guys my age | yuta/taeyong

high tops in the summer, don't be a bummer, babe (be my undercover lover, babe)

In Yuta's defense, he never planned any of this. It was supposed to be another summer in the city he loved, doing the work he loved. Alone—which he's always been fine with. He's just been career-focused, and he's too busy for a relationship.

At least, that's what he tells his well-meaning friends when they ask. And his mother. "Aren't you lonely?" she wheedles over the phone. "When are you going to settle down?"

He supposes she has a point. He's pushing forty and still single with absolutely no prospects. But he doesn't really mind. It'll happen eventually, right? When he least expects it. And until then, he's got plenty to keep him occupied.

The first couple of times he runs into Taeyong, he really tries not to think too hard about it. So they go to the same grocery store and the same mall. It's a small world. It's kind of a small city.

But then he sees him at the club—messy and drunk and still so gorgeous, the ugly little devil on his shoulder whispers as Yuta guides Taeyong over to a chair. And—Yuta doesn't really know. Something shifts.

Still, Yuta chalks it up to his own intoxication, and the damn outfit Taeyong was wearing. In the morning it's not a hangover that plagues him, but his own guilt, even though he didn't do anything. He just had a thought. Just one.

But one thought turns into a dozen turns into Yuta thinking about Taeyong when he gets off that evening, and the next evening, and the one after that, too. And he feels god-awful after, but Taeyong's still up in his head—his wide, pretty eyes; his beautiful lips and his habit of biting them when he's listening; his pretty little body that Yuta tries so hard not to burn holes into with his stare. But goddammit, he can't fucking help it; can't help that he thinks about him, can't help that he lets his touches linger. Taeyong draws him in almost inexplicably. Yuta doesn't know why.

It feels cosmic, maybe. Some higher power is forcing them together. Because Yuta's on his way back from running errands when it starts to rain, and who does he see plodding down the side of the road but Taeyong—his bright blue hair is impossible to miss, even in the gloom. And Yuta can't just let him walk home in the downpour, can he?

So he slows, and honks. And Taeyong—beautiful, perfect, definitely off-limits Taeyong—whirls around, and Yuta resigns himself to an unusual summer of frustration and shame and dissatisfaction.

So there—he really never planned it. He had an inkling Taeyong might be attracted to him too—but it was his job to stop it from happening, because Taeyong was basically just a kid, because he had to be responsible, because a thousand other things. He had no intention, when he invited Taeyong to his house, to make a move. It was just unfortunate, that was all. But then Taeyong is the one staring at him with a white-hot gaze; Taeyong is the one who asks him all kinds of suggestive questions in the car; Taeyong is the one who doesn't even try to hide how much he wants Yuta.

Fuck it, Yuta thinks to himself, watching Taeyong watch him. Maybe we just—let it happen this weekend. And then it'll be out of both of our systems, and we can both move on.

And when he asks, Taeyong says yes.

Yuta feels like he's been launched out of a plane with no parachute, but it's as exhilarating as it is frightening. He lets himself get lost in it; he feeds himself a lie so it's easy to stomach. It doesn't have to be serious. But Taeyong is so intoxicating, and all he wants is more. And god, Taeyong's everything he ever wanted. They like the same things, and Taeyong's body fits him like a fucking glove. He can't stop himself from offering to see Taeyong again as the weekend comes to a close (what's one more weekend, right?), half-hoping Taeyong will turn him down.