drafts //

𝚃𝙾𝚄𝙲𝙷

JAEYONG PHOBIA AU
TOUCH - NCT127

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈

The water was cold against Taeyong's skin, scrubbing at the skin until it was blooming red. More soap was pumped onto the raw palms, scrubbing over the pink skin once again. He rinsed them under the cold water, reaching over and turning the tap off. He grasped his clean, fluffy towel and dried his hands, the soft strands of the fabric gentle on his raw skin. He grabbed for his black gloves sitting on the edge of the basin, slipping them on, left then right.

Taeyong adjusted his tie, staring back into his reflection's gaze, slipping the fabric up tight around his throat. He turned away from the mirror, grabbing his concealer and squirting some out onto a brush, brushing the light tan concealer beneath his eyes. The substance slowly hid the bags below his eyes, concealing his drowsiness.

He placed the brush back in it's place, sending one last glance at his reflection before turning away and briskly leaving the bathroom. He grabbed his shoulder bag, tucking his phone into his pocket and shoving his keys into his bag.

Taeyong was dreading leaving the house, because he has to take the train. He hates public transport, and his car was getting repaired because he put the wrong fuel into it. Sighing, he walked out of his apartment, closing the door behind him.

The walk to the train station was long and painful, people giving him odd looks as he walked. He held himself high, stance straight with broad steps. But it was the way he was dressed that turned heads. A black suit and tie, black gloves, black dust mask, ashen blonde hair grown into a mullet, and shoulder bag. He looked overdressed and expensive, untouchable.

Taeyong preferred to be untouchable.

On the train was the worst part, crammed into a small space with a bunch of filthy, dirty people. Hands touched everywhere, germs contaminated every inch of the train. He hated it. He loathed it.

He pressed himself closer to the wall of the train, the cloth of his suit touching the germs. No skin of his touched any part of this train, and he was glad. He held onto one of the rails for dear life, squeezing it tightly in his fingers. His eyelids were scrunched closed, jaw clenched. He was trembling; there was so much filth around him, it was choking him.

The train's wheels screeched, the carriage lurching forwards. He clung to the bar, feeling another body slam into his. He stumbled, his bag slipping off his shoulder and landing open on the ground. He almost cried out in frustration as his paperwork, water bottle, keys, hand sanitiser and tissues all spilled out onto the ground.

"Oh my god I am so sorry," the body that slammed into him gasped, immediately crouching down to grab Taeyong's items, the latter screaming as the boy's dirty fingers touched his belongings.

"No! Don't touch them!" Taeyong gasped, crouching down and grabbing his items and roughly shoving them into his bag. The boy looked shocked, staring at Taeyong. Taeyong felt the boy's gaze on his face, clipping his shoulder bag shut and swinging it onto his shoulder.

"I just wanted to help," the boy said, standing straight. He offered a hand to Taeyong, large palm facing up. Taeyong glanced at it, ignoring the offer and standing himself, adjusting the strap on his shoulder.

"I'm fine." Was all Taeyong said, finally looking up at the taller boy's face. Pale, slightly rounded cheeks with an angled jaw, red lips, soft brown hair, deep dimples; a daydream for most people.

But not to Taeyong.

He turned away from the boy, ignoring any further contact. The boy tried to place his hand upon Taeyong's shoulder, but the smaller just shrugged it off like it was nothing, stepping away.