taeilyoo:
If anyone were to ever ask him who had really done it, Taeil would say it was love that had raised him. That every weekend morning love would wake him, then linger within the serene lustre of their sunbathed kitchen. A tender hum caressing past her throat as she went about breakfast. After some time, more love would filter in and intertwine with the first half, sharing whole kisses Taeil could somehow tell they never tired of. Love would pack his tiny backpacks and bring him to school as much as they would carry him to the beach in summer, where they would hold hands for hours and watch him play until his knobby little knees buckled and freckles darkened. When it snowed, he’d find love snuggled by their fireplace, though after a some years he’d grown too large to tuck himself between them the way he’d used to as a child. Needless to say, regardless of their title as a married couple and them slowly becoming more engrossed in work as their firstborn aged into independency, love was happy. Despite, it never once ceased to exist.
On the contrary, Taeil believed that the minutes–hours, days, weeks–spent apart brought his parents that much closer together as lovers. So long as they came back together in the end, the empty space meant next to nothing. And he was right to believe so, because that’s exactly what it was. In the eyes of a teen who knew little of what it meant to love and wed, even while raised by love itself, what his parents had was the true ideal. In the eyes of an adult who still knew much too little, they had what he thought transcended all expectations and constraints that came with the traditional definition of what marriage was supposed to look, or be like. Rarely did Taeil witness a fight, even if he, too, started seeing them less and less. Even when they did, it was never about the nature of their relationship. They made it look and feel entirely unimportant, the rings on their fingers—a title that served only one purpose and that was to start a family. Nothing less, or more, and through them, Taeil had eventually came up with his own definition of marriage.
He didn’t look at it the way others did; a seal that officialized a magical forever between two lovers, a pact that traps two people into polar roles they could only escape through divorce, which to some, was as good as death. It came to him more like a luxury. At times a show, an excuse. Even a setup, under tragic circumstances. To him, Hansol’s wedding had simply been a luxury–a bit of a brag notwithstanding their pure intentions. Their love was already real and beyond what marriage could possibly offer save for the freedom to conceive, and Taeil could see it all.
Except what he saw had made him unexpectedly jealous, because despite being older than Hansol, whom he loved dearly as a friend, he hadn’t yet what the other did. He was far from it and naturally, as much as he denied himself of it, his pride was hurt to witness a luxury he didn’t have. His drunken haze had made him selfish, to want to get even no matter what extremes it took for him to do so in such short timing, or who’s hearts it would break along the way, including his own. And with the perfect opportunity at hand, a gorgeous heartthrob with his soothing voice and seraphic eyes, named Haru, he’d decided it a good idea to chase what happiness he longed for as well, even if the sentiment was a benign concept for him after all.
But jealousy and alcohol never had mixed well in Taeil’s body, and from that alone, many mistakes were born that night. Not everyone sees things through his lens, and even less of an handful would bother to save room in their own narrative to genuinely understand his perspective. He didn’t know what kind of person Haru really was in that regard, but it also didn’t matter, did it? No matter which way the cookie crumbled, what he’d done, no matter how exhilarating it’d felt in the heat of the moment, was unfair for Haru.
For all Taeil knew, Haru probably thought he were serious even in all his drunk glory, or maybe wanted it to be so. For all he knew, Haru would never forgive him for it, no matter how many times he could empty his lugs with apologies. For all he knew, Haru was a serial killer.
Gawking at the smudged sharpie scribble on Haru’s finger, before he could swallow around the dreadful magnitude of their reality—there’s even a peculiar soreness he’d never felt before coiled in his ass cheeks—he thinks no, not with those hands. Then he swallows, literal and visibly, Adams apple jerking through the lack of moisture in his throat. “We got engaged…” he repeats Haru’s words, again, and again, and again. Until the thick fog plaguing his throbbing skull begins to dissipate into tattered memories full of blotches; of sharing champagne with Haru and his girlfriend Dani, of the way Haru smiles like he’s trying to melt a glacier. Of the puzzle of their hands fitted in each other, his warmer, but Haru’s grip more secure. Of kneeling, Haru agreeing. Of laughter and the moon.
“Fuck,” As though the ground had suddenly been pulled from under his feet, a strange sensation starts in his chest and rapidly fans out across his sternum, twining in his ribs; like he’s being swallowed from the inside out. Plain, unchallenged regret. Not because he didn’t like Haru, but because he’d given into all the bottled negativity he’d tried to refuse before dawn had come and somehow roped Haru into the mess. Now Haru was staring at him, pretty even when he were on edge.
On the nightstand, Taeil’s phone buzzes one too many times in a row than he could keep up with, giving the impression of an incoming phone call. But when he leaps at it, somehow expecting it to tell him that this was just a dream and he should simply pinch himself to wake from it, he recoils at what he finds instead. Notifications, so many congratulatory messages for a post he’d made some ten hours ago. Congratulations on your engagement. Are you happy now?
Yeah, my ass!
“Jesus fucking christ.” Appalled with himself, Taeil haphazardly throws his large frame back against the mattress beside Haru, pressing his warm shoulders to his, uncaring of the sun in his eyes or the erect abundance of hair on his head. A childish outburst of frustration surfaces shortly after, as he scrubs his face with the heels of his callused palms and jerks his limbs into a fleeting squirm. The phone keeps buzzing on his chest.
After another beat he finally turns to his fiancé, bringing his cheek with him to lay it on the sharp curve of Haru’s shoulder. “Don’t look at me like that,” he says, a boyish pout stretching at his lower lip. “I remember now more or less, so don’t worry. I’ll get a wet towel to wipe that ring off you in a bit so you can stop feeling uncomfy about it… Before I do that though, did we fuck? I… Like, we’re basically naked. And my ass hurts a little, you know? Too much info but at this point, there’s nothing to hide.”
witnessing his reaction play out felt like being pulled back to the ground or like a rug being yanked from under him. he could feel his eyes well up with tears but it's quickly dissolved with a sniff. he didn't know why he thought the proposal would mean anything past a joke even after the night had elapsed and their hangovers had started to kick in. who was taeil, really? who was he in this situation, and why did it matter so much more than it should? why was it messing haru up to this extent and why hasn't he gotten off the bed to take his leave?
perhaps the negative bias he had about the wedding ceremony the day before was him projecting his inner wishes, the ones that he's never dared to confront. that's why it stung, this moment at hand.
many things have whet his appetite as of late. the dreaded topic of his love life's current has been brought up quite a few times. he'd been asked what he really wanted. he always mistook it as a question to mean career-wise, as that was his undeniable top priority. it's a question he's had to grapple with for years and yet he still didn't know the answer. as far as he's figured out, romantic and sexual attraction wasn't something he was well-adjusted with, if he even needed to be like the general population makes him feel.
his orientation was never immediately apparent by the things he espoused in or what he did as a broad concept, as he sought out "love" in its less traditional sense for the most part. his life was clumsy in this way. he doesn't live for a day or two. even if the seasons changed twenty times, he'd still be the same. his words are clumsy, too. he slurps at the things he'd explain so much that he wishes he could borrow the lips of those more proficient. he is a writer, after all. what he does is write, that's his way of speaking his mind. though it seemed to do with being unsure rather than a dearth of words. a friend did tell him that he looked lost. it was true, incessantly so. but that he acted like he knew what he was doing. that, he didn't.
one thing he was sure of, however, was that in all his experiences in the past, he found sexual activities of any kind to be revolting to a degree. maybe it was those specific encounters that turned him this way. he couldn't exactly say. he wasn't really the type to blame things on external sources. if anything, he hated even considering the likelihood that it might actually be something, someone that wasn't him. he took pride in that to an unhealthy standard.
still, it does not eliminate the possibly of them having engaged in sexual intercourse completely. between the two of them and all the alcohol running in their system, anything could have happened. he does vaguely recall waking up in the middle of the night, but none of the details. was it then that he tore his clothes off? where even were his clothes? in the moment of silence between the question posed, he looked around the room hoping to find some sort of hint but to no avail. the room was in as big of a mess as his state of mind. it was almost like he dreamed he forgot, when dreaming was meant for remembering.
it was this cycle again. one step forward, two steps back, over and over. the phone’s buzzing snaps him out of a trance, only to send him back into overdrive, overthinking what kind of messages he was receiving to elicit such a reaction. this attentive nature to him was a blessing and a curse, because when moments like their shoulders touching happens, everything melts into clarity, even just for a little while, but it also reminded him of an apparent unfamiliarity that, if logic permitted, would have concluded the morning and sent them both back to when either of their lives didn’t have each other.
amidst the bold yet tender gesture, haru finds it in him to calm down with a crow peeking sunlight of dappled woodland, bright and playful. uncharacteristic, almost. it was his soul that was vulnerable and honest. "it's fine. i'll keep it. it's a souvenir." he said softly, palm cupping at the finger in question. "but uh," he started off hesitantly. "what do you remember exactly?" he continued, scratching at his temple. "you know, 'cause... i have my version of what happened, and you have yours. we'd probably figure things out easier if we talked about it, right?"
haru pats taeil's cheek in the most awkward manner. he couldn't recall the last time he'd been skin to skin with someone just like this. it felt warm yet ill at ease, though perhaps his discomfort came from how confusing this arrangement was to begin with or because he was frozen in his spot, insecure about disturbing the peace they laid in. "sad to say, i don't know if we... fucked. i was knocked the fuck out at some point. i don't even remember if i had a dream." he mulled over arbitrarily, followed by a nervous laugh to his own saying, "but that's not important. sorry about your ass. let's get some clothes on and maybe some ice? a hot pack? idunno, fuck if i know what to do with an aching ass."
he abruptly stands up, scratching his head as he aimlessly inspected the room. the state of it was the kind that marie kondo would have walked into with a gleeful smile, saying 'i love mess'. perhaps even she could have done a better job at quickly resolving their uncertainties.
“you wanna help me out or you need a minute?”



















