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If someone were to ask him to explain how it happened, Taeyong wouldn’t have an exact answer.
He only knows that one moment, he jumped as high as his legs let him, and the moment after, he was sitting on the parquet of the studio, his right ankle clutched between both of his hands, the pain so strong that he felt like passing out.
Maybe he didn’t land in the way he should have, or maybe it was the way he placed his foot on the floor, or something else Taeyong can’t think of.
He only knows that it hurt like nothing else ever did.
It isn’t the first time he injuries himself, injuries are a part of what he does, and surely not even the last one, but as soon as Taeyong was lucid enough to think after the fall, he knew it would’ve been the worst, that it would’ve taken more time than usual to heal. And since then, a single thought has started to grow bigger and bigger in his head, until it almost feels like it will make it burst.
“Can I still dance?”
The words slip past his lips before he can even think about keeping his mouth shut.
That’s what matters the most. It isn’t how long it will take to heal, what he will have to do, or the way he hurt himself.
The most important thing is being certain he can still dance because Lee Taeyong is nothing without ballet.
He won’t be himself anymore if he can’t use his body to dance.
Yuta, sitting on the chair in front of the bed he’s on, looks at him, and Taeyong knows him well enough to see the words he keeps to himself into his eyes, to know that the other wants to tell him he shouldn’t think about that now. But how can he not when it’s been the only thought he has had since the moment he found himself on the parquet of the studio.
The doctor clears his throat, scanning the chart with the results of the various exams they did to him, and then, once he’s done, he puts it under his arm.
“It isn’t an injury beyond repair, so you can,” he tells him, and those words feel like a soothing balm on burnt skin. They make him feel like he can breathe again, as if the fingers wrapped tight around his lungs that didn’t let him breathe disappeared. “But you have to rest before starting again and do physical therapy.”
Taeyong nods, he’s aware of that, if his ankle doesn’t heal in the right way, it will just give him more problems. He already knew that if he wants to dance again, he has to rest and do physical therapy, that he can’t go back to dance as soon as the pain goes away, it doesn’t matter how much he wants to.
“Thank you, Doctor,” Yuta speaks on his behalf, standing up to shake the man’s hand.
Taeyong mutes the two out, eyes set on the cast wrapped around his ankle, and even if what the Doctor said replays in his head again and again, he still wonders if it really will be fixed with some rest and physical therapy, if it will be that easy.
He imagines himself in the same room, maybe in a month or two, the same antiseptic smell in his nose and words he doesn’t ever want to hear.
You will be able to perform daily activities like walking, but you can’t dance anymore because your ankle wouldn’t bear the strain.
At mere thought it could happen, his throat closes up and tears threaten to spill over his cheeks.
Taeyong could accept losing everything, even his own career if it were the only way not to lose his ability to dance, it wouldn’t even matter that he’d be the only one seeing himself dance through the reflection of a mirror.
As long as he’d still be able to dance, Taeyong would give up on everything withouot thinking about it twice.
“It won’t happen,” are the words that bring him back.
Taeyong glances up, his fingers brush under the skin of his eyes, but they come away dry.
Yuta’s looking at him, a softness on his face that he doesn’t show often, and right then, he isn’t Nakamoto Yuta, Lee Taeyong’s manager, but he’s just Yuta, his friend.
“Whatever you’re thinking, it won’t happen,” he tells him again, and only when he walks towards him, Taeyong realises Yuta’s pushing a wheelchair, crutches placed on it.
Taeyong can’t make the thought disappear, he wishes he could, but it just hides somewhere in his head, ready to pop out when he isn’t expecting it to.
“You’re still young, Taeyong, a few months won’t be a problem,” he tries to reassure him, while he helps him sit on the wheelchair, “physical therapy will be a pain in the ass, but after, it will be like the injury never happened.”
Taeyong wants to believe Yuta’s words, he really wants to, with everything he has. He doesn’t want to fool himself, and yet at the same time, he wants to be foolish enough to believe Yuta’s words.
“I want to do it at the Center on the floor above the studio,” Taeyong tells him after Yuta has started to push the wheelchair, crunches placed on his lap.
Behind him, Yuta chuckles, and Taeyong already knows what the other will say. He has known Yuta for too long not to know.
“Only because you think the physical therapist is hot.”
“I don’t,” Taeyong says back, eyes set straight ahead of him because if he were to look up at Yuta, the other would read through him as soon as their eyes met. “I just read the reviews and most of them are five stars out of five.”
Yuta snorts, leaning to the side to press the elevator button, and, “You never read reviews,” he tells him. “And besides, you were too busy crying to do that in the car.”
Taeyong crosses his arms against his chest, refusing to look at the other. “You’re a liar, I read them and I wasn’t crying.”
“Don’t pretend I don’t sense your internal panic each time you see him,” Yuta teases him, and Taeyong doesn’t need to check to know that there’s a smile a bit too evil curving his lips. “Maybe you’ll finally be able to speak to him without fainting.”
Taeyong clicks his tongue, he has never fainted, Yuta’s just making things up to mock him, but the other still doesn’t need to know that his heart beats a bit faster each time he sees the man. Taeyong doesn’t even know his name, but Yuta’s right about something, he is hot. And maybe, it’s the reason why he wants to do his physical therapy sessions at the Center the man works at.
Though, Yuta will never hear those words coming from him, no matter how much he tries to make him spill them.
“Just shut up and push me.”
Yuta laughs, and maybe, maybe he’s right only about one thing. The injury will just be a small dent, something that he will forget once it will heal and he’ll go back to dancing.
Once he’ll be able to jump even higher than before.
‣‣
Yuta’s his manager, so he takes care of everything. He takes an appointment at the Center for a consultation, talks to the Director to plan his sessions and makes sure his physical therapist will be the man Taeyong has the hots for.
Taeyong only needs to show up and look pretty, which is exactly what he does.
Thanks to Yuta he also has a name.
Kim Doyoung.
Taeyong repeats it in his head until he almost doesn’t remember it anymore.
Maybe Yuta was also right about something else, though.
His first session should start in five minutes and Taeyong, sitting in the waiting room of the Center, eyes fixed on the tiles of the floor, feels like he will faint soon. His hands are sweating, and it doesn’t matter how many times he brushes them on his ballet tights, they just keep sweating.
He also wants to laugh, he’s twenty-six years old and he’s behaving as if he’s going to talk to his first high school crush. Perhaps it’s because it’s been a while since the last time he was free enough to go on a date with someone, and even if Taeyong wants to forget everything about it and that evening, the only thing he truly forgot is how to act in front of someone he finds hot.
“Lee Taeyong?”
At his name, he snaps his head up, and it doesn’t matter how much he tried to prepare himself because at the sight of Kim Doyoung, he really feels like he’s going to faint.
It isn’t the first time he sees him with the white coat on, but it’s the first time he sees him wearing glasses, and Taeyong’s already gone. If he makes a fool of himself, he will just blame the transparent glasses and the fact he didn’t think the man could look even hotter.
“Y-Yeah,” he murmurs, standing up with the help of the crunches, and maybe he should thank himself for not having learnt how to use them efficiently yet, because as soon as he takes a step towards the man, left leg wavering, Kim Doyoung closes the distance between them and wraps an arm around his waist to help him.
As soon as Taeyong will register what’s happening, Kim Doyoung will do much more than just help him walk, he will have to carry him since he will be passed out.
Besides, up close, Kim Doyoung is even more handsome.
Taeyong tries not to stare, he uses the corner of his eye to look at the other, and just walks towards the direction the other is guiding him to.
He almost can’t feel the arm wrapped around his waist, it’s barely there. Taeyong wishes the other would grip it for real, that his fingers would close on the dip of his hip, but it’s only a wish because after all, Taeyong’s his patient, and it wouldn’t be professional of him.
“Here,” Kim Doyoung says once they stop and he has opened a door to let him enter.
The room has a few beds at its end, curtains separating them, the rest is almost empty, except for a big mirror attached to the wall, some folded mats, two swiss balls and an exercise bike.
“You can sit on the bed with your legs rested on it,” he tells him once he has taken his arm away, “do you need help?” he asks then, but Taeyong just shakes his head.
“I’m Kim Doyoung,” he says after, standing by the bedside, “and I will be your physical therapist for the whole time.”
I know, Taeyong wants to tell him, Yuta made sure of that, but he doesn’t. He just nods with a polite smile on his lips.
“Thank you in advance for your help,” he whispers, they’re the only ones in the room, and Doyoung is near enough to hear him without having to be louder.
Doyoung smiles at him, and at the sight, the smile on his own lips gets bigger. Taeyong’s truly gone, or maybe it’s just that it’s been three years since the last time he dated someone, so even the littlest bit of attention makes him giddy.
“Today, we will do something light, move it around softly and then, I will wrap some tech around the ankle to help it heal faster,” Doyoung explains to him, but Taeyong’s focused on the other’s hands. One’s placed on his knee and the other is wrapped around his foot, and even if it’s mostly covered by the bandages, Taeyong can still feel the warmth of his fingers on his skin.
“Tell me if it hurts, or whatever you feel,” he tells him, and then, he slowly starts to rotate his foot.
Taeyong doesn’t say anything, he just watches how Doyoung gently moves his foot around, sometimes massaging his ankle, and tries not to make any sound. It doesn’t hurt, but he hasn’t moved his ankle or foot since the moment the Doctor wrapped a soft cast around it at the hospital, so even the smallest movement makes the area sore.
“Does it hurt?” Doyoung asks him after a while.
At the question, Taeyong opens his eyes, he hadn’t even realised they were closed, and, “No, it’s just kinda sore?”
Doyoung nods, fingers loose around his ankle, “Yeah, it’s normal, if it doesn’t go away until tonight you can put some ice on it.”
“Okay.”
After Doyoung goes back to move his foot around, the silence almost makes him fall asleep. He could stare at Doyoung for the whole time, but from what Yuta told him, he needs to do at least fifteen sessions, maybe even more, so he has plenty of time to just stare at Doyoung. In between, he can also sleep a bit. Besides, he doesn’t know what else he could do. He could talk to the other, but he feels shy, not knowing what he should talk about.
In Doyoung’s eyes, he’s only a patient, a ballerino who injured his ankle while dancing, who’s there to heal as fast as possible just to go back to dance again. Maybe, Doyoung doesn’t even like ballet, or maybe, he’s one of those people who think that ballet can be just a hobby, and not something to mold your life around.
Taeyong represses a sigh, Yuta shouldn’t have indulged him when he asked for Kim Doyoung to be his physical therapist. Even if he finds him hot, and wouldn’t mind a night with him, he’s still a stranger and Taeyong should stop getting crushes on people he doesn’t know. Kim Doyoung could be a total asshole and meanwhile, Taeyong’s having heart eyes for him.
Though, Kim Doyoung doesn’t look like an asshole, but one of his boyfriends didn’t look like one either. Taeyong thought he resembled a cute puppy and then, he revealed himself to be the biggest asshole on earth, asking him to choose between ballet and him. He only wasted time asking him because it was obvious what he would’ve chosen, he didn’t train for most of his life just to quit ballet for an asshole.
Ballet is his biggest passion, but it’s also his job, he can’t just quit it because someone asks him to.
“Do you like ballet?”
Taeyong should learn how to shut up, or how not to blurt out whatever he’s thinking about.
At his question, Doyoung looks up, hands still, and just stares at him.
Taeyong wishes he could get up and run away, but he doesn’t because watching him trying to walk as quickly as he can with crunches would be a pitiful sight.
“Yeah?” he replies, and Taeyong can hear the confusion in his voice and see it on his face. “Yeah, I do… I mean— I never went to see someone perform, but it’s not like I hate it.”
Well, maybe he really isn’t an asshole.
If even with the smallest jump Taeyong wouldn’t risk breaking his whole leg, he would’ve offered to perform for him, but he can’t do that, not yet at least, and besides, Doyoung could be lying because he knows Taeyong’s a dancer. So he just nods, and hopes the end of his first session will come soon, before he blurts out something much worse.
It doesn’t really go as he imagined— Doyoung doesn’t fall at his feet, but there are at least other fourteen sessions for that to happen.
‣‣
After three sessions, Taeyong learns that Doyoung doesn’t speak much when he’s focused working on his ankle. He does only if Taeyong asks him something, or if Taeyong starts a conversation, and during the fourth session, he tries to understand if it’s because somehow Doyoung doesn’t like him or if it’s because Doyoung just doesn’t speak much.
Taeyong has learnt other things too.
Second session: Doyoung’s one year younger than him and he has an older brother because my hyung got a similar injury and it healed just fine, so don’t worry about it.
Third session: he’s single, Taeyong overheard a conversation with his mother. He didn’t eavesdrop, not when Doyoung knew Taeyong was in the room and he was just outside the door, letting him catch each of his words. It was something along the line of Mom, please, stop trying to set me up with your friends’ daughters, I’m busy with work and I’m not interested, okay?
Now, Taeyong only needs to find out if not being interested translates into liking men. He truly hopes it does.
His fourth session doesn’t seem like it will be much different from the other ones, so Taeyong just sighs to himself, aware that he won’t be able to talk much with Doyoung. But it’s fine, he can always sneak glances at him.
His Doctor has taken the soft cast off, so now, Taeyong can feel Doyoung’s warm fingers directly against his skin, and sometimes, when he doesn’t realise Doyoung’s going to touch his ankle, his hands gently wrapped around it almost make him shiver.
His ankle doesn’t hurt as much as it did the days after the fall, and even if Taeyong can’t still go back to dance fully, he has started to do some light exercises, ones that wouldn’t put a bigger strain on his injury. It was Doyoung who suggested it, to let his ankle start getting used to ballet again, and even if he’s only doing things kids who just started dancing would do, Taeyong’s mood has improved with each small step he’s able to do again.
Taeyong blames his too happy mood for the next words he blurts out.
“Do you have a lunch break after?” he asks, and once he hears his own words, he realises he could’ve sounded like a total creep if he had asked it in a different way. So he sighs internally, even if he blurted out the words, at least he was able to limit the damage.
Doyoung looks at him, and then, he nods. “Yeah, after I’m done with your session. Why?”
With Doyoung’s eyes into his own, Taeyong feels all the bravery leave his body.
You aren’t asking him out, he tells himself, it’s just a lunch you’re offering to buy, many do that. A voice that sounds too much like Yuta’s adds but not if he’s your physical therapist, no one does that. Taeyong ignores those last words.
“I haven’t eaten yet,” he says, voice almost a whisper, and even if he wants to look away, he doesn’t because he wants to catch Doyoung’s reaction to his words. “Would you like to have lunch together?”
Doyoung doesn’t react to his words, and Taeyong doesn’t know if it’s a positive or negative thing, but he’ll think about that later, once the tension caused by having to wait for the other’s answer is gone.
“I… Yeah, sure,” Doyoung replies, and Taeyong feels his shoulders drop, if he could, he would sigh so loud until there isn’t any air left in his lungs.
Taeyong smiles at him, a corner of his lips lifted up, and then, he looks away, almost shy when Doyoung smiles back.
He doesn’t know the other, but for once, Taeyong thinks he can trust himself, and anyway, if Doyoung really turns out to be an asshole, there’s always Yuta who has his back, just like all the other times.
‣‣
Near the studio, there’s a small restaurant Taeyong always goes to after practice, and it’s where he brings Doyoung.
The owner greets him with a warm and affectionate smile, that turns into a worried frown when she notices the crutches.
“Did you hurt yourself, Taeyong-ah?” she asks, pushing a tiny table away to let him sit more comfortably.
She knows Taeyong’s a ballerino, she has seen him too many times in ballet clothes and trying to fix his ballet shoes while waiting for the food not to know what he does. Besides, he’s sure she has also searched him up online and found out he loves sweet potatoes, since one day she started serving them to him, even if Taeyong never ordered or mentioned his love for them.
“Yeah, auntie,” he tells her once he sits down, a smile on his lips to reassure her since it’s the first time she sees him after the incident. “But it’s already healing, so don’t worry about it!”
It’s then that she really looks at Doyoung.
“Oh,” she says, “he isn’t your manager,” she comments, slightly surprised.
Taeyong chuckles, most of the time, he always goes there alone, but sometimes, Yuta tags along, so she must be surprised to see him with someone else.
“He’s my physical therapist,” he tells her, “you know, for my injury.”
She nods, sending another brief glance towards Doyoung, who’s just watching their exchange in silence, and even if she seems like she wants to say something else, she doesn’t.
After they’ve ordered and the owner has left to prepare their food, Taeyong kind of misses her absence. Doyoung’s looking around, taking in their surroundings, and the silence feels heavier than it should be, making his fingers twitch under the table.
It’s Doyoung who breaks it.
“I didn’t know about this place,” he speaks up, eyes back on him, and Taeyong doesn’t know if he prefers the other’s eyes on him or on something else.
“I started practicing in the studio on the floor under the Center four years ago, I’ve come here since then,” he replies back, voice not too loud, weirdly, besides the two of them, no one else is there.
Doyoung nods, and then, “When did you start dancing?” he asks.
The first thing that pops up online when someone searches his name is for how many years he has been dancing, so he’s glad Doyoung didn’t search him up, or maybe if he did he’s pretending as if he never did.
“My mom signed me up to a kids class when I was almost six, because ballet was something she always dreamt about as a kid, but her parents couldn’t afford it,” he tells him, a fond memory playing in the back of his mind, a tiny Taeyong hiding behind his mother’s legs when his new ballet teacher tried to talk to him.
“And you liked it as soon as you started?”
“Kinda, I mean, I liked it as a hobby, all the other kids were really nice and my teacher was kind, so I liked going to class,” he answers, eyes set on the metallic table, he can still remember all the names of the kids who were in his class. “Only after I turned ten I started to understand how much I loved it, so I started participating in the performances done for parents and relatives, with each year passing I was always doing more, and then I realised I wanted ballet to be a constant in my life, not just a hobby.”
“It’s admirable,” Doyoung comments, and his words make him look up, almost surprised by them. The other looks interested in what Taeyong has told him, as if he really wanted to know and didn’t just listen to him to be polite.
“I never really stuck to something as a kid, I tried soccer first, but I didn’t like it much, then I tried swimming and also took singing classes, but in my head, all of that has always been something not relevant,” he says, eyes distant, “my parents are doctors, so unconsciously while growing up, I always knew I would’ve been the son who goes to college and graduates, since my brother’s an actor.”
“You could’ve done something else too,” Taeyong tells him, even if his parents both went to college, neither Taeyong nor his sister did.
Doyoung chuckles, fingers closed around the pendant of the necklace that sits on his chest.
“Yeah, but I didn’t know what, so college was the safest option, and besides, it’s something I like. Helping people feels nice.”
Taeyong hums, but before he can say something else, the owner places their food on the table. It’s more than what they ordered, and Doyoung must have noticed because after she leaves again, “Why did she give us so much food?” he asks, confused.
He laughs, “She says I’m too skinny,” Taeyong tells him, “so she tries to make me eat as much as possible.”
Doyoung laughs too, and then, they start digging into the food, too busy to even speak.
In the end, Doyoung doesn’t let him pay, they split the check, and when the other walks back to the Center, a see you at the next session thrown behind his back, Taeyong doesn’t know if his cheeks are dusted red because of the cold wind or the genuine smile Doyoung directs at him.
‣‣
At the sixth session, Doyoung tells him he watched some of his performances on YouTube.
“I was curious,” he answers when Taeyong asks him why he did it, “I knew about Swan Lake, or The Nutcracker, but I never watched them performed.”
Taeyong smiles to himself, shy and proud at the same time. “Did you like them?”
Doyoung could lie, but once he speaks, Taeyong knows he’s telling the truth.
“You could’ve done all the steps wrong and I wouldn’t have even noticed, but for what is worth, yeah, I really liked them.”
It means a lot to him, even if Doyoung doesn’t know much about ballet, but he doesn’t voice the words out. Sometimes, he prefers comments that come from someone who doesn’t know anything, and not from critics who only see the smallest mistake and let it influence their thoughts about his whole performance.
“I’ll give you an invitation the next time I perform one of these.”
The other nods, lips curved up into a soft shape.
Taeyong doesn’t need another session to make sure, he’s certain Doyoung isn’t an asshole.
‣‣
The next time they have lunch together, it’s Doyoung who proposes it. His question surprises Taeyong, and it takes him some seconds to actually process the other’s words and understand what he asked him.
Taeyong knows it isn’t a date, but the wish it were nestles somewhere in his chest.
Once he agrees, Doyoung smiles brightly, and Taeyong wonders if the other is just a nice person or if there’s something more he can’t see.
Doyoung picks a different restaurant, one a bit further from the building both his studio and the Center are, and while they walk, shoulders almost brushing against each other, Taeyong wonders about something else.
Taeyong wonders about how it would be.
How Doyoung would be if they were dating, what would he do, or say. Would he take and hold Taeyong’s hand while walking? Or would he be that kind of person who doesn’t show any kind of affection and just loves in silence?
Once Taeyong starts to wonder, he realises he can’t stop. He really wants to know, and yet, he doesn’t do anything.
When his fingers accidentally brush against Doyoung’s, he just puts his hand in the pocket of his jacket, as if it never happened.
If Doyoung notices, Taeyong pretends like nothing happened and starts talking about how happy he is that he doesn’t have to use the crutches anymore.
He can’t decipher the look into Doyoung’s eyes, but Taeyong tells himself he doesn’t know the other well enough to do that, so it could be anything else.
‣‣
After twelve sessions, Taeyong can say he has started to understand what kind of person Doyoung is.
When he works, everything else surrounding him doesn’t matter, he’s so focused that sometimes he doesn’t even realise Taeyong’s talking to him.
Taeyong doesn’t mind, after all, he’s thankful Doyoung’s his physical therapist, someone who takes his job seriously and who will make sure Taeyong will be able to dance again as if he never injured himself.
Though, when he isn’t wearing his white coat and they’re together, his whole attention is always on Taeyong.
Sometimes, it flatters him, the way the other pays attention to each little thing Taeyong does or says, but sometimes, it just makes him shy, double-checking all of his words and his actions.
Some nights, the thought that Doyoung seems so attuned to him keeps him awake. Taeyong still wonders, maybe even more than before, and maybe, it isn’t just a crush anymore. It isn’t about thinking Doyoung’s hot because slowly, it’s becoming something more.
Sat down on the parquet of the studio, the trash of their dinner discarded by the side, Taeyong looks at Doyoung and wishes he was brave enough to ask him out. He doesn’t understand why he’s so scared, it wouldn’t be the first time someone rejects him, and yet, the fear it could happen keeps his lips sealed.
“You know,” Doyoung whispers after he has realised Taeyong was looking at him, words so low that he almost doesn’t catch them. “I... after I was done with work, sometimes, I didn’t go straight home because I passed by here first, to watch you dance just for a little bit.”
“Why?” Taeyong asks, surprised. He never noticed the other.
Doyoung chuckles, then runs a hand through his black strands. He looks embarrassed, as if he’s talking about something he swore to himself he wouldn’t have ever talked about.
“I just— just looking at you made me feel as free as you were while dancing. I don’t know how to explain it, but it kind of felt like I was soaring with you.”
Taeyong smiles to himself, chin pressed against his chest, he can feel his cheeks getting warmer and he doesn’t really need to check to know they are dusted red.
He has received many compliments, face to face, written online in the comments under his videos, sent through letters, Taeyong’s thankful for all of them, but Doyoung’s words feel different. No one has ever told him words like those.
“You should come again,” Taeyong tells him under his breath, eyes lowered down on his hands, “when I’ll be dancing again, you should come and watch me every night.”
Once he looks up to glance at the other, he finds Doyoung smiling, eyes almost sparkling, and Taeyong just smiles back.
“I will,” he says, and to Taeyong’s ears, it sounds like a promise, one he hopes the other won’t break. “I will come here and watch you dance.”
Taeyong doesn’t know if it’s evident, but he smiles even more.
‣‣
With Doyoung’s fingers wrapped around his ankle, warm against his skin, Taeyong closes his eyes and imagines instead that those fingers were locked with his, how it would feel. Doyoung would brush his thumb against his skin in a gentle touch, light as a feather, but still enough to send shivers down his back. Or he would bring Taeyong’s hand close to his lips and kiss each of his knuckles.
Not being able to practice like he usually does and not being able to dance like he wants, his mind has to find something else to focus on before he starts thinking about all the time he’s wasting without practicing like he should, time he will never get back. So the best option is thinking about Doyoung, even more when his fingers are touching his skin. It doesn’t matter that it’s for medical reasons and it’s just his ankle.
There aren’t many sessions left, in less than a few weeks Taeyong will be able to go back to his usual schedule, full of hours spent practicing, and even if he can’t wait for the day to come, at the same time, he doesn’t want to stop seeing Doyoung. After all, they only see each other at the Center, and even if they eat together when a session ends just before it’s lunch or dinner time, it’s still something they do because of the sessions.
Taeyong’s almost certain that once his ankle will be healed completely, they won’t see each other as much as they do now. The thought makes him sad, if he only could find the strength in his chest to voice out those words, whispering them would be enough. Doyoung would catch them anyway.
Will you go on a date with me?
The words play in his head, again and again, until Taeyong doesn’t even have to think about them anymore. They’re just there, ready to be said and yet also stuck in the back of his throat.
So he just stares at Doyoung, and hopes he won’t need to say those words because he will be the one hearing them instead.
‣‣
At the end of his last session, Doyoung gives him a small cactus planted in a white pot with pink hearts on it, and even if the gift isn’t something big or luxurious, Taeyong can’t take his eyes away from it. He doesn’t even remember when he told Doyoung that his apartment is full of small and cute plants, but Doyoung remembered, and that makes his heart miss a beat.
“We always give small gifts to our patients when they finish their treatment,” Doyoung tells him, ears redder than usual.
Taeyong doesn’t say that since he started coming there, he has never seen anyone leaving the Center with a gift held between their hands, so maybe Doyoung’s making up a lie to give him a gift or Taeyong just didn’t pay enough attention. He pretends not to be sure about it, but deep down, he knows which option is the closest to the truth.
“Thank you,” he says, a smile curving his lips, “it’s really cute.”
Doyoung smiles so much that his eyes end up closing, and warmth spreads in Taeyong’s chest even more.
Soon, he tells himself, I will say those words soon.
‣‣
Doyoung keeps his promise, even if the other never said it was one.
At first, Taeyong doesn’t notice him, too caught up with a step he can’t get right. He’s still scared that with a jump too high or a step too hard, his ankle will just break into two parts, and sometimes, the fear holds him back. Right then, it’s one of those moments.
He has repeated the same step so many times he can’t even remember what he was doing before starting to try it, and yet, no matter how many times he does it, he still isn’t satisfied by it.
Taeyong lets the music start over and tries again. And again. Again, again, again. Until his legs feel like they will break into thousands of pieces and his heart will beat out of his chest, lungs empty.
It’s when he’s walking towards the speakers to restart the music from the beginning that he notices Doyoung, only because the other has taken a step closer to the door.
He watches him from the reflection of the mirror, and even if he tries, he can’t stop how the corner of his lips lifts up.
Instead of restarting the music, Taeyong stops it and waits for Doyoung to enter the studio.
Silence replaces the music and the sound of Doyoung’s shoes on the parquet is louder than it should be.
Taeyong keeps watching him from the mirror, still, and only once Doyoung is a few steps away from his back, he turns around.
He’s aware he looks gross, he has been practicing for hours, hair glued to his forehead and wet with sweat, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care because Doyoung kept his word.
“You came,” are the first words he whispers. It’s been a week since the day he did his last session, and Taeyong had started to think Doyoung wouldn’t have come to watch him.
Doyoung nods, and it’s then that Taeyong notices the flowers he’s holding between his fingers— or maybe clutching since the brown paper wrapped around the stems is crumpled. They’re a mix of colors, purple, lilac, pink, white, and Taeyong loves them.
“I said I would’ve, right?”
Taeyong chuckles, “Yeah, you did,” he replies, and then, he takes a step closer to the other. Another one, maybe two, and their chests would touch.
“For you,” Doyoung tells him, giving him the flowers, “to celebrate going back to dance.”
“Thank you. They’re really pretty.”
Doyoung smiles, but he doesn’t say anything else after Taeyong takes the flower and places them against his chest.
The silence that settles around them is so heavy that Taeyong feels the urge to break it, so he voices out the first words that come to his mind.
“Do you want to watch me dance?”
“Of course,” Doyoung replies, and the fact it doesn’t seem like he needs to think about the answer, as if those words were the only possible ones he could’ve said, makes Taeyong braver than he usually is.
After, he tells himself, after I’m done dancing I will ask him.
Taeyong plays the music, the same he was practicing to, and then, he starts dancing.
He doesn’t look at Doyoung not even once while dancing, and yet, he knows that the other’s eyes never leave him. He can feel them on his skin, like fire, following each of his movements.
His eyes never meet Doyoung’s, but it’s easy to imagine them in his head. To picture Doyoung holding his breath at each of his twirls, sat on the edge of the chair, almost as if he wanted to stand up and join him, fingers tightly wrapped around his hips and arms strong enough to lift him up.
He turns and turns, going from one part of the studio to the other, feet heavy on the parquet and heart beating in his ears, too loud to be covered by the music.
Taeyong makes mistakes, he doesn’t jump with enough strength, his arms aren’t angled like they should, but he doesn’t care, not right then. He dances with his heart filling the empty spaces between his fingers, he dances with his eyes closed and lets his body speak, even if it isn’t perfect. He turns and lifts his arms up, until it almost feels like the tip of his fingers will reach the ceiling, until he feels like he can fly.
Until Doyoung feels like he’s soaring with him.
Once the music fades away, and he turns to look at Doyoung, words ready on the tip of his tongue, Doyoung beats him to it.
He says the words Taeyong has been wanting to say for too long. Words he has tried to free from his head.
“Can I take you out on a date?” he asks, and for some brief moments, Taeyong thinks he has imagined them. “To pay you back for the beautiful performance.”
“You can,” Taeyong tells him, voice a whisper.
His feet and his legs hurt, if he had to dance for another minute, probably he would start crying, but all of that doesn’t matter anymore. Not when Doyoung’s looking at him like he never did, and even if Taeyong can’t decipher the look in his eyes yet, he can guess what it means. He can because if he were to turn around and look at himself through the mirror, he would see the same look in his own eyes.
It isn’t love, not yet, but it’s a flower that will bloom into it with time and care.
‣‣
It’s cold, and even if Taeyong would love to replicate a scene out of a drama with Doyoung taking off his coat to place it on his shoulders, at the same time, he doesn’t want Doyoung to freeze to death, not when they just had their first date and he hopes a lot more will come.
It wasn’t much different from all the times they ate together, and yet, each time Taeyong thought it was a date, he could feel electricity run through his veins.
Once they reach his apartment, Taeyong doesn’t expect Doyoung to do much, maybe tell him to have a good night and then watch him through the glass doors until Taeyong is inside the elevator.
Taeyong doesn’t think about a goodnight kiss. He definitely doesn’t.
But it comes anyway.
“Can I kiss you?” Doyoung asks, so close that he can feel the warmth of the other’s body on him.
Taeyong nods, eyes locked with Doyoung’s, and then he closes them, waiting.
It’s soft, with Doyoung’s lips against his own, his fingers on his skin, a hand wrapped around his chin and the other against his cheek, and their foreheads pressed together.
It’s a gentle kiss, and yet it makes him shiver. It isn’t the cold, it’s the way Doyoung’s lips move against his, the way his hand travels down and finds its place on the dip of his hip, curled around it.
They kiss for so long Taeyong forgets where he is, and maybe, he forgets everything else. His head filled only with chants of Doyoung’s name.
Once they break apart, arms wrapped around each other and smiles pressed against their lips, Taeyong opens his eyes and hopes it wasn’t a dream.
“See you tomorrow, yeah? I’ll come once I’m done with work,” Doyoung tells him. His ears are red, and without even thinking, Taeyong gently cups them with his hands to warm them.
“Yeah, I’ll be waiting,” he says, and it isn’t a lie. Even if he won’t notice him as soon as Doyoung will get to the studio, too focused on practicing, he will still be waiting for him.
Doyoung smiles, and then, after a last brush of lips, he takes several steps back.
“Goodnight, Taeyong,” he whispers in the silence of the night. It’s dark, but Taeyong sees the way his eyes sparkle anyway.
“Goodnight, Doyoung.”
Once Doyoung turns around, Taeyong watches him walk away, eyes fixed on his back, until the other disappears behind a corner.
The thought of their kiss keeps him warm for the whole night.
‣‣‣
+1
“You should thank me,” Yuta tells him, lips curled into a smirk.
Taeyong snorts, “Why?” he asks, even if he kind of already knows what the other will say.
“Thanks to me, you got yourself a boyfriend,” he replies, and he sounds so sure of himself, as if he really believes that without him, it wouldn’t have ever happened.
“You just spoke to the Director of the Center and gave me a name,” he says, amused, “the only one I have to thank is myself for breaking my ankle.”
“You did that on purpose, didn’t you? So you could’ve had a valid reason to talk to him.”
“Ah, wouldn’t you love to know that.”