Chapter Text
For the first time in weeks Taeyong is up with the sun.
And that's only because his sister promised to stop by for a visit. This time she's showing up straight to his house, her fist already hammering away at the door.
He trots through the house barefoot, wiping the nap out of his eyes and hoping the cleaner stopped by earlier in the week to get the house at least decent. Though now that he thinks about it he doesn't recall hearing her earlier, listening from the hideaway of his bedroom.
He stops and squints at the sun pouring between the curtains that have been left thrown open in his living room, lighting a space so clean to the point of looking sterile. There's an eerie quiet, far enough from the pattering of human chatter coming from behind his front door. The emptiness drains him every second that he stands in its wake, suffocating in the white noise of it.
Another minute and the doorbell rings.
In a hurry he runs a hand through his hair to smooth it over the top of his head, combing it through to where it falls down to his neck. Half-heartedly he thinks that maybe he should tie it back, attempt to make himself look somewhat presentable. Like he has his shit together and hasn't been sleeping the last days of it away.
When he finally reaches the entrance Taeyong is only half-awake, but at least he is. He opens the door and Seulgi is there. So is Doyoung.
He didn't expect this many people, and suddenly he's got a shitty feeling about this.
“Good morning, sleepy,” his sister looks him up from head to toe, not hiding her judgment as she takes in the sight of him. He really should have tied his hair back.
She reaches out and her hand instantly comes up to it, tugging at the tips of his blonde highlights dusting at his chin. With another sigh she releases him, walking past him into the house to leave him facing Doyoung.
“How have you been?” he asks, and even though Taeyong considers Doyoung his best friend, this question makes them now feel more distant than ever.
Taeyong swallows before replying. “I don’t really know how to answer that.”
“It can't be easy, I know,” Doyoung says. “But you have to get out eventually.”
He couldn't possibly know, Taeyong thinks as his shoulders sink lower under the calculating gaze that his friend's got on him. He couldn't know what it feels like to lose an anchor, his reality of what was. He couldn't possibly understand what it was like to suddenly become so utterly alone.
“Is that all?” Taeyong says, his hand going back to taking the door handle in an anxious grip. “If so, then don't waste your breath.”
Doyoung reaches out for him, gentle fingers on his wrist prying it loose. “Taeyong, relax. I promise I mean well.”
Later when Taeyong is sat in a seat across from the two of them, facing the people he considers himself closest to, he feels the devastating distance in the vacant space of the room. And in that space between them a pit containing all his grief, another heavy weight around his neck tying him down to the bottom of it.
Whatever this was about to be, Taeyong didn't like how they've teamed up. He could do with them visiting him in turns, giving them small bits of reassurance that he's at least alive. With it all changing so fast, predictability is something Taeyong learned to welcome.
“Taeyong, we know that you've been— It's been a few weeks now and…” Seulgi starts and Taeyong immediately wishes Doyoung was the one doing the talking. Not that he ever tries to be gentle with Taeyong, but at least he knows how to get to the point.
“What is this?” Taeyong asks, pointing across to the two of them. Meanwhile he's laid back into the giant cushions of his armchair as it nearly swallows him up whole. His shirt is old and worn, stretching nearly down to go over the sharp points of his knees, and though he doesn't feel or look his most put-together self, he still feels like he doesn't deserve any of this.
No matter how much time passes, it still remains that he has lost his husband.
“We just want to help,” Seulgi says, her hands dropping down to her lap. “You just look… I mean, look at you, you're not eating, not going out, not calling back—”
“Anything else?” Taeyong snaps back, not really seeing any option besides his anger. Weeks of him alone in the dead quiet with his grief, tied down to every regret as its consequence, now bitterly seems to have only amounted to this.
“You cannot blame us for worrying about you,” Doyoung says, matter-of-fact as he finally speaks up. “So we were thinking maybe we can hire you some help.”
At that Taeyong scoffs. He felt it clear as day as soon as he opened the door that he has just walked his way into an intervention.
“What, like a babysitter?” he crosses his arms over his chest, watching how his sister squirms uncomfortably where she is sat. And even though she's the older of the two of them, she still cannot stand up to Taeyong's sudden callousness. Not when Taeyong is a walking castle of glass.
And between his anger and nothing else at all, right now Taeyong would rather at least feel something.
“No, nothing like that,” Doyoung continues. “A private chef.”
When he breaks it to Taeyong, it comes down on him in a cold chill.
Doyoung senses his tension, but it doesn't deter him. “He'll come by once in a while, cook for you, let you be around someone.”
Taeyong turns to look at his sister again. “Was this your idea?”
She jumps in her seat. “Partially. But only because my wife's company is relocating again, and I don't know how long we'll be gone.”
She bites down on her lip, hard.
“Nice way to break the news,” Taeyong sighs until all the breath is released from his chest. He pauses until his heart slows, trying to look for any clarity in his head.
“Look, sorry,” he says. “I'm glad you're doing your thing.”
“I know, Yong-ah,” Seulgi gives a weak smile, and Taeyong is glad that's at least something.
He doesn't want to hurt the ones he loves, but he knows it's inevitable. Right now he feels like a black hole, with anyone getting too close bound to get consumed into all his nothingness.
“I take it you already have someone in mind?” he asks, and seeing his sister suddenly light up at the response, he worries his surrender might not be far away.
“Yes! I met him at a wedding last week,” Taeyong watches his sister visibly brighten as she describes this person that's about to enter his life, a new complication. “His name's Johnny Suh, he's in his mid-thirties. Background check is already done and everything looks good.”
Taeyong lets the name wind and wind again through his thoughts — Johnny. Nothing about it feels right and he cannot even bring himself to say it, but Taeyong already feels the hint of lightness in the possibility of resignation, in the remembering of his name.
“He has a business or something?” Taeyong asks
“According to him he’s mostly hired privately — yachts, parties, things like that, “ Seulgi says. “We called his references and it seems to check out.”
Taeyong laughs, bitterly. “So why would he wanna take on me?”
“Maybe he’s just a good person?” Seulgi poses it as a question like she doesn’t already wholeheartedly believe it. “He seemed really easy-going, very nice.”
“Sure, nice,” Taeyong repeats. “Did he even go to culinary school?”
A dry laugh comes out of Doyoung.
“Didn't strike me as a classist, Yong,” he says with a look at Taeyong that pisses him off.
“You know what I'm asking,” Taeyong calls back, hands balling up into fists under the pillows. “Because you know what you're doing with this.”
“We know,” Seulgi is the one that answers back, a desperate pleading in his voice that is begging to be understood.
Then, Doyoung says, “We also thought therapy would be a big ask.”
Taeyong cannot help the bitter laugh that comes. “It would be, but so is this.”
“You should trust your sister's judgement,” Doyoung says. “You trust mine, right?”
It's a long minute in silence and Taeyong cannot bear how they look to him, feeling justified in their united cause. Carving away at his patience with each stressed glance, each knee tremor.
Taeyong sighs, still looking away from them when he gives his answer. “Of course I do.”
“Then just give him a chance, okay?” Doyoung says, softer. “We'll have him come by tonight.”
Taeyong silently resents everything about this — how quickly everything seems to change around him without him knowing. Becoming a widower so young, slipping from under one heavy hand under two more. All this, when all he has ever wanted was to have the weight lifted off.
“Fine,” he says, knowing that his answer is in spite of himself. “Fine, I'll meet him.”
Hours pass long into the evening before his doorbell rings again.
He hesitates to make his way to the front door, carrying with him a heavy sense of déjà vu. The sound of the doorbell hasn't brought any good news lately.
With the little time he had since the earlier “intervention,” Taeyong took it to search Johnny's name himself. Sure, he trusted his family, but these days his trust was few and far between.
But just like they said, everything seemed to check out — culinary school degree, endorsements on his LinkedIn, extensive experience. He didn’t seem bad-looking either but Taeyong rarely judged people by their appearance. Better than anyone Taeyong knew how deceiving looks could be.
Regardless it was too late now to think about his impressions, although the thought of never answering the door and leaving the man unmet in the hallway sounds all too appealing.
He stops to take a deep breath before opening the door.
“I'm here for Taeyong?”
His voice comes before Taeyong can even see his face. It's melodic while still being chipper, and it matches the smile that reveals on his face almost ideally. It's stretched across his lips, pulling at the corners of his eyes until they wrinkle. His age is obvious in his skin, in the shadow of the closely shaved stubble on his chin, his deeply set, dark brown eyes.
Taeyong cannot stop looking at him as the only thing on his mind is that he was completely unprepared for how stunning this man is.
“That's… me,” Taeyong finally answers, his tongue startled into something inelegant.
“Great, then I am here for you,” he says, as easy as a wave. “I'm Johnny, but you probably figured that out already. May I come in?”
“Uh, sure,” Taeyong says while nodding and opening the door further, allowing Johnny inside.
The cacophony of sounds that follow are of someone who's certainly never been to his home before. Over the time that has seemingly passed so quickly he's cut down the number of welcome guests to one he can count on a single hand. Of course there is Seulgi and Doyoung, then also some of the staff.
Returning to this home without his husband, this space was the only thing that remained the same. His home became his fortress. So he wasn't exactly thrilled about a stranger being invited within its walls.
And while Taeyong steps back to give him space he finds it impossible not to tune into each one of Johnny's movements. How he kicks his shoes off and neatly sets them aside on the rack. How the brushes off his pants when he unbends, picking up the large bag that he has earlier placed on the floor.
He's not shy about making his way through the foyer into the living room, having taken Taeyong's invitation very seriously.
“Kitchen is around the corner to the left,” Taeyong says, keeping an attentive few steps behind him.
Johnny sends a fleeting glance over his shoulder. “You read my mind.”
Taeyong gives a weak smile even though the other doesn't turn to see it, following in the direction he is given. Meanwhile Taeyong fixates on how foreign this smile feels on his face, having no one that has needed it for.
He takes a breath and feels the light scent of Johnny's cologne, wondering if the smell of it could poison the food. And when he hears the sound of his kitchen cabinets opening and closing, he wonders if he'll grow used to that too.
When he turns the corner himself, he sees Johnny freely rummaging through the drawers, likely taking stock of everything he has at his disposal. Most of it untouched, or in some cases used once and only to be abandoned. There isn't much in this house that has been disturbed since Taeyong returned to it.
Johnny peeks out from behind the pantry door. “You just moved in or something?”
When Johnny asks this Taeyong looks to him with a confused stare, already starting to feel the strangeness of being around a stranger.
Then Johnny is shaking his head with a tsk, letting the door slam closed. “Not feeling the jokes, huh?”
That makes Taeyong break out a nervous laugh, the rawness of it shaking through to his core.
“It's nothing against you, sorry…” Taeyong slides into a seat across the kitchen island, watching Johnny as he unzips his bag and rummages in its contents. “I just… I'm sure you know, what happened, right?”
Out comes a container, some food inside sealed with a lid. Another one stacks on top of that, then follows another.
“I only know as much as anyone else tells me,” he says with an easy shrug. “But I'm honestly not interested in anyone's story but yours.”
Taeyong pulls back at that, arms crossing over his chest.
“Well, seems like you know enough,” he says with a sigh. “Either way it's not something you need to be interested in. It doesn't have anything to do with food.”
“That's what you'd think.”
Johnny looks up to him and Taeyong feels the heaviness of his gaze. But only in that he's only looking at Taeyong's face, his eyes and only that. He's not distracted by his matted hair or clothes that have become too big for him. By the three-week worn pajamas stretching over his bony shoulders, how he fidgets with his hands hidden under the table.
Taeyong wants to feel different about him but can’t yet.
“What else do you know about me, then?” he asks, biting his lip trying to make out the contents of the containers in front of him.
“I know you're alone, I know you're not eating,” Johnny begins answering, so simply, only looking up when he finishes his thought. “And I know I cannot think of anything worse.
“It could always be worse,” Taeyong shrugs, for a moment forgotten the weight sitting deep in the pit of his stomach.
“Then is there anything you have been eating?” Johnny asks.
In one harsh sigh all of Taeyong's breath comes out. “The cereal box and I are inseparable.”
“I see,” for a moment Johnny's eyes slip, from Taeyong's face down to the bouncing of the Adam's apple in his throat as he swallows. “Is there anything that you would like to eat?”
“I thought figuring that out was part of your job,” Taeyong shoots back.
Johnny pauses what he was doing, holding a brown paper bag of greens, suspended in the air as he stares across to him with curious eyes. Everything about them trying to read Taeyong, figure out a way to stay in.
“Taeyong, I would prefer to work with you,” Johnny says, his tone surprisingly unpatronizing. “The fact that I'm here means someone you love is that worried about you, and I'm sure you can perfectly understand that.”
As he listens Taeyong feels him sink further into himself, overcome with an inexplicably ashamed feeling. Like his mind just cannot seem to figure out if this is Johnny's threat of a predator, or a plea of an ally. To Taeyong he is at once so endlessly confusing, too comfortable here for his own good while adding all this unnecessary noise into Taeyong's home and in his head.
But something in him knows that his own responses to Johnny are rooted in his own fear, coming from behind the walls he's built in uncalculated bursts. The burden of all his darkest feelings, the guilt entwined with the grief, it all has to come out one way or another.
“I want you to feel comfortable enough to tell me if you're craving anything,” Johnny continues, his hands flat on the surface of the kitchen island between them. Taeyong wonders how Johnny would look standing in front of him, with all his height and confidence surely towering at least a head over him, softly looking down.
“Sorry, I… I don’t do well with… giving commands,” Taeyong manages.
Johnny's face breaks into a smile, satisfied. “We'll work on it.”
Taeyong assumes he'll leave it at that. But Johnny gives it only a moment of quiet before he decides otherwise, like he wants to keep wringing him out.
“I could also get you to tell me what you want,” Johnny says and this time he chooses not to look at Taeyong. “Or do you not do well receiving commands either?”
Taeyong tries to keep still where he sits. “I wanted to see what you had in mind first.”
In time with his words Johnny pulls out a box out of his bag, a rattling of dry pasta inside it.
“Then how about some noodles?” he says, everything is his manner light like he didn't have Taeyong walking on a tightrope moments ago. “You can't say no to noodles.”
When the whiplash releases him, Taeyong can only then finally nod in agreement.
“What's all that?” he asks, pointing at the containers of food neatly stacked into a row between them since Johnny took them out. He still hasn't figured out what's inside them.
“That's for you while I'm gone,” he says, taking the first stack and relocating it into the fridge. “I imagine it's still an unbearable effort to even order food for yourself.”
Taeyong clears his throat, watching Johnny occupy the space in his fridge, easily slipping into the empty spaces. He thinks of how it will stay unchanged until the next time Johnny comes.
“That's… thoughtful of you,” Taeyong says, his gaze caught again when Johnny turns around, the door of the fridge slowly closing shut.
If Johnny has formed any impression of Taeyong by now, it never shows on his face.
“Of course,” Johnny says. “I'm here so we can figure it all out together.”
Whether this friendliness was merely professional or something true didn't really matter to Taeyong. When Johnny says this, Taeyong feels the undeniable pull to believe him.