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Truly, Doyoung was the epitome of restraint. He was the pinnacle of self-regulation, the -
Ten’s quiet snickering drew him out his grumbling and he threw a sideways glare at the man who had, for some reason, chosen to sprawl next to him.
“You’ve gotten funnier, Doyoung-ah,” Ten teased him, grinning with enough mischief that Doyoung was already tired.
“I didn’t realize I was doing comedy,” Doyoung replied, rolling his eyes.
“The ‘epitome of restraint’,” Ten had the audacity to put the phrase in air quotes before dissolving into laughter again. “Oh, you’re so funny.”
“I am ,” Doyoung was affronted. Offended to his very core. “You don’t know shit about me.”
“I know enough to know you have no filter, you little bitch,” Ten wiggled his toes - his ugly, bare, disgusting toes - against Doyoung’s knee and Doyoung yelped, kicking the leg away. “What are you trying to restrain yourself from?”
Could WayV get their own practice room? Could WayV please get their own practice room?
“Get away from me, you filthy little gremlin,” Doyoung grumbled, scooting away from the sweat-drenched man. “It’s none of your business.”
“It’s Yuta hyung, isn’t it?” Ten said knowingly and Doyoung froze, trying to mould his expression into something of nonchalance in panic. It clearly didn’t work since Ten smiled like the cat that got the cream. “Don’t tell me you still haven’t confessed your little crush.”
“I’m not telling you anything,” Doyoung insisted. He hadn’t told Ten anything but Ten was observant and for some reason, seemed to consider Doyoung his friend. This didn’t seem to deter Ten, who continued wheedling him to no avail - it truly was a test of his restraint (a trait he most definitely possessed) not to karate chop the man’s vocal cords. For all he knew, SM probably had them insured and he really didn’t have that kind of money yet.
Doyoung finally got a reprieve when the manager came in to ask if anyone wanted to head back to the dorms. Ten chose to stay back in the practice room and with a heavy sigh, so did a few others. Doyoung, however, was already bounding out of the practice room happily. He had practised enough and really, he would be useless considering his distracted state.
“Doyoung,” Speak of the devil. Yuta threw an arm over Doyoung’s shoulder but then seemed to think better of it, considering their height difference, latching on to his arm instead. “Do you want to eat together?”
“What do you want to have?” Doyoung asked, already taking out his phone, ready to search for restaurants.
“Let’s eat whatever the dorm aunty made,” Yuta said, smiling contently. Doyoung thought to ask what the point was of asking him to eat with Yuta when they would be doing that anyway at the dorm dining table. But something warm was spreading in him at the thought of Yuta asking , of Yuta wanting to eat with him because he wanted to, not because they happened to be at the same place at the same time.
The ride back was mostly silent, Yuta having tired himself out at practice, playing around with Sicheng and Hendery long after their proper practices were over. Doyoung himself wasn’t as tired but he was content in the silence, broken only by Doyoung showing Yuta funny posts or Yuta asking the driver to change the song.
The dorm was relatively silent when they arrived. All of the other residents were either still at practice, out on other schedules or in their rooms. It looked like they would be having - dinner? It was too early for that - alone since Taeil hyung seemed reluctant to leave his room. But first, Doyoung had to get the grime and sweat off of himself - Ten had touched him with his disgusting feet, after all.
Doyoung relaxed under the warmth of the water pelting him. It was hardly their most exhausting week but perhaps it was because they had a moment to breathe that all the exhaustion he’d kept locked away as they had to catch another flight, do another stage, talk to another interviewer finally caught up to him. It was hard to open his eyes, wash his body and his hair but he sluggishly went through the motions.
He emerged from the washroom lethargically but his heartbeat instantly picked up when he saw Yuta sitting on the dining table, hunched over his phone. The pots in front of him were steaming and Doyoung’s stomach grumbled. Yuta looked up as he approached and smiled brightly at him, sitting up.
“Took you long enough,” Yuta said, placing utensils in front of him. “Let’s eat.”
Yuta could have started without him, Doyoung would not have thought anything of it. But he had waited, even as he looked infinitely more exhausted than Doyoung. Doyoung had to take a sip of water to down whatever had gotten stuck in his throat.
They were both too tired to hold any substantial conversation through their meal but the silence that settled in between the clinking of cutlery was comfortable. Yuta seemed engrossed in whatever he was reading on his phone, which only gave Doyoung more leeway to sneak longer glances at him. Yuta had also taken a shower but while Doyoung’s own hair was bordering more on damp than wet anymore, Yuta’s hair still looked wet, tied up messily into a ponytail, a headband keeping his bangs away from his face.
Doyoung’s hand itched to reach forward and tug the ponytail loose, to run his fingers through the hair until it no longer looked so tangled, run a towel through it until the strands barely left any moisture on his fingers. He was just concerned for Yuta’s health, he assured himself with saccharine reasoning that even his own brain rolled its eyes at. It wasn’t good to sleep with wet hair! And if his fingers itched to go lower, to play at the skin of Yuta’s nape, to dance across Yuta’s collarbones — well. That was no one’s business but his own.
“Can I sleep with you?” Yuta’s tired voice shook Doyoung out of his thoughts and Doyoung choked on the soup he was slurping as soon as the words registered. It was ridiculous. He knew Yuta meant to sleep in his room, not — it was fine, Doyoung could blame it on the soup. Yuta seemed unfazed by the reaction, though Doyoung assumed that may have something to do with the hazy, tired look in his eye as he continued. “Taeil hyung’s practising guitar and I don’t want to make him stop.”
Doyoung nodded wordlessly, very much preoccupied with the mechanics of eating to give Yuta a verbal response. It wasn’t that the words got caught in his throat or that, if given the chance, he would say something far too inappropriate and honest . Instead, he shoved more food into his mouth to stop it from blabbing.
Doyoung finally stopped using food as an excuse to keep his mouth from running when he saw that Yuta was done eating and seemingly waiting for him to finish. Sighing, Doyoung finished up quickly, telling Yuta to go ahead to his room. Yuta looked at him with heavy-lidded eyes, as though contemplating going through the customary polite motions of refusing before shrugging, getting up.
“Come to bed soon,” Yuta said instead, sleepiness leaking into his voice. Doyoung tried not to shudder at the words but he willed his delusional heart to keep calm , for fuck’s sake.
Once Yuta had left, Doyoung calmed himself down and gave himself a Talk as he started putting away the dirty dishes. This was totally normal, he reminded himself, waggling a finger scoldingly at his heart and his emotional mind. Everything would be fine and normal and platonic .
Having steadied himself, Doyoung nodded and finally made his way to his room. Entering, he saw Yuta had already closed the curtains and was sitting on Doyoung’s bed, though he was staring at the pillow dubiously.
“What is it?” Doyoung asked as he closed the door behind him. Yuta said nothing, pointing at the pillow then at himself — particularly, at his hair.
Doyoung frowned as he focused on Yuta’s hair. It was in a messy bun, the headband keeping it back seemingly discarded but despite some of it being dry, a lot of it still seemed wet. Doyoung understood Yuta was concerned for Doyoung’s sheet but Doyoung was more concerned about Yuta.
“Dry your hair, you’ll get sick,” Doyoung said firmly. If he had to pull the ‘ I don’t want my sheets getting wet ’ card, he would. Yuta, to no one surprise, wasn’t happy about his, crossing his arms and pouting petulantly.
“Just give me a towel,” Yuta grumbled. “I’m too tired to deal with all this.”
Doyoung should have done one of two things; he either should have insisted Yuta dry himself, dragging him out of bed until he did or he should have handed Yuta a towel. What he probably should not have done is blurt out “I’ll do it for you” far too eagerly. He closed his mouth shut as soon as the words were out. He had just had a talk with himself!
“Dry my hair?” Yuta asked, adorably confused. Even in his sleepy state, the request befuddled him and understandably so. It was an odd request. Sure, people asked to run their fingers through his long hair, many people patted him, people wanted to braid it. But this was absurd. Drying and combing his hair? Sickeningly domestic.
Perhaps it was a testament to how tired the other man was that he didn’t really question Doyoung’s odd request, shrugging and turning so that his back was to Doyoung, tugging the hairband keeping his hair up harshly.
Doyoung quickly put his hands over Yuta’s impatient ones and pushed them away, taking the task for himself. Yuta seemed content to give up, allowing Doyoung free reign of his hair.
Doyoung looped Yuta’s hair out of the band gently, trying his best not to pull but knowing he didn’t entirely succeed. Yuta really hadn’t even deigned to run a brush through the hair, apparently and it remained tangled even after Doyoung had successfully extracted the band. Finally, the mirage that had been dancing in the forefront of Doyoung’s mind recently became a reality and he slowly ran his fingers through the damp hair, combing through it the best he could. He indulged himself for a few moments, enjoying the way the locks felt in between his fingers.
“I’ll go get the stuff,” Doyoung said, reluctantly pulling away. Yuta hummed in response.
By ‘stuff’, Doyoung had meant the comb and hairdryer. Having set up the hairdryer, Doyoung looked at the task ahead of him.
To be honest, Doyoung wasn’t entirely sure how to go about untangling the hair and it looked even more daunting wet - wasn’t wet hair more prone to breaking? If it were himself or anyone else with a similar hair length, he would have simply harshly brushed through any knots. It wouldn’t have become so detrimentally tangled in the first place.
In his contemplation, Doyoung saw Yuta sigh and remembered how tired the other man was. Oh, well. He would just have to wing it.
Doyoung started with running the brush through Yuta’s hair, stopping at any knots and making sure not to tug at the hair. Yuta’s hair, wet and down, reached past the nape of his neck, hugging the curve where his shoulder met his neck. Once the hair wasn’t quite so messed up and Doyoung knew where the problem spots were, he started combing in sections.
At some point, Yuta had sagged from his straight backed sitting posture and his back was pressing against Doyoung’s front. When Doyoung peeked forward, he saw Yuta’s eyes were closed and his breathing even. The pause made Yuta’s eyes flutter open, though and Doyoung knew Yuta wasn’t quite asleep yet.
It was easy to get lost in the motions, in the moment. Doyoung’s fingers became familiar with Yuta’s scalp, his thumb brushing apologetically against the juncture of Yuta’s neck and shoulder whenever he had to pull harder, feeling Yuta instinctively stiffen against him at the tugs. It was quick work, getting rid of the tangles until the brush flowed through rivers of hair uninterrupted. Doyoung continued combing with his fingers, feeling ridiculously satisfied when his fingers reached Yuta’s nape without obstruction.
“Can we sleep now?” Yuta said in a voice that told Doyoung that Yuta was already a little bit asleep. We - we . Doyoung almost agreed but then he remembered that the hair between his fingers was still wet. Not quite as wet as before but definitely more than a little damp.
“Let me just dry it, okay?” Doyoung said softly. He expected Yuta to grumble and put up a fuss but Yuta simply nodded, leaning against Doyoung. Doyoung had the urge to wrap his arms around Yuta’s torso, lay his chin on Yuta’s shoulder and just hold him, soft and compliant, in his arms. Yuta wouldn’t have thought anything of it - physical affection flowed in abundance between all of them and Yuta, in particular, was very receptive to it. But what was a simple platonic back hug to Yuta would have been something more to Doyoung - something that would have made pointedly non platonic emotions swell in his chest.
Doyoung stepped back, grabbing the hairdryer to distract himself from his thoughts, the loud billowing once he switched it on momentarily drowning out his thoughts. The air messed up Doyoung’s meticulous work on Yuta’s hair, making Doyoung wince, but it couldn’t be helped. He would just need to detangle it again after it was dry.
Drying was easier, working through Yuta’s hair, weaving her fingers through the stands until no moisture clung to them. It also required enough brainpower to make sure he didn’t bring the heat too close for Doyoung to evade his thoughts, at least until the mass in his hands was fluffy and lightweight, with the comb passing through easily.
Putting the dryer away, Doyoung felt conflicted. On one hand, he was so satisfied with himself at how soft and dry the hair looked. On the other - he no longer had an excuse to run his fingers through it.
With the emotion of a final farewell, Doyoung ran his fingers through the dry, cooling hair with the excuse of ensuring it was all dry and untangled. It was.
“All done,” Doyoung said, voice low. Yuta hummed but made no move to shift away, his back leaning back to press against Doyoung.
“Thank you,” Yuta said. Doyoung patted his head in response before pulling away, his head filled with the same inclinations as before.
“Go to sleep,” Doyoung said, gently shoving Yuta, who didn’t need telling twice, flopping on the side of Doyoung’s bed facing the wall face sideways, his hair a halo around him.
“Come to bed,” Yuta said, the words muffled but firm. It suddenly hit Doyoung what was about to happen and he almost backtracked before stopping himself - it would be more suspicious if he suddenly couldn’t sleep on the same bed as someone whom he previously had no hesitation sharing skinship with. Yuta might even feel bad . No, no, no, that can’t be allowed.
Doyoung switched off the lights and padded over to the bed easily in the dark. Doyoung’s bed was a single and he had to nudge Yuta to remind him that two people would be occupying the bed before setting down on his side ( his side - the implications that brought to his mind, dear lord). Yuta scooted and for several moments, they were both unconnected on their own sides of the bed.
Of course, it barely lasted. Doyoung hadn’t even drifted off before Yuta’s leg found its way over his and Yuta’s shifting brought him closer, his hand a hair's breadth away from Doyoung’s arm. Doyoung shuddered out a breath, relieved that, at the very least, Yuta was mostly asleep. He wouldn’t notice the hammering of Doyoung’s heart at the gesture. Doyoung didn’t have to be scared about his emotions showing on his face as he shifted closer, his arm reaching out to run his fingers gently through Yuta’s hair. If it woke Yuta, he could simply say he was admiring his handiwork.
Thankfully, it didn’t wake Yuta up, only making him move to cling to Doyoung properly, leg thrown on Doyoung’s, arm curled over Doyoung’s torso. It wasn’t anything unusual or out of the ordinary, if it weren’t for how it made Doyoung feel an onslaught of emotion. Even the smallest sigh made him want to squeal for some unfathomable reason.
Alright - perhaps not entirely unfathomable. He wasn’t quite that proficient at lying to himself. It was no good dwelling on it, though. He allowed the warmth of Yuta pressed up against him to lull him to sleep.