Chapter Text
Why does my heart cry? You’re free to leave me but just don’t deceive me, and please, believe me when I say I love you.- Christian, Moulin Rouge
Tae wasn’t stupid.
What he was thinking about doing, on the other hand, now that was stupid.
This was the same bar he’d been to with Time last week, some hole in the wall that he can’t, for the life of him, find the charm in. Needless to say, it wasn’t their usual scene. Atleast, it wasn’t Tae’s usual scene.
He had been sitting in the far corner booth for the past half an hour, trying his best to catch the eyes of the bartender on duty tonight. While he would admit the man, Porsche, was handsome, gorgeous even, he struggled to find the appeal. Regardless, that wasn’t the point of tonight.
Tonight, he needed to understand.
Tae had seen, clear as day, the way Time had looked at this man. And, for some reason, that was enough. He needed to know.
A few more minutes pass and he is able to get word to the owner of the bar that he is interested in Porsche. Truthfully, he doesn’t even know if this will work. But, Tae has seen the way that many of the patrons interact with the bartender, and if his assumption is correct, they know.
Three drinks in and the gnawing feeling of self doubt is starting to kick in. Time was out again tonight. He didn’t have the faintest clue where Tae is right now. And, in some awful, sad way, that’s becoming more and more the case with each passing day.
Just as he’s about to call it a night and throw in the towel, Porsche is at the corner of the bar, piercing gaze leveled right at Tae, assessing. After a moment, the man raises two fingers, silently gesturing for him to follow as he turns toward the service exit.
Then, in that split second between two halves of his decision, Tae downs his fourth drink and hastily stands.
It might be stupid, and it might come back to bite him later.
He follows.
—
The other man’s eyes are searching, asking for something. Permission. Tae doesn’t know if he can give it. This feeling, this anger, that need to know tore at him; gnawing away at any drink addled inhibitions he might have had. What was it about this man, what made him special? What did he have that Tae didn’t? Why did Time want Porsche and not him, his boyfriend, his partner?
In an unfair, hypocritical way, he hated them. The ones who stole Time’s attention, his love.
But, deep down, it wasn’t them that he really hated, it was himself.
And that itself was the most embarrassing part of this whole situation.
Quickly, without any of his usual grace or subtlety, he rushes forward, smashing their lips together in frantic desperation. He didn’t notice the stillness of the lips against his, nor the shake to his own hands as he tried to find a good place to slot them along Porsche's hips. Tae just didn’t understand. That dark, ugly pit of disgust pulled at the back of his tongue, reminding him that this wasn’t what he wanted. He hated it, the feeling of someone else other than Time’s lips, body, anywhere near him, in this way.
But he wanted to know.
How could his partner do this so often, be with other people. These people, these other men always had something that he didn’t. The list was endless. And maybe, probably, he was imagining these things, but each one turned into some new monster, some new flaw that he had to fix. Change his hair, change his clothes, be more eager, more willining. Be someone, something he doesn’t want to be.
A desperate man. One who could have anything he wanted, but still kept going back to the man who didn’t wholly have eyes for him.
Left hand still trembling, he fumbles for the top button of his dress shirt. He doesn’t get any further than that as Porsche suddenly pushes him away, abrupt and jarring.
And…And…It takes everything in Tae to breathe. It was like the air had been sucked from his lungs as a new wave of nausea hit him.
Distantly, he realized that he was hyperventalating.
Unwanted tears carved fresh trails down his cheeks.
Then, there is a set of hands, warm and calloused, gently cupping either side of his face, thumbs rubbing along the underside of his jaw. For the life of him, Tae can’t look up, can’t look at the other man through his tears, for Porsche to bear witness to this humiliating scene any longer. In a way, it’s like he’s not even there, so detached, that the horrible, wretched sobs don’t even sound like his own. Because, in that terrible and endless stream of denial, this couldn’t possibly be him. Time couldn’t possibly fuck other men, then come home and fuck Tae like he hadn’t just been moaning another’s name. Tae couldn’t possibly be in the back hallway behind a bar, sobbing in the arms of a man he hasn’t even had a single proper conversation with.
None of it felt real.
The next thing he knows, in one fluid motion, Tae’s on the ground. Hands that were just on his jaw now wrap tightly around his shoulders, coaxing his face into the crook of Porsche’s neck. It’s an embrace that’s so tender. Not demanding. Not wanting. There are no fingers pulling at his mouth, no wandering touches that he has to reciprocate. And that, that just makes him cry all the more. It’s pathetic, this desire to accept this hug. Fuck, Tae feels childish, clinging to this man like he’ll simply cease to be if he lets go.
What has he done to deserve this? Any of it?
Each shuddering breath is punctuated by a stream of incomprehensible apologies, none of his muffled words making any sort of sense, still pressed against the other man’s neck. Distantly, Tae registers fingers carding through his hair, just as gentle as they were when they were stroking his face. He hates that he loves it, hates how much he wishes that was Time’s hand and not Porsche’s.
Fucking pathetic.
Minutes, hours, who knows how long passes before the tears, the shaking starts to die down, as Tae finally gets the chance to take in the whole scope of the situation. Porsche, for all his patience, hasn’t moved an inch, just quietly humming some tune that Tae can’t recognize, the vibrations echoing between the two. He braces himself, for the questions, for the confusion.
Except, there are no questions.
Then, after another stretch of time, he feels Porsche take in a large breath.
Here it is.
And…
“You know, I fuck a lot of people behind this bar.”
That…Is certainly not what Tae was expecting. Part of him wants to panic, not knowing where this topic is going to lead. But, the more rational part of him knows that Porsche, this man, wouldn’t do anything like that, he had been anything but bad up until this point. So, he listens, waiting for some kind of point.
“It’s not that I really want to. Well, I do, in a way, but more in an aesthetic sense. Surface level, you understand?”
Not really, but Tae is trying to roll with it. There’s a whole lot wrong about that statement, but he’s really in no position to judge right now.
“It’s just, I need the money, and it’s not something that bothers me. I can provide them with something they want. Fill the space, in a sense. On their end, it’s about giving someone what they want,” A pause, “But you, I should have seen it earlier, and I want to apologize that I didn’t. You aren’t like them. You don’t want this. It’s not me that you want, is it?”
And isn’t that just tragic?
This bartender, a man who knows next to nothing about him, can dissect his entire relationship complex from a single kiss; when Tae couldn’t even manage that after years of quiet desperation and longing, of wanting to understand. Of wanting to know what was wrong with him, not Time.
Somehow, someway, it was always Tae. Never, ever Time.
It took a second for him to find the strength, the words, to speak, and when he finally did each syllable came out breathy and low, “He…He wanted you. At the bar. The other night. I-I saw him looking at you that way, and I just…I didn’t…”
Tae can’t bring himself to finish that sentance.
Porsche’s hand is now motionless, frozen in his hair.
Slowly, almost agonizingly slow, he pulls his head back. Gaze trailing across those shoulders, over the wet spot on his collar, Tae finally locks eyes with the other man. And…Fuck. It’s like a punch to the gut.
A horrible look of understanding, not necessarily pity, but a deep knowing sits behind his eyes. At that moment, he knew he couldn’t take any of it back. Because, in the end, he didn’t have to say anything out loud to know how this situation looked, how he looked. How obvious had it been? How many others knew, but didn’t care enough to do something?
Porsche doesn’t have to say anything else.
A new wave of tears threatens to fall, and it’s all Tae can do to prevent the next breakdown. Hastily wiping his eyes, he briefly thinks of pushing away, getting up and going somewhere, but he doesn’t even know where he could go after this. He doesn’t have the heart, the strength to see Time again tonight, that would be just too much. Tae doesn’t know what he’d do if he saw his partner right now, what he would say.
Almost as if he can sense his indecision, a hand lightly circles his wrist, drawing Tae’s attention back to Porsche. The slightest hint of a frown graces the bartender’s face, but it is quickly replaced with an easy, lopsided smile. Like the other man has made up his mind about something.
“Come on, I was almost done for the night anyway; it’s my early shift for the week,” There is the beginnings of a laugh in his voice, an almost contagious joy that he can sense is an attempt to lighten the mood, “Chay always makes me watch drama reruns on Sunday nights. I swear, those have him in some sort of hypnotic chokehold. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind having another person to watch shitty television with.”
Tae doesn’t have the slightest clue who Chay is, or why he makes Porsche watch ‘shitty television’, but he knows an unspoken invitation when he hears one.
In one swift move, Porsche is standing arm outstretched toward Tae; silently waiting for an answer.
It’s been said before, but Tae isn’t stupid. He knows what this could mean. He doesn’t even bother to check his still empty messages.
But maybe, just maybe, this was the first smart thing he’d done in a long while.
And with that, Tae took Porsche’s hand.