Chapter Text
The car makes a sharp left turn. Yuta grits his teeth and reaches out with his hand. There is no courage in that movement, only the sway to the right. His intestines are twisted, bile rising in his stomach. He uses the momentum to force himself to reach out, and he stops, a hair's breadth away from Taeyong's fingers. He feels cold and hot at the same time, and he squeezes his eyes shut, because he knows his courage will slip away again if he wavers for even one second more.
Yuta has never thought he would ever do this, but well, here he is. Here he is, missing Taeyong too much even though he sees him every day. His heart in his throat, fingers hooked around Taeyong’s pinky. He pretends that this is nothing, but everything about himself betrays him.
Taeyong turns to look at him, surprised. Maybe not the unpleasant kind of surprised, but surprised nonetheless. He is listening to music, and concentrating on whatever he is reading off his phone. At least, he was. Yuta knows it’s his reflex, but when Taeyong raises his brows at the contact, he cannot shake the uneasy feeling that he was intruding on Taeyong's personal space and time. Yuta swallows, looking away as if he does not see how Taeyong is glancing at him. He reaches shyly with his fingertips, slowly slipping his fingers within Taeyong’s reach.
Please, please save me, he begs.
Taeyong never disappoints, and he tugs Yuta, fitting his hand into his own resolutely. Yuta swallows thickly, looking forward at the back of the seat in front of him. He knows what Taeyong is thinking.
On second thought, he doesn’t. He only knows Taeyong is puzzled, again, but maybe Taeyong isn’t thinking straight, so there is no way for him to know what Taeyong is thinking because he himself doesn’t know either.
There are quite a few questions he is asking himself, aside from trying to contemplate what Taeyong thinks about their little predicament. The sun has set half an hour ago and it is dim inside the car. Most of them are too tired from their shoot to stay awake on the long ride home, and he could barely make out the contours of Taeyong’s face, but he doesn’t know why he is still so flustered. Why would Taeyong see him blush? Why’d he blush and find it a problem, if Taeyong loves him? Isn’t this quite normal, for them to hold hands? But if it is normal, why’d they never do it? At this he grits his teeth, and he regrets everything immediately, drawing his hand back in embarrassment.
His heart lurches as Taeyong’s grip tightens around his hand forcefully, stopping him. His grasp is like a snapping jaw, and Yuta can feel it in his stomach.
He never looks at Taeyong, afraid of his scorching presence, but he relaxes, as if surrendering briefly to a growling wild animal. He relaxes carefully, still strung tight, but in another way.
As if realizing his reaction was too violent, Taeyong releases him too. He doesn’t let him go, but his stance changes immediately, as if Yuta would take everything and close the door if he made one wrong move. He cradles his hand lightly, with both hands, nervously. The air becomes heavy immediately.
Yuta looks out of the window, wanting something else to focus on, but everything flashes by so fast he cannot comprehend anything. The only thing he can hear is the blood roaring in his ears. He isn’t a person who is experienced in handling this kind of situation. He is almost never in this position, maybe never: a thin layer of cold sweat on his body in an air-conditioned car, intestines twisted, heart trapped in a careful clasp that is soft like iron. He tries to swallow the lump in his throat but it stays.
Right. He closes his eyes briefly and breathes out a shaky breath. Here we are again.
They stay like that for a while, and at some point Yuta cannot restrain himself and he looks out of the corner of his eye, but Taeyong isn’t staring at him like he thought he would be. He purses his lips, not sure if he should be surprised or disappointed. He musters up the courage to turn to Taeyong.
Taeyong has his head bowed, elbows propped on his knees and he looks so distressed. Yuta can see that he has his eyes closed and is mumbling something, barely, but he can’t hear it. Perhaps Taeyong isn’t making any noise at all. But Yuta can hear Taeyong praying, for him not to go.
Gingerly, he eases his hand out of Taeyong’s grip, like the disappointment he is.
For a short while, nothing happened. But then Taeyong closes his hands into fists briefly and wipes his palms roughly on his jeans. He never looked up, so Yuta can’t see what’s going on in his head.
Then again, even if he did, he wouldn’t be able to understand either. He can’t read him anymore, and he knows Taeyong thinks the same about him, if not more deeply.
He’s seen how Taeyong looks at him now. Taeyong looks at him every time as if it is the last time he is going to see him. As if when Taeyong lets him out of his sight, he will be gone immediately. Whenever Taeyong zones out a little like that, watching him, Yuta feels this odd, prickling sensation in his chest. He doesn’t want Taeyong to be so unsure of himself, but he can’t say it, because he is unsure of himself too.
Taeyong sighs. Yuta can’t hear it, but he can see it. The way he buries his face in his hands and the way his back heaves. Then he wipes his face roughly, as roughly as he wiped his hands on the fabric of his jeans, and then straightens up.
Yuta freezes as he does, like a deer caught in the headlights as Taeyong looks surprised to see him staring. They plunge into a tunnel, the sudden artificial light blinding. Yuta’s heart races, and he thinks he should be nervous at being in such close proximity with the person he loves, not because he doesn’t know how to speak to him anymore.
His lips part to speak, but he hasn’t formed a coherent sentence yet, he doesn't even know what to say. He can’t even think, and his mind is blank. He averts his gaze, ashamed.
No one should be in this position with their significant other, and they’d let it spiral like this.
Taeyong is studying him again, with that expression that he is afraid to see now. It’s written all over Taeyong’s face. What are you thinking? He asks, and the way that this question is not rhetorical, that it is genuine and uncertain, makes him feel guilty. He’s scared that one day, when Taeyong decides he cannot understand him anymore and doesn’t have the patience to read into his words, he’s going to lose him.
He should do something, at least. To show Taeyong that he doesn’t want it to end like this. Maybe he should just call his name for the sake of it, anything. Yuta licks his parched lips, forcing himself to look up.
He hesitates. Again.
The car rushes out of the tunnel, and everything is dark and silent again, as if they are submerged in water. Yuta presses his lips together, feeling wronged and frustrated by himself and everything else. I did it again, he laughs at himself, and it isn’t funny anymore. I ruined the rest of the day for both of us without even saying a word.
Taeyong still waits, patiently, like he always does. And then he gives up, just like how the routine goes. He gives up, putting in his earphones again, and next time he will still be fooled by a tiny advance that Yuta attempts to make and then regrets.
It’ll be better when I go to sleep. We’ll forget about this tomorrow, Yuta lies to himself again, sinuses tingling. At this point he doesn’t know if it’s a lie, because it seems true and false at the same time. There isn’t much of the day left.
Taeyong leans back on the seat heavily. Yuta can feel the force of it crumble something brittle in his chest. Just a little.