un.

When Doyoung falls, he falls messily, clumsily, against his own will but not without reason. In retrospect, he wonders not why, but how. How it took so long, and how he didn’t realize until now.

Lee Taeyong has been a constant in his life for quite a while now. They’ve been friends for eight years, group mates for five, roommates for three. And Doyoung’s found himself falling for him for a few months now.

It started easy, simple, something that Doyoung could blow past — the way Taeyong’s words started meaning so much to him, the way he craved to hold his hand when he felt at his weakest, the way his smile would immediately lift Doyoung’s mood.

And then it spiralled into absolute, utter panic every time Taeyong did something even remotely attractive, like push his hair back, or wear a hoodie.

It’s awkward, and to Doyoung, it’s a liability he can’t take care of presently. Feelings aren’t part of his plan. Doyoung likes plans. Doyoung likes predictability. He likes to chalk his life down to every detail, so that nothing goes wrong.

Falling for Taeyong wasn’t a part of the plan, and it sends all the rest of his life in disarray.

He jolts from his thoughts at the incessant knocking on his door, rubbing his eyes as he waddles to it and pulls it open, greeted by a very distracted Donghyuck.

“Hyuck,” he says, “Why’re you here?”

It’s close to midnight, and typically by this time, Doyoung should be fast asleep. He would be fast asleep, if only his thoughts weren’t plagued by a certain boy every night.

Donghyuck looks up from his phone, and then sends him a lazy smile.

“Made ramen. Wanted to ask if you wanted to eat as well.”

Part of him jumps at the thought of ramen. The other tells him he’s already stretching his sleep schedule. It won’t take long for him to go spiralling down a trend of bad habits and lose control. And if anything, Doyoung hates losing control.

And so, albeit with some regret, he shakes his head. “I’m good. It’s pretty late, I should sleep.”

Donghyuck cocks his head, and then eyes him quizzically. “You’re right, actually. You don’t seem to be sleeping as early as you used to. Or as much as you used to, even, if the eyebags are any indicator. You okay, hyung?”

Doyoung scoffs, not unkindly. “Asks you, after you come banging at my door this late. You didn’t think I would be asleep already?”

“Please,” Donghyuck says, “I could hear your thoughts from a mile away. Besides, you never sleep with your ceiling light on, so I made an educated guess.”

“Mhm,” Doyoung says, no response to that, and then blearily, “Is Taeyong not back yet?”

At this, Donghyuck stops for a second to look at Doyoung, and then shakes his head. “I think he’s staying back late to record,” he admits, “I met him when I was on my way back almost two hours ago and he said he’ll be late. Something about being inspired.”

Doyoung tuts. “He’s working himself too thin,” he mutters, and then sighs, “I’m going to go sleep. ‘Night, Hyuck.”

“Goodnight, hyung.”

. . .

He wakes up a few hours later, blearily, dazed. It takes him a while to separate between his dream and reality — with much shame he admits he’d been dreaming about Taeyong.

Perhaps it’s his worries translating into his dreams. But all he could see is Taeyong — scribbling lyrics in his notebook like his life depends on it, humming tunes under his breath and fumbling for his phone so he can record the surge of inspiration before he forgets, him in the recording room for hours, trying variations of the same verse over, and over and over until he’s perfected it.

Taeyong’s been through hell and back to be where he is today, and yet he remains just as humble and hand working as Doyoung knew him to be eight years ago. There are people who just belong in the place that they are. Lee Taeyong belongs in the spotlight. But behind the lights, behind the cameras, he’s just a boy who’s working so, so hard.

And Doyoung, as his best friend, as his confidante, as whatever it is that he means to Taeyong, reserves the right to worry. And his mind, the devil that it is, reserves the right to let said worries slip into his dreams and tug at him even when he’s trying to rest.

“Doyoung?”

Not a dream.

Doyoung can only see an outline of Taeyong’s form in the night light, but it’s enough to have him sitting up quickly. He looks worn out and tired, but his eyes are wide, like a deer caught in headlights, and Doyoung’s heart leaps to his chest.

“Hyung,” he mumbles, pushing his mattress away to get out of bed, shivering slightly at the sudden change of temperature, “Are you alright?”

Taeyong doesn’t lie to Doyoung. At one point in time, the only people they’d had were each other — they couldn’t show their weakness to the other members, knowing they’d be relying on them. And in that moment, all those years ago, they’d made a wordless pact to never lie to each other.

Of course, each day, Doyoung’s breaking the pact by not acknowledging to himself or to Taeyong his immensely growing feelings, but Doyoung would like to argue there’s a difference between lying and not bringing a topic up. He’s doing the latter.

“I’m—” Taeyong sighs, “I’m tired. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Doyoung blinks at the digital clock on the nightstand, which blinks 4:34am to him. He sighs. “Of course you’re tired, hyung,” he mumbles, not responding to the latter part of his statement. Taeyong has to know Doyoung will always put him before anything — waking up in the middle of the night is the least of his concerns. “You’ve been working too hard.”

“I just . . . yeah.”

Taeyong usually doesn’t accept defeat this easily, and it has Doyoung’s eyebrows shooting up immediately. Taeyong’s not just tired; he’s exhausted. But there’s a certain gleam in his eyes as he looks at Doyoung now, one that says he’s already feeling better than he did moments ago. And part of Doyoung reaches. It wonders. It wonders if it’s because he’s with Doyoung now. Wonders if Doyoung is as much a comfort to Taeyong as Taeyong is to him.

Doyoung pushes that part down. He wouldn’t ride a wave that’s originating in troubled waters. Even if it might be the case, he doesn’t want to dwell on possibilities.

Instead, here and now, he wonders how he can make Taeyong feel better. Instinctively, he’s curling his hands around the boy’s frame, pulling him against his chest, letting him bury his head in his shoulder.

“You’ve worked so hard, Taeyong-ah,” he murmurs, “I’m so proud of you.”

He knows how much Taeyong likes being complimented like this, genuinely, unprompted — not because he longs for attention. But because most of the times, he’s not realized. He’s always the one giving out compliments, he’s the one being the backbone, he’s the one who’s always expected to do well.

But even if everyone expects and knows him as someone who does well doesn’t mean the compliments should stop. Even maestros need to be reminded of their talent. Even if they know. To ground them. To anchor them.

Doyoung feels Taeyong smile against his shoulder, and he thinks his heart threatening to burst out of his chest at the contact was worth it for that single smile. Doyoung’s arms tighten, almost infinitesimally, around him.

“Can we sleep together tonight?” Taeyong mumbles, and for a second, Doyoung’s heart lurches. Does Taeyong know what he’s doing, throwing statements like that out not knowing what it does to Doyoung? And then Taeyong says, “I just feel lonely, Doyoung-ah. It’s so lonely.”

And so, Doyoung’s softly wrapping his fingers around Taeyong’s wrist and pulling him behind him, tucking himself into bed, and then shuffling to the side to leave space to occupy Taeyong. They’re a tangle of limbs in a small space, but it’s comforting. Almost like this is how it should be.

Taeyong’s burying his head in the crook of Doyoung’s neck, his breath slowly evening out, calming down, and he’s asleep before he knows it. And even if Doyoung’s mind and heart is going a mile a minute, because what used to be so normal between them now sends him spiraling, he thinks it’s okay. As long as he’s got Taeyong with him.

> Sleep talking. Worried. Studio? Me?

last saved 2020-11-13 10:23am, by user Lee Taeyong