Chapter Text
The first time Youngjae takes him out on an actual date, it falls on the day they started dating—the 19th of August.
It wasn’t even anything dramatic back then. They were always together, sometimes too cozy for what was considered normal for friends, and Kim Dohoon had always been one to give in to his impulses. They had lain on the cold floor of the old practice room—their damp skin made their shirts cling to their frame.
Dohoon had stared at Youngjae for far too long before he realized what was happening. Only when Youngjae's breath hit his lips did Dohoon realize how close he had gotten—and Dohoon closed the distance without any fanfare.
And now Dohoon is back inside Youngjae’s pristine car, holding a small, useless black purse in his lap instead of his work bag, along with a bomber jacket in his hands—as much as he would love to squeeze as many uses out of that expensive longcoat as he can, Dohoon is not an outfit repeater.
“I’m sorry that our only option is either my place or another restaurant.” Youngjae breaks the silence. “I know it’s not that appropriate for a first date.”
“Pervert. Why do you even need privacy that badly?” Dohoon teases. Ignoring the massive celebrity label that is practically plastered on Youngjae’s forehead.
Youngjae laughs—his hand reaches over the console to hold Dohoon’s, which is still cold from standing in front of Itaewon Station a little too long, a minor traffic miscalculation on Youngjae’s part. “We’re just gonna eat and hang out. You’re the pervert.”
Dohoon stares at their intertwined fingers, the corner of his lips rising as he feels the warmth of Youngjae’s hands on his.
The drive is relatively short, as Youngjae, as it turns out, basically lives his entire post-enlistment life in Yongsan and nowhere else. They pull up to an apartment facing the Han River, and Dohoon has to act like this is just a regular Saturday as Youngjae parks his car in the basement.
“It’s still kinda empty,” Youngjae says as he pushes his apartment door open, letting Dohoon in before him. “I have been meaning to buy more things and decorate, but we’ve been busy.”
“Oh, wait.” Youngjae squeezes inside, immediately organizing their shoes and placing an indoor slipper in front of Dohoon’s feet. “Come on in.”
Dohoon stares at the slipper in front of him, then at Youngjae, before putting it on while giggling. “This is so you.”
“Kyungminie comes here often, so I ended up buying another pair for guests,” Youngjae says. He pulls out the dining chair next to the open kitchen before heading towards the refrigerator. “You can sit here.”
After reestablishing contact with Youngjae, there have been moments where Youngjae randomly name-dropped the other members with such fondness that he expects Dohoon still has. And Dohoon does, really. Kyungmin was once somewhat of a little-brother figure for him too.
But they have barely talked about what this reunion means to the bigger picture. Youngjae, seemingly, is so preoccupied with treating Dohoon like he’s a skittish stray cat that they barely discuss the actual glaring issue—the group itself, what Dohoon has been doing, and all that. Their chatroom is mostly filled with boring old ‘don’t forget to eat today’, ‘it’s starting to get cold’, and ‘look at this cute bird’.
And as much as Dohoon wants to maintain that equilibrium, he can’t help wanting to get to know how things are from Youngjae’s side of the picture. There are so many questions left unanswered.
“By the way,” Dohoon starts, biting his cheek. “Do the other guys know?”
Youngjae looks up from the pan he’s currently heating. “They do. They’ve known since before the airport.”
Dohoon’s ear perks up. “Wh-What did you guys talk about?”
“Aren’t you nosy?” Youngjae giggles. He turns around to grab a container of marinated ribeye, checks the pan’s temperature, then adds two cuts. “I wanted to ask Kyungmin during that public fansign schedule, like, ‘hey, doesn't that daeri over there look like Dohoon?’ but then I might sound like an obsessive ex, so I didn’t. But they know after the radio show where I saw your face.”
“Do they know that…” Dohoon trails off, playing with the table mat. “We’re dating again?”
“Mhm, but don’t worry about it. They know we’re going slow.” Youngjae leans against the countertop, waiting for both the steak and its potatoes to cook. “I can arrange a hangout if you want to meet them, though. But it’s totally up to you.”
Dohoon smiles to himself. “Thank you.”
The sizzling of the meat fills the silence, and the waft of rosemary fills the room. And before long, Youngjae takes out a pair of plates, placing the dish on them with a bit of garnish.
“Hope you like it. I haven’t been practicing my cooking skills ever since the barracks, so I might be a little rusty.” Youngjae says as he walks over to the dining table, placing one plate in front of Dohoon and the other one across from him.
“I’m sure it’s good,” Dohoon says, picking up the steak knife beside him. “About that… How’s active duty? Must’ve been difficult.”
Youngjae sits across from him, tilting his head as he answers. “I got used to it in the end, but I’m still glad it ended. You know how it is.”
Dohoon purses his lips. To be fair, it’s not really a secret that Dohoon has some sort of health complications—really, it’s the reason why he disappeared from Youngjae’s life, after all. But there’s a part of Dohoon that still wants to be seen as close to the Dohoon Youngjae used to know, even after all these years.
Losing the plausible deniability and vague wording of what had happened to him isn’t something that he likes, but alas, Dohoon, too, wants to do things properly this time, albeit slowly.
“I didn’t enlist,” Dohoon says, keeping things simple.
Youngjae nods. “Because of the… same health complications?”
Dohoon nods along, confirming. “Because of the same health complications.”
“Will I ever get to know what that is?” Youngjae asks carefully.
“Eh, I’ll be the judge of it.” Dohoon shrugs and lifts his glass of iced tea to his lips. “To be honest, it’s not even that serious. I’m just difficult and secretive like that.”
Youngjae snorts, lowering his knife. “Okay, I’ll be patient.”
Dohoon marches through Dongmyoap Station with the conviction of a man who’s an hour late for work.
That’s because he is.
There was a big leak in his pipe when he was showering, and he spent the morning trying to stop the water from flooding the entirety of his 10 pyeong, two-room apartment.
To be fair, the crack has been there for months, and he should have fixed it long ago, but he thought that he could squeeze another few months before it was urgent enough.
Apparently not! And he has to call a plumber to come today.
Well, it’s time to say goodbye to proper lunches and dinners this month…
The door creaks as Dohoon pushes it, revealing an idle Gyuvin and their manager. Yuna’s desk is filled with his work bag and lip tint, but the owner is nowhere to be found.
“Sorry for being late,” Dohoon says, panting. “Got a quick plumbing emergency this morning, so I had to handle that.”
“That’s terrible. Hope you get it fixed soon.” Manager Jung looks up from his desk. “Yuna is waiting in the studio.”
Dohoon grabs his camera and heads to the studio. “Yeah, of course. I’ll be quick.”
“Hey, what the heck happened to you?” Yuna looks up at a disheveled Dohoon while setting up the products. Thankfully, there’s barely any—it’s a makeup line for teens and tweens, so the set is pretty elaborate, but otherwise, it’s pretty straightforward.
Dohoon glances at the studio monitor for the reference. “Poseidon curses the heck out of my morning.”
Yuna raises her brow, baffled. “Is that another way of saying that you have a water-related incident before work?”
“Yes.” Dohoon snaps a quick picture to test his settings. “Yes, it is.”
They finished the shoot relatively quickly, partly because Dohoon felt bad that Yuna had to wait for an hour doing nothing, and Dohoon didn’t want to hold Yuna back from eating lunch. So as soon as he finished spamming the shutter button, he let Yuna do her thing—repackaging the products and logging them correctly—while he went to grab their lunch for them.
“Thank you!” Yuna says as Dohoon places a takeout container from their favorite donkatsu restaurant next door on her desk. She glances from her phone to Dohoon’s hand, where a roll of kimbap sits instead of another container. “Wow, the water incident must have drilled a hole in your bank account.”
Dohoon takes a bite out of his kimbap. “It is what it is.”
“You know,” Yuna starts, “there’s a huge festival happening, like, next week, with like 15 groups in the lineup, and a friend of mine is selling the ticket for cheaper because her guy’s sick and he’s no longer attending.”
Dohoon looks at her—loudly chewing his kimbap, confused. “So?”
“What do you mean ‘So?’? That’s basically a goldmine for data, Oppa! Buy the ticket and sell the photos!” Yuna opens her container, cutting a piece of the katsu before placing it on a container lid and sliding it to Dohoon’s desk. “Have a piece—you look pitiful.”
It’s been raining the whole day. Of course it has.
Dohoon had a bad feeling when he woke up this morning, dark shadows casting over his view of the next-door building. But alas, he persevered. He took the subway to the festival—which, thankfully, isn’t that far away from his place—with his camera bag, loads of memory cards and batteries, and a raincoat.
But now the sun has set, and it’s still raining—the ground has basically turned into mud.
Dohoon’s eyes meet Youngjae’s through his lens, and now instead of hiding, Dohoon gives a tiny wave, giggling to himself as he shoots more of his now-boyfriend, who’s currently performing.
There has been a persistent, familiar sharp pain in his left knee for a while now, but TWS is thankfully one of the last groups to perform, so holding on another hour or so should suffice. Besides, it’s Dohoon’s first time photographing Youngjae on stage, performing, and doing the things they both used to do together on late nights.
Dohoon had always wanted to watch them live one day, maybe after all of his dreams become numb and there is no longer any what-ifs left in him. But even now, after building an entire life for himself and reconnecting with one of them as different people, he still finds himself imagining what it would be like to be on the other side—gazing upon thousands of eyes.
“Fuck.” Dohoon curses when he sees a low-battery indicator in his camera.
He stares at the latest picture while he grabs a new battery. It’s a photo of Youngjae smiling mid-air—his teeth visible and nose scrunched. He looks like a hamster mid-sneeze—Dohoon is keeping all of Youngjae’s data for himself.
But the thing with big festivals with an esteemed lineup is that, when it comes to the last stretch of the festival where all the attending artists come out to greet the fans and sing a nice little song about hope, happiness, togetherness, and all that, something else entirely is happening on the floor.
Dohoon notices it as soon as he hears increasingly louder screams as more and more artists enter the stage, along with people starting to squeeze into gaps beside him, rushing through the slippery mud.
And maybe it’s because he should have found a seat a while ago and escaped the pit altogether. His knees are weak, arms heavy (There's vomit in his sweater already, mom’s spaghetti?). But Dohoon genuinely thought that the worst that could happen was limping as he took the subway home, and not slipping and sliding, his cute little ass touching the mud as the crowd streamed past him to get closer to the stage.
Fuck—it fucking hurts.
Dohoon clutches his camera bag, trying to stay out of the way of other audience members as he struggles to stand back up. And as more and more people leave his side for a better spot up front, Dohoon sees a security guard heading towards him.
“Ahaha, hi. Thank you, this is embarrassing,” Dohoon says once the guy hauls him up, holding his arms as he helps him stand and escorts him to the quieter backstage area, where the medical tent is.
The medical tent is really nice. It is not crowded—you can still listen to the music outside, and they give you a painkiller along with a juice box to chase it down while they ice your fucked-up knee.
Dohoon stares at his blue disposable raincoat that now lies pitifully in the trash can. He can hear the festival ending, and it becomes increasingly clear that he’s gonna be ushered out soon as he witnesses staff and artists passing by the tent to get to their own area.
“Do you have someone who could pick you up?” A medic asks as more people are leaving the tent. “We can escort you to the pickup zone if that’s the case.”
“Right… Uh… About that…” Dohoon pulls up his phone, searching for a friend who might be able to come pick him up. “I’ll try to reach some of my friends first, sorry.”
The medic smiles. “Yeah, don’t worry. We’re still wrapping up anyway. Take your time.”
And at times like this, Dohoon realizes how narrow his social circle is now, courtesy of his 18-year-old self’s pride cutting off literally every friend he gained as a trainee.
It takes him scrolling through his entire contacts thrice, ignoring the glaring ‘Choi Youngjae’ at the top of the list, to come up with three candidates:
- His older brother, an obvious one. Might be in some other part of the country right now, though.
- Mom? he’d rather not worry her like this…
- Yuna or Gyuvin, car-less.
Before he can decide, he catches a glimpse of some tall, white-clad guys passing by, grumbling about dinner as they all walk to their tent—except for one, who heads straight into the medical tent.
“I thought you might still be here,” Youngjae says, looking down at Dohoon—who’s lying flat on one of the medical cots. “I saw you fall.”
Dohoon sighs, waving his hand as he avoids Youngjae’s stare. “It’s really not that big of a deal.”
“Why aren’t you heading home already? Is it really that bad? Should we go to the hospital?” Youngjae kneels, examining Dohoon’s knee up close.
“No, it’s fine. Oh my god, people are watching, Youngjae-yah. You’re not even supposed to be here.” Dohoon pushes Youngjae’s head away, glancing at the surrounding medics who are very obviously minding their own business. “I’m just… you know…” Dohoon gestures vaguely. “Waiting for it to calm down a little.”
Youngjae looks up from the knee. “Then how are you going home?”
“I’ll catch a train,” Dohoon says.
Hearing that, Youngjae gets up to a medic and asks for a wheelchair, no more negotiating.
So now Dohoon is being pushed to the artist’s parking lot by Youngjae—who has changed into his plain shirt and stage makeup—as Dohoon drinks another box of juice the medic gives him because they still have more left. “You’re taking away my agency just because I can’t walk.”
“Yes, exactly,” Youngjae answers, maneuvering around a sharp curb to the basement. “Be grateful that I drive here instead of leaving my car at the company.”
Yeah, Dohoon is really grateful about that one. Meeting the other guys while he’s in a wheelchair—swollen knee and muddy cheeks—is really not on Dohoon’s bucket list. Heck, he barely has the balls to meet them so soon anyway.
Once they arrive beside Youngjae’s car, tucked in the innermost corner of the basement, Youngjae helps Dohoon climb into the passenger seat—holding Dohoon’s hand as his left hand stabilizes the wheelchair. “Wait here, I’m gonna return this,” Youngjae says, leaving Dohoon alone in the car like a fucking neglected toddler clutching his almost empty apple juice box in one hand and his camera bag in the other.
As humiliating as this is—sitting in Youngjae’s G80 with muddy shoes while the guy returns a borrowed wheelchair—Youngjae seems to be unaware that the knee is an old injury, let alone that it’s the injury. And Dohoon intends to keep it that way for as long as he can stretch it.
So much of their early relationship was built on the foundation of heading towards the same goal, being parallels. And Youngjae has always loved Dohoon the most when he’s radiant.
Dohoon wonders whether a second chance was really what Youngjae needed—perhaps it should have been closure instead. An answer as to why Dohoon suddenly disappeared from his life before finally going their separate way.
After all, Kim Dohoon is now only a shell of the brilliant idol prodigy that Youngjae first fell in love with. It’s only a matter of time before Youngjae finds out.
“Hey, hope that wasn’t too long.” Youngjae pants as he climbs into the driver's seat, sweat glistening on his forehead. He starts the car engine and heads towards the exit.
It’s already dark outside as they leave the basement, but the city glows brightly. Tall buildings and streetlights, along with the wet asphalt reflecting off car headlights, illuminate the streets of Seoul.
“So, where are we going?” Youngjae asks, eyes still glued to the road.
Dohoon plays with his sleeve. He hates that it has to come to this. “Can you just drop me off at Itaewon Station again?”
“Is Itaewon Station your home, Dohoon-ah?” Youngjae laughs, taking Dohoon’s hand to stop him from fidgeting. “I’m asking for your address. I’ll help you get situated and everything, okay?”
Dohoon stares at their intertwined hands. Initiating contact seems to be easy for Youngjae nowadays.
“Please just drop me off.” He tries again, more seriously this time, even though he knows it’s probably futile.
Youngjae rubs circles on the back of Dohoon’s hand. There’s a crease between his eyebrows as he sighs. “It’s either we go to your place, or you spend the night at mine. Which one do you want?”
Dohoon looks down at his dirty shoes, which are now staining Youngjae’s beige car carpet an ugly brown. He can’t bring himself to decide, and arguing at this point feels really exhausting, especially since he can feel Youngjae’s disappointment.
But the turn indicator grows louder by the second, planning on turning left instead of towards Youngjae’s neighborhood.
“Can we go to yours?” Dohoon finally mumbles.
“Of course. Thank you for answering, Dohoon-ah.” Youngjae maneuvers the car and switches lanes.
Youngjae’s apartment looks more lived-in the second time Dohoon visits—unopened packages pile up at the front door, the overhead LEDs are replaced with warmer ambient lighting, and a worn jacket is thrown carelessly on the dining chair. The whole place smells like the baby powder fabric softener that Youngjae definitely has stocked somewhere in his utility room.
“Sorry about the mess, I wasn’t expecting a guest,” Youngjae says as he guides Dohoon to sit on the sofa—his left hand supporting Dohoon by the waist.
“That’s okay…” Dohoon answers, staring at the reds and yellows of Seoul traffic below as Youngjae retrieves an ice pack from the freezer. “Thank you for doing all this. You didn’t have to.”
Youngjae comes back with an ice pack and a towel, along with a questionable box. “No… It’s fine,” he mumbles as he sits on the floor in front of the sofa—grabbing a throw pillow, lifting Dohoon’s leg, and placing the pillow below it. “I want to.” He wraps the towel around Dohoon’s swollen knee and tucks the ice pack between the fabrics, making sure that it’s secure and not too tight before letting it go.
“What is that?” Dohoon points at the wooden box sitting on Youngjae’s lap.
“Oh, this?” Youngjae looks down, following Dohoon’s gaze. “Just in case you need anything else. Do you want cooling spray? Tape or compression sleeves, maybe?” He says, showing off a bunch of recovery gadgets. Who the heck has that many different gua sha shapes, anyway?
“No thanks, just icing it is fine.” Dohoon snorts. “Do you think I’m an idol or what?”
“Right…” Youngjae chuckles awkwardly as he puts the stuff back in its container. “Sorry, it’s just… This doesn’t look…” He gestures vaguely. “New.”
Dohoon tilts his head, playing dumb and trying to drag out the time before the truth has to come out. It feels like there should be at least five more dates—where Dohoon can establish a somewhat impressive resume in Youngjae’s eyes, beyond all the public transport-taking, double-jobbing, and swollen-kneeing—before this topic comes up.
“Was it this knee?” Youngjae asks again, “Was this why you left?”
The heater’s quiet hum fills the space between them. The condensation from the ice pack trickles down Dohoon’s skin as he struggles to answer. But if anything, the silence confirms it. And Dohoon is aware of it—he’s just too much of a pussy to admit the glaring source of his failure in front of someone who was once his peer.
“Yeah.” Dohoon sighs—grabbing the throw pillow beside him and holding it close to his chest. “I had to do physiotherapy and use crutches for months, so I can no longer dance. Even years later, it still hurts when I stand for too long, and it acts up so fucking easily it’s like I can barely do anything.”
Youngjae fidgets with the compression sleeves on his hand—his brows furrowed as he stares at his feet like he’s conflicted about their existence.
Dohoon waves his hand. “But really, it’s all just an annoying reminder screaming, Oh no, you were an obnoxious, overachieving teenager once!” Dohoon raises his voice mockingly. He taps his thigh like a middle-aged dad slapping a car’s rear end. “I’ll be good as new once this bad boy calms down.”
“Icarus,” Youngjae whispers giddily.
Dohoon asks, “What?”
“You got injured because you pushed yourself too hard,” Youngjae says, caressing Dohoon’s thighs as he looks up to face him. He smiles, “You really are Icarus, aren’t you? Flew too close to the sun, and all that.”
“Shut up.” Dohoon giggles, lightly slapping Youngjae’s shoulder. “Let’s not overanalyze an alias I made during my middle school phase.” He shoves his face against Youngjae’s, glaring as a faux-threat.
Youngjae lets out a tiny squeal. He bumps his forehead to Dohoon’s. “Puppy,” he whispers, grinning from ear to ear. The warm air hits Dohoon’s lips up close, and his left hand moves to cup Dohoon’s cheek.
And there is a second before Dohoon closes the remaining distance when there’s nothing but giggles in the air. The next second, Dohoon melts against Youngjae’s soft lips. It’s almost like they were eighteen and sweaty again—there’s an old, persistent fatigue in their bodies as they grow closer.
The data sells so much better than Dohoon had expected. Apparently, one of the random rookie girl groups from an unknown company that he shot that day has started to pop off, and new fan sites are popping up trying to kickstart their reputation.
But turns out eating half a kimbap every lunch, drinking shitty coffee mix, and eating ramyeon for dinner wasn’t so bad once you’re used to it, especially since Dohoon can feel a tiny disposable income piling up in his bank account post-payday. It's really easy to create a sense of luxury if you lower your expectations around what’s considered a decent, fulfilling meal.
So naturally, as the conversation in his office is filled with the newest live jazz cafe tucked in the outskirts of Sindang, Dohoon had the brilliant idea of borrowing his brother’s car to take Youngjae out on a date this time.
The sky is already filled with pink and orange tints when Dohoon gets off work and heads off to pick Youngjae up from HYBE’s new headquarters in Cheongdam-dong with his brother’s Hyundai.
The new HYBE building is crazy big. The green paint of the parking lot looks like it’s still wet, and the basement still smells like fresh paint. Crazy how they’re still obsessed with that neo-brutalism thing after all these years—Dohoon wonders if the inside is still as maze-like and nauseating as the old building.
Youngjae emerges from the basement elevator shortly after, a tired smile plastered on his face. He holds a long brown coat in one hand and waves with his other hand.
Dohoon quickly adjusts his seat before unlocking the car door. “Hey, how’s work?”
“Thanks for picking me up. Hope the drive here isn’t too bad with the snowstorm this morning,” Youngjae says as he enters the car. “Work is always the same, but I hope you don’t mind if I accidentally sleep on the way—I woke up at five today.”
“No, yeah. It’s okay,” Dohoon says as he starts the engine.
Dohoon forgets how stressful slippery roads and being surrounded by reckless drivers can be. Rush-hour traffic has been especially shitty for a not-so-newbie driver like him, and some asshole behind him kept on honking right after the light turned green on his way to HYBE.
To be fair, he should have reacted a tad bit faster, but unfortunately for the metropolitan city of Seoul, Kim Dohoon doesn’t have the privilege of consistently practicing his driving skills.
“Can we listen to music?” Youngjae asks as they emerge from the basement.
The cars currently crawling in front of them seem so tightly packed, leaving no space for them to merge into the lane. Dohoon furrows his brow; a pout of concentration forms as he looks for openings.
“Dohoon-ah?” Youngjae asks again. He glances at the road; there’s a glimmer of concern written on his face as he watches more cars pass them.
Dohoon is still trying to slowly join the traffic, moving the Hyundai timidly to see if there’s any car kind enough to give way for his poor soul.
“Yeah, sure. Feel free to connect them to your phone.” Dohoon belatedly says, leaning in to turn the smart screen on after they manage to join the lane.
The drive continues with nothing but Youngjae’s indie ballad playlist filling the silence, with little annoying honks coming from outside. It’s truly a relief that Youngjae loves quiet, whispering music, or else Dohoon won't be able to fucking see the road because apparently his hearing is connected to his vision or whatever.
It’s already dark when they pull up to the restaurant in Sindang after some shameful parking attempts, and by the time Dohoon remembers Youngjae’s existence on the passenger seat, he sees Youngjae clutching his seatbelt and looking wide awake despite his previous warning.
“Okay, we’ve arrived!” Dohoon turns the car off. “You didn’t sleep?”
Youngjae unbuckles his seatbelt. “No, yeah. I just… Wanted to accompany you on the drive.”
Dohoon beams—he leans over the center console to give Youngjae a quick peck. “That’s really sweet, you didn't have to.”
"I wanted to." Youngjae pats Dohoon’s cheek before stealing another peck. “Let’s go inside. And why don’t I drive us back to my place after?” He says, his left hand already wandering near Dohoon’s ass.
“Pervert,” Dohoon giggles, hiding his face in the crook of Youngjae’s neck. “But I want to drive you around too…”
“Okay, we can discuss that later, yeah?” Youngjae says, giving Dohoon’s ass a nice, decisive slap before getting out of the car. “Let’s go.”
The live music restaurant, as it turns out, is a lot more bougie than Dohoon expected.
He'd assumed that since Kim Gyuvin, the office resident cheapskate, was the one mentioning the place, it’d have more of a family-owned, cozy vibe. But apparently it’s more of a we are independent artists and are expected to be paid as such. Which, granted, is totally right up Youngjae’s alley. It’s just that it's not something that Dohoon’s wallet would have picked for him.
So after a nice evening of playing footsies under the table and having Premium Jazz accompany their conversation, Dohoon tries not to shake as he hands off his card to the waiting staff. He would have to find something cheaper than convenience store kimbap for lunch to make up for that bill—perhaps it’s time for him to try starving.
The walk to the car is filled with nothing but slush of snow under their feet and no conversation. Only when the car is within view does Youngjae grab Dohoon's arm, stopping in front of it. “Let me drive this time, okay? Let’s go to my place.”
Dohoon frowns. He shoves his freezing hands into his front pocket. “We’re still discussing this? Why can’t you just show me the way?”
“Well…” Youngjae drags Dohoon by the waist, ignoring the glaring fact that they are currently outside. “I want to spoil you rotten. Don’t you like being the passenger princess anyway?”
“Well yeah, but,” Dohoon lets out a grunt of frustration. “But I’m the one taking you out today.”
“I know. Thank you for that, baby.” Youngjae caresses Dohoon’s waist. “You just seemed so stressed behind the wheel, and it’s dark now. Let me do the driving, okay?”
Dohoon sighs, shoving the car keys into Youngjae’s hand before climbing into the car and slamming the door.
Youngjae follows him right after. He keeps glancing in Dohoon’s direction during the entire drive, and Dohoon, who has been facing the window, has to keep acting like the dark view outside is so much more interesting than it actually is.
Perhaps it’s too delusional to think that he can participate in the relationship as an equal. Maybe Dohoon has misjudged when he said yes to dating Choi Youngjae once again—there’s no way he can stand beside the current Youngjae proudly without picking apart the life he has lived past his injury.
There had been a part of Dohoon that imagined what it would be like if he were still standing beside him as they intended.
Maybe they’d be sneaking into each other’s foreign hotel rooms before flying private to another country the next day. Maybe they would have had annual overseas trips, paid 50-50, after they finished their tour together.
Maybe their eyes would have met on stage while performing together, and Youngjae got to witness the born-idol that Dohoon was destined to be—the one who manages to get Youngjae’s heart to beat faster in the first place—instead of this sorry-ass excuse of an artist who can’t even uphold his half of the relationship.
The Hyundai rolls into the basement parking lot slowly, and it pisses Dohoon off to see that it took so little brain power for Youngjae to park into a tight spot.
“Okay, sorry. We’re not doing this again.” Youngjae says afterward. He takes Dohoon’s hand, coaxing Dohoon to face him. “Talk to me, please.”
“It’s so stupid, though.” Dohoon mumbles, still refusing to look at Youngjae.
“Please? I want to do this properly this time—I’ve been trying to do my part to improve by being more decisive. But we won't go anywhere if you don't do your part and never tell me what's on your mind.”
Dohoon shifts to face Youngjae. He knows he’s been unfair to Youngjae this whole time. “You’re right, sorry.” He sighs, preparing himself. “It’s just… I don’t know if we can still stand beside each other anymore. Will you still love my loser-ass once you see how much of a failure I have become?”
Youngjae used to tell Dohoon he adored his ambition the most. That there lived a fire inside of him, a drive that made even the most impossible things feel possible. That it had helped Youngjae get through the most tormenting part of being locked in a basement with nothing but endless mirrors.
Dohoon wonders if the adoration will still be here long after that fire goes out.
“Show me, then,” Youngjae says.
“Huh?” Dohoon tilts his head, frowning.
Youngjae plays with Dohoon’s fingers, intertwining them with his. “Why not rip the band-aid now? Show me how much of a failure you’ve become, and see if I stick around.”
“We have like, what? Ten? Fifteen? Meetings after the first encounter, and all the new things I have discovered about you, and every vague answer that you gave, made me want to know the current you better.” Youngjae stares at Dohoon’s left knee. “Want to bet on it? I bet nothing will change.”
Dohoon scoffs, baffled. “What the fuck?”
“What?” Youngjae giggles. He kisses the back of Dohoon’s hand before turning off the car and unlocking it. “Let’s go upstairs. You can show me your failures slowly.”
It’s not rare for Dohoon to wake up with construction noises penetrating his ear like it’s personally trying to ruin his morning. What’s rare, however, is the movement surrounding him—busy steps and heavy breathing, accompanied by a low, buzzing sound coming from beside his pillow.
“Already?” Dohoon asks, not bothering to open his eyes.
“Oh?” Youngjae sounds surprised underneath all the rustling of his jeans. “Sorry for waking you up. I need to go.”
Dohoon giggles, finally opening his eyes a little to find a shirtless Youngjae, who is still trying to locate the missing shirt he haphazardly threw on the floor last night. “This makes me feel like we’re a one-night stand.”
“Shut up, I told you I have an early morning schedule today.” Youngjae laughs as he gets down on the floor to reach for his shirt, which somehow had managed to reach the depth of Dohoon’s single bed’s underside.
“Not showering first?” Dohoon asks.
“No. I’m gonna shower at the company.” Youngjae shakes his head. “I think your water heater broke again, Dohoon-ah. I stood in the shower for a minute, and it’s still freezing cold.”
Dohoon buries his face in his pillow, devastated. “Man… Not again… I’ll talk to my landlord.”
“Do you want to join me to shower in the company, or…?” Youngjae trails off. “I can probably ask manager-hyung to drop you off near your office.”
Dohoon grunts. His voice is still muffled by the pillow. “No thanks. That amount of behind-the-scenes idol life is still too triggering for me.”
“Okay, you decide when.” Youngjae gathers his things. He stands in front of Dohoon, tapping his shoulder. “I’m leaving, okay?”
“Okay…” Dohoon says, getting up to sit and drag Youngjae by the neck to give him a peck. “Do well on your shoot. I’ll go boil some water now…”
Youngjae raises his eyebrow. “You what?”
Dohoon begrudgingly stands up, puts on his slipper, and shuffles to the kitchen. “I need to boil my bath water.”
Curious, Youngjae follows soon, nearly tripping on a peeled floorboard on his way.
“Be careful,” Dohoon mutters several seconds later between a yawn.
“Too late.” Youngjae chuckles. He peeks at the counter, observing Dohoon, who is standing near the stovetop, holding an empty kettle below the faucet.
“What’s so interesting about a poor man preparing his bath water?” Dohoon asks in mock offense. “I thought you were rushing?”
“I am, you’re right.” Youngjae grins. “Stay at my place after work? You can bring your clothes and stuff, and I can drop you off at work tomorrow morning, at least until the water heater is working again.”
“Sounds good,” Dohoon says, giving Youngjae another peck.