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Summary
He starts undressing Taeyong, laughing a little at how he’s almost asleep despite standing up and how stark his tanlines are. He strips himself and steps into the tub first so he can help Taeyong in. “Take my hand, “ he prompts. “I don’t want you to slip.”
They sink into the water, sighing at how good the heat feels. Doyoung sits back against the edge of the tub with his legs spread, pulling Taeyong to sit in between them, his head resting against his chest. Doyoung can still recall the anxiety, the adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream every time he was in close proximity to Taeyong. That liminal space they occupied for far too long, keeping to the margins of friendship but outside the walls of everything else.
It all serves to soothe Doyoung now; the weight of Taeyong’s body, the softness of his skin, the steady beat of his pulse. How good it feels to live within these walls.
Doyoung grabs a washcloth and lathers it up with a bar of soap. He starts washing Taeyong’s limbs, planting kisses along his shoulder blades as he does. He’ll never tire of this, of caring for Taeyong. It could very easily be his life’s purpose.