Blue {DoTae} | complete

Twenty-four: I don't know how

Doyoung doesn't hear the door click open nor when it clicks shut, followed by shuffling and cautious footsteps across the carpet. Taeyong appears in the doorway. His breathing is ragged as though he ran all the way back to the hotel and his fingers tangle together in search of the right way to begin such a difficult conversation. But it's such a necessary conversation.

The younger doesn't acknowledge his presence. He stares ahead, eyes void of emotion, void of any recognition, and he doesn't even flinch when Taeyong steps around the discarded clothes to crouch down next to him.

"Doyoung?" Taeyong whispers his name, afraid to speak too loud. Doyoung blinks, lethargic, and the haze around him fuels the pit of dread and worry and guilt looming inside the idol's stomach. "Doyoung? Are you there?"

Taeyong doesn't know if he should touch Doyoung. He doesn't know if he deserves to even hear his voice again. He's messed up, and he fears he's broken Doyoung's trust. Taeyong would at least like the younger to hear his apology, even if it falls on a scared, stubborn mind.

"Doyoung..." Taeyong tries again. This time, Doyoung uses his trembling hands to pull his knees tight against his chest and he buries his face between them, blocking out the idol. Taeyong's chest physically aches from the sight. Doyoung's entire body seems to be quivering, but there's no doubt that he's totally drained at the same time, clinging onto reality by a single thread that's just one wrong move away from snapping.

"I'm sorry, Doyoung." Taeyong continues anyway.

The video of Doyoung's mother plagues his mind. He's never met the woman, but the resemblance of her features is unmistakeable, and he understood the gist of the report. The police are trying to track Doyoung down. They want clues, witnesses, people who have sighted him. In the moment, Taeyong had flared with anger. He saw his career flash across his eyes, all his trainee years washing down the drain by the dangerous act of carelessness, and he lashed out before thinking rationally.

"I'm so, so sorry." His voice cracks, revealing his own distress. There are so many thoughts rushing around his mind that he doesn't even know where to begin. Taeyong swallows instead and leans his back against the end of the bed, a few feet of space between himself and the younger.

Pain. That's something he definitely feels. Pain at Doyoung's suffering, at his anguish. Seeing Doyoung so detached hurts Taeyong's heart more than he ever could have guessed. He's always been sympathetic, but it's never been so physically painful to see someone else break. Doyoung lifts his head. The idol's heart leaps, expecting him to speak, but instead he just rests his chin on his knees and shuts his eyes. They're puffy, rimmed red, and there are obvious tear tracks scarring his cheeks. Taeyong has never felt like this for someone before. Not even for his ex. And he was under the illusion of loving him.

Is this love?

Taeyong isn't sure.

But if he had to guess? Yes, it is.

He wants to hug Doyoung, kiss his forehead, and let him know that it's all going to be okay. Hold his hand. Maybe even kiss his lips. Let him know that they'll sort something out. That he didn't mean to lash out. That he regretted storming out as soon as the door slammed. The door slammed, and it quenched all his anger. But he was too proud to turn back for the best part of two hours. He left Doyoung alone for two hours. He doesn't even want to imagine how bad his breakdown must have been. He'd blame it on the hangover making him moody, but that's not the case at all.

When he swallows again, his throat is tight and tears spring to his eyes.

"Please talk to me, Doyoung. I would like to talk." Taeyong presses on. Doyoung breathes in and out. "I'm so sorry for raising my voice at you. Everything must be overwhelming and confusing and painful for you right now. And I get that. I understand. I'm in pain, too," so much pain, "and I'm not looking for forgiveness. Just a sign that you're doing okay."