Work Text:
Choi Taeyang loved the city once. He never would’ve imagined a soul as dormant as his own to surrender itself so willingly to a world that was anything but.
There was a place for him here. A space he occupied at the cusp of life and existence, weaving in and out of winding roads lined with music and art and history—selfless and encompassing, a thinning blanket of love against the expanse of his sunkissed skin—and not once did he ever think otherwise. The city fit him like a glove. Here was where he could breathe without the subtle mishap of taking too much in at once. Here was where he could dot his I’s, cross his T’s, and write serenades to the stars with the moon as his fervent muse.
On a good day, the city was Taeyang’s to lose. But on a great one, it was simply his. All his. In the morning, he’d find pieces of him etched into every rusty café window and faulty traffic light. They’d take their sweet time fading into the afternoon ruckus, delicate and dreamy against the rush hour’s beckoning calls. And whenever Taeyang lost sight of home, he knew not to panic or call or curse the sky as if he was above it. He’d simply turn back—eyes fixed on the star-crossed avenues before him, held carefully close but never kept—and he’d be himself again by nighttime.
At some point in Taeyang’s life, he caught his name strewn across the ridges of his favorite sidewalk. Crooked letters that spelled out memories of a kinder time, harboring a sense of longing that stopped him dead in his tracks.
He was never one to run circles around what if’s and could’ve been’s.
Still, he wondered.
There existed a possibility to adore the city more than the sum of its parts. It took everything in Taeyang’s power to ignore it, but he knew in his heart that all he needed was his ex-lover’s presence to reel him in again.
Yoon Keeho.
Taeyang may never see the city in the same light tomorrow, and he may never step foot in the same busy streets twice. But he was certain, almost enough to gamble his whole life, that all roads would lead back to Yoon Keeho.
Let detours be detours. Let stop signs be stop signs. A compass never lied. And Keeho would give up every fibre in his being to be the map that led Taeyang back to him. Keeho never stopped seeking Taeyang in the local jazz bars that turned their favorite songs into shameless anthems for perpetual romantics. He still searched for Taeyang in the sea of soulless dreamers down the block who could nurse Taeyang’s jaded spirit back to health and whisk it away just as easily. And Keeho would wait forever just to hold Taeyang in his arms—until the city stopped time to save them, and until every sidewalk knew their names.
The day would soon come that Keeho and Taeyang were to meet again, wiser and more captivating than when their paths first crossed. Destiny would bless them both with an outpour of vivid memories: slow waltzes and warm hugs against the refrigerator light. Resonant laughter that echoed over the dance floor. Gentle kisses on the way home from the crowded concert hall. They’d hold every ounce of love left in them in a single smile, a single glance that carried countless second chances.
Keeho and Taeyang would stand face to face then—gazes tender, fulfilled, finally found.
“Hello, my love.” One would break the silence, each word cozied up in an eager embrace.
To which the other would answer, earnest as ever, “It’s been so long.”