Chapter Text
PROLOGUE
Taeyong stands with his fingers curled around the handle of his luggage, gazing up at the grey-brick building before him. Cathedral-like pillars point towards the sky and stretch across an open, green lawn surrounding the building. It's bigger than the pictures online could've ever done justice and more regal, too, somehow — like it isn't meant to be touched. Like it isn't meant to be tainted. Like the moment he steps foot into Pinewood, things will undoubtedly change.
A hand clamps over his shoulder as Taeyong's stomach churns, and he looks down, swallowing the cotton ball in his throat. The crick in his neck he'd gotten from staring up so long worsens when he glances back to his dad. His father rounds him and massages his shoulder a little in that reassuring way he always does to ground him. Right now, Taeyong knows the action's more for his dad than anything else, too. He's nervous on his behalf, the smile he gives his son wary and angular, without that light behind his eyes. Taeyong smiles back to let him know he's got this. He's not going to let his nerves show if they affect his dad. Plus, he doesn't want his scholarship revoked out of the worry that he can't do this. He can — he knows he can.
"You okay, Yong? It's giant, isn't it? But it's the best sports academy out here, I promise."
"I know.. it's just," Taeyong starts, trailing off before he shakes his head and forces another smile. "Bigger than I expected? But that means bigger pitches too, so it's fine."
His dad smiles down at him and squeezes his shoulder again. "I know you want to see the soccer pitches now, but don't get ahead of yourself. We have to meet the principal first."
Taeyong nods as his dad urges him to go inside, pulling Taeyong's suitcase away from him. They lug it past the open door, gazing at the Victorian style architecture and high-brow windows. For some reason, he'd expected the inside to look more modern, but that notion's been shattered. It looks at least 100 years old — in style, not in strength. It can definitely still hold its weight. So instead, he discards the thought and takes it for what it is, heart pounding against his ribs as he heads towards two men in the centre, waiting for them — one in a suit and the other in a shoddy tracksuit, a whistle hung low around his neck. Taeyong straightens up, widening his shoulders and tilting his chin up to face the principal and, most importantly, his coach; retired Alpha premier league soccer player, Lee Kangin. Taeyong's knees wobble as he walks, but he keeps himself as straight as he possibly can. He bows next to his dad when they reach both the principal and the coach.
"Ah, Lee Taeyong. You've arrived. We've been waiting for you. I'm Mr Kim," the principal greets, and Taeyong nods in return, hands tied politely behind his back. The principal's a burly, almost scentless Beta, with thinning hair, a neat suit and greying beard. "Congratulations on winning the scholarship. It is only awarded to the best of the best. So, it's a pleasure to host someone as talented as you."
"The pleasure is all ours," Taeyong's dad, Mr Lee, says but is swiftly cut off by Mr Kim.
The principal rattles on, exchanging pleasantries and then further details about the scholarship with his dad, but there's a hammering in Taeyong's ears that makes it hard to listen. He forcefully tries to steady his eyes on the principal, but his gaze keeps drifting towards the coach as if so starstruck it's now grown a mind of its own. He finds the coach already staring back at him, arms folded and baseball cap tilted on his head. The look he sends him makes Taeyong falter, tremors of shock travelling in tidal waves under his skin, and he steps back a little reflexively. It catches the attention of his father and the principal, who both turn to him quickly, but he can't tear his gaze away from the coach. He'd expected him to be intimidating, frightening even with his strict reputation, but he didn't expect a look so... harsh.
"Taeyong? You okay?" his father asks, a distinct pinch between his brows as he places a hand to the small of his back and leans down to whisper.
Taeyong shakes his head and nods all at once like his body can't decide between both actions, and he steels himself up again. There's a tremble to his fingers tucked behind him that are a dead giveaway of just how rattled he'd been if any of them were to look behind him.
Mr Kim very obviously clears his throat to get their attention again. "My mistake. I'm sure you've been anticipating a tour around the school grounds. It's a Saturday, so most students have gone home or have stayed in to practice, allowing the tour to run smoothly without obstruction. You'll be given your uniform towards the end and shown to your room. Mr Kang?"
Coach Kang holds out a hand for Taeyong to shake, and when their fingers clasp together, those little pulses of shock travel through him a second time. He clenches his jaw and tries not to let it show, so that he appears unaffected even if the Coach's penetrating gaze says he can see through it. He's already at a disadvantage from transferring here a month in, something to do with a mistake with the scholarships, and the last thing Taeyong needs to do is look weak, so he lets their handshake go on for a beat too long as if trying to prove something. His father shakes Coach Kang's hands next, and Taeyong's eyes flicker to the bulging veins in his father's hands as he and Coach Kang stare each other down like some brutish, unspoken Alpha ritual. His insides cringe with embarrassment. He hates when his dad gets like this. He's a military man, so he thinks he can just force everyone into submission, even though he left his military title behind years ago.
His dad and Coach Kang take a moment to let go, but when they do, Coach Kang gets straight to it.
Coach Kang turns to him. "I'll be the one showing you around here. Come with me, kid."
"And I'll take you to deposit Taeyong's luggage at his dorm room, Mr Lee," the principal says.
On instinct, his dad frowns like he wants to follow along on the tour, but Taeyong sends him a look as if to say I'm here, I'm fine, I'll call you later. It works, and then he's completely out of sight as the coach leads him away. The last thing he sees is that worried and displeased expression plastered on his dad's face. And then, Taeyong snaps his attention back to Coach Kang walking ahead of him. They pass by classroom upon classroom, go through the empty decked-out basketball courts, and walk by the huge natatorium with a handful of swimmers going back and forth through the swim lanes. Then the gyms, volleyball court, and inside tennis court. It's all spread out so that each building is separated but interconnected by various hallways so that nobody has to actually walk outside to get from one building to the other.
"This is the soccer team's locker room," Coach Kang says. "Get familiar with it."
Taeyong bites his bottom lip and stops in place. Coach Kang notices him lagging behind and swivels around with his arms folded. The unimpressed look he gives him nearly gets Taeyong to shut up, but he still gathers the courage to speak, wringing his hands behind his back.
"Respectfully, sir, I was wondering if we could skip the rest of this?" Taeyong says. "It's just..."
Coach Kang's arms drop by his side and he expression mollified into something a little less abrasive. A moment passes where neither of them speak, and Taeyong's heart races with each second that passes. Finally, Coach Kang puts him out of his misery.
"This way to the pitches, boy."
Coach Kang turns away and waltzes through the locker room, heading for a slightly-ajar door at the other side that undoubtedly leads outside. Taeyong keeps the grin threatening to bleed through at bay and follows in Coach Kang's footsteps.
"There are four fields. Three outside and one indoors. Two belong to the soccer team and one belongs to our track team. The indoor pitch is an astro at the opposite side of campus so that we can practice regardless of the weather," the coach explains as he leads him outside. The second they emerge, though, Taeyong completely stops listening.
There, on the opposite side of one of the pitches, stands a gathering of guys all dressed in Pinewood's football uniform, dribbling around cones one after the other as a warm-up drill. Taeyong's heart swells in his chest, threatening to burst. That'll be him soon with the uniform on. That'll be him in a form-fitted jersey and cleats. That'll be him with sweat dripping into his eyes and ears pounding from the rush of blood he gets when he pushes himself too hard but just can't stop.
"My boys tend to stay in and practice even on the weekends," Coach Kang says from behind him, and he sounds almost proud about it.
Taeyong's gaze capers around the wide, open green and then back to the team. And then, his eyes stray to someone standing in front of the group of players, one geared foot resting atop a ball and knee high in the air. His eyes trail up wide, sculpted legs and shorts, then to a tight-fitting black and white jersey with the number 14 and Pinewood's lion embroidered onto one pec, then to a face. Taeyong freezes, a chill zapping through his spine as he meets dark, consuming eyes. He's staring straight back into Taeyong's eyes in return, gaze locked onto him, unwavering. Taeyong's reflexes push him to take a step back, but instead he stays rooted into place like he's somehow just happened upon Medusa. But even Medusa couldn't sculpt this; a marble cut jaw, jet black hair, pouty lips, and those damn eyes.
"Future team captain in training, Jung Jaehyun."
Coach Kang's words creeping in behind him shakes Taeyong out of his shock, and he immediately averts his gaze. That was... chilling. Intimidating. Cold. Empty. He hasn't seen eyes so void of life, ever. He turns back to Coach Kang, noting the thump of his heart in his ears and the rustle of the hairs on his skin like they can feel those eyes haven't yet left him, and then he swallows before speaking.
"The rest of the tour?" Taeyong says, a little uneven. Shaky— shaken. He's somehow been shaken.
Coach Kang raises a brow. "You don't want to meet your teammates?"
"Not now, sir," Taeyong answers, trying to mold his spine to stand straight. "I'd like to continue with the rest of the tour first."
It takes a moment. Two. Three. Coach Kang's eyes shift over him, disapproving, before he finally settles and acquiesces.
"If you insist."
Footsteps echo through the empty corridor as Taeyong makes his way through, hands stuffed deep into his hoodie's front pocket. He’s sure there's nobody walking in this hallway but him. He's looked behind himself multiple times, only to find nothing. But it's like he can't unhear the footsteps, and, consequently, he can't get rid of the sinking weight in his stomach telling him to high tail it back to his new dorm room. But he's not some sort of scaredy cat — he's never been, and he isn't about to start being one right now, either. So, to keep himself sane, he whistles. It sounds weirdly ominous in the dark hallway he's chosen to walk in, but it helps.
He knows he's not the only one awake right now, though. It's at least 12am, and on his walk, he'd passed the swim team's natatorium and saw two people in there running laps. It made him shiver as if he was there. As if he was in the cold. As if there were those same currents of excitement pulsing through him every time he practices. And it reminded him of just how hard the people attending Pinewood worked to get in. A sports academy like this is one of its kind, and most attendees are aiming for the olympics or premier leagues years after this. But unlike them, he hasn't come out to practice tonight. He'd missed a month by transferring so late, and for that he'll have to work himself to the bone to catch up and prove he's not just some poor, scholarship kid and that he deserves to be here like everyone else who could afford it on their own money and merit.
There's something Taeyong can't place about roaming buildings like this at night when everyone's scarce and he's alone. The night is thrilling in the best of ways, and back when he was younger and moving from place to place, it was hard to find comfort in friends that didn't last, so he'd sneak out sometimes and go exploring. He feels exactly like a kid again, and it comforts him, in a way, to feel at home in a place so big and new and unexpected. He lumbers down the hallway and reaches an exit that leads outside to an exposed garden walkway with circular stone arches. Outside is blanketed in darkness, nothing but sombre, endless skies and a half moon somewhere in sight. And it's quiet, hauntingly quiet — until it isn't.
Taeyong pauses, motionless, as he hears noises from the parking lot across the walkway. It's not rustling, not exactly, but the sounds of voices and movement, and his head follows the direction in which it'd come from. Curious, he walks a few places ahead to get a good look in between the line of cars. And then, when he spots them, he freezes. They look like shadows, bodiless, blurry, a mere figment of his imagination, until he blinks hard and recognises something — a head of jet black hair. That accompanied by some other heads, too. There are five of them all dressed in hoodies and sweats, with baseball bats in one hand and cans of spray paint in the other. Taeyong's heart lurches as one of them raises the baseball bat and just absolutely smashes into one of the car's windows.
The shatter of the glass fuels the sudden beating in his ears, and Taeyong's stomach twists uncomfortably. Something is horribly wrong, and he shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be witnessing this. And yet, he doesn't move. He stays in place as he watches them smash in all four windows of their targeted car. They're dead quiet as they work, kicking at the hood with beat-up trainers and wrecking the side mirrors. Next, they pull out cans of spray paint, rattle them, and go ham all along the side of the car. Taeyong's heartbeat sticks in his throat, and he feels it there, pulsing and pulsing and growing and growing, until it's hard to breathe. He takes a step back, ready to get leg it and get the fuck out of there, when he steps on something and it cracks: a branch. And then, it's as if his world stops. The group of guys stop moving, his bones start trembling, and there's a shine of light to the side of his face.
Taeyong snaps his eyes away from the group of vandals to the side to see a security guard pointing a torchlight right at him. The world speeds up from its stop and a ripple tears through the atmosphere. The five guys in the parking lot scatter just as the security guard goes running down in his direction. Heart pounding, Taeyong whips his head from side to side to see if he should run in their direction, too, and risk looking like a perpetrator. He doesn't think quick enough on his feet as the security guard reaches him, shouting into a walkie talkie tucked into the front pocket of his shirt, and for a moment he thinks this is where it all ends. This is it for him. He hasn't even started at Pinewood, yet his time here's already over. He imagines the fear, the anger, and, most importantly, the disappointment in his dad's eyes.
He's shocked into stupor, though, when instead of stopping to grab him, the security guard just whizzes right past him, hot on the heels of the group of guys who've just dispersed. Taeyong stumbles back and nearly trips from the whiplash, and his body almost collapses in relief as he watches the security guard chase after them. He keeps his eyes on the chase, gaze capering around to see four of them split in completely opposite directions, one of which has already been caught, baseball bat in hand. He pauses for a moment, heart pumping with waning adrenaline as his eyes dart around for the fifth perpetrator. He swore he saw five of them. Two to the left of the car, two to the right of the car, and one to the front of the car that's now been demolished and left for ruins.
Taeyong shakes his head violently. He must've imagined it. There's no way there could've been a fifth unless he jumped ship before the rest of them. He puts the idea to rest along with the remainder of his dizzying thoughts and takes rickety steps back towards the main building and out of the garden's walkway. But something stops him — someone holds him back.
Taeyong's heart drops into the pit of his stomach as two arms snake around his shoulders and yank him back around the corner and into the darkness. And then, he's spun around and those two hands wind around from his shoulders to clasp around his neck, large, thick, and weighted. His eyes go wide as he comes face to face with the person who grabbed him. Hands tighten around his throat and slam him up against the concrete wall as he takes in the sight of a filled out black hoodie, dark hair, and even darker eyes.
Coach Kang's earlier words flit into his ears.
Future team captain in training, Jung Jaehyun.
Taeyong's mouth goes open, gasping for air, and his hands scramble to get the grip around his throat right off him, but that only fuels his attacker further. Wicked eyes lock onto his, and it's hard to hear the words being said to him over the pound of blood in his ears. But the voice swims just above the surface — the threat cuts through everything else so that he hears it loud and clear, and the words zap fear, panic, and shock down his trembling spine.
"You'll pay for this, snitch," his attacker says, squeezing tighter. "I'll make your life a living hell."
Taeyong gasps, and gurgles, and stares into the endless abyss of those rage-filled eyes as the last moments of his life slips away and black dots his vision. He gets a saving grace — some sort of halo behind the head of his perpetrator — and he's dropped before his vision can fade entirely. His body thuds to the floor, and he looks back up to see the security guard sprinting towards him whilst he coughs up his lungs. His eyes dart around, dizzy, for the guy who'd strangled him, but he's gone. He's disappeared. It's like he never existed. But as the security guard slips a hand under his armpit and lifts him up and Taeyong clings to his chest to breathe, he refuses to believe that thought. There's no way he imagined it. He remembers their words, their hands, etched into his skin, buzzing around his mind, creating a storm of chaos in his body. It's something he'll never forget.
You'll pay for this.
He'd also promised to give him hell, and with the way his lungs burn with the need for air, Taeyong thinks he's already living in it.
4 YEARS LATER
Sometimes, the whispers are hard to ignore. Sometimes, he can't help but pay attention to the words flitting around him, in his ears, down his throat, and dragging that dead weight in his stomach. Sometimes, like now, all Taeyong can do is sit, stir, and wait for them to stop.
Taeyong worries at his bottom lip as the teacher finally walks in, quieting all the chatter until they fade to a hush. Mrs Yoo is known to be a strict woman and her presence demands attention. It's in the way she carries herself, poised, and speaks without drawn out interruption. Taeyong sits up in wake of her entrance, back ramrod straight despite the slumped relief of his shoulders. He attempts to pay attention when she dives into her lesson without wait, but he's stiff taking notes, lacklustre in paying attention, and distant. It's hard to pay attention when the rumours springing up earlier have gotten louder and, apparently, confirmed, too. The rumours that he was back.
But, somehow, it can't be true, Taeyong fixes. Not when they're halfway through the first week, it's the third class of the day, and he still hasn't shown up. If he didn't show up to Mrs Yoo's class, he isn't going to show up at all. No one dares to skip out on Mrs Yoo, and that assurance helps to calm the knotted web of nerves unfurling in his stomach.
"Taeyong?"
Taeyong's head zooms up from his work at the sound of his name being called out, and he blinks. The class is quiet, with Mrs Yoo staring him down from the head of the room behind her desk and holding out a whiteboard pen.
Taeyong clears his throat, ignoring the crowd of eyes crawling all over his body. "Yes?"
"Come up here and solve this problem, please. Or will I have to repeat myself a third time?"
Taeyong shakes his head, automatic, as if to deny. He stands abruptly from his seat, pushing his chair out with a screech that makes his innards curl up, and swallows down the stone in his throat as he walks forward, like clockwork. He tries to ignore them, the whispers, the stares, the drill of their words at the back of the class, surely talking about him. He's thickened up over Summer and promised himself, his dad, and, hell, even his little brother, that he'd make his senior year count. He can't stumble only one week in. He can't let them see him crumble when he's barely started. And so, he takes the marker Mrs Yoo offers and walks up to the side of the board, working through the problem set first in his head before slowly, tentatively, drawing up his answer. The room goes pin-drop silent as he writes it down as if waiting for him to fuck up. Finally, he drops the pen and takes a step back.
Taeyong looks around; at his teacher, at his classmates, at the door, wanting to bolt right out but knowing he can't. He glues his feet to the floor, nail and hammer, ply over ply, and waits for Mrs Yoo to speak.
"Well, Taeyong—" she starts before she gets interrupted.
The bell rings, and, automatically, the class stands to their feet and begin packing up. Nobody wants to stay for any longer than they need to in Mrs Yoo's class. Mrs Yoo's expression sours at the way they all scurry to leave, but Taeyong barely holds himself back from letting his knees giving up under him. The classroom empties out as they all rush for lunch, probably to get ahead of the line, and Taeyong stays standing where he is when Mrs Yoo turns back to him. She slides off her glasses and pinches the bridge of her nose.
"Alright," she says, holding her hand out for Taeyong to give the marker back. "You may leave."
Taeyong does as he's told and heads back to his seat in the middle of his room, his seat where there should've been someone sitting behind him, his seat that's felt extra warm lately with the lack of a cold, chilling presence close to him. He opts not to think about the missing person and packs up his things before slinging his bag over his shoulder and trailing after his peers. Mrs Yoo's voice stops him with one foot out the doorway, however, and he freezes.
"Good luck this year, Taeyong," she says in that clipped voice of hers, but with something a little warm melting the glacial underneath. "And you were correct."
Taeyong nods without looking back and releases a breath when he's finally far away enough from her. His eyes caper around at the other students, leaned up against their lockers, crowded in groups in the hallway, and walking past him, friend groups, couples, and loners. He recognises the people he's shared classes with last year; the freshly 19, the newly turned 18 year olds, and what they've all presented as. The air is crowded with an overwhelming amount of aggressive Alpha scents, sweet and spicy Omega ones, and dull, muted Beta scents — barely there, but his sense of smell has always been above average. Taeyong's bones tighten, locking up as he walks. He'd just turned 18 over the Summer, the peak age of presentation, and he'd yet to come out as any.
He remembers staying up the night of his birthday waiting for the clock beside his bed to strike 12, and when it did... nothing. Absolutely nothing. And he'd sat up then, panic pricking the hairs on the back of his neck, and then waited. And waited. And waited. And still nothing. So he'd thrown off the covers and rushed to his dad to tell him he hadn't presented, and his dad told him to keep waiting, that sometimes, and for some people, it sets in late. So, he'd been forced to wait for a day, then days after that, then a full month before he went to the doctor for a check-up and they'd found a resounding amount of nothing. He'd been told to keep waiting, and here he is now, still waiting, on the brink of madness, the edge of ravenous frustration, but not quite there, not quite consumed by it.
Entering the lunch room, Taeyong almost does a complete one-eighty when he sees just how long the line is. It stretches past the tables and nearly meets the end of the room, but he gets it. The students in Pinewood are hungrier than average with the amount of sports they play and the stress and strain they put their bodies through, and the lunch ladies make mean pasta alla carbonara. So, he steadies himself and creeps to the back of the line, silent. Eyes follow him as he moves, whispers too, and unlike the ones in the classroom, these ones are louder than ever. They buzz with excitement about two missing students returning — two that had disappeared towards the end of the last term right before the year ended.
He remembers it well, waking up and hearing about what happened. It had become the talk of Pinewood for weeks. The two star soccer players fighting and getting suspended for the remainder of the year. Great for Taeyong, maybe, but their soccer team had physically felt the loss, and the last season was their worst ever. The worst in Pinewood ever, too, the Coach had screamed at them with popping veins.
He knows everyone wishes for them to come back, and he does too, but deep down somewhere in the trench of his heart, he hopes they don't. Or, he hopes that one of them in particular doesn't. The one with dark hair, broad shoulders, and that perfected award-winning smile. The one who's been silently ruining his life in Pinewood for years. Selfishly, so fucking selfishly, Taeyong wishes and wishes he won't come back. He wishes they'd find another captain to replace him. He wishes the suspension was permanent. He wishes he wouldn't come back. But he's prepared himself for this. He spent his entire Summer working up his nerves to see him again. He'd spent all three months building up his confidence both on the field and as a person. He'd spent all his time learning how to build up what one person had so violently torn down.
What he didn't prepare himself for, though, are the three guys making their way towards him at the end of the line. Yuta, Eunwoo, and Jungwoo. They're missing two puzzle pieces of what has become a solid, five member all-star soccer player friend group. Taeyong rolls his shoulders back and tightens his grip around his bag as Yuta heads towards him, driving the pack now that their co-leaders are gone, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips to show bright, white teeth. It's anything but pleasant. A smile like that would've made him shudder before and possibly turn the other way. Now, however, Taeyong simply lifts his chin up in defiance and meets Yuta dead in the eyes when they stop in front of him.
"Hello," Taeyong says, tight. One word. All it needs to be. He refuses to get treated like trash this year.
Yuta's tongue darts out and he lifts a brow at his greeting.
"Hey, Chip," he says back, and Taeyong's reminded of one of his plentiful nicknames.
Snitch. Rat. Spock. Bucky. Shortcake. And Chip, most recently, because he'd chipped his tooth slightly last season during a game when someone knocked a ball into his face so hard he'd heard his molars rattle. Yuta's the only one who's creative enough to give him such nicknames, light enough to be teasing friendly banter but nothing gruesome enough to get him in trouble. That's what they do: toe the line. Things too small to get reported for, but targeted — always targeted — and that target's been put on his back since day one by no one other than their leader. The superglue on the sole of his shoes freshman year. The swapped out soccer gear for a kid's set sophomore year. The purple hair dye in his shampoo bottle in the locker room shower junior year. And many more. All orchestrated by one person, he knows, and Yuta's really just a goon.
"What do you want?" Taeyong asks. It's more of a blurt, a sporadic in-the-moment questioning, but it comes out firm. Comes out like he's finally taking a stance.
Jungwoo and Eunwoo exchange amused glances, arms slung over each other's shoulders as Yuta takes a step forward.
"Am I not allowed to say hi anymore?" Yuta says, awfully close. "We're buddies, aren't we? Same team. Both attackers. The camaraderie."
His eyes rake over Taeyong's body and he leans in close and pauses. He's sniffing, Taeyong realises. It dawns on him that he's sniffing for a scent. A scent that Taeyong doesn't have because he hasn't presented. Yuta's alpha pheromones spike, and he takes a step back but lifts a hand to squeeze Taeyong's shoulder. Taeyong stills as Yuta's eyes dance dangerously and his lips draw into a taut grin.
"Welcome back. And make sure to hit up the captain, too, when you see him." Yuta leans in to whisper in his ear two words that send chills down Taeyong's spine. "Jaehyun's back."
At that, Yuta shifts back and watches for his reaction, and Taeyong's ashamed to say that he most definitely gives it to him. There's a quiver in his body, a racing in his heart, and tendrils of dread curling around his bones. Around them, and ahead in the line, people quieten, almost as if they can sense the weird change in the air. Taeyong's eyes dart around the room, at their thinly veiled gazes cloaked in curiosity, at Eunwoo and Jungwoo that share a look that says they're one second away from busting their lungs laughing, and then back at Yuta. And then, he gathers the courage to speak.
"So?"
Yuta pauses. "...so?"
Taeyong nods, a little firm, a little resolute, a little unsure. "So? So what about Jaehyun?"
"Chip's grown wings?" Yuta steps forward. They're about the same height, give or take, yet the intimidation of the act almost makes Taeyong take a step back. Almost. "Well Jaehyun told me to deliver you a message. This year, he's coming for you."
The prospect of the threat makes Taeyong's nostrils flare and his veins thrum. Maybe before he'd get so frightened that he'd shut down and keep quiet. But he promised himself he wouldn't anymore. He promised he won't let the fear take over and he'd yank out its claws. And so, without thinking, he lets that thought push him to do the unthinkable.
With Yuta's tray of lunch being the only thing separating their bodies, Taeyong flips up his hands and knocks the tray back. It goes flying straight up into Yuta's chest, and almost as if in slow motion, bounces off his body, soils his uniform, and clangs on the floor. Within a split second, Taeyong realises what he's done. By now, the entire cafeteria's gone quiet, and Taeyong can hear the thrashing of his own heart. He opens his mouth, shuts it, opens it, then shuts it again all while Yuta's face morphs from shock, to disgust, to pure anger. It's not the type of fury he gets from Jaehyun where he knows that the likelihood of him getting physically hurt is low, but the type that has him taking several steps back in fear that Yuta retaliates.
He doesn't wait to see Yuta's response because one step back turns to two, which turns to three, which turns to him sprinting straight out when he reaches the wide-winged cafeteria door.
He didn't plan on walking — running — out like this, almost with his tail tucked between his legs, letting them know they'd gotten a reaction out of him, but it's like Yuta saying Jaehyun's name had pulled a trigger. Nausea climbs up his throat as he speedwalks out and heads to the toilet. Yuta confirmed it. Jaehyun's back, and it's no longer some poorly-kept secret. And the truth is that the thought of seeing Jaehyun again makes him sick with nerves. Sick with something else he can't place, too. Just sick to his stomach. But, for now, he's also proud. His thoughts race back to what happened just moments ago in the cafeteria. He can't fucking believe he'd thrown Yuta's lunch over him like that. Be it on purpose or by accident, it doesn't matter because people will end up framing it however they want to regardless. One week in and he'll be the honorary first source of gossip of Pinewood for the year. But maybe that'll show them what he's made of — maybe that'll show them he's changed.
Taeyong ends up in the bathroom, heartbeat having calmed down a little on his way there. He hasn't hurled up his guts like he thought he would, but he does grip the sink like his entire system will shut down and give way otherwise. Taking in his reflection in the mirror, he breathes out unsteadily. He won't let Yuta's words get to him. He won't let the thought of seeing Jaehyun again make him wilt. He won't fall when he's only a couple steps away from where he wants to get to. He'll make this senior year his, whether people like Jaehyun like it or not. And now, the thought of meeting Jaehyun doesn't scare him. The nausea slips away as something clicks, changes, and snaps into place. His grip around the sink tightens, and Taeyong hardens his demeanor.
Now, the prospect of running into Jaehyun induces something different. Now, it lights a fire inside of him. And Taeyong's just waiting for the moment to let it burn.
Somehow, Taeyong's missed this. He’s missed being in the locker room after their short day of classes have ended. He's missed getting geared up, putting on his shorts, number 12 jersey with his name on it, and his favourite worn-out cleats. The rest of his team emptied out whilst he stayed back, taking his time to change and preparing himself — not just from another gruelling practice with Coach Kang, but from seeing Jaehyun again. That's if Yuta was telling the truth, that is. He didn't see Jaehyun in the locker room, nor did he see Johnny, who he got suspended with, either. The both of them are two peas in a pod, and he'd learned that since the very first week he'd stepped into Pinewood on that full-ride scholarship, so to hear that they'd broke out into a fight last year and got suspended like that shocked him to his core.
Jaehyun's always had that air of silent fury around him, anger emanating from him in cloudless waves every time he stared Taeyong down from afar like he was plotting his downfall. But never Johnny. Never gentle, kind, harmless giant Johnny. Never the only one of Jaehyun's friends he'd spoken to and gotten close to in secret. Over Summer, Johnny hadn't texted him nor replied to his texts, but he'd pinned it on something else that stung less than rejection. That Johnny was busy, maybe. That he had things to do. Either way, he's cautious to see them both now, but not afraid. He's never been afraid of Johnny and he's no longer afraid of Jaehyun. He won't let himself be. And after what happened this morning, he's seen that if he can take one of them, Yuta, he can take all of them.
Taeyong's insides tangle as he pulls up his shorts up over his briefs then laces his cleats together. He's the last one in the locker room, so he knows it'll only be a minute or so now before Coach Kang will come in and lecture him about spending too long getting dressed again. Sucking it up, he puts on his bravest face, and grits his teeth to get on with it. Taeyong strides towards the open door leading to their pitch outside and pushes it open with his hands paled a ghost-white around the handles. He takes a couple steps out to see his teammates huddled in a circle, their coach's signature red baseball hat peeking over the middle.
His eyes track the field, searching for Jaehyun's presence, but the closer he gets to the rest of the team without Jaehyun in sight, the more confident his strides get. A few of his teammates spare him glances as he walks up to them, sporting a couple balls curled under their arms, but none really linger. His body teems with nervous energy the closer he gets. Suddenly, the circle splits, sides spreading out like bird's wings in union, giving him a clear view of who'd they'd been huddling around in the middle, and Taeyong stops, heartbeat halting along with him. Standing next to Coach Kang, decked in that familiar black and white gear, is the person who he'd been anticipating to see. His gaze locks onto Jaehyun's, and it isn't dread or terror he feels, but pain. Hot, searing, pain.
Taeyong's knees buckle, body giving way as he collapses in front of the crowd and lands hard on his hands and knees. Pain bursts through him in quick pangs, crackling through his bones and shooting through his body. His cries ring out as people rush forward, having had delayed reactions. Taeyong's body scares him; the onslaught of dizziness, the heat in his body, and the pain that strikes him all the way down to his fingertips. It makes him shiver, tremble, shake in a way he never has before. It's incomparable to anything else but dying. And that's what he truly thinks is happening. He thinks his heart's given up on him and his body's shut down. And it hurts. It hurts so fucking much that he wants to end his misery with his own bare hands.
Coach Kang is first to reach him, unmistakable by his scent despite Taeyong's eyes being screwed close.
"Stay away from him," the coach hollers.
Taeyong blinks blearily to see Coach Kang, face red and contorted, as he waves people off from around him. The crowd creeps away, receding into the tide, before they push back a second later onto shore, ignoring the coach completely.
"He's presenting!" Coach Kang barks.
Taeyong barely catches it, but when he registers Coach Kang's words, his eyes shoot open and his trembling worsens. No. Not right now. He can't. But he knows it's true. For a moment, he wishes death over this excruciating pain. Anything but this. Taeyong's eyes jump around, frantic, until he settles his view over Coach Kang's shoulder. There, in the distance, charging up to him like a bull, is none other than Jung Jaehyun. His jaw is clenched impossibly tight, ticking, and his expression has darkened so much that Taeyong almost mistakes him for the grim reaper on a mission to steal his soul. The crowd parts like the red sea for Jaehyun to pass, and something unfamiliar races through Taeyong's body; something scarier than any wrath of Jaehyun’s that he's faced before. Something he dares not to place.
Jaehyun storms over to reach him, eyes ablaze as he stands next to Coach Kang, unheeding of every warning.
"Get up."
Taeyong's breathing shakes, and that unfamiliar sensation racing through him instantly gets a name. He feels it; those pulses of want. Of need. That unexplainable urge to be close to Jaehyun and drown in his arms. An Alpha. Newly-presented. Taeyong hadn't seen him since the day he was suspended, still unpresented. But there's no mistaking that woodsy, Alpha scent that spikes in the air and almost chokes him from how aggressively it rolls off his body. It clogs every porous hole, fills his lungs, and Taeyong finds himself needing more.
"A-Alpha," he says, and his own words shock him.
It's not him speaking. It can't be. There's no way it's him until he hears himself again, high, reedy, and so, so fucking needy.
Taeyong throws his head back in guttural pain. "Alpha, please."
"I said get the fuck up!" Jaehyun roars.
He takes two steps towards him, fists clenched and fury in his eyes, before two players grab him by the torso and hold him back — one of which he distantly recognises as Johnny. He's charging towards Taeyong like he wants to fucking kill him, and all Taeyong feels is that undeniable need. Nothing else. It's like his mind doesn't care. It's like his body burns with it. It's like his veins have been drained of blood and filled with Jaehyun-only ecstasy. It's like he's in heat.
It's like he's an Omega.
The realisation fills his insides with icy dread as he stares at Jaehyun, mouth-open and wordless, his eyes round in panic and devastation. He's an Omega. He's an Omega that presented in front of an Alpha. The atmosphere crackles, but not a word is said. It's unspoken, but they all know what that means. Tears well in Taeyong's eyes as he's lifted up in Coach Kang's arms whilst he barks out order after order. A nurse. A medic. A stretcher. The words swim in the panicked sea of Taeyong's mind as they take him away, worry in his teammates eyes like he's never seen before. It doesn't cross his mind that this might be a positive change in how they treat him. It doesn't cross his mind that after months of worrying if there was something wrong with him since the day he'd turned eighteen, he'd finally presented. No.
The only thought that lingers, festers, ruins him as he writhes and shakes and trembles like a leaf from the pain and unbearable heat that wracks his body as he's carried away is of Jaehyun.
His mate.
It's hard to get a grasp on things that keep spinning. When Taeyong was younger, he hated most carnival rides because the motion of spinning along with being tossed in the air was too much to handle. It was embarrassing, but he'd always end up at the Merry-Go-Round, perched upon a little white horse and hanging on for dear life, with his dad watching somewhere in the background, egging his son on. And it feels like that now as he opens his eyes — not quite hanging on for dear life, but dizzy, sickly, with a twist in his gut as he takes in the bright lights that surround him. A lightbulb flickers overheard, and his senses return to him slowly but surely.
Peeling his eyes open groggily, Taeyong pulls himself up and looks around. He's been here a million times — when he sprained his ankle and was benched for two weeks, when he broke a toenail clean off, and when one of his teammates shoved him so hard he'd gotten a red card and trip straight here. He's well acquainted with the nurse's office, and he's familiar with the nurses, too, but looking around, he sees none. Taeyong pushes against the bed he's sitting on to sit up straighter but startles when something tugs at his left arm. His eyes sweep over the flesh to see a needle tucked snugly in him attached to an IV machine that he hadn't noticed was beeping beside him. His stomach somersaults once, heart beating in his throat, and like some horrible knee-jerk reaction, he tugs the needle out immediately, causing the IV machine to start beeping even louder.
Memories trickle back in Taeyong's mind one by one as blood seeps from the wound. The locker room. The field. Coach Kang. Jaehyun. And himself. He'd presented. Panic spikes within him as it all comes back to him and the door to the room swings open. Nurse Hwang rushes in from across the room, a tray of supplies in her hands that she drops at his bedside to tend to his bleeding arm, but all Taeyong can focus on is the fact that he must be lucid dreaming. The way Nurse Hwang grips his arm hurts too much for that. The sound of blood pumping in his ears is too visceral. And that debilitating sense of dread settling in his stomach feels too fucking real to think otherwise.
"What are you doing, Taeyong?" Nurse Hwang scolds, peeling a plaster and laying it over where the needle had previously been. "And lay back down. You're burning up, and sitting up too fast will make you puke."
Nurse Hwang's right, Taeyong thinks, but for entirely different reasons. There's a heavy chance he's about to throw up right now, sick to his damn stomach, but not because of a fever that'd subsided so much he'd forgotten it was even there, but because there's someone standing by the door Nurse Hwang had left open. With a stony expression, soccer gear still on, and a pitch black darkness in his eyes, Jaehyun looms by the door like a typhoon waiting to sweep Taeyong up and crush him. Jaehyun's face gives nothing away, but Taeyong knows him well enough to understand that Jaehyun isn't just angry. He's pissed. Seething. On the edge of going ballistic entirely.
Instinctively, he shifts back right as Nurse Hwang tries to insert another needle and stops himself. Nurse Hwang says something, but it gets lost between the tension crackling in the air. Tremors spread in his body starting from the centre of his heart, but Taeyong doesn't back down. He won't.
That's all easier said than done, however, with how Jaehyun begins to move forward, gaze unwavering and each inch he creeps closer increasing the pound of Taeyong's heart. Taeyong struggles to keep his face blank, struggles not to let his resolve crack despite their circumstances, despite the unsaid words hanging thick and dense above them in some unbreathable cloud. Nurse Hwang takes a moment to shift back, maneuvering herself between Taeyong and Jaehyun, who stands at the foot of the bed. Nurse Hwang snaps her fingers in front of his eyes, and Taeyong jerks his head towards her, the shock of seeing her still next to him worse than the heart attack he'd almost gotten from seeing Jaehyun. Jaehyun's become the sort of fear and panic he's accustomed to, so him showing up like this doesn't rattle him as much as it used to — especially not with how much he'd prepared himself to see him again. Though, circumstances have quite obviously changed since then.
"Listen up, boy," Nurse Hwang starts, the stray hairs from her loose bun curling around her head wildly. "You're to stay in here until I come back with your painkillers. And no more needle pulling. From there, we'll do some general observations to see when you can leave. Your fever'll keep fluctuating for the next few days."
Taeyong nods, feigning disappointment. The truth is that, for now, he'd rather spend all day — and the next couple, too — locked up in here if he could.
Not a word is spoken while Nurse Hwang packs up her things by his feet, and if she feels the way the air has shifted, she doesn't comment on it. Instead, she glances up and gives him a fierce, reassuring nod.
"Congratulations on your presentation."
It's not long then before Nurse Hwang leaves. She closes the door but doesn't shut it, and Taeyong is glad for the sliver of reprieve it gives him. The moment she's gone, though, things change. Jaehyun strides up right to his bedside and Taeyong's stomach drops, but he doesn't move — no, he doesn't retreat an inch. Jaehyun fixes him one of those signature unreadable stares that makes his blood thrum and heart rabbit. Taeyong can guess what he's thinking. It's the same thoughts swirling around his mind right now, too. He'd presented in front of Jaehyun. There's no doubt about the fact that it happened the moment they'd locked eyes, and now the gossip of whatever he did to Yuta in the morning must've long been replaced by the news of him and Jaehyun.
He'd thought that fated mates were a myth. That's all they were supposed to be. And if not a myth — rare. A one in a million chance of having a fated mate and then a one in a billion chance of ever meeting them. Fated mates were a biological evolution that had begun to phase out centuries ago, and yet, here they were. Heart threatening to leap out of his chest, Taeyong's lower jaw quakes with the need to say something. He may have presented in front of Jaehyun, but it changes nothing between them. It doesn't change the fact that Jaehyun hates him. It doesn't erase the pain he'd caused. And it doesn't change how Taeyong feels about him, either. They can lead their lives pretending that what happened today was a mistake, an error in their timeline, a tear in the space time continuum. Anything but this.
And it seems like Jaehyun's on the same sort of wavelength he is, just in a different way.
"Drop out."
Taeyong's jaw follows the command, and his eyes go rocket wide.
"W-What?"
"You heard me the first time," Jaehyun says, taking a menacing step forward. "Drop the fuck out."
Taeyong's eyes go a little wider, then return to normal, then go blank, absolutely speechless. He can't believe what he's hearing. Jaehyun wants him to drop out? Senior year? For a sport he loves to death? When soccer is the only thing keeping him going? A sense of indignation rises within him, barely there, completely unfamiliar, and he levels Jaehyun's gaze, scared but too unwilling to back down on something like this. He may have been a pushover all these years, but things are going to change starting from now on.
"No," Taeyong says. "I won't."
"You won't?" Jaehyun repeats, challenging, as his expression darkens.
"No, I—"
Taeyong scrapes getting two words in before two hands lunge out and wrap against his throat, slamming his shoulders back against the wall. Holy fuck, his mind repeats. Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck. Taeyong's hands scrabble to get Jaehyun's grip off, uncaring if he's tugging at the line of his IV with it, but they don’t budge. Instead of fighting, making the panic bubbling within him rise, Taeyong goes stock-still, lifting his chin up a little to open up his airways and try to breathe. Any moment now, the door could burst open and Nurse Hwang could expose Jaehyun for what he's done. But no one's coming, and he knows it. Something unmistakable curls around Taeyong’s spine, warm and smooth but buzzing around his body, nearly making his back arch. Taeyong actively chooses not to think about what it could mean.
"I need you out of here, snitch," Jaehyun says, the words pouring out like venom from his tongue.
"I can't. I won't."
"Oh? You won't?"
Jaehyun chuckles darkly, sending a shiver down his spine and curling his toes beneath the sheets. Taeyong's heart races. He's burning up worse than before, beads of sweat sliding down his forehead, and there's a pull in his stomach tugging itself towards Jaehyun’s direction.
"You thought I was joking all those years ago when I said you'll pay? When I said I'd make your life a living hell?"
Taeyong throat swallows against the tight wrap of Jaehyun's hands. It's like trying to stick a bowling ball through the eye of a needle. But he locks eyes with him and speaks, reckless yet fearful.
"Do your worst."
Second pass with the air charged with unnamed tension. It's new. It's different. Something in their dynamic has shifted, and there's no way Jaehyun can't feel it, too. Taeyong keeps his gaze locked onto Jaehyun's, warmth pooling in his body. As if Jaehyun can feel him heating up, he yanks his hands away like he's been burned. Taeyong doesn't even bother putting on a mask of confidence as he slumps and breathes in deeply. Jaehyun stays standing there, fists curled and knuckles bone-white by his sides. And Taeyong wants to say something, wants to pick apart the thoughts running in his mind to form a coherent sentence, but it's like Jaehyun always knows just when to do it for him.
"You want to start something you can't finish with me, Lee?"
"It's already over," Taeyong croaks, and that's truly meant to be the end of it.
He doesn't want this to go on for more than it needs to. He doesn't want to set eyes on Jaehyun, ever, aside from when they have to play together. He wants to get scouted for a premier league team and get the fuck out of Pinewood.
His words have the opposite reaction to his intention, though, and Taeyong's left shell shocked when Jaehyun's expression, for once, breaks. Jaehyun's mouth moves, the corner of his lip twisting up into a smirk and his eyes hooding over and it sends a bout of scorching nerves rippling through Taeyong's body. And then, without a word, Jaehyun turns on his heel and walks away from him, leaving Taeyong in the dust. In return, Taeyong almost thinks he’s mad — he must be, surely, when the first thing his body urges him to do is follow after him. The want to be close to him feels like a need. It's nonsensical. It's irrational. It's all consuming. He can't make sense of it, but he can't help it, either. And he pins all the blame on the fact that somehow, in some messed up twist of fate, he's ended up destined to the one person who truly hates his guts.
Forcing himself to lay back down after his fever grows hotter, Taeyong closes his eyes and thinks. His thoughts are a jumbled up mosh pit, but one thing's clear, he's started a new problem between him and Jaehyun now. A fight? Maybe. War? The title’s fitting for someone like Jaehyun. But something tells him it's much worse. Something tells him he'll fear this more than anything else that's ever been done to him. And that thought scares him. His body hums, caught between the emotions of terror and something new — something akin to excitement.
The door to the nurse's office wheels open, and Nurse Hwang comes in with a soft smile and a tray of food that almost — almost — makes him perk up.
Nurse Hwang raises the tray above her head and shrugs her shoulders. "Chicken noodle soup?"
Taeyong bends and picks up the last of his boxes, scooping it up to his chest and juggling it in his arms with a solid sigh. He surveys the empty room, bed stripped bare of soft cotton sheets and wall a bore since all his posters of his favourite football players have been taken down, too. Everything's been swiped up from here and plastered in his new bedroom, though, in the Omega side of the dorms. Seniors get a separate dorm building, and he can't stay in the Beta residential area now that he's presented. The senior Beta dorms are neutral territory for Betas themselves or those who haven't presented yet, and Taeyong's one of the very few that’s been sticking it out because of the latter. He glances over to his old roommate’s side of the dorm and feels a despondent sort of indifference because he'd never tried to get to know them and they hadn't tried to get to know him, either. A tale as old as time.
Conscious of the time, Taeyong rips his gaze away and clutches the box of the last few of his belongings to his chest as he makes his way out of the Beta dorms entirely. The Alpha dorms are to the right, the Omega ones to the left, and the three of them are interconnected by a hall and stairway leading to a common room downstairs. Taeyong takes a quick left turn, aware of eyes lingering on him now that he's presented. It's hard to ignore the fact that he sticks out like a sore thumb no matter how hard he tries to blend in sometimes.
Entering the Omega dorm area feels like walking into a ghost town since most people are out practicing or down in the common room, somewhere that Taeyong loathes to be, so he ignores the chills that snake down his spine and heads towards his room. He forcibly stops at the door when he spots a completely new pile of boxes at one side of the room. He's sure he already unpacked his things, and looking further down at the window side where his bed is, he confirms it. There are his things all unearthed and neatly arranged, bed sheets tucked into perfectly crisp corners and pillows fluffed just right despite the fact that he's yet to have slept in it after his discharge. Brows furrowing harshly, Taeyong makes the decision to step over the boxes littered by the door when a voice cuts in behind him.
"You gonna move?"
Taeyong jumps, almost dropping the box in his hands, before he whips his head around and reels back, his shoulders bumping against the doorway. A guy stands next to him with his brows raised. Taeyong takes a second to blink and process what he's seeing. His roommate. Someone that must've recently presented like him. Their hair is short and streaked, stylishly unstyled, and they're dressed in all black, from the loose shirt they wear to the pilgrim-esque skirt that reaches their ankles. Silver piercings adorn both of their ears, accompanied by a skull necklace and some bangles. The most striking thing about them, though, is their eyeliner — wide, smudged, and free. Everything about them screams confident and so sure in their own skin that Taeyong finds himself shifting from foot to foot, a little intimidated.
"Thanks," they say when Taeyong's moved out of their way.
Taeyong nods, swallowing a lump in his throat as he watches them enter, kicking some boxes to the side as they go. Their scent drifts by him, the smell of lavender and honey, and he finds himself inhaling longer than usual. Suddenly aware that he's been sniffing his new roommate out like a creep, Taeyong shuffles inside the room and closes the door with the heel of his foot. He carries his last box over to his side of the room and sits on the bed, fixated on watching them work. He should say something. There's an itch somewhere in his throat like words have been clumped together and can't find their way out. He opens his mouth to speak but smacks it back together upon seeing his roommate pluck up some headphones and put them over their ears.
Something in Taeyong shatters a little, the pieces crackling and spreading through his body. He'd never found the need to go out of his way to make friends before, content with being alone, but he'd promised himself that senior year would be different. He promised things would change.
At the other side of the room, his roommate sighs and slides off his headphones, turning around to face him.
"Do you have something to say to me?"
Taeyong freezes, feeling caught out. "Uh—"
"I could feel you staring at me. What is it?" his new roommate asks, and Taeyong knows he's not trying to be mean, but he's definitely... blunt.
Taeyong bites his bottom lip and hesitates before introducing himself. "I'm Taeyong. You?"
"Cool. I'm Ten," his roommate replies, bobbing his head in feigned interest.
"Right. Ten. Cool, cool."
"Is that it?" Ten questions.
"Is that what?"
"Is that all you wanted to say?" Ten asks, exasperated, and Taeyong shrinks in his seat.
Seeing his total lack of reply but a minute nod, Ten gets back to work, and, this time, Taeyong lets him. He has bigger things to worry about right now. Like how tomorrow he'll officially be back to class and football practice. Like how he finally — fucking finally — presented. Like how Jaehyun had threatened him without really threatening him at all. And like how he hasn't seen Jaehyun since his stay in the infirmary and it's taking much more of a toll on him than he'd like to admit. Stomach churning with an emotion he can't quite decipher, Taeyong drops his box to arrange for tomorrow and fishes out his phone to check the time. He'd love to get the last of his unboxing out of the way right now, but working at the same time as Ten unnerves him, the new presence leaving him more unsettled than he should be.
He’s heard about this — Omegas being nitpicky about their spaces and having hard times adjusting after newly presenting — so he blames it on that over anything else. Besides, it's past 10pm, so he decides to hit the hay and get ready for bed.
After slipping under the sheets, freshly warm from a shower and redressed in light pyjamas, Taeyong turns to face the wall and closes his eyes. He tosses, then turns, then does both together in tandem like his body can't decide which will futilely get him to fall asleep. Frustrated, Taeyong slides his phone out from under his pillow and unlocks it, going straight for their school's twitter gossip page.
It would be expected that students in somewhere like Pinewood wouldn’t have the time to run pages like these, but over the years, he's been proven otherwise. And, over the years, he's ended up as a headliner too many times to count when Jaehyun's circle of minions did something to embarrass him in public, too. His chest constricts as he runs his thumb over the latest posts, nothing much since the term's just started, and yet, he finds nothing about him and Jaehyun. He finds zilch about what happened on the field measly days ago. He finds nothing about how he'd presented in the presence of an Alpha, with that Alpha being Jaehyun no less. No rumours. No gossip. No name calling. Nothing. Relief floods Taeyong's veins and he releases a held back breath. Something's wrong here — there has to be because news like this is big enough to be the talk of Pinewood for weeks.
But something tells him that Jaehyun himself had a hand in it. Something tells him that Jaehyun and the rest of the football team purposefully kept it under wraps. A weird achy feeling grows in his chest and his blood burns hotter. Of course Jaehyun would want to keep a secret like this as exactly what it is — a secret. Of course he wouldn't want to be directly related to him because that's just how Jaehyun works. He doesn't ever take the embarrassment of doing things himself and letting himself get caught — not after what happened during freshman year. And so, he operates a circle, a ring of people that orchestrate everything to be done, and Taeyong has always been his target. Ever since that night years ago, he's never taken his eyes off him. It's like Jaehyun's the puppet master pulling on Taeyong's strings. His years in Pinewood have been the perfectly crafted show Jaehyun wanted them to be.
The answer to Taeyong's harrowing thoughts come in the form of a text that makes his blood freeze.
UNKNOWN
You still don't want to back down?
I'm giving you time to change your mind.
But fair warning, I'm impatient.
Taeyong clicks on the messages, the phone trembling slightly in his hands. He reads over the flurry of texts that came in one after the other, over and over, heart drumming like crazy in his chest. There's no name attached, no number either, but there's no doubt in his mind that he knows who this is. All signs point to one person. And he doesn't know how Jaehyun got his number, but he does know what he's talking about. He'd asked Taeyong to drop out, and Taeyong had rightly refused. But now, he’s beginning to wonder if that was a mistake.
Ten painstaking minutes tick by before another barrage of texts hammer in.
UNKNOWN
Alright. That's fine.
Just know you asked for it.
You wanna be a big boy? Then come play in our leagues.
Taeyong clicks his phone off immediately and puts it over his chest, right at the centre of his pounding heart. He breathes shakily, quietly, in an attempt not to attract the attention of his roommate, even when his body vibrates with the need to scream. Heat pulverises his insides. Jaehyun's creepy texts had wormed their way under his skin, dug their way beneath tender flesh, and rotted his insides, but he won't let himself be walked all over again this year. He doesn't know what Jaehyun's getting at — he's never involved himself directly this much with Taeyong as he has been recently, ever. Taeyong steels his body and closes his eyes, veins brimming with an odd sense of adrenaline in a way that tells him he's getting no sleep tonight.
But if Jaehyun wants to bring the heat, Taeyong will welcome it. Things have changed. This time, he's ready.