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His mouth is as dry as the soil in Red Rock Canyon, and his head pounds like a one hundred fifty decibel construction site is hammering right beside his ears. Two paracetamol don’t solve the problem. Taeyang furrows his brow and sinks deeper into his seat when the flight takes off, the buzz of the engine seeping through his earbuds.
The plane soon lands in San Francisco, where they have a layover before their connecting flight. The staff scatters into groups to grab food since they departed early without time for a proper breakfast. Taeyang opts for a double-shot iced Americano, which does nothing to ease the throbbing around his temples. He looks up from his cup and meets Jiung’s judgmental gaze, opening his mouth to speak: “I need to tell you something.” Damn it, his voice feels like sandpaper.
“Yeah,” Jiung says, lifting his bowl with both hands to take a sip of the noodle soup, “Looks like someone had one hell of a time last night.”
“It’s not substances,” Taeyang corrects him, pressing his forehead. Even the bright sunlight outside the glass is blinding. He quickly averts his gaze from where Jongseob is sitting by the window, carefully picking up a piece of cheese pizza and deep in conversation with the music director, a hint of his tiny canine tooth visible as he smiles. His tousled hair shimmers in the sun, each brittle strand glistening like shards of honey-colored glass.
“Okay, now I’m panicking,” Jiung says, giving him a flat stare. “What is it?”
“…I need to go out and get a new pick when we arrive,” Taeyang says, setting down his cup as the cold bitterness burns his tongue.
Jiung looks at him for a second, like Taeyang’s a piece of Kamaboko in his udon. “Sure, you want pocket money for that?”
“Yes,” Taeyang rolls his eyes at him, not caring that the action makes his eyeball tighten in its socket. “Please be generous.”
The flight attendant says they have twelve hours until they reach Narita International Airport. After the first hour, Taeyang takes off his eye mask when he realizes he won’t get any real sleep until his headache dulls. He turns on the in-flight entertainment and browses. On the way here, a staff member showed him that his latest album from half a year ago was also available on the system. Jongseob giggled silently when Taeyang pointed at the credits, their elbows bumping over adjacent armrests.
Besides him, Jongseob now has his noise-canceling earphones on, eyes closed, fingers gently tapping along to whatever is playing. Taeyang skips to the navigation map. They’ve just flown out of the continent and are now over the Pacific Ocean, the little plane icon hovering over chunks of teal, with the landmasses of California and Nevada completely off the screen. He sits up a bit, looking around, and spots Jiung two rows behind him, his pinched expression lit by the reading light as he goes over some papers. Taeyang checks the seatbelt sign, unbuckles, and walks over. Jiung doesn’t look up, just glances at him from the corner of his eyes.
“I need to tell you something.” His voice is almost swallowed by the deafening ambient noise, and Jiung finally looks up.
“What did you say?”
Taeyang startles when a baby behind the curtain in economy class screams. He sighs briefly and says, “Is Shota coming?”
Jiung gapes at him. “I think so...?”
Taeyang quickly nods and walks back before Jiung throws, “This can’t wait?” at him. Jongseob has fallen asleep while he was gone, his hand resting on his lap. Taeyang watches him for a moment, then leans over to pick up the phone that slipped from his hand, placing it down on Jongseob’s table.
The meal comes, and they leap into the next day somewhere halfway as the aircraft crosses the International Date Line. The cabin is bathed in a warm tint of orange, the light flowing over his white plate like melting yolk. The overhead lights are then dimmed as they slip deeper into an indeterminate night, and most passengers either catch some sleep or choose a show to kill time. Taeyang puts on his earphones as he goes through the setlist. The dry, filtered air tickles his throat, so he lowers his mask to hydrate.
At some point, he dozes off too. He doesn’t dream, but when he wakes, something flashes like kitschy neon signage in front of his closed lids. Taeyang opens his eyes to a new morning, unsure if the darkness disperses because of the lighting design or the rising sun outside the windows. He meets Jongseob’s eyes as he slowly sits up, and Jongseob offers a small smile.
December in Tokyo is also chill, but less arid and sharp. The meeting with the local team wraps up at nine, and Taeyang gets some fresh air when they arrive at the entrance of the hotel. Jiung casts him a look while they wait in the elevator hall, Taeyang playing the card key between his fingers. He quietly speaks up as he drags Jiung to wait for the next ride: “I need to tell you something.”
Taeyang is unpacking in his room when there’s a soft knock at the door.
He opens it to find Jongseob in slides and shorts, holding a hairband. Taeyang steps aside to let him in, their shoulders brushing as Jongseob walks past and leans against the wall beside the TV. Taeyang crouches again after tying his hair but decides against sorting his clothes. Instead, he turns to the guitar case placed in the corner. He leans down to pick it up, pushing into Jongseob’s space when his fingers press into the hard shell. Jongseob watches him move the instrument out of the way, his eyes darkened by the shadow Taeyang’s body casts over him. Their gaze only holds for a brief moment before Jongseob leans in, closing the distance.
They both haven’t showered, but Taeyang doesn’t flinch when he smells the faint scent of sweat mixed with carpet, air freshener, and resin. Jongseob follows the movement with practiced ease, parting his lips when Taeyang cups the back of his neck and pulls him in. He hasn’t turned on the humidifier, but Jongseob’s breath feels damp against his nose and lips, the familiar touch of his canine tooth grounding him. Neither of them says anything when they part. Jongseob pecks the side of his face before pulling away and leaving without a good night.
The sleep isn’t restful, but the adrenaline from the performance starts to kick in when the van hits the highway to the city. It’s the first time Taeyang is performing at this venue, but the audience size is about a thousand, which he’s familiar with. Shota is there when Taeyang checks his Fender AVII ’63 Tele. The stunning crimson red body shines beautifully under the dimmed spotlight during a set cue test. Shota shrieks in his alien-like voice and picks Taeyang up for a little spin, making Jiung look up from his phone before he returns to his hasty typing.
The choreography run-through is scheduled first, and Jongseob shows up in the empty front row just as Taeyang starts rehearsing for the cover song. In addition to dance moves, Shota is also Taeyang’s Japanese instructor, and after some adjustments, the team decided to add some interactive parts. Since Tentai Kansoku by Bump of Chicken is well-known, at the end of the each chorus, Taeyang gestures as he finishes the line, “The comet we call ‘the present,’” and the audience will respond with “We chase it together,” replacing the original lines “I chase it alone” and “I chase it with you,” singing along with him. Jongseob plays the role of the imaginary audience well as usual, waving his arm like an enthusiastic fan.
The backing track was their collaborative effort, with Jongseob directing the recording. Taeyang heard from Shota that Jongseob had been humming it absently during their game sessions in the early preparation for the live tour.
The mic check completes mostly smoothly. Taeyang eats, changes into his stage outfit, has his hair and makeup done in between signing albums and checking his phone. Time flies in a blur, and Jongseob appears in the green room while Taeyang is drinking his throat tea. He grabs a snack, squeezing Taeyang’s hand as they stand near the table for a moment. He lingers around Taeyang’s ring finger but lightly touches the decorative band the stylist put on Taeyang’s pinkie before letting go. Taeyang watches him head out after the bassist, finishing the last of his tea and discarding the paper cup. He checks his appearance in the illuminated mirror before the stage crew cues him to enter.
Taeyang takes a moment to do a final vocal warm-up, taking a deep breath before stepping onto the stage.
“Good luck,” Jiung says, standing near the staircase with a flashlight, looking more tense than Taeyang as always.
Taeyang smiles slightly in response, grabbing the microphone another staff member hands him. The countdown begins, and the show goes live as the last note of the intro song fades. Fans scream as the lights turn off.
The first night wraps up magnificently, with the second and final show extending twenty minutes for the encore, as the applause and shouts of his name stretch on. The impact lingers behind the curtain when Taeyang walks off, nodding faintly at a staff member who hands him a towel. Jiung is waiting for him, his voice calm as he remarks on the successful end of the tour. He sounds taut when Taeyang looks around the room, fidgeting with his rings: “He left early to the restaurant.”
Taeyang’s heart thumps once, as if he’s still on set with the amplified bassline, but he doesn’t say anything. The place the local staff reserved is already buzzing on a Sunday evening, and the celebration chatters loudly as everyone cheers with raised glasses. Jongseob is at the next table, speaking with a sound engineer. His finger brushes Taeyang’s palm as he passes a dish over but doesn’t meet Taeyang’s eyes. The moment is brief as Taeyang accepts the showering compliments for the time being, his cheeks flushed by the warm atmosphere, even though he’s only drinking Coke.
The streets of Shibuya are as busy as he remembered from last year’s trip for the performance. The only difference is that Jongseob is walking beside him now, looking around as they pass the symbolic crossing. The crowd jostles as people move in different directions, and Taeyang grabs Jongseob’s wrist to pull him away from a pedestrian who stops abruptly, holding up a tripod to shoot the scene. Jongseob stiffens for a second when Taeyang wraps an arm around his shoulder but then leans in as a group of young men rushes by, presumably drunk, high, or both. Their eyes meet when the traffic light turns red, and the chaos subsides for about a minute and a half, as a local staff member leads them to a less crowded sidewalk skirting around the station under construction. For a moment, Jongseob looks like he wants to say something but eventually gives up.
The following days are packed with further promotional schedules, with Shota’s occasional jab of “How come your Japanese sounds so robotic?” sent to Taeyang’s KakaoTalk in Korean. Though the interview questions aren’t overly challenging, nothing too different from things he’s said during the North American leg of the tour, Taeyang reflects on them. He started his career as an idol trainee, but instead of debuting in a group, he released his first EP as a solo artist five years ago after switching agencies. His primary genres are pop rock and R&B, but he also dabbles in tropical house and EDM. He’s known for his vocal talent, but also dances and plays the guitar. When it comes to production, he composes and directs the stage.
The sales are decent, and Taeyang’s physical appearance only adds to his visual brand. All in all, things have been going well for the elegant, mature stage concepts he’s been putting forward.
Christmas themes have already adorned the cityscape; even the hotel café has red and green banners on the walls. Taeyang packs souvenirs for family and friends after a hotel breakfast, and the drive to the airport is smooth, thanks to off-peak hours on a workday. Taeyang waits in line at the check-in counter, and Jiung soon handles the process, returning with their boarding passes. But the moment Taeyang sees the printed information, his heart starts to race. Jongseob keeps his eyes on the spotless glass of the sliding door at the entrance, holding his pass with whitened knuckles. Before Taeyang can speak, Jiung clears his throat.
“You’re not going back to Seoul,” his voice is calm, even a bit too polite, but tight as a pulled wire. “I’m coming with you. No one’s going home until we get the situation fixed.”
Taeyang furrows his brow. “‘Fixed’ as in…?”
“Back to Vegas,” Jiung says flatly. “Get it annulled as soon as possible.”
Days ago, in front of the elevator, the group had left them behind, and Jiung had looked at Taeyang warily.
“What is it?” he said, stepping forward to press the up button. “Whatever you’ve been holding since San Francisco?”
The lobby was busy, but quieter now. Taeyang watched as the number went up on the panel and said, “We got married.”
For half a minute, Jiung didn’t say anything. When Taeyang turned to him, he stared as though Taeyang had just grown two heads.
“I’m sorry, you what?” Jiung blinked.
“In Las Vegas,” Taeyang shrugged. “It was actually quite simple.”
Jiung finally let out a breath before Taeyang could remind him not to suffocate. “Cool, cool, cool…” He sounded like he was speaking more to himself as he started to pace around. When he raised his head, his face was unreadable. “You got the certificate, right? Both of you?”
Taeyang raised a brow. “You want proof?”
“Of fucking course not.” Jiung seemed to startle himself with the involuntary curse, but he quickly collected himself. “I need you to focus on the performance first, alright? It’s tomorrow.”
Taeyang nodded. The weight in his chest wasn’t lifted when the words were finally out. If anything, it only made his blurry memory of that night clearer, beyond the slightly crumpled piece of paper in his suitcase. Jiung was no longer paying attention to him as they stepped into the elevator, and Taeyang’s heart sank a little when the weightlessness hit.
Las Vegas was the last stop in the States and marked the end of his first North American tour. The audience was surprisingly energized despite his rusty English and sang along with the Korean lyrics of his debut song, Half of My Heart. He replayed the last chorus of the cover song Until I Found You by Stephen Sanchez twice. The high of the show lingered when they gathered in the hotel lounge for a drink.
The skin on Jongseob’s neck was warm, and he smelled faintly of alcohol from stealing sips of Taeyang’s Batanga. Someone passed around a Ziploc bag, and Taeyang took a piece when it was rotated into his hand. He sniffed it first before taking a small bite. It tasted like chocolate and butter, but with something stronger infused into the flavor.
He found Jongseob watching him as he fumbled for a napkin to set it down, not moving from where he was half-sprawled on Jongseob. It took only a split second before Taeyang nipped a bit and raised his hand. Jongseob leaned forward to take it into his mouth, his tongue momentarily but deliberately licking Taeyang’s fingertip. Taeyang made a disgusted face and cackled, wiping his hand on Jongseob’s lips when whoever was sitting across from them was obviously staring.
Taeyang was quite a strong drinker, but he might not be as good a stoner. His makeup was smudged as he buried his face in Jongseob’s shoulder, laughing at a funny story from a dancer. Something about a server doubting his thirty-year-old sister was underage. Taeyang smacked Jongseob’s arm when his glass was once again taken from his hand, slurring slightly, “You aren’t even legal.”
“Just drinking.” Jongseob steadied his hand, even though a few drops spilled. He sucked them off his hand before patting Taeyang’s lap.
“What else?” Taeyang asked.
“Getting married.” A stylist giggled from the booth behind them, poking her head out and gesturing toward the Ziploc. “Absurd, right? No drinking, but yes to getting legally obligated to split the money you make.”
“But we’re travelers?” the production manager asked.
Jongseob half-laughed, looking down at the non-alcoholic beer sweating on the glass tabletop, untouched. “Anyone can do it here,” he muttered, tilting his head, his hair brushing Taeyang’s eyes.
“Yeah?” Taeyang shifted to avoid eating a mouthful of hair, his arm snaking around Jongseob’s supple waist as he straightened up against the back of the booth seat. “We should.”
Jongseob pulled back slightly to meet his drunkenly serious eyes. “What?”
“Let’s do that.” Taeyang giggled. “It’d be hilarious.”
That was how Taeyang found himself standing under a flashy sign that read something like “Weddings 24/7” in bold font, his hand tucked into Jongseob’s pocket to escape the freezing desert air on a winter night. They had come here unprepared, armed only with “IDs and vibes.” The interior was modest but charming, with the ceremony area featuring a small altar draped in ivory fabric.
The lighting was soft, and Jongseob’s rosy cheeks looked extra squishy as he kept puffing out air. Taeyang pinched him lightly as they waited for the officiant at the front. They had decided to skip the music to avoid making it corny, and when the staff member asked, Jongseob simply answered that they hadn’t written vows or brought rings.
“Unless you want to get married with those,” Taeyang said, waving his fingers to show the rings he wore on the tour. They were the only ones inside, and suddenly, the room felt too silent, with no background noise or the hum of the PA system.
“You should do a theme like this for a Valentine concert,” Jongseob laughed. “Black suit, flower archway, balloons, and everything.”
“Then what? Propose on the set?” Taeyang mirrored the laugh, and Jongseob kissed him on the corner of his mouth like a kid sneaking a bite of food before it was officially served on the dining table.
The officiant arrived after what felt like forever, greeting them and offering a few words about marriage, love, and life together. Taeyang’s attention drifted, his focus narrowing into the familiar, almost instinctive state he got into before stepping on stage. As the officiant continued, Taeyang ignored the absence of any rehearsed lines, nodding when Jongseob nudged his hand to signal it was his turn. When the officiant asked, Taeyang said, “I do.”
Jongseob flustered, his words tumbling out before the officiant had even finished the question, his ears pink when the officiant pronounced them officially married and invited them to share a kiss. For some reason, Taeyang hesitated, suddenly self-aware of his hoodie and jeans. But then, Jongseob pulled him in, pressing their lips together with quiet desperation. Taeyang’s mouth moved in response, kissing him back as he threaded his fingers into Jongseob’s hair, a little dazed when their eyes locked.
Five years of collaboration, three years, maybe more, of dancing around each other, a composition with everything written but no title nor singer. And they’ve been married until the moment they fly back to Las Vegas after a week, now signing the petition on a similar wooden desk with a similar pen. The process is equally quick and low-key, with Jiung and the PR manager speaking to the lawyer and confirming they’ll handle everything from now on. The flight back is peaceful as Taeyang takes a sleeping pill, and when he opens his eyes, they’re landing in Incheon. The line between dream and reality feels hazy as the air seems colder than when he left a month ago. Taeyang snaps back to reality when Jongseob asks from the backseat: “Can you drop me off at my studio?”
Jiung gives him a surprised look but doesn’t comment. Taeyang dozes off during the drive, and when he wakes to the sound of a horn, they’re back in the heart of Seoul. Jongseob has already gotten off.
Life returns to normal with practice, recording, and preparations for the next album underway. No one looks particularly thrilled about launching a new project this late in the year, especially Keeho, who looks like he hasn’t slept in three days. The head producer, also the founder of the agency, is the last to enter the meeting room as it slowly fills, quietly closing the door behind him.
Jongseob isn’t here.
Taeyang takes a deep breath, pushing down the creeping thought that this might be a really, really bad sign.
“Since we have everyone,” the head producer begins, his tone soft, though his sharp gaze flicks briefly toward Taeyang. “Shall we begin discussing the collaboration?”
Keeho’s an old friend from Taeyang’s trainee days, and they’ve featured on each other’s work after debuting under different labels. Their voices balance well, and Keeho’s easy to work with, always straight to the point when he has questions. But Taeyang hates this trait of his now, as they get coffee during a short break.
“Jongseob’s not on this?”
“Don’t ask me,” Taeyang says, watching the rising steam. “What’ve you been up to? You look like shit.”
“Woah.” Keeho feigns being stabbed in the chest. “You should check yourself in the mirror first.”
“That I’m underdressed but still look stunning?”
Keeho doesn’t respond, just grins and raises his cup for a toast. “May the new single be a big hit.”
Taeyang huffs a laugh for the first time in days and clinks his cup.
The thing is, Taeyang woke up this morning in Jongseob’s empty bed, either he left the apartment before six or never came back. It’s almost the end of the year, with no upcoming performances, even though he still gets the occasional message congratulating him on the sold-out shows. Taeyang flips through them during the ride to a check-up after the kickoff meeting. The chat history with Jongseob stops at the day before the first show of the tour in Seoul, Jongseob asking what he wants for dinner after the rehearsal.
They still wake up tangled in sheets at either of their places, but it’s achingly evident that they’re capable of that without even an inch of skin touching, intentionally or not.
Jongseob rented a place during the final months of his contract, which ended in the summer of this year. He was signed to one of the biggest names in the industry. Taeyang had a hard time believing that a child star he had seen on TV was now working behind the scenes. Jiung introduced them while Taeyang was working on a pre-debut cover song, suggesting that Jongseob could offer a fresh perspective on mixing decisions and vocal arrangements.
Jongseob had a baby face on the low-resolution video call, despite having a longer career than Taeyang, having been the champion of a national competition show at the age of twelve. Taeyang still jokes about the rap lines Jongseob wrote for the final stage, teasing that someone might recognize him on the street, and Jongseob always slaps Taeyang’s arms and shoulders, yelling at him to stop in bashfulness.
The hallway is quiet when he punches in the code and lets himself in. Jongseob’s slouching in the chair, the studio dimly lit by the monitor, and a half-finished takeout container sits on the counter. He doesn’t turn when Taeyang enters, fingers busy on the keyboard as he revises something. Taeyang crosses his arms and leans against the wall behind him.
Time passes, and Jongseob takes off his earphones after twenty minutes. He picks up the chopsticks and shovels the food into his mouth, chewing and swallowing. The sound is clear and loud in the soundproof space before he finally speaks: “Can I help you?”
Taeyang shifts his weight. “You didn’t come today.”
Jongseob puts the chopsticks back, tapping the keys after he wipes his hand on a napkin. “Guess they’re trying something different.”
Taeyang reaches out and pulls the chair when Jongseob’s hand pauses, spinning it around. The hood is pulled up over Jongseob’s head, his eyes focused somewhere behind Taeyang as Taeyang slowly peels it off. Jongseob sits still, awkwardly obedient. Taeyang leans down, their faces so close it’s almost exasperating how untroubled Jongseob seems. He doesn’t turn away, but he also doesn’t inch closer like he usually would. Taeyang waits another five seconds in case Jongseob decides to draw back, then presses forward.
He tastes like leftovers, and his eyes stay open, mouth slightly parted but unresponsive. Taeyang’s fingers brush along his jaw to lift his face, the expression partially hidden under his overgrown bangs.
“You okay?” Taeyang asks, trying not to notice the eerie way Jongseob holds himself up.
“Yeah,” Jongseob answers flatly. “Go on.”
Taeyang hesitates for a moment before he keeps going. This time, Jongseob opens wider when Taeyang tongues his bottom lip, their noses rubbing as Jongseob’s fist curls into the hem of Taeyang’s sweater. A soft sound escapes him, his skin warm under Taeyang’s mouth as he kisses along his throat, a slight shiver running through him when Taeyang’s hand moves down to the exposed flesh of his stomach.
Taeyang’s palm is cold. The heat and half-hardness through the material of Jongseob’s pants kindles Taeyang’s own arousal, but he just drops to his knees, kissing where Jongseob’s shirt is lifted while continuing to press against the growing bulge. Jongseob spreads his legs when Taeyang presses his thighs, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment before Taeyang undoes the buttons and pulls down Jongseob’s fly.
He nibbles around the navel for a bit, reaching inside Jongseob’s boxers to brush at his balls. Jongseob inhales sharply, the movement of his body habitual following Taeyang’s touch, his stomach tense as his dick throbs. Taeyang darts out his tongue and wets his lips while Jongseob’s eyes remain unfocused and distant. He smears Jongseob’s leaking tip, then leans in and takes in the entire length in one swift motion.
Jongseob audibly swallows, gripping Taeyang’s hair as he arches his back like a willowy bow. Taeyang holds him in his mouth for a few moments, then presses deeper, the weight sliding past his tongue into his throat. Jongseob squeaks, moving to push at Taeyang’s shoulders, but Taeyang holds his hip firmly in place. He breathes through his nose once, then starts to slowly bob his head.
He’s barely done this for Jongseob, partly for livelihood reasons, partly because Jongseob disapproved, but the control returns like muscle memory, as if Jongseob were an instrument perfectly tuned to respond in flawless rhythm. The melody is muted now, and Taeyang circles his fingers at the base, Jongseob’s dick sliding out tentatively before he fully dips in again. The reflexive sounds vibrate through the faint burn, and Taeyang’s lost in the breathing pattern when Jongseob’s fingers lightly scratch his temple and scalp.
Taeyang dares to look up for a brief moment, pathetically aware how powerless he is when his lips are wrapped around Jongseob’s shaft. What’s worse, Jongseob looks like he’s on the verge of tears with red-rimmed eyes, and Taeyang wants to believe it’s just a physiological reaction. He can feel the orgasm building every time his teeth scrape at the tip and Jongseob fights the urge to thrust, every time his dick hits the back of Taeyang’s throat and a measured but involuntary sound is made, until Jongseob utters his first words during the whole process, twisting his body like he’s trying to pull out of Taeyang’s mouth: “Hyung, fuck, I’m—”
Taeyang sighs, his hands steady on Jongseob’s tightening legs as Jongseob spills into his throat with a high-pitched cry. Taeyang kneels still despite watching him shake and gasp, and swallows everything before Jongseob slips out, disheveled and catching his breath.
His legs feel numb against the carpet, the lack of Jongseob’s warmth leaving him hollow. Jongseob spruces himself up, crouching to pull Taeyang up from the floor and sits him down on the couch. Taeyang is wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when Jongseob comes back with the tissue box and a bottle of water. His hand hovers around Taeyang’s hair but doesn’t quite touch, and the eye contact quickly breaks as Jongseob curls his fingers inside his sleeve, the workstation long darkened in front of them.
“You don’t have to,” Jongseob says, voice low.
Taeyang looks up, registering the crash of something that didn’t exist in his chest. Above them, a tiny moth circles around the ceiling light. “I know,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse.
Keeho’s apartment is huge. Taeyang points out the restroom to three different guests within thirty minutes, all of them tall and slim and dressed like they’re in Hawaii, not in a city where winter bites. He sips his Coke, mind wandering, when someone taps his shoulder. He turns to see a stranger, somewhat familiar.
“Sorry,” the stranger blinks, doe-eyed and self-assured, with his charming puppy face. “Thought you were someone I know.”
“Is this supposed to be a line?” Taeyang asks drily.
The puppy face raises a delicately trimmed brow. “Do you just assume everyone’s here to hit on you?”
Taeyang gestures toward the balcony, at the two figures all over each other behind the glass and half-closed curtains. “Pretty sure they just met,” he says. “Who doesn’t want to get impulsive and start fresh in an hour?”
“Not your type?” The puppy face clicks his tongue, his expression brightening like he’s just come up with a million-dollar idea. “Or are you taken?”
For some reason, that particular question rekindles a memory.
“Are you… Intak?” Taeyang asks hesitantly. “Hwang Intak?”
He finally places where he’s seen this face before. Keeho did an Instagram live two years ago in a nightclub that triggered a rebranding PR crisis, and Intak was there too. A TikTok clip of him dancing like a pro that night went viral. Intak grins at Taeyang for confirmation.
“I’m a fan,” he says, opening a can of non-alcoholic beer for himself. “I loop your version of Rose.”
“Just my covers?” Taeyang huffs a quiet laugh.
“No,” Intak waves his hand playfully. “All your collaborations with Keeho hyung too.”
Taeyang hums at the informality. “You’re close?”
Intak’s eyes meet his for a second, and he lets out a short laugh. “I’m his ex.”
Taeyang is willing to admit he doesn’t pay attention to Keeho’s relationship history if that buys him forgiveness, though Intak doesn’t seem too offended. He steers the conversation away to showbiz, and it turns out Intak does part-time modeling as an influencer, and he runs his own YouTube channel too.
Keeho reemerges out of nowhere when Taeyang’s browsing Intak’s shared private Instagram with his girlfriend. A pinned photo is a selfie from a weird angle high above their heads, not looking into the camera, holding hands during a late night walk under cherry blossoms by the water.
“Whatcha doing?” Keeho is clearly tipsy. Taeyang quickly locks his screen and slips the phone back into his pocket, saying past the pulsing ache in his chest, “Background check.”
Keeho turns to Intak instead, grumbling slightly, “Do you know how hard it is to get him into a party like this? I invite him every single year! Now look at you—acquainted already.”
Taeyang gives him an unimpressed stare and points at the screen playing Billie Eilish MVs. “With all due respect, bury a friend on New Year’s Eve? Seriously?”
There’s more provoking discussion about Keeho’s music taste, but soon it’s time for a reset to pretend everything’s going to get better just because the Earth successfully makes another full cycle around the Sun. Taeyang counts along, passively thinking of the time he was still at his old studio on the same night. Not surrounded by a large group, but with the sense of belonging. He didn’t even realize it was the thirty-first of December until Jongseob checked his phone and fussed about finally becoming eighteen.
They found a random site and listened to the chime for New Year, Taeyang whining that Jongseob wouldn’t even be thirty for another decade.
“Relax,” Jongseob said, patting Taeyang’s knees, his head resting on Taeyang’s thigh. “I’ll come and visit.”
“…Am I institutionalized?” Taeyang glanced down, confused.
“No,” Jongseob laughed in disbelief. “In the army.”
Huh. Taeyang tried to blink away the strain in his eyes from a brutal day, but stopped scrolling through love and hate comments when that didn’t help. “What will you be doing?”
“Wanna do backpacking,” Jongseob said, now absently playing with the zip on Taeyang’s pocket. “Stay in a guest house, meet people and befriend them.”
“Someone’d know it’s you instantly,” Taeyang chuckled, chanting a rap line from that song. Jongseob yelped and smacked his arm. “How’s that possible?! That’d be almost twenty years ago.”
Taeyang caught his wrist and held him down. “What do I say? You were a legend.”
Jongseob wordlessly stared up at him, giving him a look. Taeyang laughed, his fingers running through Jongseob’s hair, closing his eyes to let the darkness settle over him like a thick blanket. After a comfortable moment of silence, he asked, “You think I could retire at twenty-six?”
“Sure,” Jongseob deadpanned. “I’ll even build you a studio in the basement.”
Taeyang hummed. “…That actually sounds nice.” The subtle weight of his phone resting on his chest felt almost suffocating compared to the lightness of an unfathomable future. “Can we also have a yard for a Doberman?”
Jongseob huffed a small laugh, shifting to bury his face into Taeyang’s side. “Only if you let me have a cat.”
Taeyang leaves after midnight, claiming the essential purpose of the party has already been fulfilled. But to his surprise, Intak shows up at the elevator hall a moment later. The noise and bustle burst and muffle quickly behind him, and Intak’s light footsteps echo on the ceramic floor.
“You’re not staying?” Taeyang side-glances at him.
“Meeting my girlfriend at another one.” Intak smiles. He looks content.
They reach the underground garage. Taeyang is about to say Happy New Year when Intak asks, “Not in the mood for a New Year’s Eve kiss?”
Taeyang grimaces, remembering the scene upstairs, people shouting and exchanging kisses as the countdown hit zero on January first. Especially the part where Keeho sucked Intak’s face rather than going for something chaste. “No.”
For some reason, Intak gives him a look, then reaches over to fix a crease on Taeyang’s coat. Taeyang lets him, Intak’s perfume briefly cutting through the exhaust fumes.
“There. Have a good year ahead.”
Taeyang drives back with a HANRORO playlist on. His apartment is dark more often than not, and he sleeps straight through to noon, until the crazy buzz of his work phone jolts him awake.
“Where are you?” Jiung sounds like he just ran a city marathon, traffic roaring in the background.
“Home,” Taeyang mumbles, burrowing further into the pillow.
“Whose?”
“…My own.” He frowns, eyes now fully open.
“Good. Don’t go anywhere today,” Jiung says, voice lowered.
“A serial killer is on the loose?” Taeyang doesn’t even finish the question before Jiung hangs up.
On the locked screen, a flood of messages and six missed calls catch him off guard. He opens the chat group, and the image sobers him up instantly.
It’s taken from afar, but in the long-focus lens, the faces are recognizable, the angle precise like a perfectly positioned magazine shot. Intak is leaning close, and Taeyang’s eyes are cast downward, as if avoiding something. The lighting is cold and functional, but just soft enough to make the framing feel intimate. Taeyang reads the title of the original forum post, and his heart sinks to his stomach:
Was this influencer the guy he married in Vegas??
Down in the comments, people are analyzing the photo like it’s a Renaissance painting.
Taeyang hastily types a message to Jiung: “sme1 saw us???”
Jiung replies ten minutes later, spelling messier than usual: “chking rn no proof i thnk”
As far as Taeyang’s concerned, nothing is getting released before tomorrow’s emergency meeting. They probably have legal paperwork and pre-drafted statements shelved somewhere, just in case something ever got out since the annulment. But Taeyang hadn’t seen it coming like this. Hell, he doesn’t even have Intak’s number to check in. And he’s definitely not about to DM him on Instagram.
He opens another thread: stans split between condemning the invasion of privacy and saying, couple or not, they look good together. He chucks his phone onto the coffee table when it hits low battery mode for the fifth time in an hour, then dies completely.
Jiung said he’d be picking him up for the meeting, so Taeyang doesn’t bother charging the work phone. Netizens are already in full-on investigation mode, even though Taeyang had never crossed paths with Intak publicly or privately until yesterday, so there’s not much to dig up.
That being said, his finger pauses mid-swipe, hovering over a related Tweet on the feed.
@bemysun0701
get you a producer who looks at you like that https://twitter.com/bemysun0701/status/1904916693866209391/photo/1
105 comments – 2.7K RTs – 9.9K likes@wishuwouldthe0
omfg wait WAIT IF HE and Taeyang got married in Vegas last month???? what in the slowburn fanfic@beatsbyseob
12 y/o national competition winner prodigy baby with a 40 y/o soul been ghost-producing hits for your faves while dressed like a game dev. legend behavior@txtfilehoarder
if they’re real… then this is a “can I feature you on my track” to “you may now kiss the groom” type arc
It’s a snapshot from last summer, when Taeyang was invited to perform at a music festival. Jongseob was also there as a guest for a producer group, and they’d met up afterward to watch other artists. They signed a couple of autographs when people recognized them both, but Taeyang never thought to check if anyone had snapped a photo since it was an official schedule.
This shot’s taken a few rows in front of them: Taeyang mid-sentence, eyes on the stage. Jongseob is watching him instead, features lit up by the field lights and LED screen, that toothy smile bright and carefree, his canine catching the glow.
Taeyang considers disabling the Wi-Fi, but ends up just burying his face in a cushion and cursing out loud.
The meeting the next day goes too smoothly, more a formality than anything, just a briefing on the situation and damage control strategies. Taeyang’s sent back home and placed under an unofficial lockdown, “until further notice.”
He’s sitting on the couch, fingers idly plucking at guitar strings when the intercom rings. Taeyang hesitates, then sets the guitar down and walks over.
On the screen: a navy cap, hood pulled up over it.
He wordlessly buzzes him in.
“You really shouldn’t be here,” Taeyang says as he takes the bags from Jongseob, who’s in the middle of kicking off his sneakers. “But why’d you ring the bell?”
Jongseob shrugs and steps inside, pulling off the hat and running a hand through his hair. “What if you heard the door unlock and thought it was a stalker and called the cops?”
Taeyang sets the bags down on the dining table. Something fried smells good from inside.
“I’m not that scared,” he mutters.
Jongseob looks at him but says nothing. “Did you eat?” he asks instead, opening one of the bags.
“Not hungry,” Taeyang says, though he’s already digging into the other packs.
They eat in silence, neither of them checking their phones like they usually would. It’s well past midnight by the time they finish cleaning up. The TV glows in the background, paused on a video from earlier.
“It got uploaded today?” Jongseob asks from the foot of the couch, a little awed.
Taeyang crosses his legs and leans down, grabbing the remote without a word. The clip resumes: behind-the-scenes footage of him and Keeho working on the collab track before the kickoff. Studio scenes alternate with interviews, the two of them talking about each other as good friends and musical partners.
The song’s about self-worth, maybe even a little ego. Keeho says music gives him the most power in his life, calling it his one true love. Taeyang was supposed to respond, but Keeho jumps in before he can when the host asks, “Who—or what—does Theo cherish?”
“Theo loves no one,” Keeho says, grinning with those annoyingly perfect white teeth. Then adds, “Music is his life too.”
“…Yeah.” Taeyang lets out a small laugh, staring at the floor for a beat. “Guess so.”
The clip ends with a bit of promotion, and Taeyang stops it before YouTube can autoplay the next video. The room falls quiet again. Jongseob says nothing, curled up where he’s been, knees tucked under his chin.
Then, with a long breath, he suddenly gets up and grabs his coat.
“Where are you going?” Taeyang asks.
“Need some air.” Jongseob doesn’t look at him, already pulling his hood on halfheartedly.
“It’s cold outside.”
“I’ve walked home before.”
Taeyang hesitates, reaching for a scarf. “You’re not staying?” He glances at the time on the screen. “It’s late.”
Jongseob finishes putting on his shoes, one hand gripping the door handle.
“You’re right,” he says with his back to Taeyang, voice even. “I shouldn’t have come.”
The door closes with a soft click.
Taeyang stares at the fabric on the coat rack, as if it might come alive and tell him who it really belongs to. Then he grabs his phone and sends a message: “Text when you get home.”
The air still faintly smells like fast food, the only thing unhealthy enough to stay open late.
The message sits unread for nearly two hours. Then, finally, the “1” disappears. A second later, Jongseob replies with a single house emoji.
Taeyang isn’t exactly relieved. But he lets it slide, and decides to spend the rest of the night practicing chord fingerings until he passes out.
[PRESS RELEASE – Issued Jan 3, 2025 @ 3:00 PM KST]
Subject: Official Statement Regarding Artist Theo
From: FishCake Entertainment Communications TeamFirst, we would like to express our gratitude to the fans and media outlets who continue to show love and support for our artist, Theo.
Recently, a photograph circulated online has led to speculation concerning Theo’s personal life. While the image was taken at a private, year-end gathering attended by various industry colleagues, there is no romantic relationship between the individuals shown. We kindly ask for understanding and respect regarding the artist’s privacy.
Theo is currently focused on his upcoming digital single, scheduled for release this spring. As a soloist who has consistently prioritized his artistic growth, he remains committed to sharing sincere and meaningful music with his fans.
We appreciate your continued support, and we ask that unverified claims not be shared or circulated further.
— FishCake Entertainment
The agency leans into deflation instead of denial. The response works; a bit of redirection is enough for something weaker than expected. Keeho complains about Taeyang leaving him on read for days, but connects him with Intak, whose agency released a similar statement, one that matched the vibe of his very first text to Taeyang: “Hyung did we date and no one told us.”
Hwang Intak
I was gonna ask if you wanted to go public
[Hwang Intak]
let’s release a duet called
end it
drop it at midnight with a blurry parking lot mv
After two days, Taeyang’s done checking his name trending in every language he doesn’t speak. Idling with more mental capacity isn’t exactly helpful, so he goes through old demos and half-written chord progressions. They play like soft ghost moments dancing around, a familiar song stuck in his head, with only the tune and none of the words.
Keeho calls once, late at night. Taeyang considers letting it go to voicemail, but picks up.
“Oh, you’re alive.” Keeho sounds relieved.
“Define alive,” Taeyang replies drily.
“Down to your artistic death spiral but still breathing?” Keeho sounds amused. “Very alive to me.”
Taeyang doesn’t say anything, just fumbles with his pick for a moment. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yep.”
Taeyang swallows, his palm a little sweaty on the neck of the guitar. “…How do you stay okay with your ex?”
Keeho lets out a dry laugh on the other end, like he can’t believe his ears. “Jongseob’s your what now?”
Taeyang shrugs, even though Keeho can’t see him. “It’s not like we were ever official.”
“YOU GOT MARRIED.”
“…Yeah. Annulled.”
“Do you even hear yourself?” Keeho sounds… mad. A bit astounded, too. “You think just because you never defined it, it wasn’t something real? And you’re asking me about exes like he was just a blip?”
“Then what—do I get him flowers? Soft launch him? Since everyone’s so into my romantic life anyway?” Taeyang blinks hard, eyes on his laptop, but the track looks like an empty music sheet, no notes, no sound. It’s not the end of the world, but it feels like a mistake he’ll never recover from.
“Listen,” Keeho sighs, heavy and unfiltered. “I hang out with Intak because we talked. We both knew what we were and what we weren’t.” His voice softens, and Taeyang hates the gentleness. “You don’t owe anyone an explanation. But if it meant nothing, you’d both be fine by now. You’re not. So figure it out before someone else figures it out for you.”
“Since when do you do therapy?” Taeyang lets out a wet laugh after a beat of silence.
Keeho titters. “At your service, dummy.”
Taeyang’s curled in bed, half-asleep. He’s been stuck on the same line of lyrics since dinnertime, recommended song radio playing quietly in the background, when he hears a familiar rhythm from the other side of the door. A quick sequence of soft beeps, a short pause, then the faint chime as the lock clicks open. Someone steps inside, the door shutting with a quiet thunk, and a backpack lands softly on the floor.
Taeyang slowly sits up, barefoot as he climbs off the bed, and cracks the bedroom door open. The living room is half-lit, and he freezes when he sees Jongseob moving toward the kitchen counter.
He’s wearing one of his usual hoodies, a white one with colorful patterns on the front, and cargo pants. But his hair is styled neat and sleek, and even in the dark, there’s a trace of makeup catching the light, a glimmer on his cheek, a gloss on his lips. There’s a faint smear of blush under his eyes when he looks up and spots Taeyang.
“Oh—thought you went to bed.”
“You were at a gig?” Taeyang asks, voice tight.
“Yeah,” Jongseob says, reaching for his hair but aborting the gesture, probably because of whatever product’s still in it. “Wasn’t planning to, they needed someone last minute.”
“But you did well?”
Taeyang watches him rummage through a cabinet, then pour a glass of water, looking a little messy with dewy skin, but still magnetic with the lingering high of performance.
Jongseob turns and flashes him an automatic grin. “Killed it.”
The sound of gulping water and the music Taeyang left on fills the silence. A sparse, piano-led piece, slowly drowned out by the pounding of his heartbeat.
Jongseob finishes drinking, rinses the glass, and sets it gently on the drying rack. Then he says, “I’ve been thinking…”
The water drips. One, two. Three.
“If you met someone you wanted to date,” Jongseob asks, not turning around, “would you tell me?”
Taeyang winces, like his fingers slipped and hit the wrong chord. “I’ve never treated you like…” He stops before convenience could slip out. “…like you were any lesser.”
It doesn’t happen often, but Taeyang still thinks about the time they met. He was ambitious back then, Jongseob just as much, if not more so. Clear-eyed, bouncy, humble but dangerously sharp for his age, all rolled into a typical fifteen-year-old soul. The back-and-forth of “Still blows my mind you were born in 2005” and “Still blows my mind you say that every other week” has become a recurring loop, a theme song built from everything buried in action and left unsaid.
“I know,” Jongseob says after a breath. “You’ve always been nice to me.”
“Then…”
“That’s what makes it worse.”
“…Worse?” Taeyang echoes.
“I want to know if I should stop showing up.” Jongseob sounds like he’s giving an acceptance speech, composed and formal, but falters just for a second the moment their eyes meet. “Or just stop doing whatever this is. I don’t read minds. You can tell me if…”
He trails off, his eyes slowly lifting as Taeyang steps closer. Their faces are a breath apart when Taeyang says quietly: “We got married in fucking Vegas. What could be more telling than that?”
Jongseob lets out a soft laugh. “That’s what I said,” he whispers. “If you regret marrying me… just say so.”
Enough is enough. Taeyang leans forward, taking his mouth and the upcoming bunch of nonsense with him.
The kiss is fragile. Taeyang holds onto it like a musical instrument he never lets anyone else move, deepening it when he feels Jongseob’s fingers finally, slowly curl at his waist.
He smells like a long day, warm with a powdery cosmetic undertone. And he tastes like a truth wrapped in silent hurt and quiet history. Taeyang can’t ask for forgiveness if there was no sin, and he doesn’t beg for permission, because the permission’s always been there.
Jongseob’s eyes are dark, searching his face when he asks, “What are we doing?”
Taeyang brushes the skin behind his ear, voice low. “Do you want it?”
Jongseob tilts his head, cheek leaning into the touch. Taeyang’s about to decide for him that he needs rest, when Jongseob’s hand slides up to his chest, palm flat.
“I do,” he says, like a vow.
Taeyang can kiss down Jongseob’s skin blindfolded, but it still feels a bit refreshing when Jongseob maps him out. Between being dominant and submissive, the control is just right when Jongseob glamorously stumbles on one uncooperative button and Taeyang finishes the motion for him. Jongseob pouts slightly from where he’s straddling Taeyang’s lap, ditching the work at hand and leaning down.
The kiss is quick, breaking as Jongseob’s fingers trail down Taeyang’s torso, his mouth moving to kiss along his jaw and neck. Taeyang lies there, shivering at the sensation of being scented by leftover perfume, breath caught in his throat when Jongseob’s hand ghosts around his crotch, his face buried in the crook of Taeyang’s neck when he asks, “Okay?”
Taeyang turns to nuzzle into his hair, not minding the way it sticks up at odd angles or the faint mix of smoke and disinfectant from the venue, and murmurs, “Don’t talk.”
Jongseob hums, his touch moving like he’s pressing piano keys as Taeyang hisses. His breath stutters when Jongseob pulls his underwear down and wraps a hand around him, holding still when Taeyang instinctively seeks friction between their bodies. Their eyes meet once when Jongseob slowly rises on top of him, fingers applying different bits of pressure just the way Taeyang likes. Taeyang squeezes his eyes shut for a moment when Jongseob’s hand tightens at the base. The kiss resumes from his chest, a trail down to his inner thigh, and Taeyang lets out a loud moan when Jongseob’s lips brush over the slit, then suck him in.
He props himself up a bit, hand on the side of Jongseob’s face, stroking gently when Jongseob looks up at him through his lashes, lips pink and stretched, the canine tooth adding an uneven touch to the slick warmth every time Jongseob grazes his dick with his teeth. Taeyang’s legs spread around him, the weight staying on Jongseob’s tongue, slipping in and out as Taeyang’s body tenses and relaxes following the rhythm. Jongseob pulls back when Taeyang manages to nudge at his shoulder with a shaky hand, giving another kittenish lick. His hand comes back, pumping steady and fast, eyes never leaving Taeyang’s face as moments later he comes all over Jongseob’s fingers with a muffled cry.
Jongseob strokes him through the orgasm, slowly moves up to press a soft kiss to Taeyang’s brow, and gives him a moment to cool down. Taeyang pulls Jongseob in for a kiss on his forehead when his breath steadies, muttering against his temple: “You prefer up there or...?”
Jongseob shakes his head, tossing the balled-up napkin aside after wiping his hand. “You do the work now.”
“Bossy,” Taeyang says, but reaches over to the nightstand. Jongseob shifts to move out of the way, but catches Taeyang’s wrist just as he’s gathering lube and condom.
Taeyang throws him a questioning look, letting Jongseob pull out the plastic wrap and flick it away. “Not that one.”
Taeyang stares at him for a moment. Jongseob holds the gaze, his tongue running along the corner of his mouth where Taeyang’s dick had touched minutes ago, as if recalling the taste of it.
Taeyang sets the bottle down, extending a hand without a word. Jongseob looks surprised when he’s tugged forward, then leans in and meets him for a quiet kiss. There’s a mixed taste between them, and Jongseob murmurs against his bottom lip when they part, “I’m clean.”
Taeyang’s hand tightens at the back of his neck, his thumb gently brushing the fine hair. “That’s not what I meant.”
Jongseob slightly rocks them both left to right, eyes sparkling as he blinks up at him, all innocence. “Then what’re you hesitating for?”
Taeyang brushes a loose strand of hair from Jongseob’s forehead and leans back, eyes lingering on his face for a moment longer. Over the years, he’s grown into more sharp edges, still sweet, but hot now too, with faded makeup like he’s stepped out of a biopic about a child prodigy.
“Because you look…” Taeyang trails off, his finger tracing the tied string of Jongseob’s hoodie, tugging it lightly, like he’s carefully unwrapping the ribbons of a gift box.
Jongseob nods at him, and Taeyang slides a hand underneath, pulling the hoodie up over his head and off, then smooths a hand down his ribs. Jongseob squirms a little when Taeyang pushes up the white fabric and thumbs a nipple, teasing it with his fingers while he leans in to kiss Jongseob’s neck. Jongseob’s breath hitches, and he tilts his head back to allow access, his growing erection pressing against Taeyang when their hips brush. Taeyang’s stomach tenses immediately, and Jongseob makes a soft groan, dipping down to kiss Taeyang’s hair, hand fumbling on the hem of Taeyang’s shirt.
Taeyang quickly removes his own shirt, then Jongseob’s T-shirt as well, tossing both off the bed before leaning down to kiss the curve of Jongseob’s shoulder, his lips slightly pulling at the smooth skin. Jongseob sighs, his unsteady hand skimming Taeyang’s waist as Taeyang works Jongseob’s pants and boxers down. Their eyes meet when Taeyang pops open the lid, the sound pronounced in the quiet room. Jongseob swallows visibly, and Taeyang searches his face for any sign of anything, but Jongseob just turns around, lifting his hips pliantly.
Taeyang drips some lube onto his hand, moving closer as he spreads it between his fingers. He half expects Jongseob to tense up when his cold finger teases around the rim—Jongseob does let out a small hiss as usual, but his body remains stable when Taeyang presses in just a tiny fraction, then a bit more, slowly working forward until his index finger is completely in. Taeyang blames his still-sensitive cells from coming, but the sight of a part of himself buried inside Jongseob reminds him of how Jongseob’s mouth was on him earlier. Jongseob makes a low sound, as if prompting him to continue. Taeyang shakes off his wandering thoughts about what comes next and pulls out before carefully pushing in again. He lets his finger be enveloped by the warm flesh for a moment, then slowly squeezes in a second, leaning down to kiss Jongseob’s lower back when he holds on with a quiet gasp. He’s scissoring his fingers, stretching Jongseob open, and adds a third finger when Jongseob says: “Hyung.”
“Mm?” Taeyang’s too focused on the work at hand to fully process why Jongseob’s calling him with urgency in his voice, but then Jongseob turns slightly, and Taeyang panics internally for a second because he already looks on edge. “Don’t take too long."
“Or what?” Taeyang shoots back, keeping his pace of preparation, and nearly loses his mind when Jongseob pushes back against his fingers with a guttural noise.
“Or you’ll lose the offer,” Jongseob says through gritted teeth, voice gone all breathy despite the arrogance. Taeyang places a hand under his stomach to hold him steady, in case Jongseob has any other funny ideas about proving his self-control, and pulls out until he’s satisfied about it being enough. He’s convinced of his titanium stamina, but sometimes Jongseob just doesn’t make things easy for him, and it’s frustrating he can be a huge pain in the ass when he wants to. Taeyang still halts when he skips the routine step of protection, lubing himself and letting the tip softly rub at the entrance. Jongseob shivers, so Taeyang runs a hand over the small of his back, and finally, gently, pushes in.
It feels like the very moment that the spotlight hits him on stage—his eyes adjust to the darkness, can’t see anything because of the blinding shine blurring his vision, but he feels his heart thumping loudly inside his rib cage, each beat deafening. As he sinks deeper into Jongseob, the sensation overtakes him completely.
Jongseob is warm. But beyond warmth, Taeyang can feel everything. Without the barrier, it’s not only the endless connection where Taeyang doesn’t know where he ends and Jongseob begins, but he can now feel the smooth, elastic walls clenching around the head and shaft. Jongseob lets out a small whimper, closing the distance to take Taeyang in, and Taeyang definitely doesn’t almost curse aloud. He’s suddenly grateful that they can’t quite make eye contact yet because Taeyang doesn’t trust himself with the words that might come out of his mouth, so instead he just thrusts, deep and slow, lost in the heightened sense of Jongseob being incredibly close. He soothes a hand on Jongseob’s side, reaching to wrap around his leaking dick. Jongseob inhales sharply, his breath ragged and his moan muffled by the sheets.
The sound of skin on skin makes Taeyang feel out of his body and somewhere up high. The fact that it’s still Jongseob he’s fucking but something is inherently different clouds his mind until Jongseob calls out softly: “Hyung.”
“Yeah?” Taeyang presses his forehead against Jongseob’s back. The way Jongseob tightens around him when they stop momentarily only makes heat well up in his lower abdomen. Jongseob takes a shaky breath, pants slightly as he pulls back. Taeyang’s about to ask him if anything hurts when Jongseob leans in, arms wrapped around Taeyang’s shoulders to pull him close, shuddering as his back slowly hits the mattress.
Taeyang pulls away when he realizes where this is going, Jongseob’s hooded eyes staring up at him like Taeyang hangs the moon. Something crawls up Taeyang’s throat, and he leans down to kiss Jongseob because it’s easier than thinking. His skin is sticky with the itch of a clean closure, but whatever is left in his logical mind tells him to log the moment in an hourglass, so he could turn it around over and over to keep a hazy night going, to hold onto something that’s stupid, drunk, and illegal here.
He was so wrong about that annulled marriage being the most real thing that could ever happen between them. There’s reverence in the way Jongseob shifts underneath him and kisses back, his warm breath on Taeyang’s lips, his legs around Taeyang’s waist when Taeyang pushes in again. All the different sounds he makes, and they can’t hide from each other now, not with everything laid bare. The silence has teeth, and it chews Taeyang whole, then spits every piece of him out, so he just does what he can for both of them, dragging each move instead of chasing his own pleasure. Jongseob clings onto him, meeting each thrust eagerly even though he starts to fall apart easily. Taeyang grips the back of his thigh, the other hand brushing his jaw, but Jongseob turns away, and the kiss lands at the corner of his mouth. He lets out a choked sound when Taeyang adjusts the angle slightly, throat bobbing as he swallows the sensation that he doesn’t wish to voice further. But his restraint soon dissipates, a familiar rush of breath as he clenches around Taeyang. Taeyang’s teeth lightly nibble his collarbone, and Jongseob tries to keep it in with pressed lips, until he can no longer hold back. Without warning, Jongseob mutters something incoherent near Taeyang’s ear and comes, quivering under the intensity.
Taeyang falters but quickly picks up his pace and thrusts through Jongseob’s orgasm, through something hot and new smeared between their bodies. Jongseob shakes, clearly overwhelmed but stubborn, holding Taeyang tighter, and Taeyang trembles with him, barely holding it together, biting down hard on a tender spot near the base of Jongseob’s neck as he spills inside of Jongseob, raw and irreversible and everything he could ever give and take. Jongseob buries his nose in Taeyang’s hair and brings him close when Taeyang collapses on top, both shivering against each other through waves of aftershock.
For a while, Taeyang feels like his body has dissolved into molecules, aware only of Jongseob’s fingers slowly threading through his hair, their limbs tangled and his dick still inside Jongseob. With a frown, Taeyang carefully moves, wincing when he feels fluid dripping as he pulls out.
But Jongseob looks calm and peaceful. His eyelids flutter, lashes clumpy, breathing slowed, skin flushed and sweaty. He flinches slightly as Taeyang reaches under his thigh and wipes with a towel after climbing off the bed to retrieve it. By the time Taeyang finishes, Jongseob is out cold, lips parted, boneless and half-curled into the stained sheets like it’s the safest place in the world. Taeyang watches for a second and pulls the comforter over him, taking off his rings in mild disbelief that Jongseob stroked him with those on and he didn’t even notice.
The room is quiet again, Jongseob’s steady breathing against the loudness in Taeyang’s head, a stillness he can’t deal with right now. So he busies himself with chores. Picks up their clothes from the floor, drops some off in the laundry and folds the rest neatly, pulls out clean sheets, walks into the kitchen to get some water. He’s in fresh clothes, hydrating after running out of tasks, when he hears the rustle of sheets.
Taeyang looks over. Jongseob’s face is half-smushed into the crook of his elbow, but his fingers flutter a little like a cat dream-hunting something far off. Taeyang huffs a quiet laugh, and Jongseob stirs a bit when the mattress dips, but doesn’t wake up. Taeyang watches for a moment, can’t help but tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, and freezes when Jongseob nuzzles into the touch in his sleep.
Taeyang indulges them both for another minute, then nudges gently: “You’ll feel worse if you sleep like this.”
Jongseob reacts instantly, slowly blinking awake. He gives Taeyang a bleary stare when their eyes lock, shifting reluctantly like he’s trying to remember what dimension he’s in. He doesn’t move to sit up, doesn’t say anything, so Taeyang slightly lifts the cover, placing a hand on the side of his neck and urging: “Just a quick rinse. Brush your teeth.”
Jongseob nods, groggy, mumbling to himself: “Gross.”
Taeyang scoffs. “Then get up.”
Jongseob pushes up onto his elbows, the comforter sliding off his shoulder to reveal faint marks blooming along his neck and collarbone. Taeyang turns away, setting down a glass of water on the nightstand within Jongseob’s line of sight as he fumbles to stand. When Jongseob walks gingerly into the bathroom on autopilot, Taeyang watches his back from the corner of his eye, adjusting the edge of the sheet he’s already halfway pulled off. The steps are slow, but steady. Taeyang lets out a quiet exhale, quickly swapping the sheet and dimming the light.
Jongseob comes back after thirty minutes, cleaner and softer, smelling like Taeyang’s products. He checks the phone Taeyang charged for him, taps something quickly, and sets it down, then crawls in next to him. They lie in the dark for a while, the air warm in the afterglow.
Taeyang drifts off with the feeling of their knees brushing. Not quite touching, but close and comfortable.
Outside Jongseob’s new studio, Seoul buzzes low and gold in the late afternoon sun. Inside, the room’s still a mess, and so is Taeyang’s hair: open boxes, cables coiled in tangles, half-filled shelves. The light hits the edge of the desk, slanting just enough to catch the dust swirling through the air.
Taeyang’s crouched near a half-assembled mic stand. Across from him, Jongseob sits cross-legged on the floor, flipping through an old hard drive plugged into a clunky laptop.
“Hey,” Jongseob says, clicking something. “Look at this.”
Taeyang leans over to peer at the screen. The file is unnamed, timestamped, and clearly ancient. Just from the waveform, he knows what it is.
Jongseob hits play.
It’s a rough mix, one of Taeyang’s favorite songs from one of his favorite artists, and the very first cover he recorded in Jongseob’s first studio. Something they built from scratch. A younger version of Taeyang, his voice breathier, with a hint of uncertainty. The backing harmonies come in late, barely there. But Taeyang always thought it worked out just fine.
“I have it on my phone,” he says quietly, pretending not to notice Jongseob’s surprised expression.
They listen in silence. It’s a beautiful song, poetic and bittersweet. A letter to those who hesitate to express love, knowing it might be fragile and fleeting, yet encouraging the embrace of love wholeheartedly, like a flower that blooms and withers. It carries the desire to cherish a shared secret, to leave behind memories like bookmarks, and to illuminate the other person’s life with a pure, white light.
The track ends with a bit of static. Jongseob blinks a few times, then lets out a breath that might be a laugh. “It was tough. My first time recording for someone.”
Taeyang hums. “It was fun.”
Jongseob smiles faintly. “It was a good opportunity to practice and learn.” He chuckles. “I’ve always liked your voice.”
Taeyang averts his gaze. “I liked the vibe.”
“The genre?”
Taeyang shakes his head. “The sentiment. Not much vocal technique. Not heavily processed.”
Jongseob nods. “Just the simplicity of it.”
There’s a pause. An intentional blank, but not unkind. A soft creak as Jongseob adjusts his legs, his back against the wall now.
“…Are we breaking up?” he asks, voice low, like it snuck past his own filter.
Taeyang doesn’t answer right away. He looks over, really looks, and finds Jongseob still facing forward, eyes fixed on nothing in particular. He doesn’t sound angry or sad, just tired of running in circles.
Taeyang sits with it for a beat. Then says, carefully, “Is that what this feels like?”
Jongseob’s jaw twitches. “I don’t know. Some days I think we already did.”
Another silence settles between them. Taeyang watches him. The half-worn hoodie, the faint bruises just barely visible beneath the collar of his shirt. Then he looks away. “…We’d have to date first.”
Jongseob finally turns his head. Their eyes meet, and they hold the gaze a second too long. Taeyang hesitates, then slowly shifts closer, gathering Jongseob into his arms.
Jongseob presses his face into the crook of Taeyang’s neck and says softly, “I still think about that night.”
Taeyang brings a hand up to his hair, combing gently like he’s anchoring something delicate. Not desperate. Not possessive. Just a steady warmth, the kind of closeness that should make honesty easier, but neither of them is brave enough to start.
“I never imagined we could get so far from this,” Taeyang says near Jongseob’s ear, his lips brushing the skin of his neck.
“Me neither,” Jongseob murmurs against him, arms tightening around his shoulders.
After that, they keep unpacking, not talking about it anymore. The room fills with the soft buzz of a power strip coming to life, the click of knobs being tested, the quiet familiarity of two idiots who still haven’t said what matters, but are stumbling toward each other anyway, one baby step at a time.
Taeyang isn’t a cat person, probably because people who know him say he is one. There’s something instinctual about it, territorial, maybe, the resistance to coexist with something that mirrors you closely. A counterpart brings chaos; they know each other too well. It makes sense, in hindsight, that he and Jongseob, with their strange rhythm and weird sync, found it easier to share beds, meals, silence, sex, games, songs—everything except actual words.
They argue with banter and exchanged looks, orbit each other like shadows. Keeho’s said, more than once, that the way they sit in total silence doing their own thing for an hour and call it “hanging out” is genuinely creepy. Jongseob said he was shy when they met, and while Taeyang would never admit it out loud, he probably did warm up faster than usual. Though they both know they’re slow to trust, once the latch opens, it’s game over.
The truth is, Jongseob is that feral stray who crawled into his soul and now sleeps on his metaphorical pillow. So Taeyang makes room, leaves the blanket exactly where it is.
But physical closeness doesn’t automatically translate to emotional openness. And being a sports fan doesn’t mean he’s any good at baseball.
Taeyang learns both the hard way, the latter unfolding right now as he stands in Hanwha Life Eagles Park, holding the ball in his hand, trying to look composed in front of some of his favorite athletes.
He’s been invited to throw the ceremonial first pitch, partly for the collaboration with Keeho that’s still on schedule, and partly because he’s a safe public figure with enough name recognition. A neutral face. A hometown boy. The kind of person you can cheer for without knowing much about.
He’s not exactly nervous, especially considering the only training he had was a YouTube tutorial he watched the night before, but the sound of the crowd and the livestream cameras still send a jolt of adrenaline through him. Taeyang warms up by tossing the ball back and forth with the catcher, then steps onto the mound, waiting for the signal.
The weather’s still cold, but he draws a steady breath and focuses. Then he throws.
The pitch lands clean. In his own opinion, it could’ve used a bit more power, but it’s solid. Respectable. Taeyang gives a bow, waves at the cheering fans, and heads off the field. Jiung still looks pale where he’s been waiting nearby, ever since Taeyang joked about wanting to join the MLB.
They make their way back to the VIP section. Taeyang’s patting down his jacket in search of his wallet when his phone buzzes.
It’s “Bronze,” and Taeyang hasn’t changed it to “Silver,” even though Jongseob sent him a screenshot of his new LoL rank a few weeks ago. He picks up, half-confused. “Weren’t you talking to a label today?”
“I told them I need more time to enjoy my hard-earned freedom, so that ended in five.” Either Jongseob’s somewhere just as loud, or the stadium around Taeyang is hitting new levels of unbearable.
He mouths “be right back” to Jiung, who gives him a knowing look and just sighs, waving him off without a word.
Taeyang’s halfway up the staircase to the nearest exit when Jongseob says, “You did well.”
Taeyang instantly turns around, squinting and scanning, eyes darting over the rows even though he knows he won’t catch even a glimpse. As if watching from afar, Jongseob huffs a soft laugh. “Don’t look around. You won’t find me.”
Taeyang hums, passing a family dressed in Hanwha Eagles uniforms, and stops in an empty snack stand hallway. “You really came?” he asks, catching his breath.
“That’s why freelance is heavenly—flexible. Thought I’d be supportive.”
Taeyang mumbles a quiet thanks. After a short pause, Jongseob adds, “Remember the first time we went to a game together? Just the two of us.”
Of course Taeyang does. “Yeah, idiot—you tried to catch a foul ball with your bare hand.”
Jongseob giggles. “It’d be meaningful to catch one, no?”
“You looked so scared,” Taeyang smiles to himself. “You might not have been here if you had.”
There’s a beat of silence. The sound of cheering echoes in the background, distant like another world away.
“But really,” Jongseob says. “You looked happy out there.”
“You did that too back in elementary.”
“Yeah, the first game I ever watched.” The noise on Jongseob’s end dulls, and Taeyang considers pushing off the wall to walk around, but stays where he is. “But actually, I got interested in baseball because of you.”
Taeyang’s heart gives a leap. Not because of what he’s about to say, but because he remembers the day they sat in the nosebleeds, shared a massive soda, and cheered for competing teams. None of them realized they’d opened a door and walked right through it together until it was too late to turn back.
Maybe they’re a little messed up for doing everything backwards. But undoing it and trying again, with choice this time, might not be so hard. Not when it’s Jongseob, who’s always up for the experience with an open heart.
“Hi, Earth to Choi Taeyang.” As if sensing his internal spiral, Jongseob’s voice comes through softly. Taeyang rolls his eyes fondly.
“So, um,” Taeyang says, leaning back against the wall. “Wanna go to baseball?”
Jongseob doesn’t answer right away, just breathes, quiet on the line.
“Or musicals. Movies. Shopping…”
“Hyung,” Jongseob says, voice low. “Are you asking me out?”
Taeyang closes his eyes for a moment, picturing him somewhere in the very same stadium, close, but not quite within reach. Hood up, earphones on, eyes smiley.
“Please just say yes,” Taeyang says. He’s always known patience, but now he knows how fragile silent agreements can be. “You don’t even have to dress nice. Or drive.”
“I don’t even have a license,” Jongseob retorts, because of course he does. Then, softer: “But okay.”
He’s still scared. Of what, Taeyang isn’t exactly sure. But they’ve got time to figure it out now.
Shota is in town with his dance team, and Taeyang is mildly insulted when the first thing he asks right as Taeyang steps out of the recording studio for a live clip is where Keeho is. The single pairs well with spring, and the agency has finally relented about letting Jongseob rejoin the production team, banking on the illusion that “everything is normal.” So, for now, Taeyang’s satisfied with the leverage.
It’s a casual Friday night dinner at Keeho’s place after the release, and Taeyang has no idea how Keeho managed to convince Jiung to come. He’s briefly startled when, instead of dropping him off at the entrance, Jiung pulls into the underground parking lot and parks. “You do bodyguard now…?”
Jiung pulls out the car key, giving him a frown. “At least the explanation will be quicker this way.” He pauses before opening the door. “Or let’s hope Jongseob doesn’t mind.”
Taeyang raises an eyebrow at him. Inside, everyone else is already setting the table and opening bottles, something vibey but not distracting playing in the background. The intercom rings, and Jongseob gets up to grab the delivery, looking briefly lost when he returns to find Shota has taken his spot. Intak notices and pats the space between himself and Taeyang. Jongseob visibly hesitates, then walks over and squeezes in. Their legs brush. His ear turns red at the tip as Taeyang watches from the corner of his eye.
No one talks while eating, but the peace only lasts ten minutes until Keeho passes a dish to Jongseob. “Here. Give this to your boyfriend before he dies of starvation.”
Jongseob’s hand, mid-reach for the plate, flies to his mouth as he chokes on his drink and splutters. Taeyang sits up to take the food, the other hand calmly patting Jongseob’s back as he coughs into his arm, turning completely pink.
Keeho, unfazed, smirks like Cruella under Taeyang’s glare. “What? I’m just saying what we’re all thinking.”
Surprisingly, Jiung backs Keeho up, handing Jongseob a napkin with a neutral expression. “Yeah, are we still pretending nothing happened in Vegas?”
Intak chimes in: “We should take a group photo. I’ll tag everyone.”
“So there might be hwangtaegui getting-back-together gossip? Please don’t,” Jiung adds, sounding more like Intak’s manager than anything else.
Taeyang thinks this is all very amusing as he gently rubs the back of Jongseob’s neck, feeling the tension start to melt away. But then he catches Shota’s black, bright eyes across the room, and watches as he mouths something like “congrats.”
Taeyang kind of regrets befriending these chaotic people.
Shota’s crashing at Keeho’s for the night, and Jiung offers to drive the rest, but it turns out Intak lives on the other side of the city. Jongseob’s place is a forty-minute walk, and Taeyang doesn’t know why he agrees without arguing that they could just call a cab.
But anyway, they’re on the sidewalk, Taeyang half a step behind Jongseob, walking in silence.
The spring night is gentle, with a cool breeze and the crisp scent of green. It’s late, somewhere close to or past two, the pavement mostly deserted despite the steady flow of cars on the road. They stop for a moment when crossing, the river below illuminated by under-bridge lighting.
No one speaks for a while, just watching the calm ripple of water. Jongseob doesn’t turn his head from where he’s leaning on the railing when he says, “You’re staring.”
“You’re letting me,” Taeyang replies, eyes on Jongseob’s side profile, even though it’s mostly covered by his hood and mask.
“Still can’t believe I almost cost you your career?” Jongseob laughs quietly.
“You married me too,” Taeyang reminds him, looking away.
The shared myth might’ve become a ridiculous story they joke about in moments like this, but truth be told, Taeyang remembers the script too vividly not to feel the soft sting. He played a role in almost ruining everything with the one person who never asked him to be anything but himself, and the lingering doubt of not knowing how to perform maintenance never really goes away.
But then Jongseob turns to him, as if picking up on a change in their shared wavelength, his fingers curling in Taeyang’s sleeve, tugging slightly. “Come to mine?”
He’s like that lately, aware of emotional accountability and vocal when the atmosphere sours. Taeyang’s learning too, so he nods and follows Jongseob’s pull. And all is fine for now.