Chapter Text
Heartbreak is a chaotic event with organized consequences.
Usually, when people break up with their partner whom they’ve dated for years, they cry, eat a pint of ice cream a day, and find solace in their best friends. They’ll be in a funk for a couple days, maybe even weeks, and lose some sense of good hygiene practices. Their friends will shower them with unconditional support and love, and make them feel like they’re still a worthy human being and that their ex is just a complete asshole. Then, eventually they move on, stop watching sad romance movies and bawling their eyes out, and change their playlist from ‘breakup’ to ‘fuck you, I’m gonna be happy’.
But then again, they’re not Kim Doyoung.
There’s supposed to be a generic sequence of events when it comes to going through a breakup, but Doyoung decides to take that status quo and turn it inside-out and ass over elbows, because he can .
So when Doyoung gets his heart broken, there’s only one series of events that runs through his head.
- Be gay
- Do crime
- Get fucked—in whichever form it will come to him.
He’s already accomplished the first step. Doyoung has enough pictures of himself and his ex-boyfriend on his wall and saved to his phone for it to be considered full homo, and it’s clear enough from the choices he makes that he is in fact, very gay.
Like, Taeyong is a great person. He was a great boyfriend. He treated Doyoung like he was everything good and lovely in the world, and was always there for him. He’s sweet, kind, and sincere to a fault. His skills are great in the kitchen, in academics, and in bed.
They’ve started out as friends in college, then after a couple months of pining and some classic Tom and Jerry back-and-forth, Doyoung finally swallowed his pride and asked Taeyong out, and they started going out. And everything from then on out, is history.
Three years.
A whole three years spent in bliss and the occasional argument here and there. It was never big, and they always made up afterwards with some homemade sweets and a healthy amount of sex.
But amazing sex aside, there were other benefits to dating Taeyong. Unlike Doyoung, who’s socially reclusive and has a bad habit of being too sardonic for his own good, Taeyong’s sweet personality drew people towards him like bees to pollen. His friend group was massive, and when they first started going out, Taeyong introduced Doyoung to his horde of friends. He didn’t know what to expect, but they were incredibly supportive and welcoming, and Doyoung was sucked in quickly.
Johnny, Taeyong’s best friend, is charming and unfairly beautiful, with long blonde hair and a modelesque build. He DJ’s at a nightclub on the weekends, and it’s because of him that Doyoung manages to have a good time every now and then downtown without completely blowing out his bank account.
Taeil, Taeyong’s roommate, is fatherly and adorable, small in stature with a voice that can shatter glass when he’s screaming. Literally. They’ve tested it out—in the name of science, of course. Doyoung even has a video of it saved on his phone. Sometimes he’ll set it as his alarm tone when he’s feeling particularly spiteful towards the world and himself.
Ten, Taeyong’s fellow dance team member, is as delightful as he is mischievous. Sure, he gets on Doyoung’s nerves sometimes, but he makes him laugh even more with his sharp wit and hyper-sexualized comments. He can always trust Ten to make the shitty days a little better. Or worse, if whatever Ten decides to do goes wrong.
Jungwoo, a pharmacology student, is funny and the most supportive person Doyoung’s ever had the pleasure of meeting. He’s always down for study sessions and bakes the best brownies, even though Doyoung’s sure that 8/10 times the brownies are spiked with something. It doesn’t matter, though, because the sweets themselves are delicious and the end results are always blackmail-worthy.
Jaehyun, an art student, is completely unbothered most of the time and has more ink covering him than not. Doyoung remembers embarrassing himself the first time they met, when Jaehyun had stuck out a hand to shake, and he told Jaehyun that his palm was dirty. All he got in return was a blank stare and a quiet reply of “I promise, my hand’s not dirty.”
God, Doyoung wakes up in the morning kicking himself in the ass for that comment, to this day .
All in all though, Doyoung thinks those are some of the fondest memories he has. Not just with Taeyong, but of everything that came with him. He gained a loving, if somewhat chaotic group of friends to keep him company whether he likes it or not, a great boyfriend, and tons of romantic and friend dates all over the city and beyond.
But then fucking December of their senior year in college came, and Doyoung rues the day he decided to open his heart.
He hasn’t spoken to Taeyong in over two weeks since finals week started thrashing its ugly head around. They live separately—Taeyong with Taeil off campus, and Doyoung in a cramped studio apartment on campus that barely counts as a living space. It’s late, almost midnight, and Doyoung’s writing up an essay when his phone pings with the notification of an incoming message.
Doyoung makes the mistake of checking his phone right then and there.
He also makes the mistake of letting his emotions rule him, because Doyoung doesn’t even finish reading the very, VERY long text message before he feels his heart starting to break.
And if there’s one thing Doyoung absolutely loathes to deal with, it’s broken hearts. His or others. He doesn’t know what to do with such a strong emotion. His body is aching for violence, but he’s been raised to manifest his rage into words instead of broken knuckles.
Backed into a metaphorical corner, Doyoung does the only thing he can think of at the moment. He sets his phone aside and throws a slipper at his sleeping roommate, maybe a little harder than necessary.
“Get up, loser. We’re going out.”
Yuta startles awake and rubs his forehead where the slipper has conked him. “Wha—?” he mumbles sleepily, rubbing his eyes as he sits up in bed. “Whatchu want?”
Doyoung fights the urge to cry, but a tear still slips out. “I have vengeance to deliver.”
“What?” Yuta frowns and gets up, crossing the distance between them and wiping away the tear on Doyoung’s cheek. “Who hurt you?”
Doyoung shoots him a blank stare. Yuta’s eyes narrow in confusion, then widen in realization, and his lips pinch into a tight pucker. He opens his arms, and Doyoung collapses into him. Yuta holds him gently, rocking slightly on his feet, and Doyoung just wants to break down sobbing. But he doesn’t, because more than being heartbroken and sad, Doyoung’s frustrated and angry.
“Shit, I’m so sorry, Doie,” Yuta whispers, pressing a kiss to Doyoung’s temple. “Baby, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t apologize to me,” Doyoung says into the rumpled fabric of Yuta’s t-shirt. “Just get dressed and come help me do something I’ll probably get arrested for.”
And under any other circumstance, with any other person, the reasonable response to his request should be some form of rejection, because jail in December is not a fun place to be.
But Nakamoto Yuta is different. He’s been Doyoung’s friend—his only one—since they were in elementary school. He’s seen enough of Doyoung’s shit fits and breakdowns over the years to publish a manual with, and Doyoung’s proud to say that they’ve reached the point of friend-telepathy. Yuta knows what’s on his mind, and because he’s a fucking asshole, he doesn’t try to stop Doyoung. Instead, he gets ready in record time and says, “What’s the plan?”
So here they are, at step two of Doyoung’s three-step recovery process.
“Y’know, for once I’m actually impressed by your creepy memory,” Yuta says, shivering slightly in his hoodie. His arms are firmly crossed over his chest, the head of a monkey wrench poking out from under his elbow.
Doyoung’s not even sure why Yuta decided to bring the wrench in the first place. All he told him was to prepare to do some stealing. Not vandalism.
Taeyong’s usually not home until almost two in the morning on Fridays, because of dance rehearsals, and Taeil should be on his night shift at the hospital. They’ve got two hours to work with, and Doyoung plans on making every second count.
“I know his passcode,” he mutters as they stop in front of Taeyong’s door and start punching in the familiar numbers into the lock. “I can get us in, and from there on out, we gotta work fast. Steal something that’ll kill him to live without. I want him to suffer.”
Doyoung doesn’t know how exactly Yuta learned this, but he’s just left with a “Leave it to me!” before his friend disappears into Taeyong’s flat. Doyoung follows, and lingers by the foyer, because he doesn’t trust himself to venture any further without tearing the entire place to pieces.
Taeyong’s apartment is the same as when he last visited it, almost a month ago. The walls are strewn with fairy lights, and the furniture are all warm-toned and a little worn. There’s a bunch of polaroids strung in a zig-zag pattern along the walls, and Doyoung knows that more than half of them has him in it.
Three years gone, over text. Taeyong didn’t even take the time to get rid of the memorabilia before he decided to end three years worth of love over a massively-abbreviated paragraph.
Doyoung’s angry. He’s furious. But more than that, he’s hurt. How can someone love so earnestly and wholly, then retract everything in one minute, without even a proper conversation? He thought they really had something. That no matter what, they can make it work.
And now, he doesn’t know anymore. He believed that even over a couple weeks of not seeing each other and sparse communication, that once circumstances are better and they can see each other again, that things will instantly return to normal.
But apparently, a couple weeks is already too long. Long enough for someone to fall out of love.
Or maybe, Taeyong never really loved him at all.
The urge to cry comes slamming back again, almost violent in how it curls Doyoung’s guts and makes his breath stop completely in his throat. It’s almost as though his pain has manifested into a sentient being and is just choking him, killing him from the inside out. But Doyoung doesn’t get to indulge in the misery of it all, because right then, Yuta comes back out holding a toilet bowl in his hands.
“Here,” he says, handing the bowl over to Doyoung. “You hold this. I’m going back in for the tank.”
Doyoung stares down at the empty toilet bowl in his hands. “Yuta,” he says calmly. “When I said we should steal something that he absolutely can’t live without, I didn’t mean a fucking toilet.”
“No, but it makes sense! Think about it.” Yuta wipes his hands on his pants with a grin that’s borderline sinister. “If you ain’t got anywhere to piss or shit properly, that’s maddening. Like a shower is fine for piss and all, but where’s the shit gonna go? And you and I both know that Taeil’s barely in here anyways, so it won’t bother him that bad. It’ll drive Taeyong fucking nuts though, just trust me.”
Nothing good ever happens when Yuta says “trust me”, but Doyoung’s not dead yet, so he bites.
“Fine. Hurry up. We gotta go before they come back.”
Yuta nods, and disappears back inside. He emerges a minute later, holding the toilet tank in his hands, his wrench tucked through a belt loop. “Okay. Let’s beat it before we get our asses beat.”
The walk back to their dorm feels more like a walk of shame than every night Doyoung’s been kicked out of Taeyong’s apartment after a fight, and somehow, it feels fitting.
Doyoung’s an idiot. He should’ve known that everything about his relationship with Taeyong was too perfect to be true. But he was blinded by love and as a result, they’re both paying the price. His heart is broken, and now, so is Taeyong’s indoor plumbing.
Take that, asshole .
Yuta’s a few paces ahead of him now, and Doyoung struggles to catch up. Damn Yuta and his dedication to working out consistently. Doyoung’s got about the same amount of weight in his hands, but he already feels winded.
About halfway between the apartment complex and the university, however, Doyoung bumps into someone. In his defense, it’s dark, so he doesn’t see the guy pop out from around the corner. He’s also wearing all black, which isn’t really helping the whole visibility case.
Doyoung stops, an apology on his tongue, when he suddenly catches sight of the guy’s face.
“Oh my god.” Doyoung feels the blood in his arms freeze, even through two jackets and a coat. “Jaehyun?”
He honestly doesn’t expect to see anyone at this time of night, least of all Jaehyun. The other man is just standing there, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat and looking more like a floating head over his body.
“Doyoung,” Jaehyun says, visibly surprised. “What are you doing out so late?”
He doesn’t even mention that Doyoung’s literally standing in the middle of the street holding a half-ass toilet in his hands (not whole-ass, because Yuta already ran off with the tank). Hell, Jaehyun’s not even looking at the toilet. He’s staring right into Doyoung’s eyes, posture lax underneath his heavy winter coat.
“I’m out for a walk,” Doyoung says.
“Pretty late for a walk, isn’t it?”
“I was having a crisis.”
Jaehyun crosses his arms and finally glances down at the toilet bowl Doyoung’s firmly clutching. “I can see that.”
Doyoung wants to hide the toilet behind him, but it’s a little hard to maneuver a 40-pound hunk of porcelain around him and not have it shatter to the ground. So instead, he flushes and averts his gaze with all the dignity of a man caught stealing sanitary ware.
“You didn’t see anything here tonight. I’m gonna go back to my place with this, and we will never speak another word of this ever again. Capiche?”
Jaehyun nods, expression alarmingly blank for someone who just walked in on a guy stealing a toilet. “Okay.”
“That’s it?” Doyoung doesn’t believe it. “Just okay?”
Jaehyun cracks a small smile. "Look, I get it. You’re stressed out and need to let it out somehow. And hey, everyone's got a questionable coping method. Yuta's scalp is about to fall off his head and Ten has more holes in his body than moles. You're fine."
Doyoung looks down at the porcelain in his hands. "Yeah, but I doubt anyone went as far as stealing a toilet ."
"I mean, it could always be worse." Jaehyun shrugs. "Take me for example. I inject ink into my skin with needles to cope. It's painful and expensive as all hell. So stealing a toilet? I'd say that's healthier than half the decisions the rest of us are making."
“I’m committing a crime,” Doyoung deadpans.
“Streaking in public is a crime too,” Jaehyun replies. “But that doesn’t stop Kunhang and Yukhei now, does it?”
“Public indecency and theft are two different charges, Jaehyun.”
“If you’re gonna risk being arrested, might as well make the risk more badass and less embarrassing, right?”
“Jae,” Doyoung begins. “I’m holding a fucking toilet .”
“I can see that.” Jaehyun nods. “You need help? It looks heavy.”
Doyoung shakes his head, because even if the toilet bowl is heavy, it’s easier to run away with it when there’s just one person holding it. And Jaehyun is too nice for his own good. He should watch out for that trait of his. One day it might land him in trouble.
“No, thanks. I’m good.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“Suit yourself.” Jaehyun turns and begins walking away.
“Wait!” Doyoung calls, stumbling a couple steps after him. “You’re not gonna...tell anyone about this, are you?” He really hopes Jaehyun doesn’t. Having word spread about how he’s stealing his ex’s toilet would just be a low blow to his already unsavory reputation.
Jaehyun turns, and it’s impossible to read his eyes in the dark. He could be amused, or utterly disgusted, but all Doyoung can make out from the context of the rest of his face is uncaring nonchalance.
“No,” he says. “I mean, I could, but frankly speaking, what you do is your business and I don’t care about it enough to get involved.”
Doyoung doesn’t know whether to be relieved or offended. Jaehyun tends to have that effect on people.
“Oh. Well, uh, thanks. I’ll just...be going now.”
Jaehyun nods. “Don’t trip.”