Archive of Our Own

D-day (the day before the end)

Taeyong toes the door to his room close with a click, and within a beat his body gives. As always, it’s his head that dips first, followed by his neck, his shoulders, his chest—a sigh escapes here, a caving in—his knees, and then every other joint in his body. All this in a quick progression, which culminates into a jolt that sends him crashing face-first onto his bed with the simultaneous helplessness and drive of a comet caught within the gravitational pull of a celestial body more massive than itself.

Oof, is the sound that Taeyong makes mentally as soon as he collides with the soft and forgiving surface of his bed’s mattress. At this point, he lets himself admit, ‘tired’ would be an understatement for whatever it is that he’s feeling; whatever it is that's pulsing bone-deep within him and causing him to be acutely aware of each sinew that makes up the muscles of his body. If he were to be completely honest—which he unfortunately refuses to be at the moment, on grounds of the fact that NCT 127’s second Japanese comeback is only a few weeks away—that word and all its other variants have been minimizations of his state for quite a while now. Heck, even echoes of that one time Lee Sooman seonsaengnim personally acknowledged his efforts after doing SMTOWN amidst back-to-back promotions with NCT and SuperM (“You must be tired, Taeyong-ah”—five words that were spoken so casually but meant everything to him then) don’t console him as much anymore. He must’ve exhausted that memory, he thinks, because what he finds nowadays whenever he remembers it is not comfort, but rather a sense of amusement—albeit a sardonic one, for he still can’t believe he managed to spend an hour locked inside a stall at the concert hall’s sordid toilet room for male idols after that very encounter with The Lee Sooman. In retrospect, he probably wouldn't have been able to last half as long if he hadn’t cried enough to earn himself a stuffy nose. Maybe the months spent doing and just endlessly doing work contributed to that small display of endurance. Maybe, after all this time, he’s been rendered calloused and hardwearing against many things.

Taeyong smiles weakly at the thought. Then, after a moment, sighs. So he’s feeling more tired than usual. Okay. He allows himself that honesty. But, still.

“So what,” he mumbles into his sheets. As much as his entire being wants to—is practically begging to—he can’t go to sleep just yet.

Slowly, he maneuvers his body so that he ends up lying down on his back with his face to the ceiling. Then, with as little movement as possible, he reaches out for the sliding folder he knows he left on his bedside table. Upon retrieving said folder, he flips through its contents, stopping only once he reaches the page he spent the most time poring over yesterday: “INTERVIEW QUESTIONS FOR LOVEHOLIC,” the text at the topmost corner of the page reads, and the arm Taeyong is using to hold the folder over his face goes limp.

There’s nothing special about this page, he reminds himself. It’s just a list of interview questions. A questionnaire—something he’s encountered countless times before. And as with all company-sanctioned questionnaires, there’s no assurance that everything he has answered here will be published as they are, or at all. But even so, despite these facts, he can’t help but feel the same trepidation that has caused him to delay accomplishing the questionnaire far more than he should have—tomorrow being the deadline.

Taeyong frowns. He’s more than halfway done with the task. In fact, to be more accurate, he only has one question left unanswered. Much to his dismay, however, it’s also a question for which he somehow can’t come up with a satisfactory response. No matter how many times he racks his brain—and he’s done that numerous times already the past week—he conjures nothing. Staring at the final question now, he’s half-tempted to pen in ‘I don’t know,’ to signify that if there’s anything he’s learned so far in the years he’s spent working as an idol for whom interviews are a way of creating his image and communicating with fans, it is that some questions just can’t be answered. But this isn’t a matter of can he or can he not, is it? There’s nothing philosophical about this, he tells himself. Answering this question—he must. He’s paid to do it, after all. And the fans will love to read it, these little glimpses of himself that he has sworn to keep as genuine as possible after years of hiding and shrinking who he truly is.

Taeyong inhales deeply. He rolls himself over so that he’s lying on his stomach and propping himself up on one elbow. Languidly, he traces a finger over the final question, which reads, in what he thinks has got to be the most unassuming font to ever exist, “If the world were to end tomorrow, what would you do?”

Just then, he hears a knock from the door.

“Come in,” he intones without tearing his body nor his eyes from the page before him. It’s his way of forcing himself to focus. He doesn’t lift his head up either to see whoever it is at the doorway. Not that he needs to, anyway; judging only from how his door had already creaked open even before he managed to fully verbalize his permission, he can tell that his visitor is none other than Kim Doyoung.

“I knew you’d still be up,” Doyoung says. Somehow, it comes off like an accusation, at which Taeyong finally lifts his chin up, one brow raised in question.

“Why are you here?” he counters Doyoung's greeting without much venom, not that he wants to sound terribly annoyed in the first place. He has a rough idea of the reason behind Doyoung’s visit and—assuming his hunch is correct—he figures it wouldn’t look good on him to be hostile to someone who’s doing things purely out of concern.

“Came to hand this over. You’re collecting them, aren’t you?” Doyoung asks. He waves a sliding folder identical to the one in Taeyong’s hand, and then proceeds to explain even before Taeyong can drag it out of him, “Also wanted to check up on you. You know, after what happened earlier with Jaehyun… You really ought to be resting now, hyung. We still have a long day tomorrow.”

“Ah, but how can I rest now that my loving best friend Doyoung is here?” Taeyong teases, voice essentially a kittenish sing-song. The faux-pout on his face cracks itself into a wide grin as soon as Doyoung responds with a comical roll of the eyes. "It's fine, it’s fine," he says with a laugh. "I'll sleep once I'm done with this. You can leave yours on my desk."

Doyoung does exactly what Taeyong says and drops his questionnaire above Taeyong’s desktop keyboard, where it lands with a clatter. But instead of leaving it at that, he makes his way to the edge of Taeyong’s bed, where he then chooses to stand with both hands on his waist. "You're still doing that?" he asks, his body tilting at an angle to peer at the folder in Taeyong’s grasp. 

Taeyong attempts to bat Doyoung away with his free hand, and soon enough—because Doyoung’s skin proves to be numb to this very physical manifestation of Taeyong’s reflex to drive people off his case, and Taeyong isn’t the type to step away from walls he’s built around himself even if said walls are close to collapsing—the two of them are caught up in a not-quite-slap-fight. It starts with a slap to Doyoung’s wrist. Then, a palm-faced rebuttal to Taeyong’s shoulder. A hand around Taeyong’s wrist. The sound of Taeyong’s plastic folder crumpling in his hold. A light shove, and then—this being the most short-lived not-quite-slap-fight they’ve ever had—victory for Doyoung’s side.

“Alright already. Fine,” Taeyong grunts. He’s way too tired to keep this up, he realizes. And so he says, raising both hands to signal a ceasefire, “You win.”

“Okay. Yay. Now tell me,” Doyoung deadpans, the absence of amusement in his voice catching Taeyong’s attention.

This is unusual, Taeyong observes. Doyoung is supposed to be gloating over his victory like he always does when he wins their petty fights. But his face is nowhere near smug. If anything, he looks worn out.

Oh.

Realization dawns on Taeyong: he’s not the only one who’s tired. Of course. That should’ve been obvious.

“Tell me what’s up,” Doyoung probes when Taeyong remains unblinking and staring up at him for more than a minute. “What’s wrong?”

Taeyong shakes his head, pressing his lips together into a thin line. He has to get it together. He shouldn’t be acting the way he is, not during crucial periods like this when everyone, especially his members, expects—no, needs—him to be here, to fill his role as the level-headed leader he should be.

“What? Nothing,” he says as he squares his shoulders. He moves to sit up to a more comfortable position in bed, clearing his throat when Doyoung only regards him with suspicion. “Nothing’s wrong,” he reasserts.

"So, you're not worried?" Doyoung asks.

"… About what?"

"About the comeback?"

"No”—Taeyong pauses to give this more thought—“No. I don’t think I am.”

“Then, what’s wrong?”

“Like I just said: Nothing. I’m fine.”

"It’s about Jaehyun, isn’t it?” Doyoung states, and the way he says it like he’s convinced Taeyong is, in fact, some type of anxious regarding Jaehyun makes Taeyong shift in his seat.

"What? No? Why would I be? I mean, he's fine already, right? Johnny's with him," Taeyong says, but even to his own ears he sounds unconvincing. Maybe even a little defensive, going by how he almost said the first part in a scoff. He winces inwardly at his own self-awareness, but stands his ground, nevertheless. He only hopes Doyoung would let him off the hook now, or that he can appease Doyoung’s concern without having to see this conversation through. "Honestly, I'm fine. It's just… This”—he tries, waving the folder in his hand with a smile—“What did you say for number eight? I can't seem to come up with anything.”

It takes a moment for Doyoung to cease his glaring, but when he finally does, he sighs, and Taeyong sighs with him, albeit silently. "Which one is that?" he asks.

"The one about how you would spend tomorrow if it was going to be the last day ever."

"You're stuck with that one?" Doyoung narrows his eyes again but, this time, Taeyong welcomes it. "Ugh, that's ridiculous. And here I thought you were stressing over things that actually matter…”

“Hey, this matters. It’s for the album—”

“I know. But you’re taking it way too seriously. Stop overthinking and just settle for a safe answer!"

"No, you have to tell me what you put! I need ideas," Taeyong whines. He tries his best not to smile through the bubbly feeling that's suddenly rising to his chest and the playful way with which Doyoung tries to wrestle the folder away from him. This is how it should be, he decides. He can't burden others now, especially not about the matter he's kept to himself all this time. He’s always been good at keeping it under wraps, has always been the first to deny talking about it, even to himself. So why cave now?

Then, a knock at the door. Afterwards, the sound of the knob turning, followed by the creak of the door as it opens by a mere inch.

It's Johnny who shows up through the crack at the doorway, his face framed by shadows from the unlit hallway behind him. It makes him look like a floating head.

"Hey. Figured you guys were still awake from all the noise," he says, his eyes scanning Taeyong’s room, “Just wanted to come and say Jaehyun's fine now. He didn't have to be admitted in. Thankfully wasn't that serious. He has to wear a bandage, though." He’s looking at Taeyong as he says the last part, and Taeyong feels himself shrink a little bit. Johnny has always been the most perceptive out of all of them.

"Well, that's better than a cast, right?" Doyoung inquires. He's stopped going for the folder in Taeyong's hand and has instead chosen to go for Taeyong himself by looking at the elder with all the inquisitiveness his face muscles can muster, curious eyes glistening like the blunt edge of a dagger—virtually harmless unless it finds reason to flip itself and be on the offensive.

"Yeah… Thanks, Johnny. For taking care of it," Taeyong finds himself saying. He avoids both Doyoung’s and Johnny’s gazes to stare at the floor, his free hand balling itself into a loose fist as he adds, “You’re the best.” He tries to translate his gratitude into a smile, but it doesn’t work that well. He feels too lost to be into it.

When Jaehyun hurt himself earlier after a misstep at practice, he was panicked. But the initial worry wasn’t as strong nor as lasting as the black sludge of disappointment-betrayal-resentment that drove into his skin afterwards, when, instead of him, it was Johnny whom Jaehyun clung to for help. A wave of shame weighs down onto his shoulders as he admits this now, and it makes him wish he could be left alone immediately to curl into himself and wallow, because how could he have been so irrational as to feel animosity toward Johnny? What kind of a good person, leader, and friend—

“Hey, what did you put for number eight in that questionnaire we have for Loveholic?” Doyoung suddenly says to Johnny, his voice piercing through Taeyong’s self-imposed quicksand. “Taeyong-hyung needs ideas for his.”

Not wanting this to go on for any longer, Taeyong protests, “It’s okay—”

But Johnny and Doyoung are quick to ignore him.

“Sure. Which one is that?” Johnny asks as he swings the door wider and allows all six feet of himself to come forward and enter Taeyong’s room.

This time, Doyoung successfully snatches the folder from Taeyong’s hand, and he ignores Taeyong’s swatting to read from the page, “Question number eight: ‘If the world were to end tomorrow, what would you do?’”

“Oh. That one.” Johnny blinks. He has that look on his face, the one he uses when he’s about to say something unexpected, something pulled from his vast repository of information on members that he can use for blackmail if he chooses to (but somehow never does, because he’s Johnny; he mostly exposes what he knows to cause chaos or embarrassment). And, right now, he’s looking straight at Taeyong. “We talked about something similar one time, as rookies. Don’t you remember?”

“I don’t think so,” Taeyong says, only to retract his statement when a vague memory of the said conversation plays itself inside his head. “Oh. Wait. I do remember now, I think. Yeah, we did talk about it.”

“Cool.” Johnny nods. Then, a knowing smile. “Wasn’t your answer something like ‘spend the whole day with Jaehyun’?”

Taeyong hears something heavy inside of him drop. “What?” he nearly exclaims, incredulous.

Beside him, Doyoung is chuckling and covering his mouth with the folder. “Well, there’s your answer.”

“No?” Taeyong shakes his head. “I never said that.”

“Hey, it was years ago.” Johnny shrugs. “I just remember hearing something like it. Either it was you, or Jaehyun.”

“It wasn’t me. I swear,” Taeyong says, his chest puffing out in indignation now. He’s never been more certain of anything in his life before, and this feeling alone encourages him to prove himself. But, somehow, he can’t summon the confidence to do so.

Doyoung continues to chuckle. “Sureee,” he mocks. Then, being the smartass that he is, quips, “Looks like you do have to spend more time thinking of an answer for number eight, hyung. Because something like that sure wouldn’t be a safe answer.”

Screw having to wait for tomorrow—he wants the world to end now. Taeyong grimaces. He wishes his bed would turn into a black hole and suck him and everything up until there’s nothing but a vast emptiness in his room. But, unsurprisingly, it doesn’t.

Taeyong only gets to reconcile with silence and burrow himself under his sheets after Johnny and Doyoung leave.

Once alone again in the quiet of his room with all the lights turned off, Taeyong thinks back to question number eight. How would he spend tomorrow if it were going to be his last? Would he want to do something special, or would he prefer for it to go like all his other days? Would he want to spend it alone, or with someone else? How would the end of the world even look like? What would be the last thing he would want to see, the last thing he would want to hear, the last thing he would want to feel?

Closing his eyes, Taeyong lets go of a sigh, the exhaustion from the day finally catching up to him. This would be easier if Doyoung and Johnny had told him how they answered instead of just teasing him. Maybe he really should just pen in ‘I don’t know.’

Suddenly feeling a little too oppressed by the black emptiness in his room, he reaches out for whatever he can use to fill the space around himself. This time, his arms find ‘tokki knight,’ his stuffed bunny, which he then hugs close. He should probably just sleep it off and try again tomorrow, he tells himself. Yeah. That sounds like a good idea. He should go with that.

Or—he allows himself one last thought before finally drifting to sleep, the corner of his mouth lifting to a half-smile—maybe he can answer just like how Jaehyun did, all those years ago:

In the lasting blue of that old practice room, Jaehyun had once said—with a confidence that can only come from someone who feels that they’ve got nothing to lose despite still being so young—he thinks it wouldn’t be so bad to spend the end of the world with his Taeyong-hyung.

//

March 21, 2014 (the day of questioning)

"If the world was going to end tomorrow, what would you guys do?" The curiosity in Johnny’s voice resonates loudly within the four corners of their cramped practice room as he says this and, just like that, everyone stirs awake.

It's a question that makes sense in the context of the film they just finished watching on Johnny’s beaten-up tablet. Or at least Taeyong thinks it does. He spent most of the movie’s running time falling in and out of sleep, and therefore can’t confidently say he knows how the story goes. But he does remember there being shots of massive earthquakes and falling buildings at the beginning, and then—before he finally laid his head on Jaehyun’s shoulder and gave in to his drowsiness—some Noah’s Ark situation near the end. Did humanity manage to survive in the film? He doesn’t know. But judging from the collage of snippets his brain retained, it’s safe to say that the movie was indeed portraying some kind of apocalypse.

"No wonder it’s called ‘2012,’ it’s so outdated. Wish we spent the last two hours practicing instead," Yuta groans, ignoring Johnny's contemplative, post-movie question to give voice to the sentiment everyone in the room no doubt shares. If they had known waiting for their manager today would take long, they would've spent the last few hours polishing their dance routines and mentoring each other. But trapped as they were in the limbo of their manager's authoritative but vague "Wait for me and my further instructions," they couldn't do anything aside from what they were told. Choosing to pass the time by crowding over Johnny's tablet on the floor and watching a foreign film with no subtitles—Johnny and Jaehyun were kind enough to translate and explain when prompted—was actually the last resort, which explains the collective gloom of regret and disappointment currently flooding the room.

"Hey, now. Just think of what we watched as part of our culture studies or something. And, come on, it wasn't even that bad. Outdated, yeah, maybe. But climate change is real, you know. The events in the movie could still happen," Johnny argues. Despite this, he shoves his tablet into his bag with a sigh that suggests he blames himself for bringing out the film in the first place. "Anyway. Me? I’d like to spend the end of the world DJ-ing at a bar."

"Oh, you've always wanted to do that, right?” Hansol—ever the kind soul—jumps into Johnny’s attempt at lifting everyone’s sour mood. He wrings the front of his shirt once everyone turns to look at him, but nonetheless pursues the task he had somehow taken, chest rising as he attempts to speak louder and clearer, “I think that’d be really cool, and you just turned 20 last month!"

From there, the conversation snowballs and, soon enough, the practice room starts to reverberate with animated laughter and chattering as everyone daydreams—rather positively—about the end of the world. With his head still on Jaehyun’s shoulder, Taeyong chooses to stay silent during all of this, partly because he has yet to shake himself completely awake, and the other part because he genuinely enjoys seeing everyone like this—all bright-eyed and weightless and free, talking of dreams as people their ages should be. It makes him feel like the young teenager he knows he factually is, and not the heavy-shouldered nineteen-year-old who had just recently found out that chasing one’s dreams requires far more discipline and grit than he could have ever imagined. He wishes he could immortalize this moment somehow, commit it to his memory so that whenever he feels downtrodden and alone in the future, he could have something to remind him that he has people with him. And so, fixing the angle of his head on Jaehyun’s shoulder, he quietly listens and observes:

"I guess I'd want to play soccer with my friends in Osaka again. Lie on the grass and watch the sunset like we used to,” Yuta says, earning him a sympathetic pat on the back from Johnny, who doubtlessly has friends he also misses in Chicago.

“We should definitely do that sometime, hyung. It might not be the same but, you know,” Jaehyun offers. He’s looking at Yuta with hope, and the smile that graces his face after Yuta gives him a thumbs-up is blinding and burrows dimples into his cheeks.

Against his better judgment, Taeyong lets his mouth come loose into a small smile at the exchange. He immediately attempts to smother this reaction, however, by pressing the corner of his mouth against Jaehyun’s clothed shoulder. It happened again, he catches himself. For the past two weeks, he’d been associating the word ‘cute’ with Jaehyun more often than before—not that there’s anything wrong with that, is there? He’s always thought of Jaehyun to be endearing (the fact that he has Jaehyun listed as ‘honey pig’ on his phone is proof enough to many), but somehow this—whatever it is, he has yet to figure out—feels more complicated. More nuanced. Just. More.

“I think I’d like to go to the cinema alone on the day the world ends,” Hansol says, the smooth flow of conversation no doubt making it easier for him to share, “Or… or maybe confess to a crush.”

At that, the room erupts into wolf-whistles, the loudest of which come from Yuta, who shakes Hansol with exclamations of ‘I didn’t know you were such a romantic!’

“But what if you get rejected?” Johnny asks, to which Hansol shrugs.

“It would still be worth it,” Hansol says, dipping his head slightly. His hands move to wring the front of his shirt again, but his voice is unwavering when he continues, “I mean, at least doing so would set my heart free… and I think I wouldn’t be so scared to face the end of the world anymore once I can proudly say that I liked someone and did something about it.”

A contemplative silence. Then, thinking he just ruined the mood for everyone, Hansol coughs and whispers a small apology.

“Hansol-hyung,” Yuta begins immediately after Hansol’s silent self-deprecation, the slight snicker on his face already suggestive of the mischief that’s turning its gears inside his head, “if you confessed to me, you wouldn’t have to nurse a broken heart. We could go to the cinema together, too.”

And, just like that, everyone’s back to laughing. Well, everyone aside from Taeyong, who clams up the moment Johnny tells him it’s his turn to answer the question.

“Uh,” Taeyong starts dumbly. Though he doesn’t want to admit it, another reason he chose to lie low and keep quiet this whole time is the fact that he hates being the center of attention—has always hated it ever since that time he got into a fight with a then-fellow-trainee who claimed he was sucking up to their mentors. Though this time is clearly different, as he’s with people he trusts, his friends’ stares still cause a sort of clamminess to crawl up his skin. And the moment he registers their gazes and remembers he still has his head on Jaehyun’s shoulder, his body shoots up to sit straight with the swiftness of someone who just got burned. “Uhm,” he tries again, before pausing to take a deep breath, compose himself, and think.

Out of all the answers he’s heard so far, it’s Hansol’s that struck him the most. Thinking more about it now, he finds that he wants what Hansol wants, too; finds a certain appeal in being able to tell someone he loves them on his last day on Earth, preferably as the sun dips low on the horizon and colors the sky a bright and orange farewell. But he doesn’t say this. Of course he doesn’t. His friends don’t see him as someone who desires anything like that. So, instead, he comes up with something similar, something he knows strikes the others as predictable: “Spend the end of the world with my loved ones, I guess?”

It isn’t entirely a lie; he does miss family, most especially his sister and his dog Ruby. But it isn’t the truth, either. Everyone buys it, though, as he expected. What takes him by surprise during all this is the hand that reaches out to squeeze his.

Jaehyun—his brain supplies. Jaehyun is holding his hand and squeezing it in a gesture of comfort in front of everyone. It’s warm. Jaehyun has always been warm. It’s one of the things that makes him so endearing—

“Okay. How about you, Jae? You’re the only one who hasn’t shared,” Johnny says with the clearing of a throat, his line-of-sight ending at Taeyong and Jaehyun’s joined hands. “What would you do if the world was going to end tomorrow?”

Without letting go of Taeyong’s hand, Jaehyun casually answers, “Nothing out of the ordinary. I’d wake up. Go to school. Meet Taeyong-hyung at the gates after school. Walk to the company together”—he enumerates without pause—"Practice. Talk to you guys. Eat dinner with Taeyong-hyung. Walk home with Taeyong-hyung—”

“So, basically spend the entire day with Taeyong-hyung?” Yuta interrupts, the playful mockery in his statement only visible to the likes of Taeyong and Johnny who, by now, have learned how to read his many smiles. This smile, the one that reminds Taeyong of The Cheshire Cat from Disney’s Alice in Wonderland, spells nothing but pure mischief.

“I guess? If you put it that way.” Jaehyun nods, completely oblivious.

And Taeyong takes the lull in the conversation that comes right after as an opportunity to snatch his hand away from Jaehyun’s grasp. He averts his gaze to the floor and tries his best not to think too much about the abnormal rhythm that his pulse has abruptly taken.

Just then, as though sensitive to Taeyong’s unknown crisis, the door to the practice room swings opens to reveal their manager, who tells them to pack it up and come out.

“We still have a long day ahead of us, boys,” their manager says. And, for once, Taeyong is relieved to know he’ll be kept busy until the end of the day.

Outside it is overcast—a clear contrast to the eternal blue skies of their practice room.

Despite it already being spring, as one can easily gather from the different shades of brown and green that have started to color the city’s landscape, some remnants of the winter that had come and gone can still be felt in the breeze.

As though undeterred by the cold, a small crowd gathers outside the company’s doors, presumably to get a glimpse of SM’s Rookies. Yes, that’s what they are, Taeyong reminds himself as he and the other boys step outside to head toward the nearby park, where their manager said they’ll be asked to shoot something for a documentary. Even after months since he was first announced as a member of SM’s official pre-debut team, he still finds it hard to believe sometimes, being this close to his goal of becoming an actual artist.

Today, however, Taeyong finds himself more taken aback by Jaehyun’s answer to the question they all were posed earlier in the practice room. “Did you really mean what you said earlier? Wouldn’t you regret it, spending the end of the world with me,” he thinks as he stares at the back of Jaehyun’s head, which now towers a few inches higher than himself. Taeyong blinks. That’s new. Somehow, without him actively noticing, Jaehyun had really grown in the last few months. Predictably, it makes him wonder if height is the only thing that has changed for the younger.

“Of course, hyung. I meant what I said,” Jaehyun says unexpectedly, making Taeyong’s eyes widen in surprise as he realizes he had spoken his mind aloud. “And, no, I don’t think I would ever regret it,” he adds, slowing his pace down to match Taeyong’s until the two of them are walking side-by-side. For some reason, this elicits an uproar of clicking sounds and flashes from nearby cameras, but Jaehyun doesn’t pay the reaction any mind. In fact, he laughs when Hansol and the others push Taeyong toward him, making the elder latch onto his arm with a small yelp.

Suddenly embarrassed by what he ended up saying aloud as well as by Jaehyun’s proximity, Taeyong keeps his eyes glued to the pavement as he continues to walk, the hand he has latched onto Jaehyun’s arm stiffening with uncertainty. However, after Jaehyun’s reassurance, his curiosity only grows. Eventually he gives in and asks, “But… but what if you could do anything? Anything you wanted. Anything at all. Wouldn’t you change your answer then?”

It takes a moment for Jaehyun to respond, and Taeyong watches as the slightest hint of sunlight slips past the curtain of clouds overhead and drifts downward in hazy sheets to wrap Jaehyun’s head in some kind of golden halo. At that very moment, his eyes meet Jaehyun’s just as the younger turns his head to face him, and for the first time ever since he met and befriended the younger, Taeyong realizes that there are far too many words in the vocabulary he can associate with Jaehyun that make sticking with ‘cute’ feel like an offense.

“I guess there is one thing I’d want to change,” Jaehyun says with a smile.

And Taeyong thinks his dimples are sickening, so much so that he purposefully lets himself lag a few steps behind so he can stare at the back of Jaehyun’s head again instead of at Jaehyun’s face.

“What is it…?” Taeyong asks then, his voice coming out softer than intended. Though he’s walking behind Jaehyun, he still makes it a point to be close to the younger, if only so that the others won’t get to hear their conversation. “What would you change?” he asks again, in case Jaehyun didn’t get to hear him the first time.

The answer that Jaehyun gives knocks out the air Taeyong didn’t know he’d been holding: “I’d make it so that I can take you to that restaurant I’ve been telling you about. We really have to eat their samgyetang before the world ends.”

“Like a last meal,” Taeyong says, a little breathless. He blames it on the fact that they’re picking up their pace now, seeing as their manager is waving at them impatiently on the other side of the road. In addition, what they had thought to be a small crowd of onlookers has revealed itself to be a string of people with cameras lifted to their faces.

“Yeah. Like a last meal,” Jaehyun echoes, his voice bringing Taeyong back a sense of calm. “That would be good, wouldn’t it, hyung?”

“Yeah. That would be good,” Taeyong agrees. Then, feeling something warm free itself from his chest to travel up his neck, jaw, and finally to his face, he quickly grabs onto Jaehyun’s jacket and—without much thinking—buries his face into Jaehyun’s back. Like the little moment from earlier when he latched onto Jaehyun’s arm, this, too, elicits its own wave of camera flashes.

“Looks like you’re a crowd favorite, hyung,” Jaehyun teases with a laugh.

And Taeyong laughs, too, albeit quietly. It’s more of a clipped chuckle, really—not to mention a self-deprecating one—as he thinks the word ‘cute’ might have to suffice for today; he’s much too overwhelmed to think of a better modifier. This strong and inexplicable desire to describe Jaehyun with words is still new to him, and he just can’t bring himself to focus on the task now without risking the possibility of tripping over his own feet.

Yeah, ‘cute’ will definitely have to do for today—he decides as he pushes his face further into the soft material of Jaehyun’s jacket. He only hopes the warmth he feels on his face won’t show up on any of the fan-taken photos.

//

D-day (the end, to start)

Taeyong collapses to the floor with a thud.

In the emptiness of the practice room, the sound his body makes when it crashes to the ground yields no reaction. Like a pebble thrown into a barren pond, it reaches outward in ripples—bounds against the walls and the corners of the room—only to eventually curl back into itself and make way, once again, for stillness.

“Guess that’s enough for today, Taeyong,” he mumble-breathes. The desperate rise-and-fall of his chest as he lies with his limbs spread-eagled on the floor makes him look like a man who had just barely managed to save himself from drowning in the same pond he envisioned not a moment ago, and he grins at the image, all while still being so painfully breathless, the exhaustion that's lapping over him now in intensifying waves rendering him speechless and dazed.

"Shit," he curses under his breath. He should probably get up now and head back to the dorms for a nice, warm shower. But after two hours of dance practice with the others and nearly 20 self-imposed solo runs of all their routines for Loveholic, his limbs reasonably feel like lead. He doesn't want to get up. He can't get up—at least not yet.

And so he waits, until waiting itself becomes a slow and treacherous drift to sleep which, of course, he has to fight. Staying late in the practice room by himself is one thing, sleeping in it is another; while the former usually earns him looks of disapproval from Johnny and Doyoung (and sometimes even from Taeil-hyung), the latter guarantees an earful. And as a rule, he’s someone who would rather get frowns he can make fun of than a lecture he can't tune out.

Groaning, he pulls himself up to a sitting position, careful not to stretch the tender muscles in his neck and shoulders as he does so. Once up, he looks around the vacant room for something he can do to pass time as he waits for his body to recharge, and his eyes land on the table across, where his bag sits beside the pile of folders he collected earlier from the others.

With a little more effort than usual, he moves from lying on the floor to sitting on said table with his legs dangling over its edge. And before he knows it, he's flipping through his members' Loveholic questionnaires.

Most of the answers he reads afterwards are what he would consider 'generic' or, in Doyoung's parlance, 'safe.' In fact, the more he reads through the pile out of curiosity, the more he feels as though everyone listened to Doyoung's advice—which doesn’t seem unlikely in this case. He can't blame them, he thinks. Even he caved in this morning and settled for an easy answer to the accursed question number eight.

He's more than halfway through the pile when the door to the practice room opens, and he's barely given the time to lift his head up and identify the intruder when he hears it:

"Taeyong-hyung," comes Jaehyun's voice, small and distant from across the room. His greeting is followed by a metallic click as the door closes behind him, and then a quiet rustling as he slips off his padded jacket to fold it over and under his arm. “The others said you’d still be here.”

A pause to process the sudden apparition.

Taeyong fights a shiver from the chill that slipped into the room with Jaehyun’s entrance. The temperature shift from the rimy cold of the outside to the wooden warmth of the practice room must’ve been jarring, he imagines, as he watches Jaehyun brush snow off his hair and shoulders. He tears his gaze away from the spots that the younger misses.

"Seems like they were right,” he says after a moment has passed and Jaehyun still hasn’t disappeared like expected. It's a statement that doesn't necessitate a response, a skillful cover-up for what he truly wanted to say ("You were looking for me?") but couldn't, out of fear that if he allowed one question to slip in front of Jaehyun, others would follow. That seems to be the case with Jaehyun these days, he admits. When it comes to the younger, there are only questions. Exhibit nth, this exact moment: He doesn’t quite understand why Jaehyun is in front of him. As far as he knows, Jaehyun's not supposed to be here; he's supposed to be at home, resting and recovering from a sprained wrist. And yet, he is. Here, all flesh and bone and looking at Taeyong with a purpose. Why?

As though privy to the swift spiral that Taeyong's thoughts have taken, Jaehyun clears his throat. "I— Uhm. Came to pass this," he begins before making his way toward Taeyong. While walking over, he rifles through the backpack he has slung over one shoulder, reaching for something he only gets to bring out once he stops in front of the elder. “Heard you were collecting them today,” he says, his good hand extending to surrender a folder that Taeyong easily recognizes at first glance.

“Oh—” Taeyong mouths dumbly as he accepts the folder into his hands. Now it makes sense. Of course Jaehyun came over to deliver the questionnaire, he chides himself. Why else would Jaehyun have come? “Thanks"—He manages to say, quickly moving past whatever it was that set him starting on the wrong foot in this interaction—"But you could’ve just waited for me at the dorms.”

“I know.” Jaehyun nods, the corners of his mouth curving into a small smile. “But I’m, uh, heading out.”

"Oh. I see."

Another pause.

Then, against his better judgment, Taeyong scans Jaehyun from head to toe in what he hopes to be a discreet once-over. What he finds is an all-black ensemble, which doesn’t surprise him. After all, black is a good color for anonymity, especially during nighttime. He tries not to feel too conscious of the fact that he’s wearing a white shirt himself; Jaehyun’s outfit tonight clearly has nothing to with that unspoken arrangement they had going on once, the one that earned them the label ‘yin and yang couple’ from their fans. The black and white of today is just a coincidence, he tells himself.

And besides, Jaehyun’s choice of color for his clothes this evening is the least striking fact about his current appearance. Defined cheekbones, dark circles under his eyes, a slight slump over his shoulders, a bandaged hand—wherever Taeyong looks, he finds evidence of exhaustion and wear on Jaehyun’s figure, and it makes the next breath he takes in just a little bit deeper.

"How are you?" is the question that should rightfully be asked. Amidst Loveholic preparations, Inkigayo Sundays, and everything that comes with his Dear.M drama, the fact that Jaehyun looks like death is far from illogical. But then, Taeyong thinks, when was the last time he and Jaehyun gave each other that much? Wouldn’t asking that question now just make things awkward for them? Outside of idle chats and group conversations, they haven’t really talked much these days, nor have they spent time alone together in a room these past few months. It’s a stark contrast to how they used to work, now that he thinks about it. Which begs the question: if he asks about Jaehyun now, what reassurance is there to say Jaehyun won’t wave him off with a smile or tell him what he already knows? What reassurance is there to say Jaehyun won’t keep him at arm’s length and leave him to scrape things off the surface he would rather break by force than patiently knock on as he’s done for a while now?

“Where to?” Taeyong asks instead. Then, when Jaehyun doesn’t immediately answer, he tries again, “Do you have a schedule?”

“Ah— No, I don’t. I’m— Eating out,” Jaehyun says in a breath. The small smile on his face has turned sheepish, most probably from having realized that he just spaced out.

“Alright”—Taeyong glances at the wall clock in the room—“Guess it’s not too late to be dining out. You ought to hurry though before the decent ones fill up. They have limited customer quotas these days, after all.”

Jaehyun nods in understanding. Then, raising his good hand to scratch at his nape, he asks, “Actually, hyung? About that. I was… wondering if you...?”

“Yeah?” Taeyong intones. And for the lack of something better to do than to look at Jaehyun’s eyes—whose subtleness he’s not certain he can read as accurately as before—while they talk, he drops his head and opts for absentmindedly flipping through the questionnaire on his lap, which he belatedly remembers to be Jaehyun’s. “Wondering if I what?”

There’s a pause before Jaehyun answers. And when Taeyong gathers enough impatience to look up, he finds the younger fidgeting with the bandage around his right hand.

“Jaehyunnie, what is it?—”

“Nothing. It’s just,” Jaehyun begins with a small laugh, and Taeyong refrains from assuming it’s the same laugh he knows the younger was in a habit of using to deflect from things he’d rather not say. “I was wondering if you have any recommendations? Know any place I should go to eat?” Jaehyun finishes with a sigh, hands dropping back to his sides with a finality that doesn’t correspond to what he just said. It’s almost as though they’ve just been relieved of a phantom weight Taeyong failed to see.

And Taeyong blinks, a little dumbfounded. Since when did Jaehyun trust him for restaurant recommendations, he asks himself. Despite feeling like Jaehyun had meant to say something else, however, he focuses on the task he’d just been given, only to feel a sharp heaviness sink into the middle of his chest when he comes up with nothing. As it turns out, he also has no idea what Jaehyun craves these days. Really, does he still know anything about Jaehyun?

He should’ve known better than to think he’d remain the person who knows Jaehyun best, even after the months they spent growing apart and drifting away from each other. He, himself, had acknowledged the idea of it to be poison years ago. No one can ever claim to know another person like the back of their hand. People are much too malleable to be completely known and understood, especially without constant effort. And Jaehyun is, of course, no exception.

But he and Jaehyun, they couldn’t be blamed for a lack of effort. Or at least not completely. What had happened between them—how they drifted apart the way they did and started to travel different paths despite starting together at the same point and having the same dreams—was more of a slow cessation. A rhythm they failed to realize they’d been dancing to until the song reached its final notes and they found themselves standing on the opposite sides of the room. There wasn’t a definitive ‘end.’ No fight or misunderstanding they could consider the ‘end.’ They were simply inseparable one moment, then distant the next—exactly as how that phrase goes; they had no in-between, no turning point they could go back to with regret if they ever wanted to figure out what went wrong and fix things. And how exactly does one mend something that didn’t break?

"Sorry," Taeyong says, inhaling sharply as he tries not to feel the weight of that first word, "I don't… I haven't eaten out much lately, so I wouldn't really know. Maybe you could ask the others?"

"Oh. True.” Jaehyun nods. “Thanks. I'll… I’ll try that.”

"Alright. You better go— It's getting late."

"… How about you, hyung? Have you had dinner?"

"No. But I will, at the dorms. I just have to clean up here for a bit and then I'll head back."

"Okay."

For a moment, Jaehyun lingers, paces the room for a bit with his eyes to the floor as though he had forgotten something the last time he was here. But, eventually, he leaves.

And, once again, Taeyong is left alone in the emptiness of the practice room.

He stays seated on the table, feeling more exhausted than he was before Jaehyun came over. He can't quite put his finger on it, but he feels as though he had let something slip away by letting Jaehyun leave the way he did tonight. But it's not the first time he's felt this, he reminds himself. The recent conversations he has had with Jaehyun all ended feeling like they could have been more. Perhaps he would stop feeling like this if he learned to accept the short conversations for what they most probably are: part of how his relationship with Jaehyun has changed. Because if things between them didn't break, it only means they changed enough to be unrecognizable.

As though to try and prove this assumption, Taeyong opens Jaehyun's Loveholic questionnaire on his lap and reads through the younger's answers just as he had done with the other members'.

And he does find them, ways in which Jaehyun has changed. Instead of preferring winter like he had said before, Jaehyun picked summer. Instead of having to settle between two choices he doesn't like, he honestly and assertively writes, 'I don't like either.' Taeyong smiles as he reads. Even if Jaehyun changed, he'd done so to become a better person.

But amidst all of these, he also finds proof of Jaehyun having stayed the same, too. Of Jaehyun still being the same passionate dreamer he had befriended on a whim years ago at a dance lesson. Of Jaehyun still being the same sensitive, thoughtful, and kind-hearted boy he once was proud to claim he completely knew.

And perhaps the most solid proof that drives this discovery home for Taeyong is Jaehyun's answer to question number eight. Jaehyun seems to have written an initial answer only to black it out in favor of the final one:

“If the world were to end tomorrow, what would you do?” Taeyong reads, his finger tracing itself slowly over the question he knows by heart now. Even after all that he's read so far, he still doesn't feel ready for Jaehyun's answer for this specific query. Many things have changed between them. Surely Jaehyun's answer won’t be the same as the one he gave all those years ago. Surely his answer is different now, right?

Not quite.

Taeyong holds his breath. Because even though it's not exactly the same, it's still close enough to the original for him to recognize it and have it make him feel the same way he did as the first time:

"If the world were to end tomorrow"—Jaehyun’s answer reads—"I would want for it to go on as normal. I would spend the whole day with the people I hold dear and love. And maybe eat Samgyetang at the end of it. This year's winter has been especially cold, so I've been craving that lately."

And, just like that, Taeyong lets his chest—and the walls he had unknowingly kept up around himself all this time—collapse and cave in with a single, shaky breath.

He wants to wipe at his eyes, wants to keep them from blurring the things he has to pick up and the distance and ground he has to travel to get himself outside and to wherever Jaehyun is.

But he doesn't, or rather he fails at it. In fact, the cold breeze of the outside does a better job at blowing his lashes dry than he could ever do right now with the sleeve of the jacket he has haphazardly thrown over himself. But he doesn't care. He has to run. He has to get to Jaehyun.

And he does. After hurrying down a flight of stairs to get to and through the main hallway of the company building and making a few turns around familiar corners outside, he finds Jaehyun at the end of a road, standing still under a solitary streetlamp, whose lighting runs down in sheets with the snow and wraps his head in some kind of misty halo.

"Samgyetang," Taeyong breathes out as soon as he stops in front of Jaehyun, who tears himself away from his phone upon recognizing him. "Why not—" Taeyong exhales. He's doubled-over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath, but he continues to speak, uncaring for the harsh and unattractive way with which his words turn into puffs of white condensation in the cold, "—why not eat Samgyetang tonight? You said you've been craving it."

"Hyung," Jaehyun exhales as well, but in his case it's more from surprise rather than exertion. Instantly, he pockets his phone to fuss over Taeyong, hands hovering over the elder's figure for a moment before he finally lets his good hand rest over Taeyong's back. "Taeyong-hyung, are you okay? Why are you here? How'd you find me?"

"I still remember the shortcuts you showed me before. I just thought I'd find you here," Taeyong explains. Jaehyun's reaction is reasonable, he thinks. After all, he must be acting like he's lost it a bit. This isn't something he expected he'd do either, given how his relationship with Jaehyun has been like in the past few months. But Taeyong finds he no longer wants that anymore, that slow cessation he and Jaehyun had been caught up in and perhaps still will be if he doesn't do what he impulsively resolved to do now.

"I ran out to find you because—" he starts, suddenly feeling like he needs to catch his breath again with the volume of things he realizes he wants to say.

Because if you can't mend something that didn't break, you keep it, Taeyong tells himself as he lets his eyes meet Jaehyun's questioning gaze. You keep it for all the reasons you grew afraid it would even break in the first place, and work with it until it mends itself. Or until it finally does break and you can find ways to fix it—if you can and still want to. But until then you keep it. As long as it stays recognizable and yours, you keep it.

"I ran out to find you because I decided I want to eat out, too," Taeyong finally says. He straightens himself and stands up to his full height, only to wince slightly when doing so makes him acknowledge just how much Jaehyun has grown taller. "But only if it's Samgyetang, and only if you let me treat you."

"Wow," Jaehyun says after a lengthy pause. The hand he had over Taeyong's back has slid down to Taeyong's arm when the elder stood up, and he manages a squeeze before he brings it back to his side. "Sorry. It's just— A lot to take in. You read my questionnaire?"

"Yeah, I did. And is that a 'no'...?"

Jaehyun shakes his head, his face twisting into a grimace after he raises his bandaged hand too quickly in reflex to gesture his answer. "No, no," he says right after he concedes to the pain, "I was just. Surprised. That's all."

"Why?" This time, Taeyong lets his hands reach out to soothe Jaehyun's bandaged hand.

"I mean, Taeyong-hyung inviting himself to a dinner with me and even going as far as offering to pay? Is the world ending tonight?"

"Is it really that unbelievable?" Taeyong asks with a laugh as he slowly detaches his hands from Jaehyun's bandaged wrist. Then, when Jaehyun nods, he apologizes, "Sorry."

The way they drifted apart wasn't one-sided, he admits; yes, Jaehyun changed, but so did he. If someone or something has to be blamed, it can only be the two of them together.

"Don't be," Jaehyun says, his ears turning red—whether from the cold or something else, Taeyong tries not to tease. "I'm sorry, too. I tried to ask you out to dinner earlier, because I thought I could— I mean, after Johnny-hyung told me you were very worried after my accident. I thought we could— Yeah. But I couldn't. I didn't. So…”—He exhales, his voice seemingly breaking only to reconnect at a softer tone—“I guess what I want to say is… thanks for asking this time, hyung."

"I was worried," Taeyong corrects him. He misses this, being this close to Jaehyun. It's almost ridiculous how he had thought he'd be okay with the idea of completely losing it—Not that he has fully recovered all the things he and Jaehyun somehow lost along the way. This, right now, if anything, is just a start, but it's one Taeyong would be a fool not to make the most out of. First, he has to take this chance, and then he has to keep it.

"Still am worried. I mean, can you even eat properly with a hand like that?" he teases, finding it easy to laugh at and with Jaehyun all of a sudden.

And Jaehyun laughs, too. "No. You’re right. I can't eat with a hand like this, hyung. Isn't that obviously why I wanted to ask you to come with me in the first place?"

(Later, when Jaehyun asks what Taeyong wrote down as his answer for question number eight, Taeyong says he put 'I would want to spend time with my loved ones,' but that he also wants to change it.

"What would you change it to?" Jaehyun says.

And Taeyong thinks of what Hansol said, all those years ago, in the eternal blue skies of their old practice room. "More than spending time with the people I love,” he says carefully, “I want to be able to tell them I love them."

As though to consider this, Jaehyun hums. Then says, "Don't think you need to wait for the end of the world to do that though?"

And he's right. Of course Jaehyun is right. Perhaps to wait for the end of the world before he confesses all the things he has kept to himself would just be cowardice. But, Taeyong thinks, if that's the case, then so be it. He's not ready for this quiet, little world he’s sharing with Jaehyun to end just yet, especially not when they still have a lot to patch up together. Right now, he just wants them to stay where they are. And if that's cowardice, Taeyong thinks maybe it wouldn't be so bad to be called a coward just this once.)

//

December 21, 2013 (the beginning)

"So are you and Jaehyun good friends?" the stylist noona asks him.

She has him seated on a high stool in front of a big mirror, the ones with lights Taeyong has always dreamed of seeing in person and using himself ever since he saw them in idol magazines. He and the other rookie boys have a showcase later at the SM Town concert, and he should really be at the practice room to go over their routines again. But, for now—the concert still being hours away—he’s in front of a makeup station, getting himself presentable for a small, informal event he was asked to do with Jaehyun, one that involves packing gummy bears for their existing fans and shooting a few promotional pictures. He doesn’t really need to dress up for this schedule, but the Noona in front of him had insisted on at least letting her comb his hair and maybe spread powder over his face. (“You’re not full-pledged idols yet, so you should always seek to make a good impression at all the opportunities you’re given,” she had said.)

"We're okay. I mean, Jaehyunnie… he's younger than me? But he's cool, and we've seen each other around. We only really got to hang out recently, though,” he says. He doesn't know why he's sharing so much and so easily. It must be the mirror, he thinks. To be able to see oneself in front of something so grand has a certain charm that borders on hypnotizing.

"You should definitely hang out with him more if you like him," the noona says as she combs through his hair, the gentleness of her touch making Taeyong feel a little drowsy. "The people you befriend and surround yourself with at this period matter a lot. In fact, I'd argue they matter the most."

"What do you mean, noona?” Taeyong asks with the tilt of the head, only to tense his shoulders a bit when she cups his chin with her fingers and angles his head toward the makeup brush now in her hand. Instinctively, Taeyong closes his eyes, just like he knows other people do whenever they get their makeup done.

"We meet a lot of people in our lives every day, but only a few stay long enough to leave an impression on us. To change us," she explains. "The friends you have now, in this place and time, are important because you have one thing in common with them: you all have the same dream and are going for the same path in life. By this fact alone, your fates have become inextricably linked."

Taeyong opens his eyes to blink, only to close them again when he sees the brush hover above his nose. He's not quite sure where she's going or what her point exactly is, but he listens intently anyway, somehow liking the fact that he’s receiving what seems like good advice from a grownup who’s calm and who isn’t shouting or being critical of his faults. Somehow, it reminds him of home, where he has his older sister to rely on.

"Even if you find yourselves travelling diverging paths in the future, the person you run with from the beginning is still bound to meet you at the end of the road,” she finishes, “You’re bound to make many friends, too, so make sure to keep the ones you like.”

“Why are you telling me this, noona?” Taeyong asks genuinely once she signals that she’s done fixing his hair and powdering his face. “Did you go through something similar before?”

“Yes,” she nods, smiling. “But also because the other stylists and I think you distance yourself quite a bit from your peers. You’re not lonely, are you?”

Just then, Jaehyun comes into the room, presumably to get ready like Taeyong. “Noona, I’m here— Oh, Taeyong-hyung. Hi.”

“Of course not, noona,” Taeyong tells her, just as he lets himself wave back at Jaehyun and return his smile. “At least not anymore, I think.”