tabula rasa
genre: doll!au
group & member: NCT’s Taeyong
word count: 10,913 words
brief synopsis: ignorance is bliss until the fruit of knowledge taints the palette with a taste of life that is forever engraved in his memory
The first time you saw the doll was in your grandmother’s antique shop, tucked away in one corner in a glass case with a ‘Display Only’ sticker on its mount.
“Why does that one have paper on it?”
Chuckling, the old woman beckoned for the four-year-old you to come away from the display.
“Display Only. It means it’s not for sale.”
“What if I want it, Grandmother?”
Crinkled hands grasped your eager fingers, firm in the refusal.
“I’m afraid not.”
“Why can’t I have it?”
She said nothing, only offering a vague response of waiting until you were older. Not understanding what it meant, your attention was quickly (and successfully) diverted to the stack of books balanced rather dangerously on one corner of the cash register. Tiny hands reaching for one, you shrieked in surprise when the entire stack tumbled down onto the floor, clattering and scattering of pages only adding to the impending tears that bubble out of your mouth.
“Be careful,” your grandmother chided, picking you up in her arms. “I don’t want your mother to start again at me letting you play in here, dear.”
In the midst of cleaning up, neither of you notice the movement within the glass case of the said doll.
Noticed. I was noticed.
—
Ever since you had seen that doll in your grandmother’s shop when you were four, you had a nagging feeling that it was meant to be yours.
Of course, being a commodity that belonged to the shop, it had the potential to be anyone’s if a buyer was willing to pay for it. But the fact that it was not only not for sale but also displayed only was–in your eyes–a sign of some sort. A sign that no one else was going to have it if you wanted it, and you indeed desperately wanted it.
However, year after year since you’ve asked, your grandmother’s reply was always the same.
“Maybe when you’re older, dear. Then I’ll consider it.”
Fifteen years and you were still being told the same string of words. Fed the same vague response whenever you mentioned anything about the doll.
—
“Grandmother, if you’re not going to sell it, why do you keep it out on the storefront?”
“I like to think of it as the centerpiece for this little shop,” she begins, turning the pages of the inventory records. “It attracts customers.”
“Is that why I can’t have it?” you chuckle. “Because otherwise you’d lose your magnet for customers?”
Closing the book, she reaches for the porcelain teapot on the display counter, pouring hot oolong tea into her cooled cup.
“That’s partly why.”
“What are the other reasons?”
“I’ll tell you when you’re older.”
“Grandmother, I’m already an adult. Isn’t that old enough?”
“They grow up so fast,” the old woman mumbles to herself, taking small sips of the cooling tea. “Seems like only yesterday when there was a little toddler bumping into things and squealing in excitement while running around my shop.”
“Grandmother!” you huff. “I didn’t squeal!”
“Oh, you were the cutest bundle of joy, my little angel.”
Crossing your arms, you resume your tidying while in denial of ever being a squealing baby, finishing up in a mere twenty minutes before asking if she had any last-minute things that needed to be done before you left for home.
“Run along, dear, this old lady is going to be just fine.”
“Grandmother, do you think… do you think I can use your doll as a sample for something?”
“A sample,” she echoes. “What type of sample?”
“A prototype. For a… personal project of mine.”
Narrowing eyes zone in on you and you try to dissipate the look of eagerness on your face.
“I’m not going to touch it,” you promise. “I just want to use it for reference.”
“It’s best if you don’t have anything to do with it.”
“Can I at least take a picture of it?” At least you’d have a picture even if you couldn’t directly reference it.
“Go ahead, dear.”
Luck must have been on your side, because the next morning your grandmother’s antique shop is the split image of an attempted robbery: empty windowpane, glass shards littering the floor, opened cabinets and papers strewn haphazardly across the perimeter of the storefront. Luckily no one had been hurt and no money was stolen from the cash register. All the items—although tossed and turned and heavily misplaced—were still present and quickly returned to their original spots.
Everything except for the doll that had been displayed at the center of the main display, its case empty. Shards of glass collect around the base of the stand, all littered amongst wisps of burnt cotton.
—
The loss of the doll didn’t seem to affect your grandmother at all. In fact, she seemed rather relieved it had been destroyed. You were glad she wasn’t too upset by her upturned shop, the impending frown on your face inevitable whenever you glanced at the empty corner where the doll used to be.
Your idea a bit impossible now, but at least you still had a picture to use for reference in recreating the toy that you were absolutely enamored with since childhood, determined to successfully make your own version of it since you couldn’t have the one owned by your grandmother.
Now, you have never been one with needle and thread, but the instructions listed in books borrowed from the library seem easy enough to comprehend, thus beginning the course of your journey in piecing together a replica of the doll you loved so much. The days spent locked up in your room are too long to count: spool after spool of colorful thread, button after button attached and detached, finger after finger pricked and droplet after droplet of blood spilled due to your novice sewing skills. If the bandages wrapped around your hands didn’t instill in you any thoughts of becoming the next mad scientist since Frankenstein, then the mountain of unfinished molds piling up in one corner of your room prove sufficient in convincing you the process was starting to border on insanity and irrationality. Ripped cloth arms and remnants of split-open cotton torsos needed to be disposed of at once before imagery of dismembered limbs start to pay your mind a visit once you turn in for the night.
Days shifting into months—you end up putting your project on hold to help with renovations for your grandmother’s shop—it takes a little more than a year to finish the body, or at least a workable version of it. Of course, no DIY is truly complete without a few tweaks to your liking that differed from your reference: a longer face, sharper jawline, ears that jutted out a bit like an elf’s… just minor tweaks. But the eyes, nose, mouth, and other facial/bodily features otherwise are perfected to the best of your ability during the trial process, the crash course of learning how to properly sew with your mother proving to be valuably helpful. The number of bandages on your hands lessen and the lines of sewn thread become more and more subtle until they are barely visible unless one sits down to look up close.
Ready for the final touch, you pull open the space above where the heart is and carefully pick up the small heart-shaped ruby between the metal prongs of your pincers, the custom-crafted jewel a gift from your grandmother on your 18th birthday. Fitting to use the king of precious stones as the core for your masterpiece, the intensity of red in the stone eerily mimicking the color of blood, a fluid essential for the most basic of human life and survival. The doll is potentially not the safest place to store such a precious jewel—given its value and all—but in the end, ingenuity outweighed the risk of forgetfulness. An unconventional choice of storage, yes, but with the unconventional comes reassurance that at least it is unusual enough to remain fresh in your memory. Plus, a lack of fear for robbers to go for a doll of all things rather than the more tangible valuables you kept in your room. Things like money, for starters. Or other antiques contributing to the minimalistic décor.
Really, it is quite a clever idea from your point of view.
Perhaps the excitement in completing your doll more than you bargained for, the prick on your finger catches you by surprise as the silver needle used as a placeholder in your unfinished sewing draws out a droplet of blood. Red dripping onto the surface of the ruby before soaking into the white cotton stuffing beneath the jewel, you dismiss the thought and lick your finger clean. Taking a deep breath, you hold your hand steady, lowering the ruby into the open slit and slowly removing the pincers before closing the compartment with a few quick stitches.
“Done,” you sigh, wiping at your unusually sweaty forehead while admiring the completed doll that had taken nearly a year to assemble. “I’m finally done. All my hard work—”
Your knees suddenly buckle beneath you and you reach out to grab one corner of your worktable to keep yourself steady.
“Goodness, I must be more tired than I thought.”
Regaining your footing again, you inspect the doll one more time, the frown unexpected at seeing what looked like a series of crinkles at the corner of the right eye. The rim of both eyes harbor somewhat of a smoky undertone, blackening the new fabric you had saved up to buy and the hair. What you remembered as synthetic fibers of black are now a rosy pink, and you hold back a sharp gasp upon opening the doll’s eyes. Brown now a sapphire blue, and if the light isn’t playing tricks you swear the sharpened face is now less cutting-edge and more… soft. Rounded out. Almost as if it was ready to come alive.
“I’m seeing things,” you mutter to yourself. “I should go to bed.”
You don’t get much shuteye when you jolt awake after two hours of restless sleep, especially not when you see the man sitting at the edge of your bed with the same rosy pink hair and sapphire blue eyes as your doll.
—
“Come here.”
He tilts his head and stands up, waiting for you to speak again.
“Come. Here.”
You gesture for him to come near you with a beckon of your hands and study him closely once he approaches.
“How interesting, you look just like the doll that I made.”
His mouth opens, lips contorting to form proper syllables.
“Do…ll. Doll.” He flourishes a hand towards to himself, slim fingers resting on his chest. “Me. Doll.”
“You’re the doll,” you repeat, chuckling in disbelief.
One nod.
“The doll that I created based on the one in my grandmother’s shop.”
A crinkle of eyebrows to comprehend your words and you find the hand-sewn doll sitting by the table.
“You can’t be the doll when it’s right here.”
“B-Body.” Words come more readily as he continues to speak. “That one… shell.”
“This is insane,” you mumble, digging through your bookshelf to find something to explain this phenomenon. Not 100% confirmed that this man is a human embodiment of the doll, but the eerie similarities in appearance are too uncanny to be dismissed as mere coincidence. Especially not when he possesses the same imperfections: the crinkles by the eye, pink hair, and sapphire blue eyes.
“Are you alive?” you ask him.
His hand shift to rest above what is his heart.
“Heavy.”
“And.” Bringing a finger up to his mouth, he bites with all his strength and you yelp at seeing the fresh stream of blood dripping from the open wound.
“Look. Blood.”
“Don’t do that!” you screech, still not quite processing the fact that an ethereal pink-haired and sapphire blue-eyed being had sprung from your handmade rendition of your grandmother’s prized doll. “Holy fucking shit, why did you just do that?”
There is a quizzical look on his sharp face, and you dig around your drawers for a spare bandage. He proceeds to walk forward, reaching out and cupping your face in his hands after you finished treating his injury.
“You look…”
“Please stop moving around,” you whisper, the shock still surging through your veins. “You’re giving me anxiety.”
“Unhappy?” he finishes, tilting his head to look at you from the side.
“Shock. Do you have a name?”
“Name?”
He releases you from his hold, staring blankly up at the ceiling before looking back down at you.
“Many… names. Before.” His words are stilted and choppy, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle positioned at the correct spot but not put together properly. “But there’s one… that I remember most.”
“And what is that? I think that’s what I’ll call you since I can’t keep calling you doll.”
“T…Tae… Taeyong. I remember Taeyong.”
“Then I’ll call you Taeyong,” you nod in the affirmative. “My name is Y/N. You can call me that or… yes, just call me Y/N.”
—
Taeyong is like a child. More specifically, he is no different from a blank slate—pure and untouched, a piece of paper waiting for the ink to seep into its surface to fill it with knowledge of the world and more.
Your apartment only meant for one person, you manage to find room here and there to accommodate another. Converting the study that you used as your inventor’s laboratory into a cozy little bedroom for Taeyong, you lay out the spare pink futon tucked away in the back of your closet for his use and clear out some of the clutter to give him space to put his things. Not that he had much to begin with, but having that space allowed for you to at least sleep better knowing he was properly accounted for.
It also serves as a perfect excuse to take him out shopping for new clothes and the other necessities while buying for yourself in the process.
If there’s anything you notice about him, he’s a bit slow to pick up on things. The blank slate that is Taeyong needed a little extra time to process any thoughts or questions directed at him, each bit of new information sinking slowly into the crevices of his memory when coming to contact with new stimuli. Or perhaps it was simply his nature, patience a virtue of his as he stands still when you hand him different outfits to try and pull him around different stores, withstanding it all without any utterance of complaint.
And he never gives a definitive answer when you ask him what he liked or didn’t like. Always the same reply, always “anything you like I like.” Confronting him about it did little to the matter when the word “no” seemingly isn’t in his vocabulary at all.
“Taeyong, do you like this?”
His head turns, eyes wide at the silver spoon by his mouth.
“Cold.”
“Try it,” you urge. “It’s ice cream, my favorite.”
Lips licking at the spoon, he swallows and the cooling sensation trickling down his throat brings a pleased smile to his angled face.
“I… like it.”
“Here, try these too.”
After letting him sample a variety of street foods, you make a trip to the supermarket and realize that he has a fond liking for sweets, the shine in his eyes hard to miss in the presence of anything with sugar in it, especially chocolate. Chocolate a growing favorite of his, you only wish he had told you beforehand to buy more of those rather than subjecting him to something he didn’t particularly want.
“You need to tell me what you like and don’t like,” you bring up one night in front of the television, a bag of dried fruit in hand while a documentary on the history of medieval Europe plays on screen. “Otherwise I just keep buying what I want.”
“I like what you like.”
You hand Taeyong the dried fruit and the crinkling of his nose is unmistakable.
“What’s wrong? I thought you like what I like.”
“Hmm.”
“Are you just going to grumble cutely when it’s obvious you don’t like it?”
“I… Hmm.”
“This is all I’m going to buy for you next time I stop by the supermarket,” you suggest. “Dried fruit. No more chocolate.”
“I,” he blurts out. “I like… chocolate more.”
“Then what should you do if I offer you dried fruit or something else you don’t like?”
The look of absolute misery is tangible as he opens his mouth and shakes his head, the thought of defying you unimaginable in his perception of how to respond.
“Say no,” Taeyong mumbles at last. “And… tell you what I like.”
“What do you like, Taeyongie?”
“Choc… Chocolate.”
“Good boy.”
You lean forward and pat his head two times, a noise of surprise leaving your mouth when he suddenly grabs your hand and uses it to pat the top of his head.
“I… like that too,” he whispers. “I like that a lot.”
“Aren’t you an affectionate one.”
Your words prompt an eager bundling of his arms around you—him obviously pleased at the discovery of more intimacy at the new position.
“I like this too.”
“You’re a hugger, that’s for sure,” you joke. “Imagine if you learn about kisses.”
“What’s a… kisses?” His hold tightens. “Is that like this?”
“No,” you wheeze, loosening up his grip. “What you did just now was a hug. A bone-crushing one at that.”
“Then what’s kisses?”
Warmth radiating from your flushed cheeks, you unhook Taeyong’s arms from your waist and scoot to the other end of the couch, unable to make eye contact with him.
“What’s kisses?”
“I…” You cover your face with your hands. “I’m not the right person to tell you.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” Peeking out from the cracks in between your fingers, you catch the inquisitive spark dancing in his dark eyes. “Kisses are higher level than hugs and people would only use it in special situations.”
“Are we not a special situation?”
His bluntness only intensifies the heat on your face and you shake your head.
“What would make us a special situation?” Taeyong continues, scooting down all the way until he is right next to you. “Why is this right now not a special situation?”
“Because I don’t love you, Taeyong. Kisses are for people who love each other and I don’t love you that way.”
“Do you think you can love me?”
Question after question paired with round pleading eyes and eager, open-mouthed grins from the humanoid doll only flusters you more and you excuse yourself to take a breather outside, away from Taeyong and his endless curiosity at kisses and love.
Would he, a doll made from fabric scraps and possessed a jewel for a heart, even understand what love is?
—
Avoiding Taeyong wasn’t easy, especially when he practically hovered around you 24/7. The spark of excitement dancing in his large doll eyes is a look that has you weak in the knees, a look so full of love and adoration that it physically pains you to have to look away and pretend not to notice. It isn’t that you hate him, but more so that you didn’t want him to ask the question he has yet to receive an answer to, the question about love and kisses pushing at a boundary ceasing to exist once you provide an answer.
Ultimately, he is still a doll. A creation completed after 365 days of sewing thread and cutting fabric, days of lost sleep and redesigning to mold the perfect prototype before the final product. And here you are—his creator—viewing him as a real human just like yourself when he is very much nothing like a human at all?
Call it foolish or misattribution of emotion, but this is the first time you’ve harbored such deep feelings for anyone or anything, blossoms of love blooming within the depths of your heart and soul for the strawberry-haired, sapphire-eyed doll that had come to life from your very own worktable.
“You’re distracted, dear.”
Dazed, you fail the register your surroundings until you feel the sharp prodding of the cash register against your stomach, your finger unintentionally pressing it to push open.
“Oh my god, I’m—”
“It’s alright,” your grandmother says calmly. “We all have our off days.”
Closing the opened compartment of the register, you sigh and reach for the green mug that held your rose tea from the hour before, only to find it completely void of even the tiniest drop of liquid or the daintiest rose petal.
“Didn’t I have tea in here?”
“I was about to ask if you wanted me to make you tea. You had the pot and tea leaves ready in the backroom but didn’t even make it before walking out into your stupor over the register.”
Awkward laughter erupts throughout the shop and you hurriedly excuse yourself to finish what you had started, mug in hand as your feet shuffle to the backroom. Working at your grandmother’s shop today very clearly a fruitless effort in diverting your attention away from Taeyong.
Tea brewed, you return to the shopfront and nearly drop the cup when you spot the source of your scattered thoughts standing by the entrance, sheepishly staring at the ground when he notices your presence.
“This young man was asking for you, my dear angel,” your grandmother begins. “Is he a friend of yours?”
You put down your untouched tea at the sight of the pink-haired boy. “How did you find this place?”
“I followed you today and was waiting,” comes the quiet reply. “I didn’t want to be alone.”
Exchanging a glance with your grandmother, you are left alone with Taeyong and the first to break the silence.
“Have you thought of moving out?”
“M… Move out?”
“Just a thought,” you muse. “My apartment isn’t really a space meant to accommodate more than one person. Maybe some time apart would be good for you.”
“I… I have nowhere else to go.”
Although you can hear the plea in his voice, you ignore it and continue to play out your end of the conversation in afterthoughts.
“I’m sure you can find a place to stay if it comes to that point.”
“I have nowhere to go besides with you,” Taeyong mumbles. “No one knows me and I know of no one else but you.”
“You’re self-sufficient. You’ll manage.”
“Please… Please don’t throw me away.” Sinking to his knees, Taeyong glances up at you with eyes of despair. “I was nothing until I met you.”
“Taeyong, what—”
Two seconds later you find yourself enveloped in a tight embrace, surprised at such strength from a doll made of cotton stuffing.
“Please don’t throw me away,” he whispers again, sniffling as tears trickle down his face. “I’ll be good, I won’t be a bother, please don’t… I’ll die if I’m alone.”
“Taeyong…”
“Please...” He pulls on the hem of your shirt, slim fingers grasping firmly without tearing the fabric. “Please don’t leave me alone.”
The sound of his tears practically cracking your heart into two, you immediately wrap your arms around him, murmuring apologies for making him cry when he did nothing wrong.
“Promise?” he murmurs when he stands back up. “You promise you won’t leave me alone?”
“I…”
“I’ll be good,” he adds with a sniffle. “I really will be good.”
“I… I promise.”
“You two made up, I presume?”
At hearing your grandmother’s voice, you hurriedly break free from the hug and find the floor absolutely fascinating, never noticing how shiny the wooden tiles are despite working there for a good portion of your life.
“Grandmother, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Young man, you’re holding my granddaughter’s hand quite tightly there.”
“What—” You look up from the floor and spot the slim fingers tightly interlocked with your own.
“Let go,” you whisper to Taeyong. “I’m losing circulation.”
He reluctantly lets go and your grandmother chuckles at his slouched form and eyes that practically avoided all contact.
“A bit shy, isn’t he?”
“He’s not usually like this,” you laugh, nudging at him. “Say hi to my grandmother.”
“Young man,” the old woman starts, curiosity at the tip of her tongue when Taeyong finally looks up. “Where have I seen you before?”
“You’ve seen him before, Grandmother?”
Fingers crossed behind your back, you wait for her to answer, praying that she doesn’t put two and two together and realizes that Taeyong is the spitting image of the doll that used to reside in her shop.
“I can’t seem to recall,” she concludes. “Old age works wonders on the brain in eating away at the memories within it.”
Swallowing a sigh of relief, you quickly stammer a goodbye and when a firm hand holds you back.
“Be careful around him, dear. Memories freshly made and memories remembered are two very different things.”
—
Your grandmother’s cryptic words linger in your mind on the way home, hand once again subjected to the tight grip that threatened to break all five of your fingers in one go.
Memories freshly made and memories remembered are two very different things.
“What does she mean by that?” you murmur, not quite understanding the meaning behind it. “Two different set of memories?”
“I’m hungry.”
The whine and tug on your sleeve brings forth a quick shush and you usher Taeyong inside the apartment, directing him to a cabinet in the kitchen designated to hold his favorite chocolate. If sweets could kill, he would’ve died ages ago from the amount of sugar intake in the span of a day.
“Do you want chocolate?”
You shake your head at his offer and turn to study the pink-haired boy chomping happily on the sweet in his hands, too deep in the stupor to realize you were being studied in return until you feel the pat on your head.
“Don’t do that.”
He dips his head in apology, blue eyes radiating a soft warmth as he stares at you.
“I love you.”
“What do you know about love, hmm?”
“I know I like being with you,” he offers. “And I know you like being with me too.”
You scoff at his bold accusation. “Says who?”
“I see the way you look at me sometimes. It’s a look of—”
Knobbly fingers tap thoughtfully at his cheek until he formulates the rest of his answer.
“It’s a loving look.”
You cross your arms, a frown etched firmly on your face.
“You can’t say that’s love when you don’t even know what love is.”
“It’s a different look than everyone else,” Taeyong insists, eyes twinkling like spots of sunlight on a still ocean surface. “It’s a look only I get.”
“Cheeky,” you mutter, refusing to admit that he is somewhat correct. “Cheeky, cheeky know-it-all.”
“I love you lots,” he repeats, looping his arms around you in a secure embrace. “We’re a special situation. Special situation means—”
“Nope, none of that.”
“Why don’t you want to kiss me?”
The question is almost a plea from the embedded undertone of desperation for a clear-cut answer, one that you know you should give but didn’t want to give for not only his sake but also your own.
“Kissing you…” you say at last. “Kissing you means I love you.”
“You don’t love me?”
“I… I don’t know if I should love you.”
“But I love you,” Taeyong pouts, “And you feel the same, I know it.”
“Sometimes two people who love each other can’t be together.”
His arms slack, you take the chance to try and sneak away, only to be pulled back; your lips press against a pair that leaves you breathless along with an entangled hand in your hair.
“I want to be together with you.” His tongue prod at your bottom lip, begging for entrance to claim as his own. “Please let me be together with you.”
“Taeyong—”
“Please,” he begs. “You promised you would never leave me alone.”
The quiet plea is the cherry on top to crumble all your defenses, your head nodding ever so slightly as you open up to let him in.
—
“You love me.”
A cloud of pink hovers over your head and orbs of sapphire blue glimmer with adoration while blinking lovingly at you.
“Taeyong, move.”
Your grumbles left unanswered, he squishes closer, pressing his face up to yours and bravely pecking your cheek with a quick kiss.
“You love me,” he repeats, blinking again with that familiar softness.
“Has that been the only thing on your mind since?”
Furious nods give way to increased attempts at stealing kisses, and you throw a pillow to deter him before giving in to the entangled limbs that trap you in his hold.
“You love me and I love you,” Taeyong whispers, unable to keep still the widening grin on his face. “You love me and I love you, you, you.”
His confessions of love soften your mushy heart and you smile before pulling him closer and returning the same words, the look of surprise and pure joy on his face a sight for sore eyes.
“We can be together now,” he mumbles while making himself comfortable next to you, arms wrapping around your waist and head resting against your chest.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Mmm.”
“Taeyong, where… where did you come from?”
“Huh?”
“Where did you come from?” you ask again. “Because as silly as this sounds, you’re clearly not human, so… where did you come from?”
“I don’t remember anything like that,” he admits. “I remember opening my eyes and then seeing you.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“Is it bad?” he frets, puppy-dog eyes wide. “Are there things I’m supposed to remember?”
“Don’t worry about it,” you reassure him. “I was just wondering.”
Twenty more minutes of cuddles and you finally convince him to get up, wiggling out of his reach when he tries to pull you into his arms again.
Clingy. So, so clingy.
“No chocolate,” you scold him when he reaches into his cabinet of chocolate in the kitchen. “Chocolate for breakfast is unhealthy.”
“But I like chocolate,” he whines, chocolate bar already in hand. “It’s my favorite.”
“Put it back. I’ll make you something else and you can have chocolate later.”
He reluctantly gives in and you usher him out of the kitchen to focus on making food without being distracted by the biggest distraction there existed.
“What’s that?” he mumbles at the stack of pancakes before him fifteen minutes later. “It doesn’t look like chocolate at all.”
“Pancakes. Bon appétit.”
“There’s no chocolate.”
“Taeyong, at least try it before you start complaining, please?”
Grumbling like an upset five-year-old, he stabs the fork into the pancakes and you nervously look on. The presentation looking decent enough, the real success is whether you can get a smile and have him finish everything without whining for a chocolate bar instead.
“How is it?” you ask when he gestures for you to come over. “You don’t like it?”
“I love it!” he pipes up, pulling you to a hug as he nuzzles your face. “There’s chocolate inside!”
“Yes, I put in chocolate chips to make it extra special.”
Picking up his fork again, Taeyong makes sure to share the remainder of the pancakes with you, alternating between feeding you and himself until there only remained crumbs on the previous stacked plate of eight.
“Can we cuddle more?” he asks brightly, eyes shining while he bounces around you like an excited puppy.
“I have work at my grandmother’s shop today,” you begin gently. “Maybe another time.”
“But I want more cuddles now.”
“First thing when I come back,” you promise. “Fair?”
“…I suppose.”
You lean forward to kiss him on the cheek and he grumbles before turning away, finally letting you go.
—
“Have you seen my reading glasses, dear?”
“Grandmother, they’re dangling on the chain around your neck.”
“Goodness,” the old woman gasps as she put the silver frames back on. “I’m getting more and more forgetful by the minute.”
“Old age,” you chuckle, wiping down a rose-patterned dresser on hold for a customer. “It comes with the package.”
“Are you making a joke out of me?” she laughs, glasses perched atop her head.
“Never.”
“I thought so.”
“Not a lot of customers lately,” you speak up when an hour goes by. “At least not since the renovations.”
“Perhaps I should invest in a customer charm,” she muses. “Hasn’t been the same since the doll disappeared.”
The doll. Taeyong.
“Grandmother,” you begin slowly. “Why did you never give me the doll?”
“What doll, dear?”
“The doll you always kept on display. You know, the one I kept asking you about?”
“Oh, goodness, that one?”
“Yes, that one. The one you would never sell and always told me no when I said I wanted it.”
“And don’t say I’m not old enough,” you add on. “Because—”
“That doll, dear… it’s a dangerous item.”
“It’s just a doll, Grandmother. A doll that you never gave me no matter how often I asked.”
“That’s… That’s because it’s cursed, my dear angel.”
You drop the rag in your hand onto the floor.
“Cursed?”
She nods, taking her glasses off and placing them on the counter, sensing this is an overdue conversation to have.
“The maker, dear… the maker said it developed a will of its own after she made it.”
“What do you mean?”
“The eyes would blink at her. The slightest puff of breath behind her neck when she worked on a new piece even though she lived alone. Sometimes she locked it up in a box and the next morning it reappeared by her bed as if it hadn’t been moved at all. It spoke to her and established an identity for itself, constantly asking why she never looked at him after making him.”
“But…” You find yourself at a loss for words. “But it looked perfectly fine…”
“She was determined it was possessed by a spirit of some sort and came begging for me to take it off her hands,” your grandmother continues with a shake of her head. “Since then, I’ve tried selling it to multiple owners but they would always come back saying they’ve had enough with a doll that just kept following them everywhere they went. Strange things.”
“Because of a doll?”
“The relief at seeing it destroyed before the renovation,” she sighs. “It was as if a large boulder had been lifted off my shoulders when I didn’t see it in its case anymore.”
“Why… Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“I never told you because I had no intention of letting you own such a dangerous item when I saw how attached you were to it.”
“But Grandmother…”
“Please forgive me for my selfishness in simply wanting you to grow up safe from harm, dear,” your grandmother whispers. “This was an overdue conversation and I only regret not telling you about it sooner until I saw that young man of yours come into the shop.”
—
“You’re back!”
Your heart aches when you hear the high-pitched chirp in Taeyong’s voice, and you close the door behind you.
“What happened? You look sad.”
“I… Can you leave me alone?”
“Why?”
“Taeyong, please just leave me alone.”
He looked ready to protest, but nods at your request.
“Okay.”
Once alone, you head upstairs, entering your room with a loud sigh and locking the door before reaching for the doll sitting by the side of your bed.
“This is crazy,” you mutter as you fish for the sewing kit kept in the top drawer. “But I have to try it. If he’s really…”
Pulling out a needle, you hold it carefully over the homemade cloth doll before stabbing it into the right shoulder, closing your eyes shut while waiting for something to happen.
Nothing happens, so you pull the needle out and change trajectory, aiming for the chest next.
The abrupt cry of pain from next door is so full of anguish that you drop all your things immediately, hand pounding on the door to be let in when it creaks open slowly, revealing a pink ball of fluff very obviously in pain.
“What’s wrong?”
“My heart suddenly hurt,” Taeyong whimpers from his fetal position on the floor. “First my shoulders and then…”
One hand clutches over his heart as he forces himself to sit up.
“I don’t know what happened, it… it just suddenly started hurting.”
You open your arms and he immediately rushes at you, holding on tightly.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it won’t hurt anymore,” you whisper, kissing his temple. “I went too far, I’m so sorry.”
I could’ve killed him if I had stabbed hard enough with the needle.
“Can you stay here with me?” he hiccups, glancing at you with soaked blue eyes.
“I’ll stay.”
“Promise?”
He sounded so broken that you find it hard to even think about denying his request.
“I promise.”
—
You didn’t know how to bring it up.
The blank slate that had been Taeyong now a pink bundle of clingy and cute, it’s a lethal combination that has your heart melting quicker than ever before. Besides the otherworldly appearance, he was also attentive to your likes and dislikes, fun to be around and just… it is hard to believe such a lovely and ethereal being is a manifestation of a cursed doll.
Dangerous? One glance at his twinkling puppy eyes and you wanted to say he was anything but.
“Y/N?”
You stir, wincing at the numbness in your arms.
“What time is it?” you yawn. “It’s so.. so dark out.”
“Almost midnight,” he replies quietly, shifting to hold you better. “Are you sleepy?”
“A little bit.” You yawn again. “Or maybe a lot.”
“You can sleep here with me tonight,” he suggests. “So you wouldn’t have to move.”
You shake your head. “I shouldn’t.”
“W…Why not?” His bottom lip quivers. “You… You don’t like me anymore?”
“No, Taeyong, it’s not that.”
“Then why don’t you want to stay?”
The sound of cracking glass catches your attention and you immediately perk up.
“What was that?”
“You don’t want to stay with me…” The temperature in the room drops to an even colder chill. “You don’t want me… you’re going to throw me away just like everybody else…”
The crevice on the window begins to grow and branch outwards, panic settling in as you start piecing together the loose puzzle pieces.
This must be one of those strange incidents Grandmother was referring to.
“Taeyong,” you begin slowly, a bit frightened but pushing it down when your current concern is to stop him from losing control. “Calm down—”
With an earsplitting crack, the window shatters completely. You immediately pull his head down, using your arms to cover the back of his neck as shards of sharp glass rain down on you in a swath of clear jagged edges.
“Did… Did I do that?” he whispers, fear running amok in his wide sapphire eyes.
You choose to ignore his question, making a face at the array of tiny cuts across your forearms. “That’s going to sting when I apply antiseptic on it.”
“What…” He gingerly takes hold of your arms, fear and concern all rolling into universal distress. “Did I do that to you?”
“No,” you lie, not wanting to see him cry again. “It isn’t your fault the window broke.”
“I never wanted to hurt you,” he snivels. “I’m sorry, I just thought about you not wanting me and… and I…”
Your lamp flickers out despite being plugged in and you lean forward to kiss him quiet before he caused any more paranormal activity.
“It is not your fault the window broke,” you tell him again after breaking away from the kiss. “Repeat after me. It is not my fault the window broke.”
“It is not my fault the window broke,” he repeats, still sniffling.
“There we go,” you sigh, patting his head again. “It’s okay now.”
“I… I’m scared.”
“Don’t be. You don’t have to be scared.”
“I’m… I’m scared I might do things like I did before.”
“Before?”
He nods, staring down at his hands as the fog lifts to let in all the memories kept in the dark.
“Terrible things. T…Terrible things just to get noticed by my previous owners.”
—
In this dollhouse sits three figures before an elaborately set up tea party: a lion, a hare, and a third creature that looked to be a cross between a mouse and a bear. Three porcelain cups with yellow daffodils engraved on the handles make their rounds to each of the guests, set down on their respective saucers next to the single sugar cube resting on the matching silver stirring spoon.
The lion takes the cup of tea and raises it to his mouth, humming in delight.
“Mmm. Lemon.”
The hare drops the sugar cube into his tea and frowns upon taking the first sip.
“Chamomile. Disgusting.”
The mouse-bear continues to snore through the lion’s bicker with the hare regarding tea taste, his cup growing cold with each passing minute.
Lemon, chamomile, neither get to finish their tea before the strawberry-colored fox sneaking up on the bickering group swallows all the chocolate macarons from their cake stand, slinking away to avoid a beating from the trio for his act of covert theft.
—
The next morning, Taeyong tells you everything he remembers from before: his first memories after being made, his experiences with each of his previous owners, the ups and downs of each portion of his journey until he finally stops at his current relationship with you. Some of the things he spoke of sound impossible, but if there is anything you’ve learned since meeting him, it’s that anything, no matter how ridiculous and seemingly impossible, is possible.
“Why didn’t you remember your past experiences from the very beginning?” you ask out of curiosity after he finishes telling his tale.
“I’m… I start fresh with each new owner,” he explains, gripping your hand for dear life. “Each time I’m abandoned, I lose a part of myself and relive the cycle of being loved and thrown away nonstop.”
You squeeze his hand reassuringly and tears well up in his eyes again.
“Are you going to throw me away?”
“No,” you tell him honestly. “No, I’m not going to throw you away.”
“You’re lying.” His tears soak into your shoulder, not believing a single word. “You’re going to throw me away.”
“Taeyong…”
“I’m not like you.” He takes your hand and places it over his chest, waiting for you to notice what is missing.
“It’s quiet,” you murmur. “And unusually cold.”
“I don’t have a heart,” he sniffles. “There’s weight here but it doesn’t beat with life like yours does. You’re going to throw me away because I’m dead weight that you don’t need.”
“I love you, Taeyong, I’m not going to throw you away. Don’t you remember all the promises I made to you about not throwing you away?”
The pink-haired doll looks up at you with a slight nod as you proceed to wipe away his tears.
“You… You promised me.”
“That’s right, I did promise you. And Taeyong?”
“Mmm.”
“I’m happy with you. Whatever you are—”
You take a deep breath before continuing, words chosen carefully to inform him of the result from hours of self-contemplation prior to his telling of his memories with his previous owners.
“I accept you as you are and want to see you smile instead of cry, okay? Because your smile is beautiful and I love that 10,000 times more than your tears.”
You smile for him and he does his best to follow suit, a tight-lipped smile offered your way.
“Wider,” you coax. “I want to see teeth with the next one.”
His smile widens and you kiss him on the cheek for the toothy grin.
“That’s my favorite.”
He doesn't move for the next hour and another question eases itself into the open.
“Have you ever wanted to become human?”
“Human,” Taeyong echoes. “Like you?”
You nod. “Precisely.”
“I’ve always wanted to be human like you.”
“Are there… ways for you to turn into a human?”
“I don’t know,” he admits. “But I would do anything to become human.”
“Tomorrow,” you speak up after a moment’s pause. “Tomorrow, let’s go see my grandmother. She’s the one who kept you for the longest and many customers had inquired about you before, so maybe… maybe she can remember something that can help with that.”
“What if she doesn’t know how to help?”
“Then… Then we’ll figure something else out. There’s bound to be a way, we just need to keep looking.”
“If…” he begins quietly. “If I become human, will you still love me the same as you do now?”
“I will love you just as much if not even more,” you reply, kissing him again—this time on the lips. “Human or doll or whatever you are.”
He returns the kiss with one of desperate fervor and you let him bundle you up in his arms. Once up in your room, he kisses you again, hard enough to draw blood while offering all his vulnerability, insecurities, and most of all, love.
—
The atmosphere of the tea party quickly grows cold, the lion and hare resorting to deliberate ignorance of the other’s taste palette as they sip their own cups of tea. The mouse-bear continues snoring, oblivious to their argument and stirring when a tickling sensation in the form of a butterfly fluttering its wings at the tip of his nose brings him out of slumber.
“Do either of you know what’s happened to the chocolate macarons?”
Lion and hare turn towards the now devoid-of-chocolate-macarons cake stand at the center of the table and rise from their chairs in indignation.
“No chocolate macarons!” the hare shouts, thumping his feet angrily. “Who ate them all?”
“I didn’t have any,” the lion adds helpfully. “I was arguing with you about tea.”
The still sleepy mouse-bear reaches over to the cake stand and stuck in his right claw is a strand of strawberry pink fur.
“The fox ate them all.”
“The fox!”
“The fox.”
“He will pay,” the hare declares, ears swiveling left and right. “He will pay dearly for eating our macarons!”
The lion roars in agreement, and there is no feedback from their third companion other than deep snores and sleepy inaudible mumbles muffled by the velveteen tablecloth that covered the table of tea and sweets.
—
“Ready?”
Taeyong grips your hand tightly, voice small as he answers with a mumbled no.
“It’ll be okay, I promise.”
You push open the door and your grandmother looks up from her book of records for inventory, gesturing for you to come closer to the counter.
“This is the doll?”
“Yes, Grandmother.” You turn to say something into Taeyong’s ear and he reluctantly steps forward, attention focused on the items behind the glass rather than looking your grandmother in the eye.
“So it’s just as I’ve heard,” she nods, “He really only has an interest in his owner.”
“What do you mean?” you ask, confused by her words.
“The biggest and most common issue about him was attachment. He forms attachment very quickly, dear, so quickly that he’ll do anything to keep a hold onto whoever he’s most attached to. Paranormal activity, for starters. Or in your case, extreme clinginess.”
“Is that why you always hold my hand so tightly?” you whisper to Taeyong, nudging him gently.
“I don’t want you to leave,” he mumbles in return, shuffling behind you again. “You promised me.”
A knowing cough from your grandmother brings the conversation back on track and you nudge Taeyong once more before turning your attention back to the topic at hand.
“He wants to be human?” she inquires.
“Yes,” Taeyong murmurs softly. “I want to be human.”
“You can speak.”
“Yes.”
“Wait here, young man.”
She heads into the backroom and you hum a tune while holding Taeyong’s hand when she returns.
“This is a business card of a customer who has come in every year asking if I would sell him the doll,” she starts, handing over the card. “He was very adamant about revoking the refusal but I never gave in. Sometimes mentioning things such as a clever fox for hiding in a doll. An eccentric character.”
“Tea for Three Teahouse,” you recite. “This place is actually just two streets down.”
“I’ve never noticed,” she remarks. “But perhaps my memory is failing me more than I anticipated. Try there and see if he can help, dear.”
“Thank you,” Taeyong chirps, speaking directly to her for the first time. “Thank you very much.”
“You’re very welcome and I hope you’ll treat my granddaughter well, young man.”
“Grandmother, he has a name,” you chime in. “It’s Taeyong.”
“Taeyong,” she repeats, eyes breaking into crinkled half-moon curves. “What a beautiful name.”
—
You almost miss it if not for Taeyong, the teahouse almost obscure despite being a quaint little place painted in obnoxious hot pink with green accented windows. Your head swivels to and fro as you pushed open the doors, taking in the green and pink interior that matched its exterior to utmost accuracy.
“Welcome, are you here for tea?”
You turn around and spot a lean figure standing by what looks like a concierge’s desk, his purple hair an eccentricity against an outfit of what looks to be an eye-print suit, the impression of being stared at from all angles not very pleasant.
“Tea for two?”
You shake your head. “Not exactly. I’m looking for a… Kim Doyoung?”
He smiles. “Right this way, miss.”
“I’m not here for tea, I—”
“Right this way, please.”
Sensing that he isn’t going to take no for an answer, you reluctantly follow him and gesture for Taeyong to follow as well, your party of two taken into a spacious room of green foliage hanging from pots underneath the glass ceiling and a long table with enough seats for at least twenty guestes.
“Take a seat and join us,” he gestures, taking a seat at the head of the table. “We’ll start our tea party shortly.”
Taeyong sits down first and his fingers gloss over the velveteen tablecloth.
“Is everything okay?” you ask, concerned by the passive expression on his face.
“I’m… I’m okay.”
“We have guests,” their host shouts, clinking a fork against a glass of ice water. “We have guests!”
“Guests!”
You shriek in surprise when you are bumped from behind, Taeyong reaching out a hand to steady your footing as a boy dressed in bright watermelon pink and a black cherry print tie slides into the empty seat on your left.
“Sit down please, miss guest!”
“Mark, wake Johnny up. He shouldn’t be sleeping when we have guests.”
“Excuse me,” you interrupt. “But I came here looking for someone, not to have tea.”
“Who are you looking for?” the boy you now know as Mark chirps. “Can’t be me since we haven’t met until now.”
“I’m looking for a Kim Doyoung?”
“Oh, he greeted you when you first came in, miss guest!”
The purple haired host bows and smiles whimsically. “Greetings and welcome, oh guests of ours.”
“Johnny,” Doyoung snaps to his right. “We have guests!”
The slumped figure at Doyoung’s immediate right stirs and lifts his head up, a sleepy smile lighting up his face at seeing you and Taeyong.
“Oh, we have guests.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying,” Doyoung scoffs, rolling his eyes. “But do you listen? No.”
Johnny adjusts his purple pinstriped suit and you squint from the glint of the silver earring on his left ear shining into your eyes. What an eccentric bunch, these three.
Doyoung claps his hands in delight. “Tea, please!”
The teapot makes its way around the table and after everyone has been served, you raise the porcelain cup to your lips, pleasantly surprised by the taste of rich earl grey in your mouth.
“Strawberries, this is chamomile again!” Doyoung complains, slamming his cup down. “Mark, I’ve told you multiple times to not make mine chamomile!”
“It’s lemon,” the younger boy explains, rolling his eyes at Doyoung’s complaint. “I never make chamomile when my favorite is lemon.”
Johnny takes a sip from his cup and makes a face.
“Oolong. Not my top choice.”
“Why are they each reporting different types of tea?” you whisper to Taeyong. “Mine’s earl grey, but theirs is all over the place.”
Taeyong doesn’t answer, and you poke him again before realizing his eyes are fixated on the cake stand.
“You want cake?”
“Still no chocolate,” he points out, visibly upset at the lack of his favorite food.
“Excuse me,” you speak up above the bickering. “Do you have any chocolate sweets to go with the tea?”
“We have every type except for chocolate,” Mark answers, putting down his lemon tea. “Our chocolate desserts were stolen.”
“Stolen,” you repeat. “By who?”
“By a fox,” Doyoung scowls darkly. “Been trying to track him for years.”
“But you found him recently, didn’t you?” Mark questions, tilting his head to the right so he is staring directly at Taeyong. “He’s not the type to show willingly unless someone brings him.”
“Oh yes.” Doyoung turns his gaze onto Taeyong as well. “But it doesn’t seem like he remembers.”
A feeling on unease settles in your bones as they stare at Taeyong and you unconsciously scoot your chair closer to him.
“It’s okay,” Taeyong murmurs, rubbing his fingers against the velveteen tablecloth. “They’ve been looking for me for a long time.”
“Taeyong, they don’t look like they’re your friends.”
“We’re not,” Mark chimes in, smiling at your naivety. “We’re—”
“We are hosts of a tea party,” Doyoung smirks, this one more crooked and harboring a sinister aura to the grin. “A mad tea party.”
—
In Wonderland, Alice stumbles upon the Mad Hatter and his cronies enjoying tea, interrupting their conversation with inquiries of their silly riddles and eventually leaving in disappointment at their lack of hospitality for the new guest.
But this isn’t Wonderland, and today Alice stumbles upon the hare and his companions holding a strawberry-colored fox by the scruff of its neck, ready to skin the thief alive for eating all their chocolate macarons and throwing them into an endless loop of everlasting tea time with inconsistent servings of tea and incomplete desserts to finish the party.
—
“You owe us for stealing the chocolate macarons,” Doyoung says as he gets up from his seat, grabbing Taeyong and shaking him roughly by the shoulders. “The Hatter had to pay for the mishap of no chocolate macarons to deliver to the Queen’s high tea!”
“Compensation is long overdue,” Mark sighs. “If only he had something of equal value to give us in return.”
“I have nothing to offer,” Taeyong mumbles. “Nothing but an apology for stealing the macarons.”
“Who are you people?” you demand, head spinning at the information whirling all around you from left and right.
“We are here looking for him,” Doyoung answers, holding Taeyong by the neck. “This fox that stole our chocolate macarons and cost us the Hatter.”
“The head of our tea party,” Mark offers helpfully. “Our land’s best host for tea parties.”
It sounds more and more like a knockoff of Alice in Wonderland by the minute, but you hold your tongue, glancing at the pink figure with his head hung low in apology. It should have been a no brainer that there was more to him than meets the eye.
“He thought he was clever,” Doyoung continues. “Hiding in a doll to avoid our prying eyes.”
“But he couldn’t avoid the Queen’s curse,” Mark giggles. “Clever but not good enough.”
“What should we do with this thief?”
“We can skin him to make strawberry macarons,” Johnny yawns. “Except I’m not that fond of strawberries.”
“How about offering him in exchange for the Hatter?” Mark suggests. “One for one trade.”
As suggestions of what to do with Taeyong are thrown out into the open, you remember your grandmother’s words prior to the tea party and ask Mark to hand you the bag hanging from your chair after Doyoung dismisses his idea to make Taeyong their servant during teatime.
“I don’t know who you are,” you begin once you have their attention. “But clearly Taeyong is one of you and did you wrong by disrupting your tea party.”
“Yes,” Doyoung confirms, maintaining a secure hold on a limp Taeyong. “One-upped by a sly fox.”
“I can compensate you for his mistake.” You take out the doll you made yourself almost a year ago. “I’m willing to give you the doll you want in exchange for Taeyong.”
“That’s just a shell he sealed himself in to avoid being found, Alice. It no longer holds value now that we have him.”
“His heart is a heart-shaped ruby given to me on my 18th birthday. Surely that’s of value.”
Johnny and Mark pause, glancing at you with renewed interest.
“A ruby?”
“Our queen would love that,” Mark whispers excitedly, turning to the grape-haired leader in glee. “Doyoung, we can use it to appeal to the Queen to free the Hatter!”
“Yes,” Doyoung murmurs, foot tapping anxiously against the floor. “Yes, that is very appealing. The ruby is indeed very appealing.”
“Appealing it is,” you agree, praying for your success. “But only if you promise to forgive him and turn him into a human in exchange for the ruby.”
“May we have a moment to discuss?” he asks you after a minute of foot-tapping.
“By all means.”
After fifteen minutes of hushed discussion, Doyoung lets go of Taeyong and gives you his answer.
“We agree to your proposition on one condition.”
“And what is said condition?”
“We must take him with us to appeal to the Queen,” Mark grins, pulling on Taeyong’s arm. “He will explain and the Queen will cut his heart out for the compensation!”
“You can’t do that!” you scream. “If you do that, he’ll—”
“I assure you, we will have him returned good as new,” Johnny promises, another sleepy yawn leaving his mouth. “That’s the deal.”
“You’re going to cut his heart out. He’ll die if you take him away!”
“No,” Doyoung counters, wagging a finger your way. “We’re just getting our end of the deal met first.”
“Taeyong!”
He frees himself from Mark’s hold and walks up to you with the familiar tilt of his head.
“Yes?”
“You can’t go with them,” you sob. “I… I thought I was being clever by trading them the doll for you, but—”
“You are clever, miss guest,” Mark chimes in approval. “You gave us the thief and provided compensation for our Queen!”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you this bit,” Taeyong says gently, ignoring Mark. “I thought it was too much with the previous stuff.”
“You’re too much,” you retort. “Did you think I couldn’t take the fact that you’re some weird Alice in Wonderland knockoff character when you first told me you’re a doll?”
He cracks a smile and you tug on his sleeve.
“Don’t go.”
“I have to. They came all the way here for me and… and I should take responsibility for my mistake.”
“Come on,” Johnny slurs, nudging Taeyong forward. “The Queen… we're waiting.”
“I’m sorry,” Taeyong apologizes again, slowly prying your fingers off his sleeve. “I caused so much trouble for you but you still stayed and put up with me.”
You attempt to grab onto him again but miss by an inch.
“No, don’t…”
“Thank you for wanting me and loving me when no one else did.” He pauses, a tiny grin just wide enough to show a glimpse of his teeth playing by the corners of his mouth. “Goodbye.”
“Goodbye,” the quirky trio echo as they pull Taeyong after them. “We will return him once the Queen cuts his heart out!”
“Give him back,” you weep, not expecting the turn in events. “Don’t take him, give him back, give… give Taeyong back to me.”
—
The strawberry fox kneels before the Queen’s high court, head hanging low as the rest of the courtroom silences after three strikes of the hammer announce the entrance of the Queen.
A lilting voice asks him to explain the reason for the impromptu hearing and the hare thumps his feet, beginning the elaborate tale of the first tea party, stolen chocolate macarons, and of course, an inconsistent teapot that produced different teas per guest along with the Hatter’s wrongful sentence.
“I don’t believe I asked you to speak, February Hare.”
The hare zips his mouth shut and the Queen repeats her question to the fox, who answers in a soft mumble, head still hanging low out of respect for the revered ruler of the land. She listens with a tap of a finger on her cheek, praising his ingenuity of hiding in a cloth doll when she had cursed him to a life of abandonment in the human world until he finds someone to love him as is for stealing all the chocolate macarons.
He brings up the request of becoming a human after confessing to his misdeed and she breaks into loud laughter, the rest of the court quietly snickering at such a request to make of their queen.
“And she loves you? Loves you and wishes to be with you for the rest of her days?”
“Yes, my Queen.”
She gestures to her advisor and his bunny nose twitches, Offering the cloth doll that had been brought with the suspect, the February Hare watches the Red Queen anxiously. Her fingers gloss over the doll and the hare speaks out of turn again, raving about the heart-shaped ruby to be offered in exchange for freeing the Hatter for a crime he did not commit.
“Silence,” she hisses. Attention turned back to the doll, she studies the toy with a pleased grin and gestures for the executioner on standby at the back of the court.
“Out with his heart.”
—
It must have been almost five years and counting since you last saw Taeyong.
No word from the strange trio who had taken him away from you, the strangest thing being the emptied building in the space that had housed the last mad tea party. It’s as if the watermelon-colored teahouse never existed, a landmark completely erased off the map.
In these past five years, you had taken over your grandmother’s antique shop after she passed on, a difficult task to run but worth the challenge—especially when you turned half of the shop into a sweets café—able to attract the younger population along with the old. Taeyong would have loved the café, a gesture from your end to keep alive the memory of the pink-haired doll who loved chocolate more than anything else in the world. You can practically see him leaning over the counter to steal sweets behind your back, chocolate muffin or cookie in hand as he gazes at the antiques with minimal interest before bouncing back for another chocolate dessert. He might even be able to interact with customers if he was up for it, but you know Taeyong harbored zero interest for anyone that wasn’t you, his attachment an endearing part of him you missed terribly.
“Excuse me, but is Y/N there?”
You pause your preparation of the batter for today’s chocolate muffins, brushing the flour off your apron before looking up.
“Sorry, we’re close—”
The figure leans over the counter, smiling at you as he tries to steal a taste.
“Is that chocolate?”
The look of pure shock on your face is nothing compared to the look of concern on his and he loops behind the counter, cupping your face in his hands.
“You look unhappy,” Taeyong says quietly. “Did I make you unhappy?”
“Do I look happy?” Tears well up in your eyes and you abruptly push him away. “Do you know how long it’s been since you left?”
“No, but…” He takes your hand and squeezes your fingers gently before guiding it to rest over his heart. “I’m like you now.”
You press an ear to his chest, the steady one-two, one-two rhythm bringing about a choked cry.
“How?”
“They took the ruby out and then I was exiled,” he explains, “It only took so long because I couldn’t leave the tea party.”
“I thought you weren’t going to come back. Mark said—”
“After the Queen changed me into a human, she then took the ruby out of the doll.” A dry laugh at the memory in the courtroom. “She took the doll’s life in exchange for my human one.”
“I don’t like that play on words,” you mumble, taking a good look at him. “And you look different. No pink hair or blue eyes.”
He nods, black hair shining alongside his dark pupils. “Do I look nice?”
“You are the handsomest man I’ve ever seen, Taeyong.”
A wide grin spreads across his face at the compliment and he bundles you up into a tight hug, never once letting you go as you kiss him hard enough to make up for five years’ worth of love and affection that had been collecting dust while he was away.
