Fine {DoTae} | complete

Five

TW: Doyoung has a panic attack here... if you want to skip that part, it's from 'he leaves the room' to 'giving up'

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

"I thought you two might emerge together," Hyunseok says when Doyoung and Taeyong arrive late in the foyer the following morning. He stares them up and down, and Doyoung squeezes Taeyong's hand, shying away from the accusation. The manager rolls his eyes, but a smile flickers on his lips anyway. "Hurry up."

Memories of the previous night prance around the forefront of Doyoung's mind and he struggles to look his boyfriend in the eyes once they're in the van. The driver is a man he's never met before, and neither has Taeyong, judging by the quirk of his eyebrow and the polite nod he offers while they get seated. It's nine o'clock and Doyoung swears it's too early. Hyunseok runs through the agenda and the photoshoot briefing, but Doyoung can only think about how he'd much rather still be curled under the covers with Taeyong. He can only think about Taeyong's hands on his body, and his on Taeyong's.

"Is everything clear? Any questions?" Hyunseok's own questions are received by silence because Taeyong is just as spaced out as Doyoung is, and the manager tuts and turns back around in his seat, letting them stay buried in their thoughts.

Doyoung wonders if Taeyong is thinking about him, too.

Taeyong locks their fingers together and that's all the confirmation Doyoung needs. He gazes out the window for the rest of the ride, taking in the new sights and road signs and billboards, pretending they're just on a fun trip together. He counts the lampposts and taps his feet, content to be absorbed by the city. His mind runs away into a daydream and his senses are dulled by the vivid voices in his head that narrate the journey, pointing out sights and talking to some imaginary person, anyone that will listen. He just lets his mind slip away. It's just as easy as it always was.

When Taeyong's fingers tense in his own, Doyoung floats back and turns to his boyfriend. Taeyong isn't looking out the window, rather staring down at his lap where his other hand is a tight fist, the knuckles covered in blotches of red that make Doyoung's heart sink. He asks for a tissue and Hyunseok passes him one without a question, which he passes to Taeyong without a word. Taeyong lifts his head as though it would cost too much energy to lift it any further, and manages a smile of gratitude before dabbing the blood off his hand. Doyoung takes his hand again after. His skin is cracked and dry and agitated, and he tries to massage some warmth back into it.

Photoshoots aren't Taeyong's favourite part of being an idol. They never have been, and they never will be. But an opportunity like Elle is not one to be turned down, so he had no choice. Doyoung personally admires the aura Taeyong eludes whenever his beauty is captured. He marvels at the outfits, the jewellery, the finest details of his makeup. But Taeyong shrinks as soon as he's in the stylist's chair. Despite chatting with the stylist in easy Japanese, the smile doesn't sparkle in his eyes and he never sits up quite straight enough. He catches Doyoung's careful gaze in the mirror and can't hold it. He flicks his eyes away as though repelled by Doyoung, as though running away, and Doyoung makes sure he doesn't take it to heart, but it's tough.

Doyoung senses Taeyong's tetchiness. It's concealed under careful layers – the makeup only helps the disguise – but Doyoung can tell, and he's tentative. He doesn't want Taeyong to explode from the stress. When manager starts to record Taeyong he lights up with a single switch. But Doyoung can detect the mechanical movements: he sits up straight like he's been trained to do; he smiles like he's learnt to do; he talks and talks about how excited and grateful he is to be doing the photoshoot. Lying like he's trained himself to do. Doyoung glares at his phone. He texts his mother good morning and scrolls through twitter for a while, begging the anger to recede. The room is well-ventilated and the sofa he's on is right underneath a fan, but his face and ears burn up, scalded by boiling irritation. He pictures himself dragging Taeyong out the room and back to safety, anywhere that's away from the magazine, and sits on his hands and hopes that will stop himself from snapping.