Title: Everything Has Changed
Theme/Genre: Romance + Growing Up
Notes: yeah, that one taylor swift song^^^
Word Count: 3.2k
When Taeyong was ten, he scraped his knees. He had been on his bike then, ears covered in warm, furry muffs, and finger-gloved hands wrapped tightly around the handles of his brand new bike as he rode around the lake area alone. He'd be safe, he promised his mother that, pinky finger wrapped around hers as she hugged him with a force too strong for his lithe body, and yet, he still didn't let go. There was nothing like the warmth of a mother and the transient feeling of their love, so at ten, he held on tighter, squeezing with what little strength he had at the time.
But, when he had scraped his knees, his mother wasn't there for him to hold - she wasn't there to soothe him, to rub those comforting circles on his back with the pads of her thumbs and hush his cries until they faded into nothing. There was blood soaking through his trousers, and it stung like a hundred little shards of glass had been rubbed across it and dug into his skin. Taeyong wept into his cold hands, the gloves scratching at his eyes that were blurred with a river of tears.
There was a crunch - a snap of wood and the crinkle of dry leaves - before he looked up, lips trembling and eyes blinded with tears. He blinked a few times at the figure hovering over him - another little boy with black, ruffled hair, and a large winter coat to keep him warm. He was staring at Taeyong, too, and Taeyong looked down at his blood-painted knee with a whine, not wanting to keep eye contact with the boy because even his ten year old self could feel something akin to embarrassment and shame. He wished for the boy to go away. He wished for his mother to be with him. He wished that he had never decided to ride his bike so fast in the woods.
The boy crouched down, sniffling and red-nosed. There was a dust of pink over his cheeks from the cold, and as he touched Taeyong's knee, Taeyong could feel the temperature of his skin permeate through his clothes.
"What are you doing?" he asked, lips wobbling - teetering back and forth like one of those seesaws he used to play with in his cousin's garden.
"Your leg is broken," the boy answered with a frown, blood coating his fingers as he rubbed the area absentmindedly.
Taeyong's breath hitched from the cold, feeling small hands pat around the area delicately as if such soft touches were enough to close over the wound that had viciously split open. The pain in his knee dimmed as he stared at the worried boy, and it was replaced with something else - something low, something tender, something warm despite the chill of the beautiful winter air.
"It's not broken," Taeyong answered him quietly, not liking how his voice trembled so much.
He steadied his breathing as the boy looked up at him with large, wide, and kind eyes. There was concern swimming in them, and he recognised it as the look his mother would give him whenever he'd take a chair and place it at the counter and climb on it to reach the biscuit tin at the top of the cupboard. That was the expression she'd momentarily wear before her features got hard again, and she'd use that tone that always nearly made him cry from humiliation.
But, she'd pull him in and apologise even though Taeyong had been the naughty one. She'd always lean in, kiss his forehead, and mumble; I love you.
The boy glanced down at his knee again before his cherubic cheeks tinted bright red, and he scratched the back of his head. "You're right. It's not broken."
He was holding back a smile, but Taeyong could still see the hollow of his cheeks from where his dimples were. He reached out a hand to touch them, startling the boy and himself even, and he pulled back but was caught by the boy's hand in his - they were cold, frozen like fish fingers, just as he had noticed in the very very beginning. The boy squeezed his gloved hand and stood up, holding unto Taeyong's all the while.
