10,000 Hours (A Dotae Valentine's Day Short- Fanfiction)

I'd Spend Ten Thousand Hours

Taeyong and Doyoung, an unlikely pair, had been best friends since the days of middle school—a bond forged in the crucible of adolescence. Their friendship was a delicate balance of opposites, like the sun and moon sharing the same sky.

The fateful encounter that sparked their connection unfolded in the narrow hallway of their school. It was a day when the air hung heavy with the promise of rain, and the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like restless fireflies. Taeyong, with his swagger and defiance, collided with Doyoung, the embodiment of quiet intellect. Their collision echoed through the corridor, a collision of worlds.

"Watch where you're going," Taeyong grumbled, rubbing his shoulder where it had met Doyoung's. His eyes, sharp as broken glass, bore into Doyoung's timid gaze. The hallway seemed to shrink, walls closing in on them both.

Doyoung stammered an apology, his voice barely audible. His glasses sat askew on his nose, and his backpack sagged under the weight of textbooks—the very essence of vulnerability. He was a constellation of ink stains and dog-eared pages, a universe contained within the confines of his backpack. Taeyong, in contrast, wore his rebellion like armor. Baggy jeans hung low on his hips, revealing glimpses of tattoos etched into his skin. His snapback sat at a defiant angle, casting a shadow over his eyes. He was the graffiti on the bathroom stalls, the whispered rumors in the locker room—a rebel with a cause known only to himself.

"Apology accepted," Doyoung replied, his voice steadier this time. He adjusted his glasses, pushing them back up the bridge of his nose. "I'm Doyoung."

"Taeyong," came the curt response. No last name was needed; it was etched into the graffiti of their shared history.

And so, their friendship began—an intricate dance of contrasts. Taeyong, the flame, drew Doyoung out of his shell. They spent afternoons in Taeyong's garage, surrounded by spray cans and half-finished canvases. Doyoung, the rain, quenched Taeyong's fire. He introduced Taeyong to the world of words, where emotions flowed like ink onto paper. They navigated the treacherous currents of adolescence together. Taeyong's fists clashed with bullies who dared mock Doyoung's glasses. Doyoung's quiet wisdom guided Taeyong away from the edge of self-destruction. Their laughter echoed through empty streets, a symphony of defiance against a world that tried to tear them apart.

But beneath the surface, a struggle simmered—a battle between loyalty and identity. Taeyong yearned for acceptance beyond the graffiti-covered walls, while Doyoung grappled with the fear of being swallowed whole by the shadows. Their hearts beat in sync, yet their paths diverged.

One rainy afternoon, as they sat on the rooftop, legs dangling over the edge, Taeyong spoke the unspoken. "Doyoung, do you ever feel like we're caught between two worlds?"

Doyoung traced the rim of his glasses, raindrops clinging to the lenses. "We're the bridge," he said softly. "The bridge between rebellion and reason, chaos and order. Maybe that's our purpose—to hold it all together."