.
Taeyong’s standing in the cold. He’s hugging himself and shivering when Doyoung opens the door. He walks in wordlessly and begins to walk up the stairs. Doyoung sighs and follows him.
They reach the other side of Doyoung’s bedroom door when Taeyong starts crying. Doyoung’s arms are wrapped tight around him, and Taeyong burrows his face into Doyoung’s neck. Sobs rack through his small frame as he clings onto Doyoung for support. Doyoung would never dream of letting go.
“I’m sorry,” Taeyong whispers when he pulls away. He sits on the floor and wipes his eyes with the tissue Doyoung hands him, “I feel like when we were thirteen and I’d show up at your door like this,” he sniffs. Doyoung’s arms snake around Taeyong’s small figure and he pulls him back into his chest. Taeyong accepts.
“You’re always welcome here. No matter the age.” Doyoung presses a soft kiss into the top of his head. “Fighting again?”
“It’s stupid at how I still get so upset. You’d think a lifetime would numb it down for me.” He sobs again, and Doyoung squeezes him tight. He has never been good with words, and the guilt eats away at him every time he struggles to soothe Taeyong.
“It’s not,” Doyoung mumbles, “How you feel will never be stupid.”
“She bought it up and he got so angry,” he sighs, “I think he will never go.”
Doyoung frowns, but the sadness quickly turns to anger, “I’ll kick him out myself.”
Taeyong senses the change in mood and looks up at Doyoung, “Oh baby. You’d be snapped like a twig.”
“Say a branch, at least,” Doyoung mumbles. Taeyong smiles and angles his body so he can look up at Doyoung.
“My big strong tree,” he giggles at his own words, and Doyoung smiles, “You’ll protect me?”
“Always,” Doyoung whispers. Silence falls over them and Taeyong continues to sniff into Doyoung’s pyjama top. He doesn’t mind and keeps a strong grip on Taeyong’s upper half.
“Kiss me.”
Doyoung chokes on the air and looks down at Taeyong. The latter is looking up at him with those eyes… those eyes that Doyoung always falls prey to.
“That won’t make you feel better.” Doyoung gulps. Taeyong’s still watching him.
“It will,” Taeyong pulls at his shirt, “Please.” He adds on quietly.
Doyoung doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know how to speak. He’s forgotten. Taeyong lays his head back down on Doyoung’s chest without another word. Doyoung doesn’t think he’s ever seen Taeyong back down from an argument. His chest aches.
He uses his hand to lift Taeyong’s chin up towards him. The elder’s eyes widen in confusion, and Doyoung brushes his bangs out of his eyes and presses a kiss on his forehead.
“Can I kiss you?” Doyoung’s whispers. Taeyong’s smile is different than usual.
He can’t say who initiated the kiss, but all he knows is their lips are touching, eyes closed shut, and then there was another kiss, and another. The kisses are so gentle, just in the moment with each other, where Doyoung can’t feel or think of nothing but Taeyong. He could lay here for hours, just tender kisses and nothing more, and it surprises Doyoung, the innocence of it all. The way Taeyong’s eyes have mellowed and the softness in his touch.
“Please don’t ask me to forget about it,” Doyoung whispers into the air between their lips, “I can’t.”
“I’m sorry I ever did,” Taeyong leans back and sits up on his own. Doyoung reaches for his hand, and Taeyong reciprocates, “You’re always on my mind.”
Doyoung blushes, “Don’t say that.”
“It’s true,” Taeyong’s voice has no hint of deception, and Doyoung’s heart thumps in his chest, “I really like you.”
“I really, really, like you.” Doyoung emphasises each word. He grins when Taeyong laughs. A sound he missed hearing. “I really, really, want you.”
Taeyong squeezes Doyoung’s hand tightly, “You have me. All yours.”
They kiss again.
“Home.” Taeyong whispers against his lips, “You’re mine.”
Doyoung wonders how Taeyong can always read his mind.
--
now
Doyoung wakes up on death’s door.
Not literally, but it could be. It should be, he thinks. He groans and pulls his blanket over his chest. It’s so cold, yet his insides are burning.
“I’m going to die.” He groans to no one in particular. His mother has been coming upstairs every hour to check up on him, and he’s thankful. He can’t help but feel like a burden however, and makes sure to finish the soup she prepares for him, even if his insides feel like liquid and could come back out his mouth at any time.
He faces the ceiling. The remains of glue dots from his glow-in-the-dark stars remain, and they make his skin itch. He needs to get rid of them somehow. Before he can hatch a plan, the door opens.
“He’s in and out of sleep,” his mother is talking to a figure. Doyoung can’t quite make out who it is, but as they walk closer, a smile finds his lips.
“Taeyong!” he yells in excitement, and Taeyong laughs.
“Hey there,” The bed dips where Taeyong sits, “I’ll watch him while you go out.” He says to Doyoung’s mother.
Doyoung frowns, “You’ll watch me? I’m a grown man!”
“Yes you are,” Taeyong coos, “How are you feeling?” He takes the cold rag from Doyoung’s bedside and gently massages his forehead, “You’re burning up.”
Doyoung shakes his head, “So cold.” He leans into Taeyong’s touch, until the left side of his face is pressed against Taeyong’s palm. The latter watches him, amused.
“Okay my bunny,” Taeyong whispers, and Doyoung’s heart tugs at the nickname. He never thought he’d be so happy to hear it, “You want to go to sleep?”
Doyoung nods, and he pats the space next to him. Taeyong instantly slides under the covers and his arms secure a position around Doyoung’s frame. He finds his head fits perfectly, burrowed in Taeyong’s neck, and breathes in the scent until it consumes him whole.
“Sleep now.” Taeyong presses a soft kiss on the top of his head. So faint that Doyoung thinks he might have imagined it.
He can’t fight the feeling of sleep any longer.
If Doyoung closes his eyes for long enough, it almost feels normal.
Almost.
He isn’t sure of what happened after he fell asleep. He remembers Taeyong gently nudging him awake, the taste of medicine in his mouth, the heat emanating from Taeyong.
Taeyong’s still there. It seems he’s fallen asleep and is snoring lightly. In a strange way, the sound lulls Doyoung back to a calm state. His fingers find themselves softly tracing the curve of his cheekbones, and then his jaw, and then Doyoung’s staring at his pink lips, wondering how they’d look bruised and bitten. It’s a strange thought to come over him all of a sudden, but he assumes it’s a side effect of his illness.
“Doyoung?” Taeyong mumbles, “Are you awake?”
Doyoung doesn’t reply. He just watches Taeyong adjust his head slightly, but his eyes don’t open once. Instead, he moves his arm to grip Doyoung’s waist.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Doyoung whispers.
Taeyong doesn’t reply.
He takes the silence as an answer.
--
then (may 2016)
“Have you thought much about life after university?” Mark asks the group. They’re tucked away in a corner of the library, with their laptops open and attention anywhere else but them.
Johnny shrugs, “I think I’ll go into business with my father.”
Mark seems to think about the answer, and then nods, “Respectable. Respectable.” He turns to Jaehyun, “You?”
“I don’t know,” Jaehyun leans back and groans, “I want to go somewhere far. At the same time, I like it here.”
“I get that,” Doyoung’s voice is low, but that doesn’t stop Taeyong from shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
“Are you offering to come away with me?” Jaehyun teases. He giggles and shakes his head, “As if Taeyong could survive without you.”
Mark laughs, and Doyoung thinks he’s a little too excited judging by the way he’s clapping, “He’s like a parrot. Always asking for his boyfriend.”
“I am not.” Taeyong shuts his laptop screen with force, “I don’t care what he does.”
Doyoung turns to look at him with a frown, “Maybe I’ll go then.”
“Go. See if I care.” Taeyong throws his laptop in his bag and stands up. He walks away hastily and Doyoung just sighs.
“Trouble in paradise?” Johnny asks cautiously, “He looks like he will snap your neck off.”
“He doesn’t like the prospect of me leaving,” Doyoung says slowly, “It’s fine.”
“I mean, it’s still your future, Doyoung,” Johnny leans forward in his seat, “Do what you think is best.”
Mark taps the back of Doyoung’s back gently, “Yeah. You’ve got our support, either way.”
Jaehyun’s voice is playful, but Doyoung doesn’t fail to notice the serious concern behind his words, “It’s not our support he’s looking for.”
The other two laugh.
“I’m going to go see where he went,” Doyoung stands up after a moment, “Want anything?”
“Will you grab me some water?” Johnny looks up with a smile.
“I want coffee.” Jaehyun raises his hand, and when Doyoung looks over, he scoffs at the way Jaehyun’s smiling up at him too.
“Hot chocolate, please.” Mark asks. He doesn’t look up from his screen, and Doyoung isn’t sure if he finds that rude.
“Fine,” Doyoung points at the three of them, “I won’t miss this!”
“You love us!” Johnny calls out as he walks away. Doyoung curses the fact that he’s right.
Doyoung finds Taeyong sitting outside the library. It’s rather cold for the beginning of May, so he wraps his jacket around Taeyong’s arms. The latter turns around in surprise.
“Hey,” he says as Doyoung sits beside him, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have freaked out.”
Doyoung slides his hand into Taeyong’s. It’s warm, and leaves a smile on his face, “It’s fine. I’m not mad,” and he truly isn’t. He’s painfully aware of what a difficult topic this is to breach with Taeyong, and he understands. The thought of Taeyong disappearing makes Doyoung want to jump in front of the cars that pass them.
“I just hate the thought of you leaving,” Taeyong sounds so sad, it makes Doyoung want to hold onto him forever, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You won’t need to find out anytime soon.” Doyoung assures his boyfriend, who presses a small kiss on his cheek. “We do need to go on a coffee run.”
“You really do have a hard time saying no.” Taeyong snorts, “Can I get a coffee?”
“Sure.” Doyoung doesn’t mind.
“And a cupcake.”
“Okay baby.” In fact, Doyoung would spend all his money on Taeyong.
“And maybe some chocolate.”
“Alright love.” If it was possible, he’d buy Taeyong the entire world.
“And some ice cream.”
Doyoung yells, exasperated, “Lee Taeyong!”
“What?” Taeyong asks, his tone innocent, but the laugh that erupts out of him afterwards says it all.
--
now
The night air is cool on Doyoung’s skin. He breathes it in. Cold, damp air fills his lungs, and he exhales. The stars are twinkling above – although little, they have their own mystical power, blending the small amount of light together, until their dreamy warmth sprinkles over the night sky, not as brilliant as the sun or as clear as the moon, but enough.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of looking at them.”
Doyoung drifts his gaze to Taeyong, whose eyes, mini galaxies themselves, are scanning the view above them. He’d invited Taeyong over after a quick glance at the sky, and knew he didn’t want to be in their grace on his own.
“I missed them, when I was in the city,” Doyoung admits.
“Me too,” Taeyong whispers, as if the quietness would hide the intent behind his words. He pauses, a little obscure sound leaving his mouth, as if he’s debating even speaking. Above Taeyong’s head, the stars glisten, embedded into the black night, and although they are complete opposites, the beauty they bring to one another is one of a kind. Doyoung’s eyes fall to Taeyong.
“You remember that night in the tent?” Taeyong asks softly, “I really liked that.”
A smile finds its way to Doyoung’s face. Of course he remembers. They were both eighteen back then. Fresh out of high school and a new found sense of responsibility on their shoulders. Taeyong asked if Doyoung had ever been camping, and when Doyoung replied no, he was immediately dragged into Taeyong’s garden.
“It was fun, wasn’t it?” Doyoung’s reminiscent. He wonders if it’s because the stars look as bright as they did that day, or if it’s Taeyong sitting beside him, the warmth melting away at Doyoung’s worries.
Just like on that day, where they lay in the tents talking through their problems and worries. Where Taeyong held him closely and promised it would be okay. When Doyoung realised his best friend had the prettiest eyes, and God, this is what falling in love feels like.
Taeyong’s laughing, “When you broke the tent… oh God, your face,” his shrills become louder, until he’s clutching onto his stomach, “You were about to cry.”
“Not cry…” Doyoung whines, “Your dad was so angry. I was scared!”
Taeyong immediately stiffens up, and Doyoung bites his tongue. Hard.
“I’m sorry Taeyong,” Doyoung whispers, “I didn’t mean to bring it up.”
“It’s alright,” Taeyong smiles weakly, “I can’t forget about his existence, can I?”
Doyoung’s unsure whether to pry or leave the subject alone, but curiosity wins in the end, “Are you still in contact with him?”
“Not really. After he moved out, we just stopped talking.” There’s a strange look on Taeyong’s face. He wonders if he should have left the matter alone, when Taeyong adds, “But it’s funny, I don’t think I could ever hate him.”
The information shocks Doyoung, but he doesn’t let it show on his face. Instead, he slides up a little so his shoulders bump with Taeyong’s. Taeyong looks up at him in confusion, and Doyoung replies, “No one would blame you if you did.”
“I know,” Taeyong’s watching him curiously, his eyes scanning Doyoung’s face as if it was the night sky and he was looking for Venus, “but I still feel guilty sometimes.” He looks away then.
“Oh, Taeyong,” and it’s quiet – Doyoung’s voice, the streets beside them, the house behind and the air outside, “It’s not your fault.”
“Yeah, you’re right. It’s just… they stayed together for me, you know?” It’s more a rhetorical question, so he allows Taeyong to speak, “So I’d have a somewhat normal childhood, and…” a sigh leaves his lips, “Maybe if they had just broken up then, no one would be hurt.”
Doyoung’s unsure of how to proceed. It’s the first time since he’s been back that Taeyong’s speaking so openly to him, and he doesn’t want to ruin that. He doesn’t want Taeyong to ever feel sad without having Doyoung’s comfort- no… he doesn’t want Taeyong to feel anything but happiness. He finally finds the words, “It was their choice at the end of the day. You’re worth the effort, even if his was far from ideal.”
“It’s a stupid idea but it makes me happy to think there was love there once, you know?” Doyoung just wants to hold Taeyong, but he can’t. Taeyong’s drifting into the endless void of space, and Doyoung just can’t reach.
“It’s not stupid at all,” Doyoung reassures, “Who couldn’t love you?”
Taeyong glances up at him, a surprised look on his face.
And it’s there, on the tip of his tongue.
I love you.
But Taeyong asks him another question, an obvious change in topic, and Doyoung lets the thought go.
--
then (october 2016)
Doyoung’s sitting on the couch with his brother beside him. They’re watching some movie that he didn’t pick (the main reason for why it’s so disinteresting) when a notification flashes on his phone. He glances at his brother and then slides the notification open. It’s an email from a programme he is interested in. The subject line reads ‘Don’t forget to send in your application before the deadline’. Doyoung’s chest lurches.
His brother shifts beside him, and a quick look discovers he’s staring straight at Doyoung, “What’s up?”
Doyoung turns the phone off quickly, “What makes you think something is wrong?”
He laughs, “I have had the pleasure of being your brother for almost twenty-one years. What’s wrong?”
“It’s this programme,” Doyoung starts, “For after university. I’d have to move far… it’s about a three-hour train journey, but… I don’t know.”
“It’s good you have a plan already,” his brother turns the TV off and faces him, “What scares you?”
It’s hard to put into words, Doyoung realises. He isn’t sure how to rationalise his thoughts, but maybe they just aren’t logical. He scratches the back of his head awkwardly, racking his brain for a way to be excused from this conversation, but his brother’s eyes on him, so full of concern like Doyoung has never seen before, tugs at his heart.
“I have this fear,” He starts, “This fear that my life is ending, and not in a way where I’m about to die,” Doyoung’s laugh is low, “What if I have never lived? Like, truly lived. I have never done anything with myself, for myself, and now… I’m about to waste the last of the few years where I’m free from being a real person with stupid, overbearing responsibilities.”
“Come on, that’s not true,” His brother frowns, “You’ve gotten yourself through university. That’s an achievement. You’ve got so many friends. You have Taeyong.”
The last few words cut deeper than they should’ve. He blinks back the tears, “What if it’s not enough? I’m scared,” Doyoung whispers, “I’m scared to regret. I’m scared that my fear of regret means I am missing out on living life.”
“Then is it not more reason to go?” He asks, “What holds you back?”
“I love being here, with all of you, and…” Doyoung drifts off, and he’s aware his brother knows the answer. It’s there, on the tip of his tongue, refusing to leave, but it’s something he has to say. To admit.
“What about Taeyong?” Doyoung breathes out.
“He’ll always want the best for you.”
“But what if it’s a mistake? What if it’s not everything I thought?”
“Doyoung,” his brother speaks in a voice so soft that it reminds Doyoung of being a scared little child, crying about the monsters under his bed, “Don’t you owe yourself the chance?
Does he? All the nights spent studying until he could see the sun rising. All the tears over exams and assignments. All the meals he skipped because he didn’t want to break his focus. All the adventures he missed for this… this chance.
Doyoung cries.
Later that night, with his mother beside him and the application confirmation page bright on his laptop screen, he cries again.
--
then (december 2016)
The air in December is always different. There’s a certain magic in the snow that falls, that covers cars and window sills, hugs the floor and rooftops, and lands ever-so-delicately on Taeyong’s nose. Doyoung laughs as Taeyong scrunches his nose and then wipes it with the back of his hand in confusion.
It’s contentment.
Happiness.
Walking through the Christmas market with Taeyong’s hand in his and their eyes wondering over the lights, sparkling like miniature stars, the little bits and bobs that lay on market stalls, that Doyoung has already bought Taeyong way too much off, yet always finding their way back to each other.
“What are you thinking about?” Taeyong asks beside him. He’s covered from head to toe, with a beanie pulled all the way past his ears and his fingers poking out of holes in his gloves. A large winter coat is wrapped around his body, and yet he still clings onto Doyoung’s side.
“You.” Doyoung replies simply.
Taeyong’s cheeks tint red, “I never thought you would be so sappy in a relationship.”
Doyoung shrugs, “Me neither. I guess that’s just how you make me feel.” He grins as Taeyong giggles. The elder shakes his head and carries on pulling Doyoung down the street.
“I hate you,” Taeyong says after a moment, “You’re so annoying.” He’s stopped walking now, and stands in front of a pretzel stall, “I’ll forgive you for one of those.” He points behind him.
“I don’t need your forgiveness,” Doyoung scoffs.
Taeyong juts his bottom lip out and looks up at Doyoung, “Please?”
“That won’t work on me.” A lie. Doyoung’s already lost. They both know it, but it’s a game they like to play regardless.
Taeyong’s lips quirk up and he reaches for Doyoung’s neck with his arms. He squeezes his arms around Doyoung’s shoulders, a little too tightly, not that Doyoung minds. Taeyong presses an innocent kiss on Doyoung’s neck and his breath hitches in his throat. Taeyong must feel it, as his lips smile against Doyoung’s skin, his head tucked away. Taeyong looks up at him and whispers, “Does this?” He leans up on his toes and presses another kiss on Doyoung’s lips. Just a soft touch of skin, but enough for Doyoung to feel dizzy. Their lips find each other again, and they trade kisses for a few minutes, until the sound of a baby crying behind him awakens him to the fact they’re still in the middle of the street. Kisses turn into breathless laughs and Taeyong kisses him one last time before letting go.
Doyoung feels like putty in Taeyong’s hands. Taeyong knows it too, from the way his eyes glisten.
“What toppings do you want?” Doyoung asks.
Taeyong laughs.
Pretzels in hand, they find themselves underneath the large Christmas tree in the village’s centre. It must be over fifteen feet, and fairy lights twinkle along every surface. Baubles of all different colours, shapes and sizes hang from every branch. There’s a custom to bring your own bauble to put up on the tree, and they have never missed it. It started when they were five and six, and Doyoung’s uncle had taken the two for a little outing to give their parents a break. Taeyong still argues whenever he hears the reasoning, which ends in his mum agreeing that he was indeed an angelic child. Doyoung doesn’t agree, but he keeps that to himself. They picked their first baubles that year – a candy cane for Doyoung and a snowman for Taeyong – and every year since, they take great delight in searching through the marketplace for the ‘perfect’ one.
Taeyong offered the idea to find one for each other, and Doyoung happily agreed.
“You go first,” Taeyong nudges Doyoung with his elbow, “If it’s ugly, I’m still in a good mood from the pretzel.”
Doyoung rolls his eyes, “Why do you just assume it will be ugly?”
Taeyong pulls a face, “Well… I have seen your past choices.”
“Shut up,” Doyoung mutters, but he can’t help smile when Taeyong laughs beside him.
He pulls up the bauble wrapped in tissue paper from the gift bag he is holding and hands it to Taeyong. He unwraps the bauble slowly.
“Oh wow,” Taeyong gasps and looks up at Doyoung, “It’s worse than I thought.” He picks it up and takes a closer look, “Pansies? You’re too much.”
“It’s the first thing I saw after we kissed that day,” Doyoung shrugs, and embarrassment seeps into his skin in the shade of pink. Taeyong’s peering into the clear, spherical bauble with a smile on his face. There are dried flowers inside, mainly consisting of bright pink pansies and a few others that Doyoung can’t really name. He knows it’s a little sappy and he knows Taeyong has every right to tease him for it, but he can’t help it.
“Mine just feels silly now,” Taeyong opens the bag he’s holding and pulls out an odd-shaped bauble. He moves his fingers for a clearer view.
Doyoung groans as soon as he sees is, “Really?”
Taeyong holds it up to his face and nods, “It looks like you.”
“Nothing like me!”
“Take it.”
“I don’t want it.”
“Baby…”
“Fine.” Doyoung holds his hand out and Taeyong places the little bunny bauble in his hand. It has white fur and a little top hat, and Doyoung doesn’t understand the comparison at all. He glares at Taeyong, but it doesn’t last too long. Taeyong giggles and presses a kiss on his cheek, mumbling, “Cute,” and Doyoung’s eyes soften.
“I hate you.” He sighs.
“Love you too.”
Doyoung’s heart is full.
--
now
Doyoung wants to leave.
His parents sit on either side of him, as if this is an intervention, and they’re gently explaining their plans to move soon. They found a house a few cities over that overlooks the hills and allows them the freedom to try new things. Doyoung is so thankful they stayed, and have constantly supported him for the past twenty-six years – he is aware of all the plans, dreams and resolutions that were thrown out of the window for him and his brother.
He tells them it’s alright to go, and that he’s happy for them. His mum knows he’s upset, but she doesn’t press, because it’s pointless. Of course he’s upset they’re leaving him, but didn’t he do the same? Complaining would only make him hypocritical, and he knows it’s their turn to live the life they’re imagining together.
In the end, he’s glad that his parents will be together, somewhere a few cities away, closer to their own respective families and happy. It just sucks that he has to lose them in the process.
“I’m going to miss you so much,” his mum whispers into his hair.
“No tears now,” Doyoung’s father warns, but his tone holds no malice, “We can save those for later.”
“Yes, yes,” she laughs and presses another kiss on Doyoung’s forehead, “Don’t worry. I won’t make you share a room with your brother in our new house.”
Doyoung frowns, “I didn’t even know you were considering the option.”
“Although it might be fun in the summer,” Doyoung’s dad comments, “Just like old times.”
“And you forget all the sleepless nights we had because of these two,” Doyoung’s mother squeezes his cheeks, and Doyoung whines, “arguing all the time.”
Doyoung smiles. They really did deserve the peace.
He excuses himself and fifteen minutes later, he finds himself standing idly on his front porch. He wanted to go for a walk, some fresh air to soothe his worried heart, but his legs won’t move. They refuse.
Doyoung sighs and sits down on the front step. He doesn’t want to leave.
“What are you doing?”
Doyoung looks up and Taeyong’s standing by the gate, a worried expression plastered on his face, “Are you okay?”
Words have forgone Doyoung, and his mind goes blank. He holds his arms open for Taeyong, a feeble request for a hug, and the latter runs over in an instant.
Doyoung falls into Taeyong’s embrace and they sit in these positions for a few minutes, with Taeyong’s fingers stroking through the tips of Doyoung’s hair and his face only a few inches away.
“I don’t want them to go,” Doyoung finally speaks. He’s whining, and it reminds him of being ten and begging for his parents not to take him to his grandparents for Christmas break. Taeyong was beside him, promising him they’d see each other in only a week, but Doyoung, stubborn as always, cried into his arms.
“Oh baby,” Taeyong soothes, “It’ll be okay. You’ll still see your parents all the time still.”
“I know…” Doyoung sighs, “I just thought I had so much more time with them. I missed them so much.”
“I understand the feeling,” Taeyong’s speaking to him with such softness in his voice, Doyoung feels the tears prickle in his eyes. He’s at a loss of words. Taeyong picks up on this and adds on, “Are you scared?”
Doyoung looks up, “A little.”
“What are you scared about?”
“It’s a big house, and I have to take care of it all on my own,” Doyoung mumbles, “Still need to fix the gate. The taps are leaky, the floorboards upstairs creaks, the light in the corridor is faulty.”
“What else?”
“I- I don’t know.”
“I know you’re lying,” Taeyong hums above his ear, and Doyoung sighs.
“Coming home at night, and no ones there to answer the door.” He whispers. “I’ll be all alone again.”
“You’re scared to be alone?” Taeyong’s eyes gaze into Doyoung’s, and he has nowhere else to hide.
“I know it’s stupid, but I’m tired of having to start over again,” Doyoung closes his eyes shut and sighs, “I don’t know anyone here that well anymore, and they were kind of my only connections.”
“I think you’re forgetting someone,” Taeyong muses. His thumb caresses Doyoung’s inner wrist, and his eyes soften at the touch. “I’m a bit offended.”
Doyoung’s bottom lip quivers slightly, “You’ll stay?”
“Where else would I go?”
His heart gives.
Little by little, his heartbeat steadies, and the cool press of Taeyong’s lips on his furthers this, remedying the heat pooling in Doyoung’s body. Just as he remembered, Taeyong tastes like warm rain on a summer’s day, the melting of ice cream on your tongue, and Doyoung clumsily chases the flavour with his lips. It makes Doyoung feels soft, light, so inexplicably him that it makes his head spin. Taeyong’s tongue swipes at his lips, barely enough to call it a lick, but it shoots Doyoung straight into the gates of heaven. He whines softly, and darts his own tongue in, and in that moment, he realises he could get lost in the flames if he isn’t too careful.
And yet, Doyoung doesn’t care. He can’t get enough. He grabs Taeyong by the collar and pulls him in deeper, only stopping when they become a tangle of tongue and skin. It hurts in the best possible way – a realisation of how in love with Taeyong he really is. Heart-achingly head-over-heels in love and the epiphany is so devastating and cruel his heart might burst.
“Oh my God…” Doyoung almost whimpers. He pushes himself out of Taeyong’s embrace and tumbles onto the ground. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s-“
He’s panicking. Doyoung stands up and frantically shakes his head, “No, you didn’t want this to happen and- I’m so sorry Taeyong.” His mind is racing and his thoughts are blurry. Tears leak from the corner of his eyes. He can’t believe he did this to Taeyong. Doyoung finds himself making a reach for his front door.
“Doyoung, wait, don’t go!”
It’s too late because he pulls open the door quickly and slips inside.
“Doyoung!” Taeyong shouts from outside, but he’s already running upstairs.
--
then (march 2017)
It’s a random Saturday afternoon when Doyoung receives an email with an update on his application.
He’s been accepted.
He should have smiled. He should have run downstairs and started screaming in joy, but he just turns to look at the framed photo on his bedside table and sighs.
Breaking the news isn’t easy. It doesn’t matter if his parents had hugged him tight and his brother cheered. He is dazed. Taeyong’s in his room now, and his mum is looking at him with a look he can’t decipher. Pity, he later realises.
She leaves the two of them on their own, and Taeyong perks up when the door closes. Doyoung can’t say the same.
“Come here. I missed you.” Doyoung slides closer to him, and he instantly knew Taeyong would figure out that something is wrong. He’ll easily see through the carefully displayed smile on his lips and the lack of kisses.
“What’s wrong?” Taeyong asks cautiously. Ah, Doyoung didn’t even last a minute. He doesn’t know where to start, but he feels sick. The pit at the bottom of his heart widens until it’s a blackhole and consumes him whole. He gulps. Taeyong’s expression is of concern, with the little furrow of his eyebrows and his lips quirked down, “Babe?”
“I applied to this programme. It’s like the one we saw at the job fair…” Taeyong’s face is still, but he nods slowly at the mention, and Doyoung sighs, “I got accepted. They said I could be accommodated in September after we graduate.”
Doyoung doesn’t say how far it is. He doesn’t mention that it’s a three-hour train journey and that they could see each other every weekend. He doesn’t reach out for Taeyong’s hand to pretend they’d be fine.
Taeyong already knows.
“Oh.” Taeyong’s face falls for a split second, and then he smiles. Doyoung thinks this hurts the most, watching Taeyong fake that he is okay. “I’m happy for you. This place… it’s too small for someone with big dreams. Someone like you, Doyoung.”
“You don’t have to lie to me, Taeyong,” Doyoung frowns, “I won’t go. If it makes you upset, I’ll stay.”
“I know you will.”
“So ask me,” Doyoung’s almost begging, “Ask me to stay for you.”
“You stayed here for me, already. You don’t think I know that?” Taeyong’s voice is strange, as if he’s admitting to a lie, “This place wasn’t ever in your initial choices for university but you changed your mind for me.”
Doyoung winces slightly. He didn’t know Taeyong had seen through him so clearly back them. “It was for me too. I wasn’t ready to go.”
“But you are now, right?” Taeyong doesn’t wait for Doyoung’s reply, and adds, “I stopped you once. I won’t do it again.”
“We have so much more now. We know so much more.” The desperation clings to every word Doyoung says.
Taeyong’s laugh is bitter, “I don’t want you to stay for me. I don’t want you to resent me one day because I was the reason you stayed.”
“I don’t want to go without you,” Doyoung’s voice shakes as he speaks, “I don’t want to be happy and not have you to share it with.”
Taeyong’s doesn’t say anything. Doyoung adds on, “Then come with me.”
It seems as if he’s contemplating it, but Taeyong shakes his head. “I can’t. I don’t want to leave my mum right now and… I’m okay here. It’s home.”
Doyoung is at a lack of words. It’s not a surprise – he’s not sure there is any word, or sentence, that can encompass how they feel and make it better. He finds himself staring at Taeyong’s fingers fiddling with his rings and looks up at the sound of Taeyong talking.
“I will always be happy for you,” Taeyong cups Doyoung’s cheeks in his hands, “Just promise me one thing.”
“Anything,” Doyoung whispers.
“When you’re out there, years from now, enjoying your life, please never regret the years that you did stay for me,” and in this moment, Taeyong looks so small, so lost, so helpless, that Doyoung’s heart breaks entirely.
His eyes soften, “I could, no- I will never regret you.”
It’s in that moment Taeyong finally cries. He sobs and sobs, and Doyoung cries too, because they both know they’re mourning a love that never had a chance to bloom.
--
now
“I’m so stupid.”
Doyoung is talking to no one in particular (he’s talking to himself).
“So stupid.”
He can’t believe he ran.
“Shit.” He yells.
He’s so stupid.
“Shut up!” Doyoung’s brother yells from the room next door. Doyoung recognises the playful nature in his voice, but his mood is too foul to joke along. Doyoung is shot back through time to when the two boys would bicker through their walls over some silly little issue (although back then, it was like the end of the world). Their mum would knock on both their doors and force them to sit together in front of the TV until they were friends again. They could never be mad at each other for too long.
However, Doyoung’s not looking for brotherly love right now, and shouts back, “Fuck off.”
It’s quiet for a few moments, and then his brother appears at the bedroom door, “Why are you so upset?”
“Leave me alone.” He glares at his brother, a warning to not enter the room.
His brother picks up on it instantly and stands cautiously at the door frame, “What’s wrong? Come on.”
Doyoung could never keep things from his brother for long, and finally sighs, “I did something stupid.”
“Yeah, I got that from the yelling. What was it?”
Doyoung looks up at his brother and frowns.
“Taeyong related?” he asks, “It is, right?” The pitch of his voice rises with every word he says, and it confuses Doyoung how he’s supposed to be the younger sibling.
“Fine.” Doyoung groans, extra loud to exaggerate his suffering, “I kissed him.”
A laugh comes from the door, “What’s the problem with that?”
“He doesn’t think we should be together anymore.”
The words sting as they leave his mouth.
“Are you sure?” His brother takes a step into the room, and Doyoung glares at him once more. He quickly steps back out and adds on, “He still stares at you like you found his lost puppy.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m serious, and it’s not like you to give up so easily.”
“I don’t want to upset him.” Doyoung visibly deflates. He doesn’t want to give up on Taeyong, but if Taeyong has asked him to forget their past, shouldn’t he respect those wishes?
“But isn’t he worth fighting for?”
Does their past really matter when all they have left right now is their future? Doyoung doesn’t know if he can ignore the stolen glances, the thump of his heart when Taeyong touches him, the ache in his chest to hear those three little words once again.
“You know what?” Doyoung looks up at his brother, who seems genuinely confused by Doyoung’s quick change in attitude.
“Yeah?”
“For the first time in your life, you’re correct.”
“Oh, fuck off.”
Doyoung walks up to where his brother stands and pulls him into a hug, “Thank you. Seriously.”
--
then (august 2017)
They sit in his room.
Doyoung’s decided to leave his room exactly the way it is. Only the closet is bare, with his clothes neatly folded in suitcases that have already been moved downstairs. He isn’t required for at least a week, but his brother offered to take him a few days early to settle and explore the city.
The silence is overwhelming Doyoung. Taeyong’s face is buried in Doyoung’s chest, which he is thankful for. These past few days, he has had trouble looking him in the eyes.
He has nothing to say. It’s not fair, and he knows it. He doesn’t understand why the world would pull him so far away, but he’s also aware that he can’t really blame the universe and its infinite power.
Taeyong’s hands reach for his face, and this snaps Doyoung out of his thoughts.
“Look at me,” Taeyong’s voice is hoarse from the crying, “Come on. Don’t be upset.”
Doyoung doesn’t know why his words trigger such an emotional reaction from him, but Doyoung can’t hold his tears back any longer.
“Baby.” Taeyong uses his hand to wipe the tears running down his cheek, “Please. We’re together today, at least.”
“What about tomorrow?” Doyoung’s in no position to ask such questions, but he can’t help it.
Taeyong doesn’t say anything. He just smiles. A cruel, twisted smile. A smile that knows fate doesn’t favour them and wishes the love they share could have been enough.
Doyoung sighs and hugs Taeyong tightly. He doesn’t ever want to forget the feeling of their bodies pressed together, and how they fit so perfectly, as if they are made for each other. Taeyong often jokes that they are, and Doyoung thinks how perfect it would be if he could hear Taeyong laugh one more time instead of cry.
Doyoung doesn’t think he’ll ever stop loving Taeyong, for Taeyong is the warm summer light that gently kisses his skins, the endless blue skies, filled with soft, white clouds that drift on by, the flicker of the stars that gleam overhead on days the sky is dark and cold. Doyoung could always push through, because he knew he’d have Taeyong to come home to, to melt away his worries with a single touch, to kiss into the middle of the night, breathless and giddy.
“I love you, Kim Doyoung,” Taeyong whispers into his ear, as if he can see the love pouring of Doyoung right now, “I love you, so much.”
Doyoung stares at him, and it overwhelms him, the love in Taeyong’s eyes, the gentleness behind every touch, the tears streaming down his face. “I love you.” He whispers back, words slipping out of his lips with such force he’s scared it will be the last time he can say them.
Taeyong nods slowly, “I know. I know… I do.” He looks away as he wipes away a tear, “At least I’ll know you’ll never find anyone better.” It’s a poor attempt at a joke, Doyoung knows.
“Don’t say that. There isn’t anyone else.” Doyoung pleads.
Taeyong sighs, “Don’t say that. Please, don’t leave here with empty promises.” His voice trembles, and Doyoung whimpers. He looks up at Doyoung, “One more hug?”
“Not the last,” Doyoung whispers into his hair.
--
now
As expected, Doyoung is faced with the presence of Taeyong’s door. This time, however, he isn’t shy about knocking. He hopes Taeyong’s mother isn’t home, because this is rather awkward to explain.
He bangs on the door again, and again, and again, and then shouts, “Taeyong. Please open the door.” He keeps knocking, falling into a little song and dance, until he realises this isn’t a game and yells again, “Taeyong!”
The door opens, and Taeyong jumps back at the sight of Doyoung’s fist.
“I’m not going to punch you!” Doyoung yells, and lowers his arm, “I was just knocking.”
Taeyong is in no mood to entertain and sighs, “Please just go.”
However, Doyoung’s stubbornness is strong, “No. I want to talk.” He demands. He knows he’s in no position to make such requests, but he cares very little about that.
“Just go,” Taeyong pleads, “I can’t do this right now,” and Taeyong looks tired. His eyes are puffy as if he’s been crying and his legs are shaking from the cold, “It’s too complicated and I’m tired.”
“Why isn’t it as simple as two people who love each other?” Doyoung’s angry. He could never be angry at Taeyong, no, but the rage creeps up on him until he’s choking from irritation. The world is so cruel.
Taeyong’s face falls. He stutters a little, lost in his thoughts. “Y- You… you broke my heart.” The words leave his lips with such despair that Doyoung almost regrets asking.
But he’s irrational in this moment, and the anger finally consumes him whole. “So you finally admit it.” He scoffs and takes a step back.
“I could never catch up to you,” Taeyong’s tears stream down his face, “Fuck, I love you too. It’s so frustrating!” Taeyong’s yelling now, “It’s not easy seeing you, not being able to touch you, kiss you.”
Doyoung’s breathing is shaky. He didn’t expect such a direct confession.
“Say something!” Taeyong begs, “Please, just, say something.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Do you ever?” Taeyong’s fingers hide into fists.
Doyoung wants to scream. “What was I supposed to do?” He asks.
“Not go.” Taeyong’s reply is quick, and his words drip with such bitterness it makes Doyoung shudder.
“You told me to go,” Doyoung quips back, “You said it was okay.”
“I know…” Taeyong groans, “I know I said that Doyoung, I loved… I love you.” Doyoung never imagined those words would be so painful to hear, “I didn’t think it would take you so long to come back to me. What did I do?”
It stings.
It stings, thinking that Taeyong spent all these years blaming himself for something so unrelated to him, “It had nothing to do with you.”
“Of course, it did!” Taeyong yells, “I wasn’t enough to make you feel happy here. I failed.” He holds back a cry, but that doesn’t stop the whimper from his lips.
“I came back for you,” Doyoung shouts, “I did. Please.”
He’s at a loss of words.
Taeyong shakes his head. Doyoung’s lost him. “I can’t do this right now.”
“Taeyong, please.”
“No,” Taeyong steps out of his house and pushes at Doyoung’s chest weakly, “Just go. You’re great at it.”
“I’m not leaving!” Doyoung wants to rip his hair out.
Taeyong laugh is twisted, and it sends shivers down Doyoung’s spine, “Now you won’t leave?” He shakes his head, “Fine! I am!”
Doyoung sighs and watches Taeyong slam his gate shut.
--
then (september 2017)
The air is cold against Doyoung’s cheeks. He texts a message to his mother that he has arrived. His finger hovers over Taeyong’s contact.
Dangerous territory.
Doyoung looks around. The sun is rising, and the streets are filled with people. It’s busy, even at 8 am. It’s nothing like the little city he’s left behind.
A sigh leaves his lips. His breath condenses in front of him. It puts a smile on his face.
He turns his phone off.
In the end, he lost the war.
--
now
It takes Doyoung a few hours to calm down. He wandered through the streets and tried his best to ignore the odd looks from strangers. So what if there’s a twenty-six year old man crying on the street? What’s their problem?
He has problems. Firstly, he’s one second from running into the road if one more mother looks at him with distaste. Secondly, he has little idea where Taeyong could have wandered off too. The dusk is slowly settling in, and the thought of Taeyong being lost worries his heart.
Doyoung finds himself walking into the park. A lot of memories resonate here, in the stones where they’d run through when they were seven and obsessed with their toy cars, or when they were fifteen and sixteen, bunking from statistics to doodle in their books under the trees. The first time Doyoung ever kissed Taeyong, and the day after when he went back to smell the sweet flowers that allowed him the chance to do so.
He's thankful when he sees Taeyong. He’s sitting on the bench, positioned as if he is watching the swans, but Doyoung can tell his mind is elsewhere.
“Is this seat taken?” Doyoung asks. Taeyong looks up.
He doesn’t say a word, so Doyoung takes it as an invitation to sit down.
“Talk to me,” Doyoung tries his best to not sound desperate, but it sneaks into the way he says “Please.”
Taeyong looks despondent.
“Taeyong?”
“You’re stupid.” Taeyong snaps.
Those aren’t the words Doyoung expects, and he fumbles through his next word, “O-Okay?”
“You’re stupid.” Taeyong repeats his words slowly, “Why did you run away when we kissed?”
Why is Doyoung always speechless in these moments?
“You always run away when things get scary. What about the people you leave? You left me.” Taeyong’s bottom lip shakes, “I tried so hard to help you. To be there for you. I didn’t know what else to do but let you go.”
“I was a mess, Taeyong.” Doyoung’s heart aches, “I barely knew who I was and I couldn’t give myself to you, to us, without figuring it out. You didn’t deserve that. And you didn’t deserve me leaving too. I’m so sorry. You never gave up on me, you believed in me when there was nothing inside of me to believe in.
Taeyong’s not looking at him anymore, so Doyoung guides his face to meet his with the touch of his hand.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I took so long. That you spent years thinking that I didn’t love you enough and that you weren’t good enough, when you’ve been the one keeping me grounded all this time. You never left my heart, Taeyong. I’m so sorry for putting you through this. I failed you. I hurt you.”
“Doyoung…” Taeyong struggles finding the right words, so Doyoung continues speaking.
“I love you.” Doyoung pronounces each syllable. “I loved you then and I love you more now. I didn’t think it was possible to fall deeper, and then I came home, my real home. I’m going to love you for as long as I can, for as long as time goes on.
I have so much more to give you. I am so much more now. Please give me a chance.
Let me prove it. I just want to be worthy of you, at least.”
Taeyong grazes his cheek softly with his thumb, “Baby…”
“I’ll scream it to anyone who can hear me.” Doyoung stands up, determined.
“Wait-“
“No!” He shakes his head furiously, “I’m going to tell everyone! Listen up!” Doyoung yells, and he walks a little from the bench before flailing his arms in the air.
“Oh God.” Taeyong hides behind his hands, but Doyoung doesn’t miss the red creeping up his neck.
“I love you Lee Taeyong,” Doyoung screams into the air, “I fucking love you. I love you! I lo-”
He’s cut off by Taeyong’s lips. The kiss is sudden enough that Doyoung almost falls over, a little taken aback by Taeyong’s immediate move. He feels Taeyong’s lips stir, moist and wet, moving hastily but still gentle and cautious. Doyoung settles his hand on Taeyong’s hip and pulls him closer until there’s no space left between them. His heart is thumping loud in his chest, but he can’t hear, can’t feel, can’t see anything but Taeyong right now.
They kiss some more and although messy, it stays velvety and warm, their lips crashing lightly out of warmth and affection and both have never felt so over the moon.
”I love you,” Taeyong murmurs in between kisses, “I’ve loved you for so long.” It’s the most alluring yet gut-wrenching thing Doyoung has ever heard coming out of those lips, and he feels the same.
They break the kiss, exchanging their hot breaths in the small gap of air between them, and God, Taeyong looks awfully beautiful from this viewpoint, his lips wet and ears red and Doyoung just wants to keep a hold on him forever.
“I’m so sorry for the way I acted. I just want the best for you,” Taeyong whispers.
“You are the best for me. I love you so much, okay?” Doyoung assures, “It’s always been you, and it always will be you.”
Taeyong giggles, and waves his pinkie in Doyoung’s face, “Never leave again, then.”
Doyoung hooks their fingers together and pulls Taeyong in for another kiss.
“Promise.”
--
forever
The morning is his new favourite time. The crisp, cold air hitting his flushed cheeks while the clouds pass through until the sun ascends. Some days, if he’s awake early enough, the colours will erupt over the sky. Those days are his favourite. Pink and purple streaks glazing the horizon, with a burst of bright orange and red, like fire. It’s in those moments that Doyoung feels so small, as if the world could swallow him whole.
Yet, the feeling almost instantly disappears when he turns his head and sees Taeyong watching him too.
They’re still the same, holding hands in the streets, soft kisses under trees, yearning glances of goodbye, but they’re not. doyoung learns so many new things about taeyong, such as he’s awful at ping pong, he looks too good in a suit and tie, and the small bunny tattoo on the front if his shoulder is ever so kissable.
“It was a drunken mistake,” Taeyong whines one day as Doyoung traces it with his finger, “I was missing you so bad.”
They’re still the same, loving each other so intensely, so completely, as if every kiss is their last, as if every touch is their first, but they’re not, as their excitement is so new, so profound, and so exhilarating, he’s left breathless every time.
“Cold?” Taeyong asks, and he leans up on his tiptoes. Doyoung bends down a little, and giggles softly as Taeyong pulls his beanie down, “Is that better?”
Doyoung nods, “My hand is cold too.”
“Oh no!” Taeyong gasps, so loud that some passers-by look at them with confusion, but Doyoung pays no attention, because how could he, when Taeyong’s linking their fingers together, “Is that better, my bunny?”
“You always know what to do.” Doyoung pulls Taeyong into a hug, and Taeyong happily reciprocates.
They continue walking afterwards.
They’re in the big city. Only for a few days, because all of Doyoung’s stories made Taeyong ever-so curious, and Doyoung wants to show him every spot he’s ever imagined kissing Taeyong at. They’re close to spot number seven when Taeyong stops.
“Oh wow,” he gapes, and Doyoung follows his line of sight, “We need to go.”
“To… Starbucks?” Doyoung asks warily, “We have one back home.”
“It’s not this big!” Taeyong exclaims, and tugs Doyoung in the direction of the building. He just laughs and follows along.
It’s warm inside, with the scent of coffee beans and syrup floating in the air. It makes Doyoung miss the taste of Taeyong’s lips, and the latter seems to pick up on this, pressing a small kiss on his cheek.
They walk out twenty minutes later, empty coffee cups left behind and hands still linked.
“They have so much more drinks than our one,” Taeyong frowns, “Big city people get everything.” Doyoung can’t help but laugh at his complaints, and Taeyong frown deepens, “Is this funny to you?”
“You know what this city doesn’t have?” Doyoung asks.
Taeyong thinks for a second, and then shakes his head.
“You.”
Taeyong’s cheeks tinge pink immediately, and he whines, “I hate you.”
Doyoung believes otherwise from the way Taeyong pushes him against the wall and kisses him afterwards.