#member doyoung

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a sinking feeling has you rooted to the floor. staring at the lock of your front door as someone knocks politely over and over again.
“what are you doing?”
your mother’s voice gusts past you like a breeze, she leans over your frozen figure and turns the knob.
you step back to avoid being hit by the door and dread the light that washes over your mothers face
“doyoung! come in!”
he steps through and all you catch is a bit of side profile, hidden behind the gigantic plant he’s holding
“oh! that’s the orchid your mother was just up in a fit about? come here sweetie, place it on the kitchen table -”
his footsteps echo and you shrink a little, he didn’t even look at me.
you’re thankful for your mothers insolent obsession with being a good host and trudge your way back to your room
doyoung is in your house.
which is weird, the first time he was in your house - you knew, obviously, but he was uninvited. your mother didn’t welcome him through the door.
now - for the past month - after both his mother and yours had come to a unbreakable bond over their indoor houseplants
doyoung has very much been a presence, an invited presence, a presence everyone but you seemed to be delighted about
“he’s such a nice boy, he’s spending his summers tutoring younger kids and i see him biking all around town.”
your mother gushes almost every time at dinner after doyoung leaves - delivering whatever ailing plant his mother has sent to yours to fix and play botanist with
you pick at your food
yeah, he’s a nice boy. that’s what makes this all so much worse.
now - you’re laying on your sheets with your hand on your stomach and staring up at the wall thinking very much the same thought.
he’s so nice, and so perfect, and everything anyone ever dreams of. why am i such an idiot for not wanting that?
you drum your fingers and again spiral back into the memory that keeps itself wedged between you and him like a piece of food that’s stuck so sternly between teeth, no pushing at it with your tongue helps.
summer starts in ten days, officially you know - by the university calendar.you’re supposed to be focusing on a final paper for some elective politics class you took, but you’re not. you’re staring at the back of doyoung’s neck. he sits in front of you for most lectures.
“hey, do you know anything about this military-first politics and nuclear armament essay prompt the professor gave us?”
doyoung turns slowly, blinking at you from behind his thin-wired classes, “yeah - it’s been the topic of discussion and reading for like a week.”
you know you sound kind of stupid to even ask - but you will admit, politics isn’t your thing and it seems to really be doyoungs - so you smile, with a please pity me kind of look in your eye. doyoung sighs, but he gets up and slides into the seat beside you - opening up the half blank word document on your laptop.
that’s it. that’s all it was going to be. doyoung helping you skid by, so that your summer isn’t ruined by a shitty grade.
but that’s not what happens. at all.
doyoung instead spends a lot of time helping you write a good enough paper to pull through a B-.
that means a lot of alone time in the library, in study hall, in the empty halls of the school buildings where classes have ended and no one is around.
it’s a lot of being shoulder to shoulder with him, realizing how nice he always smells - how long his fingers are when they type - how he doesn’t have a significant other because no one except his friends ever end up interrupting you.
it’s the day after you get your grades for the semester, something about getting the paper back sparks a fire in you
you scope doyoung out at the coffeeshop and exclaim that you and him did it!
a couple of heads whip around, did it?, you quickly add some mumbling about the paper.
doyoung laughs, it’s the first time you’ve heard the genuine sound, because most of the time he just makes a half-sided smirk or chuckle.
you buy him an iced latte as repayment and somehow end up walking out of there with side by side.
doyoung asks if you live near by if you don’t dorm, you say you do. he does too. that’s weird - you’ve never seen him around the neighborhood.
after that you pretend it’s a blur. because truth be told it isn’t.
you and doyoung are going to be taking the same train anyway, why not take it together. you and doyoung are going to know the same little places around town, why not talk about them.
why not? why not? why not?
why not invite him inside when you’re back in your hometown, why not lead him up to your room just so he can see it and why not kiss him when he leans over you.
people your age do it all the time, they hookup. that’s the only answer to that stupid hanging ‘why not?’
so when you felt doyoung’s fingers graze down your side and he’d clumsily gotten his glasses off just in time for you to pull his shirt up over his head
you were convinced it meant nothing. you were convinced he thought the same.
then it all happens and you can’t take it back.
especially not the part where you’re laying on your bed, just like you are now, waiting for doyoung to start gathering his things and instead a hand loops around your sweaty waist.
“aren’t you going to leave?”
the words blurt out of your mouth before you even think about it.
the tension that stalled in the room had been so horrible you swore you’d felt it seep into every pore, damn near trickling itself down the walls.
doyoung had darkened, pulled himself away from you, and disappeared before you could string together your next thought.
part of you had been relieved, the other part felt like the biggest asshole on the planet.
you were just grateful the rest of the summer could easily be passed by keeping away from each other - until your mother had found her new best friend.
downstairs you can hear doyoung shuffling around with your mothers plants, you can’t make out what they’re saying, but you’re sure your mother is inviting him to stay and eat with you. asking doyoung about his amazing future plans to become a lawyer. enthralled by everything he is as a child and that you, most likely, are not.
when he finally leaves and the commotions die down you can’t get up
this is the most confusing moment.
not the whole ignoring each other when he pops over, not the whole reliving the past from just a glimpse.
it’s why - when it happened, you had been so content with it just staying nothing - you had been the one to make that decision for the both of you
yet
why does it seem like you’re wallowing in it, clinging to it, imaging it all over
every time he comes over
because you didn’t just want a hook-up. you wanted doyoung and were playing it off because having a crush on him isn’t worth it right?
your mind coils itself through a storm
you thought he only wanted to sleep with you too, because the thought of someone as good as doyoung liking you just doesn’t make sense?
despite the summer heat, you feel cold
you’re not good enough to actually be liked, to be the person doyoung chooses for something more than just your-
your phone rings and you sit up so fast it gives you a headache, you feel around and bring it to your ear without checking the number
“hello?”
“our mothers are trying to set us up on a date.”
you want to be anywhere in the world, but here.
doyoung’s blank expression doesn’t let you know if he feels the same, but the way he won’t get in at least eight feet of you is telling enough.
you’re in his backyard, well technically you’re in his neighbors backyard, because he doesn’t want to be visible behind the hedges
rather be caught dead than be next to me, right?
you shrill at yourself and try to bury the wince you make internally
“i think you should just tell them you have another boyfriend.”
“i can’t lie to my mother.”
you start and doyoung watches you chew on your lower lip and retreat defensively a step back
“why not?”
“she’s noisy - she’ll find out. she’ll insist until i die to meet this ‘other boyfriend’. plus i’m not a good liar.”
“really? could have fooled me.”
doyoung straightens himself as he says that, eyes unblinking behind the frames of his glasses
i probably deserve that. well actually-
“doyoung, i never promised you anything when we-”
the words wilt and doyoung suddenly looks over his shoulder.
“you’re right, you never promised me anything. im the one who was a fool for ever thinking it was something.”
you look at the grass.
you wonder, if you had not said that one sentence - aren’t you going to leave - would this summer be different?
would you and doyoung be spending every second together, holding each other at the beach? kissing under the fireworks? sharing ice-cream and diving into pools filled of water and your laughter?
the thought blooms something in your chest
i wish - i wish it was that.
“you say i should lie, but you’re pretty good at it too doyoung.”
“excuse me?”
“it’s not like you - it’s not like you really wanted it to be anything more than it was.”
you think the grass is going to burst into flames with how hard you’re concentrating on it.
“what, you’re telling me-” you swallow “you’re telling me you actually wanted to be with me after? our mothers are trying to get us to go on a date and you called me out here just to avoidthat.”
he leans forward
“if you are trying to make me the only guilty party here-”
he’s closer and you feel your voice shake a little, but you try to push to the end of your thought.
“im not, you never made any effort to make it seem like you had any genuine emotion so am i so wrong for just assuming it was just se-”
his hands, large and gentle, manage to find your shoulders and doyoung presses his lips to yours
you stiffen from the external shock, but then relax under the light grip
his breath smells sweet, like he’s been chewing bubblegum, he’s wearing the same cologne he does at university
“i don’t just sleep with people.”
he whispers against your mouth
“nothing against it, but i don’t think there’s a point to sharing something intimate with someone who i don’t want in every possible way.”
when you and doyoung agree to go on a date - both your mothers lose it. they’re convinced you’re soulmates.
although you and doyoung both agree they’re thinking way too far ahead in the future - it doesn’t mask the fact that the attraction that ends up forming between you two is undeniable
doyoung is so determined and intently goal orientated that you would think there isn’t the capacity to have fun in one bone in his body, but that’s not true
when he’s comfortable, he’s charming and full of humor - he makes you double over with laughter more than you could have imagined
and you aren’t as spacey and shy as doyoung might have assumed either, you have a competitive streak and you make doyoung feel like this is the summer of his life
the summer of his life that someone could probably make a decent coming of age film out of
he brings it up after you two exit a movie that was just about the same topic and you look down at your hands intertwined and shake your head
“no they’d never cast the right people to play us.”
doyoung sees the reflection of the milky way in your eyes, but he doesn’t say it
“no one on this planet is like you.”
he returns this sentiment with a small kiss that bumps this glasses against the bridge of your nose.
you get nervous sometimes when you think about how the summer started, it’s not like you’re living in the middle ages where intimacy is a sin before eternal commitment or anything
no you just get nervous because the reason you ever even made that situation as bad as it was, was because of your insecurity
does doyoung actually like me? did two weeks of being together at school make him realize something about me is worth it?
you can’t ask him that - even though sometimes you want to, so you can explain why you hadn’t just rolled over and nuzzled yourself into the dip of his chest
much like you do now - you fit so perfectly right between his arms
instead it sometimes gnaws at you until doyoung is cleaning his glasses over your sink and you’re sitting in the bathtub looking at him
your parents are ironically over at doyoungs for some wine party or whatever and although your mothers are in awe about you two being “a cute lil couple”
they see that - cute, part of it makes you snort. you and doyoung sometimes act more mature than they do.
“i always knew you were staring at me in lecture.” he starts and a little smirk pulls at his long lips
you flick some of the water at him and he leans against the counter
he doesn’t like baths, he prefers showers, but he still stays in the room with you when you take them
“i wasn’t staring at you.”
“you were staring at the back of my neck.”
you look away because fair, not like he spends a lot of time looking away from the professor.
“so i knew you liked me, or something about me. that’s why it hurt.”
“when we-”
“yes and i like being logical, so not having a real answer for why that all happened like it did still haunts me.”
he tilts his head and you see the line of his thin collarbones through his shirt
“i thought you’d say it first.”
he blinks
“i thought you’d say something like, that was cool. ill see you at uni come fall. and then leave. so i mean, i didn’t even say go leave - i asked, aren’t you going to leave?”
doyoung is smart so he gets what you’re saying in the most roundabout way possible
he walks over and squats down, leans over the ridge of the bath to kiss you and doesn’t complain when you bring your soapy hands up to cradle his neck
“im sorry i did leave, i should have just said what i felt right there.”
he mutters and you nod. you should have said it too.
when you and doyoung graduate and he goes on to law school and you start working, you almost break up - twice - because of the stress
but somehow neither of you can ever ask the other one
aren’t you going to leave?
because neither of you ever really wants to.
so you don’t, you stay through all the hardships, through every argument and bump in the road.
you stay, you choose to stay and so does he and you might not even fall asleep next to each other on some days but the heat of the person you love is always there.
and then doyoung gets his first big promotion at his job, runs all the way home with the news and ends up breathing hard and talking nonsense to you in your shared kitchen
“you need a shower.”
you say, wiping the sweat from his forehead as he shakes his head, no. he needs a bath.
you lean back against his chest, stronger and broader as he’s aged.
he looks down at you and even the eyebags that have gotten darker with all that work he does don’t do anything to make him less attractive
you peck his chin, because it’s what you can reach.
“if we sit here any longer we’re going to prune.”
“are you going to be the first one to leave?”
he asks and you shake your head.
you’ll sit here forever if that’s what it takes.
on the counter of the bathroom, there’s one of the houseplants your mothers keeps shipping to you.
you don’t notice that it’s the same orchid that doyoung carried into your house all those years ago, when you thought he hadn’t even looked at you when your mother opened the door.
he curls a strand of your wet hair around his finger.
he had looked at you, quickly, but he had done it.
even half covered by orchid leaves, you’d made his mouth dry.
“no seriously though - we will prune.”
“i’ll get up if you get up?”
i’ll never leave, the only way i’ll leave is if it means im taking you with me.

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@warmau

Tue, 09 Feb 2021 21:11:03