The Bucket List (Doyoung/Taeyong)
Doyoung’s always been a bit depressed, but this last year has really put him through the wringer and he’s been pretty suicidal. So his therapist cuts him a deal. Make a bucket list. A real, actual bucket list, of all the things he wants to experience, and then do everything on that list. If, at the end of the list, he still wants to kill himself, then they’ll go from there. His therapist has a feeling that won’t be the case. Doyoung would beg to differ, but he plays along anyway. And then he meets Taeyong, who finds out about the bucket list and makes it his mission to help Doyoung fall in love with being alive again.
Chapter 3: List Item Two: Doyoung Rediscovers Sugar Highs | prev next mlist
Characters: Doyoung, Taeyong; misc family members
Genre: heavy angst, eventual romance, slow burn, hurt/comfort, college!au
Pairing: Doyoung/Taeyong
Warnings: discussions of suicide, depression, self harm, mental illness; homophobia, bullying, family dysfunction. heavy heavy shit.
Rating: Teen & Up
Length: 2.5k
This work is very heavy, and potentially triggering. There are serious, lengthy, and often detailed discussions of bullying, homophobia, mental illness, self-harm, and suicide. Please proceed with caution.
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Doyoung waits a couple of days under the pretense that he has to help his parents around the house. Really, he just wants to stall a little, in case Taeyong decides he doesn’t like Doyoung after all, so that their friendship can last longer than a day. But the following week, he asks Taeyong to come shopping with him so they can pick out their dessert-meal. Taeyong replies in seconds, saying he’s ready whenever Doyoung is.
Doyoung swings by Taeyong’s place in the late afternoon to pick him up. An older man is working outside when Doyoung pulls up; he turns off his lawnmower and comes up to Doyoung’s passenger side window as Taeyong struggles into his shoes on the front porch.
“I’m Taeyong’s dad,” the man says, pulling his work glove off and offering his hand to Doyoung to shake. “We’re glad Taeyong has a friend this summer. He’s only got a part time job with a bunch of old hacks like me, so we were worried he might get lonely.”
“Ah,” Doyoung manages. “I’m glad he and I met, too. I also would’ve been lonely.”
“If he ever bothers you, let me know,” Taeyong’s dad says, but his tone is fond. “I’m pretty sure we raised him right, but still.”
“Are you embarrassing me,” Taeyong asks, flatly but with amusement, as he approaches.
His dad stands up, laughing. “Only a little. Have fun, you two.”
“Sorry about him,” Taeyong says once he’s shut the door. “He’s too friendly for his own good.”
Doyoung snorts. “What’s that saying about the apple and the tree?”
Taeyong punches him weakly, laughing. “Hey, without me you’d be eating cake alone on your floor,” he points out, which Doyoung doesn’t have a rebuttal to.
“He seemed nice,” he says instead as he maneuvers them onto the street.
Taeyong smiles. “He’s the best,” he agrees.
They chat about their weeks as they make the short drive to the nearby grocery store. Taeyong works at the local pet shop as a cashier. He says he likes being around animals, teaching people how to care for their pets.
“Do you have any?” he asks Doyoung as they pull into the parking lot.
“Yeah, we have a couple cats,” Doyoung says, turning his car off. “They’re cute, but a little shy. You might get to meet them today, but they usually hide in my parents’ bedroom when we have guests.”
“They’ll come say hi when they’re ready,” Taeyong says, nodding.
They stroll the aisles of the grocery store, eyeing the tightly packed shelves. Doyoung leans over the handlebar of the cart, pushing it along, while Taeyong points at different snacks to see if Doyoung’s interested.
“So, can I ask why your therapist wanted you to do this?” he asks as he throws a variety pack of Airheads into the cart.
“Um,” Doyoung says, remembering his mother’s warning. “I… may or may not be incredibly, uh, toaster-bathtub, and… she thought it would help. You know. Trying random things I want to do.”
“I see,” Taeyong says, taking it in stride. “Well, let’s see if we can’t prove her right, huh?”
“Yeah,” Doyoung says faintly.
On top of the Airheads, they end up with tres leches cake, strawberry mochi ice cream, a six-pack of red velvet cupcakes, and a couple of king-sized KitKats. Doyoung also snags a big bottle of Coca-Cola. Taeyong faithfully totes the bag to Doyoung’s car, chatting away. “I’ve never had tres leches cake before,” he says. “I’m excited to try it!”
“It’s really good,” Doyoung says. “You’ll never want any other kind of cake ever again.”
“We’ll see about that,” Taeyong giggles, lowering the goods into the backseat with care.
The drive back is kind of quiet. Doyoung doesn’t mind the lull. Somehow, it’s not awkward or uncomfortable. Then—
“Thank you,” Taeyong says. “For inviting me along, for—for, like, trusting me enough to tell me about this to begin with.”
“Oh,” Doyoung says. “Yeah, sure. I mean—I don’t really have any friends. So I guess I should be thanking you, for joining me.”
Taeyong hums. “An even trade, then,” he says.
Though Doyoung’s father is home, he only waves and says a brief hello when they pass the living room on the way to the kitchen to get utensils. Doyoung has a feeling his parents are so glad he’s got a friend that they don’t even want to ask any questions.
“If you need anything, just let me know,” Doyoung’s dad says as they head back towards the stairs.
“Thanks,” Doyoung calls over his shoulder.
They settle with the food on Doyoung’s rug. He’d spent the morning trying to organize his room a little so it looked less like someone with severe depression lived in it. He’d only partially succeeded, but Taeyong doesn’t say anything, just sits right down and starts opening the boxes.
Maybe if everyone were as easy to be friends with as Taeyong is, Doyoung wouldn’t be so friendless.
They turn on a movie and work their way through the cake. It’s small, only a four-inch-by-four-inch square, but heavy, so Doyoung’s already feeling a little full by the time they open up the mochi. Still, he’s committed, and besides, everything looks yummy, so they keep going. They split a cupcake, and nibble at the KitKats. Doyoung admits he feels a little crazy by the time he finally decides to put his food down.
They finish the movie, then take all the trash downstairs, leaving the rest of the cupcakes on the kitchen counter before retreating back to Doyoung’s room. Doyoung collapses on the floor once they’re back inside, groaning. Taeyong follows suit after he’s closed the door behind them.
They’re quiet for a few moments, staring up at Doyoung’s ceiling. Doyoung catches his breath, waiting for the throbbing in his head to subside a little. Outside, the sun is setting, and it lights his room up red and orange, making everything look more beautiful than it is.
“Well, you were kinda right about the tres leches,” Taeyong says.
“Yeah?” Doyoung tries to crane his neck to look at him, but can’t.
“Yeah. I don’t want any cake, ever again, for the rest of my life,” Taeyong says.
“I think that’s just called overeating,” Doyoung snorts. “Tell me tomorrow when you don’t feel like shit.”
They laugh to themselves, letting it taper out into silence. Doyoung stares at his ceiling, tracing over the familiar shadows, the places where the paint was too thick and left small bumps. It’s the same ceiling he’s stared at every single night his entire life. Somehow, though, today feels like he’s seeing it again for the first time.
; ; ;
Once their bodies have digested a little (all it takes is an hour on Doyoung’s bedroom floor and a couple of glasses of water each), the too-full feeling subsides and is replaced by a near-manic energy that Doyoung recognizes to be a sugar high. It’s not happiness, but it’s something close to it, so Doyoung’ll take it.
“Let’s go for a drive,” Doyoung says, shaking Taeyong’s arm.
“Where to?” Taeyong asks, but he’s already clambering to his feet, video game controller forgotten on the floor.
Doyoung turns off his TV. “Along the coast, maybe?” he suggests, stretching. “It’s only like thirty minutes. We can watch the sunset.”
“Let’s go,” Taeyong agrees, reaching for Doyoung’s doorknob.
Doyoung pokes his head into the living room. “We’re going to go for a drive,” he says. “Just down to the beach. We’ll be back in a couple hours, we won’t be gone long.”
“Don’t be out too late,” his father says, casting him a confused and slightly concerned look.
“We won’t,” Doyoung promises, hurrying down the hall to find his shoes.
Five minutes later finds them in Doyoung’s car, flying down the interstate with their windows open. Taeyong’s connected his phone to the car speakers and is playing some pop mix. Doyoung steals glances at the water as they get nearer and nearer to the shore.
The beaches are crowded, so they keep driving past all the popular spots until they’re out of the city a little bit, until the roads thin and the trees thicken. Doyoung spots a turn-out up ahead and pulls into it, parking his car and turning it off.
They sit for a second, and then Taeyong points beyond the windshield. “Look!” he says. “There’s a path!”
Doyoung follows the line of his finger and sees that yes, there is a path, a tiny trail that disappears into some bushes and over the edge of the outcropping. Doyoung pops his door open, grabbing his keys. “Let’s find out where it goes.”
Taeyong follows him to the edge, holding out his hands in case Doyoung needs something to grab onto as he picks his way down the path. “There’s a beach!” Doyoung says, pointing. “It’s not even that steep, come on.”
Taeyong peers over the edge and, upon seeing that he’s not lying, grins. “We should come back here for your night swimming,” he suggests.
Doyoung nods without turning back, too focused on making sure he doesn’t fall on his way down. “Yeah,” he agrees. “No one will be here. Look,” he says, pointing at the sand in front of them. “No footprints.”
Taeyong gives a little whoop. “It’s ours!” he exclaims, brushing past Doyoung now that they’re on flat ground and running down the stretch of beach. It extends pretty far, the cliffs rising up along the side, putting distance between the water and the road. Taeyong turns, now quite a few meters away, and waves for Doyoung to follow him. “Let’s see how far it goes!” he calls.
Doyoung laughs, shaking his head, and bends to tug off his shoes. The sand is warm from the sun; his feet sink in a little as he runs, so he moves closer to the water, where it’s tightly packed, cool and damp.
It’s a pretty long, albeit thin, expanse of sand, they discover. It’s just fine with Doyoung because he needs it mostly for swimming, not building sandcastles or sunbathing. “There,” Taeyong says, pointing to a ragged line of debris. “That’s high tide. So there’s still room for us to put our stuff down even if the tide comes in while we’re out here.”
They splash around in the water for a little, not going much deeper than halfway up their shins, until the sun begins to set, painting the ocean brilliant shades of orange and red. Both of them stop fucking around, standing side by side, waves lapping at their ankles, and look out over the water.
In the silence, Doyoung feels himself deflate. It’s not that he’s never happy, it’s just that he’s happy for very short pockets of time, and then when he comes down from it he remembers all the reasons why he’s not happy like that more often, and it gets ruined. There’s a hollow space in his chest that was filled with laughter only seconds ago. Now, it just feels like a wound.
“We should probably head back,” he says quietly. “Before it gets too dark. My parents worry.”
“Yeah,” Taeyong agrees. Doyoung knows, without asking, that Taeyong understands.
They climb back up to Doyoung’s car, get in, and start to head back. Taeyong doesn’t play music this time, just watches out the window, pointing things out occasionally in a sort of gentle tone voice that Doyoung can’t quite read. “This beach was the one my family used to go to when my sister and I were kids,” he says. “There’s this little ice cream stand there run by the tiniest Korean grandma you’ll ever see, and it was our favorite treat. I went back to visit her earlier this summer.”
“I bet she liked that,” Doyoung says. He imagines Taeyong as a child, face round and soft, the same sunny smile. He imagines the beach, the sun. The warmth of the fabricated memory is like a lash in the face of Doyoung's chilly childhood. “She remembered you?”
“Yep,” Taeyong says. “She held my face in her wrinkled old hands and said I was always one of her favorite customers. And then she gave me my favorite popsicle, for free. She remembered, after all these years.”
“What’s your favorite popsicle?” Doyoung asks.
“Melona, strawberry,” Taeyong replies.
Doyoung nods sagely. “I like the melon flavor.”
“That seems like you, somehow,” Taeyong giggles quietly.
Doyoung’s mom is home when they return. He introduces Taeyong quickly, and then they drag themselves up Doyoung’s stairs, sticky and tired now from the warm summer evening on top of achy from the sugar crash. Doyoung falls back onto his bed with a grunt, legs dangling off the edge. Taeyong joins him, head so close his hair tickles Doyoung’s ear. They lay there for a moment, catching their breath.
“So,” Taeyong says at length. “How do you feel?”
“I feel like shit,” Doyoung replies drily. “My tummy hurts and so does my head.”
Taeyong giggles brightly, though he’s quick to snuff it out. When he speaks again, his tone is serious. “No, but really. How do you feel?”
Doyoung mulls it over. “I mean, it was fun,” he says. “But I don’t… feel any better.”
Taeyong lets out a short breath of laughter. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Probably not.” A few beats of silence go by; Doyoung flicks his gaze to the side to watch out the window as the sky turns from a bright red to a deep, empty blue. “You should tell your therapist she’s a quack,” Taeyong says. It catches Doyoung off guard; he snorts, slapping a hand over his mouth to muffle the noise. Taeyong laughs, too; they fade again into silence.
“When something doesn’t sell,” Taeyong murmurs after a minute, “do you blame the product, or the salesman?”
Doyoung doesn’t reply right away, taken aback by the frankness of the question. He wants to ask, are you having fun? He wants to ask, why are you trying to sell me the world? Why does it matter to you? But he doesn’t know how without the potential for some kind of fallout.
“It’s a pretty hard sell, to be fair,” he says finally.
“Yeah,” Taeyong agrees.
Doyoung gives himself a little shake, then props himself up on one elbow and turns to Taeyong. “Well, Mr. Salesman,” he says, “we still have a few more chances for you to convince me, so don’t give up yet.”
He meant it to be funny, but neither of them laugh.
Taeyong blinks up at him, slow and a little sad. “Do you think it’ll work?” he asks.
Doyoung looks away. “I don’t know,” he says. “My therapist says it’s worked for other people, so… maybe. I don’t know, though.”
He expects Taeyong to ask him why—why he’s depressed, why he doesn’t think he’ll get better, why he wants it all to be over, maybe why he’s bothering to stick around. But he doesn’t. It’s like Taeyong understands when Doyoung’s about to get uncomfortable. He’ll brush up against the line but never cross it. Doyoung wonders how he knows, but asking would be over Taeyong’s line, Doyoung is pretty sure. So he doesn’t.
Instead, Taeyong asks, “Do you want it to work?”
Doyoung exhales quickly though his nose, vaguely amused. “I don’t know,” he says. “I think maybe I’m hoping in doing it, I’ll find out.”
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