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The night is so peaceful, Doyoung can almost forget why he’s there.
The light breeze that comes along with the summer night, the kind, cloudless sky of stars and the barely moving water beneath him all combine to form the perfect illusion that things are okay, that he’s there simply for the view, for the calm of the atmosphere.
The bridge is a ways away from the city, yet close enough to make out the vague outlines of the windows decorating the sides of the buildings, the lights of cars navigating through the always-busy streets.
And though close, it feels much like a different world, where Doyoung hasn’t heard a car pass in at least twenty minutes, where the only other person he’d come across was a late-night jogger on his way there.
It’s quite a contrast, though barely a half hour walk apart. Wherever in the world he is, things go on. The sun still rises and sets, things still continue through the same loop that he’s known throughout his entire lifetime.
Life is a fine process, he supposes. It has its problems, but with the right mentality a person can certainly navigate the set of circumstances the universe has set out for them. He could, maybe. Maybe if he worked up the motivation it took, maybe if he could try a little harder to find reason to keep going.
It’s not that he doesn’t see the beauty in living. Life offers plenty of purpose. There are plants to water, animals to pet, flowers to see bloom, new foods to try, places to visit, people to meet. That isn’t the problem.
The problem is finding the motivation to care about those things. Doyoung very well knows he could focus on those things, on the potential the future holds, on the great directions his life could take him in. He could, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t have the drive to care for anything of the sort anymore.
The flaws of the world drastically overshadow the good, enough that Doyoung can no longer make out the importance of what’s truly good, all too focused on the bad.
Any trace of the simple hope of improvement finds itself lost within him, because after all, why did things have to improve anyway? Why couldn’t the world have prevented its cruel issues to begin with? Why did things have to be fixed, when he was already so, so tired?
Tired. That’s it. He isn’t necessarily sad, not anymore. He doesn’t have the energy to be sad all the time. Just tired. Mentally tired. Physically tired. Emotionally tired. Tired, whether having had two or twelve hours of sleep the night before. Tired, when he hasn’t done anything requiring more effort than walking to his bathroom in months.
So tired that it feels as if there’s only one solution.
One solution, to free him of the ties to the harshness of both the world and his mind, to finally make him feel as if he can properly rest.
The railing he leans on is old, white paint long-cracked, decorated in years-old graffiti, carvings and Sharpie scribbles of initials and various frustrations towards the world. It’s a time capsule of all the people that have stood there before Doyoung, been in his exact position, an identical state of mind— How many of them had acted on the thoughts that brought them there?
He traces a finger over one carving in particular, ironically reading, Are u OK?
What a good question that is. People had asked him that to begin with— But very quickly did it grow old. People didn’t want to be weighed down by someone who was always... like this. There’s no fun in finding friendship in someone who can rarely get the motivation to leave their bed, is there? So wholeheartedly, Doyoung can’t blame them. He’d grow distant from himself if he could, too.
There’s a sudden noise, startling him out of his thoughts. Aside from the steady sound of water and the occasional breeze rustling discarded pieces of trash past him, Doyoung hadn’t heard much of a sound in his whole time there, making the loud exclamation of a string of curses all the more surprising.
He looks over his shoulder, where he sees the source of the noise. A male, who had very obviously fallen onto the concrete on the opposite side of the bridge, and laid unmoving in defeat, quietly groaning.
Doyoung furrows his eyebrows, frown that had already been lingering at his expression deepening. What could someone possibly trip over on a bridge as deserted as this one? Regardless, he can’t leave the man there, and certainly can’t resume his existential thoughts with the background noise of someone in pain, so Doyoung crosses the bridge, makes his way over.
“Are you okay?” He unintentionally mimics the words he’d read on the bridge as he approaches the other, squats beside him.
The man gives another groan, half-lifting himself up. He clearly struggles with the movement, so instinctively, Doyong moves forward, bringing an arm around him to assist him in straightening.
He first notices that the male is very pretty— Around his age and height, but with the kind of facial structure he’d see in a fashion magazine, or something of the sort. He then notices the fresh scrapes at his face, —one at his forehead, one below his lips— and how the other is careful not to put weight on his right wrist. Had he really fallen over nothing, face-first? What kind of clumsiness did that take?
“Shit— Yeah, I think so. My wrist really hurts, though.” The male answers, rubbing his forehead slightly, unintentionally spreading the small amount of blood there.
“Do you want me to take you to the hospital, or something?” Doyoung thoughtlessly asks, automatically assuming the worst— A broken bone, a fracture, something of the sort. Almost certainly a concussion, at least.
“No— No, it’s okay,” The other swallows, shakes his head a little. “Could you maybe help me home, though? I don’t live far, and— Yeah. My head kind of hurts.”
Doyoung can’t help a light chuckle. Of course his head hurts, he’d fallen on solid concrete. When was the last time he’d laughed, even so subtly?
He spares a glance towards where he’d earlier stood, before looking back to the man. “Yeah, of course. I’m Doyoung.”
The other’s expression softens. “Taeyong.” He introduces.
“You were heading this way, I guess?” Doyoung questions, upon helping the other completely to his feet, and assuring himself that he’s steady enough to walk on his own.
Taeyong nods. “Yeah, this way.”
Just as the atmosphere on the bridge had been, the walk is pleasant, especially with the friendly company of the other, who wastes no time in further introducing himself. Lee Taeyong, 26, a dancer and a model— That certainly made sense as to why his face looked so, well, nice, even when generously decorated in newly formed injuries.
He knows his own introduction isn’t anywhere near as exciting. Kim Doyoung, 25, washed up actor with nothing but minor roles in his resume. Though from Taeyong’s reactions, he doesn’t seem to agree, appearing more interested than anyone has been towards his life in longer than he can recall.
He’s almost a little sad, upon arriving to the building Taeyong introduces as his, at the idea of leaving the other.
But before he can offer him a goodbye, Taeyong clears his throat and gestures to the wrist he hasn’t moved the whole way there. “Actually— I’m right handed, so I might need a little help with getting in. Do you mind staying for a while?”
Who would Doyoung be to say no? He certainly wouldn’t be any better off dwelling on his thoughts at the edge of a bridge. “I don’t mind.” He decides, carefully taking the keys that Taeyong offers him, leading him to his door.
His place is comforting, more homely than he imagines a model’s to be, nicely furnished and well cleaned. Neither of which he can quite relate to, though particularly not the latter.
“I have a first-aid kind of thing in the bathroom, if you’d mind getting it? It’s just down that hallway, first door to the left.”
Doyoung nods, bringing fingers through his hair as the other takes a seat on a comfortable-looking couch, taking out his phone with his uninjured hand, presumably to open the front camera and assess the damage to his face.
He retrieves the kit from the bathroom cabinet, returning less than a minute later to offer it to Taeyong, who smiles gratefully. “Could you?” He asks gently, and Doyoung takes a moment to register what he means.
“Oh— I don’t have very steady hands, but, yeah. I can try my best.” He nods, slowly sitting beside the other and opening the kit, glancing over the handful of supplies within it until he settles on picking out gauze, briefly getting up once more to slightly soak it in cold water, before sitting properly, and carefully pressing it to the minor wounds on Taeyong’s face.
Considering the other is a stranger, the closeness feels incredibly intimate— But comfortable, he quickly realises, as he keeps his movements as gentle as possible, treating Taeyong with more fragility than he thinks he ever has with anyone.
They’re like that for a minute or two, with Doyoung quietly ridding the wounds of the mostly dried blood, before Taeyong speaks up, tone soft. “I know why you were on that bridge.”
Doyoung frowns, the words barely processing. “What?”
“People rarely stand on a bridge at night without a reason, Doyoung,” Taeyong continues, and Doyoung’s movements slow to a stop, his attention going to solely looking at the other. “And I know what that reason is, most of the time.” He exhales a little.
Doyoung puts himself back into the moment, about how sure he had been while stood on that bridge. And yet now, that certainty isn’t there. Faded significantly.
“I was in that same spot, a couple years ago actually. I was there, and I was ready— Well, ready to end it, I guess. And I was so positive, and then I just— I saw this baby bird,” He pauses for a moment. “I’d never looked after a bird before, I knew nothing about them, I still don’t— But I saw this helpless baby bird that looked hurt, and I just felt like I had to help it. I couldn’t... I couldn’t just leave it there. And so I helped it, I took it home and looked after it until it was better, going off of Google searches and advice from a friend’s brother— And I just realised that it was a reason. A reason that I didn’t go through with it, a reason why I went home and made it through another day.”
Doyoung doesn’t once dare to look away from Taeyong, from the sincerity of his expression.
“Sometimes it doesn’t have to be a reason— Sometimes it can be an excuse. I can’t do this today, because I want to watch my favorite movie again tonight, you know? You find... Find a purpose to get you through every day, until you don’t feel like you need to anymore,” Taeyong exhales heavily. “You needed one. You needed what that baby bird was to me.”
Doyoung’s left briefly speechless, feeling a surge in emotion he hasn’t felt in all too long. Something... good?
“So you fell intentionally?” Is the only question that leaves him, and earns a soft laugh from Taeyong.
“I did, yeah. A concussion, I can get over. But taking your own life—“
“Is a lot less temporary.” Doyoung finishes, and the other softly nods.
He isn’t sure why it had taken him so long to process what this man was to him, what getting him home and helping him was. It was a reason. Reasons were everywhere, in everything— Some he had to look for, and some, much like this one, that seemed to fall at his feet.
And even one reason, he decides, is more than enough to stay.