Work Text:
brown sugar lollipops and a smile
The first time Taeyong felt they could be more,
he didn't say anything.
February. Frost like quiet fireworks
under drenched sneakers. Jaehyun, newly-nineteen, ran
towards him, his letterman jacket bright and weighted,
it seemed, with possibility
against the wind, a tuft of brown hair bounding upwards,
mirroring the edges of a pink mouth, whose softness remained
a question. “Just trust me, okay?” Jaehyun said,
each breath white smoke in the dark
before they were memories—
before Taeyong fully understood touch and how
it lingers. The lesson: Jaehyun’s mitted fingers wrapping
around his bare wrist, a soft tug, barely there,
then voice, an explanation, “Follow me.”—
This , before that hand slipped, once again,
to its habit of meeting Taeyong’s
anywhere: first handshake,
at the studio; curled under blankets
during thunderstorms; between pinky promises; in dance,
the loud echoes of a mere graze; and everywhere else, innocent
accidents turned sleepless thoughts. That night,
in front of an old man crouched over a humble fire
tucked into a corner of a road, amidst the sweet, misplaced
childhood summer smell of burnt sugar—a squeeze
of hands and a chest. Taeyong stood and watched
as Jaehyun paid with all he had: folded paper bills from a flat wallet
and, because that wasn’t enough, a round peach
from his jacket pocket, and a barter of looks
between him and the dalgona vendor—an understanding
of emptiness for the filling of another.
Then it was decided
a fair exchange: a week’s measly allowance
and a fruit, for a bag of many-shaped,
brown sugar lollipops and a smile
on Taeyong's face: a fondness
akin to baking soda, corn syrup, and sugar
melting over a small pan and a fire
solidified as Jaehyun took his hand again
down streets that bore witness
to another exchange—one more silent
than anything before it
save for the rustle of plastic
as Taeyong, with a quiet smile, slung
the bag of sweets over Jaehyun’s arm and took
the last peach from the younger’s hand
into his own, the weight of it,
along with the unsaid words
on his tied tongue,
a whole world
in his palm.