Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Being gay has to be some form of punishment.

There’s no other plausible explanation for why Doyoung’s life has fallen so far in the shitter. It’s because he’s gay, he likes men, and he’s attracted to them. Of all the infinite genders in today’s modern society, and his loins tell him that he craves a man. Not a woman, who are goddesses amongst mortals—Doyoung still hasn’t recovered from that one time Seulgi grinned at him and told him he was hot. Not a genderqueer or nonbinary person—though Ten is very beautiful and attractive, they and Doyoung go too far back for anything to come of it (a shame, really). Not anyone else.

A man .

His loins and the rest of himself can go to hell.

Nothing good has ever come from liking men. Not because of any social stigma, or even being in denial. Doyoung hasn’t seen the inside of the metaphorical closet since middle school, and he’s very happy to let it grow dusty and moth-ridden.

No, nothing good came from liking men because men objectively SUCK.

Twenty-odd years on this planet, and not one of the people he’s been with has proven to be a half-decent person, in some way, shape, or form. All his past relationships have ended with some degree of pain, and Doyoung didn’t get an A- in statistics to not understand that if he is to get with another guy, it’ll probably end in spectacular heartache. 

His best friend always tells him that there’s plenty of fish in the pond, but Doyoung loves him too much to tell him outright that the pond is full of shit.

And there’s no way in hell he’s going back to a dating app. Hell will freeze off the Devil’s tits before Doyoung degrades himself by cold-calling strangers and practically begging them to love him.

Once upon a time he'd been stupid enough to try, but once upon a time, Doyoung was eighteen, wired off of hormones, and had never been touched by another man.

He’s grown smarter since.

And that’s exactly the problem.

With age truly comes wisdom, but what people don’t tell him is that with age also comes cynicism. And disdain. And disgust.

At eighteen years old, Doyoung would’ve sucked off the first guy to flirt with him at a house party if it means that he can have their undivided attention. At twenty-five, the next guy to look at him sideways is going to be well-acquainted with the back of his hand.

So far, he’s stayed free of assault charges, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult, due to one Lee Taeyong in his life.

Doyoung’s not certain when or how he and Taeyong became best friends. They happened to meet one day while touring the same college campus, someone tapped on the other’s shoulder, and they started talking.

Seven years later, Taeyong shows up in Doyoung’s apartment, having entered with the spare key that Doyoung gave him, and announces:

“It’s tea time.”

That’s how Doyoung finds himself outside the comfort of his apartment against his own will, squinting against the blinding light despite his sunglasses. Summer is in its early days, but the air is already thick and heavy with heat, and the back of his shirt steadily grows damp between his skin and the cafe’s wicker chair. 

Doyoung would give Taeyong his left kidney, but right now he just kind of wants to strangle him.

“I’m just saying, you should give him a chance,” Taeyong says, sliding his phone across the cafe table. A photo of some guy lights up the screen, his face the generic kind of handsome that you’d notice once in passing and never think about again. “He’s a friend of Johnny’s, and I think you two would get along well.”

“Everyone’s a friend of Johnny’s,” Doyoung grumbles, sliding the phone back without really looking at it. “The guy collects people like houseplants.”

“First off, rude.” Taeyong snatches his phone back with a petulant huff. “Second, I’ve met Jungwoo before. He’s really sweet.” A pointed glare, directed straight at Doyoung’s head. “He’d definitely balance you out.”

Doyoung takes a sip of his coffee. Bitter black and icy. “You said the same thing four years ago, and the guy turned out to be a fucking pedophile.”

“Okay, that was one time. But you did so much better later on!” Taeyong sips his own drink, some sugary caramel abomination that seems more like dessert than coffee. “You and Mark got along so well!”

Yeah, for all of two months. They dated in their final year of college, after being paired together for a research project. Mark is a good guy, handsome in a boyish way, with the worst eyesight Doyoung’s ever seen. He’s studious, even though he’s serious about nothing but his work, which actually led to them falling out. A week before graduating, Mark tells Doyoung that he’s flying to Canada for grad school, because he has the ambition to pursue a PhD. Nothing like Doyoung, who swore the second his undergrad diploma touched his hands that he would never go back to school again.

Their relationship ended right after that conversation.

Taeyong must see the breakup replaying in Doyoung’s mind, because he immediately switches topics. “Ooh! What about Jaehyun? I think he was a good fit for you, Doie. You had a lot in common.”

Doyoung cringes at the mention of Jaehyun’s name. He’s another one of Johnny’s friends, and they happened to meet when Johnny threw a housewarming party after moving into his first apartment out of college. Jaehyun is unfairly attractive with his classic beauty, and has a dorky sense of humor that’s equally charming and exasperating. He and Doyoung hit it off and dated for half a year—the longest Doyoung’s ever dated anyone—before breaking things off.

The worst part is that after almost two years, Jaehyun still greets him with the same fondness he used to display when they were together. That’s what really gets under Doyoung’s skin. How Jaehyun can hug him, hold his arm, feed him his cooking, like the way they used to when they were together. Doyoung can never understand that. Just how can Jaehyun still love him without being in love with him, when Doyoung had spent a solid month after the breakup wishing he could just disappear.

Sometimes Doyoung still grieves Jaehyun, when he can no longer lie to himself.

“I had to end it,” Doyoung mutters, stirring his coffee absently with the straw. “It’s so obvious from the start that he was really in love with Johnny. I can’t be with someone who isn’t as into me as I’m into them.”

Taeyong grimaces. “Okay, fair. That one really got you depressed as hell. But what about—”

“Yong, I get what you’re trying to do here, but please stop.” Doyoung can feel a headache forming, a dull throb blooming just behind his eyes. “It’s fine, I’ve accepted it. Love just isn’t in the cards for me, and honestly, I’m sick of playing.”

“I mean, yeah, I guess.” Taeyong takes a particularly long sip of his drink. “It’s just that…I know how you are, Doie. And I know who you are. I think someone out there will really love you. We just…gotta keep trying.”

“I don’t know if I want to try anymore.” 

“I know it’s hard for you, but you can’t—”

“Yong, what I can't is keep doing this to myself.” Doyoung gestures around them. “I literally can’t stand being around anyone besides you and Johnny these days. I fucking hate people now. I don’t wanna see them, I don’t want to be around them, and I don’t want to talk to anyone I don’t already know. If I wanted to do that, I’d just clock in at work.”

“Yeah, and it’s becoming a problem.” Taeyong’s eyes narrow into slits. “You’d be growing mushrooms in your hair if I didn’t show up and drag you out today. When’s the last time you’ve basked in the sunlight?”

A long time. Doyoung can feel the back of his neck starting to burn. He used to be much tanner, back when the world didn’t seem like such a bother to navigate.

“Exactly.” Taeyong gives himself a satisfactory nod. “I love you, but you really need to get out more. Living like a hermit isn’t going to make your life any happier.”

There’s nothing he can say against that, so Doyoung makes the smart decision of staying quiet. Because Taeyong’s got a point. It’s not that Doyoung can’t go out, but lately he’s been feeling so drained that he lacks the energy to go out. Not counting the time at work, he’s spent practically every second of his life cooped up inside his apartment with the shades drawn and barely moving more than ten feet between his bed, the kitchen, and his bathroom. His diet has consisted of tap water and a ration of granola bars and trail mix for the better half of a month.

It’s not the healthiest routine, but it's a comfortable one.

“I’m perfectly fine being alone,” Doyoung says. “I’ve been taking care of myself for years.”

“Yes, I know. But you’ve never turned down coffee so consistently before.”

“I’m on a tight budget.”

“Shut up, you literally make more money than me.”

“Maybe I just like to enjoy my rent and wi-fi.”

“Over me ?” Taeyong scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Over coffee and gossip with me ? I’m insulted.”

“Yong, you literally try to set me up with a guy every time we meet, and given my track record, it’s not going well.”

Taeyong hisses through his teeth. “Okay, fine, I get that.”

Doyoung sure hopes so, because one bad relationship can be considered a fluke. Two, a coincidence. But three? He’s just asking for it.

And Doyoung’s got enough self-respect to preserve what’s left of his dignity before another man can wipe his ass with it.

“I don’t want to get into another relationship, Yong. Please, just respect that.”

“Okay, I will. I’m sorry.” Taeyong averts his gaze, looking awfully guilty. Doyoung would feel bad for him, but reminds himself that Taeyong has gotten him into some of the worst relationships of his life. Now they can both be miserable, if only for a few moments.

“Look, my cousin’s birthday is coming up,” Taeyong says when the silence stretches just a little too long. “We’re hosting a dinner party next Friday to celebrate. No outsiders, just us and our friends. I want you to be there.”

“Is Jaehyun gonna be there?”

“Yes, because he and Johnny are a package deal now, we’ve been over this.”

“Fuck.” Doyoung slides his hands over his face. “Okay, fine. That’s fine.”

“Mark’s gonna be there too.”

“ What ?”

“It’s summer break for him, he’s back home now,” Taeyong explains. “It’s been like three years, Doie. You have to be over him at this point.”

“I am over him, I just don’t know why you’d invite him to Hyuck’s birthday.”

“Oh, I didn’t tell you? He and Hyuck are dating now.” Doyoung promptly drops his head to the table, and Taeyong winces at the dull thud upon impact. “I could’ve sworn I texted you about this like, three months ago.”

“Give a man a warning that his ex-boyfriend is now dating the cousin of his best friend,” Doyoung mumbles into the wood. He jerks up, glaring a hole at Taeyong. “Why didn’t you remind me, at least?”

“I would, if you’d actually read your texts instead of scrolling down to the most recent one and only replying to that,” Taeyong retorts. “But now you know. Mark and Hyuck are a thing. Be happy for them.”

Doyoung is, he swears. Donghyuck is a bit of a brat, Mark is nice without being a doormat, and theoretically, that’s the best possible combination.

Mark will treat Donghyuck right, because that’s the kind of person he is. He certainly treated Doyoung right, even when they were both too selfish.

Taeyong’s right, three years is a long time. Longer than his last heartbreak over Jaehyun. Doyoung doesn’t really think about Mark all that much, except on those clear, chilly nights when he’s suddenly brought back to their time in college, sitting together on the bench outside of the dorms, talking about everything and nothing. Then he’s twenty-one again, looking on in awe as Mark reaches up and points out every visible constellation, the stars in his eyes shining bright enough to rival those dusted in the sky.

What they had isn’t love. It couldn’t be. Two months is too short a time to be anything else than infatuation, and now Doyoung’s in his mid-twenties, he can see it for what it is.

Now, Mark is with Donghyuck for what must be at least three months, which is long enough to maybe develop real love.

“I’m happy for them. I am ,” Doyoung says when Taeyong arches a brow suspiciously. “We dated back in college, Yong. I’ve made my peace with it.”

“Great. And you’ve made your peace with Jaehyun too?”

Doyoung has, mostly because it’s either that or be admitted to the psych ward. “Yeah. So, is that all? I’ll be at your place on Saturday.”

“Yeah, and I promise, I won’t try to hook you up with anybody.”

“Great, because I don’t know about you, but there’s homophobia in the air.”

Taeyong’s face twists into an expression that hasn’t been shown in the seven years Doyoung’s known him. “What?”

“Nothing.” Doyoung takes his coffee, finishing it in two long sips. “I’ll see you next Friday, and I’ll bring ice cream.”

“I am so fucked.”

“Yes, you are.” Ten barely looks up from whatever it is they’re focusing on through the screen. It looks to be some kind of sketch, the edges abstract and barely visible with the way their phone’s positioned. “Wait, sorry, why are you fucked?”

“Because Taeyong invited me to his cousin’s birthday and I shit you not, two of my exes are gonna be there.”

“Oof,” Ten deadpans. “That’s awkward.”

Awkward doesn’t even begin to describe the half of it. Doyoung’s been weighing the pros and cons of just lying to Taeyong and telling him that he actually can’t make it. The pros: he gets out of a really uncomfortable evening, and he can save on the gas money it’ll take to drive to Taeyong’s house. The cons: Taeyong has access to where he lives, he has a black belt in judo, and he’s not above kicking Doyoung’s ass.

“It shouldn’t be a big deal if you’re over them, right?”

Doyoung sighs.

Ten’s eyes finally snap up, glaring straight at Doyoung. “ Right ?”

“I am over them, I swear! It’s still awkward though.”

“From what I heard, you only got naked with one of them, so what’s the big deal?”

“That’s not the point! It’s the principle of the matter!”

“Things are only awkward if you make it awkward.” Ten gives Doyoung a slow, deliberate once-over. “Which is really your forte, so yeah, actually you are fucked.”

Strangulation is too good for Ten. They deserve the Iron Maiden.

“I call you for help, and this is how you treat me,” Doyoung growls. “How dare you be useless at the one thing I need you for?”

“Because I’ve known you too long,” Ten sighs. “Don’t give me that look, you know damn well who to expect there now, so grow a pair and deal with it.”

If Doyoung could reach through the screen, he would. “I hate you.”

“Love you too, babe. Now is there anything else you need? ‘Cause I’ve got work tomorrow and I need to sleep.”

“No.” Doyoung swipes to his calendar. Twelve days until the party. That’s twelve days he has to desensitize himself from the inevitable humiliation he’ll face when he sees Jaehyun and Mark again. In the same place, no less.

God, he’s so mortified he could die.

“If you’re thinking about dying, I don’t recommend you jump off a bridge or step in front of a train,” Ten says, cutting clean into Doyoung’s train of thought. “That’s a closed casket arrangement, and you’re too pretty for that. Take an overdose or something.”

Doyoung can’t believe he’s stayed friends with this asshole since they were in preschool. “Gee, thanks for looking out for my soon-to-be dead body, Ten.”

“You’re welcome. Bye.”

So much for help. There’s only one other person Doyoung can reach out to to vent his frustrations on, but that person is Johnny, and Johnny doesn’t deserve to listen to Doyoung bitch and moan about his exes on a Sunday night. Especially if one of said exes is Johnny’s current boyfriend.

And none of this—NONE of this—would’ve happened if Doyoung isn’t gay. He wouldn’t have had a series of unsuccessful relationships, find out that two of his exes are going to be at the same party he’s going to, and freak out in the middle of the night if he simply didn’t like men.

‘You’re being pathetic,’ a tinny little voice that sounds awfully like Ten echoes from the depths of Doyoung’s consciousness. ‘Relationships aren’t meant to be smooth all the time. Shit happens. Stand up.’

And it’s right. He needs to stand up. He needs to get over himself, this dread, and stop being a pessimistic hermit just because a couple relationships he got into in his late teens and early twenties ended under less-than-ideal circumstances. And how they ended wasn't even that bad. It could always be worse.

Not that he’s going to test it out.

This party will be familiar territory. Everyone there will be someone he knows, including his exes, and he can make polite conversation. Worst case scenario, he just gets busy in the kitchen with Taeyong to avoid talking to anyone.

It won’t keep him safe the entire night, but it’ll keep him safe for at least the first half of it. And once he gets a couple drinks in his system, he’ll feel brave enough to talk to everyone, exes included.

It’s a solid plan.

Doyoung takes everything back, his plan is absolute shit.

“Doie,” Jaehyun calls, using the same nickname he coined from when they were dating. “You came early! We’re just setting up!”

He really should’ve started drinking an hour ago. Jaehyun’s smiling at him, and Doyoung doesn’t know how to respond without immediately making things awkward. 

“Looks like you’ve got your hands full,” Taeyong says from where he’s holding the door open. He’s watching Doyoung with a mix of amusement and exasperation, a familiar combo that eases Doyoung’s nerves just the slightest. “Need a hand?”

“I can manage, thanks.” His voice sounds weak, even to him. The inside of Taeyong’s house is strewn with paper bags and half-hung decorations. There’s a spread of plates overtaking the kitchen island, overflowing with charcuterie and finger sandwiches and fresh fruit. And in the far end of the kitchen stands Johnny, struggling to open a can of something by the sink.

“Get in here.” Taeyong reaches forward and yanks Doyoung into the house by the arm. He barely gets to toe off his shoes before Taeyong’s dragging him to the kitchen, rambling the entire way.

“I expected you to come a little later. I get that I said seven, but nobody really shows up at seven, and you’re typically ten minutes late, anyways. Also, put the ice cream in the freezer, please.”

“Ice cream?” Jaehyun pokes his head around the corner, grinning. “What flavor?”

Doyoung peeks into his bag. “Vanilla, ube, and mango.”

“Ooh, mango, my favorite!”

That’s one of the reasons why Doyoung bought it, but he’ll never say that to Jaehyun. Or the fact that he still remembers everything Jaehyun likes, and he’ll always buy some if he knows Jaehyun will be there, but that’s a conversation he’s not ready to have. With Jaehyun or himself.

“Doyoung, hey,” Johnny greets, face flushed with exertion. “Can you actually help me open this can? The stubborn fucker just won’t fucking crack—”

“You’re doing it upside-down, Johnny.”

“What?”

“The can opener. You’re holding it upside-down.” Doyoung reaches over and eases the can and opener from Johnny’s hands, flipping the tool right-side up and cutting past the scattered pockmarks Johnny made earlier. “There you go.”

Johnny scratches his head, sheepish. “Thanks. Oh hey, while you’re here, wanna help me make the hwachae? I brought yogurt soju we can add in.”

“Sure,” Doyoung says, because the other alternative is to help decorate, which means working with Jaehyun and Taeyong. And there’s at least two reasons why that’s a very bad idea.

He ends up prepping most of the fruit for the hwachae, because the sight of Johnny holding a kitchen knife is starting to set off Doyoung’s fight-or-flight response. From the other end of the house, Taeyong is laughing. No doubt at something dumb Jaehyun said.

“How’ve you been, Doyoung?” Johnny asks, cracking open several cans of strawberry milk. “Life treating you alright?”

“I can’t really complain.” Doyoung spares a glance at Johnny, ever so put-together with his linen shirt and baggy khakis. “How about yourself?”

“I’ve been fine. Jae and I have been fine.” Johnny says it like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Him and Jaehyun. A package deal indeed.

“Taeyong said that you haven’t really been going out.”

Doyoung freezes, knife paused halfway through a slice of watermelon.

“Is it true?” Johnny’s eyes shift, turning sad. “Have you been taking care of yourself?”

“It is, and I am,” Doyoung answers. “I just don’t see the point of going out if there’s nobody to go out with. And I don’t like being around people I don’t know.”

“True, but you didn’t really have a problem with going out back in college.”

“I also thought it was funny to get hit by a car while in college, Johnny. People change.”

Johnny relents, holding his hands up in surrender. “My bad, didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It’s not upsetting. It’s just—” Doyoung breaks off. How can he explain this to Johnny? This persistent heaviness, this dread of going outside, and the instant sapping of energy the moment he leaves his apartment? It doesn’t matter how long he charges it, his social battery’s just busted.

“You don’t gotta explain,” Johnny says quietly, scooping all the cut watermelon into a massive glass dispenser. “I get you’re tired. You’ve been tired a lot recently, huh?”

It’s a little disconcerting, how well Johnny is at reading people. Doyoung doesn’t know what the man’s thinking half the time, but he always seems to know what’s on the mind of everyone around him. It doesn’t help that they’ve been friends since college, and that Johnny’s sat through many of Doyoung’s episodes before.

“I bet Taeyong’s not really helping.” Johnny pours in the milk, drowning the fruit under murky pink. “He’s been on your ass about getting out, huh?”

Doyoung chuckles. “To be fair, I probably wouldn’t be here if he didn’t, so I’ll give him that.”

“You talking shit about me over there?” Taeyong hollers, marching into view. He’s got a balloon in one hand, the other perched atop his hip as his eyes flicker between Doyoung and Johnny accusingly.

“No, of course not,” Johnny says, flashing a disarming smile.

Doyoung’s not so subtle. “Get over yourself, Yong. Not everything has to be about you.”

“Shut it.” Taeyong tosses the balloon over his shoulder. “People are gonna start coming any moment now, save the shittalking for later.”

“Right, when we have a proper audience.”

Taeyong’s reply is cut off by the chime of the doorbell, and he shoots Doyoung one last, warning glare before going to answer the door.

Oh, well. Taeyong dragged him here, so he can deal with Doyoung’s sass. Fair trade and all that.

“Oh, hey! I’m so glad you made it!” Taeyong squeals, and there’s a shuffle of feet as he ushers someone in. “Come on in! We’re still getting set up, but you’re just in time for a drink!”

“That’s great,” a disembodied voice says, and Doyoung freezes in place.

Fuck. This is bad.

This is very, very bad.

“Lovely place you got here,” the voice continues, growing louder as it approaches the kitchen. Doyoung keeps his eyes firmly on the cutting board. “You’ve set it up so nicely, Taeyong. Is there anything I can help with?”

“No, nothing at all! Just make yourself comfortable. I’ve got some food laid out, and the drinks should be ready.”

Johnny unscrews two bottles of soju and tips them both into the dispenser. “Now they are.”

“Perfect. Also, you know my friend Johnny, and the sulky one’s Doyoung.”

“Rude,” Doyoung mutters under his breath.

“Nice to meet you,” the owner of the voice says, now sounding much, much closer.

There’s a fine line between self-preservation and being blatantly rude, and Doyoung is walking it with all his worldly experience. He lifts his head, fighting down the impending sense of doom, and meets the eyes of a man he’s never seen before in his life.

Taeyong, the lying, cheating bastard .

“I’m Yuta,” the man introduces, grinning the most perfect grin Doyoung’s ever seen. “I’m Taeyong’s friend from work.”

He looks like a blessing in human form. Doyoung would say that all his friends are attractive people, but this guy is on a different level. Black nails, lilac hair, and the sickest punk-streetwear combination of clothing Doyoung’s ever seen outside of Instagram.

Taeyong 100% did this on purpose.

“I’m Doyoung,” Doyoung says, because there’s nothing else he can think of, outside of all the ways he’s going to murder Taeyong in his sleep. Those thoughts belong with him and him alone.

“You remember me,” Johnny says, and Yuta nods. Doyoung has to physically stop his jaw from hitting the countertop. “It’s good to see you again, man. We just made some spiked hwachae. Knock yourself out.”

“Thanks,” Yuta says, still smiling—still beaming—and turns back to Doyoung. “Can I help you prepare anything in the kitchen, Doyoung?”

“Ask him,” Doyoung says, pointing the knife at Taeyong, who has slunk to the dining table and is busying himself with unboxing a package of birthday candles.

Taeyong lifts his head, but doesn’t respond except for an expectant, wide-eyed look.

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Johnny knows him?’

‘Well, duh.’

‘You said people WE’D know!’

‘Well, you know him now!’

‘I’m going to stab you.’ Doyoung shoots back with his eyes, before facing Yuta again. “Well, you can taste the hwachae for us, let us know if it needs more fruit or booze, I guess.”

Yuta nods, reaching for one of the many plastic cups stacked next to the dispenser. “Sure.”

“I’ve got the streamers hung,” Jaehyun announces, coming in pink-cheeked. “I think that’s the last bit—oh, hey! It’s Yuta.”

Jaehyun too?  

Never mind stabbing Taeyong, Doyoung’s going to bury the motherfucker alive.

Chapter Text

Talking to Yuta is impossible.

Not so much because it’s awkward, because Yuta’s trying very hard to make conversation and he’s very good at keeping one going. No, it’s mostly because Doyoung feels like if he has to look the guy in the face any longer, he might spontaneously combust.

It’s an uncomfortable feeling, but not an unfamiliar one. Doyoung felt the same way when he first laid eyes on his first ex. And his second. And his third. 

Yuta is handsome in a gentle way, despite his ripped shirt and black accessories. His face is all smooth, even slopes, his eyes large and sparkling under the kitchen lights. The patients in the clinic Doyoung works at would pay thousands to have a face like his, and here Yuta is, just existing in all his perfection.

It’s so unfair.

“You don’t want to go back out there?” Doyoung gestures to the rest of his friends, barely visible around the corner. Taeyong is speaking a mile a minute, balloons trailing after him, and Johnny’s absolutely cracking up. “It’s not much fun here with me, I’ll be cooking for a while.”

“Nah, I don’t mind keeping you company.” Yuta settles himself on a stool, propping his chin on a hand, his manicured nails tapping idly at his cheek. “I’m surprised Taeyong isn't here helping you.”

“Of course not, he fucking hates me.”

“Really?” Yuta’s gaze is piercing, fixed on Doyoung with a focused intensity that he’s only ever seen in grad students and men who haven’t gotten off in at least two weeks. Immediately his brain veers to Yuta without pants. Yuta naked. Panting in pleasure as he reaches climax. What would he look like? What would he sound like?

NO.

Stupid fucking monkey brain. Doyoung catches that little devious part of his subconscious and beats it back down to its dark little corner.

‘But think about it,’ his monkey brain jeers, ‘Yuta’s fucking beautiful. He’d probably be beautiful fucking too.’

Doyoung’s hand itches to wrap itself around his own throat.

He shouldn’t think like this. Doyoung prides himself in being a level-headed, rational person–someone who thinks with their head instead of their dick. It’s something he’s been working on since his serial dating era in college. 

But something about Yuta makes his brain short-circuit, all those years of mental discipline receding back to nothing but basal instincts. Yuta’s eyes look like they’re seeing right into him, reading every dirty thought crossing his mind. Doyoung tries to hide from his piercing stare by bending down to rifle through the cabinets, but it follows him back up when he has to eventually stand again.

“What are you looking for?” Yuta murmurs, and god, his voice is so soft . “Need a hand?”

“No, no, it’s okay. I, uh, I just need a baking pan.” Doyoung turns to the oven, pulls it open, and of course Taeyong keeps his pan right there on the rack. “You like sushi bakes?”

Yuta’s nods. “Love it. You sure I can’t help with anything?”

“Yes.” The fridge door nearly knocks Doyoung square in the face, but the cool air is a welcome reprieve from all the blood rushing to his head. “Just–do what you’re doing. Or not. You don’t have to sit there and watch me.”

“I like watching.”

“Huh?”

“You. Well, people in general, I guess.”

“O…kay?”

Yuta’s smile is disarming, but there’s a mischievous glint that makes the hair on Doyoung’s neck stand on end. “Do I make you nervous, Doyoung?”

A lot makes Doyoung nervous. Bumping into his neighbors when he’s taking out the trash. Accidentally making eye contact with a stranger. That weird noise his bathroom fan makes every time he turns it on. He glances up, and Yuta’s looking straight at him, eyes crinkled at the edges.

“I’m a pretty anxious person by default,” he admits, because it’s easier than answering Yuta directly. “I’m sorry, I’m not the best talker.”

“I don’t mind talking enough for the two of us,” Yuta says. “Sometimes I think I need a cue to shut up, or I might never stop.”

Doyoung doesn’t want him to stop. He wants to keep hearing the gentle cadence of Yuta’s voice, even if it’s just him reading the dictionary front-to-back.

It seems juvenile, this instant crush, when he doesn’t even know anything about Yuta outside of his face and voice. Doyoung doesn’t think he’s felt anything like it since he was in high school, wired off hormones and too much caffeine to compensate for sleep deprivation.

But now, as Yuta talks, as Yuta smiles, that feeling is back–a vicious three-piece combo to his heart that has it thudding violently in his chest. 

“How did you get to know Taeyong?” Yuta asks, cradling his cup of spiked hwachae in one hand, the other mindlessly stabbing at the floating fruit within.

“We met at college,” Doyoung answers, trying to shift as much of his attention as possible to assembling a sushi bake. Where did Taeyong keep his rice again? “We uh, we just got to talking, and the rest is history, I guess.” His eyes flick towards Yuta. “Taeyong said you two met at work?”

“Yep! Taeyong was actually my preceptor at the shop,” Yuta says, popping a square of watermelon into his mouth. Doyoung averts his gaze from Yuta’s cheek, which bulges as he chews. “I’m not as cool as him, though. I only do piercings.”

‘He could pierce me all over,’ the deep, monkey part of Doyoung’s brain supplies. This time, he grabs it by the throat and chokes it into unconsciousness. 

“That’s cool.”

“Yeah. You into body art at all?”

Doyoung shrugs. He’s gotten pierced before, when he acted as Taeyong’s practice dummy while he was just opening his shop. Most of the holes have already closed in, but he still keeps the piercings in his earlobes. 

“Nothing exciting, just the standard earrings, one on each ear.”

Yuta leans in, eyes scrutinizing. “You also had a nose and lip piercing before, right?”

“What—” Those were among the first of his piercings to close, only weeks after Taeyong pierced him. “How did you know that?”

“I can see the scars.” Yuta gestures at his own lip, where a pair of silvery rings rest an inch apart from each other. “Those piercings leave scars, even after they close.”

Damn. Doyoung never realized. He never really paid attention. Once the holes healed over, he expected them to just disappear, like everything else.

“No offense, but I didn’t think you’d be the type to get a nose and lip piercing,” Yuta continues.

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing bad, promise. Just…it’s a bit unexpected.”

“Trust me, it wasn’t some fuckboy phase or whatever you’re thinking,” Doyoung mutters. He finds the rice, tucked all the way in the back of the refrigerator. “I was a human pincushion for Taeyong so he can build clout for his shop, that’s it.”

“Is that right?” Yuta leans in, so close Doyoung has to step back despite the counter dividing them. “Huh, I guess it matches up.”

“What does?”

Yuta doesn’t say anything. His eyes linger on Doyoung’s face, shifting from his eyes to his lips and back up.

“What?” 

“Nothing.” Yuta steps away, raising his cup in a salute. “It’s very nice to meet you, Doyoung.”

That’s it? After all that observing and having Doyoung sweating under his gaze, Yuta just decides that’s enough. Doyoung’s head is spinning, and underneath the dizziness, a deep irritation settles in. Not so much at Yuta, but at himself. He should be better than this. No more beautiful men making him swoon. Swooning leads to attraction, which leads to dating, which leads to…well. Doyoung shakes the thought away and focuses on tearing apart sheets of seaweed as more laughter rings from the living room.

This is fine. This is perfect. He’s exactly where he wants to be, busy in the kitchen where he can keep an eye on his friends but avoid awkward interactions. Doyoung tells himself this over and over as the bake gets assembled layer by layer, and once more as he pours himself a hefty cup of the spiked hwachae.

He’s on his second cup when Taeyong returns. “Doyoung, Hyuck’s gonna be here any minute.”

“That’s great.”

“Come on, Do. Come hang out with us in the other room.”

“I will. Once I finish this.” Doyoung swirls his cup, poking at the fruit with a long toothpick. 

Taeyong’s right eye twitches. “I know what you’re doing. You’re not wallflowering yourself at this party. Not in my home. Get out of the kitchen, you’ve already done so much.”

“Yong, could you at least let me get halfway to wasted before I have to go back to face my ex and a new guy you didn’t warn me about?”

“Easy. Here.” Taeyong slides into the kitchen, making a beeline for the narrow bar shelf nestled next to the refrigerator. He pulls down a bottle and glass, pouring a splash of a sharp-smelling liquor into it before handing the glass to Doyoung.

“Quick, drink this.”

“What is it?”

“Yuzu gin. It’s a hell of a lot stronger than soju. Now hurry up, do what you gotta do to get comfortable, but don’t hide away when Hyuck gets here.”

It’s not exactly what he had in mind, but he’s still in Taeyong’s house. Doyoung takes the drink and throws it back in one go.

“How’s that for getting drunk?” Taeyong swipes the glass and pours himself a shot, tossing it back before Doyoung can even register the citrusy taste. “Okay, now come on.”

He grabs Doyoung by the arm and drags him into the living room. Johnny and Jaehyun are setting up some game involving a deck of cards and some cups, and Yuta is sitting across the table, nursing his hwachae and scrolling through something on his phone. He looks up as Doyoung arrives, breaking into a gentle smile.

“Doyoung, come to join us at last.”

“I had to drink first,” Doyoung blurts out, and doesn’t have the time to regret it when Jaehyun starts laughing so hard he starts wheezing.

“God, Doie! Never change.”

“I’m actually trying quite hard, it’s becoming a bit of a problem.”

Johnny winks, looking unconcerned. “A little liquor never hurt anyone. Hey, did Taeyong bust out the good stuff?”

“Shut your face, Johnny Seo. You’re not touching my expensive liquor,” Taeyong grouches, leaving Doyoung’s side to muss Johnny’s hair. “Hyuck’s gonna be here any second. Behave.”

The liquor is really hitting him now. Everything sounds slightly muted, as if there’s a layer of cardboard between Doyoung and the outside world. Part of him still wants to go home and crawl into bed, but the other, drunker half yearns for the human contact he deprived himself of. Johnny has always been a good hugger. He probably won’t mind if Doyoung just latches onto him for a minute.

“You know, this is the first time I’ll be meeting Taeyong’s family,” Yuta says just as Doyoung turns to find Johnny again. “What’s Donghyuck like?”

“Annoying,” Doyoung says, because it’s true. Where the hell is Johnny? He swears he was just here, and he desperately needs a hug within thirty seconds. “He’s a little shit with no respect for personal space and probably committed five misdemeanors and a felony that we don’t know about.”

“Huh. He sounds nothing like Taeyong.”

Very few people are like Taeyong, who’s scuttled off somewhere, leaving Doyoung too close to a stranger and too far from anyone remotely helpful. 

The smart thing is to put as much distance between himself and Yuta, as soon as possible. The smarter thing would be to go find his other friends and mingle without excluding Yuta.

But drunk Doyoung doesn’t make smart decisions.

“I should go help Taeyong.”

“Taeyong doesn’t need any help,” Taeyong yells from the kitchen.

Fuck. “Johnny?”

“I heard my name?” Johnny pokes his head out from around the corner, Jaehyun glued to his hip and face suspiciously flushed. “Did someone need me?”

Yuta eyes Doyoung expectantly. “Is it…maybe something I can help with?”

The Gods above aren’t answering fast enough. Doyoung needs an escape, like, ten minutes ago.

“Um, actually Yuta–”

“ Hyung !”

Finally, salvation. Maybe someone out there has been listening to his prayers. 

“Doyoung-hyung!” 

There’s only one person who calls him that. Someone with a habit of doing full-body tackles in place of hugs. Doyoung doesn’t even have time to feel relief before bracing himself for impact.

Sure enough, Donghyuck comes barreling into him in a blur of oversized shirts and baggy jeans, almost knocking Doyoung over as he latches on in a bear hug.

“Oof–Hyuckie! Jeez!”

“Hyung!” Donghyuck beams at him, eyes crinkling in delight. He’s gotten better looking since Doyoung’s last seen him. Maybe it’s the hair, artfully tousled and finally outgrowing its perpetual bowl cut. “It’s been too long! Where have you been?”

“Busy with work,” Doyoung says, and it’s half-true. “Let go of me, Hyuck. I can’t hug you back like this.”

“Don’t wanna. This is what you get for abandoning me.”

“You say that like I didn’t see you just last year.”

Donghyuck grumbles, burying his face into Doyoung’s chest, the vibrations of his voice tickling him through his clothes. He’s taller now, tanner, and his slender legs lock around Doyoung impossibly tight.

“Hyuckie—”

“God, Hyuck, let the man go.” 

Mark steps into view, and Doyoung has all of 0.5 seconds to prepare himself before Mark speaks again. “Hey, Doyoung! Great to see you, dude! How’ve you been?”

Terrible. Everything feels slightly off-kilter, reality warping right before him as Mark once again enters Doyoung’s life. He’s changed a lot. The Mark Doyoung knows has always been nerdy, with his head bent over a book or his laptop, big glasses sliding precariously down his nose and headphones hidden under the hood of his jacket.

This Mark is standing tall, and the glasses are still there, but he’s now wearing a fitting gray shirt under a black corduroy jacket and designer jeans. He’d dyed his hair, the strands longer and ashy brown, barely brushing his prominent cheekbones.

He looks more handsome than Doyoung remembers. Happier. 

A sick, coiled feeling twists in Doyoung’s gut. All the liquor he downed threatens to creep back up his throat, and Doyoung forces down a swallow before he can muster an answer.

“I’ve been okay, Mark. How about yourself?”

Mark gestures to Donghyuck, who’s still hanging onto Doyoung like his life depends on it. “Well, I’m stuck with him, so how’s that to begin with?”

Donghyuck mutters something into Doyoung’s chest that sounds an awful lot like “shut the fuck up”. Doyoung’s lower back strains in protest.

“Poor you, taking care of Hyuckie all by yourself.” Doyoung hoists Donghyuck under the arms and pries him off, limb by limb. “Okay, you’ve got your hug. Go bug Johnny or Taeyong now.”

“Aw, but they don’t love me as much as you do,” Donghyuck whines, latching himself back onto Doyoung’s arm. 

Like this, it’s easy to still see Donghyuck as Taeyong’s clingy little cousin, instead of the man dating his ex-boyfriend. Doyoung sighs, resigning himself to another hundred and fifty pounds of dead weight as he drags himself and Donghyuck to where Taeyong’s setting up the dinner table.

“Yong, come get your gremlin.”

“He’s your gremlin now,” Taeyong says without a hint of remorse. 

“Fuck off, get this kid off of me.”

“This kid is right here ,” Donghyuck grumbles. “And I’m not getting off until I have my fill of hugs.”

“Hyuckie, you’re too old for this.” Doyoung winces as a jolt of pain shoots up his spine. “Shit, I’m too old for this.”

“Shut up, I’ll be doing this until I’m ancient and decrepit. Tell your back to grow a bone and take it like a man.”

Doyoung hates to do this, but his lower back is really starting to hurt. Damn the mid-twenties. He used to be able to lug Donghyuck around for almost a full hour.

“Mark,” he calls, “Can you give me a hand?”

“I’ll give you two.” Mark grabs Donghyuck under the arms, gently unwrapping him from Doyoung. “C’mon, Hyuck. You’ve had your fun. Leave Doyoung alone.”

Donghyuck lets himself be carried away, though with no small amount of resistance. He jabbers and yowls the entire way to where the others are, Mark’s voice overlapping his with snide remarks and requests of “Jesus Christ, please shut the fuck up.” Doyoung almost feels sorry for the kid, but now he’ll keep Mark occupied, and that’s one less person Doyoung will have to worry about interacting with.

And one more person to keep Yuta occupied.

The cake is a monstrosity. Two tiers, with multicolored frosting and topped with seasonal fruit, it’s so vibrant Doyoung can feel the back of his eyes spasm.

Taeyong brings it out with a flourish, the top adorned with candles in the shape of ‘22’.

Donghyuck positively beams, and Doyoung takes the opportunity to focus on his joy, instead of the body almost pressing against his side.

Yuta radiates warmth. An almost concerning amount. Doyoung has half a mind to take the guy’s temperature just to make sure he’s not running a fever. And he’s standing so close, his arms almost grazing Doyoung’s as they take photos and videos of the birthday boy.

They need to finish singing the stupid birthday song so Donghyuck can blow out the candles, because Doyoung needs another shot of that yuzu gin, ASAP.

“It’s lovely,” Yuta murmurs, mostly to himself, but Doyoung hears him regardless. “God, look how happy he is.”

He’s right. Donghyuck, through Doyoung’s phone screen, is positively beaming, face lit aglow from the candlelight. He looks the same as he did when he blew out his birthday candles five years ago–hands clasped before his chest, and eyes closed as he makes his wish.

Doyoung wonders what he’ll wish for. Maybe an eternity with Mark. Maybe a happy, loving relationship that few people ever truly achieve. The type of love that will endure hundreds of fights, hundreds of mistakes, and hundreds of lonely nights.

Mark stands by Donghyuck’s side, eyes fixed on him, a soft smile adorning his face.

He looks as happy as Donghyuck.

He looks in love with him.

Maybe his initial hunch is right. Donghyuck moves to blow out the candles, and Doyoung watches his smile transfer to Mark, who looks on with eyes that threaten to overflow with joy.

Doyoung sincerely hopes that whatever Donghyuck wishes for will come true.

The lights flick on, along with a medley of flashes from several phone cameras. Doyoung shields his eyes behind his own phone, capturing the moment Donghyuck’s face once again breaks into a blinding grin.

“Happy birthday!” the room choruses. Johnny blasts a party popper, spraying confetti into the air. 

Donghyuck whoops. “And Happy Pride Month, you beautiful bitches!”

There’s a round of cheers and laughter from around the table as everyone raises their cups in a toast.

“Happy Pride Month!”

A sick, sinking feeling replaces the tender happiness Doyoung once felt. “Happy Pride Month,” he croaks weakly, raising his cup to match the others. “I’m announcing my retirement from the LGBTQ+ community. This shit is way too hard. Happy for you guys, though.”

The silence that follows could chill a dead man. Donghyuck’s smile melts off his face, giving way to concern. Jaehyun cocks his head, instinctively shifting closer to Doyoung’s seat. Yuta watches on, brow arched and betraying nothing.

Taeyong lowers his cup, brows furrowing. “Doyoung, what the fuck?”

“No, no, let him speak.” Jaehyun leans over to drape an arm across Doyoung’s chair, resting a hand gently on Doyoung’s shoulder. “Doie, hey, what’s going on?”

“Nothing, just retiring.” Doyoung throws back the cup, because there’s no way he’s having this conversation without more soju. “I’ve had enough, Jae. The dating pool is drowning me and I like being alive very much, thank you.”

“Well, we like having you alive too,” Jaehyun says, a small smile stretching his lips. “And no stress, I totally get it. So take tonight to decompress. Relax, don’t worry about it anymore.”

Doyoung half wants to push Jaehyun away and half wants to turn and sob into his arms. How is this fair? They’ve been broken up for almost two years now and Doyoung still sees Jaehyun as a safe place. His safe place, with adoring eyes and kind words that he doesn’t deserve.

“I’m gonna need more soju,” he says instead, and Johnny happily obliges, cracking open a new bottle to pour into Doyoung’s cup.

“Uh,” Mark says, looking confused. “Congrats, dude? Good for you?”

“Yes, good for him,” Donghyuck agrees. “I get the struggle. It ain’t easy being gay these days. With these men? Ugh.”

“Hey!”

“Now enough chit-chat, are we gonna demolish this cake or what?” 

“Dude, are you okay?”

Of all the people to corner him, it’s Mark. The universe must be fucking with him right now.

Doyoung turns, plastering a smile to his face. “Yeah, I’m fine. What’s up?”

“No, you’re not.” Mark gestures at Doyoung’s plate, and his untouched cake. “You didn’t eat a bite. Plus, you never sit out of drinking games. Hyuck’s wiping the floor with everyone and you’re not stopping him. So spill, what’s going on?”

Doyoung reminds himself that Mark has a freakishly good memory and his noticing means absolutely nothing. “I’ve already had too much to drink, Mark. And I’m working on the cake, I promise.”

“It’s been almost an hour. At this point I feel like you’re just holding that for show.”

He didn’t have to put it that way, but it gets the point across. Doyoung sighs, setting his untouched cake on an unoccupied corner of the table as he sinks into a chair.

“Aha, so something is bothering you.” Mark pulls up a chair, straddling it backwards. “What’s bugging you? C’mon, you know you can always talk to me.”

One of the things about Mark that Doyoung used to adore–still does–is how perceptive he is. How much he cares. That big, beautiful brain is what got him into his PhD program, and that bigger heart is what still has Doyoung a little in love with him.

“Mark, I appreciate you looking out for me, but it’s really none of your business.”

Mark pales. “Wait, this isn’t about me dating Hyuck now, is it?”

“What? No–no, it’s not. It doesn’t have anything to do with either of you.”

It’s a gamble, lying to Mark’s face, but it’s one Doyoung’s willing to take, because for all of his sharpness, Mark is surprisingly gullible.

“Okay, if you say so.” Mark doesn’t look like he believes him 100%, but he also doesn’t look willing to push the matter further. For that, Doyoung is grateful.

“I’m fine, Mark. Maybe I’ve had too much to drink. I promise I’m fine.”

“You should have some water then.” Yuta rounds the corner, a glass in hand and looking sheepish. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I just thought–”

“It’s fine, I gotta find Hyuck anyways.” Mark stands, shooting Doyoung a narrow-eyed look. “You take care of yourself, yeah?”

Doyoung makes the effort to lift his head, even though he can’t look Mark in the eyes. “Yeah, you know me.”

Mark’s scrutinizing gaze follows him until he joins the crowd in the living room. Yuta steps forward to fill the space he vacated, sliding into the chair sideways and offering Doyoung the glass.

“Thanks,” Doyoung mumbles, taking the water and downing it in a large gulp. “What’re you doing here, anyways? Shouldn’t you be, like, socializing or something?”

Yuta shrugs loosely. “I’m not good with new people. I could ask that of you, though. Aren’t they all your friends?”

“Well, yeah. Most of them.”

“Most of them?”

There’s not enough liquor in the world–or at least, Taeyong’s house–to get Doyoung to admit that he’s exes with two people within the vicinity.

“It’s a long story.”

“Long story, huh?” Yuta crosses his arms over the back of the chair and rests his cheek against the crook of his elbow. “I won’t pry, then.”

It’s embarrassing how the bare fucking minimum makes Doyoung’s heart swoon. Maybe he really has been out of the game for too long. Such a simple gesture shouldn’t mean anything, more so when it comes from a man who was a stranger mere hours ago.

A stranger whom Taeyong conveniently introduced.

If this is his master plan, Doyoung’s not going to let him win. Nothing good will come from being interested in Yuta. It’ll be the same story, and he’s seen the ending twice already. Doyoung’s drunk, but he’s not stupid. Fool him twice, shame on him.

Fool him three times ?

The chair makes a high-pitched screech as Doyoung shoves out of it. “I should go home.”

If Yuta’s disappointed, he doesn’t show it. “Are you okay to drive? Do you want me to call you an Uber?”

“I’ve got it, thanks.”

“The hell you do.” Taeyong appears from Doyoung’s periphery, manifesting in that eerie way of his whenever Doyoung has even a sliver of a bad idea. His eyes are narrowed into slits, an emotion that’s not quite anger simmering within them.

“Were you really about to leave my house without a proper goodbye?” he reaches over, and Doyoung winces when Taeyong’s strong, bony fingers dig into his shoulder. “Without hugging me? Without hugging Hyuck?”

“Yong–ow–I was gonna–”

“You was gonna nothing, go say bye to the birthday boy like you’ve got some goddamn manners.”

The humiliation of being berated in front of Yuta is nothing compared to the devastation in Donghyuck’s face when Doyoung tells him that he’s leaving.

“But why?” Donghyuck wails, tears and spit soaking into the front of Doyoung’s shirt. “I finally got to see you! I was telling Mark for forever that you’d be here!”

Doyoung really hopes it’s in a ‘I really want you to come with me to see my cousin-in-extended-law’ way and not a ‘you must face your ex who you used to date for a few months’ type of way.

“It’s late, Hyuckie. And I still have to go to work.”

“You don’t even work until Wednesday!” Donghyuck buries his face into Doyoung’s chest, hands clutching tight at the back of Doyoung’s shirt. “Hyung, please stay. It’s my birthday.”

“Hyuckie, you know I love you, and I really would, but I need–”

“You can call out! Don’t you have, like, over a hundred hours of PTO? Use that!”

Donghyuck somehow knowing the intricacies of his work life is the least surprising part of the whole evening. Doyoung shakes off more teary-eyed pleas for him to stay, and when Donghyuck tires of the sad approach, it takes the combined efforts of Mark, Jaehyun, and Taeyong to pry him off Doyoung’s person.

The kid’s got one hell of a grip.

“Now,” Taeyong sighs, brushing his sweaty bangs away from his eyes as Donghyuck switches to burying his face into Mark’s chest. “You need a ride? I haven’t drank in a minute, I can drive you.”

Doyoung rubs at a particularly viscous scratch on the back of his arm. “You really don’t have to.”

Taeyong’s expression has mellowed again, softening into something familiar and harrowing. “Nonsense. You’re fifteen minutes away. I’ll grab my keys.”

They don’t speak for the first half of the drive. Taeyong keeps his eyes trained on the road, and Doyoung leans his head against the window, relishing in the AC and the sight of the city passing by in speckles of colors.

A heavy tiredness settles deep in his bones, weighed down by drink and guilt. Doyoung can’t remember if he said goodbye to Yuta. To Jaehyun. To anyone at all, really.

He just wants to go home and dive into bed. Maybe ten hours from now, he won’t be feeling any of this. He’ll wake up to the same room he’s lived in for the past three years, and none of tonight will even matter. The sun will shine, the traffic will suck, and life goes on, as it always has.

“You handled it a lot better than I thought.” Taeyong sounds pensive, eyes still fixed on the highway. “I thought you’d bail a whole lot earlier.”

“What am I, your fucking guinea pig now?” Doyoung grumbles, watching the lights grow sparser past a thicket of trees.

“No, but Yuta’s nice, isn’t he? Just your type.”

Right, his type. Pretty boys with soft hearts and a touch of something . Doyoung’s not quite sure what it is, other than a peculiar streak that makes them seem so lovable, more human and perfect than anything he’s ever seen.

Yuta has that something. He’s felt it from the first words they exchanged.

“You can’t trap me like that.” Taeyong’s reflection doesn’t betray the slightest hint of remorse. Doyoung snorts, shifting his gaze back to the world outside. “I know what you’re trying to do, Yong. I’m not getting with him.”

“I personally think Yuta likes you.”

“The dude barely knows me.”

“For now. Maybe if you two meet up–”

“I told you already, I’m done.”

“Do, come on–"

“I’m not suckering myself into getting hurt again, Yong.” His eyes burn, and Doyoung pretends it’s the reflection of the lights shining down his face. “You saw what happened to me. It’s not worth it.”

“The thing is,” Taeyong says as the city lights trail off somewhere behind them, “I don’t think you’re afraid to get hurt. I think you’re afraid to let yourself be happy.”

Is he? Doyoung thinks back on his time with Jaehyun and Mark. There’s a reason why the breakups hit so hard. Why even now, years later, it pains him a little to see them happy with someone else.

“We’re not having this conversation tonight,” Doyoung mutters. It’s late, and all he wants to do is sleep until next week. Maybe then, everything that happened tonight will be a distant memory. He can go back to only seeing Jaehyun and Mark once or twice a year. He can forget Yuta altogether. "I'm fine the way I am, Yong. Really."

Taeyong watches him through the corner of his eye, but says nothing else.