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Los Angeles is a whirlwind of interviews, that Doyoung proudly understands most of, and performances on foreign stages that still have the same familiar feeling that Doyoung loves — music washing over him as his voice rings out to a cheering crowd. It’s lots of coffee so they can stay awake during the day, new scenery rushing by the windows of their van, and cloudless skies.
Today had been a little more calm — a much welcomed free day. The nine of them had spent a couple of hours exploring, shopping around and trying out new foods, staying out far past sunset.
Doyoung slides his keycard into the hotel room door and smiles to himself when the light turns green and the lock clicks, thankful that it works. After dinner, Yuta had come up to him and insisted they switch rooms, pressing the card into Doyoung’s hand.
“Jaehyun can’t sleep well with all the noise coming from the room next to us,” he had said. “You know he’s a light sleeper. And Taeyong already agreed, so...”
So you can’t say no, Doyoung guesses. He wonders if it’s just because Taeyong is the leader of the group, that ultimately whatever he says is supposedly what the rest of them follow. Or maybe, Yuta thinks that deep down Doyoung would agree to whatever Taeyong wants (he wouldn’t be wrong, for the most part).
“Alright,” Doyoung had said with a heavy, exaggerated sigh, as if moving from one room to another is a great hardship. It made Yuta chuckle. He pulled out his card and handed it over.
“Have fun.” Yuta had winked, cryptically, then sauntered off and draped himself over Sicheng’s back before Doyoung could ask what he meant by that.
It’ll be fine, he had thought. They’ll probably reach their room too exhausted to really interact, like the last few nights, and fall asleep quickly.
Doyoung pushes the door opens and feels his heart jump and stomach drop at the same time.
The room is tidy and the curtains are pulled open, revealing the night sky and the lights of the city. There’s one suitcase — Taeyong’s — set against the wall, a couple of shopping bags neatly kept beside it. And like the room that they had shared last night, there’s a large bathroom to Doyoung’s right and a closet with mirrors for doors on the left. There’s one key difference, that Yuta had conveniently left out, though. In their previous room, there had been two small beds that had a good amount of space between them.
But there’s one large bed in the center of this room, and Doyoung kind of wants the earth to open up and swallow him whole.
“Oh,” Doyoung says. He lets the door close behind him, after rolling his suitcase in. “Um.”
Taeyong is in the center of the room, fixing the pillow covers and blanket, even though they’re just about as straight as they could be. He keeps his gaze down.
“You do know the hotel staff clean the rooms while the guests are gone, right?”
Taeyong stops for a second, then smooths out the blanket a few times. “I know...I just…” He trails off and moves to his backpack, rummaging around for his lint cleaner. He doesn’t spare Doyoung a glance the entire time.
Doyoung watches Taeyong slowly roll the cleaner over the covers, frowning when it doesn’t pick up anything. There’s usually three reasons Taeyong cleans: one, he needs to; two, out of habit; three, to relieve his nerves.
“You’re stressed about something.” Doyoung swallows hard and takes a few steps closer until his knees are against the bed. Today had been fun, and there were no pressing schedules immediately after this, nothing for Taeyong to currently be so worried about. “Is it because of me?” Doyoung feels his heart sink further. “I can ask someone to switch, if you want.”
The thing is — it’s easier to be around Taeyong when the others are with them, especially these days. And in a group their size, they’re almost constantly surrounded.
But when it’s just the two of them, alone together, it’s suffocating.
Taeyong’s head snaps up. He takes Doyoung in with wide eyes. “What? No, no. It’s fine. Not — not unless you want to room with someone else.” He holds his lint roller to his chest, as if to shield himself, then plasters on a small smile, the corners of his mouth curving up. “I’m just cleaning because, ah — you can never be too safe when it comes to Yuta, right?”
“Right.” Doyoung allows himself to chuckle, a soft sound that fades to silence quickly. The tension in Taeyong’s shoulders, at least, melts a little.
Taeyong looks like he’s already showered, hair a little damp. He’s drowning in an oversized shirt and soft cotton shorts. And he’s wearing the bandana from earlier too. It isn’t styled impeccably like before, but he still looks cute and sweet and like everything Doyoung wants (not that Doyoung would tell him that right now).
“You should’ve bought one too,” Taeyong says, feeling Doyoung’s gaze.
Doyoung shakes his head. He thinks Taeyong has a face that could suit anything. He has a face that shines and deserves to be in the spotlight. A face that can and should be loved by millions. “It suits you better.”
He expects Taeyong to blush a little, dip his head down shyly, mumble out a humble reply, the way he tends to when people compliment his looks. Instead, Taeyong shakes his head and smiles softly. “You looked pretty in it.” He sounds clamer now, more composed. Taeyong has told him before, that he feels more at ease with Doyoung around (it seems he has the opposite effect on Doyoung lately). Taeyong kneels on the bed and crawls forward until he’s in the center. “Really.”
He says it so earnestly, so open and honest, that Doyoung feels his ears heat up (and the way Taeyong’s shorts ride up a little doesn’t help at all). He never runs out of things to say, but right now, Doyoung can’t find any words as he opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again.
“I need to go shower,” he ends up blurting out.
Taeyong nods, his smile faltering just a tiny bit (not enough for most people to notice, but enough for Doyoung to notice — he always notices). “Okay,” he says softly and moves to sit back against the pillows, claiming the far side of the bed. “I already called in extra towels, so there’s plenty to use.”
“Great.” Doyoung nods and spins around, nearly bumping into a table on his way to the bathroom.
He lets out a sigh as soon as the door is closed and locked behind him. He’s a mess. He needs to get it together. After all — it was his idea, in the first place, to do all this. To act normal, like nothing had happened.
Doyoung strips and gets into the shower quickly, letting the stream of warm water wash away the grime of the day. He massages his neck, trying to ease the tension there, and tries to catalogue his day — for the sake of having something else to think about. And with how fast their lives seem to go sometimes, Doyoung thinks it’s important to savor every precious memory.
But his mind keeps drifting, recalling rooftops and chilling winter air, a letter in his hand, Taeyong’s pink nose.
Doyoung shakes his head and reaches for the soap. He’s torn between taking his time and waiting for Taeyong to just fall asleep, or spending as long as he usually does in the shower so it isn’t so obvious that he’s avoiding the older.
He spends the next fifteen minutes debating with himself what to do (Taeyong is avoiding him too and it’s for the best vs. what if Taeyong looks at him with those sad puppy eyes? Doyoung isn’t strong enough for that) before finally turning the shower off. It’s only when he reaches for one of the many hotel towels does Doyoung realizes he had left his clothes in his suitcase when he had rushed away. He groans.
It’s like the universe is coming together in the form of a four star hotel and Nakamoto Yuta to make Doyoung’s life difficult.
The main lights are out and the curtains are thankfully closed when Doyoung slinks out of the bathroom. Taeyong is settled under the covers, illuminated by the lamps by the sides of the bed and the glow of the 3DS in his hand. He peeks up over his game and Doyoung blushes when Taeyong doesn’t look away and instead puts the device down. Doyoung isn’t sure if he wants to cover up immediately or bask in Taeyong’s open interest, just for a moment or two.
Taeyong clears his throat. “You forgot your clothes.” He points to the foot of the bed, where Doyoung’s t-shirt and a pair of clean boxers are neatly laid out. “I hope you don’t mind…”
It’s very domestic and it makes Doyoung’s chest fill with a warmth he desperately doesn’t want to feel.
“Thank you,” he mumbles and pulls his boxers on under his towel, hyper aware of Taeyong following his movements with his eyes.
His shirt follows quickly after, and Doyoung finally feels Taeyong’s gaze shift away when he hangs his towel over the back of a chair. Doyoung picks up his phone (which Taeyong had also placed at the end of the bed) and sends a quick message to Jeno, asking how he and the rest of the members back in Korea are doing. He checks the chat with their managers (nothing new or pressing), then the group chat between the members.
fullsun: if i murder someone right now would i be tried in america or korea?
chicago monster: did mark fart again? :/
leemark: DUDE :(
Doyoung shakes his head with a small huff of laughter, then gingerly pulls down his share of blankets and settles into the bed next to Taeyong, making sure to keep a respectable amount of space between them.
It’s not the first time they’ve shared a bed. Back when they were trainees, Doyoung would often flop onto the closest bed he could find, when he was too tired to drag himself to his own bed (and it just so happened that it was Taeyong’s bed and Taeyong was already laying down on it). And right after their debut, Taeyong had a habit of crawling into Doyoung’s bed, sullen and quiet, seeking out comfort that Doyoung gave easily, stroking his freshly dyed hair and whispering gentle words until they both fell asleep. Doyoung had almost suggested pushing their beds together, since they were roommates anyway. Something had always stopped him, though.
Doyoung steals a glance at Taeyong, wonders what it would be like now if he just pulled him in closer, if he wrapped his arms around Taeyong and nuzzled into his neck, and —
Doyoung’s face burns.
He pushes his thoughts away. Anything not strictly platonic is dangerous. He clears his throat.
“What are you playing?”
Taeyong looks at him, lips curving up at the corners. He turns his 3DS so that Doyoung can see. “Animal Crossing.” He taps at the buttons, making his tiny character run across the screen.
“Cute,” Doyoung whispers, trying to convince himself he’s only talking about the game.
“I was doing some errands earlier,” Taeyong tells him. “Now I’m fishing.”
Doyoung nods. He wonders if all their conversations from now on are going to sound painfully distant and mundane, with tangible tension hanging off each word. He wonder if the other members have noticed. “How do you fish?”
Taeyong shifts a little closer (he smells faintly like cherry blossoms) and holds up his game, moving his character down towards a river. “It’s all about timing.” He says, voice taking on that gently excited tone that tends comes out when he’s talking about things he likes. “You need to wait for the fish to come to you and latch on to the bait. If you pull too soon, it’ll escape. If you wait too long, it’ll move on.”
Doyoung leans in to take a closer look, observing virtual-Taeyong victoriously pull out a fish, then run along the riverbank to find more. And then he’s watching Taeyong’s fingers move in practiced ease over the buttons, more so than the screen. He’s leaning in more without even realizing, until his shoulder brushes against Taeyong’s sending a jolt through his body, until Taeyong turns to look at him, warm breath fanning out over Doyoung’s face.
“Sorry.” Doyoung jerks away with a gasp. His heart is pounding in his ears. How long is it going to feel like this? “I’m sorry.”
Taeyong reaches out and curls his fingers around Doyoung’s wrist. “Please...Stop running away from me.”
“I’m not running—”
Taeyong slides his hand down and wraps his fingers around Doyoung’s and — it’s funny, really, how Doyoung has always been reaching for Taeyong, has always felt too far away. He’d savour the gentle brush of his knobby fingers when he could, and now when Taeyong’s the one reaching out, Doyoung can’t stand to let it happen. He wonders if they’re meant to always chase each other like this, if they’re always going to orbit each other and never collide.
“You are,” Taeyong says, voice low. “Ever since your birthday, when we…” He bites his lower lip.
When Taeyong had told him he was in love with him, that he believed they were meant to find each other, that he can’t imagine life without Kim Dongyoung. When Doyoung told Taeyong that he loved him too, that he had loved him since they day they met, that he’s so sure that he’ll love him for another five, ten, twenty more years, forever on the tip of his tongue.
“I’m not trying to hurt you.”
“But you are.”
“I’m trying to protect you. Us.” Doyoung’s eyebrows furrow. “You know we can’t do this.”
Not when Taeyong’s image has finally recovered, not with their rising fame, not with their whole careers ahead of them. Not with the type of backlash they’d receive.
“I know.” Taeyong lets his head fall back against headboard. His eyes are glassy. “Can’t we pretend for one day that it would be okay?”
It’s tempting. It’s so tempting to just give in, to pretend time is at a standstill, to pretend nothing else exists outside this little oasis of a hotel room.
As if Taeyong could read his mind, he says, “What happens in LA, stays in LA?” He offers a small smile that’s meant to be playful, but his eyes look like he’s pleading.
Doyoung tries to smile back, but it feels more like a grimace. “I think that’s Vegas.”
“My smart Doyoungie,” Taeyong hums softly. Doyoung shakes his head, trying not to let the intimacy of the statement get to him. Besides, if he truly was smart, he could’ve come up with a solution for them by now.
Taeyong saves his game and shuts the device off, carefully placing it on the side table before flattening his pillow and slipping down under the covers. He looks up at Doyoung and takes a deep breath, blinks a few times. “Lie down with me.” He pats the space in between them.
“Please?” Taeyong whispers when Doyoung hesitates. And that’s all it takes.
Doyoung eases himself down, laying on his side with one arm tucked under his pillow, shifting until the blankets are comfortable around him.
“See?” Taeyong smiles, soft and lovely. Doyoung’s chest aches. “We can do this much.”
We can do this much, Doyoung repeats in his mind. Repeats it again until he starts to believe that what they’re doing right now is alright.
He looks at Taeyong. He looks at his hair, his forehead, his strong eyebrows, his beautiful wide eyes that had drawn Doyoung in immediately, and the scar that frames one of them.
(“Look!” Taeyong had giggled once, drunk after just one glass of some questionable concoction Youngho had put together. He had pointed at the scar by Doyoung’s mouth, gently prodding at his cheek. Then he had pointed to his own scar. “We match!”)
Taeyong’s nose, his cheeks, his chin, his lips (soft, pink, perfect).
“Tell me something you want.” Taeyong breaks the silence.
You, Doyoung thinks. But he isn’t sure what else he may say, may do, if he confesses aloud that he wants every part of Taeyong to himself, that he would give himself to Taeyong in return.
“I want to cook with you,” Doyoung says instead.
“We already do that?” Taeyong prods at Doyoung’s chest with a smile.
“I mean — not for the members or the kids.” Doyoung catches Taeyong’s wrist, smiling when the older flattens his palm over Doyoung’s heart. “Just for each other. I want to set the table with you, wash and put the dishes away together. Stuff like that.”
“I want that, too.” Taeyong’s eyes seem to twinkle. Under the covers, he slides his leg closer to Doyoung’s own, and when his toe brushes Doyoung’s shin, he can’t help the way his breath hitches a little. “I want to watch a movie, just with you, and listen to all your comments while we watch, and hear your review of it afterwards.”
“I want you to teach me how to play those games you always play with the members.” He brushes his thumb over Taeyong’s wrist, rubbing small circles into his skin.
“You want to be part of our teamwork exercises,” Taeyong corrects, cutely insistent.
“Right. Teamwork.” Doyoung smiles wider. He’s never been so in love. “I want to...Understand the things that make you happy.”
“Hold my hand then,” Taeyong says, already searching, trailing his fingertips up to Doyoung’s shoulder, then down his arm, bold even as his cheeks flush pink.
Taeyong tangles their fingers together, skin warm and a little rougher than Doyoung’s, familiar and comforting.
“I’m so happy you’re in my life.” Doyoung says it quietly, but it feels loud in the dimly lit room.
His eyes flutter shut when Taeyong brings his free hand up to comb Doyoung’s hair back. “Me too,” Taeyong says and traces the shell of Doyoung’s ear.
His fingers continue their path, following Doyoung’s jawline, going back up to map out the plane of his cheek, circling his cheekbone. He drags his finger over Doyoung’s eyebrow, then down the slope of his nose. He moves carefully, tenderly, as he traces Doyoung’s cupid’s bow, the shape of his lips.
“Taeyong…” Doyoung breaths. “What are you doing…?”
“Imagining what it would feel like to kiss you,” Taeyong whispers back.
“Hyung.”
“I know...We shouldn’t. We can’t.” He sounds urgent. “But no one can stop us from thinking about it.”
Doyoung opens his eyes, overwhelmed with the look on Taeyong’s face (there’s sadness, affection, determination). And for a moment, he feels brave.
He holds Taeyong’s wrist in place then kisses his palm, smiling against his skin when Taeyong inhales sharply. “To help you imagine it better.”
“Dongyoung,” Taeyong says. I love you, Doyoung hears.
He doesn’t know how long they stay like this, gazing at each other even after Taeyong switches the lights off, whispering sweet words and indulging in gentle touches.
Doyoung drifts off with his fingers loosely intertwined with Taeyong’s, warmth spreading all the way to his toes.
Just for today, this much is okay.