Sun & Moon

SIXTY NINE

Doyoung would have never thought cake testing could be so exhausting. But he finds it is, and he nearly wants to die when they finally finish. His tongue feels numb from excessive sweetness and frosting, and his mind heavy from his usual daily dose of suffering.

"The champagne cream with rum and coconut was so good," Heiran says, her voice bubbly and the extra sugar making her bounce more than usual. "But the pear and almond sponge with the passion fruit was fantastic. Maybe it would be better since there will be kids after all." She skips next to Doyoung, her arms swinging side to side. It is a funny image to onlookers, with Doyoung looking obviously drained; his steps are slow and heavy, and he slouches the smallest bit, something so unusual coming from him. "What do you think, Doyucky? What did you like?"

"Vanilla," Doyoung curtly says. He sighs. The afternoon sky is beginning to cool down, but it is still bright. The day feels incredibly long.

"You're so boring." Heiran giddily loops an arm into Doyoung's, sneakily pulling him into a cafe. "I'll buy you a coffee, so sit down."

Doyoung obediently listens, finding a seat by the window. He finds the interior very relaxing; it is clean and white, and all the furniture is made of basic pine. It offers his eyes some rest from the bright pink of the bakery they had just been at prior.

As usual, he only feels tired. Time feels like a heavy burden, like rocks and stones balancing on his shoulders. In a way, he has reverted back to his usual, old life. Everything is in place, like a perfect schedule, or like a shelf filled with books where every book has the same number of pages and is the same size. He's a small ball of yarn, neatly packed and compressed. Yet ordinary objects have purpose and must be used for there to be any good to it. There is no use of yarn when it isn't being used to make something for material warmth.

Heiran arrives and sets down an iced coffee in front of Doyoung. He takes it gratefully and immediately takes a sip, finding solace in the bitter cold enveloping his mouth. Heiran shakes her head and chuckles.

"I'm thinking six-tiers," Heiran says with a hum, taking a sip of her own milk tea as she does so.

Doyoung shudders at the thought. Heiran's wedding sounds much too glamorous and large-scale for his taste, but it is exactly like her. "I won't be eating it even if there's half a tier," Doyoung murmurs out. He frowns and chews on his straw distractedly.

Heiran does not fail to notice her friend's unusual discomfort. "Is something wrong?" she gently asks.

"No."

"Yes?"

"I said no."

"What's wrong?"

Doyoung puts a hand down on the table, glaring at Heiran in warning. "Nothing."

Heiran tilts her head sideways and smiles. "How are you and Taeyong?"

"We broke up," Doyoung says bluntly. He leans back in his seat and drinks some more coffee.

Apparently, it is not the answer Heiran had been expecting. "What? I thought you guys just fought or something, from the way you're acting. You broke up?" Her eyes are wide in shock as the smile is replaced with an open "O."

"That's what I said." Doyoung has accepted the situation a bit more now, but it still feels as terrible and raw. He's grown accustomed to the fresh sting. Knowing he cannot do anything about it, he deals with it and just waits for himself to feel something else.

Heiran's parted mouth does not close. She seems more confused than surprised, and Doyoung can nearly hear the gears turning in her mind. "Th-that... that doesn't make sense," she stammers out. "He said he would be there for you."

"Heiran, move on," Doyoung says cynically. "It's been days."

"You clearly haven't." Heiran stares at Doyoung, her eyes igniting with slight anger and distrust. Doyoung cannot tell if it is aimed at him or not, but he suddenly feels alarmed nevertheless. He sits up a bit straighter as Heiran glares past him. "This isn't right. He said he would stay with you."

Doyoung does not know where these words are coming from, but they agitate him. Heiran might as well be pouring salt on the wound, lemon juice on the paper cut, from reminding him what Taeyong had supposedly said he would and wouldn't do. His arms itch as if waves of rapid heat buzz on the small hairs. At the same time, his hands feel ice cold like he's dipped them into the Arctic Ocean. Like a dry leaf in the summer, he finds himself burning to small, trivial pieces. "Heiran, enough," he says sharply, his voice low and dark. "I don't want to talk about it."

Heiran leans back in slight surprise, but the look of suspicion does not fade away from her face. "Sorry," she says. She shakes her head and fidgets with the ends of his hair. "I was surprised. That's all." She hesitates before speaking again. "Are you alright though?"

Doyoung blankly stares at the table. He feels his heads shake, but he clenches a fist to make it stop. "It doesn't matter either way."

There is nothing more to be said. Heiran leaves the conversation alone, but she cannot help but think something is wrong.

She is oblivious to Doyoung's train of thought: one that tells him maybe this makes more sense than he thought it had before.