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Chapter Text

Kim Dokja was no stranger to trouble that came out of nowhere.

So when an exorbitantly expensive-looking imported sports car pulled up right next to him and rolled the windows down, he braced for the worst.

“You! You’re Kim Dokja!”

Kim Dokja might have lived his entire life under the pop culture equivalent of a rock, but even he knew that voice and face—Nirvana Moebius, rising international musical sensation.

“Don’t think I don’t know all about you. How dare you steal someone else’s beloved?” The pop star’s shapely pianist’s fingers flicked to their silver-rimmed designer sunglasses, lowering the shades momentarily to fix Kim Dokja with a venomous glare. Even in anger, though, they were beautiful—all rosy cheeks and red-rimmed eyes, the stray wisps of their golden hair catching the rays of the afternoon sun to form a halo around their face.

Nirvana Moebius was like a character out of a book.

The words coming out of their mouth, Kim Dokja thought wryly, would have been perfectly at home in a soap opera script, though.

“We’ve been promised to each other since we were kids, you know. Don’t you have any shame? Hey, are you listening to me?!” Nirvana’s eyes narrowed into a dangerous line.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kim Dokja answered with practiced blandness. “If you keep on harassing me, I’ll have no choice but to press charges.”

Having said that, he turned heel and began walking in the exact opposite direction from earlier, cutting into a pedestrian alleyway as soon as he saw one.

“Hey, come back! Hey! You!!”

Unlike Kim Dokja with his dextrous escape, the sports car was stuck in Seoul’s punishing afternoon traffic. But evidently, Nirvana Moebius had decided to use their lungs to make up for where their wheels failed to reach, because even after turning several blocks, Kim Dokja swore he could still hear shouting and honking.

More importantly, he also heard the dreaded telltale click of camera shutters in the distance.

Damn, he thought. There goes my peaceful everyday life.

Yoo Joonghyuk had just begun dicing an onion when he heard the click of the apartment lock turning. Kim Dokja’s familiar voice drifted toward him, along with the sound of grocery bags rustling.

“… would not believe what happened today,” Kim Dokja said with dissatisfaction as he entered the kitchen. “It was the gaudiest sports car I’ve ever seen, and guess who was inside? Nirvana Moebius—as in, the singer. Can you believe it?”

Luckily, he chose that exact moment to open the refrigerator door and stuff inside the groceries that Yoo Joonghyuk had requested. Thus, he missed the way Yoo Joonghyuk froze ever so slightly upon hearing that name.

Then, the refrigerator door slammed shut, and Yoo Joonghyuk came back to his senses.

“Did he say or do anything to you?” He asked with a frown.

“He didn’t do anything except honk,” Kim Dokja said dryly. “But he said plenty. Something about stealing his beloved and being promised as children. Does that actually happen in real life?”

“It’s a load of crap,” Yoo Joonghyuk said sharply.

Kim Dokja looked at him in surprise. “I didn’t know you’d started paying attention to celebrity gossip.”

“I don’t,” Yoo Joonghyuk said flatly. “I just,” he paused, choosing his words carefully, “heard about it in the past.” A furrow appeared between his brows as another thought suddenly came to mind. “Were there cameras following him?”

“I think so. I heard them,” Kim Dokja said with a mournful sigh. “I can see the headlines already. ‘Nirvana Moebius’ Lover Stolen by Rabid Pedestrian’ … or something.”

Yoo Joonghyuk looked up from his cutting board to study Kim Dokja for a few quiet minutes. Noticing his gaze, Kim Dokja flashed him a reassuring smile, then returned to organizing the rest of the groceries into the pantry. Yoo Joonghyuk’s fingers twitched and reached out hesitantly, but ultimately fell back to his side.

“Dinner will be ready in ten,” he said instead.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Kim Dokja breathed. He quickly laid out their bowls and chopsticks on the table as Yoo Joonghyuk dumped the contents of his cutting board into the pan. “By the way,” he added nonchalantly, “Today is a stream night, isn’t it?”

Yoo Joonghyuk nodded.

Kim Dokja paused, and Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t even have to look up to visualize the slight pucker of his lips as he chewed on it, debating whether or not to make his next request.

“Come watch,” Yoo Joonghyuk said first.

“Really? Well, alright, then,” Kim Dokja answered, just a little too fast. The corner of Yoo Joonghyuk’s lips curved in the barest hint of a smile.

After dinner, Yoo Joonghyuk quickly turned on his streaming setup and closed the viewer count and comment displays with practiced ease. He double-checked the adjusted camera angle as well before letting Kim Dokja inside.

Yoo Joonghyuk wasn’t the type to speak during a stream—a habit that’d held true since his pro-gamer days—so the only sounds in the room were the humming of the PC fans and the meditative clicking of his mouse and keyboard buttons.

“This is one of those infinite dungeons?” Kim Dokja asked quietly. “The ones that reset all of your progress when you die?”

Yoo Joonghyuk nodded, and Kim Dokja fell back into silence, watching the screen with rapt attention. He would never understand why Kim Dokja found watching him play these types of games fascinating—honestly, he himself would sometimes start to find it tedious—but the warm buzz in his chest whenever he glanced down and saw the tips of Kim Dokja’s eyelashes flutter in concentration kept him coming back.

For the fifth time that night, he checked the camera preview and verified its angle. Just low enough to keep Kim Dokja’s face out of frame, but high enough to capture every detail of how they were squeezed together in one gaming chair, Kim Dokja’s right leg almost resting on his knee from how tight the space was. How on some nights, Kim Dokja would rest his head on Yoo Joonghyuk’s shoulder when he was tired or in low spirits, his fine hair falling tantalizingly in little tufts at the very edge of the video frame.

Today was one of those nights.

“The forty-sixth floor,” Kim Dokja said suddenly, his words a little indistinct from the way his cheek was still pressed against Yoo Joonghyuk’s shoulder. “It’s not randomly generated like the others. It’s looked the same every time you’ve passed it.”

Yoo Joonghyuk’s fingers paused for a moment, and he began to explore the floor in greater detail. Sure enough, there was some bullshit key item for some bullshit requirement later in the game that would be impossible to clear without this hidden checkpoint.

A few floors later, the rise and fall of Kim Dokja’s chest had slowed to a gentle rhythm. Making sure not to jostle him awake, Yoo Joonghyuk closed the stream and lifted him up. For a brief, delusional moment, he wondered how Kim Dokja would react if he were “accidentally” set in Yoo Joonghyuk’s bed for the night by some excuse or other—but unfortunately, Kim Dokja needed every minute of sleep he could get.

By the time Yoo Joonghyuk returned to his own room, there were a few new messages on his phone from a familiar sender nicknamed “The Devil”—Kim Dokja’s handiwork.

(Privately, Yoo Joonghyuk agreed.)

The Devil: cute as always, lovebirds

The Devil: so like have u made any non-zero progress yet or r u still playing make believe on ur stream to cope

Yoo Joonghyuk scowled. Mind your own business, he typed back.

It was a mistake.

Message notifications shot off one after another on his phone like a rapid-fire cannon.

The Devil: lmfaoooo howd i kno

The Devil: dont worry u kno i got a pot running still

The Devil: the longer it takes the more i win

The Devil: btw tell him to stfu abt my new series protag

The Devil: im not fcking basing another guy off u again, that was a disaster

Yoo Joonghyuk glared at the phone with irritation, turned it off, then turned it on again to type a slightly heated reply which he still had enough rationality to delete instead of actually sending. Finally, he took a deep breath and recalled the reason why he still associated with Han Sooyoung at all.

Do your parents still own the local news publication? He typed.

Chapter Text

When Yoo Joonghyuk entered the living room the next morning, Kim Dokja was already curled up on the sofa, his head pillowed in his arms over the armrest and a stack of heavily annotated papers scattered across the cushions.

“What do you want for breakfast?” Yoo Joonghyuk carefully smoothed back a few tufts of Kim Dokja’s displaced hair.

“Nnhm?” Kim Dokja made a sleepy, disoriented noise as his eyes struggled to open. Then, his head jerked upwards, and he hastily wiped away a trickle of drool, peeking at Yoo Joonghyuk to see if he’d noticed.

Yoo Joonghyuk pretended not to notice.

“Uhm… stew… the leftover stew…” Kim Dokja mumbled blearily with a yawn. Reflexive tears gathered at the corners of his eyes as he stretched, lifting the hem of his sweatshirt and revealing the tiniest sliver of his baby-smooth stomach. As soon as he lowered his arms again, it disappeared.

With the full extent of the willpower of a man who’d led his team to five world championships, Yoo Joonghyuk dragged his eyes away to the papers on the couch. If nothing else, Han Sooyoung always served her function as a convenient scapegoat for everything that ever went wrong in his life.

“You don’t have to work so much,” he said unhappily. “Han Sooyoung won’t fire you.”

“Mmm, I know. She’s just the writer, though. The publishing company has the final say,” Kim Dokja said, fighting another yawn.

Han Sooyoung is the publishing company, he bit back the urge to retort. But aside from breaking their truce, he also doubted that would help, so he held his tongue.

“Anyways, I’m not a leech. I can’t just coast off my friends’ success,” Kim Dokja said wryly. “Especially when it’s a job I actually like.”

Yoo Joonghyuk could only suppress a sigh.

“I’m almost done. I just have to organize my comments a little… Last time, my thoughts were a bit disorganized, so she didn’t listen.” Kim Dokja tapped the pen against his cheek in thought. “I really don’t think this story will sell, though. It would be better to change the protagonist.”

“She’s not writing for the money,” Yoo Joonghyuk pointed out. The last thing Han Sooyoung needed was more money.

“Oh, I know. I’ve seen her royalty checks from SSSSS-Tier Infinite Regressor ,” Kim Dokja laughed. “But you know how she is about getting first place and all.” Shuffling the papers back together, he tidied the stack against the coffee table and shoved them back into a portfolio. “Anyways, let’s eat.”

Yoo Joonghyuk went to stir the leftover stew in the pot as it reheated, while Kim Dokja filled two bowls with rice. Once they were done eating and cleaning up, Kim Dokja bid him farewell with a rushed “See you later!” as he hurried off to the subway before commute hour started in full swing.

Only when he was sure that Kim Dokja was well and truly gone did Yoo Joonghyuk pull out his phone.

The Devil : usual spot 11

The “usual spot” was an upscale café in a quiet residential neighborhood where not a single apartment unit cost less than ten million won a month. The only remarkable quality of the food in this café, in Yoo Joonghyuk’s opinion, was the fact that all of the ingredients were flown in daily in refrigerated containers straight from abroad. But the lackluster manner of their assembly just made it a horrifically gratuitous added carbon footprint to the world.

What the café did have was a set of quiet upstairs booths that offered privacy and comfort. Yoo Joonghyuk waited until he’d entered the booth fully before removing his mask and sunglasses, prompting a whistle from Han Sooyoung.

“Look at Mr. Celebrity over here,” she drawled, one arm slung over the back of her chair. Dressed in a loose gray sweatshirt and baggy jeans that wouldn’t have been out of place on a middle school boy, Han Sooyoung wouldn’t have drawn any prying eyes even if her line of work had made her face widely known.

“I can’t take any risks,” was all Yoo Joonghyuk said.

“I know, I know.” Han Sooyoung waved her hand. “Nice stream last night, by the way. Did you read the comments?” Han Sooyoung scrolled through her phone with the free hand that wasn’t committing a brutal assault on a lemon tart. “‘Easter Egg King does it again,’” she read aloud in a monotone voice. “‘No way, how do you memorize forty-six pixel floors.’ ‘LOL are we sure he’s not just looking at a guide—’”

“The game’s in pre-release. There are no guides,” Yoo Joonghyuk interrupted.

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger,” Han Sooyoung held her hands up. “Go take it up with ‘swampbeast246.’ Oh wait, here are my favorites. ‘Easter Egg King, marry me.’ ‘Ditch that loser Yoo Joonghyuk and come to my stream.’ ‘Easter Egg King, your legs look gr—”

“You’re making those up,” Yoo Joonghyuk said flatly.

Han Sooyoung raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And how would you know that? Surely you didn’t scour the replay banning everyone making comments you didn’t like while waiting for the latest addition to your ‘Kim Dokja voice clips collection’ to download?”

“I don’t have a voice clips collection. I live with him,” Yoo Joonghyuk snapped.

“I see,” Han Sooyoung nodded sagely. “So the rest is true.”

“Han Sooyoung, get to the point.” Yoo Joonghyuk shot her a vicious glare.

“Okay, okay, Mr. Busy Housewife. I get it, you have to go home and make dinner.” Han Sooyoung tapped her phone, her expression finally becoming serious. “You were right, there were two paparazzi crew tailing Nirvana Moebius yesterday. I’ve bought exclusive rights to all the pictures, so that’s fine for now. The real problem is Nirvana, though. You know that, right?”

Yoo Joonghyuk’s jaw clenched tight.

“Hey, I’m not saying you should meet them. That might just add fuel to the fire, honestly. How about a bait and switch?” Han Sooyoung twirled her fork dramatically in the style of a conductor’s baton.

Yoo Joonghyuk glared at her, which was a signal to keep going.

“Nirvana is obsessed with Kim Dokja because they think you’re dating, right? So just pretend you’re dating someone else. Remember the woman you got together with because you didn’t realize you were looking for a rebound from a relationship that wasn’t even real?”

The corner of Yoo Joonghyuk’s eye twitched. “You know Lee Seolhwa’s name. You have coffee with her every Sunday.”

“You philistine,” Han Sooyoung said disdainfully, stabbing her fork into her lemon tart. “I’m referring to her by your past relationship to establish her relevance to the current narrative context.”

“I’m not getting back together with Lee Seolhwa,” he said bluntly.

“Idiot. No one’s telling you to date for real.” Han Sooyoung rolled her eyes “Full offense, but I doubt she’d say yes. Just have dinner with her. You know how these things get blown up.”

Yoo Joonghyuk’s lips were still pressed in a tight line.

“Are you worried that Kim Dokja will misunderstand? That’s cute. Even if he ever finds out, if he doesn’t smile and ask if you had a nice dinner, I’ll give you a million won.”

“I don’t want your money,” Yoo Joonghyuk said with disgust.

“You weren’t getting it, anyways,” she consoled him. “Hey, take some of these tarts to go for him, why don’t you?”

“They taste like crap,” Yoo Joonghyuk said disapprovingly.

“Last time I took him here, he liked them, though? What were his exact words—ah, ‘I can really taste the economic class difference.’”

Yoo Joonghyuk fixed her with a level stare, but Han Sooyoung only smirked, as if she knew he’d take the bait.

He did.

Watching Yoo Joonghyuk tuck a box of tarts delicately under his arm, she cupped her hands around her mouth and called, “Don’t forget to tell me how dinner goes!”

Yoo Joonghyuk turned back and shot her a withering look.

“Hey, what can I say? I milk your daily lives for inspiration and your romantic lives for entertainment.” Han Sooyoung shrugged.

“You’re a leech,” Yoo Joonghyuk told her.

Han Sooyoung grinned wickedly. “Isn’t that what friends are for?”

“… Nirvana Moebius…… three months… another breakup?!”

“…… don’t get it…… probably just flings… celebrities, after all………”

Snatches of conversation drifted in and out of Kim Dokja’s hearing. Unlike Minosoft, where the only sound among the monotonous stretch of gray cubicles had been the clattering of keyboards, Textpia prided itself on a youthful and modern work culture.

“What about you, Dokja-ssi ?” Asuka Ren’s voice snapped him out of his reminiscence, and he looked up.

“Sorry, what was that?” He asked.

“Have you heard of Nirvana Moebius?” She asked. “Apparently, they’re in Seoul right now. Oh, I’m so glad I decided to move here.”

“Um… I’ve heard a few of their songs,” Kim Dokja offered awkwardly. “They’re pretty good.”

“Right, right?” There was a faint glow on her cheeks. “Ugh, everyone’s flaming them for that scandal that just popped up, but people just like to nitpick for no reason.” She shook her head violently.

Kim Dokja blinked.

“Sorry, I forgot you don’t pay attention to celebrity news much,” Asuka Ren said sheepishly.

“It’s fine, I just…” He tried to figure out how to explain it. “I don’t have much interest in non-fiction.”

Asuka Ren tilted her head. “That’s an interesting way to phrase it,” she said with a smile. “I kind of get what you mean, though. You’re about, like, stuff that takes you away from real life, right?”

Kim Dokja nodded.

“So how’s Director-nim ’s new work going?” Asuka Ren asked curiously, peering over the edge of the half-height cubicle. ‘Open concept offices,’ they called it.

Kim Dokja grimaced. “I don’t know if I’m the right person to edit this,” he admitted. “It’s… This time, I think she’s trying to go for… artsy?” He ran his fingers through his hair absently. “It’s important for an editor to love the story, too, right? But this one is…” He sighed. “It’s not for me, at least.”

“You can always come back and help me with Peace Land,” Asuka Ren offered. “I wouldn’t have been able to get it re-serialized without you.”

“I don’t know anything about storyboarding,” Kim Dokja said ruefully.

“That’s fine, I can ask for a second opinion on those. I like hearing your thoughts on the characters.”

Kim Dokja shook his head. “You should get someone who actually knows about comics,” he said, with a quirk of his lips. “I’ll look over your drafts during breaks anytime, though.”

“What breaks?” Asuka Ren raised an eyebrow, and he laughed.

A buzz of his phone interrupted them. Kim Dokja picked up the phone and checked the new text, then immediately blocked the number.

“An important text?” Asuka Ren asked curiously.

“Just spam,” he answered. “Guess there’s a bunch of scams where they’re impersonating celebrities going around now.”

Chapter Text

On top of Han Sooyoung’s chosen café being on the other side of city, Yoo Joonghyuk also made three unnecessary subway transfer detours on the off chance, no matter how small, that someone had recognized and tailed him, so by the time he returned to the apartment, it was well into the afternoon.

The sizzling of a frying pan and the aroma of cooked eggs hit him as soon as he opened the door. Kim Dokja was standing in the kitchen without an apron, giving the odd oil splatter completely unhindered access to his white t-shirt as he stirred the pan. Yoo Joonghyuk sighed.

“Oh, you’re back,” Kim Dokja said, turning his head to greet him as he walked in. “Were you busy today?”

“Han Sooyoung,” Yoo Joonghyuk answered by way of explanation. It was evidently enough, because Kim Dokja nodded in understanding. “You’re back early,” Yoo Joonghyuk commented.

“Didn’t have much to do at work today,” Kim Dokja told him. “I was supposed to have a meeting with Han Sooyoung in the afternoon, but she blew me off.” He paused. “Hang on, she didn’t blow me off to go hang out with you, did she?”

Yoo Joonghyuk pressed his lips together. “I left before that.” He refused to shoulder the blame for Han Sooyoung’s dodgy work ethic.

Kim Dokja stifled a snicker and began scraping the fried rice in the pan onto a plate. “I started on dinner since you seemed a little stressed this morning,” he explained.

Yoo Joonghyuk frowned and touched his own face subconsciously. Had it been that apparent?

Kim Dokja watched him with amusement. “Your mouth, this morning it was like this,” he said, drawing a line in the air. “Usually it’s more like this.” He drew the exact same line.

Yoo Joonghyuk stared at him.

“Nevermind,” Kim Dokja shook his head helplessly and set the fried rice on the table, along with bowls and utensils. “Sorry, it’s nothing fancy, but—how is it?”

Although a simpler version of it, it was clear that he’d attempted to follow Yoo Joonghyuk’s usual recipe. The salt wasn’t fully mixed in, resulting in some bites that were blander than others, and the egg was a little overcooked and dry.

It was perfect.

“It’s fine,” Yoo Joonghyuk said.

Kim Dokja grinned widely. “Really? No take-backs, okay? Not even if you get mad at me later.”

“I don’t do that.” Yoo Joonghyuk crossed his arms, offended.

Kim Dokja rolled his eyes. “Sure you don’t.”

His usual lopsided grin was plastered on his face, the infuriating one that made it impossible to resist kissing it off his face until there were tears in his eyes. Instead of doing that, Yoo Joonghyuk pushed a box of pastries at him.

“What’s this?” Kim Dokja opened the box curiously, and his eyes widened. “Aren’t these the stupidly expensive lemon tarts from that place Han Sooyoung always blows her royalty checks on?”

Yoo Joonghyuk wished Kim Dokja would stop using the word “blow” so much while his pink tongue was peeking out from between his teeth, running it slowly over his upper lip.

He cleared his throat and nodded. “They’re for you.”

Kim Dokja looked at him, aghast. “I can’t take these. Aren’t they worth basically half your paycheck?”

Shit. He couldn’t remember what that number was supposed to be. “It’s not that much,” he dismissed.

He vaguely regretted setting his supposed “paycheck” amount so low now, but making it high would’ve also raised questions—like why he needed a roommate, why he wasn’t living in a higher-end part of the city, and why he was still clinging to Kim Dokja like an octopus even after Yoo Mia was too old to be “babysat.”

Kim Dokja closed the box and slid it back to him, and Yoo Joonghyuk frowned, trapping his hands before they could leave the box.

“Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk said, leaning forward. “Stop thinking so much. They’re yours. Do you like them? That’s all you have to answer.”

The cool, thin fingers trapped beneath Yoo Joonghyuk’s hand twitched. Kim Dokja worried away at his lower lip, leaving it a puffy, angry red that Yoo Joonghyuk had to look away from. Finally, Kim Dokja let out a quiet exhale. “I like them.”

Satisfied, Yoo Joonghyuk released his hands and flipped open the lid of the box. Kim Dokja glanced up at him through his long lashes one more time before gingerly scooping out one of the lemon tarts and taking a bite out of it.

“It’s—very good… Thank you,” he said through a mouthful of tart, before mumbling something inaudible.

Yoo Joonghyuk bent closer to listen. “What?”

Kim Dokja swallowed and cleared his throat. “The ones you make are still better,” he said faintly.

The corners of Yoo Joonghyuk’s mouth couldn’t help but tug in a real smile. Kim Dokja glanced at him again, then quickly looked away.

There were still crumbs left at the corner of his mouth, so Yoo Joonghyuk reached out and swiped them away with his thumb. He thought he might have felt Kim Dokja tense, or even lean into his touch, but as always, it was so quick as to be illusory.

For as long as he could remember, it had been like this—Kim Dokja, close enough to grasp with his fingers, but still separated by a thick, thick wall. 

He wondered what it would take to shatter it.

As if on cue, a blaring ringtone interrupted his thoughts. Kim Dokja jumped and sat back upright, fumbling for his back pockets until he found his phone and muted the call. “Sorry, I turned it off silent while I was waiting for Han Sooyoung to message back and forgot to switch it back on,” Kim Dokja apologized.

Yoo Joonghyuk had briefly seen the call on the screen before it disconnected. Not a contact or a name, just a string of numbers with a strange area code. “Spam call?” He guessed.

Kim Dokja nodded wearily. “I think someone sold my number to an ad agency or something. I’ve been getting a lot recently.”

They both fell silent for a while, unsure of how to continue after the interruption. Finally, Yoo Joonghyuk opened his mouth. “I’ll be having dinner with Lee Seolhwa this weekend,” he said shortly.

There was a beat of silence, and for the briefest of moments, he thought—hoped—Kim Dokja might say something, anything—whether it was sounding jealous, or looking disappointed, or even simply asking him why. But after the moment had passed, a bright smile appeared on Kim Dokja’s face.

“Seolhwa-ssi?” He remarked placidly. “I haven’t spoken to her in a while. Pass on my best wishes to her.”

“I…”

I won’t go if you don’t want me too, Yoo Joonghyuk almost said, but that, too, was just a product of his own delusions. For one, the point of this was to distract Nirvana’s attention in the first place, and besides, just as Han Sooyoung had said, hell itself would freeze over before Kim Dokja asked him not to go for any reason.

“… I will,” he finished lamely.

Standing in front of the restaurant’s overworked minimalist exterior, Yoo Joonghyuk took a deep breath and took off his mask and sunglasses in public for the first time in well over a year.

“Cheers. It’s been a while,” Lee Seolhwa said lightly, brushing his shoulder in greeting. He tensed briefly before forcing himself to relax, and she gave him a knowing look. “This much is necessary, but not much more,” she murmured, leaning just a little closer to his ear. “It’s about toeing the line, after all. More than friends, less than lovers.”

“Han Sooyoung told you everything,” he said dryly.

Amusement unfurled on her lips. “She does love telling stories.” When they arrived at their reservation spot, Lee Seolhwa pulled back the chair for him to sit at, then did so herself. “You caught me at just the right time. I’ll be flying out for a conference in Barcelona next week.”

Yoo Joonghyuk nodded curtly. After a brief pause, he remembered to add, “Congratulations.” Another pause. And then, “You… graduated, right?”

Lee Seolhwa raised an eyebrow. “If you mean from medical school, yes, I graduated early a few years ago. This year, I’ll be presenting the post-doctoral research that landed me the Guam Award in toxicology last month.”

Yoo Joonghyuk gave another short nod. “… It’s good that you’re doing well,” he said, sounding a little stilted. He shifted aside as the waiter poured them both a glass of wine—some kind of imported European label.

“Thank you,” Lee Seolhwa replied with a graceful smile. “How about you? I assume those advertisement and modeling offers aren’t drying up anytime soon.”

Yoo Joonghyuk was silent for a moment. “… I’m not doing those anymore,” he said finally.

Lee Seolhwa’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? Why?”

But Yoo Joonghyuk only continued to remain silent. Understanding dawned on Lee Seolhwa’s face, and her lips quirked in a wry smile.

“… If I had known you were this dedicated of a person earlier—” She paused, then chuckled ruefully. “No, that’s not quite it, is it? It’s only ever been for one person.”

Yoo Joonghyuk pressed his lips together. “I’m sorry,” he said. “When we were together—”

“It’s already old news,” Lee Seolhwa dismissed, cutting him off with a wave of her hand. “It’s been years. Actually, I have to thank you—and apologize, too. I’ve realized thanks to you that my profession brings me more fulfillment than any single person could in my life. I always thought you were the same way… but that couldn’t be further from the truth, could it?”

Yoo Joonghyuk nodded, once, very slowly. “For what it’s worth,” he said, “we would have made good collaboration partners.”

Lee Seolhwa regarded him with a pensive look. “We would have, wouldn’t we?” She mused. “No more, no less.”

After swirling the wine in her glass contemplatively for a few moments, she raised her glass up to Yoo Joonghyuk with a smile.

“A toast, then, to pursuing what we love.”

Chapter Text

Han Sooyoung had committed an innumerable amount of crimes in her life, but out of all of them, there were only three cardinal sins that Yoo Joonghyuk would never forgive.

The first, was knowing Kim Dokja before him. Even if it was only through the comments section of what at the time had been a dingy, unpolished webnovel site, the fact that Han Sooyoung had been able to talk to a young, innocent fifteen-year-old Kim Dokja—had been able to grow up alongside him—Yoo Joonghyuk would never be able to forgive that.

The second, was having known Kim Dokja first and still waiting so long to meet him. Rationally, he knew that it was unreasonable to blame Han Sooyoung for not immediately jumping at the chance to meet a stranger on the internet in real life. And even if she had, Kim Dokja would never have divulged the details of his life so easily. Even now, Yoo Joonghyuk hadn’t heard much about his childhood from his own lips, other than a vague sense that it had been unhappy. But Han Sooyoung had had the chance to ease his unhappiness since so long ago, and she hadn’t—that, too, was unforgivable.

The last great sin, of course, was having met Kim Dokja and neglecting to tell Yoo Joonghyuk about it.

Could she have known that the fellow webnovel enthusiast she’d met on the internet would become the love of Yoo Joonghyuk’s life and the inspiration for his entire career? Probably not. Did that mean he would ever stop blaming her for it? Definitely not.

But if Han Sooyoung had one saving grace, then it would be that in the most technical of senses, she had been responsible for their first meeting at all.

It had been at some regional qualifiers for some world championship cup that their team, as with every year before that, was doomed to lose.

Pro-gamer Yoo Joonghyuk—For how long will he stay under the radar?

Of the numerous games articles covering their team, that had been among the more gentle headlines. There were plenty of points he could have argued—the numerous conflicts between the teammates, or the director’s tyrannical management style—but in the end, there were only two things that mattered. Winning, or losing.

Sometimes, the expectations of those gazes had threatened to swallow him whole. Sometimes, he’d even wondered—was this still the career he’d once loved?

Han Sooyoung had bullied him into having dinner together after the match, so he’d headed to the box seats she usually sat at. When he arrived, though, there was no Han Sooyoung in sight—only a scruffy-looking kid maybe in his late teens, short black hair obscuring his eyes as he bent his head close to his phone.

The boy looked up when Yoo Joonghyuk approached, blinking wide-eyed. After a while, he followed Yoo Joonghyuk’s gaze to the empty seat beside him. “If you’re looking for Han Sooyoung, she went to the bathroom,” he offered awkwardly.

Yoo Joonghyuk gave a curt nod, and the boy went back to looking at his phone. The silence between them continued to stretch on.

Eventually, the boy must not have been able to take the suffocating silence, because he looked up again and scratched his head. “Um… you were on the blue team, right? I saw you play.”

“The Skybreakers,” Yoo Joonghyuk answered shortly.

“Right… Sorry, I don’t know much about video games,” the boy apologized. There was another awkward silence, and then he added, “That fight at the end was pretty cool. That was you, right? The one-on-four.”

That had been their losing match. Frankly, it had been an embarrassing landslide of a loss. Yoo Joonghyuk stared at him.

“… Was it not? Ah, sorry, then,” the boy said. He didn’t look to be sarcastic or insincere.

“It was me,” Yoo Joonghyuk relented.

Luckily, Han Sooyoung finally returned at that moment to salvage the tension.

“Shithead, you’re here,” she greeted Yoo Joonghyuk as she looped an arm around the boy's elbow. “Kim Dokja, my treat today. You wanna guess how well the comic adaptation of SSSSS-Grade Infinite Regressor is doing?”

Kim Dokja humored her with a smile, the previous clumsiness in his demeanor melting away. “Well enough to fund a hot pot dinner?”

Han Sooyoung scoffed. “Well enough to fund something much fancier, thank you very much! And champagne.”

Yoo Joonghyuk glared at her disapprovingly. “Don’t take a minor out drinking,” he told her.

Kim Dokja stiffened, and Han Sooyoung fell silent.

“Yoo Joonghyuk,” Han Sooyoung said finally, flashing him a look of deathly annoyance. “Kim Dokja is your age.”

It would be a lie if he were to say that their first meeting had been life-changing, or earth-shattering, or anything other than generally awkward. But that was undoubtedly when it had started—his inability to shake Kim Dokja from his mind.

“Sorry about canceling the other day,” Han Sooyoung said in a rare moment of penitence. “I suddenly got a call from Sangah that she was back early, so I had to go to the airport.”

Kim Dokja snorted. “I figured it was either that, or you decided to binge-watch another crime drama. How is Sangah-ssi?”

“Same as always,” Han Sooyoung sighed dramatically. “Beautiful. Brilliant. Busy.”

Kim Dokja nodded. “Where was it again, this time?”

“Nairobi,” Han Sooyoung grumbled. “She’ll be back for at least a month this time, she says. Anyways, enough about that. What do you think of the new work?” She tapped the manuscript in front of Kim Dokja impatiently.

Kim Dokja bit his lip. “… I don’t think I’m the right person to edit this,” he said hesitantly. “The style isn’t really… a good match for me.”

Han Sooyoung raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“It’s a little…” He scratched his head. “Early webnovel-era, isn’t it?”

“Kim Dokja, are you calling my writing dated?” Han Sooyoung crossed her arms grumpily.

“No, no, I’m saying it’s classic,” Kim Dokja said quickly. “It’s a deconstruction on the reader-insert archetype of webnovel protagonist, right? Very artsy. I get it. You’re trying to move away from mindless action popularity grabs and into, like, meta-commentary popularity grabs.”

“I’m not having this conversation with you again. SSSSS-Grade was not a mindless popularity grab,” Han Sooyoung informed him.

“Okay,” said Kim Dokja. “Except that it kind of was, because you just cut out the interesting parts of Ways of Survival and smashed the rest together.”

Han Sooyoung threw her hands up in exasperation. “Ways of Survival was boring. Even you said so. Or do you not remember complaining every time the martial arts tournament came up?”

Kim Dokja scowled. “I told you to stop copy-pasting the entire arc wholesale every time you got to it in a regression turn. That doesn’t mean the whole story was boring.”

“I did. In SSSSS-Grade. And then you didn’t like it.” Han Sooyoung rolled her eyes. “Not the point. What’s your problem with my protagonist this time?”

Kim Dokja shrugged. “I told you, I just don’t find this style of protagonist very compelling. He’s basically got no personality or talents other than having read the original, right? And everyone inexplicably likes him even though he doesn’t treat them well. It makes for good wish fulfillment, but I don’t think it makes for a good story.”

Han Sooyoung stared at him. “Okay,” she said slowly. “So what kind of protagonist would you rather see?”

Kim Dokja tapped his chin in thought. “Well,” he said, “in Ways of Survival—”

Han Sooyoung slammed her backpack onto the table and stood up. “I’m writing it this way, and you’re editing it, and that’s final,” she declared, snatching the marked-up manuscript out of his hands. “I’ll send you the next few chapters when I’m done cuddling with my fiancée. Bye!”

“But—” Kim Dokja protested, but the door to the conference room had already swung shut.

Reluctantly, he stood up and started packing away his things as well.

“Ugh,” he muttered under his breath. “Writers.”

It was already starting to get late in the evening, so the office was empty aside from a few stragglers. Han Sooyoung had disappeared with the force and speed of a hurricane, so Kim Dokja waited patiently for the single elevator in the building to come back up. It arrived with a light ding.

As he waited for the number on the floor counter to tick back down, his mind started wandering to the remainder of the evening. He’d already told Yoo Joonghyuk that he would be arriving later, so that wouldn’t be a problem. It was Tuesday, so it was a stream night. He’d already crashed the last two streams in a row, so it would probably be best if he sat this one out…

The elevator doors finally slid open, and he began the long trek down the hallway that led to the lobby. When he turned the corner, though, he froze—

Standing in the lobby, pale golden hair catching the faint evening light, angelic eyes narrowed at him in a dangerous squint, was a familiar, unmistakable figure.

Kim Dokja immediately turned around and walked away.

Chapter Text

“Hey!”

Nirvana’s voice chased Kim Dokja down the hallway as he strode back toward the elevator, frantically pushing the button.

As the brisk, light footsteps behind him got closer, he began mentally calculating the odds of surviving a physical altercation. Normally, he would never bet on himself for such a thing, but the singer also was not, to put it tactfully, built like the kind of person who hit the gym often. It might be the world’s most pathetic fistfight, but Kim Dokja thought he at least had a fair shot.

The elevator doors opened leisurely, and he rushed in, clicking the close door button with even more urgency. However, by the time the metal doors began to rumble, a white hand shot out and blocked their path.

Nirvana Moebius stepped into the cramped elevator, arms folded and eyes narrowed. The doors slowly slid shut behind them.

Kim Dokja braced himself for a hit, but when Nirvana opened their mouth, what they said was, “Why haven’t you been answering my calls or texts?!”

… Once again, he felt the vague illusion of having accidentally stepped into a soap opera.

“Do you know how many burner lines I went through?! You didn’t even pick up a single time!”

Kim Dokja stared at them blankly for a few minutes, and then it clicked. “The spam texts and calls—that was you?” He said in disbelief.

“Those weren’t spam,” Nirvana snapped. “Do you know how many people would be begging for me to call them even once?” They fixed Kim Dokja with an outraged glare as they flicked the sunglasses off their face and hung them with a casual elegance on the collar of their half-buttoned shirt. “You also said you were going to take me to court, and you never did.”

Kim Dokja continued to stare at them, mouth agape. “Do you want me to sue you?”

“If it comes down to proving my love in a court of law, I won’t lose,” Nirvana said haughtily.

“No,” Kim Dokja attempted to explain. “I would be suing you for harassment, or causing a public disturbance. Also, I’m pretty sure I now have a solid stalking case.”

“Whatever,” Nirvana dismissed. “I know everything about you.”

A slight crease formed between Kim Dokja’s brows, and he drew his shoulders in tensely, but what came out of Nirvana’s mouth far exceeded his expectations.

“I know your birthday is February 15, and you’re an Aquarius—by the way, those have very poor compatibility with Leos—and you don’t like to celebrate your birthday much, so it’s been just the two of you with a homemade cake for the past four years. I know you stay up late which leads to you oversleeping so you set five alarms but just hit snooze on all of them. I know your least favorite food is tomatoes, and your favorite food is the short rib stew that Yoo Joonghyuk makes on weekends sometimes. And I know all of this because I haven’t missed a single one of his streams since he first started.” Nirvana put their hand onto their hips with an expectant glare. “So, are you still going to deny it?”

“Sorry… What is this about?” Was it the cultural difference? Kim Dokja thought blankly. Even though Nirvana Moebius was speaking Korean, he swore he couldn’t understand a single word coming out of their mouth.

Nirvana stamped their foot in frustration. “That you stole him from me! Last time, you said you didn’t know what I was talking about!”

“No, I still don’t know what you’re talking about.” He tried to recall what he might’ve said on camera in the past, but it was hard to keep track of all the miscellaneous conversations that happened every now and then. Well, he’d never have imagined anyone could be bored enough to compile the details of their everyday life through those. “Hang on, I didn’t leak my phone number and workplace address during stream, did I?”

“No, I hired a private detective for that. They couldn’t find your home address, though.” Nirvana said breezily, then frowned and clicked their tongue. “Don’t change the topic.”

“I’m not—I really don’t know.” He felt a migraine coming on and started rubbing his temples wearily. “I—It’s Yoo Joonghyuk? He’s your childhood sweetheart you were talking about?”

“Of course,” Nirvana said with a roll of their eyes. “If you’re not dating, then explain this.” They pulled out a crinkled photo clipping from their pocket impatiently and waved it at Kim Dokja.

Although the photo had been taken from a distance, it was unmistakably Yoo Joonghyuk, with Lee Seolhwa beside him, hand on his shoulder as she whispered something intimately into his ear. Kim Dokja swallowed and looked away.

“They had dinner last weekend,” he said tiredly. “What does this have to do with me?”

Nirvana made an exasperated noise. “You told him I met you last time, didn’t you? Obviously, this is some harebrained attempt to misdirect me, but I’m not going to fall for such an obvious trick.”

Kim Dokja stared at them. “Nirvana-ssi,” he said slowly, “By any chance, are you someone who watches a lot of TV dramas?”

A faint tinge of pink rose to their cheeks. “What does that have to do with anything?! I—listen, what kind of normal roommates act like that?!”

“But,” said Kim Dokja, “have you ever actually had a roommate before?”

“I—” Nirvana’s expression faltered. “I can use my common sense, okay?!”

Recalling the entire series of events that had led up to this confrontation, Kim Dokja couldn’t stop a dubious look from creeping onto his face. “Sorry if this is blunt,” he said, scratching his head awkwardly, “but, Nirvana-ssi, do you maybe… not have many friends?”

The pink on Nirvana’s face deepened into a bright red. “What do you know?!” They jerked their chin up violently. “I have more fans than the number of people you’ll ever meet in your life.”

“Oh,” Kim Dokja said absently. “Congratulations.” He hesitated, then took out his phone and navigated to the long list of blocked numbers, holding it out to Nirvana. “Which one is your actual number? I’ll… unblock it.”

Nirvana narrowed their eyes at him for a while, then snatched his phone and fiddled with it for a moment before handing it back.

“Don’t send me anything weird,” Kim Dokja said half-heartedly. “Or I really will block you again.”

Nirvana only scoffed. “Don’t think this is over, Kim Dokja. Next time, I’ll make you admit it.”

Kim Dokja sighed and pressed the button to open the elevator door again. “Next time, can you at least try to be inconspicuous?”

Nirvana frowned, but grunted in what may or may not have been acknowledgement. When Kim Dokja moved to step out, they didn’t block the way, trailing behind him by a few steps instead.

Kim Dokja stopped before turning the corner into the lobby. The lobby’s glass doors offered no protection from any prying eyes that might be outside, and there were at least two cafés on that street that were prime vantage points for people-watching, without even taking into account the numerous tall, windowed skyscrapers above them.

“It would be better to leave through the back,” he said, pointing to the stairs that led to the garbage disposal route. “The front is too exposed.”

Nirvana shot him a strange look. “What are you being such a prude for? Walking out of here with me is the only five seconds of fame you’ll ever see in your life. You should be embracing it.”

“Not everyone likes having their life disturbed,” Kim Dokja said dryly. “Doesn’t it bother you what they write about you?”

“Why should it?” Nirvana shrugged carelessly. “It’s all made up, anyways. None of them will ever see the real Nirvana Moebius.”

Kim Dokja was silent for a while. “That’s true,” he said finally. Then, he shuffled his feet and pointed at the back exit. “Anyways, I’ll be going this way, so…”

Nirvana made a soft hmph and snapped their sunglasses into place, stuffing their hands inside their pockets. They shot Kim Dokja one last heated glare, then walked out the front door without hesitation.

After they’d left, Kim Dokja counted fifteen minutes, then rummaged through his bag for a spare mask and put it on before finally slipping out through the back exit. By now, it was nearly dark, and it was getting difficult to make out any details, especially in such a rough, featureless back alleyway. Once he’d made it back onto the main street, he snuck unobtrusively back into the crowd of pedestrians and let it carry him to the subway station. Only then did he let out a breath.

When he returned to the apartment, the kitchen lights were still on, to his surprise. Yoo Joonghyuk was standing there gripping the kitchen counter, phone in his hand.

“Joonghyuk-ah,” Kim Dokja said in surprise. “Aren’t you supposed to be streaming right now?”

Some of the tension left Yoo Joonghyuk’s shoulders when he looked up. “You’re back,” he said, a trace of relief in his voice.

Kim Dokja glanced at the time. It was two hours later than when he’d said he’d be home. “Sorry,” he said vaguely. “I accidentally took the wrong train. You didn’t miss stream because of that, did you?”

“Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk said, frustration in his tone.

“There’s still time, hurry, c’mon.” Kim Dokja pushed at him lightly.

Yoo Joonghyuk let Kim Dokja steer him to his room, but he stopped just in front of the door and refused to budge further. “Kim Dokja, did you run into trouble?” He asked quietly.

Kim Dokja paused and contemplated. “I met a strange person,” he said finally. “But no trouble.”

Yoo Joonghyuk scanned his face for a while. “Will you come watch today?”

“… Not today,” Kim Dokja answered after a brief pause.

Yoo Joonghyuk’s dark eyes lingered on him for a while longer before he finally nodded and sighed. “Answer your phone next time,” he said, then closed the door. Though he left it a crack ajar.

Fumbling through his back pockets, Kim Dokja took out his phone and turned on the display. Fourteen missed calls.

And one text.

Your God: Don’t you dare ignore my messages this time!!!

Chapter Text

“You have your ID?”

With a helpless roll of his eyes, Kim Dokja unzipped his backpack and flashed the inside pocket at Yoo Joonghyuk.

“Even for Sangah-ssi, this is a bit much,” Kim Dokja remarked.

Yoo Joonghyuk said nothing.

They set out for the subway station, taking the train three stops before heading to the out-of-the-way pickup point. Yoo Joonghyuk grimaced at the sight of the black armored vans that were too heavy-set to be anything but bulletproof, but luckily, Kim Dokja’s attention seemed to have wandered somewhere else, and he didn’t say anything as they embarked.

The interior was sleek and spacious, unfortunately, and Yoo Joonghyuk watched with regret as Kim Dokja sat on the other side of the van, well away from him.

The windows were tinted from the inside and out, and there was an opaque, soundproof divider separating the driver’s side from the passengers’, so there was no way to tell where the van was going. Even knowing that it had been arranged by Yoo Sangah, the lack of vision made Yoo Joonghyuk tense a little, but Kim Dokja’s head was bent over his phone in complete obliviousness.

“Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk said with a little bit of concern. “Don’t follow other people into strange vans.”

Kim Dokja gave him an incredulous look. “I’m not five, Joonghyuk-ah. I’m not going to jump into the backseat of anyone who offers me a piece of candy.”

Yoo Joonghyuk nodded reluctantly in acknowledgment. Kim Dokja started nodding off about an hour into the trip, and Yoo Joonghyuk slipped quietly into the seat next to him to rest his head on his own shoulder.

Kim Dokja remained out like a light, sleeping through two armed security checks, until the van rolled to a stop and Yoo Joonghyuk shook him gently.

He stirred, blinking up at Yoo Joonghyuk dazedly. “Joonghyuk-ah.”

“We’re here,” Yoo Joonghyuk reminded quietly.

“Oh.” Kim Dokja blinked some more, then shook his head to clear it and unbuckled his seatbelt.

They stepped out of the van into the driveway of what Yoo Joonghyuk recognized to be one of Yoo Sangah’s parents’ many mountain villas. Yoo Sangah herself had come out onto the driveway to greet them.

“Dokja-ssi , Joonghyuk-ssi, it’s been a while,” Yoo Sangah greeted warmly. “Come inside.”

Kim Dokja had been staring slack-jawed at the pristine mansion, and he hastily snapped his mouth shut.

“It’s something like a resort,” Yoo Sangah offered by way of explanation. “But nobody uses it at this time of year.”

Both technically true, if you omitted the part where it was owned by her family.

“You just got back, right? How was your trip?” Kim Dokja asked with a sheepish smile.

“A little dizzying,” she said with a rueful smile, leading them into the house. “I heard more languages spoken than I even knew existed, I think.”

She opened the front door and ushered them to a sitting room near the entrance, where the others were already waiting.

“Master!” Lee Jihye stood up excitedly as soon as she saw them. “You’ll coach me today, right?”

“No setup,” Yoo Joonghyuk said shortly.

“I brought my setup!” Lee Jihye announced.

“No time.”

“But, Master!” Lee Jihye all but whined. “Tournaments are coming up, and you already spend all of your time with that ahjussi. You can come watch me play once in a while, can’t you?”

Jung Heewon coughed loudly from the other sofa, and Yoo Joonghyuk glared at her, then at Lee Jihye in turn. “If there’s time,” he relented.

“Yes!” Lee Jihye pumped her fist excitedly.

Kim Dokja had been diligently studying a decoration near the doorway, and he looked over at Lee Jihye’s shout.

“Lee Hyunsung-ssi isn’t here?” He asked curiously.

“He’s still in America,” Jung Heewon explained. “Shooting was delayed… exploding car, or something?” Kim Dokja’s eyes widened in concern, and she quickly added, “It was for a stunt, nobody got hurt.”

Kim Dokja nodded slowly. “Is your case wrapped up yet?”

“I wouldn’t be here otherwise,” Jung Heewon said with a triumphant flash of her teeth. “There’s still the restitutions distribution, but someone else will be handling that.”

“Dokja-ssi , Joonghyuk-ssi , let me show you your rooms,” Yoo Sangah called from the next hallway.

She was waiting for them at the base of the stairs. “You have two choices left,” she told them. “There’s two single bedrooms left on the first floor, or the suite with the nice view on the second floor.”

“Anything’s fine,” said Kim Dokja, at the same time that Yoo Joonghyuk said, “Upstairs.”

Yoo Sangah nodded slowly. “Okay,” she said, with an unnecessary amount of enunciation. “I’ll show you both upstairs.”

Yoo Joonghyuk tried to remember whether or not Yoo Sangah was a participant in Han Sooyoung’s accursed betting circle. Unfortunately, they were all extremely cagey about who was betting and how long they’d each bet on. With the combined efforts of their group, he was pretty sure the details outranked some matters of national security in terms of secrecy.

“Sangah-ssi,” Kim Dokja said wistfully, “Isn’t this suite bigger than our whole apartment?”

It was true. Although it only consisted of a lounge area, a bedroom, and an attached bathroom, each room was big enough that the combined area well surpassed their little living space.

“You could probably afford something nicer now, couldn’t you?” Yoo Sangah pointed out. “You’re no longer on Minosoft’s contract wages. You could move closer to us.”

Kim Dokja’s eyes flickered briefly to Yoo Joonghyuk, then he bit his lip. “Maybe,” he said noncommittally. “I’ll think about it.”

“Do actually think about it.” Yoo Sangah patted him on the shoulder. “Come back down once you’re both settled in.” Having said that, she left and closed the door unobtrusively behind her.

Kim Dokja put his backpack away in the closet and looked to Yoo Joonghyuk. “Which side?”

“Window side,” Yoo Joonghyuk stated.

With a noise of acknowledgement, Kim Dokja promptly flopped onto the other side of the bed. The motion had his shirt riding up, exposing a mouth-watering expanse of milky stomach.

Yoo Joonghyuk swallowed thickly and tore his eyes away, staring determinedly at the window.

“Joonghyuk-ah.” Kim Dokja had sat back up and was looking at him strangely. “Should I switch to the downstairs room after all?”

“Why?” Yoo Joonghyuk asked with irritation. Before Kim Dokja could say anything else, he added, “I’m going to see what Lee Jihye wants.”

“Your technicals are fine,” Yoo Joonghyuk said shortly. “But you don’t pay enough attention to the enemy.”

“Got it, Master!” Lee Jihye narrowed her eyes in concentration as the furious clicking of her mouse filled the room. Despite that, though, a jarring sound effect and the graying of her screen a few seconds later announced her death. Lee Jihye groaned and leaned back in her chair in dismay.

“Jihye-ya ,” Kim Dokja said suddenly. “Choose the book, in this case.” He was slouching onto the edge of the table, his chin pillowed in his arms.

Lee Jihye shot him a disgruntled look. “What do you know?” She said crossly. “You don’t even play.”

“He’s right,” Yoo Joonghyuk cut in, no expression on his face.

Lee Jihye pursed her lips unhappily, but she chose the suggested item nonetheless. Despite that, the setback from her previous death had been costly, and she found herself countered at every turn. The clench of her jaw became tighter and tighter.

“Don’t let your temper control you,” Yoo Joonghyuk said sharply.

Lee Jihye’s hand twitched.

“Rich, coming from a certain someone,” Kim Dokja quipped under his breath.

She stifled a sound that suspiciously resembled a snort.

Yoo Joonghyuk shot him a warning glare, but he only looked up innocently through his lashes.

Sadly, the distraction didn’t calm Lee Jihye down enough to avoid getting baited into a duel against the enemy assassin who’d killed her previously, and she let out another frustrated groan upon her second death, tabbing through game menus maniacally.

“Is that Kim Namwoon on the other side?” Kim Dokja piped up again.

Lee Jihye looked at him in surprise. “Have you seen his practice account before?”

Instead of answering, he smiled mysteriously and said, “Jihye-ya, did you know that Kim Namwoon always tries to go solo the boss spawn when he’s on a killing streak?”

Lee Jihye frowned dubiously, but she dutifully secured the pathways just in case. Sure enough, when the time came, a familiar character was slinking out of the shadows with a sliver of health left. Lee Jihye pounced on Kim Namwoon’s avatar gleefully.

With Kim Namwoon dead at a critical juncture and a major objective in her hands, the rest of the game was a clean sweep. Lee Jihye cackled as she fired up the next match.

“Don’t coddle her,” Yoo Joonghyuk said disapprovingly. “She won’t learn unless she loses.”

“Sorry, Captain,” Kim Dokja said with fake chagrin, a mischievous smile dancing on his lips. “Is it bad to play favorites?”

Yoo Joonghyuk’s breath caught in his throat.

Fuck, he thought. He wanted to do unspeakable things to that smile.

“Gross,” Lee Jihye said with disgust. “If you’re going to flirt, get out of my room.”

When they walked in, Jung Heewon was sitting in the parlor alone, typing away at her laptop.

“Han Sooyoung and Sangah-ssi aren’t here anymore?” Kim Dokja asked curiously, looking around.

“Ugh. Don’t remind me,” Jung Heewon muttered. “You don’t know how sick I was getting of being a third wheel.”

“Oh,” Kim Dokja said with sympathy. “Don’t worry, we’re here to rescue you.”

Jung Heewon shot him a look so baleful that Yoo Joonghyuk was surprised the fires of hell weren't roasting them alive where they stood.

“I’ve lost so much money because of you,” Jung Heewon said tiredly.

Kim Dokja looked at her blankly. Yoo Joonghyuk had a feeling he knew who one of the early losers in Han Sooyoung’s betting circle had been. Inexplicably, he felt a little more camaraderie toward Jung Heewon.

“I thought you said your case was finished?” Kim Dokja said, glancing at her furious typing.

“Prepping for the next one,” she said dryly. “It never ends.” She shook her head ruefully. “Sometimes, I still can’t believe this is real. Me, passing the bar?”

Kim Dokja shrugged. “It suits you.”

Jung Heewon fixed him with a complicated look, then shook her head again. “Seven years ago, I said you were crazy.”

“You still say that,” he pointed out.

“Because you still are,” she informed him.

They both lapsed into contemplative silence for a few moments.

“Thank you, by the way,” Kim Dokja said suddenly. “For working on my mother’s appeal case. I never actually said that.”

Jung Heewon was quiet for a few minutes. “I tried to do what I thought was the right thing,” she said softly.

Kim Dokja studied the ground in silence. Finally, Jung Heewon was the first to speak again. “How is working as an editor? Sick of Han Sooyoung yet?”

Kim Dokja smiled wryly. “I think half the paycheck is dealing with her ego,” he remarked.

Jung Heewon let out a chuckle. “No kidding,” she said. “It’s not often she finds people whose opinions she respects. And you’re not fed up with this asshole yet?” She looked pointedly at Yoo Joonghyuk as if he couldn’t see her.

“At the rate I bother him, I’m waiting to see when he’ll get fed up with me,” Kim Dokja quipped, elbowing Yoo Joonghyuk.

Yoo Joonghyuk frowned, and Jung Heewon rolled her eyes. “Well, get some rest while you’re here,” she told Kim Dokja. “You deserve it.”

His smile twitched in that way that it did when he wanted to disagree but thought better of it. “I will,” he promised.

Jung Heewon nodded, satisfied.

Chapter Text

Yoo Joonghyuk woke up to the obnoxious chirping of birds and the octopus-like grip of Kim Dokja’s clammy hands around his torso.

He took a deep breath and counted to ten, careful to remain still. Behind him, Kim Dokja mumbled something unintelligible and buried his face even deeper into Yoo Joonghyuk’s back. Yoo Joonghyuk wasn’t sure how much time passed like that—all he knew was that by the time Kim Dokja stirred for good, the birds had stopped chattering, and the shadows filtering through the window blinds had shifted a good distance.

It was with half relief and half regret that he felt the hands around him slowly, cautiously withdraw. The weight of the bed shifted as Kim Dokja retreated sneakily to his own side, then waited a few minutes before sitting up and stretching nonchalantly as if nothing had happened. Yoo Joonghyuk turned and shot him a disparaging look.

“Good morning, Joonghyuk-ah,” Kim Dokja said awkwardly. “You, ah, did you just wake up?”

Yoo Joonghyuk continued to level him with a wordless stare, eventually deciding to respond with a simple “No.”

Immediately, Kim Dokja flushed and averted his eyes. “Oh,” he said, voice a little strained.

Honestly, Yoo Joonghyuk thought, when Kim Dokja acted like this, it would be a miracle if he didn’t misunderstand.

The second time they’d met, Kim Dokja’s eyes had widened as a tinge of pink rose over his cheeks, wearing the exact expression of one of Yoo Joonghyuk’s more ardent fans. Then, he’d quickly lowered his gaze back to the phone in his hand.

Yoo Joonghyuk thought that he really couldn’t be faulted for having made certain assumptions. Objectively, he’d heard plenty of times that his physical appearance was considered attractive, and despite his team’s lackluster performance, he maintained a decently sized personal following. There had even been more than one incident in which a fan had approached him under the guise of being a stranger.

“What’re you doing here, asshole?” Han Sooyoung said in friendly greeting as she popped her head into the living room.

In response, Yoo Joonghyuk stepped aside, revealing the small child hiding behind him. Yoo Mia observed them with a taciturn silence.

“I have to go on a trip,” he said by way of explanation.

Han Sooyoung rolled her eyes. “This isn’t a daycare, you know,” she grumbled, but she motioned to Yoo Mia nonetheless. Silently, Yoo Mia detached herself from her brother and waddled over to Han Sooyoung’s familiar presence.

“He has a sister, too?” Kim Dokja asked in a low voice with a complicated expression, shooting an accusatory look at Han Sooyoung, who merely shrugged.

Yoo Joonghyuk frowned questioningly at them, but Kim Dokja was studiously averting his eyes, and Han Sooyoung only ignored him.

“Mia-ya,” Kim Dokja said hesitantly in a soft voice, squatting down. “Um, is that your name? It’s nice to meet you.” He held out his hand awkwardly as if he were greeting a business partner. Yoo Mia only watched him expressionlessly, and he coughed lightly. “Uh, never mind… Do you like to read? Han Sooyoung, I’m going to borrow your old books.”

“Sure, whatever,” Han Sooyoung dismissed, disappearing back into her room.

Kim Dokja plodded into one of the other rooms that served as her study and library, and Yoo Joonghyuk noted with surprise that he seemed to know where everything in Han Sooyoung’s apartment was located. That, in and of itself, was unusual. Despite her devil-may-care attitude, in some ways, she was even more intensely private than Yoo Joonghyuk was.

“Here,” Kim Dokja said upon his return, dumping a pile of old, worn books onto the floor. As far as Yoo Joonghyuk knew, Han Sooyoung had yet to throw away a single book, so some of these were probably from her younger years, around a decade ago. Kim Dokja spread the books out and gestured to the covers. “Are there any you want to read?”

Yoo Mia got down on her short knees and bent closer to the books, inspecting the cover illustrations of each one silently. Yoo Joonghyuk finally couldn’t watch in silence any longer.

“Four-year-olds can’t read these,” he said flatly.

Kim Dokja looked at him, startled, then embarrassment flashed across his face. “Right,” he said, clearing his throat. “Um, let me read the titles out to you, and you can pick one, okay?” 

Slowly, with the utmost patience, he pointed to each book and read aloud its title. Yoo Mia continued to study the covers for a while, then tapped one wordlessly.

“This one? Okay.” He flipped open the book. “Ah, this one is about a young boy who meets a dragon. This is how the story starts…”

Kim Dokja began reading aloud, quietly at first, then more steadily. Although he’d appeared like the introverted and withdrawn type, the characters seemed to come to life in his voice. He didn’t share Han Sooyoung’s enthusiasm for theatrics, but his voice pulsed with latent emotion, as if the thoughts and feelings of the characters were transmitted through his words.

“Huh? You’re still here?” Han Sooyoung popped her head out from her room again, holding an empty coffee mug that she went to the kitchen to refill. She made a shooing motion at Yoo Joonghyuk. “Don’t you have packing or something to do?”

“… I was making sure Mia was settled,” he said stiffly.

Han Sooyoung rolled her eyes. “It’s not like she hasn’t been here before. She knows where everything is.”

Unfortunately, he couldn’t find a rebuttal for that. “Mia-ya, I’m leaving now,” he said softly. After seeing her look up and wave at him with her round little fingers, he turned and put his hand on the doorknob.

“Have a safe trip, Yoo Joonghyuk-ssi, ” Kim Dokja called from beside Yoo Mia.

Yoo Joonghyuk nodded in farewell, then left.

When he returned four days later, Yoo Mia had a book with a dragon on the cover tucked under her arm. At bedtime, she held it out to him insistently, but after he read her a few pages from the bookmarked spot, she frowned and quietly took back the book, replacing it with another one that they’d read from before.

To be honest, he’d never felt so snubbed.

It was for that, and no other reason, that Yoo Joonghyuk brought Yoo Mia back to Han Sooyoung’s place two weeks later, despite the lack of any real pressing issue. Kim Dokja wasn’t there this time.

“He only comes around every couple of weekends,” Han Sooyoung explained. “It’s a pretty long trip from his university, so he only makes the trip when I make him.”

“When you make him,” Yoo Joonghyuk repeated tonelessly.

“Yeah, I’m forcing him to help me with some stuff.” She eyed his expression curiously. “Do you… want me to let you know next time he’s here?”

Yoo Joonghyuk considered it for a few moments, then nodded rigidly. “For Yoo Mia,” he stated.

Han Sooyoung rolled her eyes. “Sure,” she told him. “For Yoo Mia.”

True to her word, a week later, he received a text that had definitely not been long-awaited.

Han Sooyoung : mias unpaid nanny will be here in three hours

“Mia,” Yoo Joonghyuk said, “Do you want to keep reading that book?” He pointed at the book with the dragon on the cover. She looked at him suspiciously, and he clarified, “Not with me.”

Yoo Mia nodded immediately. He couldn’t help feeling snubbed again.

That was how, three hours later, he found himself on Han Sooyoung’s doorstep once more.

Kim Dokja was the one to open the door again this time, though the violent clacking of Han Sooyoung’s aggressive typing drifted over from her room to greet him.

“She’s deep in rewriting some changes to her novel,” Kim Dokja explained with a wry smile. “Sorry, you might not be able to talk to her until she’s done.”

“I don’t need to speak with her,” Yoo Joonghyuk said stiffly. He patted Yoo Mia’s shoulder, and she held out the book.

“Please?” She said politely.

Kim Dokja blinked. “Sure,” he said, sitting down on the sofa and patting the space beside him. Yoo Mia settled in comfortably as he read, craning her neck to follow the words with intense concentration. Two hours passed like that, until Han Sooyoung emerged from her coffee-fueled mania.

“Huh,” she grunted with a yawn, patting Yoo Mia’s fluffy head drowsily as she walked by. “How’s the book?”

“Good,” Yoo Mia said solemnly.

“Mmm,” Han Sooyoung acknowledged, before dropping a pile of papers unceremoniously onto Kim Dokja’s lap. “The eighth rewrite of the martial arts tournament arc. If you dare complain about it again, I’ll gut you alive,” she said crossly.

Kim Dokja shrugged. “It’s an important arc. It’s the introduction to the main character’s mentor and the entire world of Murim.” He placed a bookmark where they’d stopped and handed the book back to Yoo Mia. “Here you go,” he said with a smile. “We can keep going next time, okay?”

Yoo Mia nodded seriously.

Yoo Joonghyuk watched the exchange, an indescribable emotion clogging his chest, until Yoo Mia ran back over to him and took her usual spot behind him. He cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he said, after some thought. “For reading to her.”

Kim Dokja flashed him a brief smile as well. “I enjoyed it,” he answered. “It reminded me of… Anyways, I would have just been scrolling through my phone otherwise.” He paused and chewed his lip. “Congratulations, by the way,” he added awkwardly. “For winning against Iceflower. I heard it was a bad matchup for your team.”

Yoo Joonghyuk was silent for a few moments. “It wasn’t a big deal,” he said finally. He took Yoo Mia’s hand, and the two of them were about to step out when he was suddenly possessed to turn back for some reason. “I’ll see you next time,” he added.

Kim Dokja glanced up from his papers in surprise. “See you,” he echoed.

The door finally swung shut. Behind him, Yoo Joonghyuk heard the sounds of Kim Dokja and Han Sooyoung in conversation, which quickly escalated into some kind of argument.

Then Yoo Mia tugged his hand, and he snapped out of his daze.

It became something of a routine after that. Every few weeks, he would get a message from Han Sooyoung. At first, they were more or less whole sentences, and then they were shortened to short phrases, and eventually she gave up on grammar altogether and just started sending him cryptic minimalist texts along the lines of “tmrw” or “in 30.”

Yoo Mia finished the dragon book and moved on to something about horses, which apparently had an entire series, which she devoured. Occasionally, they switched to a mystery book, and later, they started some kind of futuristic series about space travel, too.

And at the end of each visit, he and Kim Dokja would exchange a brief, if polite, set of farewells. “Congratulations on making captain of the team,” Kim Dokja said once. Or, on another occasion, “It looks like your new teammates look up to you a lot. That’s great.” Or, “Skybreakers made internationals this year for the first time, right? Congratulations.”

He wasn’t someone who considered many people friends, but they had reached a point, he thought, of something approaching friendship. At some point, he’d even begun planning his weekend schedules around Kim Dokja’s haphazard visits.

So it weighed unexpectedly on his mind when three weeks passed with none of the usual texts from Han Sooyoung. Then, three weeks became four weeks, and four became five. Finally, he gave up on waiting and arrived directly on her doorstep.

“This couldn’t have been a text?” She asked irritably.

“Did you stop contacting him?” Yoo Joonghyuk asked with a frown.

“Me?” Han Sooyoung gnashed her teeth furiously. “That guy, you know what he did? He went off to do his military service without saying a single word. Do you know how I found out? Through a goddamned comment on the fucking webnovel site.”

“That’s where you met Lee Hyunsung-ssi, isn’t it, Dokja-ssi ?” Yoo Sangah’s voice came from the head of the party, where she, Lee Jihye, and Jung Heewon were strolling at a leisurely pace through the overgrown mountain path, Yoo Joonghyuk slightly ahead of them.

Kim Dokja in the back, however, was not in such great shape. Red-faced and sweating, he opted to keep silent in favor of gulping down big breaths. Han Sooyoung beside him wasn’t in much better condition, stopping every few steps to dab at her drenched forehead irritably.

“... Should we take a break?” Yoo Sangah said with concern.

Kim Dokja shook his head. “I can go,” he wheezed, “a little further.”

“Almost there,” Yoo Joonghyuk said, his sharp voice cutting through the stillness of the crisp mountain air.

They finally reached a clearing at the top of the peak they were on, and the two laggards collapsed into the grass with relief. Meanwhile, the other four began laying out blankets and utensils, and Yoo Joonghyuk silently unpacked containers of food from the backpack he’d been carrying.

After replenishing some of the air in her lungs, Han Sooyoung finally found the energy to sow chaos again. “You should’ve seen it when this idiot came back from military service,” she said gleefully. “A giant, hulking bear of a man, following him around tearfully like a lost puppy. Yoo Joonghyuk, you remember that, don’t you?” She asked, a wicked glint in her eye.

Yoo Joonghyuk’s eye twitched. He chose to ignore her.

“It was like seeing a small dog run into a big dog,” Kim Dokja snorted.

“Hey,” Lee Jihye interjected angrily, “Don’t call Master a small dog!”

Kim Dokja raised an eyebrow. “But, Jihye-ya, I never said which one was which,” he pointed out with feigned surprise. Seeing Lee Jihye’s speechless expression, he snickered. “Joonghyuk-ah, why did you have such a big problem with Hyunsung-ssi back then, anyways?”

“Yeah,” Han Sooyoung parroted, “Why did you have such a big problem with Hyunsung-ssi, Joonghyuk-ah?”

Seeing the veins on Yoo Joonghyuk’s hands close to bursting, Yoo Sangah butted in tactfully. “Doesn’t Lee Hyunsung-ssi often say that you saved his life? I haven’t heard that story yet.”

Kim Dokja coughed delicately, embarrassed. “It’s not as dramatic as he says,” he objected. “I was just, um… I was talking with him about a webnovel I made him read, so I made us late for a drill. It just so happened that there was an accident with the gunpowder storage that day… No one died, though.”

Yoo Joonghyuk’s eye twitched again. A silence fell over the group.

“I didn’t know that happened,” Yoo Sangah said softly. “That must have been very frightening. I’m sorry.”

Kim Dokja waved hurriedly. “Oh, no, we weren’t even close to the accident. Honestly, shoveling all the snow and debris was probably the worst part of the whole thing,” he said.

Jung Heewon fixed him with a complicated look, then shook her head and sighed. “Hyunsung, that guy… He was dead certain he was going to join the military for good the whole time I knew him, and one day he comes back and says he’s decided to try theater. Imagine how surprised I was.”

Kim Dokja smiled. “I guess,” he said cryptically, “Hyunsung-ssi saw the wizard after all.”

“Hey,” Lee Jihye interrupted. “Are we going to eat, or are we just going to talk?” She was eyeing the containers of food with a ravenous expression.

Murmurs of agreement spread through the group, and the sound of containers being opened drowned out the sound of conversation for a moment. Han Sooyoung popped open a can of soda dramatically and took a large swig.

“Cheers,” she said, wiping her mouth with her sleeve, “to never climbing another goddamn mountain again.”

Chapter Text

“Good morning, Kim Dokja-ssi, ” Asuka Ren greeted.”You look, ah… like you’ve spent some time outdoors.”

Kim Dokja touched his raw, lobster-red face and winced. “I didn’t realize the sun could be that strong even when it’s cold.”

Asuka Ren nodded sympathetically. “Altitude can be real sneaky. I’ve gotten my fair share of sunburns up in the mountains.”

“You went to the mountains a lot?” Kim Dokja asked curiously.

“I lived in the countryside. It’s where the inspiration for Peace Land came from,” she explained. “Ah, speaking of which, you said Director-nim isn’t working on her novel right now, right? Do you have time to take a look at my drafts?”

“Sure,” Kim Dokja began, but he was cut off by the buzzing of his phone.

Your God: downstairs

He stared blankly at the text for a few seconds before suddenly jumping out of his seat and running into the hallway.

“Sorry,” he called to Asuka Ren. “I have to check something.”

Once in the elevator, he jammed his finger against the “1” button repeatedly as if that could somehow make it go faster. Sadly, the rhythmic flashing of the floor display was ruthless in its indifference. When he finally reached the bottom floor, he raced toward the lobby, wheezing slightly from the exertion.

To his utter dismay, it was just as he’d feared—a familiar figure stood in the lobby, though their features were obscured by a baggy black sweatshirt with the hood drawn, as well as a baseball cap and mask. Their usual sunglasses were nowhere in sight.

Nirvana looked at him impatiently. “Tell them you know me,” they said imperiously, pointing at the security guard at the desk.

Kim Dokja inhaled deeply, counted to ten, then exhaled. “Can I get a visitor badge for them?” He asked, with an air of defeat.

The security guard glanced between the two of them, shrugged, and handed over a laminated badge with the word “Visitor” printed on it in bold type. 

Nirvana threw the lanyard around their neck with what almost looked like an air of smug accomplishment. “Show me your office,” they ordered. “I want to see where you work.”

As expected of someone who could be childhood friends with Yoo Joonghyuk, Kim Dokja thought. They were matched for bossiness.

“What are you doing here?” He hissed in a low voice as soon as the elevator doors closed behind them.

Nirvana adjusted their mask carelessly, preoccupied with examining their distorted reflection on the metal door. “You said I could come here as long as I was less conspicuous.”

“I—” Halfway through formulating an argument, Kim Dokja decided that arguing with Nirvana using logic was a lost cause. And, technically, it wasn’t not what he’d said. “Don’t you have, I don’t know, celebrity work to do?” He asked wearily.

Nirvana raised an eyebrow at him. “How much money do you think I make from a single concert?”

Kim Dokja thought about it briefly and said a number.

Nirvana snorted in response.

Pride wounded, Kim Dokja gave up. “Don’t make any trouble,” he warned reluctantly, but Nirvana pretended not to hear.

The elevator stopped on his floor with a ding , and he stepped out cautiously. Luckily, Textpia was filled with introverted recluses and outlandish creative types, so Nirvana’s getup was relatively unobtrusive by comparison.

“Kim Dokja-ssi .” Asuka Ren was still waiting by his cubicle, flipping through a couple of manuscripts. “Oh, you went to pick up a visitor?”

Kim Dokja smiled stiffly.

“Are you busy? Should I come back later?” She asked cautiously.

He shook his head. “Just ignore them,” he dismissed. Asuka Ren looked at him oddly, so he added awkwardly, “… They’re just here to see the office.”

Asuka Ren nodded slowly and shot Nirvana a curious look. “Nice to meet you,” she said brightly, receiving only silence in reply. Kim Dokja shrugged helplessly, and she smiled. “Here are the rough drafts for the continuation chapters,” she said, handing him a stack of papers. “It’s still in the early stages, but what do you think about the direction?”

Kim Dokja flipped through the papers quickly. “I like it,” he said, after reaching the end. “It has the idyllic charm of the original Peace Land , with a more mature, sophisticated take on the characters. But,” he paused, “what happened to Kyrgios Rodgraim? Some of these conflicts—wouldn’t he have been able to resolve them easily?”

Asuka Ren scratched her head awkwardly. “Heh. I was hoping nobody would bring that up. When I created him, I was a little… Well, you know what people were saying, and I was kind of impulsive… Anyways, I really don’t know what to do with his character. He’s too different from the rest of the story—once he’s included, the sense of scale is completely off.”

“But,” Kim Dokja said slowly, “even if you ignore it, the sense of incongruence is still there.”

They both lapsed into silence for a while.

“You could kill him off,” Kim Dokja suggested, breaking the silence. “Sacrifice him in order to resolve some world-threatening crisis.”

Asuka Ren frowned and tapped her foot. “He’s a popular character, though. I thought you liked him.”

“I do. That’s why—it should leave an impact when he leaves the stage.”

“Hey,” Nirvana suddenly interrupted, taking off their mask. “That story. Bring it to me.”

Asuka Ren looked at them in confusion for a few moments, then her jaw dropped in astonishment. “N-N-Nirv—”

“Shhh,” Kim Dokja quickly interrupted, putting a finger to his lips. She blinked, swallowed, and nodded. Reassured that she wasn’t going to blow their cover, Kim Dokja’s shoulders relaxed. “Don’t tell anyone about this, okay?”

Her eyes darted between the two of them and widened, and she nodded her head furiously. “I won’t tell,” she promised, a faint flush on her face. “Um, the, the Peace Land volumes, they’re all on the bookshelf, I’ll go get them—I, I’ll leave you two alone!”

Kim Dokja watched with bemusement as she nearly stumbled in her haste to get up and charge out the door. “I thought she was your fan,” he said, baffled.

Nirvana shot him a withering look and stood up as well. “Where is it?” They asked regally. “The bookshelf.”

“Upstairs,” Kim Dokja answered. “Good point, it would be better to meet her there so she doesn’t have to carry all the volumes down.”

He navigated them to the stairs and led them down the hallway to a small reading nook where copies of all of Textpia’s published works were kept. Glancing around, he didn’t see Asuka Ren, but he did spot the complete set of Peace Land and pulled it off the bookshelf.

“Don’t say anything too harsh,” he told Nirvana as he handed over the books. “She’s only just been re-serialized, and she’s a big fan of yours.”

“If she can’t handle the criticism, she shouldn’t be an artist,” Nirvana answered coolly, but they sat down in one of the lounge chairs and began flipping through the pages with intense concentration.

Kim Dokja sank into a beanbag as well and began scrolling through his phone. Some time later, Asuka Ren passed by, then doubled back with surprise. “You two are here?”

“We thought we’d save you the trip back, but we didn’t see you here,” Kim Dokja explained. “Did something come up?”

Asuka Ren blinked, open-mouthed. “Oh,” she said awkwardly, eyes sliding toward Nirvana. “They were serious about reading Peace Land? ”

Kim Dokja gave her a strange look. “Why wouldn’t they be?”

She cleared her throat awkwardly and sat down beside him to wait.

Nirvana was rapidly plowing through the pile of books in front of them, and a short while later, they closed the final volume with a loud snap and pointed to the illustration of Kyrgios on the cover.

“If you kill off this guy,” Nirvana declared, “I’ll publicly flame you on social media and send all of my fans after you.”

Both Kim Dokja and Asuka Ren’s jaws dropped.

“What are you—” Kim Dokja began, but Nirvana continued speaking, heedless of his interruption.

“Loneliness,” they said. “The feeling of being utterly alone, even in a crowd. Your work is about the human condition. What could be more human than that? In the end, solitude is the one thing that unites us all.”

Asuka Ren stared at Nirvana open-mouthed for a while. “I didn’t think of it like that,” she said haltingly. “But it’s true. Power levels and stuff—that was never what I wanted to write about in the first place.” She shook her head, her face glowing with excitement. “Thank you, Nirv—Er, Kim Dokja-ssi ’s friend. I think I know where I want to take this now.”

As she sprang away, Kim Dokja fixed Nirvana with a complicated look.

“What?” Nirvana snapped.

“Nothing,” said Kim Dokja. “I just didn’t realize you could actually say anything reasonable.”

Nirvana released an exaggerated huff. “Kim Dokja, why do you think I’m popular? Do you think it’s just because of my stunning good looks or my angelic voice?”

Kim Dokja opened his mouth to say something, but without waiting for a response, Nirvana had already continued.

“Of course not. It’s because I know what people want most, and how to give it to them— that’s the most fundamental essence of a performer.”

Kim Dokja : won’t be back for dinner

After sending the text, Kim Dokja put his phone back down and looked at Nirvana dubiously. “Are you sure you can stomach convenience store food…?”

“Are you going to come to the restaurant I picked if I say no?” Nirvana said impatiently.

“No,” Kim Dokja said blandly.

“Then let’s go to your stupid convenience store.”

There was something surreal about taking a global megastar to a run-down convenience store twenty minutes down the street, but with the hoodie and baggy clothes, it was true that nobody seemed to give Nirvana a second glance.

“Why are you going to such a far away one? We’ve passed at least two already,” Nirvana said, dissatisfied.

Kim Dokja paused. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s habit. I used to work part-time in a different part of this neighborhood, so that was the one I always went to.”

When they finally arrived, and Nirvana saw the kimbap purchase he’d made, they gnashed their teeth in fury. “You came all this way to buy something mass-produced?!”

Kim Dokja shrugged. “I just suddenly wanted to eat one from here.” The weight of the little lump of rice that had once been almost the entirety of his subsistence was nearly negligible in his hands.

“Unbelievable,” Nirvana muttered.

There was a park nearby, and it wasn’t too dark yet, so they sat on a bench there, watching as the streetlamps began to flicker on and the families with kids playing there started to leave one by one. Kim Dokja couldn’t claim expertise in much, but he could claim expertise in carefully teasing out the plastic corners of the kimbap wrapping so that the seaweed remained pristine.

“What was Yoo Joonghyuk like as a kid?” He asked suddenly.

Nirvana paused in the middle of eviscerating the plastic bag around the pastry they’d bought and looked up. “You want me to tell you?” They said, jerking their chin up. “Keep dreaming. All you need to know is that I’m the only one who understands him in the world, and he’s the only one who understands me.”

“Oh,” said Kim Dokja, without much inflection.

Nirvana studied his face with a strange expression. “You’re really not together?”

“That’s what I’ve been saying,” he said dryly.

Nirvana seemed to sink into thought for a few moments. “Who do you want to date instead, then? Min Jiwon? Zhuge Lingling?”

Kim Dokja stared at him blankly. “What? Who?”

“Min Jiwon, the actress. Or Zhuge Lingling, the pro-gamer-turned-idol,” Nirvana said impatiently.

“Oh,” Kim Dokja said in realization. “The captain of Iceflower. I didn’t realize she was an idol now.”

“Do you live under a rock?” Nirvana asked, exasperated.

Kim Dokja shrugged.

“Whatever,” Nirvana ignored him. “You must have at least one celebrity crush, though. Who is it? I can make it happen, as long as they’re single.” They paused and eyed him for a while. “Actually, even if they aren’t… Anyways, just give me a name.”

Kim Dokja looked at them as if they’d started speaking an alien tongue. “What are you talking about this time?” He said tiredly.

“Obviously,” Nirvana said patiently, as if he were dull, “I’m setting you up with someone.”

At that, Kim Dokja couldn’t help but let out a snort. “Even if that wasn’t completely insane,” he said, “I wouldn’t date a celebrity. It wouldn’t work out.”

“‘Work out’?” Nirvana rolled their eyes. “What do you think this is, a matchmaking session from the Joseon era? If it doesn’t work out, then it’s a fling, and if it does, then it’s a slightly longer fling with a pre-nup attached.”

“What’s the point, then?” Kim Dokja shrugged.

“The point,” said Nirvana, “is to live a little. Or do you not even know how to do that?”

Kim Dokja stared at the leftover plastic in his hands for a long time, as if in a daze. “I’m still learning,” he said finally.

When he made it back to the apartment, the lights in the living room were still on.

Instead of being holed up in his room, Yoo Joonghyuk was on his laptop on the sofa. The starlight from the window lit up the sharp edges of his face just so, while the warm hue of the lamp gave it an unexpected softness.

Every person is like a book.

It was a saying that Kim Dokja hated, but if he were to open the pages of Yoo Joonghyuk’s story right now, then he would probably find a sentence like this:

Yoo Joonghyuk was an existence too lofty, too towering to fit inside the constraints of this cramped little apartment unit.

He was someone whose skill and charisma had taken the world stage by storm, someone whose silent presence alone could command a room.

And Kim Dokja was someone who stood in the back and watched it all happen.

At the sound of his entry, Yoo Joonghyuk looked up and quietly closed the lid of his laptop.

“You’re still working?” Kim Dokja asked.

Yoo Joonghyuk shook his head. “I was reviewing last night’s stream. You had dinner?”

Kim Dokja nodded.

Yoo Joonghyuk paused, almost like he was hesitating. “A friend?” He asked, after a while.

Kim Dokja nodded again, more slowly.

There was another short silence. “What… kind of person?”

A hundred different responses crossed Kim Dokja’s mind. You remember the weird person I ran into last time on the street? Or, Your childhood friend, actually. Or, You never told me a superstar was obsessed with you, hah.

“An artist,” he said simply. “They were just visiting the office.”

Yoo Joonghyuk studied his face for a while, finally giving a short nod of acknowledgement. “I’m picking up Mia tomorrow,” he said quietly. “Come with me. She doesn’t see you as much now.”

It took a while for Kim Dokja to reply, but eventually, he nodded one last time.

Chapter Text

The story of Yoo Mia’s life went like this:

When she was barely old enough to be out of diapers, she’d been dumped onto Yoo Joonghyuk’s doorstep by parents so absent as to be nearly nonexistent.

She’d been too young to remember, of course, so that was what she’d been told. What she hadn’t been told was how her brother, just barely considered an adult himself, had put aside all other priorities for her—his friends, his schooling, and even his career. But just because she hadn’t been told, that didn’t mean that she couldn’t piece it together from the recipes he’d learned in order to coax a picky child to eat vegetables, the parent-teacher conferences that he’d never failed to attend, the countless training sessions he’d put off to take her to this or that event.

When she was a little older, she would often hear people say things like, Skybreakers? Why did a top-ranked rising star like Yoo Joonghyuk choose a washed up team like that?! And when she became a little older still, she understood why.

For as long as Yoo Mia could remember, there had also been Kim Dokja.

Mia-ya is such a focused little reader, her teachers would often praise. It’s been a while since I’ve seen a child devour books with such an appetite.

But in truth, it wasn’t that she loved to read so much as it was that Kim Dokja loved to read. And whenever they finished a book together, he would ask, “What was your favorite part of this one, Mia- ya? ” Sometimes it would be, “You really liked the villain of this story, didn’t you? Then, next, should we read something like—” Or, “Haha, was that too cheesy for your tastes? Then, after this, let’s do a murder mystery.”

She liked it when she was seen by Kim Dokja.

And because she liked it, too, she understood why, every so often, her brother would freeze and turn his body ever so slightly, in the way that a flower subconsciously sought the sun.

“I saw you beat Surya in last weekend’s match,” Kim Dokja said in passing with a brief smile. “Wasn’t Vedas a fan favorite to win? Your team’s come a long way, Captain.”

Her brother nodded stiffly, at a loss in a way that he never was in front of a screen or on the stage. “They still need more training,” he said shortly.

If there was one thing she’d learned from books, it was this—a person whose struggles were written and read was called a hero. A person whose struggles went unseen did not exist at all.

At some point, Lee Seolhwa entered her life. Beautiful, smart, compassionate—Lee Seolhwa was everything she could want in an older sister.

But, it was strange.

“When is Dokja-ahjussi coming to visit?” She asked once.

Her brother stiffened, and an odd expression appeared on his face. “He probably… will be too busy,” he said.

“Then, when are we visiting him?” She demanded. “I finished the book he picked for me.”

Her brother sighed. “I’ll make Han Sooyoung take you with her sometime.”

“Did you fight again?” She asked skeptically. “Just say sorry. You never win.”

Her stupid brother looked at her helplessly. “We didn’t fight,” he said quietly.

Everyone around her seemed to know about Lee Seolhwa. Her classmates, her teachers, even her friends’ parents. It was through them that she understood that Lee Seolhwa and her brother were perfect for each other in every way—their looks, their personalities, their dedication to their careers, their patience toward children. Congratulations, they all told her. You’ll make such a perfect family.  

But the thing was, she’d already had a perfect family before this.

People often told her that she was very similar to her brother. So perhaps that was why, despite the shock of everyone around her, she wasn’t too surprised when Lee Seolhwa became Han Sooyoung’s friend instead and stopped talking to her brother.

“There are some stories like that,” Kim Dokja explained. “Stories that are perfect in structure and flawless in prose, but when you read them, it’s like reading nothing at all.” He paused. “I think, when we read stories, we’re looking for a mirror—one that reflects not just what’s beautiful and good, but the imperfect edges, the ugly, raw wounds. We like heroes not just because they win, but because they struggle.”

Yoo Mia nodded.

Kim Dokja smiled at her and placed the bookmark in between the pages of their current book. “Who did you say you were talking about again?”

“You wouldn’t recognize them,” she told him. “It’s someone very stupid.”

At age eleven, Yoo Mia decided that she was all grown up.

As a grown-up, she was old enough to understand the things that she didn’t understand before.

“Oppa, why don’t you just tell Dokja-ahjussi how you feel about him?”

Her brother looked at her with a frown. “Has Han Sooyoung been telling you nonsense again?” He said, sounding exasperated.

Yoo Mia shook her head. “She said I would understand when I’m older. I’m older now.”

Yoo Joonghyuk’s frown only grew deeper. Finally, he sighed. “It would be a burden to him,” was all he said.

Adults, she learned, were cowards.

“Dokja-ahjussi, ” she said, “Why don’t you just tell oppa how you feel about him?”

Kim Dokja choked violently and nearly spat out a mouthful of tea. He quickly moved the book in his hands out of spraying range of any liquids and gulped. “Mia-ya, ” he said in a strained voice, “When have I ever neglected to tell your brother exactly how I feel about every dumb thing that comes out of his mouth?” He patted Yoo Mia’s fluffy head. “Don’t listen to the nonsense Han Sooyoung says.”

Adults, she realized, were also liars.

“Adults are stupid,” she said aloud, kicking a rock.

“Duh,” Lee Gilyoung said, rolling his eyes. “Adults don’t know anything. Except for Dokja-hyung. He knows everything.”

“No, ahjussi is the stupidest adult,” Yoo Mia disagreed. “And the ugliest, too.”

“No, he’s not! Take that back!” Lee Gilyoung waved around a handful of dirt and grass threateningly. “Shin Yoosung, tell her she’s wrong!”

“Why do you think Dokja -ahjussi is ugly?” Shin Yoosung said with a frown. “He’s not ugly.”

“He’s ugly. None of you understand.” Yoo Mia kicked another rock, harder this time, and it shattered against the wall. “He’s stupid and ugly, the ugliest ever. No one else will ever want him, that’s why he can’t ever, ever leave.” She stomped her foot on the ground.

Shin Yoosung didn’t answer. The grass and mud tumbled out of Lee Gilyoung’s hands. He looked at her with something that looked uncomfortably close to pity.

“You’re the stupid one,” he said quietly. “Just because you say it, that doesn’t mean it will be true.”

“Mia-ya ,” her brother said with a frown. “If you go to that school, you’ll only see me three days a week. I’m not going to leave you by yourself.”

Like our parents did, was left unsaid.

“Dokja-ahjussi is looking for a place to move to,” Yoo Mia stated. “You want to ask him to move in together, but you’re worried that it will be strange to ask him to live with a twelve-year-old girl. You’re worried that the schools in the areas that he would be comfortable affording won’t be good quality. You’re worried that if you spend a lot of time around a local school, reporters might find him and start bothering him again.”

Yoo Joonghyuk stared at her, speechless. “… Who did you hear that from?” He asked, voice a little strained.

“I’m not a kid anymore,” Yoo Mia said firmly, planting her hands on her hips. “I’m twelve.”

Yoo Joonghyuk pressed his lips into a thin line, then sighed. “You’re not wrong,” he said. “But, Mia-ya , I’m your brother first.”

“I know,” said Yoo Mia. “But I want more than just a brother now.” She met his eyes with a steady gaze. “Actually, orabeoni, it’s really annoying living with you sometimes, did you know? Sometimes, I want to sneak out and eat junk food, but you never approve and you always catch me. Also, half the kids at school just want to be my friend because you’re famous or they think you’re cool. Some of them even say that the teachers give me better grades because of you.”

Yoo Joonghyuk frowned. “That’s not true.”

“I know it’s not,” Yoo Mia said coolly. “But they won’t believe me ‘cause they’re stupid. Besides, Shin Yoosung and Lee Gilyoung will be going to that school, too, and it won’t be weird to have family who’s been on TV there. And, I want to try sleeping over every night with my friends, too.”

There was a period of silence. “Fine,” Yoo Joonghyuk finally relented. “But—I’ll still be your brother first.”

“Whatever.” Yoo Mia stuck her tongue out at him. “I don’t want a brother who’s such a loser that he couldn’t get a boyfriend for eight years, anyways.”

He stopped trying to persuade her after that.

“Yoosung-ah, Gilyoung-ah,” Kim Dokja greeted as the two kids barreled toward him at a breakneck pace, stopping just centimeters short of bowling him over.

“I was first! I win!” Shin Yoosung declared.

“You cheated!” Lee Gilyoung argued. “You had a head start!”

“Not my fault you didn’t see ahjussi,” Shin Yoosung crowed. She wrapped an arm around Kim Dokja’s elbow and pulled energetically. “Come look, come look,” she said excitedly. “I found a whole nest of baby birds!”

“Okay, okay—” Kim Dokja half-jogged, half-stumbled to keep up with the teenage girl dragging him along, while Lee Gilyoung trailed behind, fuming.

Yoo Mia watched them get farther and farther away in the direction of the little field behind the school. Behind her, Yoo Joonghyuk sighed and began walking in the same direction. By the time they caught up, Lee Gilyoung was earnestly shoving something in a small cardboard box into Kim Dokja’s face.

“… found this caterpillar in the neighbor’s flower pot yesterday, but she was about to throw it away. In a few weeks, it will turn into a cocoon!” Lee Gilyoung said proudly.

“Wow,” Kim Dokja said, holding the box in his hands gingerly. “You always have such a sharp eye, Gilyoung-ah. ”

“Hehe.” He rubbed his nose a little sheepishly.

“If we don’t head home soon, dinner will be late,” Yoo Mia reminded loudly.

“Ah, right. I lost track of time.” Kim Dokja straightened up and handed the box back to Lee Gilyoung, who shot Yoo Mia a stinky look from behind Kim Dokja’s back.

The school’s location was fairly close to their parents’ home, so they took a short taxi trip into the lavish, well-secured neighborhood, where Yoo Joonghyuk pulled out his keycard and opened the security gate.

“Are you trying to catch bugs with your mouth?” he asked flatly, flicking Kim Dokja on the forehead.

Kim Dokja promptly snapped his jaw shut and stopped gazing around wide-eyed like a country bumpkin. “Don’t look down on the tactic of leaving your mouth open and waiting for food to wander in on its own,” he reprimanded. “There are a great number of predators that survive very well that way.”

“Then I’ll inform Han Sooyoung that you’re quitting your job tomorrow,” Yoo Joonghyuk said tonelessly.

“Sure,” Kim Dokja said, rolling his eyes. “I’ll affix myself to the dining room table like a venus flytrap, and you can deliver food into my mouth while I bum around.”

Yoo Joonghyuk fixed him with a contemplative look, and he shivered exaggeratedly.

“Kidding, kidding,” he complained. “You were the one who suggested it. No need to work up a temper over it.”

Her brother sighed.

Their parents’ apartment wasn’t a penthouse, but it was fairly close to it. The kitchen was kept clean and stocked by the housekeepers who came by regularly, so her brother went straight to the refrigerator to inspect its contents.

“When is Coach Minyoung arriving?” Yoo Mia piped up.

“At seven,” Yoo Joonghyuk answered. He took out a pile of assorted ingredients, pausing when he reached the carrots and tomatoes.

“I can eat carrots now,” Yoo Mia told him. “I’m not a kid anymore.” She looked pointedly at Kim Dokja, who coughed delicately under her scrutiny.

“Oh, how grown-up of you,” he said with difficulty. “I also…” His entire face scrunched up with distaste, “… can eat…… —carrots,” he finished with a weak smile.

Yoo Mia shot him an unimpressed look.

Her brother released a soft huff that might’ve been a laugh, and the tomatoes stayed firmly inside the fridge.

“How come I still have to eat veggies I don’t like?” Yoo Mia demanded.

Her brother raised an eyebrow. “I thought you weren’t a kid anymore.”

Yoo Mia shut her mouth.

“Ahjussi,” she whispered fiercely, “You better stay ugly forever. No one else is as good as my brother.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Kim Dokja answered absently. “Your brother is the prettiest.”

A couple of hours later, the virtual doorbell announced the arrival of their visitor. Yoo Mia hurried over to approve the security check, then opened the door of the apartment to wait. Not too long afterwards, a tall, sturdy-looking woman with a commanding presence breezed in.

“Coach Minyoung!” Yoo Mia greeted enthusiastically.

“Hello there, shortcake,” Namgung Minyoung said, ruffling Yoo Mia’s hair into a bird’s nest as she set down a box of gift chocolates. Yoo Mia’s height had shot up in the last few years, but it was still nothing compared to the towering woman. “Little Mia’s grown so much,” she smiled warmly. “I still remember when you were thiiiiis small,” she gestured down to her knees. “And whenever your brother was in the next room training, you would cry and look at me sadly until I let you in.”

“That never happened,” Yoo Mia said, her face turning pink. She looked over at Kim Dokja, who was helping her brother plate a steaming fish. “Ahjussi, that never happened!”

“Hm?” Kim Dokja put a hand theatrically to his ear. “Sorry, the stove was too loud, what were the two of you saying?”

Namgung Minyoung burst into a thundering peal of laughter. “Slimy kid, I see you haven’t changed at all,” she said, shaking her head.

“Coach,” Yoo Joonghyuk greeted, once the transport of the fish was complete.

“Coach Minyoung,” Kim Dokja echoed with a sheepish smile.

Namgung Minyoung inhaled the fragrant aroma of the fish and sighed. “Stinky disciple,” she grumbled. “If you put all your talent for cooking into games, you’d have ten more world championships under your belt.”

“They only give out one a year,” Kim Dokja protested. “Who’s heard of a pro-gamer retiring at thirty-six?!”

“Do I look retired to you?” Namgung Minyoung demanded, arms folded.

“You’re a coach. That’s different,” Kim Dokja pointed out. “Besides, cooking is a useful life skill. You can’t eat tournament trophies.”

Namgung Minyoung rolled her eyes. “Stinky disciple,” she snorted. “Does it feel good having someone defend you like your knight in shining armor?”

Yoo Joonghyuk pointedly ignored her, while Kim Dokja cleared his throat violently.

“So,” Namgung Minyoung continued once they were all seated. “You two’ve been in that new place, what, almost two years now? How’s the newlywed life?”

Kim Dokja choked a little on his tea. After swallowing with difficulty, he smiled, though it looked a little strained. “Coach, your sense of humor is still the same as always.”

“Humor, huh,” she said dryly.

“How’s the team doing?” Kim Dokja asked. “Jihye-ya seemed a little nervous about tournament season.”

“She’s fine,” Namgung Minyoung dismissed with a wave. “She’s just excitable. She needs a few months in the pressure cooker to hone her instincts, but in terms of skill, she’s in a good spot. That new kid, Jang Hayoung, is shaping up to be a real monster of an all-rounder, too. I’m thinking of training her to be the next captain if this keeps up.”

“What about Han Donghoon, then?” He asked curiously.

Namgung Minyoung shook her head. “I made him captain because I had no one else, but he doesn’t actually like being a shot-caller. He’s good at analyzing the opponent’s movements, but his leadership style is a bit too timid for this team.”

Kim Dokja nodded. “I thought so, too,” he said. “He always wants to retreat and regroup when Kim Namwoon and Lee Jihye are itching to push.” He turned to Yoo Joonghyuk. “What are your thoughts, Captain?” He asked humorously, adding a soft lilt to the end of his sentence.

“Be careful of Emperor this year,” Yoo Joonghyuk said shortly. “Bad matchup for the team. Training Jang Hayoung will help.”

“Their control-focused tactics will hinder Kim Namwoon especially quite a bit, huh?” Kim Dokja mused. “Jang Hayoung’s unpredictability will make her difficult to counter, though.”

Namgung Minyoung looked at them wistfully. “Come visit the base more often,” she said. “It would do wonders for the kids’ morale, and it’ll be good to remind them that matches are won with their brains, not just their hands. You, too, Mia,” she added, looking at Yoo Mia. “It’s just not the same without all you stinky kids around.”

“I’m not a kid anymore,” Yoo Mia and Kim Dokja objected at the same time, to which Namgung Minyoung cackled.

“Tell me that when you’re my age,” she told them.

Despite the idle banter drowning out the clack of chopsticks, dinner wrapped up fairly quickly, with Namgung Minyoung hurrying to bundle herself out the door when the clock struck nine. “I wish I could stay longer, but I still have some match footage to review,” she explained apologetically.

“We understand. It’s tournament season, after all. Thank you for coming on such short notice,” Kim Dokja said, following her to the door. Yoo Joonghyuk nodded his agreement beside him.

“It was good to see Mia again. Oh, and you two, too,” she added with a grin, patting Yoo Mia’s head. “Mia, look after your stupid brother for me, alright?”

Yoo Mia nodded solemnly. “I will,” she promised.

Chapter Text

“It’s late,” said Yoo Joonghyuk.

He was loading the last of the dishes into the dishwasher while Kim Dokja wiped a damp, clean rag over the table and counters. Yoo Mia had been sent off to bed over an hour ago, and they both spoke in hushed voices so as not to disturb her sleep—though they both knew it was unlikely that she was actually sleeping already.

“Mm, I know,” Kim Dokja said absently, shaking off the rag over the trash. “I should hurry before the last few trains leave.”

“Kim Dokja, it’s late,” Yoo Joonghyuk repeated, a little more insistently. At his firm tone, Kim Dokja actually turned to look at him properly, and he added, “We have guest bedrooms.”

Kim Dokja blinked, and his eyes drifted toward the hallway where the bedrooms were located. Yoo Joonghyuk swore he could see the fool trying to do the math in his head—three bedrooms in total. Yoo Mia was occupying one. Yoo Joonghyuk had claimed another.

“You… don’t mean your parents’ room, do you?” Kim Dokja said hesitantly. “Even if they’re not here, I can’t—”

“They don’t have a room,” Yoo Joonghyuk said bluntly. Kim Dokja stared at him with furrowed eyebrows, trying to puzzle out the meaning behind his words. “No one does. All of the bedrooms are guest bedrooms.”

He saw the moment Kim Dokja’s face morphed from confusion into awkwardness. Kim Dokja was sharp only in the ways that he had no business being sharp, so of course, he understood what Yoo Joonghyuk was trying to say—his parents’ alleged home, with three furnished bedrooms that all belonged to no one.

“They’re always traveling,” Yoo Joonghyuk explained. “When they’re in the country, they stay in hotels.” He hadn’t spoken a proper sentence to his parents in years. They might as well not exist, as far as he and Yoo Mia were concerned—although they had never been stingy financially. That, at least, wasn’t something he could take for granted, especially not when he spoke to Kim Dokja.

Kim Dokja was chewing his lower lip, his face angled downwards so that it was difficult to discern his expression. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize,” he said quietly. His eyes darted around the room, glancing at Yoo Joonghyuk every so often as if to obtain assurance that he still wasn’t overstepping.

“I didn’t show you to make you apologize,” Yoo Joonghyuk said, but when he tried to speak his next words, he still faltered. “You… once said that it gave you courage. Seeing me struggle.”

Kim Dokja’s gaze returned to Yoo Joonghyuk’s face, his eyes widening slightly.

“Is that… still true?”

For a moment, it looked like Kim Dokja wanted to deny it, but instead, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, his lashes trembling ever so slightly in the dim kitchen lighting. His head jerked downwards in a stiff nod.

“Tomorrow,” Yoo Joonghyuk said slowly, “You’re… meeting with your mother.” He fell silent for a while, unsure of what to ask. “Are you ready? Is there… anything that you want to hear about?”

Kim Dokja’s pale lips fell open in a beautifully dumbfounded ‘o’ as his face struggled to figure out what expression to paste on top of itself. “You don’t need to tell me about something so personal,” he mumbled, taking a step backwards.

Yoo Joonghyuk reached out and caught the tips of his fingers before he could withdraw completely out of reach. “I know,” he said in a low voice. “I don’t need to. I want to.”

Kim Dokja studied his face intently for a few moments, his slim fingers gripping down ever so slightly in Yoo Joonghyuk’s hand. Finally, he looked down at his feet and asked softly, “Your parents—would you ever… forgive them?”

Yoo Joonghyuk tried to picture it—sitting down with his parents and venting his frustrations. Or them, trying to apologize to him. The only scenes he could conjure up were overdramatic TV dramas filled with crying and shouting, none of which resembled how he or Yoo Mia would act. Most importantly, he didn’t even really remember how his parents looked or talked—he had seen their faces in photographs recently, but he could no longer recall the way their faces moved, or how emotion colored their voices.

“No,” he decided after pondering on it. “I wouldn’t forgive them. But, I wouldn’t change anything, either. They…” He hesitated for a moment. “The way they are. It led me to… parts of my life now.”

It led me to you.

He wasn’t naïve or optimistic enough anymore to believe that suffering came with inherent purpose, but if any of it—the bitter early days of losing match after match, the confusion of figuring out how to raise Yoo Mia by himself, the coldness of his relationship with Lee Seolhwa—if any of it had paved the way for even a sliver of the connection between them, then that was purpose enough for him.

Kim Dokja listened to his words in silence, head bent down to study where their hands were connected with an absent-minded intensity. “I don’t know if it means anything,” he sighed, “Whether I forgive, or not.”

“If it means something to you,” Yoo Joonghyuk said quietly, “then it means something.”

Kim Dokja’s eyes slid back up to meet his, and for second, it seemed like he was about to say something else. But then, a distant smile slipped back onto his face. “Joonghyuk -ah, you’ve become so mature,” he teased. “I can’t believe you’re the same person who once scolded Kim Namwoon for bringing his lucky Gundam to tryouts for moral support.”

Ah, Yoo Joonghyuk thought. The rat is back.

But he wasn’t ready to let this conversation slip away yet.

“I have,” he said thickly. “A lot of things, I didn’t realize how important they were. Kim Dokja, you—” His grip on Kim Dokja’s hand tightened, and he stepped forward, but Kim Dokja only retreated, his back pressing into the counter behind him. His body leaning back, he had to tilt his head up to face Yoo Joonghyuk, perplexion written in his bright, inky eyes and his soft, slightly parted lips. For a moment, Yoo Joonghyuk was seized by the urge to simply bend forward and kiss—

It would never work out.

—But Kim Dokja’s voice from the past rattled in his skull like a curse, a final wall that he could never cut through.

What if it all came to nothing?

In the end, he was still a coward.

“—You… your talk with your mother tomorrow—I hope it goes well,” he finished lamely.

Kim Dokja gave him a small smile. “It’s nothing worth worrying over,” he answered.

Across from her sat her son.

Across from her sat a stranger.

If she were to write this scene in a book, either of those sentences would be an equally fitting way to start, Lee Sookyung mused.

“… It’s been a while,” Kim Dokja said rigidly. He was seated at the small, worn tea table across from her in the quaint little place she shared with Lee Boksoon. She could certainly have afforded better with the royalties that continued to pour in from that book, but even if it had felt right to use them in such a way, it had been a long time since she’d felt comfortable in vast, pristine spaces.

Distantly, she was aware that she had long forgotten—if she had ever truly known—how to be a “good mother.” She wasn’t skilled in conversation, but neither was her son, and yet, he was the one trying harder than anyone else.

“Yes, it has,” she answered. It came out cold and alienating even without her conscious input. “… Since your friend brought up the appeal process.”

Kim Dokja’s hands resting in his lap stiffened. Ah, right—between the two of them, there were only unpleasant memories to dig up.

“… How is that novel of yours?” She attempted to ask instead.

“It finished,” He answered shortly.

“… It was only a cheap story published on the internet. There will be others.”

“It wasn’t cheap,” he snapped back. She realized belatedly that what she’d intended as comfort came out dismissive to him. A tense silence settled over them once more.

“… The fridge.” Kim Dokja was the one to cut through the silence again. “One of the airtight seals on the kimchi containers broke, and the smell got everywhere overnight. You should have seen Yoo Joonghyuk’s face.” The corners of his mouth twitched upwards in a helpless smile, an uncontrollable fondness creeping into his voice. “I’ve never seen someone look so murderous toward a refrigerator.”

“Yoo Joonghyuk.” Lee Sookyung rolled the name around in her mouth. It sounded familiar. “The one with the sister? He came with you last time.”

Kim Dokja nodded.

She tried to recall what little she’d been able to glean from the lawyer—Jung Heewon—during their occasional, short talks. “You are… living together now? How long have you known each other?”

He bent his head down and counted on his fingers. “Nine… oh, it’ll be ten years soon,” he said softly.

Almost ten years. It was a difficult number to swallow. In the time that he had been absent from her life—and she from his—a person called “Yoo Joonghyuk” had appeared and staked his claim in it.

“You must be very good friends,” she said.

“… Good friends,” he echoed. “Yeah, I guess so.”

The conversation dwindled out once more, and she could tell from the awkward set of Kim Dokja’s shoulders, the blank mask over his face, that he felt it, too. They had both read too many stories, had gotten too used to mimicking lines from them as a way of life—they were simply play-acting the roles of “mother” and “son.” The characters suited them ill, like old clothes that they’d outgrown years back.

“What did you really come here for?” She asked bluntly. “It wasn’t to exchange pleasantries about your kitchen blunders.”

He looked up in weary resignation, the second real emotion to cross his face that day. “Does everything have to have a purpose, Mother? Life isn’t a book. Sometimes, people can talk about things that don’t matter.”

“I understand that life isn’t fiction,” she said flatly. “Do you?”

To her surprise, he continued to hold her gaze, no trace of indecision on his face. “I do,” he said quietly. “I’m not nineteen anymore. I grew up by myself, without you. You would have known that if you’d ever come to visit.”

“Would you have welcomed me, if I had? What could I have said?”

“The truth,” he said simply. His lips twisted in a bitter smile. “I would have preferred to hear it that way. Jung Heewon said it very well, didn’t she? ‘Someone who’s not a murderer doesn’t deserve to bear the disgrace of one.’”

“You aren’t a murderer,” Lee Sookyung said sharply. “Your father died because of his own wrongdoing. It was self-defense.”

She had said those same words countless times, hoping that they would remain etched in his mind.

“Do you even believe that yourself?”

But her hope had been misguided. Those words had been drowned out by her absence, by the noise of the world.

“It’s not that simple.” She closed her eyes, her shoulders sagging.“Dokja, when I let you pick up that knife, I had already failed. So, if there was any burden for you to bear because of it, it was only right that I bear it in your place.”

Her son looked away, fingers locked together tightly. “I understand,” he said tightly. “The lie was meant to be kinder than the truth. But it was the telling of the lie that hurt most of all.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “Even if I understand the reason—I can’t pretend it didn’t happen. That you were there when I needed you.”

It was as she’d expected. “So you came here to tell me that?”

Her son kept his eyes fixed on a nondescript part of the wall in silence for a long time. Finally, he opened his mouth, his voice small and tired. “It’s too late for us,” he said.

She flinched.

“… I thought to myself that if I kept saying that, then someday, it really would be.” Finally, he dragged his eyes back to her face. “Mother, I really only came to tell you things that don’t matter.”

She sat there, stone-faced, for a long time. It was not forgiveness. She understood that. Forgiveness—would have been worse. It would have meant that he no longer cared.

“… I’d like to hear them,” she croaked.

It wasn’t until the sky began to turn pink that the turn of the key in the door interrupted them. As Lee Boksoon stepped into the room, plastic bags of assorted colors and sizes in hand, Kim Dokja greeted her politely and set down his teacup.

“Stay for dinner,” Lee Sookyung suggested, but her son shook his head.

“Joonghyuk-ah will be waiting,” he said reflexively. After a moment of thought, he added, “And the way to the station is a little hard to find at night.”

Lee Sookyung nodded slowly. “Dokja,” she said, in the warmest tone she could manage. He paused in the middle of collecting his things to look up at her. “Come again soon. I’d… like to hear more stories of your life.” She traced the rim of her own teacup with a finger. “And I’d like to meet your friends someday.”

He stared at her for a while, then gave a single, short nod. “Maybe someday,” he said, “if there’s a chance.”

Lee Boksoon craned her wrinkled neck to watch him leave, a toothy grin on her face. “Looks like he’s doing fine,” she commented. “You didn’t need to fret so much.”

“… He’s met good people,” she answered in a complicated tone.

“So it seems,” Lee Boksoon chuckled. “Like this ‘Joonghyuk-ah,’ eh? Is that a popular name these days?”

As she spoke, she tossed a bundle of magazines onto the table, all older issues from at least two or three years ago. But the topmost one featured a sharp, unmistakable face on its glossy cover. Lee Sookyung’s eyes flickered over to it for the briefest of moments.

“As far as I know, it’s only him,” she answered.

“Oh, is that right?” Humming an off-key tune as she continued to fiddle with her plastic bags, it took Lee Boksoon a few seconds to react. When she finally did, her eyes bugged out of their veiny sockets. “You’re kidding me?!” She exclaimed. “Does the kid know who his friend is?!”

Lee Sookyung thought about her son—the way he would determinedly refuse to look at the clock when he used to visit, the way he would pretend that the wall of glass between them didn’t exist. They shared the same need to wear a mask when they wandered the world, the same impulse to unravel themselves for the sake of another. The same instinct to bury their truth in a book of fiction. In all of the world, she would probably never find another soul who bore scars so alike to hers.

Maybe it was a curse, that he couldn’t escape being her son.

“I think,” she said softly, “he probably knows.”

Chapter Text

To Kim Dojka’s surprise, Yoo Joonghyuk was waiting for him not at the subway station but downstairs, leaning against a sleek imported car.

Kim Dokja raised an eyebrow. “Moonlighting as a chauffeur?” He quipped. “I don’t know if I can afford the honor.”

Yoo Joonghyuk shot him a disgruntled look. “Then walk,” he said mercilessly. But contrary to his words, he opened the passenger side door and shoved Kim Dokja inside before he could get a word in edgewise.

Once comfortably seated, Kim Dokja ran his fingers over the brand new leather interior with appreciation. “It’s not Kim Namwoon’s,” he commented. He distinctly remembered Kim Namwoon’s new car being an aggressive sports car that was unbearably loud in both noise and aesthetics.

“Lee Jihye’s,” Yoo Joonghyuk explained. Eyeing Kim Dokja’s expression, he suddenly said, “Do you want to drive?”

Kim Dokja shook his head. “I’m out of practice.”

“So am I,” Yoo Joonghyuk responded.

“But if I nick Jihye-ya’s brand new car, she’ll have my head,” Kim Dokja pointed out. “If you do it, she’ll consider it a badge of honor.”

Yoo Joonghyuk snorted softly, but didn’t press. With a touch of a button, the engine hummed to life with the kind of velvety smoothness that only exorbitant amounts of money could buy.

If a junior player on the Skybreakers could afford a car like this the very first year they were promoted to the main team, then one would have to be an idiot to believe that the team’s five-time world cup champion and the captain who’d led the team to its glory days once more would be unable to afford anything better than a cramped apartment split with a roommate.

Luckily, Kim Dokja thought, “idiot” was his middle name.

Lee Sookyung had chosen her residence with all of the same requirements as Kim Dokja—privacy, quiet, and an abundance of back exits in case the media came hounding—so nobody had paid much attention to Yoo Joonghyuk waiting downstairs, even with this ostentatious luxury car beside him. Nobody followed them or tried to peek through the windows as they turned the corner of the street, either.

Which was a shame, because Yoo Joonghyuk looked damn good driving it.

“Did you say what you wanted to say to her?” Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes never left the road, but when they reached a stoplight, his right hand drifted over to trace over the top of Kim Dokja’s knuckles reassuringly.

“More or less,” Kim Dokja answered absently. “I… told her some things about my life. About you.” He smiled wryly. “I don’t think she believes me, about your cooking.”

“That’s easily fixed.” There wasn’t even a hint of self-doubt in Yoo Joonghyuk’s voice.

A laugh escaped Kim Dokja’s mouth in spite of himself, and Yoo Joonghyuk’s hand squeezed his before returning to the wheel.

“I put your suitcase in the trunk,” Yoo Joonghyuk told him. “So we can drive straight over to meet Lee Hyunsung.”

Kim Dokja nodded in acknowledgement. Over the past few years, it had gradually become the norm that when all of them gathered, it would always be in remote, out-of-the-way places with suspiciously tight security and usually lavish settings. Ironically, the more it happened, the easier it became to feign a blind eye to it all. It was funny how quickly people came to accept things as normal.

He kept his gaze forward, pretending that he was studying the streetlamps as they gradually drove further and further out into the city outskirts, and then outside of the city altogether. Out of the corner of his eye, though, he was scrutinizing Yoo Joonghyuk.

Yoo Joonghyuk’s windswept hair nearly blended into the night sky, the lights from the surrounding cars reflecting off his captivating dark eyes. One hand gripped the steering wheel with a casual elegance, while the other arm rested idly against the windowsill, poised to spring into action at a moment’s notice like the haunches of a sleeping wolf. The car’s luxurious trimmings might as well have been designed with Yoo Joonghyuk in mind, as if his very presence in the seat completed it.

Yoo Joonghyuk looked like he belonged there.

“Do you want a car of your own?” Kim Dokja asked nonchalantly.

A slight frown crossed Yoo Joonghyk’s face. “No,” he said decisively. “Parking is a hassle. And traffic.”

“Where do Kim Namwoon and Lee Jihye park their cars, then?” Kim Dokja asked curiously.

“They pay for a garage space,” Yoo Joonghyuk said disdainfully. “And take the subway most days.” The disapproval dripping from his voice made it very clear what he thought of that.

If Yoo Joonghyuk were to live in an apartment that came with a parking space, though, that wouldn’t be an issue, Kim Dokja pondered idly. An apartment that had a brand new kitchen with plenty of counter space and enough room for a stand mixer and a dedicated kimchi refrigerator. Plus an extra bedroom for Yoo Mia, since it wouldn’t be strange to live with his sister anymore if there wasn’t a third person in the way.

He wouldn’t want an obnoxious sports car like Kim Namwoon, but he’d probably like something quiet, with power and speed. Of course, it was Yoo Joonghyuk, so all of the vehicle manufacturers in the country would be tripping over themselves to gift him their best models in the hopes that he’d let himself be seen driving it.

That was what Yoo Joonghyuk deserved—to be surrounded by the rewards of his efforts, to reap the fame and glory that belonged to him by right.

Kim Dokja let out a long breath.

“Are you tired?” Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t turn his head, but he switched his hand on the steering wheel to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Kim Dokja’s ear. “There’s two more hours left. You can sleep.”

“While my private chauffeur is hard at work?” A habitual grin slid onto Kim Dokja’s face, the one that he was often told made him look like he was asking for a beating.

True to form, Yoo Joonghyuk cuffed him lightly on the ear. It landed as little more than a gentle push.

“You know,” Kim Dokja remarked casually, “there are jobs that pay a lot better than being a chauffeur. Have you thought about modeling?” Yoo Joonghyuk glanced at him sharply, but he continued as if he hadn’t seen it. “After all, you have such a pretty face, Joonghyuk-ah. Don’t you think it’s a crime not to share it with the world?”

Yoo Joonghyuk grunted noncommittally, but it was clear that his brow had smoothed out quite a bit from the compliment. Predictable.

Kim Dokja eventually did close his eyes to sleep, partially out of genuine fatigue and partially to avoid another awkward conversation about the “coincidental” security line that was bound to be set up around the hotel they were headed for. As funny as it was to watch his friends fumble for explanations, they could only do so so many times before the excuses became strained. The car continued forward with buttery smoothness, all jolts and bumps dampened into gentle sways, giving his mind ample freedom to wander.

If one were to put a name to the single greatest cause of all of Yoo Joonghyuk’s misfortunes, it would be—

Well, it would be Yoo Joonghyuk’s absent parents. Kim Dokja might have a tall laundry list of shortcomings, but an inflated sense of self-importance wasn’t one of them.

But number two in line was undoubtedly Kim Dokja.

Example one—even with his limited knowledge of pop culture, he knew that as recently as two years ago, Yoo Joonghyuk’s name had dominated the conversations of passers-by, his face plastered on news articles and magazine covers and advertisement billboards all over the country.

Now, it had all dwindled to a trickle. It wasn’t hard to guess why, when Yoo Joonghyuk took at least two unnecessary transfers every time he went on the subway just because Kim Dokja couldn’t shake off old memories of being chased after by cameras.

Example two—he could easily have afforded a much nicer apartment in a part of the city that wasn’t isolated from all of their acquaintances, but here he was, sticking it out with Kim Dokja instead. If he could turn back time, Kim Dokja thought, he should never have mentioned that he was having trouble finding a suitable apartment for one. He should’ve known that Han Sooyoung would make it her personal mission to fix all of his problems, and Yoo Joonghyuk would get dragged in.

A normal person would never go so far for a friend. But Yoo Joonghyuk was far from normal. Kim Dokja had already seen him throw away the fastest path to a glowing career early on for Yoo Mia’s sake, and now he was doing the same thing again—for Kim Dokja.

Example three—although Kim Dokja didn’t know—had never asked—about the details of Yoo Joonghyuk’s last breakup, he knew it had something to do with himself. Han Sooyoung had only constantly insinuated as much for a month or so after it’d happened, with all the glee of a movie-goer watching a tragedy unfold on-screen that they’d predicted since the opening credits.

That, too, wasn’t hard to guess. When your boyfriend canceled a date on his birthday to spend it with an unrelated person, even someone as patient and forgiving as Lee Seolhwa would have had enough.

“We’re here.”

The car rolled to a stop in front of a set of glass doors. The hotel wasn’t very large, but it was clearly new and tastefully designed, with a bold, minimalist aesthetic and a spotless interior. Yoo Joonghyuk handed the car keys off to a valet, and they walked inside.

There were a few people in the lobby, but they were all people Kim Dokja recognized. Beyond the usual crowd—Han Sooyoung, Yoo Sangah, and so on—there were a few others. Lee Jihye had brought her friend Na Bori, who looked positively star-struck, and Kim Namwoon was present as well. Kim Dokja had a sneaking suspicion that if he were to take a look at the guest register, every single room, occupied or not, would be reserved under the name of someone he knew.

As the star of the reunion, Lee Hyunsung was naturally at the center of the crowd, engaged in vigorous conversation.

“… action scene… accident…”

“…… fans… mob?”

“… director……… cancel…”

Kim Dokja caught a few stray words from the conversation, but when Lee Jihye spotted him, she elbowed Kim Namwoon beside her.

“Dokja-ahjussi!” She greeted loudly.

As always, as soon as they saw him, the chatter faded into awkward silence.

But the role of the character “their good friend, Kim Dokja” had become almost second nature to him.

“Who’s your ahjussi ?” He complained with an easy grin, hands in his pockets.

“Dokja-ssi, I’m glad to see you’re well,” Lee Hyunsung said with his serious, grave voice, but his eyes were watery—shit, were those real tears in his eyes?

“I’m glad to see you’re well, too. I heard there was an accident—oof. ” Lee Hyunsung had thrown his arms around him in a bear hug, like Kim Dokja would disappear if he let go or something. Kim Dokja threw a helpless look at Jung Heewon, who just smiled at him wryly and shrugged.

Finally, after several seconds ticked by, Yoo Joonghyuk, who was allergic to public displays of emotion in any form, cleared his throat audibly and shot a death glare at Lee Hyunsung. Sheepishly, Lee Hyunsung withdrew his arms and patted Kim Dokja awkwardly on the shoulder.

“No one got hurt in the accident,” he said earnestly, as if he were giving a mission report. “A car was rigged to explode in a later stunt, but it went off early. All safety precautions to minimize damage were taken, but we had to wait for a new one to be set up, which delayed filming.”

“Dependable as always,” Kim Dokja commented. “The staff must have been swooning when they saw you bravely taking charge and preventing chaos.”

Lee Hyunsung’s face reddened a little. “It was nothing like that,” he said bashfully, which meant it had probably been something like that.

“Psst, Kim Dokja!” Han Sooyoung was striding over from the direction of the front desk, wrapped in a long, black winter coat, and she gestured at Kim Dokja enigmatically. Yoo Joonghyuk was about to follow, but she rolled her eyes at him and scoffed, “Is your name Kim Dokja, dipshit?”

If looks could kill, Han Sooyoung would have died a million times over already.

She slung an arm over Kim Dokja’s shoulder with a little too much glee as she steered both of them around the corner into an empty hallway.

“Just so you know,” he informed her dryly, “I’m not going to sign up for whatever cartel business you’ve decided to start.”

“Please,” she said, aiming an elbow jab at his side. With instincts honed by years of running his mouth, he stepped aside before the jab had even come out. “With all the dirt I have on you, you wouldn’t have a choice,” she told him, then began to recite in a monotone voice, “February 4th, 2008. 7:18PM. Author-nim, I really like the way you wrote Joonghyuk -ie in this chapter. Especially the way he takes care of his sister. If he were real, I would—”

“Ahem, ahem!” Kim Dokja fake-coughed loudly with a vindictive scowl. “Two can play at that game. Do you think I don’t have all the copies of the stuff you wrote as ‘Black Flame Empress’? Or should I tell Sangah-ssi about all of the things you said when you found out we were coworkers?”

Han Sooyoung narrowed her eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

He met her gaze challengingly.

“Why, you—” She ground her teeth in frustration. “Oh, I can’t wait until you finally figure it out. All of the laughs I’ll have at your expense—”

Kim Dokja frowned. “Figure what out?”

But she only stared at him in silence for a few minutes before breaking out into ominous laughter.

He folded his arms and tapped his foot on the ground, waiting for her to finish. When her cackling finally died down, she wiped away a few tears of mirth before opening her black coat and reaching for the inner pocket, looking for all the world like a caricature of a back-alley dealer.

“Alright, back to business,” she declared, pulling out a hotel keycard. “Here’s your room key. There’s not enough rooms, so I guess you’ll have to share.” Han Sooyoung winked at him. “It’s a very nice room, though. Big windows. Pretty view. Soundproof walls—”

Kim Dokja raised an eyebrow. Even if she was still maintaining the illusion that she wasn’t some third-generation chaebol who’d inherited a company from her parents, or something along those lines, the hotel was obviously empty aside from their group. “First of all, you can’t be serious,” he said. “A hotel this big, and no rooms? And second of all, you had to pull me aside just for this?”

“Weeell,” she drawled, “If I tried very, very hard, perhaps I could be persuaded to scrounge up another key from somewhere. But,” she said meaningfully, “do you want me to?”

“I—” He began, but something in her expression made him pause.

It… wasn’t a big deal, right? It was just one night in a hotel on one trip of many. In the grand scheme of things, it didn’t really matter.

So, could he be forgiven for this bit of selfishness, too?

“… I’ll take the key,” he mumbled quickly, snatching it out of her hand. Han Sooyoung grinned like she’d just won the lottery. The lottery…? He squinted at her suspiciously. “Did you make another bet with Sangah-ssi about this?” He accused.

“Of course not!” Han Sooyoung raised her hands in the air innocently. “That would be bullying. I would never bully my dear beloved. I just informed her, nicely, that this would still happen even without that bastard’s hovering—Oops.” She threw a hand over her mouth as if she’d accidentally let something slip.

Kim Dokja continued to eye her suspiciously for a while, but she didn’t offer up any more information. Finally, he shook his head and grumbled, “What possessed you to get so into meddling with your friends’ lives?”

She shot him a scathing look in return. “I don’t know,” she said, her voice dripping with venom. “You tell me.”

Yoo Joonghyuk took the news that they had to share a room again in stride, taking his room key and heading toward the elevator without a word.

It took them very little time to unpack. It was only a two-night trip, after all—the only reason Kim Dokja even had a suitcase with him in the first place was because it’d been left still half-packed from the last trip, and Yoo Joonghyuk had apparently decided to just shove his own things in there as well for simplicity’s sake.

“I’ll shower first,” Yoo Joonghyuk declared, and Kim Dokja nodded absently, eyes still glued to his phone screen.

Faintly, he heard the sound of the shower being turned on through the bathroom door, and he was enormously glad that the bathroom walls were opaque this time, unlike the one trip when Han Sooyoung had “accidentally” booked them a honeymoon suite (her grin had definitely been too wide for it to have been an accident). He was ninety-nine percent certain she’d even personally purchased the suspiciously un-generic, un-hotel-like package of lube placed lovingly and conspicuously on the center of their hotel bed.

At least Yoo Joonghyuk’s face had been a sight to see.

The splashing of the shower stream died out, and the sound of the glass door sliding open was a warning bell that Yoo Joonghyuk was about to exit. Unfortunately, Yoo Joonghyuk was a caveman who had never heard of changing inside the bathroom behind a closed door, constantly citing characteristically fussy reasons like “It’s too cramped” or “There’s too much steam.” Kim Dokja had tried simply looking away or keeping his eyes on his phone in the past, but for whatever reason, Yoo Joonghyuk had also been possessed to try to make conversation, and that required a level of multitasking that he simply didn’t have the talent for. 

Kim Dokja was only a mortal man, and there was only so much his poor, elderly, mortal heart could take. So he did what any normal person would do in this situation.

He fled.

Once he’d quietly closed the door to their room, he saw an open door at the end of the hallway that appeared to lead to a balcony of some kind. He rushed out onto the balcony, welcoming the cold night air on his face to cool his burning cheeks. In his hurry, though, he noticed a little too late that there was already someone else there.

“Dokja-ssi? ” Lee Seolhwa said in surprise.

“Oh… Good evening, Seolhwa-ssi, ” Kim Dokja greeted awkwardly.

He was never too sure what face to put on when talking to Lee Seolhwa. Jealousy—was an emotion reserved for those who had the right to it. Guilt—would only be self-serving here, when the chips had already fallen long ago. And friendliness… felt like an imposition on her forgiving nature.

“... I didn’t see you downstairs with the others earlier,” he said, grasping for any conversation topic he could think of.

Lee Seolhwa twirled something in her hand—one of Han Sooyoung’s usual brand of lemon lollipops, he recognized. “My plane got in late,” she said absently.

“Another conference?” He asked. “I heard you won an award for your research recently. Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” She smiled briefly, then sighed. “Actually, it’s also… Sometimes, I feel a bit like an outsider here.”

Kim Dokja looked at her in surprise. “You?”

“Is it so surprising? It’s just… I spend so much time with my research, and by the time I’m able to come back again, it feels like everyone else’s lives have moved on.” Lee Seolhwa flicked the lollipop idly. “Maybe that sounds silly to you, though. You’ve always been in the middle of it all,” she said with a rueful smile.

The middle of what? Kim Dokja thought to himself.

“It doesn’t sound silly,” he said. If he were more eloquent, better at comforting, he would be able to say more—how Lee Jihye looked up to her, how Han Sooyoung recounted her conference escapades with delight, how Yoo Sangah spoke of her with deep respect. But he didn’t know how to say those things without sounding like he was reciting lines from a script. All he could do was repeat, “… It’s not silly.”

“Thank you,” she said again, simply. “It does help to hear that.”

They both lapsed into silence for a while, the cold night air filling the space between them better than any conversation could. Perhaps it meant more, that both of them were here in this place, at this time, than any explanations they could put into words.

“Seolhwa-ssi,” Kim Dokja said suddenly. “Are you happy with your life right now?”

She looked at him in surprise. “Why do you ask?”

He shrugged. “Just wondering.”

She accepted the vague explanation without much thought. “Well,” she pondered, “I do like my research, but… Recently, I’ve felt like I’ve been losing sight of what it actually means to save lives. So I’ve been thinking of starting a non-profit clinic with the patent money I’ve gotten. It will be a challenge, but I think it’ll be worthwhile. Ah—Not to bore you with the details, but that was a roundabout way of saying yes to your question, I suppose.” She laughed quietly.

Kim Dokja blinked. “If you could go back in time, is there anything you would change?”

“I don’t believe in going back,” she said simply. “I prefer to look forward.” She looked at him with curiosity. “Why? Is there something you would want to change, if you could?”

He hesitated for a moment, but he shook his head in the end. “No,” he said. “I also believe in going forward.”

He didn’t have the power to turn back time. He couldn’t change what had already happened, nor could he restore the things that he’d taken away.

The only path left was ahead.

Whether it was fame, or adoration, or love, there would be a way—he would find a way—to give it all back to Yoo Joonghyuk.

Chapter Text

“Kim Dokja.”

Yoo Joonghyuk was still awake when he returned, seated idly at the edge of the only bed, a damp towel draped over his neck, collecting the droplets that beaded at the ends of his picturesque black locks. Kim Dokja very pointedly did not look at his exposed torso, the way his abdomen rippled as he stood up and closed the distance between them.

“Are you cold? Your skin is chilly.” Now that he was close, Yoo Joonghyuk’s voice sounded from somewhere above Kim Dokja’s lowered eyes. A warm palm closed around his fingers, still cool from the night air. He couldn’t find the resolve to pull his fingers away.

“It’s just a little wind. You’re the one who looks cold,” Kim Dokja said with feigned nonchalance, patting Yoo Joonghyuk’s bare chest with his free hand.

Yoo Joonghyuk reacted as if he'd been scalded, seizing his wrist with such speed that Kim Dokja didn’t even have time to react. Rather than pull away, though, his grip was locked in place like a vise, trapping Kim Dokja’s hand against his hot, damp skin until Kim Dokja’s palm began to itch. He flexed his fingers uncomfortably, but that only succeeded in brushing his blunt nails against Yoo Joonghyuk’s skin.

Yoo Joonghyuk inhaled sharply.

“Sorry—” Kim Dokja blurted out. He pulled his hand back reflexively, but the grip on his wrist had yet to loosen. Despite himself, his heartbeat began to quicken, pounding erratically in his ears. He looked up to try to read Yoo Joonghyuk’s face. “…Joonghyuk-ah? ”

Dark eyes stared back at him, deep and intense with a fervor that felt wasted on him. Every gaze, every touch and soft word a treasure that he stole and squirreled away, knowing full well it didn’t belong to him.

After what felt like a lifetime, Yoo Joonghyuk finally released his hands. “You get sick more easily,” he muttered. His broad palms traveled to Kim Dokja’s back instead, gently but insistently pushing him in the direction of the bathroom. “Go wash up.”

“I know, I know, I was already going to,” Kim Dokja grumbled, but he let himself be propelled like a child to the bathroom nonetheless.

Like in many other things, Yoo Joonghyuk was right. The warmth of the shower water seeped into his bones, driving away a chill that had settled into his marrow completely without his notice. The steam rising in lazy puffs turned the entire room into a hazy dreamscape.

It was only after he’d stepped out of the shower and toweled himself off that he realized he’d forgotten to bring a change of clothes with him.

“Joonghyuk-ah,” he called in a low voice through the keyhole.

No response.

“Yoo Joonghyuk,” he tried again, a little louder.

The door must’ve blocked off more sound than he’d expected, though, or maybe Yoo Joonghyuk’s attention was more preoccupied than he’d thought. The thought of putting his dirty clothes back on made his skin crawl a little, and his dignity had crumbled too much to shout for help a third time. Bracing himself, he tied the towel snugly around his hips and gingerly cracked the door open.

The immediate vicinity was safe. He scooted out of the bathroom and peeked around the corner to see Yoo Joonghyuk engrossed in his phone, the traitor. Fervently, he prayed with all his heart that the phone would continue to keep Yoo Joonghyuk’s attention occupied as he strode as quietly and casually as possible toward their shared suitcase.

A thump of the carpet informed him that his attempts at subterfuge were unsuccessful. Very, very reluctantly, he turned to face Yoo Joonghyuk, whose unfortunate phone was now lying on the floor.

“… Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk said with exasperation, sounding a little strained. When their eyes met, Yoo Joonghyuk quickly averted his gaze and bent down to pick up his phone.

Kim Dokja felt his mind stutter to a halt and his ears burn hot, but because he had yet to learn the meaning of the word self-preservation, his mouth was still running at full speed. “What?” He asked, leaning against the wall behind him with a nonchalance that he did not feel. “Don’t like what you see?”

Yoo Joonghyuk’s fingers twitched, and he closed his eyes and took in a breath that seemed to last impossibly long. Kim Dokja counted five, six, seven… thirty beats before he saw Yoo Joonghyuk exhale again, just as slow.

“… Is that really necessary?” Kim Dokja asked, a little offended now. “I just forgot my clothes.”

Rather than respond, Yoo Joonghyuk stood up and began approaching with an aura that could only be described as murderous. Kim Dokja’s shoulders tensed, but before reaching him, Yoo Joonghyuk turned and headed for their shared suitcase in the corner of the room, rummaging through it to pull out Kim Dokja’s change of clean clothes.

“Oh… thanks,” Kim Dokja said, thrown off-beat. He held out his hand, but instead of passing off the clothes, Yoo Joonghyuk merely closed his fingers around Kim Dokja’s outstretched wrist and tugged, gently, until he followed to the edge of the bed.

“Sit,” Yoo Joonghyuk said hoarsely.

Bemused, Kim Dokja complied. As soon as he sank into the clean quilted surface, he saw Yoo Joonghyuk kneel onto the floor, and the searing heat of rough, long fingers wrapped around his ankle.

“What—” His foot jerked in reflexive surprise, but Yoo Joonghyuk’s grip was deceptively solid.

“Don’t move,” Yoo Joonghyuk said in a low voice. Discarding all but a pair of clean briefs he slowly, meticulously maneuvered Kim Dokja’s ankle through one hole, then repeated the process with the other.

A wave of dizziness reminded Kim Dokja that he’d forgotten to breathe, and he belatedly forced himself to suck in a mouthful of air, even as his heartbeat pounding in his ears drowned out all other sound. His face was so warm he was starting to feel feverish, so he wasn’t sure why Yoo Joonghyuk’s palms still felt hot as a brand on his skin.

“I can—I can do that myself,” he protested, without much fire.

If Yoo Joonghyuk heard him, he gave no indication. Slowly, torturously, he began inching the briefs up into place, the fabric stretched on the outsides of his hands as his palms caressed Kim Dokja’s skin. The burning heat traveled up the sides of his calves, over his knees, dipping dangerously underneath the cover of the towel around his waist.

Kim Dokja kept still, very still, for fear that even the slightest movement might betray his—what? There was nervousness, ineptitude, shame, and—beneath all of it, an agonizing, gluttonous desire that made his skin crawl. He was struck with the urge to tear off his own skin if only to rid himself of it, and he dug his fingers into his arms to keep the impulse at bay.

The fabric’s journey up his lower limbs had met the obstruction of his bottom seated on the bed. He thought Yoo Joonghyuk would give up there, so he nearly squeaked in surprise when Yoo Joonghyuk stood up and pushed him backwards in one swift motion, knocking his knees against his chest.

The underwear was swiftly shimmied into place, nearly ripping an undignified sound from his lips as it caught momentarily on the most sensitive part of his flesh. Yoo Joonghyuk’s rough palms lingered just a moment too long, giving his hips a light squeeze before releasing the cloth band. The elastic snapped into place with a sharp sting, leaving Kim Dokja just barely clothed and utterly breathless.

“… Okay, okay, you’ve made your point,” Kim Dokja gasped.

“Did I?” Yoo Joonghyuk asked, expression inscrutable.

“Yes, yes, I won’t forget my clothes again. I—achoo!” An abrupt sneeze stopped both his words and his train of thought in their tracks.

With a sigh, Yoo Joonghyuk retrieved his t-shirt from the pile of clothes. Wordlessly, he circled an arm around Kim Dokja’s waist to prop him back up into a sitting position, pulling him close until the heat radiating from Yoo Joonghyuk’s chest warmed him like a furnace.

“Arms up,” Yoo Joonghyuk said shortly.

Kim Dokja obeyed without much thought, letting his hands get wrangled into each sleeve. Yoo Joonghyuk leaned forward as he worked, leaving Kim Dokja pressed firmly into him, surrounded on all sides by his scent and his solid frame.

Suddenly unnerved by how comfortable it felt, Kim Dokja squirmed a little, trying to pull a bit farther away and nearly tugging his hands free of the sleeves in the process. He felt Yoo Joonghyuk’s arm tighten around his waist in response, and the slack in the t-shirt bunched around his forearms disappeared until the range of motion in his arms was all but gone as they dangled helplessly over his head.

“… Joonghyuk-ah ,” he complained, voice a little muffled by the fact that his face was still half-pressed into Yoo Joonghyuk’s shoulder. He wriggled his arms futilely to highlight his displeasure.

“Be patient,” Yoo Joonghyuk responded. But his arms were freed once more, and the shirt was pulled down in one quick motion over his head. Yoo Joonghyuk smoothed out the creases of his shirt, then pulled back the blankets on the bed and nudged him in the direction of the exposed sheets. “Get in.”

“Huh? Ah, okay, wait, my phone—”

“Forget the phone.” The insistent pressure on Kim Dokja’s shoulder felt like a reprimand. “What do you need it for?”

Kim Dokja bit his lip. “At least charge it for me, then.” Though he hadn't the least clue where he'd last left it.

Yoo Joonghyuk sighed again. As if possessed of clairvoyance, he immediately walked into the bathroom and returned not a full minute later with Kim Dokja’s phone, plugging it into the cord in the wall.

“Satisfied?”

“Mm,” Kim Dokja grumbled, but nonetheless, he tucked himself into the blankets obligingly.

With his eyes closed, he heard the sound of footsteps and the click of the light switches in the room go off as the room was bathed in darkness. There was a rustle on the far side of the bed as it depressed, and then all that was left was the sound of Yoo Joonghyuk’s steady breathing. 

With the loss of Yoo Joonghyuk’s body heat, the night air had actually become quite chilly again, and though the blankets were thick enough, Kim Dokja found that even curled up into a ball, he could feel the cold biting at his toes.

Maybe it was how fresh the loss of that warmth was in his mind, or maybe it was the darkness that emboldened him—but he caught himself scooting closer and closer to the other end of the bed.

“Joonghyuk-ah,” he whispered.

Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t respond in words, but Kim Dokja felt the weight of the bed shift as he turned to face him.

“You’re probably too hot, right? The blankets are so thick, and your body temperature is always so high. Ah, don’t worry, I’ll generously help.” Even as he spoke, he was already extending a foot to steal away some of that coveted warmth, up until his ice-cold toes met the scorching heat of Yoo Joonghyuk’s leg.

“Kim. Dokja.” Yoo Joonghyuk all but drew in a hiss at the sudden freezing assault. “This is why I said to get in.”

“Yes, yes, Joonghyuk-ah, you’re so smart and all-knowing, and I’m an idiot who doesn’t listen, and that’s why I’m suffering the consequences of my actions. It’s so cold. ”

He knew that, like always, as long as he asked for anything, Yoo Joonghyuk would—begrudgingly or not—oblige him. That was why he tried so hard to refrain from asking. But surely, a tiny thing like this was fine?

And sure enough, he soon felt Yoo Joonghyuk’s weight on the bed shift closer. A broad hand wrapped around his waist and pulled him closer, their legs entangling within the cottony nest. In such close proximity, skin to skin, their body heat intermingling in the peaceful darkness, he could almost believe that there was no vast chasm of secrets between them. 

“Joonghyuk-ah,” he exhaled, his breath falling onto Yoo Joonghyuk’s shoulder in front of him. “Do you have any regrets? If you could turn back time, is there anything you would change?”

“... Go to sleep,” was Yoo Joonghyuk’s muffled reply.

“That’s not a no, then.” Kim Dokja poked his head out from where he’d been burrowed inside the blankets. “Is it related to your career?”

“No,” Yoo Joonghyuk said shortly.

“… Something to do with Mia-ya, then?” He continued to probe.

Yoo Joonghyuk let out a soft snort. “She’s doing just fine.”

The corners of Kim Dokja’s lips also twitched in a faint smile.

“Then… What about Lee Seolhwa-ssi?”

Silence.

“Ah,” Kim Dokja exhaled quietly.

All of a sudden, Yoo Joonghyuk surged up, his iron-hot grip latching onto Kim Dokja’s wrist. Leaning on the bed above him like this, Yoo Joonghyuk’s entire shadow encased him, leaving no room for escape. Instinctively, he slowed his breathing, waiting for Yoo Joonghyuk’s next move.

“Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk said, a quiet, burning intensity in his voice. “I don’t regret that it ended. I’ve never regretted ending things with her.”

“… I know. You’ve said that before.”

“Then—” Yoo Joonghyuk stopped abruptly, closing his eyes. “Why are you asking all this? You’re not thinking anything foolish, are you?”

Kim Dokja’s lips quirked at that. “Joonghyuk-ah, don’t you know? ‘He who is a fool in others’ eyes is always a king in his own mind.’”

Yoo Joonghyuk glared at him, evidently not impressed by the turn of phrase. “Then let me ask a question,” he said shortly. “You… Do you still think…” He hesitated, the scrunch of his eyebrows evidence of the viciousness of his struggle for words. He was silent for so long that Kim Dokja began to wonder if he’d fallen asleep just like that, until he finally spoke laboriously, each word sounding like it was forced out from his lips by sheer strength of will. “Would you… consider it… now?”

Kim Dokja stared at him. He wanted to respond—or at least try—with genuine sincerity, he truly did. But he could not for the life of him follow Yoo Joonghyuk’s train of thought. “Consider… what?”

“Nevermind,” Yoo Joonghyuk snapped. “Go to sleep.”

With that, he let go of Kim Dokja’s wrist as if he was the one who’d been burned, turning resolutely to face the other way.

“Wait—Joonghyuk-ah?” Kim Dokja tapped the blanket-covered lump that was Yoo Joonghyuk, softly at first, then more insistently. But try as he might, it was clear that Yoo Joonghyuk had no intention of budging right now. With a sigh, he burrowed back into the blankets as well.

It was still warm underneath. Though they might have been separated by that thin strip of bedding, the lingering heat still permeated around him, soaking into his skin and bones. It should be fine, he thought, if he stayed in it just a little longer, right?

Just a tiny bit longer.

“I’m… thinking of moving.”

They had just finished unpacking from the trip, some of their shared belongings still strewn haphazardly across the living room floor. Yoo Joonghyuk looked up from sorting toiletries to see Kim Dokja fidgeting with a foldable umbrella, fingers gliding along the creases to fix up the folds until it was damn near perfect.

“To where?” He gathered up the pile of things that belonged to Kim Dokja and stacked them neatly together, pushing them to one side.

“... Somewhere close to work, maybe. It’s been a while since I switched jobs. I should try something new. And our lease is almost up.” There was a quality to Kim Dokja’s voice that sounded a little robotic—almost rehearsed. Yoo Joonghyuk looked at him dubiously, but regardless, he gave a short nod.

“Let’s look at the area this weekend.”

“No, I meant—” Kim Dokja took a deep breath, his fingers clenching tightly around the umbrella folds, ruining all of his previous work. “I meant… I plan to move out alone. ”

Yoo Joonghyuk fell still.

There was such a thing called complacency. Perhaps he had been away from the arena for too long, that he’d forgotten that the most precipitous moments were the ones that felt too comfortable. The most dangerous thing to lose was the appetite for victory at any cost.

“... Why?”

“Well… It’s like I said. I should move closer to work. We’ve lived here for a while. It will be good for you, too, Joonghyuk-ah. You can go back to living with Mia-ya, and… you can do whatever you want.” Despite his calm and level voice, Kim Dokja continued to stare holes into the umbrella in his hands, refusing to look Yoo Joonghyuk in the eye.

“... Kim Dokja. Tell me clearly. Are you doing it because you want to, or because you think I want you to?”

“I’m—It’s good for both of us, so—”

“Why do you think you know what’s good for me? ”

Yoo Joonghyuk hadn’t meant to raise his voice, and he regretted it immediately when Kim Dokja flinched. Still, Kim Dokja didn’t retreat. Placing the umbrella onto the floor, he slowly raised his head to meet Yoo Joonghyuk’s gaze.

“I want to live alone,” he said, softly but firmly.

There was nothing Yoo Joonghyuk could say to that. He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Kim Dokja had already stood up, the umbrella back in his hands.

“Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk called.

At his voice, Kim Dokja turned back to look at him.

“Then, just like you said, I’ll be doing whatever I want, too.”