Chapter Text
JANUARY.
jan 17th.
“… Hallowed be your name …”
Taeyong echoed the words he knew by heart, sitting upright and proper in the tough church pews. His parents were diligently reciting the Lord’s Prayer next to him, every bit the devout churchgoer, whilst his twin brother Youngho sat next to him, evidently bored.
They were nearing the end of Sunday mass, and it was tiring and long, but Taeyong was used to it. Having been attending mass since he was born, Taeyong was used to the droning voice of the Fathers who would speak, to the hard pews that always left his butt sore, to the fake friendliness of white Australian families that always had an underlying taste of racism to their words.
Taeyong looked away from the preacher’s pulpit for a second, eyes casting over the congregation. A mix of cultures, of families, all diligently praying. Eyes on his own family; with the perfect parents, and their perfect eldest twin son who was the school captain, and their other son who wasn’t as perfect. It was a community, one that Taeyong loved to be a part of.
One that Taeyong had always been a part of.
...
“Taeyong.”
He looked up to see Youngho standing next to him, the Korean rare to come from him. Youngho was the most Westernised of the family, going by his English name at school and refusing to speak Korean when he could get away with it.
“What’s the matter?” Taeyong returned to what he’d been doing, deftly buttering bread for sandwiches. He was currently in the small kitchen in the church’s hall, along with two other families. They were getting the Sunday brunch ready for after the mass, having left ten minutes early to finalise the meals.
“Can you cover for me?” Youngho asked, smiling widely and oh-so-fake at the white teenager who shot them a look for speaking in Korean. She scoffed and turned back to her mini sausage platter, the twins giving her an appraising look in response.
“Yah, why? Where are you going?” Taeyong stacked his sandwiches on his tray and picked it up, Youngho following him as they both walked to the big table that housed all the food. He set it down in its spot – five seats from the right end of the table, the end with Jesus’ face pointing to the left.
(It was all so, very precise, Mrs Lee would reiterate to her son. All so, very precise)
“Come on!” Youngho slipped back into English, grabbing Taeyong’s elbow when he put the plate down and turning him around. “I’m going to see … you-know-who.” His voice dropped to a low murmur, looking around when he said it.
Churches were notorious for gossip, and Taeyong’s was no different.
“You know they won’t believe me-” Taeyong began, but Youngho cut him off with a smile and a shake of his head.
“You know they always believe you, Yong-ie. You’re the golden child.”
He grimaced at that word, pushing past Youngho to grab the cordials off the kitchen counter and bring it to the table. He hated that word, ‘golden child’. He hated that he was the ‘golden child’, because it meant that Youngho wasn’t.
“Shut up, that’s no such thing.”
Youngho raised an eyebrow, and both Lee’s knew that that statement was a huge lie. Taeyong sighed, fixing up the tablecloth and stepping back with his brother as the others finally set their food down, the brunch preparation finished.
“Okay, whatever, they believe me. What do you want me to say, ‘oh, Youngho-yah had to go home because he’s sick all of a sudden after sitting in a church for an hour and a bit doing nothing? He caught the public bus home instead of waiting for you two because he felt so sick, he needed his own bed.’?” Taeyong sniped, looking up at the other with an unimpressed expression. “Come on, bro. They’re not going to let it go, and you’re going to hear it from them.”
“But … we were going to go to the movies …”
Youngho looked so sad, so disappointed, that Taeyong found himself closing his eyes and counting to twenty before he was responding.
“I … fuck, you owe me so much. I’ll cover for your dumb ass, okay? Just hurry up and leave, now.”
It was astounding at how fast Youngho cheered up, thanking his twin brother with a tight hug and a loud smack! of his lips against Taeyong’s temple, before snatching his bag and running out from the church grounds.
jan 22nd.
It was the night before school started – senior year, the home stretch – and Taeyong was already stressed.
His school captain badge sat proudly atop his wardrobe cabinet, next to his school ties, his Bible and his colognes. Taeyong was proud of himself for managing to snag the role – it was a tight competition, between him and his good friend Dongyoung Kim, but he had gotten it in the end.
(Dongyoung was his vice-captain, thank goodness)
Going back to St Francis’ was a routine now – find your new year area and pick your lockers, say hi to some of the Brothers that walk around the school, see your friends.
The only difference was, this was the last year he’d ever do this. Last year he’d ever walk through the gates with Youngho to seek out their friends, to argue over which locker he’d get, and to say hi to Brother David who always stationed himself at the front gate to welcome all the returning boys. This was it, and Taeyong knew he wasn’t ready.
Currently, he was sat at his desk, hunched over the planner slash journal for the year, writing in dates. Youngho was crashed on his bed, texting and laughing softly every few minutes.
January 23rd, the first day of school. January 26th, Australia Day. February 9th, mine and Youngho’s birthdays … With highlighters spreading across his desk, one clutched between his teeth, Taeyong must’ve looked frantic.
Which obviously meant Youngho should throw one of his pillows right at him.
“Hey, hey, Yong – chill. It’s fine!” Youngho piped up as he moved to sit on the other’s desk, braving Taeyong’s glare. “It’s just school.”
“Yeah, just school until it’s exams, and you remember it’s your last chance to get that 99 ATAR, and mum and dad are-” Taeyong cut himself off to inhale shakily, staring down at the journal.
Fuck.
“Yong …” Youngho’s voice was soft, and he gently coaxed Taeyong until the older twin was looking up at him. “Don’t let mum and dad stress you out, okay? I know it’s hard, and you’re the captain now, but … don’t let them get to you.”
It’s hard to nod to that because Taeyong hates making empty promises, but he must.
Youngho can see that his words are empty, but it’s good enough, and all he does is reach down to hug Taeyong briefly and stand up.
“Don’t stay up too late, Tae. We need to head in early.”
...
(It’s just past one-am when Taeyong is crawling into bed, rubbing at his eyes and fumbling for his blankets. There is only the sound of rustling and soft sighing as he readied himself for bed before quiet words can be heard, his prayers filling the air)
jan 23rd.
The first day of school went by, and it was fine.
Taeyong and his other captains – Dongyoung, the vice; Kenta, the community and social captain; Jimin and Taehyung, the arts captains – all met with the principal and were officially the prefects of the school.
Taeyong got his favourite locker – on the end so he’s not budged in, and it’s in a breezy area so he’s not too hot in the Australian heat.
He met with his friends again; Kun and Ten were delighted to see him, and when Dongyoung joined it was like old times again.
Until Taeyong would look across the quad and see Youngho with the … ‘trouble-makers’ of the grade, see him with the kids who pulled C’s and D’s. Until he was remembering they were in Year 12 now, and Taeyong couldn’t mess up. Not when he was the school captain, and he had to get his ATAR of 99, and he had to –
“Breathe, church boy.”
Taeyong’s head shot up, immediately homing in on the voice, before looking around at his surroundings.
Oh – he was outside the school gates. It was only three-thirty, and he was waiting for the bus because Youngho had gone off with his friends and his parents worked until late.
“…- church boy? What gives, trust fund?” Taeyong looked up again, finally finding the source of the voice.
Clad in the tell-tale uniform of the public high school down the road stood a teenage boy, obviously a senior if his ‘senior jersey’ was any indicator. He had an impish smile, his hair was fluffy, and Taeyong had to pull his gaze away before he looked too long.
He wasn’t supposed to look too long.
“I’m fine,” he bit out, fumbling in his school bag for his phone. “Just peachy.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that when you were two steps from a panic attack, mate.” Taeyong bristled; whether it was the other’s words or his tone, he didn’t know. Luckily the bus pulled up, and Taeyong wasted no time jumping up and all but running onto the bus.
The last thing he saw was a smile from the other senior, and a thumbs up.
Whether it was genuine or mocking, Taeyong didn’t know, but he knew he wouldn’t be talking to him again.
Because, as Mother and Father always say, public schools are where trouble reside, and Taeyong was a good kid,
A good kid, indeed.