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Doyoung knocks on Taeyong’s bedroom door and hears no response. He waits for a moment and knocks again, a little louder this time, but not too loud. He doesn't want to disturb Johnny or Donghyuck, not when it's so late, especially because he won't hear the end of it in the morning if he disturbs one of them, and even if he could face blushing at the breakfast table, it would be rude to make too much noise.
He considers going back to his room, unsure if it’s a bad idea to wake Taeyong up, but then he thinks of how beautiful Taeyong looks when he’s sleeping, and how they haven't had any time alone today, and he also thinks about how Taeyong sat him down a few months ago and said, hesitant but serious, that he should consider Taeyong’s room a place he can come and go from without ever having to ask.
“You don’t even have to knock,” Taeyong had said, smiling at him with that incredible look on his face that Doyoung had recently learnt was love. “Just come in and see me.”
Doyoung had pretended to think really hard for an important question to ask. He’d settled on asking, “What if you’re naked?” and had tried not to look too obvious about being one hundred and fifty percent horny over every little thing Taeyong does.
“Especially if I’m naked.” Taeyong had smiled even wider, then, and the gleam in his eyes had turned darker. That had been a good night.
Remembering this conversation, and not wanting to miss even a second of potential snuggling time, Doyoung opens the door gently and steps inside.
Taeyong isn’t there.
Doyoung stands in the doorway, half in the room and half not. Half in the quiet, dimly lit oasis— aquarium humming, golden-glowed lamp switched on— and half in the reality of the dorm corridor, complete with the stain on the laminate floor from where someone spilled a glass of red-wine carrying it to their room. It had smelled of sweet, cloying alcohol for weeks after, but it's a fond memory.
The diffuser on Taeyong's desk blows soft puffs of steam, scented with what smells like fresh cotton linen. Taeyong prefers weaker scents to Doyoung, and he’s complained about Doyoung’s choice of essential oils on many occasions. That’s one of the reasons Doyoung comes to him more often; it’s an unspoken understanding that some of the things Doyoung likes are just too much for Taeyong. But that’s okay. They’re not the same person— that would be boring. They’re different, but they compliment each other.
That’s why they work so well together. At least, Doyoung thinks so. He’s pretty sure Taeyong thinks so too.
Doyoung retreats after a few moments and shuts the door behind him with a gentle click. The light is on in the kitchen, so he heads down the corridor to see if Taeyong is there instead.
“Hey.” Doyoung lifts a hand and waves at him when he gets to the open door and finds Taeyong sitting at the small kitchen table by himself. “What are you doing out here, zoning out?”
“Hmm?” Taeyong looks up. He looks almost surprised, like maybe he didn’t even realise he was here at all. “Oh. Just… Nothing.”
Doyoung can’t help but smile at Taeyong’s bemused expression, at the way his hood is pulled up but stuck behind one of his ears. At the way he pulls his legs up to his chest on the seat and hugs them. He looks vulnerable, soft around the edges. Pretty.
“Nothing?” Doyoung tilts his head and wanders over to Taeyong's side. “It’s nearly midnight, you know.”
“I know.” Taeyong smiles. “I came in to grab a drink and just… Started thinking.”
“What are you thinking about?” Doyoung leans against the edge of the table and reaches out to pat Taeyong’s knee gently. “If it’s something worrying you, you can share it with me.”
Taeyong shakes his head. “It’s not bad,” he assures. He puts out his hand and Doyoung takes it and tugs at his arm gently. Taeyong gets up. “Don't worry about me.”
“You know just saying “don't worry” doesn’t stop people worrying?” Doyoung points out. “You deal with a lot.”
“We all do,” Taeyong says. He lets Doyoung lead him back along the corridor, out of the kitchen and towards his room. “We're all working so hard.”
And it’s true, Doyoung knows, every single member of the group is overworked or under-appreciated or some mixture of the two, and they don’t complain about it, none of them do. Not openly. But weary looks and badly-hidden sighs are not unusual in their dorm, and the others. They’re bonded by a group name and a contract, by the unrivalled pleasure of performing and by living in close quarters, but they’re bonded in shared sympathy too. Fame has its burdens, it always has and always will. All of them feel it.
Still, Doyoung worries most about Taeyong sometimes. He reads too many shitty web articles and shoulders responsibility that isn’t even really his to shoulder. He feels responsibility he shouldn't have to, but Doyoung understands. “I have to be better for them,” he’d said, once, with puffy eyes fresh from crying. He was talking about the other members, or about their fans or some mixture of the two. “I have to be better and I don’t know if I can do it.”
Doyoung had held him close for a long time when he’d said that. It had been not long after he realised he was completely in love with Taeyong, but still a little before he admitted it out loud. Then again, maybe it wasn’t even ever necessary to say it— they both already felt it, he knows that now.
It’s nice to know it for sure though, and he's reminded every day, with words and touch and the look in Taeyong's eyes when they meet his for too long.
“I was thinking about how lucky I am,” Taeyong says, when they get to his room. He unzips his hoodie to reveal a white T-shirt underneath. His pyjama pants hang low over his hips.
Doyoung’s heartbeat sticks in his throat. It’s hard not to think about sex around Taeyong sometimes. He’s human, after all.
“Doyoung-ah?”
“Hmm?”
“Who is zoning out now?” Taeyong smiles, looking amused but also a little bit flushed.
“Sorry.” Doyoung feels himself blush. Taeyong climbs onto his bed and sits back against the cushions, holding his favourite plushie to his chest. Doyoung sits next to him. The single bed doesn’t leave much room between them, but that doesn’t matter to them, in fact it's a blessing in disguise sometimes. Forced proximity is nice when it's not actually forced at all. “You said you’re feeling what? Lucky?”
Taeyong nods. “I'm lucky to have all of you.”
“All of us? How many boyfriends do you have?” Doyoung asks, eyebrow raised.
Taeyong doesn’t miss a beat. “Just you and Baekhyun-hyung,” he says.
Doyoung narrows his eyes. “Mean,” he says. Taeyong just smiles and shuffles even closer, resting his head against Doyoung’s shoulder. Doyoung fidgets with the ring on his finger, the one they both wear, that he bought without really thinking about how damn obvious they are. Whatever. They mean so much, they’re all the words they can’t say and all the times they can’t hold hands in public and they’re a symbol of unity that Doyoung knows Taeyong really appreciates.
“I do feel lucky to have the members,” he explains. “But I have many members. I only have one boyfriend.”
Doyoung can’t help but smile. It always makes him smile when Taeyong calls him his boyfriend and Doyoung doesn’t think it will ever get old. Not even when they do. Not even when they’re not boyfriends anymore, but fiancé’s or husbands even. Maybe. One day, in a far-flung future.
He tries to imagine a time when they can both come out publicly and not lose a single job offer over it, but it’s difficult; the picture still blurred around the edges. Still, it’s not completely out of the realms of possibility.
“We are lucky to have you. As leader, I mean.” Doyoung turns and presses a kiss to Taeyong’s forehead. “And I’m lucky, too. For being your one and only boyfriend.”
Taeyong giggles. It’s hardly audible, but Doyoung feels it in the way Taeyong’s ribs move against his side. It makes Doyoung want to kiss him. He gently removes the plushie from Taeyong’s grasp and takes care not to throw it onto the floor— no stuffed animal deserves that even if they’re getting in the way of kissing Taeyong breathless— but to place it at the end of the bed, just far enough away for it not to be watching them with it's shiny button eyes, because that’s happened before and it kind of freaked him out.
When he kisses Taeyong, Taeyong melts into his arms eagerly, kissing him back with a soft, lazy slide of his mouth.
The fish tank across the room hums and bubbles, their little oasis in motion.
Taeyong slips his hands around Doyoung’s neck and climbs into his lap, never parting from the kiss, and Doyoung is enveloped in a blissful wave of pure content, Taeyong’s hands on him, his body moving against him. He is pliant in the way he only gets when he’s really letting go, which is difficult for him, Doyoung knows. Feeling Taeyong unwind beneath him is something extra special, always will be, and Taeyong unwinds in the slip of his tongue and the rocking of his hips against Doyoung’s beneath him.
“I love you,” Doyoung whispers against the impossibly soft skin of Taeyong’s cheek, dragging his lips over Taeyong’s jaw, and Taeyong says it back in the way that he kisses the end of Doyoung’s nose, and his eyelids and the shell of his ear, like he's making tiny, silent wishes.
“I feel grateful,” Taeyong whispers after, when they’re naked and breathless and Doyoung has seen into the centre of the sun, white behind his eyes as he’d come between them. “That's what I’ve been trying to say. I feel so grateful for the people in my life.”
“Yeah, I know the feeling.” Doyoung smiles. Taeyong’s skin is warm to the touch. “I know it well.”