Chapter Text
Taehyun flicks the light on in the hallway, three pairs of shoes lay in a pile on the floor. They all belong to his fiancée, it drives Taehyun crazy to the brim that he doesn’t put them on the nearly empty shoe rack every time he comes home. He huffs, crouches down, and puts them into place with eyebrows furrowed. Taehyun strips the jacket, let his bag drop to the floor next to the dresser. He knows this would drive his fiancé crazy, because he always stumbles over it in the morning
The apartment is dark, it often is when he arrives home late from work. Taehyun does however see an empty wine glass on the coffee table in the living room, accompanied by half a bottle of red wine. His fiancée is asleep on the couch, eyelids and long eyelashes hiding a pair of dark eyes. Taehyun walks around the table, he rests against the armrest on the couch, he notices now, in the moonlight, a slim and delicate silver ring laying by the foot of the wineglass. It’s matching the one on Taehyun’s ring finger.
“Soobin,” Taehyun whispers, and even if it’s hushed, the one sleeping opens his eyes. They scan the room, before eventually landing on Taehyun.
“What time is it?” He asks, he doesn’t mention the ring not on his finger. Taehyun can see, now that he sits up that his cheeks are flushed red, maybe from one too many glasses of wine alone.
“A bit after 11.”
With Soobin’s long legs gone from the end of the couch, Taehyun slides down, they sit there in silence. A good distance between each other, hands fiddling with whatever they can reach.
Taehyun stares at the lonely wine glass. He stares at the ring. His lungs fill with cement, he can’t breathe suddenly. When Soobin sucks in a breath to prepare a sentence Taehyun’s heart drops.
“I don’t think we are meant to be,” Soobin says, flat and tired, it’s obvious—Taehyun thinks—that the other has been practicing this in his head a million times over and over again. The other one has been preparing for this, every time Taehyun comes home late from working overtime, or every time they end up in a heated argument over something as ridiculous as replacing the toilet paper when it’s finished. Every time dinner turns deathly silent with awkwardness, because they no longer felt like they had things to share with each other.
The crack in Taehyun’s heart has been there for a long time too, probably for as long as Soobin has been practicing that sentence. He knew it was bound to break, one day, but it didn’t make him any more ready for it.
“Why?” Taehyun asks, despite knowing the answer. He doesn’t dare to look at Soobin, afraid the eyes would be as loveless and blank as he imagines them to be.
“Don’t make me say it,” Soobin mutters, his voice raspy and ridden with sleep.
“Soobin please...” Taehyun pleads. even if he’d do anything but hear the true answer.
“I don’t love you anymore.”
It hurts so much more to hear it out loud than what he ever imagined it to, even if Taehyun really knew what he was about to say. He can feel it physically, when his heart finally breaks, and it hurts—so much his hand flinches, ready to grab his chest as if having a heart attack.
Taehyun lets one sob escape his mouth, he lets one tear fall from his eye down onto the blue jeans, leaving a single dark spot. He lets himself grieve what has been, if only for a mere second, before having to accept what is to come.
What has been, that will never be again.
It used to be like a fairytale, love written in the stars and all that. They met in middle school, and sometime in high school Soobin finally built up the courage to ask Taehyun out, it has been nearly a decade he thinks, which is fucking insane.
It used to be a love story that filled their friends with jealousy and playful disgust, a love story that began when they were both too young and inexperienced. It used to be exciting, every date at the mall after school, every kiss they shared in secret the first months into the relationship—because they weren’t sure how to break the news to friends and family. Taehyun still remembers the mundande things, like how Soobin liked to buy him tulips, much like how he remembers when he pulled that thought-out and elaborate promposal in twelfth grade. He can still remember, clearly, how he felt when Soobin sat him down and asked if they could move in together in college.
Everything was different then, when they cooked together and bumped hips before leaning into a kiss. When the smallest and most basic things were still fun to do together, from grocery shopping to boring errands.
Now that Taehyun thinks of it, he isn’t sure he even thought their relationship would hold when Soobin proposed, half a year ago. Maybe it was some last resort, a hopeful gesture that the love would come back to life.
“Why?” Taehyun repeats, as if the answer would change this time. He buries his head in his hands, Soobin jumps an inch closer.
“I-” The latter turns mute, he doesn’t know. What does Taehyun expect? How is it possible to explain how he has fallen out of love without rubbing more salt into the wound?
Why couldn’t it be like when Taehyun and Soobin were teenagers, why couldn’t it be like when they first fell in love? Taehyun actually scoffs out a laugh, through tearless sobs and pieces of his heart breaking. What was it Richard Siken said? “Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.”
Why wasn’t it possible they could be the exception?
Because Soobin didn’t love enough, and Taehyun didn’t care enough that it was coming to an end.
In a parallel universe, Taehyun decides to fight for them, as does Soobin. In a parallel universe their love doesn’t end here; no, it lasts for another eternity, through ups and downs and through the good and the bad. In a parallel universe Taehyun and Soobin get married in nine months when the cherry blossoms bloom, exactly how they planned, and they will live happily ever after, like a fairytale. In a parallel universe they prove Siken wrong, they are are the exception.
This is, unfortunately, not a parallel universe. In this universe their story ends accordingly.
Taehyun takes another look at the wine glass in front of him, it reminds him of a time when Soobin used to stay awake until he arrived home. When Soobin lit a dozen candles and placed two glasses on the table instead of one, when he still smiled brightly when Taehyun came through the door.
In a fit of sudden rage he stands up, hurls the glass towards the floor. It shatters into a million smithereens, just like Taehyun’s heart. Somehow, he can’t process that they are no longer them, there is no more Taehyun and Soobin, and there would never be. He realizes when the glass reflects like glitter on the floor that he’s made a mistake, that it was dumb and irresponsible and impulsive, but still, he marches towards the hallway.
“Taehyun!” Soobin gasps and stands up, following him. Taehyun stumbles over his own backpack, and for a second he feels the same anger Soobin probably did every time he did the same, if everything wasn’t like this they would have laughed, the older one would have nudged his shoulder and singsonged “see, told you it was annoying.”
“I’m leaving.” Taehyun says in response to nothing, it’s weak and quiet, like he really just wants Soobin to reach out a hand and stop him.
Another word doesn’t have to be uttered between them for Taehyun to understand that Soobin won’t.
Taehyun slams the door shut after him, leaves Soobin to clean up the pieces of broken glass, leaves it to himself to clean up the mess that is his heart.
An hour passes, Taehyun finds himself sitting on a bench barely a mile from the apartment he and Soobin share—Sorry— used to share. He’s angry at Soobin for not being sad enough, for not being in shambles like himself. At least not seeming like it, because sure, maybe he was, or had been. Maybe his heart broke months ago, when he first realized that he and Taehyun wouldn’t finish their fairytale as happily as they began it, maybe he cried in silence on the couch with a single and lonely glass of wine in front of him when Taehyun worked overtime for the nth time that month.
He is so angry, and he is sad, it feels like he is suffocating himself—like he is running out of air.
It’s all breaking down at the same time. What if he didn’t work overtime? Would it be the same, or would Taehyun sit next to Soobin and hold his hand and they would still be in love? All that overtime was for nothing anyway, it didn’t matter at all, not even to the superiors who patted his back and complimented him for being so hardworking, mattered. The promotion he had been working towards for months was given to the bitch on the 8th floor instead, so it was all in vain. Okay sorry, she’s not a bitch, Taehyun knows she’s just as hardworking as him, but he’s so angry he doesn’t even know if he can actually think clearly.
Though he feels the urge to blame all of this on something as simple as the overtime, it’s not true, their relationship had begun to crumble into unsalvagble pieces long before that. Taehyun could genuinely not even remember the last time he kissed Soobin and actually felt something, when they went out last, if there had been anything between them these last months besides slight resentment and the inability to let each other and the security of having someone go.
Taehyun glances down at the ring on his finger, glimmering beautifully under the streetlights. He twists it around, before carefully sliding it off. Passing it between his two hands, back and forth.
He’s sick of looking at it, so he stands up from the bench, he takes a step forward. He gathers energy, he tosses it, as far as he can. Taehyun holds his breath, he can almost hear it hit the water in the river in front of him. For a second it’s enough, but the shadow of it remains on his finger. The knowledge that it’s sinking to the bottom of the water is enough for just a second, but Taehyun will always know that it exists down there.
”Oh god,” Taehyun whispers to himself, grabbing his hair with his hands. “What am I supposed to do now?”
It's late, after midnight. He can’t go back—not now. There is something agonizing in having to call a friend, it will require at least an hour of explaining what has happened, and though it’s the least of his worries, he really can’t stand having someone watch him with pity right now. “ Wow, he got dumped by his partner of eight fucking years. That’s crazy, right? Right?”
He swings around, looks back on the bench. Should he sleep here? Or stay up until dawn, he’ll call someone tomorrow, help him get stuff from their apartment. But where does he go after that? He has nowhere else to go.
Taehyun takes a breath, he’s not far from a panic attack.
“Why didn’t I stay in the apartment, we could have talked it out. I could have had a place to sleep, even if it was on the fucking couch.” Taehyun takes a step in one direction, he realizes after ten feet it’s the way to his apartment, and he stops. Shakes his head, “No, I can’t-” He wraps his thin jacket around his body, turns his head around and looks back. There are a few people out, most of them the same age as him, slightly buzzed and stoned, which isn’t weird—not for a Friday. To be honest, Taehyun is the odd one out. He recognizes the colorful hues around the different corners, coming from dozens of bars and late-night restaurants. He can see magenta and cyan, not to mention the yellow slash green that’s so bright it could be a warning label for something radioactive.
Almost entirely to himself he nods. It’s appealing, bright lights and loud music. He’d rather drown in that than in sorrow.
He doesn’t even get past the threshold of the first bar, his ID is in his bag home, and the bouncer doesn’t even take more than two glances at him before he holds up a palm and mutters “come back when you are legal,” he says, it takes everything in Taehyun not to explode. Scream at him that his figure is just small and that his face just carries a little bit of baby fat; in the end, he doesn’t, he just glares at the bouncer and leaves, sour and annoyed.
At the second one he manages to get to the bar, almost thinks he’s made it—but the bartender takes a long look at his face when he orders a drink and asks; “hey son, can I see an ID?” and when Taehyun shakes his head, the bartender presses his lips together and nods his head towards the door.
Taehyun doesn’t even attempt to go into any other bars, suddenly the idea of a quadrillion other people dancing and sweating around him feels anything but appealing. His ego can’t really take another person not believing he’s not even eighteen yet either. Instead, he ends up wandering around some streets, he notices that time passes by slower than it ever has before. It takes an hour for a minute to pass, and a minute for a second.
A brick wall behind him catches him when Taehyun is finally ready to give up, his legs are tired, he doesn’t know the time, where he is or if this might be the night he actually dies. He’s vulnerable, to say the least. If Taehyun was a mugger he’d rob himself. The asphalt below him is damp and cold, he should be lucky it isn’t covered in a layer of frost, his fingers accidentally brush over an old cigarette bud, it disgusts him for a second—makes him recoil and wince, but he can’t even be bothered to flick it out of his way. Taehyun rests his head between his knees. Now that he thinks of it, maybe death is not the worst option right now.
“Fuck!” He shouts, throws his head backward. It echoes when it hits the wall, and two men down the street look back at him. They stand outside an older building, it looks a bit out of place, like another dimension opened in the middle of a neighborhood and dropped the building there. A light hangs above the door, it’s dim and golden; probably more for decoration than anything else.
Taehyun can’t really figure out what it is, but he can feel the slight...attraction, like a magnet is pulling him in.
“Come,” A voice calls, Taehyun doesn’t know where it comes from, or if it’s even real, but he obeys. He stands up, brushes dirt and grime off the fabric on his butt. Pretends he's put together and calm. The two men outside don't look at Taehyun when he slowly sneaks up to the door, they are entirely too occupied by a cigarette each and a deep conversation of sorts.
Carefully he pushes the door open, it’s heavy—as if not everyone should be able to open it.
It doesn’t look how Taehyun expected it to, at all. To be fair though, he didn’t even know what it was until he got inside. It’s a lounge bar, an old one. It’s very much apparent, at least it’s made out to be. The actual bar is slightly curved and long, manned by a single person, who looks calm as a day, despite it nearly being full in here. Well—not full in the sense that Taehyun has to push past bodies and stand shoulder to shoulder with strangers. Full in the sense that almost every table was occupied, women and men of all ages were here. Either sitting opposite of each other in the dark navy faux (he assumed at least) leather chairs, only separated by small round and dark mahogany tables, or hunched over by the bar, elbows together holding private conversations.
Everything about it feels unrealistic, from the small stage in the back, with only a single piano up there with it, though Taehyun has to admit it looks stoic. Especially with the red velvet curtain hanging behind it, surely only for dramatic effect. There are endless shelves of hard liquor behind the bar and low music coming from the speakers above him. It’s not music to dance to, nor is it music you would sing along to. It’s different.
He shuffles over to the bar, he sits down on one of the stools—padding the same blue as the chairs over on the floor. He glances over at the bartender, who’s mindlessly drying off fancy glasses.
Taehyun notices that everyone is quiet, nearly at least. When they speak it’s hushed, it is lips close to ears and soft voices—even the manliest looking men in here were barely heard. Not at all what Taehyun is used to.
“Um- excuse me,” Taehyun doesn’t dare to speak above a whisper either, afraid he’d attract everyone’s attention. The bartender turns his head, throws the towel over his shoulder, and comes closer.
“Can I have a gin and tonic?”
The bartender hesitates for a second, “Got an ID?” He doesn’t look Taehyun in the eyes.
“...No,” Taehyun’s head sinks down, defeated, once again.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-three,”
“Swear on it?” The bartender asks, but Taehyun can already see that he’s mixing the gin. It’s in a tall glass, two thin slices of lime float in the liquid together with the ice cubes.
“Yeah,” Taehyun manages to chuckle, and it’s the happiest he’s felt tonight, even if the bar is only an inch above hell.
“Go sit,” The bartender mutters, and points at a chair, though his voice is soft, much like everyone in here, it’s stern—Taehyun can honestly not defy him, even if he wants to argue back to why he’s being shooed away.
The chairs are as comfortable as they look, Taehyun melts into them, feeling like his bones liquefy the second he relaxes, he barely has the strength to hold his glass. He glances around him, at the people. They watch the empty stage, as if a ghost is performing, they are sipping on strong whiskey or fancy cocktails of every kind. Some are dressed in evening gowns and suits, some look to come directly from work. Taehyun can honestly not figure out if he belongs here or not, just from his appearance he doesn’t feel like it. The only similarity seems to be...well, it’s somber and melancholy in here. The people are too, Taehyun is not an exception now either. Though it is not always the vibe you’d like from a bar, sadness, you know? It feels comfortable, like...no one in here is alone. Lonely perhaps, but not alone.
Maybe Taehyun’s life isn’t the only one that’s in shambles, and it’s somehow comforting knowing he really isn’t alone.
For ten minutes it’s quiet, Taehyun even has time to go back to the bar once to fill his glass. He scans the couple next to him, a woman and man of older age, not too old, but far past middle-aged. The woman looks bored, the man not very different. They don’t talk—they wait.
Everyone is waiting.
Then, in his periphery he sees someone walk up the handful of steps up on stage. It’s a young man, not older than Taehyun himself. He can’t be. Everyone’s eyes are on him, Taehyun’s included. Taehyun can hear the absolute silence that falls over the room, real silence this time—like everyone stopped breathing to hear what’s to come.
The man is dressed in a neat dress shirt, ironed and perfectly fitted. The black pants are an inch too short, and the converse on his feet doesn’t quite match.
He sits down in front of the piano, no one introduces him—he himself doesn’t even say his name. It’s obvious though, that everyone knows who he is, everyone but Taehyun. He clears his throat into the mic, it screeches a bit.
Delicately his fingers begin to move over the keys, Taehyun is familiar with the melody. The man closes his eyes when the first verse begins.
“It's nine o'clock on a saturday
Regular crowd shuffles in
There's an old man sittin' next to me
Makin' love to his tonic and gin
He says: "Son can you play me a memory?"
I'm not really sure how it goes
But it's sad and it's sweet and I knew it complete
When I wore a younger man's clothes,”
Everyone seems to take a collective breath. The couple next to Taehyun both soften, a tired smile spreading on their lips—they have been waiting for this, everyone has.
Taehyun understands why.
When the man began singing Taehyun closed his eyes instinctively, he listened to him sing. Voice low and gentle, it’s accustomed to this. It’s perfectly made for this. Albeit only for a second, Taehyun forgets, forgets that he’s heartbroken and alone. When the second passes, he opens his eyes again and leans forward, as if he’d be able to see the man more clearly. The man doesn’t even look at the keys, he knows this song by heart, he knows the lyrics by heart, he’s got the recipe for healing and knows it by heart.
Taehyun understands why people sucked in a breath before he began, if he had been prepared Taehyun would have done the same.
“Sing us the song you're the piano man
Sing us a song tonight
Well we're all in the mood for a melody
And you've got us feelin' alright…”
He hums into the mic towards the end. It works like a siren’s song, Taehyun wants to climb over the tables and chairs, he wants to get so close to the stage he’ll be able to feel the vibrations of every key being pushed down.
It ends, everyone claps, it’s muted—but genuine. No one says a word, after thirty seconds the young man begins again. A new song this time. Taehyun watches the light brown hair fall into his face when he lowers his head, it’s beautiful and angel-like. It’s impressive how he manages to blow the wild strands away from his face between words and lyrics. It’s a work of art coming to life before his eyes.
Taehyun doesn’t understand it fully, maybe it's because it’s been so long. Maybe because he’s only felt it once before, the feeling is too unfamiliar. But it’s- it’s—
—similar to when he saw Soobin for the first time;
love at first sight.