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Jongseob stared at the set table. The embarrassment prickling beneath his skin intensified. It was nearly midnight on Tuesday, and he leaned against the kitchen counter, taking measured breaths, trying to keep his composure. Taeyang would be home any minute now. Between the nerves and the deep-rooted shame emerging under the weight of his thoughts, Jongseob was teetering on the edge of exhaustion. Because of their packed schedules and long-standing plans, the members had decided to celebrate Taeyang’s birthday over the weekend.
Not Jongseob, though.
His schedule ended around noon, and he’d spent the rest of the day visiting stores, intending to celebrate Taeyang’s birthday as close to the original date as possible. Knowing that Taeyang’s schedule would run deep into the night—because the industry was the way it was—he’d be the first to greet Taeyang and wish him a happy birthday. Jiung went to sleep hours ago, but unlike him, Jongseob didn’t have to wake up at four in the morning. Even if he did, he’d still stay up and wait.
Always waiting.
Taeyang treated his own birthday like a regular day, and he certainly didn’t ask anyone to plan a celebration. To him, it was probably just another year—turning twenty-six wasn’t exceptional. It didn’t unlock any new perks, it wasn’t a round age, and nothing would change tomorrow. Life would go on as it had.
But to Jongseob, it wasn’t entirely true.
Thoughts about the past year were racing in his head as he nervously smoothed his clammy hands down his sweatpants. He was aware of how disproportionate his anxiety was compared to reality, but Taeyang was turning twenty-six. His breath stuttered as the thought hit him again. It was the only thing he could think about today.
Whenever he closed his eyes, Taeyang’s performance of ‘Twenty-Five, Twenty-One’ burned behind his eyelids. His hands curled into loose fists so he wouldn’t snatch his phone and re-watch Taeyang’s rehearsal of the song he’d stored safely in his solo Taeyang folder.
He didn’t need another reminder.
Jongseob inhaled sharply and exhaled a humourless chuckle. The very late dinner he’d picked up for Taeyang was cooling down on the covered plate in the middle of their small kitchen table, next to a carefully wrapped gift. The usually enticing smell of yukhoe was making him nauseous.
It looked so obvious.
He was glad he’d thrown the flowers in the trash before he even made it home. It was a stupid idea to buy them in the first place. He knew Taeyang was quite fond of sunflowers, but there was no way Jongseob could look him in the eyes after giving them to him.
Maybe a couple of years ago, but not now.
Not anymore.
He felt nostalgic, melancholy coursing through his veins. The celebration was a little for him, too. In the past year, he’d realised, or rather accepted, how pathetically in love with Taeyang he was, and today he’d let it go. He yearned for freedom from the binds of hopeless, stupid love. It used to be uncomplicated when it was a silly crush, but that was no longer the truth. The combination of hope, naivety and the vision of letting go gave him the strength to stand there in the kitchen with everything he’d prepared and wait for Taeyang.
His foot was tapping restlessly.
If he was braver, he’d take today as the last opportunity—an excuse to confess, to admit his feelings out loud to Taeyang.
But he wasn’t.
The only option was to suppress his feelings. It was nothing new anyway.
Acknowledging what had been building for years, growing into something beyond him, already felt like enough. That was what he told himself, at least. It meant he wasn’t stupid. He was mature and self-aware.
He’d almost deluded himself into thinking Taeyang could feel a fraction of the romantic attraction he’d harboured for the older man.
When they listened to ‘Twenty-Five, Twenty-One’ together at the end of the year…
Taeyang looked at him differently that night.
For a moment, Jongseob feared he’d been found out, but Taeyang let the music carry on, the concert buzz ever-present as they stared at each other. Neither of them mentioned it again. Then Taeyang decided to use the song as his solo, and Jongseob had to experience it over and over again.
Jongseob had described that night as emotional and romantic on his Fromm. He said it mostly as a joke, but at the same time, the opportunity to express it in some way eased the weight crushing his ribs and squeezing his heart. Keeping a secret from Taeyang was foreign to him. It felt wrong.
Later, when Taeyang asked him to record his rehearsal, take his photos, or when he'd witnessed Taeyang’s breathtaking performance live… Jongseob imagined Taeyang singing to him every single time. It barely made any sense, since the song was about a lost love from the past. But still, he thought it felt like fate that he and Taeyang were 21 and 25, respectively—that it meant something when they listened to the song live together, and then Taeyang had chosen to perform it that same year.
The idea of Taeyang calling him beautiful and singing about holding his hand was more than enough already.
The sound of keys jingling in the lock cut through the stifling silence. Jongseob instinctively straightened up. He waited, listening to Taeyang’s quiet movements until he walked into his line of sight.
Taeyang’s step faltered as they made eye contact. Taeyang looked around the set table and at his surely tense figure standing nearby.
“Hey, Jongseob-ah. What are you doing here?”
Waiting for you.
“Hey, it’s your birthday soon.” Jongseob shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant despite the thrumming in his ears. “If you’re not too tired, I thought we could celebrate a little. You can go change.”
Taeyang raised his brow, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Can I now?”
Jongseob waited for another witty retort or maybe a dismissal, but after Taeyang studied his expression, he quietly complied, heading to his room.
Jongseob checked his phone.
It was 23:43.
He took a deep breath, lungs expanding to their limit, and sat down at the table, putting the phone screen up on the wooden surface.
Taeyang returned at 23:50.
Jongseob allowed himself to stare—taking in Taeyang from his short black hair framing his bare, freshly washed face, down his loose black t-shirt to the silky dark pyjama pants. Taeyang looked so soft, and the air of domesticity he brought with him revitalised the quiet warmth buried in Jongseob’s chest. He blinked out of the daze as Taeyang sat opposite him.
Taeyang curiously lifted the lid placed over the plate. Since Jongseob had reheated the food, small curls of steam still rose from underneath. Jongseob’s eyes kept flicking between Taeyang’s relaxed expression and the table, pointless anxiety clinging to him. Taeyang didn’t know what this meant to him. There was no reason for the apprehension.
“What’s this?” Taeyang asked unnecessarily, trying to catch his eye. He put the lid upside down, farther from the plate and folded his arms on the table.
Jongseob swallowed over the lump forming in his throat.
“Yukhoe, obviously.”
“My favourite, huh?” Taeyang’s voice came across as smug, but Jongseob thought there was softness hidden underneath. It made everything a hundred times more difficult—knowing Taeyang had a soft spot for him.
A memory of their Han River outing flashed in his mind.
Jongseob nodded, fingers tapping against his thighs as he waited for Taeyang to take a bite.
Taeyang scanned the table. His eyes passed over the wrapped gift without pause, skimmed the kitchen, then landed back on Jongseob. He tilted his head. “Where’s your plate?”
“I already ate,” he lied. There was no way he’d be able to stomach anything.
Taeyang hummed vaguely, narrowing his eyes. He picked up the chopsticks neatly laid beside the plate and took a piece of meat. He slowly lifted the bite-sized chunk to blow on it and then stretched out his hand, bringing it closer to Jongseob’s face.
Jongseob’s eyes widened slightly. The dimly lit kitchen, the late hour, his lingering thoughts, and the tightness in his chest painted an almost romantic picture. He imagined what it’d be like to take the bite, to reach past the food and take Taeyang’s fingers into his mouth.
Taeyang stared at him impassively.
“What?” Jongseob asked quietly.
“You don’t want a taste?”
“I’m not hungry.”
There was a brief pause.
“Open your mouth.”
Jongseob’s mouth opened almost reflexively under the gentle command. The humiliation painted his face a reddish pink as Taeyang’s lips curved up, something close to a smirk. Jongseob’s lips didn’t touch Taeyang’s fingers when he took the meat, but it didn’t matter. He still felt the tension deep in his bones as he chewed on the food that tasted like hot cotton in his mouth.
Taeyang didn’t comment on his obvious unease and began eating, nibbling at the meal. To him, it was probably nothing, Jongseob thought. A little silly, mundane interaction, while Jongseob nearly shook, stressed and full of contradictory thoughts.
The silence stretched until Taeyang put down the chopsticks after exactly five bites and took Jongseob’s gift. He unwrapped it and studied the book inside.
Jongseob tapped on the phone screen—the time showed 23:56.
“It’s a poetry book. I know it’s not your usual thing, but I’ve sent you some poems from it before, and you liked them.”
“Why are you so nervous?”
“I’m not.” Another blatant lie, but what could Jongseob say to that without vomiting his feelings all over them both? It seemed his voice wasn’t as steady as he’d convinced himself it was.
“Okay…? It’s just my birthday,” Taeyang replied, flipping through the book.
Jongseob had added colourful little annotation tabs throughout it: pink for the poems he’d shown Taeyang before, and purple for his favourite ones. Some lines were underlined, and some pages were decorated with silly doodles.
Taeyang paused on one of the poems near the end. Jongseob couldn’t read which one, but he knew immediately from both the pink and purple tabs stuck on the page. His nails dug into his thighs to stop from fidgeting.
“This is the one about past lovers,” Taeyang murmured, eyes glued to the page.
It was a poem Jongseob sent him the same night they’d gone to the concert.
This one reminded him of them the most, a story in which the lovers found each other again. The one where they reconnected, looked at the stars together, and held hands until sunrise, existing in their own little bubble protected from any external forces.
Taeyang had always been his safe place.
Jongseob’s brow furrowed the longer Taeyang stared at the page. He bit the inside of his cheek, waiting for Taeyang to say something, to look away from the poem that had ‘I’m in love with you’ written all over it.
Instead, Taeyang asked, “What do the colours mean?”
Jongseob couldn’t answer.
When Taeyang finally lifted his gaze, he did so slowly—his lips were parted, and something was brewing in his eyes that Jongseob couldn’t read. An uncomfortable feeling swooped over him.
Taeyang let out a quiet sound, hesitant at first. Jongseob’s breath hitched—he immediately recognised the melody. Taeyang was humming ‘Twenty-Five, Twenty-One’. He watched as something in Taeyang’s expression shifted. It looked too much like the deep understanding Jongseob feared, and it almost made him bolt out of his seat.
But he stayed and joined in, humming along.
He couldn’t help but check the time again.
It was 23:58.
When he looked up, he caught Taeyang’s gaze lingering on the screen, too, until it dimmed a few seconds later.
Their eyes met, and the humming faded.
Jongseob trembled with the knowledge that Taeyang understood.
He must have realised that Jongseob’s feelings weren’t just a stupid crush anymore, but something different entirely.
He knew.
Taeyang gently closed the book and laid it down, his hand stroking the cover a couple of times before he leaned back in the wooden chair.
Jongseob blinked at the sharp inhale Taeyang took.
“Is there anything else you have for me?”
Jongseob swallowed harshly before asking, “What do you mean?”
“Something to tell me? Something else to give me?”
Jongseob shook his head.
There was a tense moment before Taeyang reached over to tap Jongseob’s screen.
Still 23:58
Taeyang pulled back.
“Tick-tock,” he drawled, and raised his brow impatiently.
Jongseob thought he was going to throw up the single piece of beef he’d eaten.
Why was Taeyang doing this to him?
The click of Taeyang’s tongue sounded too loud in the oppressive silence.
“Jongseob, come here,” Taeyang said.
Jongseob was too preoccupied with the clock ticking down in his mind to try to decipher anything from Taeyang’s tone.
He wavered.
“Jongseobie,” Taeyang’s voice softened, his eyes fixed on Jongseob invitingly.
He was powerless against that.
His movements were slow and unsteady as he walked around the table and stopped beside Taeyang, who turned to him, sitting sideways on the chair. Taeyang held out his hand. Jongseob noticed a faint tremble running through his fingers. It was the first real crack in his composure he’d caught tonight—a sign that perhaps Taeyang was affected by all this, too.
They’d held hands so many times before, so the way they fit together was like coming home. Taeyang squeezed his fingers and tugged lightly. Jongseob stepped closer. Taeyang’s head was tipped up, and he was looking at Jongseob with a small smile.
“Tick-tock,” Taeyang whispered and tugged again.
Jongseob leaned down.
Their faces were so close, he got almost dizzy with it.
When Taeyang’s breath hit his skin, he thought he was dreaming.
“Are you sure there’s nothing you want to do?” Taeyang murmured.
Jongseob couldn’t bring himself to look into his eyes. Instead, he stared just below them—fixated on his bottom lashes. He nervously licked his lips, steeling himself.
“Are you serious, hyung? Is this…” real?
“Kiss me and find out.”
Taeyang’s hand, clutching his, served as his only lifeline.
Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.
Jongseob closed his eyes and pressed his lips against Taeyang’s before he could spiral further.
He had no idea what he was doing.
He’d kissed people before, ages ago, but none of them were Taeyang. The awkward press of their lips brought a wave of shame, and he quickly pulled back. The puff of air that spread across his chin as Taeyang laughed forced him to squeeze his eyes shut tighter.
“It’s okay,” Taeyang whispered reassuringly.
Before he had time to process what was happening, Taeyang’s fingers slipped into his hair, and he was being kissed properly.
Taeyang teased his lips with his tongue, and Jongseob parted them without hesitation. The feeling of Taeyang surrounded him completely. There was a tongue exploring his mouth and a hand cupping the side of his face with delicate fingers tangled in his long hair. Taeyang was wordlessly guiding him, making him feel like they fit together so well, as though kissing each other was already habitual. His own hands landed on Taeyang’s shoulders, fingers nervously twitching against the bare skin of his neck.
It was slow, tender, but thorough.
For a moment, Jongseob worried he might cry.
Taeyang kissed him like he meant it.
As if… he really wanted it, too.
That was the last thing Jongseob expected.
His brain had trouble focusing on the world around him as Taeyang’s other arm wrapped around his waist to bring him closer. He followed easily, the eagerness in his kisses growing as he tried to reciprocate. The pressure in his lungs was the only indication of how long they’d been kissing.
When Taeyang drew back, Jongseob immediately reached for his phone, and Taeyang’s hands slipped away. It was ridiculous, but he needed to know.
The screen came to life, and he watched as the clock switched from 23:59 to 00:00.
A relieved, breathy laugh escaped him.
He turned toward Taeyang, who was looking at him in amusement. Jongseob loved the way one corner of his mouth was upturned a little more than the other.
“Happy birthday,” Jongseob said, unable to suppress a smile after seeing Taeyang’s fond expression.
His only reply was a low, hushed chuckle. There was neither regret nor repulsion in Taeyang’s gaze. Jongseob had trouble believing it. Some of the tension gripping his body finally eased as he took a couple of uneven breaths.
His gaze dropped to Taeyang’s hands resting on his thighs, and his own fingers itched to touch, to feel, to hold.
“You can,” Taeyang answered the unspoken question.
Jongseob cursed over how observant Taeyang was. Or maybe he was just being too obvious with the staring and his shaky hands that he’d stopped trying to hide. A dangerous combination for his heart, really, to be read so easily.
A screech interrupted the quiet as Taeyang pushed his chair farther from the table. He drew his legs together, leaving his hands on his thighs, palms up. Jongseob dared to look up. Taeyang tilted his head, narrowing his eyes playfully, the faint smile a permanent fixture on his face.
Jongseob couldn’t decide whether he preferred Taeyang to sit back and let him do everything or not. Taeyang was receptive to his tentative advances, at least. Jongseob thought Taeyang might be intentionally leaving the first steps up to him because he’d noticed his trembling had subsided—how setting the pace soothed his anxiety. Still, Jongseob couldn’t shake off the feeling that Taeyang was messing with him a little, too. As long as it was lighthearted, though, Jongseob didn’t care.
He took slow, small, deliberate steps this time, until his legs were touching Taeyang’s knees. The hesitation was minor as he took Taeyang’s hands in his, fiddling with his fingers. All he wanted was to feel Taeyang’s comforting warmth against him.
Taeyang’s expression told him he was allowed.
He squeezed Taeyang’s hands before wrapping them around his own waist. One deep inhale later, he was straddling Taeyang’s lap. There was no other intent behind the touch other than a desire for closeness. Jongseob looped his arms around Taeyang’s neck and pressed their bodies together, nuzzling into his hair. He felt Taeyang’s grip tighten.
He had to close his eyes under the overwhelming mix of emotions and completely slumped against Taeyang, going limp in his embrace.
His mental focus fell solely on Taeyang’s hands. One of them traced his body until Taeyang’s fingers gently cradled his hair.
It was so nice.
There were too many things to say, too many questions to ask, but Jongseob wasn’t ready to hear any of them out loud right then. Instead, he stayed tucked against Taeyang silently.
“I think we’re going to need a new song,” Taeyang spoke up quietly.
Jongseob hummed.
“Twenty-Six, Twenty-One? Twenty-Six, Twenty-Two?”
Jongseob buried his face deeper into the crook of Taeyang’s neck to hide the smile taking over his face. He pushed the biting questions about what all this meant further into the back of his mind, focusing on enjoying the here and now.
“You should write it,” Taeyang continued.
“Why am I the one writing it?”
“Because you’re good at it.”
“You’re composing the melody then.”
“I’ll play it on my guitar.”
“For me.”
Taeyang chuckled and tugged on his hair gently. Jongseob followed the motion, only to be instantly greeted by a mouth on his.
They just kissed.
He dared to move his hands into Taeyang’s soft hair, tucking it behind his ears as much as the length allowed.
They stayed like that until the need for oxygen forced them apart.
The grip he had on Taeyang’s face tightened as he drew back. He stared at Taeyang’s lightly flushed face and bruised lips. Jongseob could see how his own fingers were digging into Taeyang’s cheeks. It wasn’t realistic, but he still wished there would be a mark left somewhere—an imprint of his fingers, crescents left by his nails. He was feeling greedy.
“I’ll play it for us,” Taeyang said, stressing the last word.
Taeyang pulled on his hair again, more forcefully now, and he had to bite his tongue to stop a moan from escaping. His head tipped back, and Taeyang left a tender kiss on the line of his jaw before patting his legs. The contradiction of the actions sent pleasant shivers down his limbs. A fleeting thought of Taeyang having a thing for his hair crossed his mind.
“Off. Let me finish the food,” Taeyang said quietly, matching the calm night atmosphere.
Jongseob slid down from his lap and padded back to the other side. Taeyang dragged his chair closer to the table and picked up the chopsticks. Taeyang offered him another taste, but he shook his head.
Jongseob spent the next few minutes leaning against his hand, eyes tracing Taeyang’s features as he savoured the rest of his meal. Somehow, even in the muted light, Taeyang shone brightly. Jongseob couldn’t get enough.
The ghost of Taeyang’s touch kept him company in the silence.
He let his thoughts briefly wander, and all the uncertainties rushed right back in. He wouldn’t let them overwhelm him this time. The kiss and the tender embrace salved his open wounds.
He’d take anything he could get. It was already more than he’d ever expected.
“Thank you,” Taeyang said, after swallowing the last bite. Jongseob smiled softly at the content expression on his face. It made everything worth it.
Always.
I love you.
“Of course, hyung.”