Chapter Text
It was a misty afternoon in October and the city was quiet.
Well, more quiet than usual for a Friday afternoon. There was still the distant rush of cars over wet streets, creating a white noise to wrap around Taeyong like a fresh autumn breeze as he made his way home. The strap of his leather messenger bag had already soaked up the surrounding moisture. He made a mental note to properly dry it later.
Taeyong couldn't remember the last time he'd seen such thick fog. Smog was an unfortunate side effect of large cities but this was genuine fog, thick and white, muffling the chaotic landscape into a canvas with nothing but mere sprinkles of light dotted along the main street he'd just left behind.
He had quite enjoyed gazing out into the fog as a child, thinking about all the wonders and mysteries that may be hiding between trees and in large sunflower fields. Now, all he felt was a vague sense of unease.
There was nothing scary about fog, per se, so he could only attribute it to not being used to seeing it in a place like this; or to the accidents that were bound to happen in this weather.
He walked down the street, eyes long used to the blinding brightness around him. Beneath his feet, soggy leaves made for the only specks of color.
At least he could just walk home - living close to the office was paying off once more.
The street turned into a bridge, the absence of buildings giving him the illusion of even thicker fog. On regular days, he quite enjoyed taking this route for the scenic view over the tracks and the large street below. Now, the fog was so thick that he could barely make out the street lamps lining the sidewalk.
With a sigh, he stalked up the bridge.
Just a little further and he'd be home. The day hadn't been particularly long but the week had been. Right now, all he wanted was a hot shower - maybe even a bath - and a fluffy blanket to sink into.
And in roughly ten minutes, he'd get exactly that.
A dark green blob appeared along the railing, sending a flash of uncertainty through him before his brain pieced together that he was looking at a person. Taeyong lightly shook his head at himself. He wasn't usually this jumpy.
Of course there'd be some people around - not everyone had the luxury to stay home on a Friday afternoon due to some fog. The person was probably enjoying the admittedly unique view.
When another shape came into view, suggesting that someone was walking up the bridge from the other side, Taeyong wondered if it was another case of someone just wanting to be home already. He was taking on a clearer shape as the distance between them shrunk and Taeyong vaguely recognized a slim, young person wearing what appeared to be a black leather jacket paired with jeans.
The figure paused.
And broke into a sprint towards him.
Confused, Taeyong came to a halt, fear and alarm shooting down his spine.
Then the man screamed at him, loud and agitated.
"Hey!"
Just as he was about to turn away, to get away - he saw the person in the green jacket, his hands on the railing. One foot on the railing.
Within a split-second, understanding rippled over him, and he lept forwards as well.
Taeyong was closer than the stranger, able to cross the distance in three long steps. In his mind, he already saw the other foot lift off the ground, saw the body drop into the white, heard the sound of bones being crushed-
-and then he tackled into the figure with all his strength, frantically grabbing on as they both crashed against asphalt, the world momentarily turning upside down.
The person wasn't any bigger than him, neither in height or weight - which was fortunate because Taeyong himself was on the scrawny side. Still, he probably had to thank the surprise on his side for actually managing to topple this person over like that.
The pained grunt as well as the feel of the upper body Taeyong was currently clinging onto made it obvious that he was wrestling with a man.
A startled man with every bit as much adrenaline in his veins as him, if not more.
"Let me go-" he demanded, struggling in his hold, arms and legs all but flailing with the intent to hit him somehow. The position was awkward, with Taeyong keeping a vice grip around his side. All he could do like this was try to keep his own head safe.
"Go away," the man demanded, clearly driven by adrenaline more so than anger. "Go away- Don't touch me- Stop it-"
The nearing footsteps finally approached, soles scraping over the ground as they came to an abrupt halt. An additional set of arms came to Taeyong's aid, holding the man long enough for him to adjust his grip.
"Hey," the man in the leather jacket called out, keeping his voice low and soothing as a string of hums and soft shushes left his lips in a clear attempt to soothe the panicked man. It didn't seem to have any effect at all.
When the distraught man realized that Taeyong had him pretty much pinned to the ground, however, he ceased struggling, and started to sob.
"Please let me go. Please-"
The sound of his already weak voice cracking and sizzling into a wet whisper was enough to pierce the adrenaline-drenched veil. Taeyong loosened his grip down to a light touch. Even as he slowly backed away, sitting up, the man didn't immediately rip free, quite the opposite - he just slumped down, forehead pressed into the dirt as his breathing got choppier.
Taeyong caught a glimpse of bright eyes wide with worry before the guy in the leather jacket reached out to the sobbing stranger.
"It's okay," he said, rubbing along his upper arm. The man probably barely felt it through the thick jacket he was wearing.
"It's okay now," he said again, even though nothing was even remotely okay, and Taeyong half-expected the other to lash out at them, maybe punch them or at least try to get away from them.
He did none of that, instead further curling in on himself. Despite his barely there grip, Taeyong felt the shivers racking his body.
The guy in the leather jacket looked up to meet his eyes again. He appeared to be roughly his age, with light brown eyes and a mop of unruly hair dyed so white it rivaled the fog around them. Plush lips pursed into a frown while his fine brows supported the intensity of his gaze.
"I think you can let go now," he said quietly, the same, soft and soothing tone now directed at him. Taeyong blinked, immediately pulling his hands away.
"Right," he muttered. "I'm sorry."
The words weren't directed at him but the other smiled at Taeyong, anyway, before gently patting the crying man's back.
"Wanna go to a hospital?" he asked calmly. The reaction was instantaneous as the man shook him off, sitting up fast enough to make Taeyong raise his arms in defense.
"No," he burst out, eyes swimming with a fresh wave of panic. "No hospital. No. I'm fine. Really."
Leather jacket guy was shooting Taeyong a fleeting look and he wished he could provide the help the other was clearly asking for. There was no denying that he had absolutely no idea how to handle this situation though, leaving the white-haired man to press on.
"Are you sure?" he asked carefully. The sentence wasn't even finished when the panicked guy slid away from them in a jerky motion. While Taeyong reached out, ready to grab him again, the other guy held up his hands, palms raised.
"Okay, okay, no hospital," he hurried to reassure him, voice growing softer again. "Promise. We'll accompany you home instead. How does that sound? You don't mind, do you?"
The last words had been directed at Taeyong, who gave him a confused headshake turned nod.
"Yeah, no. It's fine."
"You don't have to," the distraught man insisted, pressing the back of his hands against his cheeks, cooling the skin as he not-so-subtly wiped his tears. "I'm fine now. For real. I just panicked when you grabbed me, that’s all. I'll go home now. You don't have to worry about me."
He sounded suspiciously put together for someone who had just broken down mere seconds prior. It almost made Taeyong forget about the fact that he had just swung a leg over the railing of a bridge.
"It's no bother at all," he heard himself say, earning a fleeting glance out of red-rimmed eyes as well as a grateful, barely there smile by the other guy, who rubbed his hands over his thighs.
"Exactly," he agreed with a friendly kind of finality underlining his words. “We can hardly leave you here now. You live far from here?"
"It's just a ten minute walk, really-"
"Great. All the better then, isn't it?" the man cut him off, extending his hand with a bright smile. "By the way, I'm Yuta."
"Mark," the guy muttered, taking his hand out of a reflex more than anything - Taeyong could see that much in the way he blinked, frowning at himself the moment his name had left his lips.
"And I'm Taeyong," he hurried to add in an attempt to seize the small opening Yuta had created. Mark glanced at him, giving him a distracted nod, before Yuta demanded his attention again by getting to his feet and extending his hand yet again.
"Okay. You wanna lead the way?"
Mark looked somewhat dazed as he took his hand, stumbling to his feet, and Taeyong couldn't hold it against him. He felt a little dazed himself as they walked down the bridge with Yuta merrily chatting Mark up. As if none of this had taken place at all.
"I live nearby as well," he began lightly. "Moved here three years ago. It's pretty chill. You like it here?"
"It's okay."
Yuta hummed, undeterred by the curt response.
"Yeah, it's not a beachside or anything, but considering how good the location is, it's forgiveable. Did you grow up here?"
Mark made a negating sound in the back of his throat.
"I moved here when I was 17."
"Ah, I get it. You came here to study?"
"Yeah."
It went on like that, with Yuta exchanging information, steering the conversation as Mark steered them through the fog. He went from chatting about jobs to talking about subway stations and his favourite fountain at the park they had to cross.
All the while, Taeyong followed in silence, staying half a step behind to hopefully make Mark feel a little less like he was being flanked, eyeing him as discreetly as possible. The side of his face was littered in scratches and chafe marks where he'd hit the asphalt but they did nothing to hide how handsome Mark was. The first thing coming to mind would be to call him boyish and easy on the eyes - his features were soft and inoffensive, with almond-shaped eyes and thin brows that gave him a bit of a permanently surprised expression, as well as thin lips and a mop of frizzy-looking, chestnut-colored hair. A distinctly angular bone structure off-set the softness, acting as the only indicator that they weren't currently escorting a teenager.
With the adrenaline fading, Mark was acting surprisingly composed, albeit somewhat frazzled and confused. It was throwing Taeyong off a little, reminding him that he was woefully unequipped to deal with this; he didn't know what a person would act like after attempting to take their own life and he had no idea how he was supposed to treat him. Engaging him in friendly, lighthearted conversation was not something he would have even thought of. After all, it seemed both risky and rude to ask about his personal life, and yet Mark seemed perfectly fine with sharing these information.
He told Yuta that he'd initially moved to the capital to study, that he had dropped out of university at some point, and how he was currently working part-time at a grocery store, on top of working from home for a music-related company. He preferred to walk through the park but avoided it in the dark, he liked to read comics, and he would love to have a dog someday. Meanwhile Yuta worked at a major entertainment company producing and promoting idol groups, though he insisted he was purely doing dry office work, far away from the glitz and glamour of showbiz.
All of this flowed naturally between them, with the conversation only petering out as they exited the park, stopping before the entrance to an apartment building so large the top was disappearing in the fog.
"So, this is it, I guess," Mark stated awkwardly. His tears had long dried by now, making him look nothing but mildly tired as he dipped his head. "Thanks again for walking me home. I really appreciate it."
"Are you alone?" Yuta asked, deceivingly casual. Mark nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. Even dipped in their milky surroundings, Taeyong could tell that it was in dire need of a dye job, thanks to the washed out shade of brown contrasting with his dark roots that looked accidental where Yuta's looked purposeful.
"It's fine though," Mark began, putting on a small smile. "I won't try anything or whatever. Promise. I really just wanna go and take a nap now, to be honest."
Taeyong wanted to believe him, he really did, but they could hardly leave it at that, right? What if they left now, never to see this guy again, forever plagued by the questions of whether or not he had turned out alright?
Yuta seemed to share his thoughts, though he was smart enough to keep his tone light.
"Sure, sounds good," he began, shifting his weight on his feet. "You got anyone you can call up? We'll wait until they get here."
A frown flit over Mark's face, and he shook his head.
"Nah. I'm telling you, it's fine-"
"You can't expect us to just leave you alone now, can you?" Taeyong cut him off. It had come out a little harsher than intended, so he made an effort to mirror Yuta's tone.
"I'm sorry, that didn't come out right. What I'm saying is that..."
"-that we'd love to know you've got company today," Yuta finished his sentence, while Taeyong closed his mouth.
He hadn't felt this helpless in years but every beat of silence left him more afraid of taking a step into any direction at all.
"I'm not saying you have to tell them!" Yuta added quickly, "just have someone come over. Can you do us this favour? Please?"
Mark looked unhappy still. His posture was stiff, with his shoulders raised and hands shoved into his pockets.
"Listen, even if someone decided to come over, it would still take a while-" he began, cut off by the door bumping into his back. All of them shuffled aside to make room for an annoyed-looking girl brushing past them and taking a turn to the right.
"We probably shouldn't be loitering here," Yuta commented, voicing out the obvious.
Mark sighed.
"You can come up if you want to," he offered reluctantly, already fumbling for his keys. "But my place is a mess."
Yuta snorted.
"Same here, man. I've barely left the office this week and it shows. Not gonna judge you."
Mark didn't look convinced but he did hold the door for them. Taeyong took it, trailing after them towards a rickety-looking elevator.
"It breaks all the time. Better use it while it lasts," Mark provided upon noticing Taeyong's skeptical glance - as if that would make it any better.
Luckily enough, it carried them up to one of the top floors with no hitch other than the vague headache he got from the flickering lights.
The hallway didn't look terribly bad, reminding him of a hotel floor with identical-looking doors lining every wall in both directions. Mark made a beeline for one on the far end, fumbling with a set of keys. The door opened with a quiet squeak and they shuffled in after him.
"I'll go call a friend," he muttered, shrugging out of his jacket to hang it on the wall. "Just gimme a second."
Taeyong gave him what was hopefully an encouraging nod, hovering in the cramped entrance area with Yuta, who was idly looking around, leaning against the door.
There wasn't much to see from where they stood, but Taeyong's first impression was that this was the way a typical, downtrodden drama protagonist would live like. The simple, white tapestry was tinged in a yellowish glow and the absence of open spaces or windows gave everything a dingy, suffocating feel. Jackets of all kinds were covering each other, all stuffed onto two hooks at the wall. None of them looked particularly stylish, and all of them looked well-worn, to say the least.
Aside fom the jackets, a simple sideboard took up the entirety of one wall, hosting an assortment of bowls and small boxes, all littered in what looked like the contents of an exploded coat pocket. Taeyong saw balled up receipts, wrapped candies, old train tickets, as well as an unopened strip of painkillers. Beneath the sideboard, a couple of shoes were strewn around the floor. He mentally pieced together two pairs of muddy sneakers, a dusty-looking, equally worn pair of sandals, and a pair of formal shoes.
Everything about this place was chaotic and in need of some good cleaning, and while Taeyong would rather move back home than live in such a mess himself, he couldn't bring himself to judge Mark. The place looked like what he'd imagine a member of the lower working class to live like, and he felt terrible for even thinking that.
Meanwhile Mark was pacing from one room to another, a phone pressed to his ear. His voice was toned down, but clearly audible.
"Yo. Are you free?"
Taeyong shared a brief, awkward look with Yuta, who responded with a tight-lipped smile before unabashedly returning to listening in on Mark, as he made a reaffirming sound.
"Yeah, like, today. Like right now, to be honest. My place? I can order us some takeout if you wanna. Nah, no reason. Yeah. Yeah, sounds good. Cool. I'll see you later then."
A brief silence was followed by a deep sigh.
"Sounds like you were successful," Yuta had the nerve to comment. Taeyong truly wasn't sure how Mark hadn't thrown them out yet. It's what he would have done at this point. But no, all Mark did was return to them, leaning into the door-less frame, arms crossed over his ratty green hoodie.
"My friend will actually be here in ten," he explained, gaze flickering from them to the ground, and back. "So, like, you can leave now. If you want to."
"Did you make this?" Yuta asked in response, pointing at a small glass box resting on the sideboard. Mark blinked, face scrunched up in mild confusion.
"Huh? I mean. Yeah. It's pretty old though..." he trailed off, fingers restlessly flying up to his ear.
Taeyong could emphasize with him on that one - even upon stepping closer, it took him a second to identify the object as handmade. It was a small glass bowl that would probably comfortably fit into the palm of his hand, filled with a clear liquid preserving an assortment of flowers.
Taeyong wasn't much of a flower guy so it came to no surprise to him that he couldn't identify a single one of them; but the mix of pale blue, pink and peach petals looked pleasant to the eye, with tiny white flowers dotting the arrangement. It was a dainty, classy-looking piece of decoration, and nothing about it looked particularly handmade.
"You made this?" he asked, leaning in as he resisted the urge to blow the dust off its surface. "It looks amazing."
"It's nothing special," Mark brushed him off. "It was just part of some course thing at a florist. They did all the resin stuff, I just put together some flowers."
"Well, I can barely tell a sunflower from a daisy, so it's plenty impressive to me," Yuta said jokingly. "Plus my fat fingers would have probably crushed the poor things."
He wriggled his fingers as if to demonstrate their uselessness. It drew a breathy chuckle out of Mark, a tiny spark of genuity that went as fast as it had come.
"Dude, your fingers are normal."
Taeyong would actually go so far as to call them beautiful, really. It was obvious that he put care into them, judging by his clean nail beds and the glossy shine coating his nails. Nonetheless, Yuta sighed.
"They're short and stubby," he disagreed. "Not to mention I tend to show as much dexterity as a three-legged dog. You do not wanna play Jenga with me. Or maybe you do."
"I don't know about that - I’ve been pretty horrible at Jenga myself. Not that I played it recently or anything," Mark trailed off, looking tired, but with the ghost of a smile remaining.
A glance at his phone was enough for him to shake off the distraction Yuta had thrown at him though.
"Anyway. My friend will be here soon, so..."
Right. He probably didn't want his friend to see them.
Taeyong nodded.
"Alright. Thanks again for calling someone."
Mark gave him a funny look but didn't seem to know what to say to that. Taeyong surprised himself by pulling out his own phone.
"We could exchange numbers. In case you need anything."
"That's a great idea, actually," Yuta cut in, hit by a sudden burst of energy. “You should shoot us a text tomorrow or something."
Mark grimaced, but Yuta was faster.
"No need to look so uncomfortable. I'll give you my number, okay? You don't have to give me yours. You ready?"
He began to rattle down digits, leaving Mark no time to argue. Taeyong didn't know his number by heart but Mark did give him an expectant look, waiting for him to look it up. Whether he just wanted to be done with this, Taeyong didn't know, but Mark did save his number in a new contact, and that was all he could offer at this point.
When the doorbell rang, Yuta was the first to move.
"Right, this is our call. Text me, okay?" he called over his shoulder, a light grip on Taeyong's arm prompting him to start moving.
Mark nodded, hovering in the doorway as they walked towards the elevator. It opened before Taeyong could coax him towards the staircase instead. A young man exited, striding past them without sparing as much as a glance thrown their way.
Behind them, Taeyong heard a low greeting, and the sound of a door being closed.
For a few, long seconds it was eerily quiet as they just stood there, two strangers in a private hallway, suddenly devoid of the momentum that had pushed them this far.
"Wanna take the stairs?" Yuta asked next to him, and Taeyong found himself humming in agreement.
"You've read my mind."
The entire walk downstairs felt thrice as long as it was, with Taeyong moving on autopilot. Only when they had emerged out into the foggy street did Yuta come to a halt. The silence between them was awkward and heavy, loaded with dozens of thoughts he wouldn’t be able to put into words if he tried.
Their gazes met, and Yuta cracked a smile that couldn't be any more different from the ones he had sent Mark earlier.
"Fuck," he breathed out, layers of disbelief wrapped around the slightest tremble.
"Yeah," Taeyong agreed, allowing the tension to seep out of his shoulders. "I did not expect any of this when I woke up this morning."
Yuta snorted, but there was less confidence to it now that it was just the two of them.
"Me neither..." he trailed off, shifting in place as he gazed out into the fog, towards the general direction of the park. "I hope he'll be alright."
Taeyong hummed, taking in the other's profile, from his conflicted gaze to the plush, naturally curled lips that were relaxed into a somber expression now.
"Wanna get coffee?" he asked, surprising himself; and Yuta, judging by the way he blinked at him. Taeyong shrugged, trying to look nonchalant.
"I'd say this calls for a vodka on ice but it's a bit early to start drinking."
Yuta’s pretty lips tugged into a smile again, and his eyes crinkled.
"How very proper of you," he commented in a way that made Taeyong's stomach flip. "But yeah, I do in fact have to get up early tomorrow, so no getting wasted for me. I also doubt I need any more caffeine to keep me up tonight."
He let Taeyong stir in his embarrassment just long enough for him to feel a jab of heat rise up his face, before adding, "but I'd really love a hot chocolate right about now. You know a place?"
"Two hot chocolates, a dark one and a milk chocolate one with whipped cream. Would you like something to eat as well?"
Yuta beamed at the waitress.
"Anything you can recommend today?"
He could have asked Taeyong; he knew the menu of this place like the back of his hand and yet a stranger would probably think this was Yuta's go-to café, judging by how comfortable he looked.
Taeyong leaned back in his seat as the waitress rattled down a list of baked goods. She was more chipper than usual, probably due to the fact that the weather had discouraged people from leaving the house. Or maybe she simply wasn't immune to Yuta's natural charm - Taeyong would be the last one to judge her.
The moment she left their table, however, Yuta's smile faded, leaving him to look around the café in mild interest. Maybe he, too, appreciated distraction. That was why they were sitting here in the first place, right?
"You really knew how to handle this situation out there, didn't you?" Taeyong asked before realizing that maybe he was supposed to lead harmless smalltalk as well.
To his surprise, Yuta just looked at him like he'd gone insane.
"Uhm, no? I just completely winged it. I thought that was pretty obvious. I didn't even do a good job."
Taeyong frowned, eyeing the other with confusion.
"You didn't? I'd say you did a fantastic job," he argued. "You really managed to distract him and got him to actually call someone. I would have never been able to do that. He would have probably punched me in the face."
Yuta dismissed him with a one-sided shrug.
"It was your quick reaction that saved him," he said, gaze turning somber again. "I wouldn't have reached him in time."
Taeyong didn't say anything to that - not because he agreed, but because he was starting to feel the full emotional impact of what had just happened. Now that it was just the two of them, he couldn't stop his mind from fully leaning into the fact that someone had tried to take their own life. Just like that.
"It's- crazy," he began, finding no better word to settle on. "He was so... normal afterwards. Like it wasn't even a big deal."
Yuta parted his lips, but plastered on a fleeting smile for the waitress instead, thanking her for the two tall glasses and the plate of cookies. He didn't speak up until she was out of earshot, spoon clinking against the glass as he scooped up some whipped cream, making sure to catch the chocolate syrup drizzled on top.
"It was probably the shock," he mused.
"Probably," Taeyong echoed, cradling the hot glass and allowing it to warm him up. He hadn't even noticed how clammy and cold he'd been feeling.
Across him, Yuta seemed to drift away again, regarding his drink without really seeing it. Taeyong swallowed, trying to think of something to say.
"So, is it true that you work at SM?"
Clarity returned within the blink of an eye and brought a small smile along.
"Yeah," Yuta admitted, leisurely crossing his arms over the polished, white wood. "And it's also true that it's just boring office work, really. If you want me to get you an autograph, you're probably in for a disappointment."
Taeyong huffed out a laugh.
"Not if I can disappoint you first - I don't really listen to Korean music," he admitted. "And I doubt you'll get your hands on an autograph of some Japanese indie rapper."
Yuta pretended to think about it, spoon scraping against the glass.
"You might be right about that... Please tell me that's not a challenge. I'm a pretty sore loser," he said eventually, but his eyes were twinkling. "No bubblegum pop for you, eh?"
Taeyong found himself touching his neck before he knew it.
"Not really. Sorry. I'm a bit ignorant with these things."
"No need to apologize," Yuta replied, still grinning. "I'd honestly be more concerned if you were super deep into that stuff. Some fans are scarier than anything the cinema has to offer."
"You ever got stalked by anyone?" Taeyong asked, genuinely curious. To his relief, Yuta reacted with a relaxed shrug.
"Not really. Though I did have some confused kids follow me once or twice. They usually stop as soon as they realize I'm just an office worker."
"They probably confused you for an idol."
It had slipped out before he knew it, but before Taeyong could beat himself up over the blatant innuendo, Yuta cocked his head in interest, voice dropping.
"Ah?" he asked softly, eyes glittering with mischief. "You think so? I'd say your chances of acquiring an accidental fanclub would be even higher than mine."
Now Taeyong wasn't a horrible flirt per se; at least he liked to think that he was doing a pretty okay job in that department, if he put his mind to it. Right now, however, he was mostly dumbfounded that this was actually happening.
Just minutes prior, they'd been sitting together in shared, depressed silence, and now this guy was blatantly hitting on him. Was this his idea of a fun distraction? If so, Taeyong would love to play along - if not for the little voice in his head telling him that this was a terrible idea, that is.
"Now you're just trying to flatter me," he said blankly, mentally hovering between leaning in and moving away. Yuta's smile remained unfazed.
"Just stating facts here," he said evenly, eyes flitting from Taeyong’s pierced ears to the multitude of rings decorating his fingers. "The girlies love a guy who knows how to accessorize."
Taeyong resisted the urge to shake his head, voice coming out a tad breathier than intended.
"And you don't?" he asked, aiming for amusement.
Yuta didn't even blink.
"Oh no, they do have a point," he admitted, eyes all but raking down Taeyong's neck, down to the slim necklace with the silver feather pendant he'd chosen this morning. The gesture made him hyper-aware of every shirt button he'd opened after work.
"Does this qualify as trauma-bonding?" he blurted out, mostly out of self-defense. Something about the tone he'd used had Yuta snort, and the mood was broken.
"You're not having it, eh?" he asked, quirking a brow. Taeyong took another, deep gulp of his drink, if only to buy himself some time.
"It's not that I'm complaining," he muttered, only to sigh. "Sorry, I'm usually better at this. I think I'm just a little thrown-off still. Any other circumstances, I would have probably written my phone number on that napkin already."
Yuta's gaze softened at that. It was hard to tell in the cozy light, but Taeyong was pretty sure his cheeks were a tad darker than before.
"Makes sense. Sorry, that was uncalled for."
Taeyong shook his head.
"Like I said, I'm not complaining. Not every day that a guy like you shows interest in me."
"A guy like me? As in, a shortie?" Yuta asked jokingly, but the smile returned to his lips, more calm now. "Kidding. Thank you. Though we can still do that, you know?"
"Do what?" Taeyong asked, watching Yuta place two fingers on his napkin, sliding it over to him.
"Your number," he elaborated, giving him an expectant look.
When Taeyong fumbled through his jacket pockets, he chuckled.
"Maybe you should learn it by heart, just for the next napkin waiting for you."
Taeyong made it a point to look dignified and nonchalant as he plucked a ballpen out of his bag, scribbling the digits down.
It was a rather unnecessary act, given that Yuta could have very well typed them into his phone straight away, but there was an odd sense of spontaneity to it, a certain spark that felt equal parts unfamiliar and pleasant.
One that kept Taeyong company as he lay in bed that night, wrapped up in cool blankets and a darkness that was both soothing and a little too deep to nestle into without facing the echoes of his own thoughts.
There was no telling when sleep actually claimed him; for hours, Taeyong lay there, surrounded by splintered memories clinging to him like wet leaves - from images of glistening asphalt and almond-shaped eyes to the sound of Yuta’s low, soothing voice, and the feeling of a body trembling under his touch. And of fog.
The scent, the sight, and the clammy feeling of thick, unforgiving fog.