The Devil I Know | Jaeyong

2: Mistakes & Changes

There's something hard to shake about the feeling that comes with venturing out at night alone. No matter how many times Taeyong does it, he can't get rid of those strange sensations; the tightness in his bones, the swath of prickly alert, and that lump of anxiety that's crawled up his chest, wedged itself between his ribs, and lays there, resting.

After the incident during freshman year, Taeyong vowed to stay in at night like he was supposed to in the first place - a self given curfew - but after months of holing himself up in the dormitory, he'd given up, itching for that familiar gulp of fresh, dark air. He couldn't stay locked inside forever, fearing a repeat of the same incident he'd come across the day he'd come to Pinewood. And besides, since then, nothing like that has ever occurred again. The school claimed it to be a once-off misdemeanour, a trip up with some of their senior students, and heavy repercussions were given the days that followed. Somehow, Taeyong had gotten tangled in that web afterwards, too, and branded with a hot-iron rod as a snitch. Wrong time. Wrong place. It didn't matter to them, not when he was labelled a witness and forced to point fingers.

But he's left those things in the past, locked them away in the steel-vault of his mind where they should be, because there's something bigger to tackle instead. Something more recent. It's been hours since he got those texts from Jaehyun, and Taeyong hasn't been able to fall asleep since. Even after he buried the texts, deleting them permanently from his inbox, nothing's changed. It's like Jaehyun's words are permanently seared into his mind with a stencil and tattoo ink, perfect and precise. He probably hasn't made the best impression on his roommate by sneaking out so late like this, but it's not like he could help himself. If he doesn't go for a walk to clear his head, he'll legitimately run mad. So, after shovelling a hoodie over his head and decidedly leaving his pyjama pants still on, he'd crept out the door.

Taeyong makes his way through the darkness of the gardens, the cold like biting ants under his skin. Foliage crinkles beneath the trainers that he'd slipped on without socks, and he solemnly regrets not going back to get them, half because he didn't want to wake up Ten and half because he was too far away when he realised he'd stepped out without them. Taeyong shudders a little, squinting upwards. By the position of the moon overhead, he guesses that it's probably around 3am now, and the night is as motionless as it is silent. Not even the wind rustles between the trees, and Taeyong feels as if he's stepped into some alternate parallel dimension where he's the only one that exists. Or the only one that knows he exists. Some fucked up version of the matrix. But he savours the feeling, the slow thumpthumpthump of his heart, and the chilled air that saddles goosebumps to his skin.

Turning a corner, Taeyong whistles under his breath to keep himself company - a nervous tic as well as some sort of soothing coping mechanism - as he heads for what has become his go-to spot for the last four years since he discovered it. It's a quaint little janitor's shed behind one of the buildings that not even the janitor seems to visit. He stops in his tracks, however, when he sees - smells, first - someone at his favourite spot. Perched upon the roof of the shed, with gangly legs swinging back and forth, is someone Taeyong had somehow forgotten existed for the last 24 hours. Taeyong's breath catches in his throat at the sight of Johnny with his hands leaned against the roof's ridges. With darkened auburn hair, a sharp jaw, and an unusually sweet scent of mulberries and lavender, Johnny's just as Taeyong remembers.

In fact, it's like he never even moved from this spot at all. It's like Johnny never got suspended, disappeared from the face of the earth, and paused their meet-ups so that Taeyong was left to brave the night that little bit colder, that little bit more alone.

Johnny must hear his footsteps because slowly, languidly, he turns his head and catches sight of Taeyong. Spooked, his eyes widen a fraction before something registers and his pouty lips split into a grin so warm and familiar that Taeyong no longer feels the cold at all. That smile gives Taeyong the confidence boost he needs to walk quicker, approaching the small, unused bike rack next to the shed. His agile body moves with a graceful sort of ease that speaks of someone who's been doing this for years, a testament of how much of a monkey-bar climber he used to be as a kid, too. With three sharp steps, Taeyong finds his footing on the bicycle rack, pushes his feet up, swings his hands, and catches the ridge of the roof. Johnny grabs his arm and helps to pull him up.