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Streetlights spill into the crack of the window and puncture Taeyong’s eyes. He shifts in his sleep, and then the horrifying sound of children singing blares into his ears. Taeyong wants to die.
“Fuck off,” Taeyong hisses, and he tosses his blanket up and peers his eyes out the window. There’s Santa Claus downstairs, with a hideous beard and an even more hideous padded belly, and Taeyong flicks his eyes back to the tear-off calendar on the wall to find that it’s still stuck on November.
“Oh. You’re awake.” A voice drifts by his ears and Taeyong groans, because who else would be in his house at this ass o'clock.
“Fuck off, Doyoung,” Taeyong replies, and he slams his head back to his pillow, expecting it to hurt, but of course it wouldn’t, because Doyoung has removed Taeyong’s 14-inch monster dragon dildo that he hid there three weeks ago. Doyoung is, most and foremost, a pain in the ass. "I'm still hibernating."
“Merry Christmas to you,” Doyoung says, and Taeyong tries to keep his eyes shut as he has both hands on his ears to block out the sound down the street. Nobody should be merry on Christmas. Christmas is just a capitalist consumerist ploy based on a fake sentimentali—
“Hey, do you want some wine?”
“You make so much noise with your mouth,” Taeyong groans, but then he still gets up from the bed. Only alcohol motivates him at this point. “Yes.”
"It's called talking. You used to do that all the time."
Doyoung has his whole body up on the couch, and his long legs dangle on the armrest. Taeyong stares at them for a while, because he likes Doyoung's legs. Doyoung has really nice legs. There’s a small pack of cigarettes on the table, freshly open, and Doyoung has his eyes glued to Pororo playing on the TV. It’s a Christmas special episode.
“What are you? Twelve?” Taeyong snorts. “Move.”
The corners of Doyoung's mouth lift up in a smile, but he still doesn’t pay Taeyong any attention. Taeyong hops right on Doyoung's thighs. “You’re a pain in the ass."
“Really. That’s not what you said during your sleep last night.”
“Get lost.”
Doyoung chuckles, and Taeyong decides that Doyoung should put on some weight, because his legs are bony and uncomfortable and Taeyong misses his bed. He should go back to sleep.
“Jongin came. He wants his clothes back.” And this time, when Doyoung says it, he tilts his head and looks straight at Taeyong in the eyes. Taeyong doesn't like how heavy his stare is.
“Fuck that asshole,” Taeyong snorts. “I already got rid of his clothes.” Grabbing the bottle of red wine on the table, Taeyong chugs it down, almost choking at the alcohol passing every inch of his throat. A mocking sound flies straight to his ears, and Taeyong doesn’t give a single fuck about how ridiculous he’s looking to Doyoung right now.
Taeyong hisses when a trail of liquid pours out of his mouth. “Fuck. Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck—”, he looks down to see that the Yonsei T-shirt he's wearing has already been stained with red. For the record, Taeyong didn’t go to Yonsei. Jongin did. Taeyong sighs— of course, he wouldn't have gotten rid of Jongin's clothes, because he's a sentimental asshole and Jongin's clothes still smell like love and promises and walks in the park and romantic dinners. Taeyong slides down on the floor.
On the screen, Pororo is running down a hill, and the snow flits in the air, small and soft like petals. Taeyong cranes his head and looks out of the window. It doesn’t snow today. In fact, it also didn’t snow during the brief moments that he was awake, too. How many days have passed already?
“Did he say anything else?” Taeyong says after a while.
“He asked if you are any better.” Doyoung’s voice is small, and Taeyong wonders why people even try to get better, anyway, because sometimes living is weird and the world doesn’t make sense at all. That's why Taeyong prefers how everything is quiet when he goes to sleep. Then he doesn't have to look at anything else besides the dark of his eyelids.
“What did you say to him?”
“That you are seeing someone else already, and he should fuck off,” Doyoung says, and this makes Taeyong whip his head around so fast that he almost sprains his neck. “Ah—” he lets out a groan; his muscles are growing stiff from all the sleeping.
“Thank you, really.” Taeyong says, and there are two arms hooking under his armpits to lift him up, settling him on the couch. Doyoung guides Taeyong’s head on his lap, and goes back to laugh at something stupid Pororo just said on TV.
“Sleep here. I will make sure to carry you to bed.”
“Alright, chief. If you said so yourself.” Taeyong closes his eyes, and Doyoung’s lap is still bonier compared to his soft memory foam bed, but it always makes do.
☆彡
This time, when Taeyong wakes up, the house is strangely quiet, and Taeyong looks down at the street to find it empty, too. Eight in the morning. Doyoung must have gone to work.
There are two croissants set on the nightstand, and Taeyong peels his body off the bed to reach out for them. He takes a huge chunk and swallows, perhaps a little bit too fast, so he grabs the cup of water next to the sleeping pills and down it in one go.
Taeyong gets out of bed (finally), the floor warm beneath his heels. He takes small steps, like a baby learning how to walk again, and strains his ears to catch the sounds of footsteps echoing back to him. Sometimes he hates the quiet, because Doyoung is not here, and there's no sound of television slipping from the living room to remind him that there's another presence near him.
Scattered throughout his apartment are all of Doyoung’s belongings: a tablet, a set of folded pyjamas, his opera scripts, some blanket tossed on the couch, empty cigarette packages in the trash, and fresh laundry. All of these things make Taeyong cherish Doyoung a little bit more, because Doyoung always keeps the house warm, lively, even when Taeyong doesn’t want to do that himself.
He moves next to the window. His breathing frosts the glass. Outside, there’s snow.
☆彡
When Taeyong first proposed the plan to Doyoung back in September, of course, there was a scowl on Doyoung's face.
"What did you just say?"
"I'm hibernating. I'm sleeping this whole winter."
"Why?" Doyoung removed his glasses, and Taeyong knew he was in trouble.
"Look," Taeyong sighed. "My boyfriend broke up with me, and I lost my job," he clasped his hands together in the shape of a pulp. "I think it's time I chug a shitton of pills and shut down. Like, I know this girl and she slept for several years, and when she woke up, everything just worked out for her. Her life wasn’t bleak anymore. I want that for myself."
“Is her name Sleeping Beauty?”
“Fuck you,” Taeyong groans. Fuck Doyoung and his perfect sense of deduction. Maybe if Doyoung wasn’t a know-it-all Taeyong would have liked him more, but that wouldn’t ever be possible, because Doyoung with his old people behavior and ugly button-downs might be Taeyong’s favorite person in the entire world.
Doyoung rolled his eyes and mumbled under his breath. Something something Lee Taeyong is a dumbass something something. Taeyong couldn't care less, because the first two buttons of Doyoung’s shirt were open, despite the autumnal chill. Fuck. Doyoung had really nice collarbones. Why hadn't Taeyong noticed before? Fuck.
"Fuck," Taeyong let out, feeling the warmth of his cheeks. He dumped his second— wait, third?— pack of sugar in his cappuccino, so that he had something to do with his hands. "What did you say again?"
"Lee Taeyong, you're a fucking dumbass," Doyoung said, and Taeyong nodded, because he had heard it right the first time. But it still felt nice to hear it again. There was something incredibly sexy about the way Doyoung pronounced dumbass . Taeyong wondered if he had a humiliation kink.
"Right," Taeyong said just for the sake of replying, because he didn't agree at all. Taeyong knew he was not a dumbass; he was, in fact, in the gifted education system for several years and graduated SNU with honors. He lifted his cup of coffee and took a sip, and it almost made him choke. Sugar is sweet , note to self.
"What about money?"
"Jongin and I saved up for our two-year anniversary trip to Europe, which, you know, never happened. It’s enough for half a year of rent and groceries."
Doyoung frowns. "Hey, have you considered… looking for another job?"
"Ew," Taeyong said, and he used this opportunity to slam his coffee down the table. Keeping grace in public spaces had never been Taeyong's forte. "You go and do that, daddy, contributing to society or whatever. I'm tired. I'm going to take a rest from this fuckhole."
Doyoung sighed, and even though it was really hot every time he did that, Taeyong would prefer Doyoung to stop, because in this moment, he felt fragile and small and brittle. Like he was twelve again and being scolded by his homeroom teacher. Taeyong let out a quiet sniffle.
"Look. Give me a month, and then by New Year, I will wake up a different person," Taeyong said, reaching across the table to take Doyoung's hands in his palms, putting on his best puppy eyes that he knew Doyoung would always have a soft spot for. "Please please please please—"
"Fine, do whatever you want, you dumb fuck. But I'm using your guest room until the month ends. Just in case of, uh, someone breaking in and stealing you away."
"Oh my God, I love you—" Taeyong said, and it sounded a bit too genuine, so he opened his mouth dumbly, "—um, not in the gay way. I can say that. Haha. Because I'm gay. Haha."
Doyoung rolled his eyes.
☆彡
The love story between Kim Jongin (perfect boy next door) and Lee Taeyong (mess) began on a rainy day in the capital of American imperialism (Starbucks). It was cliché, but Taeyong did spill coffee on the hot guy sitting next to his and Doyoung’s table, and when the guy looked up, Taeyong’s world stopped spinning on its axis.
“How about you get me another coffee to make up for this?” Jongin said, and Taeyong just nodded in agreement because he was contemplating slamming his head to the nearest wall since that would have been less embarrassing than this. One coffee turns to another, to a dinner date downtown, to drinking sessions on the side of the streets, to late-night walks, and then to late-night snack breaks at 24/7 convenience stores, and then to two whole years of a relationship.
In retrospect, Taeyong knew that there was an expiry day to their time together, because whenever Jongin talked about the future, Taeyong couldn’t see himself in it. He didn’t like the things Jongin enjoyed, and their friend groups never really merged. Taeyong thought that Jongin was always too much of a perfectionist, and Jongin didn’t think much about Taeyong, at all.
But for some reason, Taeyong did live in hope.
☆彡
"Rise and shine, sweetheart," and just like that, Taeyong's morning is ruined. "Wake the fuck up. Your hibernation is over."
"Fuck off," Taeyong groans, and there are fingers digging into his ribs and tickling him. Taeyong whimpers, and swats the hands away. "I said FUCK OFF."
"Alright." The sigh that Doyoung lets out is sad and flat this time, and this is more effective than any alarm clock in the world. Taeyong crawls out of bed.
"Wait, wait, wait, wait," Taeyong tosses the blanket. "Sorry, daddy, I am awake. Don't leave me."
Arms crossed, Doyoung's glasses are falling off to the middle of his nose. Sexy. Incredibly sexy. "Fucking finally. Here." He shoves a paper into Taeyong's face. "Your New Year's resolution."
Taeyong makes a face. "I don't read. Sorry."
"Okay, let daddy do it for you." Doyoung retrieves the piece of paper as he pushes the glasses up the tip of his nose, and this is doing things to Taeyong. "One. Move on from your ex. Two. Get a job. Three. Go on a date with a hot guy."
"Fuck." Taeyong shakes his head.
"Four. Enlarge your vocabulary. If I have to hear fuck one more time I'm going to knock the shit out of you."
"That's kinda hot." Taeyong coos. "Now can you knock me back into sleep?"
"No. You promised me. And I won’t let a breakup ruin your fucking life, Lee Taeyong. Wake the fuck up." Doyoung wraps his hand around Taeyong's wrist, and there's something glossy coating his eyes. As much as Taeyong loves to disappoint Doyoung, the one thing that he hates the most is to see Doyoung cry. He purses his bottom lip, and scoots over, knocking his head into Doyoung’s chest in a soft 'pang.'
Warm hands wrap around his torso and Doyoung’s whisper hovers above his head. “Do it. Do it for me.”
"Alright. I will get a fucking job. But I'm not sure about the other two.” Taeyong’s mumble is swallowed by Doyoung’s cotton shirt. Doyoung smells nice, like sage, and the faintest scent of cardamom. Taeyong takes another whiff.
“You’re not a dog, stop sniffing me,” Doyoung scowls, but he still rests his hand on top of Taeyong’s head and pets his hair. It feels nice. “Well. At least that’s a start.”
☆彡
Finding a job in this economy is hard.
"How the fuck did I manage to do it before," Taeyong says, and he smacks his head down the keyboards. Doyoung’s keyboards, to be exact, because Doyoung keeps on insisting to change the setting and drags Taeyong to his apartment, so that it's easier for him to babysit Taeyong, or that's what he likes to think he's doing.
Across from the table, Ten is still taking a sip of his atrocious greenish liquid. It looks like mud, and it stinks. Ten is weird. Taeyong secretly thinks he's a murderer. One time he caught Ten tossing a shirt full of blood into the laundry basket, and it left Taeyong emotionally scarred. He doesn’t understand why Doyoung would live with someone like this and not Taeyong. Taeyong has nice skin and nice eyes and a nice body, and he's also not a murderer. He gives nice head too, according to Jongin. Why.
"Can you be quiet for a minute." Ten looks up from his laptop, eyes eerily empty. Taeyong doesn't think Ten is capable of empathy at all. Ten takes another sip and Taeyong’s legs shake underneath the table.
“Um. Where is Doyoung?”
“Why? Am I making you uncomfortable?”
“Nuh-uh.” Taeyong ducks his head to escape from Ten’s ice-cold gaze. “I like you! —I, I like making new friends!”
“I am not your friend.” Ten doesn't blink, and he goes to the kitchen and pulls out a knife. He flicks the blade with his thumb and middle finger, and starts polishing it against the edge of the counter. In broad daylight. With an audience (Taeyong). What the hell.
“I heard the local pet shop is hiring, by the way. You can go and make friends there. Fish would like you.”
“Thanks.” Taeyong gulps, and the front door springs open. Taeyong sprints out of his seat and hides behind Doyoung’s back. He grabs a fistful of Doyoung’s shirt, and takes in that scent of comfort. “You arrived just in time, daddy.”
☆彡
Having a job in this economy is hard, and Taeyong comes to this conclusion even when he’s worked in the shittiest job on this planet (accounting). The pet shop is nice, but Taeyong always comes home with fur stuck in his hair, and cat scratches all over his body. Ten was right. This is why Taeyong gets along well with fish. Fish are cool. They’re not furballs and Taeyong doesn’t feel the innate need to give them head rubs, and then gets attacked afterward.
There’s also Donghyuck too, who, for some reason, always shares the same shift with Taeyong. (According to Donghyuck they're soulmates, but Taeyong thinks that he's just cursed.) But sometimes, Donghyuck reminds Taeyong that opening up to people is not that terrifying. Taeyong likes him; he likes how Donghuyck always cleans up after himself, and how he always remembers to check up on Taeyong, too. It’s alright, Taeyong tells himself. People are nice.
Some days are weird, and other days are weirder, and Taeyong doesn’t know how he’s supposed to feel. Maybe this is why people buy mood rings, because they put a name on that absurd feeling that you can’t quite pinpoint. And perhaps, sometimes, having something to tell you how you're supposed to feel is more comforting than trusting your own guts.
☆彡
"How's everything going?" Doyoung's voice always manages to calm him down. Taeyong presses the speaker closer to his ears so he can hear Doyoung better. It’s also more comforting this way, as if Doyoung’s voice is the lullaby that his grandma used to sing to him when he was younger.
“Fine, I guess," Taeyong replies, bringing the cigarette close to his lips to take another long drag. It’s late March, and the lingering cold clings to his body like a second skin. Taeyong hides his face in his scarf.
"Fine? Really?” Doyoung says, and Taeyong wonders how a person can know him so well, as if he is a fruit split open, laying on the palms of Doyoung's hands for Doyoung to observe.
"You got me. It’s terrible. I wanna dig a hole in the ground and bury myself alive." Taeyong peels his phone off his ears to check the time; he has 10 more minutes to talk to Doyoung before his lunch break ends.
"Sure. I can help you with that, after I come over and make dinner tonight." Doyoung says, and the mental image of Doyoung, in his apron, in his kitchen, sleeves rolled up around his biceps chopping vegetables, makes Taeyong’s cheeks flushed with warmth. It feels good to be taken care of, Taeyong thinks.
"Yeah. The couch is all yours if you want to watch that stupid show again." Taeyong says, and on the other side, Doyoung’ laughter bounces back to his ear.
☆彡
April. On the way home, Taeyong stops by the market to get groceries. Eggs. Milk. Udon noodles. Seoul is warming up, and Taeyong’s muscles slowly soften, again, like a ripening fruit. It’s not that difficult these days to do tiny tasks anymore. Like showering. Like moving from here to there. Like watering that cactus that Doyoung gave him as a house-warming gift.
(“Since you like talking so much, here’s a friend,” Doyoung had said, and all Taeyong wanted to do was to shove that cactus in Doyoung’s balls. He refrained from doing it though, not because Jongin was there, but because Doyoung had flashed him a gummy grin, and that caught Taeyong off guard.)
The market is always busy at this hour, and Taeyong snakes in between the housewives and the office workers; the scent of fish lingering on his skin. The fruit ajumma in floral pants winks at him, and that is enough for Taeyong to stop by and picks up an apple, observing the crisp skin. Spring, spring, Taeyong tastes it on his lips. He has missed this.
When Taeyong gets home, Doyoung has taken up that spot on the couch again. He smiles at Taeyong (so soft), and Taeyong halts at the door to catch the sight of the television blueing his cheekbones, painting his skin (so pretty).
☆彡
Later that day, when Doyoung is done with the dishes, Taeyong sits him down on the couch.
“Here,” Taeyong says, and he shuffles his bag to pull out a small spray bottle. “Propolis, for your throat. Um. You know. For the upcoming musical. Or maybe if you want to choke on some dick.”
There’s something odd flashing in Doyoung’s eyes, and Taeyong unconsciously gulps. Doyoung leans over, perhaps a bit too close, holding out his hands like claws as he digs into Taeyong’s stomach, and starts tickling Taeyong'a waist. His hands travel down south, a little bit too close to Taeyong’s crotch, and Taeyong makes a hybrid sound between a scream and a moan.
“You’re going to hurt my goodies. What the hell,” Taeyong screeches, and he tries to bite Doyoung’s ears off. Doyoung lets go, his laughter brightening up the whole apartment. Taeyong, even annoyed, finds himself wearing the same grin, too.
“Did you use your salary for this?” Doyoung says, and the burn rushes to Taeyong’s cheeks. He shifts his gaze to his socks, and notices a small hole there. Jongin used to sew Taeyong's clothes for him, but he’s not here anymore.
“Yeah,” Taeyong mutters, and he pushes the Jongin thoughts glooming in his head away. Bad thoughts. Bad bad thoughts. Most of them have faded already, but once in a while, one finds a way to resurface, and Taeyong wants to grab it by the neck and choke it, hard, just how Jongin used to like it.
It's Doyoung's hand rubbing his back that brings him back to reality. "Hey. Thank you for the propolis."
"It's nothing," Taeyong smiles like he means it, and rests a hand on Doyoung's thigh. The touch still tingles, after all these years. "You have helped me a lot."
Doyoung stares at him for a while, and it scares Taeyong, just because sometimes Taeyong still feels like a kid and he doesn't know how to figure out what other people want from him. The world is one big and scary place full of unwritten rules and regulations and Taeyong is perpetually confused.
But then Doyoung grins, all teeth and a bit of gum, and Taeyong realizes that this is Doyoung, and he doesn’t hold any expectations at all. "You know daddy will always be here for you, right?"
The moment breaks. Taeyong slaps his head with the back of his hand. "Oh, fuck you."
☆彡
"Hyung, should I get a fish?" Donghyuck scrunches his nose. "Fish are cool."
"For the love of God, no. Last time you almost killed Twilight Sparkle Pinkie Pie Fluttershy." Taeyong hisses, because he has witnessed the evil deed that Donghyuck had committed when he didn't change the water of the fish tank in almost a month. It fills Taeyong with rage, because Twilight Sparkle Pinkie Pie Fluttershy is not a normal fish. Twilight Sparkle Pinkie Pie Fluttershy means a lot to Taeyong. Twilight Sparkle Pinkie Pie Fluttershy is the emotional support seahorse that always listens to Taeyong whenever he has a Jongin thought that he needs to dump.
"Well, because it's evil." Haechan rolls his eyes. "Have you seen the way it glares at us all the way from the fish tank?"
"Do not talk about my sweet baby like that. She has a gender."
"Hyung." Donghyuck's screech is an unnecessarily loud volume. His mouth opens wide, and it makes him look a bit dumb. What he says next is, however, not. "Twilight Sparkle Pinkie Pie Fluttershy was pregnant. It is a male."
"I can't do this right now." Taeyong blocks his ears with both hands, and his phone chooses that exact moment to vibrate. He fishes it out of his back pocket; a smile blooms on his face when he spots Doyoung's name. "I gotta go."
"Come back. Hey– hyung– You need to stop gossiping and start doing some real work. Ya–"
☆彡
Doyoung’s name flashes on the screen again when Taeyong finishes closing the shop, the key still in his other hand.
"Hyung," Doyoung says, and this makes Taeyong squint, because he only calls Taeyong hyung when he wants to talk about serious things. Things like hyung, you don’t sign in this section of the contract it’s for the landlord. Hyung, drinking red wine won’t help your headache can you please put that bottle down. Hyung, having a tattoo on your ass is dumb also it’s three am and you’re drunk.
“Hyung,” Doyoung repeats again, and Taeyong swallows. “I don’t think I can come over today. Seungwan noona asked me if I wanted to work on something with her tonight.”
Taeyong has heard of this Seungwan urban legend before. She’s pretty; Doyoung has shown Taeyong her pictures. Big eyes and pink cheeks and brown hair, the kind of pretty that Taeyong knows Doyoung likes.
“Okay.” Taeyong doesn’t know if Doyoung can hear his pout, but Taeyong couldn’t care less. It's been a long day at work, and coming home to a Doyoung-less apartment is just like working overtime. A punishment that Taeyong, sweet and kind and so lovely, doesn't deserve.
“Don’t worry. I’ll come over tomorrow and make you dinner?” Doyoung’s voice is endearingly annoying, and Taeyong knows that he should feel happy for Doyoung, but he couldn’t bring himself to fake it.
“Whatever,” Taeyong says, and then he chews on his bottom lip in regret. Sometimes words bite and that's how relationships break, and the last thing Taeyong wants to do is to push Doyoung away. “I mean— Um. Have fun.”
Taeyong can’t quite catch what Doyoung says next, because, in his ears, all he can hear is the buzz of the phone call.
☆彡
“My love, Twilight Sparkle Pinkie Pie Fluttershy, how are you today?” Taeyong dips the zip-lock bag into the fish tank, and gently puts the sponge filter inside so that it can get all the debris from the fish. He is sure that the seahorse can sense him (—wait, can fish even smell?) because it softly jumps on Taeyong’s arm.
“I’m cleaning your poop, mister," Taeyong sighs, and he pours the debris and poop water into a bucket. “Yes. Doyoung still goes on dates with that noona. It’s sickening.”
Twilight Sparkle Pinkie Pie Fluttershy looks at him.
“No,” Taeyong crinkles his nose, and he knocks on the glass of the tank, just softly. The fish doesn’t flinch at all, and this annoys Taeyong. “I’m not jealous. What are you talking about. Don’t run your mouth, or else I’m not cleaning the tank and you’re gonna drown in POOP!”
Twilight Sparkle Pinkie Pie Fluttershy swims away.
“I’m not mean. Don’t say that.”
Twilight Sparkle Pinkie Pie Fluttershy swims back.
“I already said I’m not jealous. I just miss his cooking. He cooks well."
Twilight Sparkle Pinkie Pie Fluttershy looks right at him again.
“Alright alright, maybe I am.” Taeyong rolls his eyes. He pulls out the sponge and squeezes it well, making sure that all the debris is well shaken off. He has fish poop all over his hand and he wonders if he can tell which one is from Twilight Sparkle Pinkie Pie Fluttershy. This smells fantastic. Taeyong purses his bottom lip out in disgust.
“Alright,” he puts the sponge back into the tank, and smears his fish poop hand around in the water. “Ya. Don't be mean. The sponge is going to suck it all up! It’s because you keep asking about Doyoung, mister Twilight Sparkle Pinkie Pie Fluttershy. Do you have a crush on him or something?”
Twilight Sparkle Pinkie Pie Fluttershy silently swims around his hand in the tank.
“No. I do not have a crush on Doyoung. We have been friends for years.” Taeyong gasps, but then it starts clicking that he, in fact, has not dumped a Jongin thought on mister seahorse for a whole month, and this is terrifying.
“Fuck,” Taeyong mutters. “Okay. Maybe I do think Doyoung is sexy and I like spending time with him and I want him to take care of me because I know I can take care of him too and I hate it when people dangle their legs on the armrest of my couch but I wouldn’t mind if Doyoung does that sometimes because he has nice legs and I would love to sit on them forever. Fuck.”
Fuck.
☆彡
“Hyung, what the hell,” Donghyuck screeches, again. Taeyong thinks he is showing early signs of tinnitus because of this. “You scared that ajumma away.”
“Good,” Taeyong smiles, as he wipes his hands on his jeans and stares at the fish poop bucket blankly. Realizing that you might have a crush on your best friend makes people do stupid things.
“Hello? We are running a business here?”
"Well, the less business the better!” Taeyong exclaims. “Less work for us, too! This is what we should have done ages ago, Donghyuck. We are starting a revolution here."
“I don’t understand you. You're weird, hyung.” Donghyuck says, and Taeyong turns to give him a pointed look, because Taeyong should be the one saying that.
“Says the one who makes pterodactyl noises every time the boss comes around because you couldn’t resist her MILF essence. Who the fucks does that?”
“Seriously, have you seen her?”
Taeyong smacks Donghyuck’s arm, and lets out a scandalous gasp. “For the love of God, I'm literally gay. I’m all about the cocks and the balls. ”
☆彡
Taeyong had expected things to get progressively weirder when he came to terms with his feelings, but things… stay the same, except now the world makes more sense. Because he can finally put a name to the way his heart screams every time Doyoung rests a hand on his thigh (gay panic). Or the way he unlocks his phone and there's no message from Doyoung (gay yearning). Or the way he feels about Doyoung's dinner dates with Seungwan (general gay ugly feelings, because Taeyong is never jealous. He’s anything but jealous).
Sometimes, Doyoung will get him from work, his tie loosened around his neck, revealing the summery gloss that lingers on his skin. Doyoung will smile, and Taeyong wishes how this second could last forever. So that Taeyong can come back to it when the world gets quiet and lonely and there's no one to wait for him after he's done with his shift. How to exist in a moment forever. How to win this race against time so that it won't rob you of good things.
☆彡
“There’s this party at work.” Doyoung’s voice is soft, blended with the sounds emitting from the TV. Taeyong peels his eyes off his switch to Pororo running down another hill on the TV screen, and Doyoung's stupidly engrossed face. His mouth gapes open, shaped like an 'o,' frozen in time.
"And?" Taeyong says.
“Do you want to go with me?”
“When is it?”
“October. It's still away,” he shrugs. "Just letting you know so you can mark your calendar."
“What about Seungwan noona?”
“Oh.” Doyoung says nonchalantly, as if Seungwan hasn't been the fog that has been clouding Taeyong's mind for the past few weeks. “She’s going to be there. What about her?"
“I was just wondering.” Taeyong’s head shifts on Doyoung's lap a bit too harshly, and when he thinks there's really no comfortable position here, he slips down to the sofa. That finally catches Doyoung's attention as he scolds, and hooks an arm around Taeyong's neck to pull him back up, right on the fullest parts of his thighs. The inside of Taeyong's stomach does a flip, because he's too close to Doyoung's crotch.
"What," Doyoung says, leaning forward, bringing his manhood closer to Taeyong's face. If Taeyong inches a bit further he could almost take a whiff of it. The sexiest thing on this Earth. But working with Donghyuck has trained him to develop an immense, out-of-this-world sense of self-control. Taeyong can do this. He is strong. And he won't lean over.
"Are you jealous or something?" Doyoung says, and that makes Taeyong sit up, hitting Doyoung’s chin. "Ouch," Taeyong lets out, while Doyoung groans simultaneously. "Oh my God, you dumb fuck."
"I'm not jealous," Taeyong shakes his head with vigor. "You can have other pretty friends too."
"Did you just call yourself pretty?"
"Self-awareness is a positive trait that everyone should possess," Taeyong sits up, holding his legs close to his chest.
"Back in my day, we called it narcissism."
"You act like you're in your sixties."
"You act like you're still in high school."
"And?" Taeyong fakes a sigh, and tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. Fluttering his eyelashes at Doyoung, he pouts. "One of my various charms is youth."
Doyoung looks at him for a while, observing. This makes Taeyong dodge his eyes and shift in his seat. He used to be comfortable with silence, but now it irks the skin on his forearms. "It's true, though," Doyoung says after a while, a smile edging at the corner of his mouth, lighting his face up.
"What is true?"
"That you're pretty." Doyoung says, putting down the remote and standing up, heading to the kitchen. "Seungwan noona has a girlfriend. I was helping her with the proposal. Don't be jealous. You're my only pretty friend."
For once, Taeyong is happy that Pororo is playing on the TV right now, because he just let out the ugliest, most ungraceful moan.
☆彡
Jongin comes on a Tuesday.
Taeyong sees him from afar, before he even enters the shop, because Taeyong still remembers that silhouette as if it was yesterday. He slumps down, sitting behind the counter, and ignores Donghyuck’s curious look until the bell chimes as Jongin walks in.
“I need a new leash for my dog.” Here comes that familiar voice. Taeyong waits for the cardiac arrest of his heart, and the shakiness of his legs, and yet nothing comes.
“My colleague, Taeyong can take care of that, sir. He just restocked them yesterday,” Donghyuck says, and Taeyong curls up even more, shaking his head. With a sigh, Donghyuck leans down and picks him up from the floor, and shoves him towards Jongin’s direction.
“Taeyong?” Jongin says, grabbing his shoulders. Taeyong jerks back, looking away.
“Hi, you.” Jongin still looks the same. There’s that same glint in his eyes, and his hair stays the shade of honey brown that Taeyong used to obsessively think about before he went to bed. He looks good, attractive even, as if the breakup didn’t affect him as much as it did on Taeyong, but Taeyong knows he can’t hate Jongin for that.
“You look good,” Jongin says. His tone is warm and genuine and Taeyong waits. For that same excitement that used to run through his veins. But it isn’t there anymore. It's just gone.
“Thanks, uh, you too.” Taeyong mutters, and he leads Jongin to the shelf where they display dog leashes. “Did Monggu chew off his leash again?”
‘It’s Jjangah this time,” Jongin says, and he picks up one to observe the material. The color is a bit dull and Taeyong knows that it would clash with Jjangah’s gorgeous pearly fur, but unlike Taeyong, Jongin has always had bad taste.
“I miss them,” Taeyong says, and this time, he means it. He even misses the dogs more than he misses Jongin.
Jongin tilts his head and leans closer, his eyes suggestive, the same look that he used to give Taeyong when he wanted a kiss. “If you want, you can see them sometimes. And maybe we could grab some lunch and catch up.”
Taeyong offers a weak smile, shaking his head. “I don’t think that's a good idea, or until I can fully heal,” he says, “Look. I gotta go. When you pick something you like, you can call Donghyuck over.”
When he heads back to the counter, there’s a smile blooming on his face. Kim Jongin just asked him out, again, and there's no thrumming in his ribcage. No goosebumps running down his spine. Nothing. That's it.
☆彡
When Taeyong gets home, he unwraps his scarf and throws it on the sofa, and then throws his body onto Doyoung’s lap, because there's a magnet from Doyoung's thighs that keeps attracting the back of his head. Outside, the wind rattles the window. The start of winter—Taeyong can feel it aching in his bones.
"Why do you keep watching this stupid show?" Taeyong asks.
"Pororo is not stupid. It's really fun." Doyoung says, picking up a piece of dumpling on his plate and shoving it down Taeyong’s mouth. “Croong really reminds me of you. All he talks is googoogaga.”
“That’s mean.”
“Is it?” Doyoung laughs. “Pororo really seems to understand him well."
"So if I am Croong, then are you my Pororo?"
"Yeah? Got a problem with that?" Doyoung puts down his plate and uses his hand to tangle Taeyong’s hair, running through his scalp. And there it is, the tingles, shooting from the tips of Doyoung’s fingers and straight to his heart.
Taeyong thinks about Pororo with his selflessness and his love for blue, and maybe, those things do remind him of someone. "No, actually. You can be Pororo.”
“What is it with you today?” Doyoung asks.
“What’s with me?”
“I don’t know.” Doyoung peels his eyes off the television and plays with a strand of Taeyong’s hair, hooking a hand underneath Taeyong's neck to rub at his nape. “Usually, you would fight back instead of agreeing with me.”
Doyoung settles his hand on top of Taeyong’s forehead and warmth spreads all over his body. Taeyong wonders if Doyoung can feel his heart bursting out of his ribcage in the small space between them. Doyoung smells like soap and sage and Taeyong thinks that maybe, this it the right moment to say it.
“Hey, Doyoung.”
“Hm.”
"You know how I always call you a pain in the ass, right?”
"Yeah?” Doyoung snorts.
“But you could be a pleasure in the ass too.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Doyoung’s eyebrows knit together, and his face contorts in a disgusted expression, but Taeyong still thinks that he’s so, so attractive.
“Um. You know how they say about gay sex, that you have to endure the pain until it reaches the sweet spot, and that is when you started to realize things —that there may exist a dick out there that can fill the void in your ass, ya kno—"
"Oh my God. You are confessing to me."
"Um. Yeah. Kind of." Taeyong says, and he ignores the look Doyoung is giving him by flipping his body over, so that his skin is carressing Doyoung’s trousers. There’s the barest hint of softener, and Taeyong inhales the scent as much as he can.
“Stop sniffing me! Lee Taeyong. You are using gay sex as a metaphor for how much you want to kiss me.”
“Woah. Hold on. Who said I wanna kiss you?” Taeyong looks up, but then the stern look Doyoung gives him is sending shivers down his spine. “Okay. Maybe I do. Sorry. I like you. I’m just an anxious mess and I don’t know how to act whenever you’re around.”
“We have known each other since forever.”
“Yeah but that doesn’t really stop me from freaking out.”
“I just have that effect on people,” Doyoung says, and Taeyong lifts an arm to grab at his tie and yanks him down with all his strength.
“Fuck you.”
“Of course you want to fuck me.”
“Can you shut the fuck up,” Taeyong says, blocking his ears with both of his hands and shutting his eyes as if it could make him disappear in the moment. “This is literally the most embarrassing moment in my entire life.”
A beat of silence, before Doyoung’s chuckles rupture in the air like fireworks, clear and loud and all over the place, ringing in his ears. Taeyong considers between sliding down onto the floor and slamming his head to the nearest hard object, but he decides on neither.
“Taeyong hyung.”
“Wha–” and before his words can crystalize, soft hands reach out and turn him over. A small speck on his nose, and then a kiss. Kisses. Everywhere. "I like you.”
“What?”
“Why do you think I’m still here?” Doyoung rolls his eyes. “It’s because I like you, silly. Ever since that one time you fell down the stairs in middle school and you picked yourself up right after, and there was blood all over your face and the kids were laughing at you but I think you were so brave. I have liked you since then.”
The insides of Taeyong burst open and he sits up to cup Doyoung's face with his hands. Happiness fills in every cell of his being and inflates him up, and now he's a balloon drifting up to space. Taeyong holds Doyoung close to him, their foreheads touching in a sloppy dance. “Move in with me?”
“No. Absolutely not."
Taeyong slaps Doyoung on the shoulder, and the sofa vibrates as he gets on top of Doyoung and digs his fingers into Doyoung’s waist, finding his most sensitive parts.
They both know that Doyoung lives here anyway.
☆彡
“Can you be quick?” Doyoung scowls. “Ten is coming in any minute.”
At the mention of Ten, Taeyong’s legs shake. "Is Ten going to be there?" Taeyong asks. “Isn’t this supposed to be your work party?”
“Ten is dating my boss, oh my God.” Doyoung rolls his eyes. “How come you didn’t know this?”
"Um. I really can't do this today. Can I not go?"
“Why are you so scared of him?” Doyoung sighs. "He's actually very lovely. You guys have known each other for years."
“He’s weird. Like, he always has this expression that makes him look like he wants to skin me alive.”
"It's because he thinks your reaction is funny."
Taeyong gasps. "What the fuck. That's so mean.”
“You like it when people are mean to you.”
“That is not the point,” Taeyong’s screech is a bit higher for his ears to handle, so he cringes. “Then explain the knife collection and the bloody clothes.”
"He's into knife play." Doyoung shrugs.
"That's even worse. I can't stand horny people."
"You didn't just kink shame my roommate when you always talk about how you want weird objects shoved up your ass."
"Hey! Self-loathing is valid. I thought you loved me." Taeyong protests, and Doyoung takes a large step so he can hold Taeyong in his hands.
“Of course I do,” Doyoung smiles. He pulls out a pair of gloves and puts them on Taeyong’s hands, finger-by-finger, before leaning down and planting a kiss on Taeyong’s cheek. Despite the winter outside, Taeyong is warm.
“Let’s go,” Doyoung says, tugging at his sleeve and pulling him out of his hazy state, to the living room, past the corridor, and into the Seoul evening. Taeyong stops mid-way as a snowflake lands on the top of his nose, soft and chaste like the kisses in the morning that Doyoung gives him right after they wake up.
“It’s snowing,” Taeyong says, clutching closer to Doyoung’s side.
“I can tell.”
“It’s October.”
“Maybe the sky knows you didn’t see that much snow last year.”
“You’re so corny.”
“Do you have a problem with that?” Doyoung cocks an eyebrow, and Taeyong shakes his head. They’re wearing the same grin, the same joy, and Taeyong thinks that he doesn’t want to exist anywhere besides this moment, standing under the snow holding Doyoung’s hand.
"No. You never do anything wrong, daddy," Taeyong says.
This moment, this moment. There are a lot of things that Taeyong doesn't know about this world, like how male seahorses get pregnant instead of female ones, or how Doyoung likes to stay with Taeyong when he's a mess and confused and isn't good at directions, but in this moment, Taeyong knows that it's so wonderful that the sky makes snow. It’s so wonderful that the Earth spins, so that next spring, there are going to be flowers and fruits.
He's glad he exists.