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The first time it happened, Taeyong was watching some movie in his room. Not anything particularly memorable, as based on the fact that he can’t even recall what it was now, but it was definitely something that could make him teary-eyed — you know, his favorite kind.
In any case, Doyoung dropped by entirely unannounced and practically demanded to know what was it that Taeyong was watching, why did it look so bad, and why hadn’t he invited him.
Why, indeed.
And— maybe Taeyong was just feeling weird that day, sort of floating in-between being tired and feeling lonely, and may have felt it best not to expose anyone to that. Truthfully, he hadn’t even considered inviting Doyoung in.
But he was thinking too hard, considering Doyoung didn’t seem hurt, in any case. So he just shrugged helplessly, and in response, Doyoung simply flopped down beside him on the bed, making Taeyong scoot over.
It's funny now, that he doesn't even remember what made him tear up that time. There are days when all it takes is a video of a cute lizard, or a sweet message from fans, or someone saying or doing something kind — not even to him, just in general, — to get him misty-eyed. That must have been it, or maybe there was a genuinely emotional scene — doesn't really matter.
But the result was this: Doyoung was getting close and closer, as if wanting to comfort him, and then, somehow, at some point, pressed a soft kiss to Taeyong's temple.
Taeyong didn’t even register it until five, maybe even ten minutes later. By then, Doyoung had fallen asleep.
He tried not to think about it too much, and succeeded.
It really, actually, starts later.
This time, it’s… deliberate. Or rather, fully conscious. A regular evening of Doyoung and Taeyong debating (shouting, some would say) about something random — more specifically, Doyoung being really, really agitated about some book series he’s loved since childhood that Taeyong has barely heard of. He doesn’t really care, and someone more agreeable would just nod and smile, but Taeyong — Taeyong simply loves matching Doyoung’s frenetic energy. He loves how passionate Doyoung gets about everything, from putting his all into singing to doing his absolute best at random quizzes they have to do at shows. Honestly, Taeyong couldn't care less about what books are and aren't popular, but when it makes Doyoung so invested, when it makes him focus all attention on Taeyong and only him, well…
"Doyoungie, admit it, you've lost this one," he crows.
It is actually Taeyong who has kind of lost track of what they’re even arguing about, but Doyoung doesn’t need to know that. The point is that Doyoung is unrelenting and only seems to get more spurred on the more Taeyong disagrees with him — especially when instead of actually debating, Taeyong just laughs his arguments off — and maybe it’s mean, just a little, but well, they’re friends, so Doyoung knows that he’s not really serious, right?
Well— Doyoung seems serious, stubborn and grim, and somehow, getting ever so closer to Taeyong.
“You can’t win,” Taeyong gloats just to say something, pushing the smile onto his face.
Doyoung moves in, still stern and displeased, until suddenly, all at once, his face clears.
"Really?" he says with a slight grin. "I bet I can make you shut up."
Taeyong laughs in his face, then, triumphant a priori, because whenever Doyoung tries to make those kinds of wagers, he always loses. He really cannot win because he is too invested, and Taeyong simply is not, and he’s just here to have fun and—
And then Doyoung leans in and kisses him. Just like that. One moment he's staring intently at Taeyong, and the next Taeyong is gaping, and in-between those two moments, somehow, was a kiss. It's so short that by the time Taeyong opens his mouth, they’re standing apart already, the press of Doyoung's lips nothing more than a faint feeling on his own.
He keeps standing there in silent shock.
Doyoung smiles slightly and walks away as if he's won.
*
Or maybe — maybe it was earlier, and Taeyong just hadn't noticed.
Maybe it started when Doyoung placed a short kiss on his cheek when Taeyong was handing him a plate with freshly prepared japchae that he knew Doyoung was craving.
Maybe all the times Doyoung would bring him food and water without a single word said, dropping by the studio, the practice room or even Taeyong’s own lonely room. When he would smile slightly and move away the plushies to make space in his bed, no words or questions asked, or slip into Taeyong's room on the nights before the comeback day, when he knew Taeyong was the most nervous. Maybe even when Doyoung kept sending tasty gifts to SuperM's filmings and sneaking sweet potato snacks into Taeyongs bag when he was going away.
Perhaps it's just a culmination of so many things that Taeyong stupidly didn't pay enough attention to. But who can blame him, really, when Doyoung already does so much for him? When Doyoung is already a constant soothing presence in his life?
So it’s hard to say if things actually change after that kiss, or Taeyong simply starts reading a bit more into it. For a while, he expects Doyoung to say something, to start a conversation — and of course, he could do it himself, but he’s not really sure what he would say. And Doyoung doesn’t ever hesitate to bring up anything; and Taeyong — Taeyong is content to wait. For Doyoung, especially, he can wait forever.
He settles on this thought, so sure he’s ready for whatever Doyoung has to offer that the reality of things catches him unaware.
Because Doyoung doesn’t… talk. Not exactly.
When he speaks to Taeyong, he is gentle, overwhelmingly so, and it's nearly always accompanied by some touches that Taeyong is never fully prepared for. When he thanks Taeyong for something, his smile is so tender that Taeyong's heart can just start pounding randomly in his chest. He tries to wave that away, tries not to read too much into it, but then, then.
There's more kisses.
Doyoung just goes and kisses him goodbye one time. "Bye," he says, and literally presses his lips to the corner of Taeyong's mouth. "Bye," Taeyong mumbles, barely coherent, until Doyoung laughs and pushes him into the elevator to go. After, while they're shooting Misfit, Johnny keeps asking him why he's so out of it and Mark keeps sending him worried glances, but he just shakes his head. He doesn't want to share this — not yet, not even with them.
Doyoung gets bolder.
He sneaks kisses in when they're arguing, when they're playfighting, sometimes to stun and disarm Taeyong, and sometimes, it seems, completely out of the blue.
He will press kisses to Taeyong's temples, his forehead, his cheeks. And sometimes Taeyong will redden, hiding his face, and sometimes it almost slips his mind until much later, having become so commonplace that he hardly registers this as unusual.
And that’s only one part of it. Slowly, over time, all of this becomes more public, more common, to the point that sometimes even Taeyong himself doesn't think twice of it.
Take this: it used to be — a year, half a year, maybe even months ago, — that they would cuddle only ever in the privacy of their rooms (usually Taeyong's), and only on special occasions, only when Taeyong really needed it. It wasn't shameful, exactly, just something they both understood as private.
Because Doyoung is private, right? Right?
Taeyong would like to laugh at himself for thinking that, nowadays, as Doyoung comes in and simply drapes himself over him in the living room. And now, at least, the other members barely bat an eye, but early on, Taeyong would catch some glances, now and then. Still, nobody talked, because they know not to be nosy in fragile matters such as this. Well... Johnny knows, at least; and he manages to keep Donghyuck at bay, somehow. Beyond their floor, it can get harder, to avoid unnecessary questions. Taeyong suspects Doyoung has to bear the brunt of them, though he's never got any real proof of that.
Mostly, though, whatever is happening, happens between them.
It's easier, maybe, to look at it in retrospect. To pinpoint all these moments, to pick them out one by one, collecting them in a jar like special, precious things.
While it is actually happening, though, Taeyong feels lost. Almost — almost out of his depth. It’s enough to make him stumble, mentally, to feel like he’s missed a step, every time Doyoung does something unusual. And it’s nice — no, it’s good, it feels really, really good, to be receiving this much attention from Doyoung, who preferred to keep their friendship sort of on the down low for so many years, and maybe — just maybe — sometimes it felt like a special kind of torment, pushing Taeyong into this weird longing for someone he’s spending most of his time with.
And now, it’s different, and he wants to just enjoy it, and maybe he would, but something in him just keeps wondering — how long will it last? How far will Doyoung let it go, how far can he push?
That’s something he can’t deny himself: pushing back. He picks a way Doyoung can't escape his earnest messages — a goddamn video relay, — to deliver some of his thoughts and feelings. He calls Doyoung all the time, not denying the urge whenever it appears, yearning for his attention. He goes and intrudes on his personal space with others around. He pushes, and pushes, and wonders when will it be too much.
And yet.
Doyoung just seems to take it in stride.
He intertwines their fingers when Taeyong pokes at his hand. He embraces him wordlessly when Taeyong sneaks into his bed late at night. He answers all the calls, and even when playing up his annoyance (at least, Taeyong hopes so) he never hangs up without listening first, without saying something that never fails to make Taeyong feel warm inside.
*
The idea of rings is something that has been rattling in his mind for a while — maybe ever since Johnny jokingly dropped, "if he's so jealous, maybe he should put a ring on it", making Mark and Hyuck double over in laughter. Doyoung barely spared him a single glance.
Or maybe it’s something else. Something born from how desperate Doyoung’s attentions seem to be, how Taeyong likes to poke fun at “jealous Doyoungie”, but also, quietly, can’t stop pondering on it. He wants something to show Doyoung that there’s nothing and no one he can fear — something tangible connecting the two of them at all times. Maybe it’s silly; that’s what he tells himself time after time.
But the idea grows, spreading its branches inside him, encompassing everything. He finds himself studying the rings stylists put on him, on other members. He spends… minutes? hours? — an embarrassingly long time browsing through online catalogues. Whatever he does, he always runs into the same problem — he can’t just guess Doyoung’s ring size. He can’t even guess what finger he would wear it on — if he would do it at all. He even considers, briefly, the idea of something else: a pendant, maybe, or some kind of bracelet, but the image of their hands, together, with the same rings glinting on them. Well.
It’s very hard to let go of.
So Taeyong gives in.
At first, he tries to subtly take Doyoung's ring size when the other is asleep during a movie night. Subtlety is not in his nature, though, and several seconds in, Doyoung is waking up grumpily and demanding to know what he is doing. Taeyong flounders and flushes and loses the slip of paper he was trying to use as a measure somewhere in the sheets. Somehow, Doyoung’s hand ends up settled between his own hands.
So that one’s out. Plan B, then.
"Doyoungie," he calls on another evening, trying to appear calm and entirely casual, "what's your ring size?"
"Why?" comes an immediate answer, Doyoung still washing the dishes, his back to Taeyong — which is good, because he can’t see Taeyong scrambling for a good enough excuse.
"Why so suspicious? I wanna make you a gift." He pouts automatically.
It's the truth, even if it isn't the full truth.
Doyoung turns around and scrutinizes him. Taeyong tries not to blanch, his hands grasping at the counter behind him.
"What kind of gift?"
Taeyong shifts. Why did he even think this would be easy?
"Ah, you know..." he mutters, looking around as if the excuse will appear out of thin air.
"No, I actually don't," Doyoung replies, and is that a hint of the smile on his lips?.. "That's why I'm asking. A ring?"
Taeyong sighs. "...Yeah. A ring." Might as well give in a little.
"Just a ring. For me," Doyoung confirms, drying his hands on the towel hanging over his shoulder.
Taeyong hesitates — Doyoung, of course, catches on instantly. "Is it something for everyone? All the members?" he inquires. Taeyong can't read his tone at all.
"Um…" he looks down, frantically thinking of how to explain himself. He doesn't want to lie, and it's not like Doyoung won't find out eventually—
"No?" Doyoung presses, a hint of desperation in his tone — or maybe Taeyong's just hearing things. "Then why me?"
Taeyong sighs heavily. "I wanna make you a gift. Something special," he explains, trying to calm his hammering heart.
"Special how?" Doyoung continues with the interrogation, taking a step forward.
“Aish, just tell me!” Taeyong exclaims, grabbing Doyoung’s wrist. Doyoung allows it, but moves even closer so that their bodies are almost pressing together. Taeyong wonders, briefly, how it would feel if they weren't so similar in height. If Doyoung was taller or shorter than him, how would this situation feel? Would he still be just as dumbstruck if Doyoung's face wasn’t right in front of his own, so, so close, as if he's going to…
"No," Doyoung declares, a puff of air on Taeyong’s face.
“No?” Taeyong asks weakly, blinking rapidly as Doyoung takes a step back.
“No,” Doyoung repeats, mirth in his voice. “At least not until you tell me why.”
And then he's out of the kitchen, leaving Taeyong with the rest of the dishes.
"Hey!" Taeyong yells, affronted, but Doyoung is not replying.
*
There's a couple more attempts — both to get it out of Doyoung and to perform some stealth actions, — which all end in the same kind of non-result.
After several weeks of despair — he even considers asking his members for help — in the end, it turns out that he needn't have worried.
Because Doyoung just. Guesses.
"What's up with all the mystery?" he asks one day, Taeyong's hand in his own.
"What?" Taeyong replies, absentmindedly munching on his sweet potato chip.
"The ring thing," Doyoung snorts. "It's like you wanna propose to me or something."
Taeyong flushes, and jerks away, spilling chips all over the couch, and then flushes some more, turning away.
Doyoung's stunned exhalation is louder than the deranged screaming inside Taeyong's mind.
"Yong-ah…"
"No, no!" Taeyong hurries to say, only briefly moving his hands from his flaming face. "It's. Just. It's friendship rings. Like. I want us to have them. Together."
Doyoung is quiet for a while, but when Taeyong finally risks a proper look at him, he's actually smiling, something small and satisfied — and warmth is spreading inside Taeyong, and he reaches his hand out—
"Well, too bad I'm not gonna tell you my ring size," Doyoung says, grins and stands up.
"Wh— what—" Taeyong stutters.
"Good night," Doyoung murmurs, bending down and kissing his cheek.
And then Taeyong is alone once again.
*
He would’ve liked to say that amidst all the comebacks, shoots and recordings and practice, he forgets about the issue. That he just puts it aside, deciding to think of a way to figure the puzzle out later.
He would've liked to say he doesn't spend a portion of his nights aimlessly scrolling through online jewelry catalogues. That he doesn't study Doyoung's hands meticulously. That he doesn't wish, sometimes, that Doyoung would kiss him for real, or that he had the courage to just go and sleep in Doyoung's bed.
But however it is, nothing really prepares him for what is coming.
What happens is this: one late autumn night, he comes home, kicks off his favorite sneakers, tries to be quiet as he sneaks into the kitchen in hopes to find some snacks.
“Yongie,” he hears from behind and promptly crashes into the counter. Fuck.
“Fuck,” he mutters and turns around. Doyoung looks like a ghost in the corner of the room, sitting on the sofa in his white oversized t-shirt. What’s he doing there? It’s past 2 AM, he should be long asleep.
“What?” he asks, belatedly, in a whisper, cautious of Johnny’s strict sleep schedule.
"Just come here," Doyoung replies quietly, and Taeyong makes a questioning noise. There’s soup left on the table, the scent beckoning him closer, and he looks between the bowl and Doyoung, trying to come to a decision.
Doyoung laughs, soft. “Wait. Although… no, you should eat first.” He seems unusually hesitant, and Taeyong’s curiosity is immediately piqued.
“What is it?” he inquires, grabbing the soup and moving towards Doyoung. The bowl is still a bit warm, it will do.
“Ah, it’s… it’s nothing. It can wait,” Doyoung mutters, and Taeyong is treated to a rather rare sight of Doyoung flustered. Damn, now he's really intrigued.
He flops on the couch, almost spilling the soup, and takes a quick sip. Putting the bowl on the coffee table, he moves in closer to Doyoung.
“What are you hiding?”
Doyoung rolls his eyes and points at the soup. “Eat,” he says.
Taeyong shrugs, reaching for the bowl without taking his eyes off Doyoung.
“You’re ridiculous,” Doyoung scoffs. “Eat properly.”
“But I’m eating,” Taeyong says in the cutest and most childlike manner he can, puffing up his lips and taking a long, pronounced slurp.
“Ugh,” Doyoung says, but there’s a hint of smile on his face, and he doesn’t move away.
Taeyong considers this a good enough reason to plop his feet into Doyoung’s lap. Doyoung barely reacts, soon beginning to fiddle with the hem of Taeyong’s pants.
He seems… nervous, even embarrassed, maybe, and that just doesn't sit well with Taeyong. After a couple minutes, done with half of the bowl, he sets it aside.
"Okay," he says. "Hit me. What is it?"
Doyoung looks like a deer caught in the headlines for a moment — cute, — and then sighs, and reaches somewhere… into the couch. It happens so fast Taeyong doesn't really notice what Doyoung gets or how, but it makes its way into his hands, hidden between two palms, like a clam in the shell, like a little pearl.
"Give me your hand," Doyoung says quietly, not looking at him.
Hand? Taeyong wonders, but reaches out anyway.
He is not prepared for Doyoung to take his hand oh so gently and slip something onto his index finger.
Taeyong is frozen, staring at his own hand, the ring just. Just there.
"Ah," Doyoung's voice comes, as if through a glass. "It's a little too big."
"What…" he croaks out. The ring doesn't disappear.
"You wanted… you wanted the rings," Doyoung says, too quietly for how he usually is. Taeyong meets his eyes, for a second. "Didn't you?"
Wordlessly, Taeyong nods, and, before he can even think, reaches for Doyoung's hand — only to find nothing on it.
Doyoung laughs softly. "It's on my neck," he explains, reaching under his t-shirt to drag a chain out. Taeyong stares — at the ring, glinting on the chain. At the sliver of skin under the t-shirt.
"I didn't want you to see it too early," Doyoung explains softly, looking down to where his fingers are turning the ring one way and another.
Taeyong nods.
He should be — he should be laughing and yelling and maybe crying and berating and thanking Doyoung. He should be leaning in and— and— and he wants to, he wants all of these things, he’s wanted them for god knows how long—
But he sits there, shell-shocked, unable to say a word. He should say something, respond somehow, in some way, but he can’t, he just can’t—
Because in his room, sitting hidden behind a shelf of memorabilia, of precious memories and silly trinkets, in a place nobody would look except for himself, there’s a couple of the exact same rings.
*
In the end, he flees the rooms with excuses of sleep and an early morning (true, but when isn't it) after somehow managing to thank Doyoung and giving him the world's shortest hug.
Only later, in his room, where he hurriedly searches for the box to confirm that the rings he got for them are still in place, that Doyoung hasn't magically gotten his hands on them, that two of them just fucking happened to have the same idea, — he breathes out and collapses on the bed in astonishment.
Fuck. He laughs, incredulous. How the fuck did this happen?
He looks at the ring on his finger — it is a little too big, yeah, — follows the ridges with the pad of his thumb and tries to think. It's not like the idea was completely dropped, not like Doyoung just produced the rings out of thin air, even if it feels like it. They've breached the topic a couple more times since then, Doyoung teasing him and Taeyong unable to stay really mad at him.
There was a moment when he got the idea in the first place, when something just kinda clicked — that time a stylist put some Cartier ring on him, and Taeyong had a sudden fierce vision of how right it would look on one of Doyoung's long, bony fingers.
But that was, like, a SuperM photoshoot — and Doyoung wasn't even involved, so how would he know, — like of course, he could Google it, but still, why would he — when did he — what the hell —
Taeyong groans, smothering himself with a pillow.
It's ridiculous. Okay, so they both splurged insane amounts of money only to get each other the same rings. Friendship rings. Yeah. That's what he wanted, right?
Right.
It's a mess. But it's not all bad. Just a little stupid, just a little ridiculous. It feels, somehow, embarrassing that he did all of that without even once thinking that Doyoung might have gotten the idea to get the rings himself — but… but he did.
For the first time, he lets that fully wash over him.
Doyoung — Doyoung got them the rings. Doyoung, who sometimes feels like water escaping through his fingers, like a bird he can never keep, too fluid, too free. It's something Taeyong has made peace with long ago, that his desperate hopes for a forever with one another might not come true. That he should try to stick to enjoying the now and not put too much stock in tomorrow.
He doesn't want to cage Doyoung in. He doesn't want to tie him down with an ill-timed confession, no matter how many times he's been close to spilling, with Doyoung's arms around him, Doyoung's lips on his cheek, his forehead; he doesn't want to threaten his freedom, to somehow limit his ever-expanding horizons.
The rings were a flight of fancy, something he was sure Doyoung would only indulge for a short while before the idea got dropped. The refusal to give him his ring size — deep down, Taeyong was sure that it was also just a way to let him down easily.
A part of his brain keeps insisting that it might be just that — a concession, like the small smiles Doyoung gives him when Taeyong gets carried away with dreams of a future together.
But… Doyoung went to all these lengths to procure the rings. All the time and thought he must have given it — god, Taeyong knows, because he did the same, — and can it really? Can it really be the same?
His reaction back in the kitchen comes back to him with a crash. Fuck, fuck. He just — he just up and left Doyoung there, alone, barely thanking him, barely responding, just taking the ring and escaping, without even sparing a thought to how Doyoung must feel, what Doyoung did and...
In his mind, he can now see Doyoung's face disturbingly clear: his slightly open mouth, the tightness around his eyes, the pained furrow of his brows.
Taeyong sits up and scrambles to open the door — but, just as he expected, there's no one there anymore, and the dorm is dark and quiet. Dejected, he closes the door, cursing himself over and over.
He can't wake Doyoung now, not when his friend's sleep pattern has already been disturbed when he stayed up waiting for Taeyong to come home only to… fuck.
It’s okay, it’s fine. Tomorrow, he can fix it. He will fix it.
He goes to sleep still haunted by the hurt and embarrassed look on Doyoung’s face.
What he forgets is that tomorrow is the day before Chuseok.
Tomorrow Doyoung is leaving.
*
Of course he oversleeps.
The one day he really, really needs to get up earlier — the one day Doyoung doesn't wake him up, because he doesn't have an early schedule, and of course, Taeyong hasn't asked him to wake him up anyway, just to say goodbye, even if he kinda wanted to ("it's just a couple days, hyung", Doyoung would say) — is the day he sleeps through the alarm he remembered to set moments before dropping into uneasy sleep.
He manages to catch Doyoung at the door, just barely. Fuck.
"Listen," Taeyong says hurriedly, heedless of Johnny definitely standing some distance in the corridor and being an unintentional witness of this trainwreck. "Listen, about yesterday, I'm sorry, I didn't— I mean, I'm so thankful, it's just that—"
Doyoung looks at him — or rather, through him, maybe. His expression betrays nothing, and Taeyong, god, he hates it.
"It's fine, hyung," Doyoung replies easily, smiling the emotionless smile Taeyong rarely sees him use, even on stage.
"The thing is, I—"
Doyoung leaves, because he doesn't want to clear this up over messages or even calls, not when Doyoung is right there, still there—
"Bye, hyung." He reaches for Doyoung, to — he doesn't even know what, but he needs to do something, now, before the door closes on this conversation, on this chance to clear things out.
And then he's gone.
Taeyong stands there in a stupor until a heavy hand lands on his shoulder.
He almost jumps, but somehow manages to get himself under control. Not even looking Johnny in the eye, he turns around to bury his face in his friend's shoulder and wails.
"There, there," Johnny murmurs. Taeyong is beyond thankful that he doesn't even ask what this all was about. "It's just a few days, Yong-ah."
Taeyong nods.
He can wait, he reminds himself. For Doyoung, he can wait much longer than that.
*
He spends the rest of the day in restless agony before switching to restless practice. His hyungs, not to mention Mark and Ten, certainly notice, but nobody says anything. Taemin is definitely trying to distract him, being all playful and slipping in way too many praises that Taeyong doesn’t really deserve. Baekhyun is just hugging him at every opportunity, going as far as to wrap Taeyong up in his hoodie, and while it’s nice, it can’t stop his brain from running.
When he gets home, Taeyong gets out the ring that he's put in his drawer (after a few seconds of squashing the urge to throw it into the aquarium) and, trembling, puts it on his finger. It's a little big, still. He can't describe how it makes him feel.
Instead of words, he takes a picture and sends it to Doyoung without any other comments. Then he turns off the notifications.
Today, he does his best to go to bed early.
After all, no one is waking him up tomorrow.
*
Of course, today he actually rises a few minutes before his alarm and opens the phone without thinking, staring blankly at the messages before he can finally process them.
ddoing
hah
ddoing
you like it after all?
ddoing
[image attached]
Taeyong looks at the photo — a selfie, casual clothes, bright smile, — and aches.
Just a few more days.
*
The busy schedule manages to distract him from what is still hanging in the air of the dorm, even — especially — without Doyoung there. They exchange a few more messages, Taeyong complaining how the dorm is scarily silent now that Youngho has left as well, and Doyoung teasing him for being a baby.
All in all, the usual.
It's only later, when he's already turned on the vlive and is watching people flood in — it's more and faster each time, with each live, which is both flattering and a bit terrifying — that he gets the idea.
A stupid, somewhat conceited idea, but. Well.
It's worked before.
Well — except that lately, it almost seems like Doyoung is over the jealousy thing. If it was, indeed, a thing and not something Taeyong has conjured out of thin air to poke fun at. So it’s a bit of a gamble, talking about Baekhyun for no end, when he doesn’t even know if Doyoung is watching, or if Doyoung will get it, or if—
In the end, it only takes about one hour before Doyoung messages him, and something inside Taeyong burns at getting his attention just like that. He almost feels bad for resorting to such a silly trick, especially when he just wants to talk properly, but he can’t do that now, not over phone, not when he cannot hold Doyoung, touch him and look at him and know he sees him back.
And — okay, maybe he expected some sort of reaction, even tried to provoke it — but to have Doyoung practically demand Taeyong show everyone their rings is something else. Talking to him, teasing and joking around is easy, but the rings.
The rings are a part of something bigger, and Taeyong still doesn’t know if he’s ready to tackle it.
*
He finishes the live in a daze and sits there for a few moments.
The ring is glinting on his table. Doyoung is coming back tomorrow, a couple days before Taeyong thought he would, a couple days before he has to. Realistically, Taeyong understands he must want to clear it all up, but no matter how much he aches for Doyoung’s presence, it’s all way too exhausting to think about right now.
So he makes a half-assed dinner — just frying left-over rice with stuff he can find in the fridge — and eats it slowly while catching up on some Youtube channels he follows, reveling in the rare peace and quiet. He wasn’t lying to Doyoung — it’s nice to have a dorm to himself.
And yet.
The silence is both pleasant and stifling, almost exhausting, and before long, the comfort of the routine wears off, and Taeyong finds his thoughts straying more and more, wandering and breaking into smaller and smaller pieces. He knows what he needs, knows that it’s hard to endure this kind of evening alone.
It’s an impulse, or maybe instinct.
Before he can think it over, he abandons the dishes in the sink and takes a couple steps towards Doyoung’s room. Opens the door. Steps in.
It smells the way it always does: the soft fragrance that always lets Taeyong recognise Doyoung even without looking. If pressed, he might even be able to place the specific scents, but he doesn’t want to think about it, doesn’t want to decipher the mix of fragrances that embodies Doyoung for him. It looks the same, too. As if Doyoung can come back any moment.
He takes a step, then another. A breath, then another. Then he slips into Doyoung’s bed.
Biting his lip, Taeyong unlocks the phone clutched in his fingers and stares at the screen. He’s got it on a perpetual “do not disturb” mode, lest the flood of notifications overwhelm him, and it’s with slight trepidation that he opens KakaoTalk.
It’s too easy to navigate to his conversation with Doyoung. It’s way too easy to press the call button.
Taeyong gets two whole seconds to panic before Doyoung appears on his screen.
Fuck.
“Hello?" Doyoung asks. He looks soft, hair seemingly freshly showered, a black shirt with too wide a collar — Taeyong’s eye catches the glint of the chain on his collarbones.
“I,” he says and then thinks better of it.
Worry colours Doyoung’s features for a moment. “You okay?”
“Fine,” Taeyong mumbles.
Worry gives way to amusement. For the most part, at least.
“You gonna turn on the video or what?" Doyoung inquires.
“Maybe not," Taeyong answers petulantly — and maybe it’s too easy to get a rise of him nowadays. Maybe it’s always been easy for Doyoung.
Doyoung laughs, a bright sound, a lovely image.
“Are you in the bathroom or something? Hiding from monsters?"
"I'm not!” Taeyong protests, and presses the video button before he can think better of it.
“Oh," Doyoung says, quietly, and then proceeds to not say anything at all. Taeyong grows steadily more flushed, but he isn’t sure if it’s Doyoung’s expression or the way he’s got the blanket up and practically over his nose.
Doyoung coughs. “So… You… missed me this much, huh? Or just got bored of your tired old bed?”
Taeyong can feel how Doyoung’s trying at something easy and lighthearted — trying and failing, — but his insides are all thrumming and he can barely squeeze out, “You missed me,” like a child who can’t think of a better retort.
“Yeah,” Doyoung says after a pause. “I did.”
Ah, Taeyong thinks. This is how I die.
“Mhm,” he hums. “So are you really coming tomorrow?”
Doyoung looks at him, as if evaluating what best to say. “I can.” And then, sighing, “I want to. I think there’s things we left… unfinished.”
Taeyong registers, faintly, that he may be trembling, just a little, that his fingernails are digging into his own skin. He wants to see Doyoung — hold him, touch him, kiss him — but he is still scared, still somehow not entirely ready to lay all his cards on the table.
But if Doyoung can, then so can he.
“Okay,” he says. “Okay.”
Maybe he doesn’t need to wait or be patient for Doyoung; maybe what he needs is to meet him halfway.
*
It takes him a long time to fall asleep — not that he’s trying very hard. He spends some time gaming, fiddles restlessly with some tracks he’s got lying around and doesn’t have the slightest idea what to do with, and then just… scrolls. Eventually, he comes upon his own face, which seems kinda inevitable these days.
The ring is also there, in the screencaps, captured in all its glory. One of four.
Taeyong rubs his knuckles into his eyes. He needs sleep, and not to overthink this.
First, though, he takes his rings out. They’re different — silver, whereas the ones Doyoung bought are rose gold, and smaller, at least his own: in the end, he just tried to subtly compare their fingers to estimate what Doyoung’s ring size would be.
He’s still not sure how it compares to Doyoung’s… actual ring size.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow, he can find out.
He falls into restless slumber, still imagining Doyoung’s face when all is revealed. Will he be happy? Surprised? Annoyed, somehow? Uncomfortable on Taeyong’s behalf?
Taeyong could, theoretically, return the rings, as embarrassing as that would be. He could just hide it forever. But he doesn’t want to — doesn’t want Doyoung to think he just gave up like that, that he wasn’t actually intending to go through with the idea. (And as some stubborn, competitive side of him that only activates around Doyoung comments, he can’t let Doyoung think he got ahead of him like that.)
*
Doyoung, of course, arrives early the next morning, but Taeyong is ready, shivering in the kitchen as he always does after getting out of bed. He gulps down the scalding tea and tries to dispel the queasiness.
The box sits on the counter, and the golden ring sits on his index finger. Doyoung has texted him half an hour ago that he’s got off the train and into the car.
Any minute now.
Indeed, he hears the front lock working and faint swearing from behind it — Doyoung constantly puts the key in the wrong way and needs to try it several times before getting it right, so Taeyong approaches the door slowly.
Doyoung’s face behind it is a revelation — it doesn’t look like he expected to see Taeyong straight away, and for several seconds, they just stare at each other.
Then Taeyong reaches out with a slightly shaky hand and cups Doyoung’s cheek in it. “Hi,” he mumbles and leans in.
Doyoung’s lips are soft, chapped a little from travelling, and they accept Taeyong instantly, as if they’ve been kissing for years, even though they’ve only actually touched mouths a handful of times. It’s so unhurried, so comfortable that Taeyong wants to cry from frustration, that he’s been denying himself, both of them, something so right and obvious.
Doyoung’s fingers are tracing the shell of his ear, and Taeyong can feel cold metal against his skin, and somehow, it spills.
“I got you rings,” Taeyong whispers, millimeters from Doyoung’s lips.
“Uh?” Doyoung breathes out, eyes half-lidded, soft and warm in his arms. Taeyong’s heart is beating so fast.
“Rings. I got you — I got you rings. Too. They’re on the table— I couldn’t— didn’t know how—“ he’s fumbling through it all, this is not how he meant to say it at all, he wanted to lead with something witty, or even slip a ring on Doyoung’s finger on the sly, not like this, fuck, can they just go back to kissing—
“Hang, hang on, what?” Doyoung asks, drawing back, words finally getting through to him. “You… got me rings?”
“Yeah,” Taeyong confirms, biting on his lip and looking away desperately. “Like, before you gave me yours, I… also got you rings. And you’ll never believe which rings, haha,” he finishes with a small laugh, even though inside he’s all jittery and weak now.
The way Doyoung stares at him, shiny mouth agape, makes Taeyong think he still doesn’t fully comprehend the scope of ridiculousness they’re in.
“Come,” he says simply, tugging on his wrist, and Doyoung follows him without question, as he always does.
The rings are, miraculously, still right where he left them. He glances towards Doyoung and can’t help himself. “Close your eyes?”
“Really?”
“Really. Come on,” Taeyong pleads. Doyoung sighs but complies, and Taeyong squeezes his hand in wordless gratitude.
He inhales and pops open the box. The rings sit there, as if mocking him, but there’s nothing he feels but certainty as he slowly puts the slightly bigger one on Doyoung’s finger, right beside the shining gold.
A small exhale is all Doyoung reacts with.
As Taeyong turns to him, everything around them seems to go quiet. Doyoung’s eyes open slowly, but instead of looking at his hand, he just looks into Taeyong’s eyes, and that familiar mix of softness and understanding is really simply too much.
He wants to say a thousand things — how it’s silly, and stupid, and that he kinda panicked back there, and sorry for that, and how did Doyoung get the idea for Cartier, and when, and to note that he actually managed to guess the ring size, — but after three days of desperate confusion, after months of wondering and trying, fruitlessly and pointlessly, to put aside all the times he felt too much, too strongly, wishing for something he couldn’t have, the only thing he can do now is reach out for Doyoung and know and trust that the other is already one step ahead of him.
*
Later, when they’re lying in Doyoung’s bed (it’s comfier and, more importantly, covered in clean sheets Taeyong put on it yesterday), and Taeyong is stroking Doyoung’s fingers one by one, he cannot help but get it out, though.
“I guessed the size right,” he preens. “Without any of your underhanded methods.”
“Implying your methods were all entirely upfront.”
“Well, I certainly didn’t bribe stylists—“
“I think you’re forgetting one thing,” Doyoung interrupts, sounding way too amused and smug, and Taeyong would never let this go, usually. Usually. “I got there first.”
That’s a low blow, and for a second Taeyong gapes before the innate need to counter every single word Doyoung says rises like bile in his throat, “Well, actually—“
“And also,” Doyoung continues, like an afterthought, “I know how to shut you up.”
Well then.
Taeyong hesitates only for a second before twisting to face him. Doyoung's face is all innocence, and Taeyong smirks. “Well, show me then.”
Doyoung, as always, complies.