Chapter Text
1987, in a suburb of Chicago
The clock was ticking at a glacial pace. Doyoung kept adding data to his spreadsheet, trying to lose himself in the work, but it was like time was moving backwards, until it finally wasn’t and the telltale rustle of paper around him announced the end of the work day. He sprang up from his seat.
“Charlie, are you coming to the bar with us?”
It took Doyoung a second to process that he was being spoken to. That stupid name, the one he used for work since his own was apparently too different, grated on him every time he heard it. The person who had spoken was Nicole whose cubicle backed onto his. She was looking at him expectantly. She was blushing a little too and he felt bad about that. He felt bad about ever going to the bar with his new colleagues at all.
“I have to meet somebody,” he said, and pausing only long enough to turn off his PC, he ran out of the bullpen and down the stairs, eschewing the line for the elevator. He was outside about a minute and a half after five, a minute and a half after he said he would be there, and of course Taeyong was waiting for him, leaning against his bicycle and looking bored.
“The store closes in an hour,” he said by way of greeting.
“If you want my help, you have to respect normal working hours.” Doyoung gestured at the bike. “I wish you’d let me drive,” he said.
“We don’t have time for you to politely stop for every grandmother between here and the mall,” Taeyong said.
“Like you don’t stop for grandmothers,” Doyoung said, climbing onto the pannier rack and waiting for Taeyong to settle on the saddle so he could slip his hands around his waist. Taeyong didn’t answer him, which was answer enough, and then they took off, weaving through the rush hour traffic.
“That one,” Doyoung said, when they got to the place, still panting. He didn’t even have to think about it. He’d been browsing magazines all day.
Taeyong picked the tape off the rack. “This one?” He turned The Joshua Tree over in his hands, inspecting the cover art before replacing it on the rack. “Why?”
“It’s new,” Doyoung said. “He probably doesn’t already have it, and he’s kind of…” Doyoung searched for the word. “Punk rock, right? He’ll like it.” And it had a song on it that Johnny Suh would listen to once and fall in love with Taeyong and then Doyoung would lose him forever. “Tell him to listen to ‘With or Without You’ first,” he said, living vicariously through the life of this other man who was everything he wasn’t. He pushed the tape back into Taeyong’s hands.
“Punk rock,” Taeyong imitated with a chuckle. “You’re such a dork.”
“I’m not the dork who’s buying a guy a gift for a normal date.”
“It’s not-” Taeyong looked around wildly like his kindergarten teacher might be standing behind them, “Doie it’s not a date. It’s just- hanging out. We’re hanging out.”
“Sure,” Doyoung waited for him to go to the counter, but he didn’t move. “What?”
“What about this one?” Taeyong held up a bright red cassette case. “It’s new too.”
“There’s no way Johnny Suh likes The Cure, Taeyong.”
“He might,” Taeyong inspected the cover, and then flipped it to skim the tracklist. “He’s deeper than you think.”
“I’m sure.” Doyoung picked Hatful of Hollow off the shelf. He had it already, of course, but on vinyl. And his car didn’t have a record player. He would need this to listen to Morrissey sing out his unrequited love while he waited around for Taeyong later. “I’m getting this,” he said.
Taeyong hugged Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me to his chest, but he didn’t let go of the U2 album either, and in the end he bought both of them, and Doyoung’s album too. “As a thank you,” he said.
“It’s what friends do,” Doyoung muttered. He packed all of the tapes into his work bag before he got back on the bike. Taeyong took them straight to the lock up, where Doyoung’s car was sitting up on the lift still.
“I thought you fixed it! Is this the real reason you wouldn’t let me drive?”
Taeyong rolled his eyes, untying his overalls from his waist and pushing his arms through before he crouched down to get under the car.
“It just needs a final check,” he said. “And the back left tyre needs air.”
Doyoung sighed. “Such a mechanic.” He made himself comfortable on the workbench, because there was nowhere else to sit in Taeyong’s garage and took off the shirt he’d worn at work. All he had on underneath was a thin white vest but it was more comfortable in the summer heat than his shirt. He picked up a National Geographic, his own from weeks ago, and flicked through it.
“What’s that supposed to mean? Such a mechanic.”
“It means you’re never done when you say you’ll be done.”
Taeyong scoffed, and didn’t dignify that very accurate critique with a response. Doyoung continued to flick through his magazine, listening to him work.
“For somebody who knows so much about cars, maybe it’s time you actually drove one,” he called, after Taeyong had been tinkering for about ten minutes.
“I know exactly how dangerous they are,” he called back. “When you’ve dug a steering wheel out of the front seat of a car that’s been hit just for parking weird, you can tell me if it’s safe to sit in the driver’s seat.”
Doyoung dearly wished to argue this point, but his only ammunition was that if Taeyong was able to drive himself, he wouldn’t need Doyoung to drive him out to his date tonight, would he? Sorry, not a date. A hang out. These hang-outs with Johnny were getting more and more frequent, and if Johnny hadn’t figured out yet that Taeyong had been carrying around a skyscraper-sized crush on him since high school, then he would when Taeyong presented him with a present later. When he turned up for their hang out at the movie theatre all the way across town in that brand new MCS shirt he thought Doyoung hadn’t noticed him buying last week instead of his usual fare of faded black t-shirts, Doyoung had no doubt that Johnny would figure it out quick enough. The thought made him sick, but like a masochist he couldn’t leave it alone.
“What if he tries to kiss you?” Doyoung asked. The tinkering under the car momentarily ceased before it started up again.
“What if I try to kiss him?”
“Please,” Doyoung scoffed. The idea of Taeyong being forward was laughable. It had taken him ten years to ask Johnny Suh to date him. Sorry, hang out with him. Taeyong stepped out from under the car.
“It’s ready,” he said, then turned to face Doyoung. “If he kisses me, I’ll suppose I’ll have to kiss him back.” Taeyong’s shy, inward facing smile when he said this made Doyoung’s jealous streak flare green. He paid it back the only way he knew how: scorn.
“Johnny Suh isn’t some minor leaguer who’ll be swept off his feet at the touch of your amateur lips.”
“Thanks,” Taeyong scoffed, leaning against the car with his arms folded.
“He’s got experience.”
“I have experience.”
“He’s probably got more experience than a few handies in the bathrooms at The Warehouse.”
Taeyong gave him a long look. “You know I’ve got more experience than that.”
Doyoung knew. He’d walked in on one of Taeyong’s more experiences at a party last year, and he couldn’t get the image of Yuta Nakamoto’s bare ass out of his head. Regardless.
“Regardless, I think you should consider whether or not your A-game is good enough. A bad first kiss can kill a relationship.”
“We’re just-”
“Hanging out, sure. Look.” Doyoung shut the magazine he was no longer reading and sat back on the bench. “If you think you’re good, then good.”
“I think I’m good,” Taeyong said, but he sounded unsure now. Doyoung was playing with fire here, and he knew it, but he saw an opening and if he was never going to experience what it was like to actually kiss Taeyong then he might as well shoot his shot for what he could get. He played for nonchalance. Hoped it worked.
“I can help you if you want.”
Taeyong frowned. “Help me how? You want to come on our date?”
“I thought you said it wasn’t a date. And technically I’m already going on your date since you asked me to drive you there and back.” Doyoung bit back his frustration; he was going to have to say it right out. “Forget about it, if you don’t want help. I’m sure you’re fine-”
“Wait,” Taeyong rubbed his hands on his overalls nervously. “How can you help me?”
This was it. This was his chance to back away from this stupid idea and save himself a lifetime of heartache. He reminded himself that he had already scratched through ‘Half a Person’ on his LP and that new tape in his bag only had a finite lifespan if he kept going how he was going.
But he couldn’t stop himself.
“Pretend I’m… him.” He tossed his hair comically the way Johnny Suh tossed his long hair, like he was one of the Z-Boys on Venice Beach. “Pretend I’m Johnny Suh,” he said, pitching his voice higher, punchier, the way Johnny talked. Taeyong was biting back a laugh, and Doyoung felt vaguely ridiculous, but he had to laugh too because this was ridiculous. When Taeyong didn’t move, though, Doyoung sighed.
“Come here,” he said. Then, because he really did hate himself, “don’t worry. It doesn’t count if it’s just me. If that’s what you're worried about.”
“That’s not… okay.” Taeyong walked over, rubbing the engine grease off his hands and onto his overalls. A tremble in his jaw, something he probably wasn’t even aware of, gave away that he was a little nervous. Doyoung didn’t point it out; he was about to get what he wanted for the first time, even if it wasn’t exactly what he wanted. “Here?” He stopped right in front of Doyoung, just outside of the line of his knees. Doyoung sat forward, caging him.
“Where are you putting your hands?”
Taeyong looked around quickly and then reached up to cup Doyoung’s jaw. Doyoung cocked an eyebrow and Taeyong immediately dropped his hands.
“What?! I-”
“This is the first time you’re kissing him,” Doyoung said. “You can look deeply into his eyes and hold his face when you know you’re not going to freak him out. Look-” Doyoung reached forward impatiently to hide his own nerves and took Taeyong’s hands. Then he sat up straight and put Taeyong’s hands on his waist. Through the thin material of his vest, Taeyong’s hands felt heavy, warm. They were also probably staining the vest, but Doyoung couldn’t bring himself to care.
“Put your hands on his waist. He won’t be confused about what you’re doing if you start with that.”
Taeyong nodded and exhaled shakily. “What now?”
Doyoung felt the pads of Taeyong’s thumbs through his shirt, gripping him a little tighter, maybe, than was necessary. This was a demonstration. He didn’t need to play into it. For a second he worried his voice might break on the next words, but he went for it anyway.
“Once he knows where you’re going with this, he’ll probably, um, put his hands maybe- here?” He rested his forearms on Taeyong’s shoulders, lightly grazing the hair on the back of his neck. It had grown long again at the back; it gave him a wild look that Doyoung was weak for.
“Maybe?” Taeyong chuckled breathily. They were already too close for it to be comfortable. “I thought you were the expert.”
“Shut up, I don’t have to help you,” Doyoung said. “Look at me.”
Taeyong met his eyes and then squeezed his own shut, and then laughed and Doyoung rolled his impatiently, sliding closer to Taeyong so his knees were resting on either side of Taeyong’s hips now. He could feel the rough fold of the overalls through his slacks.
“Look at me, and stop laughing,” Doyoung said sternly. Taeyong schooled his features, stopped laughing, and met Doyoung’s gaze. Taeyong had the most incredible eyes. They were huge, but that’s not what made them incredible. His irises were almost black, like something from a horror novel. Doyoung could believe it if Taeyong told him he wasn’t human. He almost backed out of what they were doing as he searched Taeyong’s eyes, though, because there was infinite beauty there yes but there was also trust and a sliver of innocence, and Doyoung was certain that Taeyong wouldn’t do this if he had any idea how Doyoung felt about him.
“Close your eyes,” Doyoung said, astonished at how steady his voice still sounded.
Taeyong dutifully did as he was told, giving Doyoung a second to look at him, to wet his own lips a little and take a shallow breath, before he leaned in and kissed him.
It started light. Closed-lipped, oddly familiar like they had done this before in the more than ten years of their friendship. Doyoung shifted slightly, moving closer, and Taeyong’s grip on his waist tightened possessively, drawing him in, closer, closer still. Doyoung’s breath caught. He had already wet his lips but Taeyong’s were dry, and he must have tried to compensate for that because he couldn’t be parting his lips, couldn’t be pressing his tongue to Doyoung’s on purpose, could he? He couldn’t be angling his head to deepen the kiss, his lips capturing Doyoung’s as he leaned in, could he? Taeyong’s grip on Doyoung’s waist was almost painful now, and his left hand was starting to drift, down to his hips, lower, holding him in place as he stepped closer still. Doyoung forgot for a second that this was practice. This was Taeyong, and his body reacted the only way it knew how, and it knew how because this was a fantasy that kept Doyoung up at night until he spilled himself onto his sheets, or in the shower, or into a tissue in a bathroom stall because he was at work and horny and couldn’t stop thinking about just this, right here, now. He pulled Taeyong closer, pushing his hands into the long hair at his nape and crossing his ankles around his thighs until Taeyong was holding him upright, until most of his weight was off the bench and on Taeyong. Taeyong’s hips stuttered forward. Doyoung knew then that his thin slacks couldn’t hide it any more, that he was rock hard and so was Taeyong or else those overalls were thick in all the wrong places. He didn’t know, he wasn’t sure suddenly, and that was what brought Doyoung back to himself.
What was he doing? Did he hate himself so much?
He pushed Taeyong away forcefully, breaking the kiss.
“What-?” Taeyong stumbled backwards, and he was smiling, like he didn’t know the damage he had done.
“You’re fine,” Doyoung said, pushing himself off the bench and grabbing his shirt, turning to wrap it around his waist so Taeyong wouldn’t see the state he was in. He grabbed his bag and fished out Taeyong’s tapes, dropping them onto the bench before he walked towards the door.
“Wait- Doie- are- are you blushing?” Taeyong had the audacity to call after him.
Doyoung shot him a venomous glare. “I am not blushing,” he said, though he knew he was. Furiously. “You’re fucking welcome, by the way.”
“No, no don’t go! Thanks! Doie, thank you! That was really…woah, um- really instructive,” Taeyong insisted. He was smiling at Doyoung, and maybe he was blushing too but Doyoung didn’t know and he couldn’t meet his eyes at all to find out. He had to get out of there.
“See you in an hour,” he said. “I’m going home to change. Make sure my car’s ready.”
He left before Taeyong could say anything else.