Fine {DoTae} | complete

Nine

Doyoung doesn't properly sleep that night. He drifts off, only to resurface an aching ten, then thirty, minutes later, Taeyong still on his chest and breathing deep. His breaths sound like the distant arrival of the waves at night, tickling the shore, the wind not much more than a sweet breeze that Doyoung counts his way through. He holds Taeyong as if he were a glass doll. As if the wind could blow him away and drop him, shards scattering. His eyes burn when he turns his phone on, then the screen dims and his heart thuds with insistence. He can hear himself swallow, like a knife slicing through the silence.

He resists the temptation to scroll all night, instead carefully prising Taeyong off him to slip out of bed – only once his boyfriend has settled on the pillows and shows no sign of waking – and he puts on a jumper and coat, phone gripped tight in his hand. He's doing it again, he knows, but he has to spend some energy or else he might explode. The door clicks shut under his cautious hands, then he shuffles down the corridor and makes it to the hotel reception with relatively little confusion. Knowing he must look a mess, he ignores the look the woman gives him and smooths his hair down as well he can, rubs his eyes before stepping outside.

It's cold. Not biting cold, but cold enough for the air to creep under his clothes and curl around his spine. A thick layer of clouds has settled over the sky so Doyoung follows the streetlamps from corner to corner. A particular dread resurfaces the further he strays from the hotel, and by the time he rounds the corner he's telling himself to turn back, to go back to bed and not be so stupid, that he can't just leave – again – because he has no idea where he is. The night conceals any landmarks he might otherwise recognise.

"Go back to bed," Doyoung mutters. His eyes are sore and sticky when he blinks, and the exhaustion soon spreads into his legs. Losing the fight, he drags his feet to the end of the road before stopping. The world prickles around him. He doesn't know where he is, but he knows all he has to do is turn around and retrace his steps. It's not far, he doesn't think so. He can do it. Yet he doesn't move. He can't move. Can't get his brain and body to communicate, thoughts straying further and further from reality, from the cold and from the fact that he's outside alone in the middle of the night.

A cat scampers past and he yelps in surprise, then wraps his coat around himself and crouches to wait for a wave of sleepiness to pass. His stomach churns. He's so tired, so awake, desperate enough to get sleep that panic rattles his bones. If he doesn't sleep he'll be unfocussed tomorrow, and he'll struggle through schedules, he'll mess up his tasks during concert rehearsals, he might not stay awake for Taeyong at the end of the concert. Challenging the thoughts only gets him so far this time, but he still wishes them away, wills his body to move. The energy and stress tug him in all directions and he's moments from snapping, he can feel it. His eyebrows nudge together, then he grits his jaw and grinds his teeth, stopping when a molar twinges with sensitivity, panic rushing through his blood.

Apartment blocks line the street, and further down he can see neon shop signs where the housing merges into the city. Red, blue, green streaks of colour that blur from his tears of frustration. The tears don't fall, only well up in his eyes and beg him to go to bed. A voice tells him to keep walking and explore while he has time to himself. He leans against the nearest wall and closes his eyes. It only takes a second for his mind to drift, the edges floaty, and his head rocks, about to fall and collapse into sleep until he stands up straight and turns back before he can change his mind. He has to do things in the moment and tell himself to just get on with it before procrastination can hunt him down. Because then things get dangerous and the task would never get done unless he's shouted at, he'd never shower or eat or sleep unless Taeyong helped him.

"He's gonna be mad," Doyoung whispers. "I've left him. He'll be worried."

He'll be glad to be free of you.