Fine {DoTae} | complete

Six

The time comes that evening. Doyoung's sat on the bed, knees pulled to his chest and fingers tugging at his hair while he watches a rerun of an early season of Friends. It was the first thing the television offered him, and he settled for it. The box laughter in the background makes him dizzy and he can't follow the conversations, not when all he can feel is the pressure on his chest and the scratch of his fingers over his scalp. His tongue is too big for his mouth, clumsy and oblivious of when to shut up. He narrates the show to himself.

His last conversation with Taeyong replays in his head. They haven't spoken since. Doyoung shied away from every opportunity to address the crack between them, and he fears they'll break clean apart and that Taeyong will drift and be way out of reach before he knows it. He can picture the breakup. And he sits there, doing nothing about it, chained to the bed by the terrible outcomes, simply letting them play out in his mind like they're a sick obsession. He backs himself into a corner. He tells himself he would deserve the rejection.

He presses a fingernail deep into his scalp and decides the sting isn't painful, even as it throbs, and he knows it's wrong. Knows that he's teetering dangerously close to falling. Prisoner to the pain, Doyoung doesn't hear the knock on his door. It comes again, more insistent yet still cautious, and he gets up to answer. His hopes are answered when it's revealed to be Taeyong in an oversized hoodie that nearly conceals his shorts, and he has bunny slippers on his feet. Doyoung returns to the bed, giving Taeyong space to enter should he wish.

Taeyong clears his throat and shuffles in. His slippers scratch across the carpet and the noise makes Doyoung want to scream. He swallows and drops his hands to fiddle with his bracelet instead. He knows Taeyong wasn't wearing his that morning because it wasn't part of the photoshoot concept, but its absence stings and his wrist looks little more than bone when Doyoung's gaze fixates there.

"Can I..." Taeyong looks at the television, shoulders hunched in a posture that any manager would scold him for. "Can I sit here? Please?"

The question steadies the beating of Doyoung's heart, and he nods. Taeyong perches on the edge of the bed at first, conflict flashing across his features until he gives in and sinks back.

"Come here," Taeyong says quietly, arms open.

Doyoung doesn't need to be told twice. He twists to wrap his arms around Taeyong's waist as Taeyong hugs him close and rests his chin on his head. The weight chases away Doyoung's bad thoughts but he still squeezes his eyes shut and struggles through a steady breathing pattern that's offset by the circles Taeyong rubs across his back.

"I'm always grateful," Taeyong starts, and Doyoung presses his forehead harder into his chest. "I'm always, always grateful to have you looking out for me. I didn't want to push you away."

Doyoung sniffs. "I didn't mean to leave you." Regret tangles through both their voices.

"I'm sorry." Taeyong rocks side to side to soothe both their regrets. "Thank you for waiting for me," he murmurs.

"I'm sorry for not talking to you earlier. I wanted to fix things all afternoon but... I thought..." They agreed to always be honest to each other. "I thought you might push me away again."

Taeyong stills, and the silence chokes Doyoung. He keeps his face hidden in Taeyong's shoulder and breathes in his perfume even though it doesn't mask the tremble in his frame. Then Taeyong stiffens, and there's a shift in the rock that's supporting Doyoung. New cracks split open, open by an untameable surge of water. Doyoung shivers when a tear lands on his head. The chill chases the anxiety down his spine and, when it passes, his eyes feel stuffy. Taeyong wipes his tears. Doyoung doesn't move. He almost doesn't want to see his boyfriend cry, yet the urge to offer comfort tugs his head up to face Taeyong.