guys my age | yuta/taeyong

summer's meant for lovin' and leavin'

The next week is a little weird. Yuta's still busy, and so is Taeyong, but even that doesn't explain the awkwardness of their texts, the long stretches of silence. It's with both anxiety and relief that Taeyong gets into Yuta's car the following Friday evening. The drive is mostly silent, too, but Yuta has his hand on his thigh again, so at least that's something.

Taeyong tries to convince himself he's being overdramatic or reading too much into it. Maybe Yuta's just stressed, or tired, or Taeyong's just being sensitive. It could be anything. So he helps with dinner, trying his best to be his usual, happy self even if Yuta doesn't reciprocate as much as he normally would.

Dinner is store-bought kimbap and homemade jjajangmyeon, which Taeyong would normally wholeheartedly enjoy, but it's hard when Yuta is sitting across from him, pushing his noodles around on the plate. He's unusually quiet, and once the dishes are done, there's a pause before he speaks.

"Come into the living room with me," he says. "I think we need to talk."

Confused and now very concerned, Taeyong can do nothing but follow him, drying his hands on his shirt. "What is it?" he asks, voice small.

Yuta sighs, running his hands through his hair. "Taeyong, I... I can't stop thinking about last week," he says. "And Jaehyun. And you. I can't stop thinking that this, all of this—" he gestures between them. "—is so irresponsible of me. You're young; you should be doing normal, young-person things. And I—I should've just left you alone."

Taeyong feels like the floor is falling out from beneath his feet. He stammers out his reply in his shock and his hurt. "S-so, what? You're saying we can't see each other anymore?"

Yuta gives him a helpless look. "I don't know. I don't know what I'm saying." He begins to pace, short lines back and forth in front of the TV. "It's just—Taeyong, I feel so guilty. You should be out there, having fun. You should be going out for drinks tonight, hanging out with guys your own age, not here."

"Don't tell me what I should and shouldn't do," Taeyong says crossly. He wants to scream it; he feels out of breath, scared and horribly sad. "I don't care what I should be doing. I just know what I want to be doing."

"I don't think you actually know what you want, exactly," Yuta argues. "And that's okay—you're not really supposed to. But it's my job to help you make the right decisions, choose the right things."

"You mean choose for me." Taeyong glares at him. "I'm an adult, you know."

"Barely!" Yuta flings his hands into the air. "Which is exactly the problem! I can't keep—I can't just keep on inviting you over here every weekend, and just keep using you because you don't know any better."

"That's mean!" Taeyong says, stung. "You know that's mean. You think I'm just some dumb fucking kid? You think I don't understand what's going on here? Of course I do! I'm making a conscious, sane decision to be here right now. With you, Yuta. I'll have my late nights at a club and whatever other shit you think I'm missing out on when I'm back at school."

"Taeyong, I'm sorry." To Yuta's credit, he seems sincere. "I just don't think I can let this keep on happening."

"Then why the fuck did you drag me all the way out here tonight?" Taeyong asks. He's going back and forth, first overwhelmed by sadness and next by anger. The only constant feeling is the tears stinging in his eyes, threatening to spill over.. "Stringing me along, acting weird during dinner, only to tell me to get out?"

"That's not it," Yuta says. "I didn't want to do this in public, that's all. And I wanted to make sure you got dinner. So, here we are."

"Here we are," Taeyong repeats, bitter. "I don't understand. I want to be here, and you want me to be here, so what's the issue?"