Chapter Text
“My grandmother is sick.”
Johnny pauses, glass snowman ornament in his hands, “What?”
Taeyong regurgitates the long text from his mother, sent early this morning to the family’s chat. It details their concern of his maternal grandmother’s deteriorating health and the advice of doctors, all of whom seem to be concerned that she won’t be making it past the new year.
“She’s - ill.”
Johnny hangs the ornament quickly and moves to sit by Taeyong’s side, long arms offering a warm hug, “I’m sorry to hear that.”
Taeyong takes it, not really knowing what to say. He’d gone home last Christmas and his grandmother looked perfectly healthy for seventy. There was no way she wasn’t going to be around in a matter of months - he grew up mostly under her care, she can’t be gone.
“What’re you going to do?” Yuta asks from his spot on the floor, a pile of tangled Christmas lights draped over his lap. On his head is a dusty old Santa hat, fluffy white hems graying, “Didn’t you plan on skipping out going home this year?”
Taeyong nods, moving to rest his head on Johnny’s shoulder, “I was going to tell them about staying in the city for a work event, but now I -” he stops, daring not to even say the words.
“We could go back with you for Christmas,” Johnny says. Yuta nods, “Grandma Lee’s always treated us like her own grandsons.”
Over their years in university, whenever the chance arose, Johnny and Yuta never passed the opportunity to follow Taeyong back to his hometown - a two-hour drive, an hour if Yuta’s behind the wheel - since their own families were too far away for shorter visits. It’s been a while since they last took a trip down; they’d graduated university over close to two years ago now, far too busy with their new lives and full-time jobs to see Grandma Lee.
But the more Taeyong considers it, the more a trip back home and a break from the city’s starting to sound like a perfect way to spend Christmas.
Yuta resumes his work on untangling the lights, “Jungwoo’s going on vacation anyway, and it’d really get him off my back if I went with you guys on a trip too.”
Johnny clicks his tongue, “He just doesn’t want you to be alone during Christmas.”
“I know that,” Yuta says. “How did you know?”
“I have my sources.”
“Mark?”
Johnny scoffs, then resigns, “Yes.”
Yuta rolls his eyes, “You’ll bring Jaehyun, won’t you?”
“Can I?”
“Sure,” Taeyong shrugs. “I’m sure my mother wouldn’t mind a few extra heads at the table. She’s always talking about how hard she slaves over the stove - might as well have a couple more mouths to feed.”
Johnny shifts against the couch, “Would it be awkward if I did?”
“No,” Taeyong bites on his nail, already an angry pink. “Why would it be awkward?”
They trade looks Taeyong can’t decipher. He sits up, looking at Johnny intently now, the easier target between the two of his best friends.
Johnny fidgets again, eyes anywhere but meeting Taeyong’s, “Well, I mean - if Jaehyun comes along, and Yuta - gets to talk about Jungwoo. You’ll, you know, you’ll be…”
Oh.
“Alone?” Taeyong finishes for him. Johnny looks to Yuta for help, who shrugs, head bowed low, a sudden interest in the tangled-up wires. Taeyong sighs, running a hand through his hair roughly, “I can’t believe you guys are still tiptoeing around me.”
“We’re not tiptoeing.” Yuta amends, “We’re walking the line. Carefully.”
“Same difference.” Taeyong pushes himself off the couch, picking up a handful of white and silver sparkled tinsel as he goes, “It’s been months. You don’t have to treat me like a child.”
“We’re not,” Johnny says this time. He prods at Taeyong’s thigh with the flat of his socked foot, “We’re being considerate.”
“Well, stop it,” Taeyong swats Johnny’s leg away with tinsel, rolls his eyes when Johnny groans in pain. He turns to fit a string of silver nicely along the branches of the fake fir tree, “I don’t need you guys to be considerate around me, especially not about this.”
Yuta sighs loudly, “Stop being so mighty about it.” Taeyong throws him a glare, to which he promptly disregards, “It’s been a tough six months for you - you know it, I know it, Johnny knows it. Forgive us for trying to be considerate of your feelings.”
“And I’m saying you don’t have to do that for me.” Taeyong kills the urge to raise his voice; if he did, it’d only serve as a point to his unforgiving friends, “I’m not a child. I can handle having feelings.”
“Alright,” Yuta yields, in a tone that doesn’t at all feel like a yield. He sets the lights aside, pulling his knees to his chest, “What exactly are you going to say to Grandma Lee when she asks why Kim Doyoung isn’t glued to your hip?”
The name shoots a shiver up Taeyong’s spine. All at once he’s filled with anger and sadness and every single emotion known to man, snippets of memories and flashing images flickering before his very eyes.
Not now.
He blinks, “What do you mean?”
“She’s obviously going to ask about him.” Yuta tilts his head, taunting, and Taeyong is reminded of why he shouldn’t ever try going against his best friend, “He was, by far, her favorite out of all of us. If we’re making a trip back, don’t you think she’d figure it to be odd if it were just the three of us?”
Johnny clears his throat, “And Jaehyun.”
“And Jaehyun,” Yuta amends.
Taeyong pulls a little too hard on the tinsel and a couple of pieces fall off. He flicks the shreds of white and silver to the ground before Johnny can point it out. He shrugs, and it takes every cell in his body to feign nonchalance, “I’ll tell her the truth.”
“Really?” Johnny chimes in, more incredulous than scathing, “You’re finally going to tell your family that you’ve broken up with Doyoung?”
The words - he’s repeated it to himself a thousand times over, We’re broken up, we’re broken up, we’re broken up, but stupidly enough - they still hurt. A grip returns around his heart, one that’d left him alone for days now, coming and going; it returns cold and hard, unrelenting.
“It’s a matter of time I did.” Taeyong yanks another string of tinsel from the box of decorations and Yuta catches the Rudolph plush ornament that flies out with it, “They’re going to find out someday.”
Yuta hangs the ornament on a low branch, “And you think telling them over holly jolly Christmas and Grandma Lee’s deathly illness is a good idea?” He turns to Johnny, “Forget the Grinch, let’s just send Lee Taeyong instead.”
Taeyong feels the frustration bubbling; he’s spent the last half a year shoving his thoughts and feelings into a tightly sealed bottle and he has no intention of opening it today or any time soon, for that matter.
Whatever happened has already happened. There’s no point in discussing it ever again. Seriously.
He shoves the tinsel a little too roughly into the Christmas tree, “You’re making a big deal out of nothing - they’re not going to care.”
“You’re either lying to me or to yourself. Or - you’re an even bigger idiot than I thought,” Yuta jerks his chin at Taeyong’s crimson cheeks, “Take your pick.”
“He’s just like any other ex I’ve -”
“You’re an idiot,” Yuta snorts. He starts to untangle the wires again, “You brought Kim Doyoung home three years in a row. He was there when your sister got married, he was there when she gave birth to the twins, and are we forgetting about how he sang for your parents’ thirtieth wedding anniversary?”
Taeyong steps strategically aside to shield himself from Yuta’s gaze, begging the pressure behind his eyes to subside. Already, his throat’s beginning to close and his mouth’s starting to dry.
Honestly, he’s worried he’ll stay like this forever - ruined by the mere mention of Kim Doyoung.
“Alright, alright,” Johnny says, breaking the tension. He mouths something at Yuta, but all it does is make Yuta roll his eyes. “Let’s talk dates - should we go down the week of Christmas? I have some days off stashed up, I wouldn’t mind spending a little longer than a weekend with the Lees.”
“Me too,” Yuta nods. “Most of the production’s planning will be done by the week before Christmas anyway, and I’ve been working on that for months - I’m definitely up for a vacation.”
Taeyong shakes the extra weight of his heart and chooses to deal with it later, “I’ll ring my mother tonight.” He ruffles the tinsel, “She’ll be glad to see the both of you again. And Jaehyun.”
Yuta opens his mouth to say something but Johnny throws a plush snowflake in his face, making the younger boy splutter glitter. Taeyong can’t find it in him to laugh at Yuta’s misery, suddenly wracked with a burden on his shoulders.
How is he going to explain not going home with Doyoung?
They’d been dating for five blissful years up to June of this year and - as much as he hated agreeing with Yuta and Johnny on this - they do make very valid points. Not only are his family going to ask about Doyoung and his absence, they’re going to be asking about Doyoung.
How Doyoung’s been coping with his stressful final year at the university, how Doyoung’s days have been now that he’s close to graduating, is he going to be looking for a full-time job, is he considering further studies, are they going to move in together like they planned to, or are they going to stay at Taeyong’s place like they were leaning towards, and what about marriage?
All the questions Taeyong wants answered too, all the questions he would have had the answers to if they were still dating.
But they’re not anymore, so he doesn’t.
And that is that.
--
“Hey mom.”
“Darling!” the video feed is terrible because she’s swinging the phone around, but Taeyong knows better than to try and correct her. He waits until she settles on the couch, speaking at too loud a volume, “How are you, sweetie?”
“Great,” Taeyong says, ridiculous even to his own ears. He adjusts the phone’s angle and lowers the volume by a couple of bars, “I’m actually calling to talk to you about grandma and -”
“Oh honey,” she sighs, lines on her forehead deepening. Taeyong’s heart pangs at the sight of his mother hurting, “Doctor Jung says her health’s deteriorating fast. Says it’s the worst she’s ever been.”
Taeyong takes a deep breath, “I know, that’s why I’m calling. I wanted to tell you that I’m going to -”
“She keeps asking for you, you know,” she interrupts, pulling the phone close to her face. Taeyong remembers why he hasn’t called home lately. She’s quick with the guilt-trip, as always, “Keeps asking when you’re coming back, when you’re going to see her again.”
“I’ll be back this Christmas,” Taeyong announces, before she can say more. Her eyes grow wide and she gushes at how amazing that is. He nods, “I called to ask if it’s alright for Yuta and Johnny to come along. Along with Jaehyun.”
“Of course, sweetie, they’re always welcomed here,” she adjusts her glasses, “but we might not have enough rooms to host since your sister needs the extra room for the twins.”
Taeyong’s nose twitches at the thought of seeing those three-year-old rascals again. He brushes it away, “That’s fine, I’m sure they can just find an Airbnb or something.”
“Oh, this is just lovely, Taeyong-ah,” she stands, shaking the feed along as she scurries into the kitchen to fumble around, speaking excitedly, “Your grandmother will be so happy to see you, everyone will be! We haven’t seen you in over a year, we miss you so much around here.”
Taeyong melts a little, “I miss you guys too.”
“And we miss Doyoung too, of course!”
He freezes up again.
Right.
“Actually, about that -”
“Where is he?” she glances at the corners, surveying Taeyong’s empty room. It’s been empty for a while now. She frowns, “Isn’t it well past dinner time? Has he been busy with school lately?”
“Erm, well, actually -”
“What am I talking about, of course he’s busy,” she laughs. “A smart kid, that boy - your grandmother’s always bragging to her friends at the park about how she’s got a grandson lined up to be a famous singer back in the city.”
Under the table, Taeyong wrings his hands together.
“Oh, honey, we really do miss seeing you and Doyoung! The last time you both visited was so long ago - he’ll be coming to visit too, won’t he?”
And Taeyong - loses it. Loses his mind, loses all concept of reality, loses all memory of the last sixth months because just the thought of spending Christmas with Doyoung - it’s enough to have tears rush to his eyes.
Just another day with Doyoung.
Just one more day together.
Please.
Taeyong digs his nails into his palm, blood rushing, “Yeah.” The name burns like hot lead, “Doyoung’ll be coming with.”
“Fantastic!”
She goes on another spiel, but Taeyong can’t focus.
Why on God’s green earth did he say that? He hasn’t seen even a sliver of Doyoung’s hair in the last six months - what the hell is he going on about Doyoung tagging along for a week-long trip to the countryside? If there’s anything he could say with complete certainty right this second: Doyoung is not going to agree to spending a week with an ex-boyfriend - or worse, a week with Taeyong.
He tries to get his body to work, tries to speak, tries to say, He’s not coming. We broke up. We’re nothing now.
“I’ll have to get everything ready! Oh my goodness,” his mother smiles warmly, “My sons are coming home in two weeks. Your grandmother will be so pleased - I’ll have to tell her right now, she’ll be ecstatic.”
“Okay,” is all Taeyong manages weakly.
“Alright, call again soon, honey. I love you!”
“Love you.”
The line goes dead.
In his chest, Taeyong’s heart feels the same.
--
Taeyong knows he’s safe. It isn’t like he’s dangling off a building by the foot, it isn’t like he’s on the verge of falling into a vat of tar. If he were chased by a pack of wolves, he knows both Johnny and Yuta are waiting in another café a block down from where he is now - though their usefulness before flesh-eating wolves remain undetermined.
He isn’t in any physical danger.
But sitting in the café where he once spent most of his mornings and evenings in, in the café he once spent all those times pretending to work on portfolios, in the café he once thought to be home. Sitting in this place, rightfully his spot, Taeyong feels - awkward.
Out of place. Exposed. Like he’s in a spot meant for someone else now.
He lets this boil until a mug is set down before him. His vision zeroes in on the hand that lingers for a second, the all too familiar silver chain bracelet greets him a warm hello. As quick as it’d appeared, the hand is drawn and Taeyong feels a piece of his heart chip away as it goes.
“Did you need anything else?”
Taeyong hooks his ankles together, gaze trained to the steam rising from the mug. Everything in his mind is telling him to just get up and get out of here, but he’s immediately reminded of the reason he stepped foot here in the first place.
The first time in the last six months.
“I came to ask for a favor.”
Taeyong stubbornly keeps his eyes on the mug, refusing to deal with the fact that Kim Doyoung is standing over him now, looming with a sort of terrifying unknown Taeyong can’t read anymore.
Doyoung pockets his hands, “I’m working.”
I know, Taeyong wants to say. I’ve waited in this café for you every single day for the better half of last year.
“Why don’t you take fewer shifts?” Taeyong had said, heart twanging at the sight of Doyoung’s darkened under eyes and sallow cheeks. He carded his fingers through Doyoung’s hair, “Just at least until Finals are over.”
“Can’t,” Doyoung murmured. He leaned into Taeyong’s touch, fingers twisted in the hem of Taeyong’s ratty sleep shirt, “Manager Jung hates it when we do that.”
Taeyong rolled his eyes, “He hates it when you take a much needed, well-deserved break?”
“You know what I mean,” Doyoung sighed. He turned to bury his nose in Taeyong’s shirt, inhaling deeply, “Plus, we’re short handed.”
“I’m not surprised,” Taeyong smoothened Doyoung's hair, tucking a tuft behind his ear. A smile creeped through when Doyoung’s ear turned crimson, “What about just calling in sick?”
Doyoung cracked an eye open to stare up at his conniving boyfriend, “And lie?”
“Like you've never lied before.”
“I don't,” Doyoung turned away again, breathing so deeply it started to tickle. “Not if I can help it.”
“It’ll just be a minute,” Taeyong lies, knowing very well this isn’t going to be a minute-long conversation. He sits a little straighter, desperately closing the distance between them, “It’s important.”
Doyoung stares at him, devoid of emotion, “What is it?”
“Could you -” Blood rushes to Taeyong’s face, embarrassed or upset or helpless or a mishap combination of all three, “Could you sit down?”
Doyoung starts to shake his head, checks his wristwatch, “I just got off my break and Changmin has to go on his soon, so -”
“Please.” It’s half a question, half a desperate plea; Taeyong swallows thickly when Doyoung’s lips press into a thin line, “I wouldn’t bother you if it wasn’t important. I promise.”
Your promises mean nothing to me.
Taeyong cringes inwardly, hearing Doyoung’s hoarse voice in his head. Six months later and Taeyong still remembers every single second of their last night together, replayed it over and over, like a broken VHS cassette, tape rolling out the sides.
Doyoung, to his credit, is nicer now about it than Taeyong expected. He sighs loudly, pulling the chair across Taeyong free and sitting in it with a huff. He folds his arms across his chest, jerks his chin up once to have Taeyong start speaking.
“Christmas is coming,” Taeyong blurts out. He withers when Doyoung says nothing, “My family - we have that annual gathering coming up.”
“So?”
Taeyong looks up then, heart twisting at the way Doyoung’s looking at him. Like Taeyong doesn’t matter anymore, like nothing he’s saying could possibly be worth Doyoung’s time.
Doyoung watches him, dark hair falling neatly across his forehead, perfectly framing the sharp lines of his face. He looks exactly as Taeyong remembers - maybe even better - with the navy blue apron tied snugly around his waist over a crisp white tee.
Taeyong lets his gaze drop back to Doyoung’s hands, fingers tapping impatiently as he continues to flounder. They’re as elegant as ever, long fingers dexterous and yes, the kind of hands Taeyong used to love holding in his own.
The sight twists the knife in Taeyong’s chest. He remembers how those hands used to feel - cool against his skin, warm when interlocked with his, steady when they traced soothing patterns against his back during sleepless nights.
But now, his eyes catch on the absence of the silver Cartier ring that used to sit on Doyoung’s ring finger, the faint indentation long since faded.
Taeyong swallows hard, realizing his own ring on his left hand is now meaningless without its counterpart. The absence feels glaring, almost louder than the silence stretching between them.
It’s cruel, Taeyong thinks, how someone can still look so achingly familiar yet feel completely out of reach. And as Doyoung finally speaks, cool and detached, the tiny part of Taeyong that hoped things might still be okay shatters all over again.
“Is that all?”
Taeyong wrings his hands together under the table, “Can you come home with me?” Doyoung’s eyes widen almost comically, lips parting to form a tiny o. Taeyong takes the advantage to go on, “My grandmother - I haven’t told them that we - we broke up.”
His voice cracks on the last word and that’s enough to snap Doyoung back to reality. He sits a little straighter and stares at his hands now fallen in his lap, seemingly thinking over Taeyong’s plea.
“You mean, you haven’t told them that you broke us up.”
Taeyong knew it was coming but it still hurt, driving the knife in his heart further into his chest. He closes his eyes and runs both hands through his hair, “I’m not here to talk about that.”
“Clearly,” Doyoung scoffs. He looks back up now, eyes a shade darker than it was before, “So, what? You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend again?”
“Yes,” Taeyong says, hating the way a warmth bloomed in his chest at the word boyfriend. He grabs hold of the hot chocolate but doesn’t bring it to his lips, “I know it’s a big ask and I wouldn’t have if it were a normal gathering, but my grandmother is sick.”
Doyoung blinks, “She’s sick?”
Taeyong feels a pinch of guilt, “The doctors said she might not make it through Christmas, and I - I just thought -”
“Fine,” Doyoung cuts in. He closes his eyes, “Fine, okay.”
“Okay?” Taeyong almost squeaks. His heart races for no reason, no reason at all, “You’ll do it?”
“Just don’t expect anything more than the lie,” Doyoung finishes sharply. His eyes snap open, and the weight of his gaze feels like a slap, “We’re doing this for your grandmother. That’s it.”
Taeyong’s stomach twists, the warmth in his chest instantly cooling. He shouldn’t have expected anything else, but the finality in Doyoung’s tone stings more than he wants to admit. He forces a small nod, gripping the mug tighter in his hands, heat almost scalding his palms.
“Right,” Taeyong mumbles. “For my grandmother.”
For a moment, neither of them speaks. The clinking of dishes and murmurs of other customers fill the silence between them, but Taeyong can’t shake the feeling that it’s deafeningly loud. Doyoung looks away, arms crossed again, lips pressed into a thin line. The tension is unbearable, heavy like a weight Taeyong can’t ever lift.
“Okay,” Doyoung finally says, softer this time. He stands, the chair scraping against the floor, and adjusts his apron, “When do we leave?”
Taeyong blinks, caught off guard by how quickly things are moving. “Uh… Wednesday, two weeks from now. Just over the weekend, we’ll be back on Monday,” fumbling with his words. “I’ll pick you up.”
Doyoung nods, already turning towards the counter. “I’ll text you my address,” he says over his shoulder, impersonal, like he’s doing Taeyong a favor in the most transactional way possible.
And just like that, the conversation is over.
Doyoung is gone, back behind the counter, where he starts taking an order as if the past ten minutes hadn’t just reopened every wound Taeyong thought he’d buried. Taeyong stares down at his untouched hot chocolate, its sweetness doing nothing to soothe the bitterness spreading through him.
He should feel relieved that Doyoung agreed.
But instead, all he feels is a hollowness that he can’t seem to shake.
--
Taeyong parks the car in front of the brownstone, double-checking the address Doyoung had texted him.
It’s a quiet street, lined with leafless trees that stretch toward the gray morning sky. The building itself is beautiful, its reddish-brown facade softened by time, with wrought-iron railings framing the steps. A planter by the front door holds a few hardy winter blooms, their colors muted by frost.
It’s the kind of place Taeyong used to imagine Doyoung thriving in - polished, welcoming, but detached in a way that keeps everything at arm’s length.
He tightens his grip on the steering wheel, heart already racing at the thought of seeing Doyoung again. It feels strange, being here.
Not so long ago, they’d woken up in the same bed, covers pulled over to Taeyong’s side of the bed. They’d shared hurried breakfasts, bickered about who left the dishes out from the night before. They’d shared kisses goodbye, Doyoung reminding him to have lunch and to please not skip out on meals.
But now, this part of Doyoung’s life feels like a closed chapter Taeyong isn’t invited to read.
Doyoung emerges from the brownstone a moment later, carrying two drink trays and a neatly packed bag slung over one shoulder. His hair is tucked under a mustard beanie, and the thick winter coat is the one he’s had for years; a black down jacket that’s as oversized as it is cozy.
Taeyong’s stomach flips as Doyoung spots him and walks toward the car, easily recognizing Taeyong’s old Mini Cooper, a beaten down ride they’d shared so many moments in.
When Doyoung climbs into the passenger seat, the familiar scent of coffee fills the car. It’s from the café, Taeyong recognizes the sleeves.
“Morning,” Doyoung says, smooth and calm, as if this is any other day.
“Morning,” Taeyong replies, clearing his throat when it comes out too soft. He nods toward the drink trays, “You came prepared.”
Doyoung sets them on the center console, pulling out a cup and handing it to him, “Hot chocolate for you. As per usual.”
Taeyong takes it, fingers brushing briefly against Doyoung’s. The warmth of the cup seeps into his hands, but it’s the gesture itself that makes his chest ache. He hadn’t expected this - hadn’t expected Doyoung to remember, much less go out of his way.
“Thanks,” he says quietly, lifting the lid to take a sip.
It’s perfect, just as he remembers.
Doyoung shrugs, pulling his own coffee from the tray, “Figured we shouldn’t start the trip with you complaining about the coffee being too bitter.”
The attempt at levity makes Taeyong smile faintly, but it also brings a pang of longing. These small, thoughtful gestures - this ease between them - were what he missed most. Doyoung had always been good at making him feel cared for in ways that didn’t demand attention.
“So,” Doyoung says, leaning back against the seat, getting comfortable, “how are we playing this?”
Taeyong takes another sip, stalling for a moment before responding, “We’ll keep it simple. They know we’ve been busy, so just… stick to surface-level stuff. Don’t overthink it.”
Doyoung raises an eyebrow, “Right, because pretending to be in love with my ex is just so straightforward.”
Taeyong laughs, despite himself, “I mean, we were convincing for five years. What’s one more weekend?”
The words come out lightly, but they linger between them, heavier than Taeyong intended. Doyoung doesn’t reply immediately, instead turning to look out the window.
“Anyway,” Taeyong adds after a beat too late, desperate to fill the silence, “how’s the cafe? You still part-time?”
Doyoung glances back at him, expression softening, “Yeah, for now. It’s a couple of months to graduation so my brother wants me to take it easy on the side gigs.”
“Right, you mentioned moving in with him,” Taeyong says, glances at the brownstone through the rearview mirror. “It’s nice. Feels like you.”
Doyoung looks surprised for a moment, then shrugs, “It’s fine. The neighborhood’s quiet and he’s barely home, so it works.”
Taeyong nods, chewing on his bottom lip. He can’t live without knowing, “And you? How are you? Really?”
Doyoung hesitates, eyes narrowing slightly, trying to gauge Taeyong’s sincerity, “I’m fine, hyung. It’s been… an adjustment, but I’m okay.”
Taeyong wants to press further, to ask what okay really means, but he stops himself. He doesn’t have the right to dig anymore, not after everything.
Doyoung changes the subject, nodding toward the backseat, “What’s with all the luggage?”
“Yuta, Johnny, and Jaehyun’s. Something about not having enough space for the bags and everyone in Johnny’s car,” Taeyong replies, relieved at the shift in focus.
Doyoung raises an eyebrow, “And they’re on board with this whole plan?”
“They’re more on board with it than I am,” Taeyong admits with a dry laugh. “They think it’s… entertaining, I guess. Yuta called it a Christmas rom-com and he’s been making jokes nonstop.”
“Of course he has,” Doyoung mutters, shaking his head.
The conversation lulls again, and Taeyong starts the car, pulling away from the curb. The quiet between them this time feels different - less tense, more reflective. Taeyong glances at Doyoung out of the corner of his eye, taking in the way he cradles his coffee, the way the morning light catches on his profile.
And Taeyong realizes, as they drive toward the highway, that no matter how much he tries to convince himself this is just for the weekend, some part of him is already bracing for the pain of saying goodbye again.
“What else do I need to know?” Doyoung asks. They’re up on one of the highways, following a stream of cars all probably heading home for the holidays. He leaves his drink in the center cup holder, “Did you decide to renew the lease of the apartment?”
Taeyong’s heart aches. It’d been one of the pain points, whether or not they’d sign a lease together under both their names, effectively tying them together into… marriage. Now, Taeyong glances at Doyoung again, watches him shed his jacket as if the topic he’d chosen were the weather.
“I did,” Taeyong says to the roads. “Just a year.”
Doyoung makes a non-committal noise, “What about work? Oh Minjae still on your nerves?”
You remembered? Taeyong swallows the question entirely. “Yeah, he is,” Taeyong laughs softly, the sound edged with disbelief. He grips the steering wheel tightly, as though the conversation might veer out of control if he lets himself relax.
“Minjae’s been pushing for these ridiculous deadlines,” Taeyong continues, forces himself to sound casual. “I told him he’s going to give the whole team a collective burnout, but, you know, it’s Minjae.”
Doyoung hums in response, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips, “Sounds about right. He used to call you at the weirdest hours. I still remember when he interrupted our anniversary dinner.”
The memory flickers between them like a fragile spark. Taeyong glances over, his chest tightening at the way Doyoung’s expression softens, just for a moment, before the walls come back up.
“Yeah,” Taeyong says quietly. With a small laugh, “You were so mad, you didn’t even let me answer the phone. Told him I was indisposed.”
Doyoung laughs under his breath, but it’s brief, like he’s afraid of letting himself indulge too much. He picks up his coffee again, taking a sip, “Well, someone had to make sure you didn’t turn into a workaholic. You’d have been at the office 24/7 if I let you.”
Taeyong doesn’t reply immediately, his throat tight. It’s true - Doyoung had been his anchor in so many ways, pulling him back when he started to drift too far into his own head.
And now, without him, Taeyong realizes he’s been floundering more than he’d like to admit.
“What about you?” he asks, quieter now. “You said you’re taking it easy on the gigs. Is it what you wanted?”
Doyoung hesitates, his fingers brushing over the seam of his jeans as he thinks. “It’s... something,” he says finally. “I’ve been singing more, actually. My brother’s friend runs this studio nearby, and he asked me to help with some recordings. It’s not much, but it’s been good to have that again.”
Taeyong’s heart twists at the thought of Doyoung singing, of the way his voice could fill a room and pull Taeyong into a world where nothing else mattered.
“That’s great,” Taeyong says, knowing there’s not an ounce of mirth in his words. “You always said you wanted to get back into music.”
“I did,” Doyoung replies, his gaze distant now as he stares out the window. “It’s been nice to have that piece of me again. I’d forgotten how much I missed it.”
Taeyong wants to say that he missed it too - that he missed everything about Doyoung, from his voice to his laugh to the way he’d hum softly while making coffee in the mornings. But the words stick in his throat, too raw to let out.
Instead, he clears his throat, trying to shift the conversation, “Yuta’s excited to see you, by the way. Said he’s got a whole list of stories to catch you up on.”
Doyoung grins at that, eyes flicking toward Taeyong, “That’s code for gossip. Did he drag Johnny and Jaehyun into it?”
“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Taeyong replies with a laugh. “They’re probably planning their whole setlist of topics on the drive up.”
Doyoung shakes his head, a real laugh slipping out this time, warm and familiar, “Some things never change.”
For a moment, the weight between them lifts, the past fading into the background as they settle into something almost easy. But then the silence returns, and Taeyong feels the ache creeping back in, the reminder that this version of them is temporary, a shadow of what they used to be.
He glances over at Doyoung one more time, watching as the winter light catches in his dark eyes, and he wonders if Doyoung feels it too - the strange, painful comfort of being so close to something you can’t quite reach anymore.
--
When they pull up to Taeyong’s childhood home, Johnny’s car is already parked in the driveway.
The house is exactly as Taeyong remembers - modest and welcoming, its white shutters freshly painted, the wide front porch decorated with strings of soft, golden lights. The sight of it fills him with a bittersweet kind of nostalgia.
Taeyong pulls up to park beside Johnny on the wide driveaway. He cuts the engine, and for a moment, neither he nor Doyoung moves. The quiet hum of the car is the only sound until Doyoung shifts, glancing over at Taeyong.
“You okay?” he asks, tone gentler than it had been all morning. A remnant of how it used to be, Taeyong thinks pathetically.
Taeyong nods, forcing a small smile, “Yeah. You?”
Doyoung takes a deep breath and gives a slight shrug, “I’ll survive.” Then, after a pause, he adds, “We’ll survive.”
The reassurance, though simple, sends a surprising wave of calm through Taeyong. “Right. We’ll be fine,” he says, though he’s not sure if he’s trying to convince Doyoung or himself.
And with that, they step out of the car.
As they make their way up the driveway, the sound of laughter filters through the windows. Taeyong glances toward Doyoung, wanting to check in again, but before he can speak, Doyoung reaches for him. The movement is so natural that it takes Taeyong a moment to process it, to realize their fingers are now intertwined.
Then his gaze falls on where their hands swing between them gently. His breath catches in his throat when he sees it - the ring. Their ring.
Doyoung is wearing it again, the silver Cartier glinting in this evening’s winter light, now on his right hand. They’d spent a collective bomb on it, but it’d been their fifth year together and Doyoung wanted something meaningful in every way - and Taeyong… Taeyong just wanted whatever Doyoung wanted then. His silver ring matches the gold one still sitting snug on Taeyong’s left, the one he couldn’t bring himself to take off no matter how many times he thought about it.
The warmth of Doyoung’s hand in his feels steady, grounding, and for a fleeting moment, Taeyong allows himself to believe that things could still be okay.
But, of course, the warmth doesn’t last.
The front door yanks open before they even reach it and Taeyong’s sister, Taejin, is here, face lighting up when she spots them.
“Uncle Taeyong! Uncle Doyoung!” She calls, stepping aside as her three-year-old twins, Hyunwoo and Hyunjoon, come barreling out, giggling and shouting in excitement.
Doyoung lets go of Taeyong’s hand just in time to set his bag down on the porch. Hyunwoo reaches him first and Doyoung scoops him up with practiced ease, the little boy squealing in delight. Hyunjoon latches onto Doyoung’s leg, his small arms wrapped tight around it.
“Wow, you two got really big!” Doyoung exclaims, ruffling Hyunjoon’s hair as he balances the other toddler on his hip. His smile is wide and genuine, and just briefly, Taeyong forgets the tension between them.
Taejin grins, “They’ve been talking about seeing their uncles all week. You’re the favorites, as usual.”
Inside, the living room is a picture of coziness. Johnny is sprawled on one of the couches, an arm draped casually over Jaehyun’s shoulders, and Yuta is seated cross-legged on the floor (again).
A steaming teapot and a spread of snacks sit on the coffee table in front of them, and they’re mid-conversation with Taeyong’s mother, who looks as radiant as ever.
“Finally!” Johnny says as they enter, lifting his teacup in greeting, “We thought you got lost or something.”
“There was traffic,” Taeyong scowls. He leaves his own bag on the empty couch closest to the door, “Didn’t you guys get stuck on the highway?”
Jaehyun shakes his head, “Yuta hyung was driving.”
“No wonder.”
Doyoung sets Hyunwoo down on the couch then, where the toddler immediately starts poking at Jaehyun’s knee. Taeyong’s mom rises to her feet, eyes lighting up as she comes to greet them.
“My boys,” she says, pulling Taeyong into a warm hug first. He melts into it, the familiar scent of home surrounding him. “You’re finally here. I missed you so much.”
“Missed you too, Mom,” Taeyong murmurs, the tension in his shoulders easing for the first time in days.
She turns to Doyoung next, pulling him into an equally affectionate hug, “And you, Doyoung. It’s been too long. I’ve missed you so much.”
“Missed you too, Mrs. Lee,” Doyoung replies softly, as if he means it more than he can say.
Taeyong’s mother steps back, her hands clasped together in delight, “I cleaned up the guest room for you two. I hope it’s still comfortable.” She glances toward the rest of them across the room, slightly apologetic, “I’m so sorry again that you three have to find another place to stay, but we just don’t have enough space with the twins needing a room of their own!”
Yuta waves her off, leaning casually against the armrest of Johnny’s couch. “Oh, no worries, auntie. I’m thrilled to bunk with these two lovebirds,” he gestures dramatically at Johnny and Jaehyun, grinning.
Johnny rolls his eyes but doesn’t move his arm from Jaehyun’s shoulders. “You better not snore, Nakamoto.”
“I don’t snore!” Yuta protests. Before he can say more, Hyunjoon clambers over Johnny and Jaehyun’s laps, settling beside Yuta. The little boy’s hands instantly tangle into Yuta’s vibrant red hair, giggling.
“If anything,” Yuta adds, gently prying Hyunjoon’s fingers free, “you talk in your sleep, Suh.”
Johnny raises an eyebrow, but it’s Jaehyun who agrees, leaning slightly into Johnny’s side. “He’s not wrong,” Jaehyun murmurs, and Johnny groans, swatting at his boyfriend playfully.
Mrs. Lee only laughs as the bickering continues, turning to Taeyong and Doyoung, “Why don’t you two head up and settle your things? Dinner will be ready soon.”
Doyoung starts to reach for Taeyong’s bag, the motion so fluid and familiar it catches Taeyong off guard. “I’ll handle it,” Doyoung offers, calm and practical - and impersonal, again. “You should spend more time with your mom.”
“No, I’ve got it,” Taeyong says quickly, holding onto the strap of his bag like it’s a lifeline.
From the corner of his eye, he notices his mom watching, hands clasped under her chin. “Doyoung-ah, you’re just the sweetest,” she gushes, “but it’s alright, Grandma Lee is busy preparing dinner anyway, we can catch up over a nice meal.”
“She’s preparing dinner?” Taeyong blurts out, words tumbling out before he can stop them. His head spins as he glances toward the kitchen. “Isn’t she supposed to be resting?”
“Oh, it’s such great news!” his mom exclaims, beaming. “The doctor said she’s completely healed. Isn’t that just wonderful?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Taeyong sees his wretched best friends double over in laughter. Jaehyun, for the most part, is only hiding his shock behind a cup of tea.
She’s healed! She’s completely healed!
“That’s... great,” he says faintly, voice cracking on the last word. He swallows thickly, daring a quick glance at Doyoung.
Doyoung stands perfectly still, his expression carefully neutral, but there’s the twitch at the corner of his mouth - a sign, Taeyong knows all too well, that he’s holding back either laughter or biting comment.
Probably both.
Taeyong’s mother, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing behind her son’s polite nods, clasps her hands together again. “She’s been in such good spirits today! She’s already made kimchi stew, japchae, and even started some banchan for tomorrow. Isn’t that incredible?”
Taeyong stares at her like she’s just announced she’s won the lottery and decided to spend it all on seasoned squid.
I brought him all the way here for nothing.
“That’s... really... incredible,” Taeyong manages.
Doyoung clears his throat, and Taeyong knows - he knows without even looking - that Doyoung is absolutely savoring this moment. He risks another glance, and yes, there it is: the slight lift of Doyoung’s brow, the hint of smugness in his eyes that says, This is entirely your problem.
“I, uh…” Taeyong stammers, scrambling for some semblance of composure. “I mean, maybe she should still -”
“Oh, she’s fine!” his mom interrupts cheerily, “You know your grandma. She doesn’t like sitting still. But don’t worry, Taeyong-ah, she’s perfectly healthy now.”
Taeyong forces a tight smile, jaw clenched so hard it’s a wonder it doesn’t crack.
He swallows again, resolve barely holding together, and glances over at Doyoung again. His resolve dissolves entirely when he catches Doyoung’s gaze - steady, impassive, but somehow still soft in a way that makes Taeyong feel like his chest is collapsing.
“I’ll come with you,” Taeyong says suddenly, the words slipping out before he can stop himself. His mother beams at them, and Doyoung tilts his head ever so slightly, his expression unreadable except for the quirk of his lips.
As they start upstairs, Taeyong wonders if there’s a way to blame this whole situation on Yuta.
It feels like his fault somehow.
--
The guest room is even smaller than Taeyong remembers.
Every inch of it filled with little touches of his mother’s warmth: the bed, pushed snugly against the pale blue wall, is neatly made with a patchwork quilt that looks like it belongs in a family movie. A single lamp on the bedside table casts a soft, golden glow over the room. The dresser near the window is spotless, a few neatly folded towels perched on top, while cinnamon-scented candles flicker faintly, light bouncing off the frosted glass of the window.
Taeyong hovers by the doorway, bag slung over his shoulder, staring at the bed as if it’s some unsolvable puzzle.
“So… this is it,” he mumbles, feeling Doyoung brush past him into the room.
Doyoung sets his bag down on the dresser, glancing at the bed with an amused nod of his head. Then, simply, “Cozy.”
“Cozy,” Taeyong repeats, albeit weakly. He shifts on his feet, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe I should - uh, I could take the floor. I don’t mind.”
Doyoung arches a brow, “You’re not sleeping on the floor, hyung. It’s your house.”
“It’s not really -” Taeyong falters, words catching in his throat. “I mean, it’s not just my house anymore. And really, it’s fine. I don’t mind.”
“The bed is big enough for two people.” Doyoung points out, “We’ve shared smaller spaces before.”
Taeyong feels his heart skip, caught between the familiarity of the moment and the sharp reminder of how things have changed. He looks down at the floor, grip tightening on the strap of his bag.
“Yeah, but…” he fumbles, searching for an excuse, any excuse. “That was different. We were -”
“We were,” Doyoung interrupts. He doesn’t look up as he starts unpacking, carefully smoothing out a sweater, “But it’s just a bed, hyung. We’re adults. We can handle it, can’t we?”
The simplicity of Doyoung’s words makes Taeyong’s chest tighten, though he can’t quite pinpoint why. He glances back at the bed, at the way the quilt is tucked in perfectly, as if trying to reassure him that everything is fine.
After a moment, Taeyong sighs, “You really don’t mind?”
Doyoung shakes his head, still not meeting his eyes, “Yes. I don’t mind.”
Taeyong exhales slowly, loosening his grip on his bag. “Okay,” he says, the word feeling too heavy for what it’s supposed to mean.
Finally, Doyoung turns to him, gaze calm but impossible to read, “If it makes you uncomfortable, just say so. I can take the floor.”
“No, no -” Taeyong says quickly, “No, it’s - it’s fine. You’re right. We can handle it.”
The air between them stretches, heavy with something unsaid. The candles flicker softly on the dresser, casting long shadows across the room, and Taeyong feels like the space between them is somehow shrinking and expanding all at once.
Doyoung breaks the silence first, “I’m going to wash up.”
“Okay,” Taeyong murmurs, watches as Doyoung steps out and closes the door behind him.
The room feels too quiet now, the soft cinnamon scent from the candles suddenly overwhelming. Taeyong sits on the edge of the bed, his fingers curling around the edge of the quilt. He stares down at his hands, catching the faint glint of his ring in the golden light.
Barely audible over the crackle of the candles, Taeyong wonders, “What have I done?”