Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It is said that when one half finds its other, there is an unspoken understanding, a unity - and each would know no greater joy than this. In my opinion, People spend far too much time looking for someone to complete them.
How do you make it last? When do you know that it’s time to quit?

The notion of love is only more evidence of Camus’ theory that life is irrational and meaningless.

Dokja sighed as he sent the document to the printer. Luckily for him, everyone else in the highschool rushed home immediately as the bell sounded, so no one was around to see him finishing off Zoe Miller’s literature assignment. 

The paper was warm off the printer and held a nice weight in his hands. It was one of Dokja’s favorite feelings. 

He flipped through the pages one last time to tally them up for a final price. Six pages. Dokja pulled out his phone to send Zoe a Venmo request for $35. 

Once the money has been deposited into his account, he’ll drop the essay into her locker and close the deal. 

Dokja can’t help but think that he’d done a bang-up job on this piece. From his personal experiences, love is greedy, fleeting, and definitely not worth all of the effort. It’s some A+ philosophy, possibly an A- if Mrs. P is in a bad mood while marking these assignments. 

If Dokja was truly ambitious, he would extend his homework services into math and science-- that’s where the real money would be. The main issue with that idea is his interest (of lack thereof) in doing that kind of schoolwork. He’d rather spend his time staring into the oblivion of a Word document than Googling the formula on how to complete the square.  

At least that’s prevented Dokja’s reputation from sinking any lower than it already has. The highschool population in this small portside town is exactly as you’d expect it to be (read: white). Dokja still hasn’t gotten over the bitterness he holds towards his parents for dragging their family from Korea to America eight years ago, and he definitely hasn’t gotten over the bitterness he holds towards his parents involving the events that led up to his current living situation (read: alone). 

Sure, he’s not the only kid in the school who belongs to the minority of people who are not of European descent, but he’s reserved enough that people often feel the need to point it out, since they don’t seem to know anything else about him. 

“Hey Kim Sum!” a particularly rowdy group of boys yelled. 

Dokja acknowledged them only by flipping off the pick up truck that was packed full of so many boys it might as well have been a clown car. The scent of diesel filled the air as it sped out of the school parking lot. Dokja felt his nose wrinkle involuntarily at the smell.

“I’m Korean anyway, assholes,” Dokja mumbled once they were out of sight. 

He rummaged through his backpack to find the keys to his salvation-- his car. The battered Volvo Wagon, like most of his parents’ estate, was currently being taken care of by him. Dokja couldn’t wait until his eighteen birthday in a few months, when he would be able to finally transfer the vehicle’s ownership into his own name. 

Dokja was far from homeless, he had That apartment. However, said apartment lacked a bed, and that is the reason that he chose to sleep in his car. Sure, he was treating the apartment like a glorified instant-ramyeon storage unit, but he cared about the wagon way more, anyway. 

He’ll probably ditch it once he’s done with highschool, and sweep it under the rug along with every bad memory he had of the place. 

Hell is other people. -- John-Paul Sartre

Dokja stared at the quote written on the chalkboard until tunnel vision started to kick in. By then, class was over and he could hand in another assignment to this class, this time with his own name on it. 

“Six different takes on Plato. Impressive,” Mrs P. told Dokja as he passed her his personal stack of papers. 

Dokja replied with a shrug, he tried to look nonchalant, “Just one.”

“Yeah right, Kim,” she snorted. “You’re talented enough to make more than what, twenty dollars?”

“Too bad I’m studying business at community college next year,” Dokja smiled. That was the plan after all. 

“You’re wasting your talents. Studying what I loved at college were the best years of my life,” the teacher said, with raised eyebrows. 

Too bad that a four-year degree in literature would probably keep Dokja in the same situation he’s in now, except that sleeping in his car might not be by choice anymore. 

“Look where you are now,” Dokja plastered on his biggest shit-eating grin. “Teaching teenagers what a homonym is.” 

Mrs P. feigned a face of pain, as if Dokja’s words actually wounded her. “You’re right, stay away from the arts. I’ll see you in class tomorrow, Dokja.” 

Dokja left with another grin and a nod. He headed straight towards his Wagon to flee from school for the day. By the time he reached his car, the sun had effectively heated up the inside of it to a scalding temperature that one may appreciate only inside an oven when baking cookies. 

As any normal person would, Dokja rolls down his four windows to let some of the heat air out before he starts his journey home. This was his first mistake. 

“Kim Dokja,” a voice said, somehow not butchering the pronunciation of his name. 

Dokja took a moment to realize that it was coming from outside his car window. He poked his head out. 

“Yes?”

“I’m Yoo Joonghyuk,” Yoo Joonghyuk said.

Dokja almost laughed. Everyone knows who Joonghyuk is. 

“Are you not Korean?” he asked, when Dokja failed to give a reply to this last statement. 

It’s then that Dokja realized that he was speaking in Korean. It was refreshing to hear his mother tongue from someone besides Han Sooyoung’s voice through the speaker of his phone. 

“I am,” Dokja replied, in Korean.

“Okay,” Joonghyuk said. “I am also Korean.” 

Dokja already knew this. This was because Joonghyuk was respected and quite honestly, worshiped among the student body. Joonghyuk was tall and quiet, and people cared about him enough to not call him racial (yet ethnically inaccurate) nicknames like “Kim Sum”. 

Dokja noticed a piece of crumpled lined paper in Joonghyuks rather intimidating grasp. 

“It’s twenty dollars for the first three pages. Five more for every page after that,” Kim Dokja supplied. 

He couldn’t imagine any other reason for Joonghyuk to be speaking to him. Dokja didn’t have much to use to formulate an inference anyway, as Joonghyuk maintained the blankest expression that Dokja had ever seen. 

“I don’t want to cheat.”
Dokja sighed, “No one wants to cheat. Speaking in Korean is smart, by the way. No one will know what we’re talking about. Which class is this for?” 

Joonghyuk tightened his grip on the piece of paper as his face twisted into a scowl. Dokja ducked his head back into his car. He didn’t know what he did to make Joonghyuk so angry, but he was not ready to be punched out for it. He had quite a strong conviction to not be punched out at all, actually. 

In the spirit of that, Dokja kicked his car into reverse and swung an arm around the passenger seat to look behind him, ready to floor it out of the school parking lot. This was his second mistake. 

His car made it around ten centimeters backwards, before Dokja was forced to slam on the breaks because his steering wheel wouldn’t turn. 

“Kim Dokja,” Joonghyuk’s voice was a growl now. It was still a baritone melody sweet enough to melt an angel on the spot, but also a growl, nonetheless. 

“You will write this for me.” Joonghyuk declared, since trivial things such as questions and manners were far below his grace. He dropped the wrinkled page into Dokja’s lap. 

Dokja returned his car to park. 

“ Dear Seolhwa Lee, You are a pretty girl. I have been thinking…”

Dokja pulled his eyes away from the paper immediately once he recognized what it was that he read. It was a line that shouldn’t be crossed. 

“No,” Dokja replied. He shoved the paper back into Yoonghyuk’s hands, as he prayed that the blush on the tip of his ears was unnoticed. “I am not writing love letters--” 

“I’ll pay you.” Joonghyuk interrupted. 

Dokja sucked his teeth. This rich bastard thought that he could simply buy the answers to his issues. “Money isn’t everything Joonghyuk-ah.”

Any spec of Joonghyuks indifference that remained finally crumbled to reveal his rage. Maybe he went too far with stringing on the honorific.

Dokja plastered on his shiniest fake smile, “Get a thesaurus. Use spell-check. Good luck, Romeo.”

His car was gone from the parking lot before Joonghyuk had the chance to protest or god help him, grab the steering wheel again.

Dokja returned to That apartment in the evening. He had a lot on the repertoire for tonight, with three Macbeth essays as well as a book report on Death of a Salesman. The apartment was as he left it, with the hardwood floors caked in dust and stained curtains drawn shut. The kitchen was visibly barren, and besides the mostly untouched appliances, contained a pair of chopsticks, a spoon, a kettle, and a sponge. The bedroom was a wasteland of items that Dokja couldn’t look at without hurling-- mostly things that belonged to his parents. A lifetime ago, before the incident, that was his bedroom. 

The remainder of the apartment was equally as pathetic. There was a fabric loveseat- grey, like the walls. A small desk and lamp occupied the rest of the living space. Dokja had sold the dining room set and television on Craigslist when he was fifteen so he could have gas money. 

There was no bed in the apartment. Dokja doesn’t quite remember how or when the beds were removed, but it’s probably a good thing that they’re gone. 

Dokja settled at the desk with his laptop but found his mind drifting back to Joonghyuk as he wrote the essays. Of course Joonghyuk was trying to court Seolhwa Lee, they would be a dream couple. Dokja didn’t know a lot about having parents that want good things for you, but he’s heard plenty of Han Sooyoung’s complaining about how her parents want her to find a nice Korean boy. Which shouldn’t be too hard for her, considering that Han Sooyoung lives in Korea. It’s probably the same situation with Joonghyuk’s family. Seolhwa was the only Korean girl in their entire school, but she was also pretty and smart and well mannered. She would look good by Joonghyuk’s side, who was decently pretty and smart in his own right, though he lacked politeness of any form. From what Dokja had observed, Joonghyuk’s family owns a large portion of the land in their town, and has probably accumulated a good fortune from that. Why such a wealthy family would choose to stay in such a small, white, town was far beyond the capabilities of his commoner mind. 

On page three of the first Macbeth essay, Dokja’s phone rang.
“What,” he answered. 

“Well good morning, sunshine,” Han Sooyoung’s voice chimed through the phone’s speaker. 

“It’s nearly four in the afternoon.” 

“Sure it is,” Han Sooyoung spoke as if she did not believe in time zones. 

Dokja groaned, “Don’t you have school?”

“I’m walking there right now. Are you busy right now?” 

“A bit, I’ve got a couple essays to write.”

Dokja could hear the smirk in Han Sooyoung’s voice. “Busy accumulating academic fraud offenses by the dozen? Don’t let me keep you,” she said before hanging up the call. 

Dokja was a little bit ticked off by the unnecessary phone call, but at least it helped purge Joonghyuk from his mind. A few hours later, Dokja managed to power through two of the essays and half of the book report. He was in the middle of a sentence criticizing the fragility of the American Dream when a pop-up appeared on his laptop notifying him of its low battery. This was particularly strange since the laptop has been plugged into the charger since Dokja returned from school. Dokja flipped the lamp on. The apartment stayed dark. 

An eloquent “fuck” slipped past Dokja’s lips as he recalled the fact that he hasn’t checked the mail in a while. 

Dear valued customer, 

The amount enclosed in this notice is now OVERDUE. We reserve the right to disconnect your service in accordance with the Conditions of Service. Your electricity service may be DISCONNECTED upon expiry of a minimum of 10 calendar days from the print date of this notice if the full payment amount has not been received. 

CONTACT US: We’re here to help. You can reach us during our regular hours, Monday to Friday, 8 a.m. to 8 p.m. If your electricity service is disconnected it will be reconnected within two days of payment confirmation. 

Dokja bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. There was no universe where this was a good idea. God, where was he? Dokja ate in his car every single day, so he was far from familiar with the school’s cafeteria. He had no idea if that guy would even be in here. He finally located his target walking across this room of culinary nightmare, looking uninterested as ever. 

Dokja approached him quickly, “Hey, Joonghyuk.”

If Joonghyuk heard him, he showed no sign of it. 

“Come on, Yoo Joonghyuk,” Dokja tried in Korean this time. 

Joonghyuk brushed him off again, step not faltering once. 

Dokja finally grabbed Joonghyuk’s shoulder to stop him from walking away. He felt the gazes of a couple other students on him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up at the attention. It was a lot more than he was used to. 

“One letter. Seventy-seven dollars. You’re on your own after that,” Dokja spoke in a low voice. Not that it mattered if the other students heard him, they wouldn’t understand a word of the language anyway. 

Joonghyuk replied only by grunting then proceeding to shake Dokja’s hand off of his shoulder. Dokja chose to cross the line. This was his third mistake. 

Chapter Text

Dear Seolhwa Lee, 

You are a pretty girl. I have been thinking that we should start dating. Even if you weren’t a pretty girl and you were ugly I would also still like to date you. This is because I believe that you are very smart and kind. Just to be clear. Here is some information about me that you may want to use when making your decision: I have a younger sister. Many people think that I am very handsome. I am very talented at playing video games. Feel free to provide me with an answer by the end of the week. 

Sincerely, 

Joonghyuk Yoo

(First-string flanker. Rugby. Platinum III Rocket League. Diamond Overwatch.)

Dokja deflated like a popped balloon after reading this pathetic excuse of a letter. 

“So Joonghyuk, what you’re trying to say is…” 

“I like her,” Joonghyuk stated from the passenger seat of Dokja’s car. The car is stationed at the back of a Walmart parking lot, like they’re undergoing a drug deal and not trying to revive chivalry via love letters for some modern romancing.

“Have you ever spoken to her?” Dokja asked. He spared a glance at Joonghyuk. “Nevermind.”
Joonghyuk shifted uncomfortably in the seat, “I’m not good with words.” 

Dokja refrained from rolling his eyes. That much was obvious. If it wasn’t for the fact that Dokja has now seen proof that Joonghyuk can compose sentences that are longer than six words, he never would have imagined that such a feat was possible. 

“But you know that you like her?”

Joonghyuk shrugged. Not that Dokja expected the most smitten reaction from Joonghyuk, he seemed to be just about as interested in courting Seolhwa as Dokja was interested in helping Han Sooyoung study for her CSAT. 

“Maybe you’re just stubborn,” Dokja pondered. “Maybe you’re not in love.” 

A flicker of emotion cracked through Joonghyuk’s blank expression, but only momentarily. 

“I paid you to help with a letter. Just fix this one.” 

“Fine,” Dokja surrendered, as he turned back to the letter.

The main criticism Dokja could think of was to burn the piece of paper and send it back to hell where it belongs, but he could imagine that Joonghyuk wouldn’t be very pleased with that assessment. 

“What are all of these things after your name?” Dokja asked. 

“My qualifications.” 

Dokja choked out a genuine laugh. Who knew that Joonghyuk could crack a joke? 

Not Dokja, apparently, since Joonghyuk wasn’t laughing. Oh god, this guy was being serious. 

“Yoo Joonghyuk, is this a resume? ‘ Feel free to provide me with an answer by the end of the week.’ It sounds like you’re writing a business memo.” 

Joonghyuk crossed his arms and scowled. “Kim Dokja, stop stalling. You shouldn’t have taken this on if you weren’t confident in your skills.” 

The insult burned in the pit of his stomach. This bastard didn’t know anything. Dokja sat up a bit straighter and for the second time, he shoved the letter back into Joonghyuk’s hands. 
“I’m the best writer in the school, and I’ll write you a letter so good that she’ll be in love with you by the end of the week,” Dokja declared.

“I don’t know how to write a love letter,” Dokja confessed to Han Sooyoung, around two hours after his meeting with Joonghyuk. 

Han Sooyoung’s laugh crackled through the phone speaker. 

“Just write like you’re in love,” she advised once her giggling subsided.

Dokja felt his eye twitch. If it was that easy, he wouldn’t have turned to his most annoying (and only) friend for help. 

Dokja could write to an audience. He could write a think piece about societal norms and analyze the love between Romeo and Juliet. He could create a romance between characters in a story, and develop their relationship from the outside. 

Dokja was good with words, but he wasn’t good with people. 

“I don’t know how to write like I’m in love,” he said. 

I don’t know how to love came to him as a fleeting thought.

“You’ve never had a crush? Even a second-grade boyfriend would do.”

“I don’t know why you’re so insistent on believing that I am gay,” Dokja said. 

Han Sooyoung only sighed, before she seemed to take a moment to think. A rare occurrence. 

“Love makes you screwy,” she spoke slowly, as if she was savoring every word. “Have you ever met someone who makes you screwy?” 

Dokja stared at the blank document on his laptop. Well, there’s definitely one person. 

‘ Dear Yoo Joonghyuk  Seolhwa Lee,’ he typed. 

Dokja delivered the letter to Joonghyuk the next day. 

“You sealed the envelope,” Joonghyuk said. 

“If she doesn’t fall in love with you after reading it, I’ll return your money,” Dokja grinned, blind with confidence. “I’m good with words.” 

Dokja was so screwy that he imagined a small smile on Joonghyuk’s face before he walked away.

If you can love someone with your whole heart, even one person, then there's salvation in life. -- Haruki Murakami

Dokja caught a glimpse of Joonghyuk pissed off in the school library the next day. Dokja planned to keep his head down and let Joonghyuk pass by, but Joonghyuk instead planted himself in the chair right next to him. 

“She wrote back,” Joonghyuk’s glare deepened with every word. Dokja was a dead man. 

“ Dear Joonghyuk, I like Murakami too. I wouldn’t have blindly plagiarized him though.”

Dokja exhaled with a laugh. Joonghyuk was right when he called her very smart. 

“I paid you, Kim Dokja. How could you cheat?”

“I didn’t cheat.”

“I know what plagiarize means--”

“Calm down, this is good! She’s flirting!” Dokja threw his hands up in surrender. 

Joonghyuk’s entire body tensed up before he relaxed completely. He picked at the skin around his fingernails for a moment before speaking, “I’ll Venmo you. But I want to help write them from now on.” 

Dokja tilted his head to the side, “Afraid that I’ll make you seem too dreamy and you won’t live up to the expectations?”

Joonghyuk’s hash gaze cut through Dokja like a knife. When he didn't look away, Dokja realized that he wanted to start on the letter right now. How high maintenance is this guy? 

‘ Dear J Seolhwa, You found me out. Sometimes, I hide behind other people’s words.’

Dokja pressed at his keyboard with vigor, pausing to show Joonghyuk the screen every few sentences. Joonghyuk didn’t often reply with more than a nod or a grunt, but Dokja took the lack of menace in his body language to be a good sign. 

‘ I’m 17. I have lived here my entire life. I play video games and spend time with my younger sister. I’m a starter on the rugby team. I’m a simple guy .’

Dokja’s hands froze on the keyboard. He snuck a glance at Joonghyuk. 

‘ I’m tall. Brooding. Strong bone structure. Thin double eyelids. Cropped wavy hair and well-groomed eyebrows. An appearance that could slap Nam Joohyuk on the cheeks once.’

Dokja’s blush burned at the back of his neck. He deleted the sentences before Joonghyuk could see. He must have gotten too into character. 

‘ I’m a quiet guy. To be honest, if I knew what love was, I wouldn’t turn to Murakami. I would quote myself.’

Evil Spawn [15:09]

morning buttercup

Me [15:09]

why are you so thoroughly convinced that i’m gay

Evil Spawn [15:10]

wow okay 

Evil Spawn [15:10]

where to start

Me [15:10]

ㅗ

Evil Spawn [15:10]

well we’ve been friends for over three years and you haven’t 

confessed that you’re in love with me yet 

Me [15:10]

just forget that i asked

Evil Spawn [15:11]

okay honestly 

Evil Spawn [15:11]

you’re oblivious to any girl who approaches you 

Evil Spawn [15:11]

you only use men to reference someone attractive

Evil Spawn [15:11]

you cried when lee jongsuk enlisted 

Me [15:12]

he’s a really good actor? 

Evil Spawn is typing…

Me [15:12]

and girls don’t approach me 

Evil Spawn is typing…

Me [15:13]

unless they’re failing an english course

Evil Spawn is typing…

Me [15:15]

han sooyoung??

Evil Spawn [15:15]

okay

Me [15:15]

??

There was a stack of papers on Dokja’s desk when he walked into English class later that week. It reads: Star Stream Foundation Writing Contest Application. Not to his surprise, most of the pages were already filled with his information. 

“I’m not doing this,” he told Mrs P. after class ended. 

Mrs P. didn’t even flinch when faced with his conviction, as if she had anticipated this when she wrote “Dokja Kim” on the application. 

“It’s good press,” she said. “The person who won last year was published before they turned eighteen.” 

“I don’t want press,” Dokja heard his voice waver. He’s had enough media attention in his life. Hopefully, his teacher will assume that the momentary lapse in intonation was a post-pubescent voice crack.

Mrs P. looked between the application and Dokja a few times before speaking again. 

“There’s a cash prize.”

Dokja pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“When is the application due?” 

The contest was composed of four different categories; short stories, essays, poetry, and free. Each had a set of prompts to choose from, among other constraints. Dokja planned to submit to all of them. Considering the amount of time Dokja will be allocating to this contest instead of writing essays for stupid kids with too much money, his finances will take a major hit if he doesn’t win. 

The next time they met, Joonghyuk found Dokja in the hallway at the start of lunch hour. He looked incrementally less murderous than last time, which Dokja took to be a good sign. A great sign, even. 

However, Joonghyuk didn’t say anything this time, he simply grabbed Dokja’s wrist and dragged him through the hallways and towards the picnic tables outside. The autumn winds pricked at Dokja’s skin through his cheap hoodie.

Seolhwa’s reply was witty and funny and flirty, but it’s nothing that gave Dokja butterflies. He knew that at some level, the words weren’t only directed at Joonghyuk, but himself too. Briefly, Dokja imagined Seolhwa, with her elegant long hair and high cheekbones, telling him that he’s smart and has a good taste in literature. Some kind of emotion seemed to claw at his chest, but it felt closer to dread than anything else. 

An image of Han Sooyoung grinning knowingly flashed in his mind, and yup, definitely dread.

“We’re doing well,” Dokja confirmed after reading the letter. “Should we start on the next one?” 

Joonghyuk, consistent as ever, replied only with a silent nod. 

It wasn’t so much of a collaborative effort as it was Dokja silently typing away with Joonghyuk peering over his shoulder. Every so often, Joonghyuk would supply some personal information about himself to fill in the blanks, or point out something that seemed unlikely for him to say. Dokja didn’t mind spending his lunch doing this, he usually saved his meal portions for the morning and the evening anyway. 

Joonghyuk didn’t eat either, whether it was in solidarity or because he usually got his food from the cafeteria was beyond Dojka’s capacity of caring. He wrote best when he could immerse himself in the project, and Joonghyuk’s lunch plans were nothing more than superfluous details. In fact, Dokja wasn’t shaken from his trance for most of lunch. It was the unfamiliar feeling of a hand pressing on the small of his back that snapped him out of it. 

“You’re slouching,” Joonghyuk said, when Dokja stared at him with wide eyes. 

Of course, a meticulous guy like Joonghyuk wouldn’t be able to stand the sight of poor posture. Dokja straightened his back immediately. 

“It’s fine, I’m used to a bit of back pain.” 

Spreading your days hunched over a laptop and your night sleeping in your car wasn’t always as oh-so dreamy as Dokja chalked it up to be. 

Joonghyuk’s expression was indecipherable, so Dokja turned back to his laptop to continue plucking away at his keyboard. 

The hand on his back was removed, momentarily, before it was placed at the base of his neck. The warmth of Joonghyuk’s skin was comforting. Dokja has always run a bit cold. Before Dokja has the chance to question what he was doing, Joonghyuk’s fingers dig into his skin.
“What the hell?” Dokja hissed, as he tried to wriggle out of his grasp. “Yoo Joonghyuk, that fucking hurts.”

Joonghyuk didn’t let up, he only continued to squeeze out Dokja’s life force with his freakishly strong hands. There was no doubt this guy spent his free time playing video games. 

At first, it hurt so horribly that Dokja had to clench his teeth to stop from crying out pathetically. After a few seconds, once Dokja accepted his inevitable death and stopped struggling, a type of relief blossomed from his shoulders. It wasn’t horrible. Actually, it was kind of relaxing. Dokja barely stopped himself from leaning back into the touch, as Joonghyuk silently helped work the tension out of Dokja’s back. Seriously, this guy should consider a career in sports medicine or physiotherapy. Much too soon, the bell signifying the end of lunch rang. Joonghyuk managed to harvest all of his dark-vigilante-character energy to pack up and disappear before Dokja could process what just happened or maybe, thank him. 

Me [1:23]

then he just disappeared

Evil Spawn [1:24]

i don’t know dokja

Evil Spawn [1:24]

if you aren’t gay

Evil Spawn [1:24]

then you’re probably just incredibly lonely 

Me [1:25]

i’m going to die

Chapter Text

Autumn bleeds into winter like-- well, Dokja didn’t always care for smilies. The important fact is that it was cold enough that Dokja had begun wearing fleece socks to bed every night. ‘To bed’ being his sleeping bag on the back seat of his wagon. Like with many species, Dokja encountered most of his survival issues during the winter months. Christmas break was approaching, which meant that he would be out of a paycheck for at least two weeks, possibly longer if teachers didn’t choose to assign work immediately once the new term started. 

The conflict here was apparent when considering that the winter was cold, and heating costs money. Now, this would be a larger issue for most functioning members of society, namely those who sleep in buildings. Dokja, who from an outside perspective probably appeared to be extremely poor or on viciously pursuing a quest for individuality, did not heed such problems. 

Dokja’s car was dropped off at the apartment by his aunt (who was legally responsible for his parents’ estate, no matter how little she wanted to do with it) on his fifteenth birthday. Coincidentally, it was also the year that she stopped sending him money. Dokja will be eighteen this February, making this his second-and-a-half winter in his car-bedroom. 

It wasn’t as grueling as it seems, really. There’s the public library and a community center that’s open late and always heated. Sleeping in his car usually worked out better than sleeping in his unheated apartment anyway. It’s easy to insulate and though Dokja won’t run the car all night, a couple minutes before he goes to sleep and a few after he wakes up can make all the difference.

Either way, Dokja had been so busy with his plethora of different writing projects that he spared no more than five hours of time to sleep every night.

His submissions for the writing contest were due in three weeks, and his schoolwork requests were at a peak with finals approaching. It didn’t help that Joonghyuk was only becoming more high-maintenance as time went by. 

“We’ve been writing letters for a month,” Joonghyuk mentioned after school one day. He’s begun spending his free afternoons in the library alongside Dokja, usually tapping aggressively at his phone or finishing up his own homework. It’s likely because Dokja, being the saint that he was, occasionally revised Joonghyuk’s work free of charge. 

“It’s good to know that you can read a calendar.” 

“When do I start dating her?” Joonghyuk asked. It looked like today was an aggressively-tap-at-phone day. 

Dokja placed a finger on his chin before he looked Joonghyuk up and down. 

“Not yet” he decided. 

Joonghyuk’s aggressive tapping stopped. He slowly looked up at Dokja. Was that guilt on his face? 

“Show me the phone,” Dokja demanded. 

“No.” 

Dokja snatched the phone anyway, because he had hoped that Joonghyuk would take pity on his frail body and not rip his arm off in an act of aggression. He could settle for a fracture, maybe. 

Me [2:49]

Would you like to eat a meal together. YJH

Seolhwa Lee is typing…

Seolhwa Lee is typing…

Seolhwa Lee is typing…

“Yoo Joonghyuk,” he said the name like a warning. 

Joonghyuk grabbed his phone back. 

“You didn’t even use a question mark! And you signed it as YJH!”

Joonghyuk’s expression darkened, “Those are my initials.” 

“In Korean, maybe. Did you forget that she only speaks English?” 

Joonghyuk was silent. His phone buzzed in his hand. Dokja leaned over to see, though he was immediately stopped by Joonghyuk’s hand shoving the side of his face away.

“Hey!” 

Joonghyuk’s typing could only be described as ferocious at that moment. He seemed to reach new levels of belligerence every day. 

“We’re going to meet at a restaurant.” Joonghyuk spoke after a few tense seconds.
“When?” Dokja asked. 

“Tonight.” 

A bit of bile rose to the back of Dokja’s throat.

“She prefers abstract to representational. And if she brings up Remains of the Day, talk about how the movie loses out by not spending more time on the Nazis-- Yoo Joonghyuk, are you listening?”
Dokja was parked outside of the diner, dropping Joonghyuk off for his date like an anxious parent. 

“I’ll be fine,” Joonghyuk said. “Thank you for driving me here. I can… leave my phone turned on in my pocket. If it will make letter writing easier later.” 

Joonghyuk opens the passenger door. Dokja grabbed his sleeve before he knew what he was doing. Dokja struggled to find something to say. 

“Don’t forget to smile, Joonghyuk-ah,” he settled on. 

Joonghyuk flashed him a smile before slamming the car door in his face. It was a terrible smile, really. Dokja was smitten by it.

“ Hi Joonghyuk,” said a voice through his phone, unmistakably belonging to Seolhwa.

“ Hello,” replied Joonghyuk. 

The audio was a bit muffled since Joonghyuk had his phone in his pocket, but it was decipherable enough that Dokja could understand how the date was going. 

“ Have you been waiting long?” Joonghyuk asked. 

Dokja’s breath was caught in his throat. It was always a bit jarring for Dokja to hear Joonghyuk speak in English. 

“I haven't. I was happy when you asked to see me,” Seolhwa confessed. 

“I… I was too.” 

Something ugly twisted in Dokja’s gut. His heart hammered harder in his chest with every word Joonghyuk spoke. He couldn’t bear to listen to any more. His fingers trembled as he pressed the button on his phone to hang up the call.

“Hey,” Joonghyuk was waiting at Dokja’s car after school the next day. 

Dokja couldn’t bring himself to look Joonghyuk in the eyes. 

“How was rugby practice?”

Joonghyuk shrugs, “How was the library?”

“Fine,” Dokja said. 

This was probably one of the last conversations he was going to have with Joonghyuk, seeing as his letters worked. Ending it with awkwardness that hung in the air was befitting of the short time they spent together. Dokja couldn’t claim that he had any regrets, just that--

“You were right,” Joonghyuk said, glaring at the ground. 

Dokja’s eyes snapped up to Joonghyuk. “What?”
“It was too soon.” 

Dokja’s lips part to form an ‘o’. 

“The call disconnected once you went into the restaurant. I didn’t hear anything,” Dokja lied.

“Oh,” was all Joonghyuk said. “We didn’t… talk. I didn’t know what to say.”

Dokja barely had time to wipe the dumb look off of his face before his biggest fans blew past them in that infamous truck, with a couple chants of “Kim Sum! Kim Sum!”

Dokja didn’t bother to even look at them this time. He expected Joonghyuk to do the same. 

“We can fix--”

“Hey!” Joonghyuk shouted in English, taking a few quick steps towards the quickly retreating vehicle. “What kind of bastards say dumb shit like that then drive away?”

He seized a sizable rock from the landscaping beside the parking lot and hurled it toward the truck, only missing by an inch. Dokja had never seen him this furious before.

“Fucking cowards,” Joonghyuk’s voice shook with rage. “It’s like they want to die.”

Dokja had never seen him this furious before.

Dokja swallowed thickly. No way he had butterflies in his stomach now. He refused to go down like this. 

“Yoo Joonghyuk. Get a hold of yourself,” Dokja said. The winter breeze blew through his cheap jacket like it was a tissue. He suppressed a shiver.

Joonghyuk turned towards Dokja with an unreadable expression, stared at him for a few seconds, then stormed off towards the school without another word. 

“It seems that Dokja-ssi is both gay and incredibly lonely,” Han Sooyong concluded after hearing the story. 

“Don’t speak like that,” Dokja sighed into the phone. “It’s insulting to every polite person in the world.” 

“Hey,” Han Sooyoung said. “Just tell Yoo Joonghyuk that you can’t write the letters anymore. That way you won’t be both pining and miserable all the time.”

“I’m not pining--” 

“So you’re just going to marry off the only person in America that you’ve formed any kind of connection with in the past eight years? You’re digging your own grave here.”

“It’s not like he could ever want me ,” Dokja said, as if he was stating that the sky was blue or that Gong Yoo was a national treasure. 

“Why not?” Han Sooyoung challenged.

“The heteronormative society we live in, my average looks, my lack of personality, or maybe common sense,” he countered. 

Han Sooyoung made an exasperated noise, “God, Dokja.”

“Your lunch will be over soon, I’ll get going then,” Dokja said. He hung up the phone before Han Sooyoung could get another word out. 

Dokja had twenty minutes until the library closes, then he could move to the community center for another hour before heading back to the apartment for the last hours of the night. If he was asleep by 1:00 a.m, he could be awake by 5:30 and have the time to shower and get dressed back at the apartment before the school doors opened at 6:00. It was a fool proof schedule, one he’s been following for a couple days now. The perfect balance of sleep, school, writing and whatever acts of self-preservation that he bothered with.

Alongside Joonghyuk, Dokja soon wrote the most pathetic “sorry I asked you out on a date then didn’t talk to you for two hours” letter that he’s ever seen. Luckily, the ghost of Christmas present is real, and Seolhwa agreed to go out with the glorified Ebenezer Scrooge named Joonghyuk again after winter break was over. Dokja had no idea why he had been entrusted with the entire fate of Joonghyuk’s love life, but it’s a responsibility he had accepted with a steeled resolve. Han Sooyoung complained about his self-destruction far too often, without ever considering that maybe, Dokja was simply a good person. 

“I live in my dreams — that's what you sense. Other people live in dreams, but not in their own. That's the difference.” --  Herman Hesse

Dokja often saw his mother gripping onto a book. The pages were worn and yellowed, and the paperback cover was curled up at the corners. The title read Demian . 

She held this book every morning in her right hand while she had Dokja’s hand in her left. She would walk him to school and pick him up once the day was done. In the summer, they would stop at a convenience store to buy ice cream. Dokja overheated easily wearing the clothes his mother dressed him in during those Korean summers. He wished that he could wear shorts like his classmates did. His mother apologized with a smile then promised that he could change into a t-shirt once they got home. 

Evenings were quiet, and always spent reading. Nighttime was silent. 

Dokja often slept beside his mother, clung onto her arm, trembling, as they waited.

His father always returned late at night or early in the mornings. Dokja found that the later he was, the more similar his breath smelled to the back cooler of a convenience store. 

It was at these times that Dokja was taught about love. 

Love was angry, and cruel. It was the blossoming pain of a bruise, a cut, a hand gripped in his hair. A silent cry, because, “You need to be quiet, Dokja.”

Dokja wants to run away. Once, he told his mom this.

She slapped him on his cheek with a hiss of, “Your father loves us.”

Dokja realized, love is selfish. 

Sometime after his ninth birthday, Dokja’s father stopped working. Dokja was cold all winter, since his pants didn’t reach past his ankles and his winter jacket he got two years ago had a hole under the left sleeve. 

A few months later, it was no longer his father who he feared at night. With this group of men, there were a lot of them, and they banged on the door until Dokja’s father could force his mother to answer. 

They said that they wanted their money, and then they broke all of the windows in Dokja’s house.

His mother concluded that they’ve got enough for three plane tickets, but not enough to pay the men back. With the help of his sister who lives in America, Dokja’s father got a job on the fishing boats in a portside town. 

“It will be a new start,” Dokja’s mother told him. 

The new start only taught him old lessons. Dokja still couldn’t wear shorts during the summer, but at least he could see the stars from his bedroom window. The night sky in Seoul was never dark like this one was.

In America, Dokja got to sleep in the bed, while his mother used a futon on the ground like they did back home. His father worked longer hours, and sometimes he worked for days before he returned to the apartment and crashed on the couch. 

When Dokja was eleven, he learned that love is violent. 

It was his father’s screams that woke him up, that time. 

“Go back to bed,” Dokja’s mother told him. She did not look him in the eyes. 

“Dokja,” his father pleaded. It was the first time he’d addressed Dokja in months. Dokja did not feel anything for him. 

He returned to his room and covered both of his ears with a pillow. Eventually, he couldn’t hear anything aside from his own terrified screams. 

His mother was deported back to Korea. Legally, Dokja was taken in by his aunt. 

The trial was long, and heavily publicized. His father never got a funeral. 

His aunt left him at the apartment, alone, six months later. She returned to her own life. 

His first night alone in that apartment, Dokja tried sleeping in the bedroom. As soon as his eyes were closed, he forgot how to breathe.

Sometimes, he could get two or three hours in if he was at the dining room table. Being seated at a chair with his head rested on the table was the only way he could trick his body into sleeping. 

Briefly, Dokja thought about killing himself. Instead, he found his mother’s book titled Demian and threw it off the side of the harbor. He did dangle his feet off the side of the dock momentarily. The water was dark, and the air was salty. Dokja didn’t think that he could follow through with killing himself, but it would be nice if the ocean could find a way to swallow him up. 

“Dokja,” the water called out to him. 

He peered forward with wide eyes. 

“Kim Dokja,” it said his name like a prayer. 

If he jumped in now, would he sink to the bottom with the torn pages of his mother’s book? He dipped his foot into the frigid waters. It was covered in red when he pulled it back out. Dokja could tell that it was blood. The ocean was blood.
“Wake up,” the ocean pleaded. 

Dokja’s eyes snapped open. His pulse pounded in his head. Every thump of his heart shook his vision. He wasn’t sitting on a dock, he was sitting in a car- his car. Okay, he must have just drifted off in the parking lot after school. It was just a dream. 

“Dokja,” the ocean said.

He turned to the window. Joonghyuk had one hand on the door handle and one pounding against the window. Well, it looked like the water deities weren’t trying to communicate with him via nightmare.

Dokja made a pathetic attempt to calm his labored breathing before he opened the car door. 

“Joonghyuk,” he greeted. 

Dokja’s legs were no stronger than dangmyeon. He leaned against the car for support. His mind belatedly registered the sun in the sky. He couldn’t have been asleep for any longer than fifteen minutes. 

“Did you sleep here all night?” Joonghyuk asked. 

Or possibly fifteen hours. 

“No,” Dokja lied. His voice was thick in his throat. 

“You’re wearing the same clothes as yesterday.”

Dokja smiled helplessly. Every muscle in his face trembled, as if they were ready to crumble into a million pieces.
Joonghyuk wrapped his fingers around Dokja’s wrist slowly, but he still flinched at the contact. 

“Sorry,” Dokja whispered. Sometimes, he felt his parents’ version of love wedged under his skin, like the smallest shard of glass.

“No, I shouldn’t have-- I”

Joonghyuk chewed on his bottom lip as he looked Dokja up and down. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. It sounded funny coming from Joonghyuk’s mouth. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Dokja asked.

The parking lot was pretty desolate, which meant that there was probably at least an hour until class started. There were a few students lingering in the hallway and near the bleachers, all of whom stared at Dokja for a second too long when he walked past them. 

There was a light pressure on Dokja’s head, then a third of his vision was obstructed. Why did Joonghyuk put a baseball cap on his head? Why was Joonghyuk even wearing a baseball cap in December, anyway?

“You’re still crying,” Joonghyuk pointed out, but it was gentle.

Still? Dokja tilted his head down. A couple tears hit his shoes. Huh. 

The nice thing about Joonghyuk, and surprisingly there was actually one nice thing about the guy, was that he didn’t ask a lot of questions. Joonghyuk sat the two of them down in their usual library corner, slapped a protein bar on the table, then pulled out his phone and stared at it like it the screen like it was the most interesting device he’s ever seen. 

Dokja definitely inhaled the protein bar in far fewer bites than recommended by the FDA. He had skipped dinner last night, after all. A wistful memory of his cabinet of Cup Noodles surfaced in his mind. Dokja relished in the quiet for a while. He took the time to ground himself in this situation.

Eventually, the tears stop. 

“I really didn’t plan to sleep there last night,” Dokja broke the silence, because he knew that he owed Joonghyuk some kind of explanation. 

Joonghyuk quirked an eyebrow. 

“You keep a sleeping bag on your back seat.”
“I like camping.” 

“Inside your car?”
“Possibly,” Dokja shrugged. “Anyway, you’re probably excited for Christmas vacation, right? Have you bought your sister a present yet?” 

“Of course I have,” Joonghyuk sounded offended by the mere notion that he would wait until seven days before the holiday to buy his beloved sibling a gift.”No, wait. Kim Dokja.”

“Hey, don’t worry about me,” Dokja said. “It was just a bit of exhaustion and a nightmare.”

Joonghyuk met Dokja’s eyes with a fervor he’s never seen before. It was uncomfortable, to have someone really, truly look at him. Yet, Dokja couldn’t tear his eyes away. Joonghyuk was searching for something inside of him, and Dokja wanted to rip his heart from his chest to show Joonghyuk every piece of it. 

“Hi, Joonghyuk.”
Everything shattered to pieces.

Seolhwa placed a neatly wrapped box on the table, right beside the wrapper of the protein bar.

“I know that we have plans after the break but, I wanted to give you this.” 

Dokja pulled the cap down further on his head until it hid most of his face. 

“I should get to class,” Dokja said. He threw a wink at Joonghyuk and took off out of the library, desperate to escape before he could start crying again. 

Chapter Text

“I can’t just give out a student’s address,” Mrs P. sighed. 

Joonghyuk slid a five dollar bill across the teacher’s desk. 

“Is this a joke?” 

“Can’t you just tell me?”
The teacher clicked her tongue. Joonghyuk reached for another five dollars from his pocket. Ten dollars for something he could simply ask Dokja definitely wasn’t worth it, but Dokja is a mousey bastard who turned every simple interaction into a mind game. If this could bypass some of the midsection of this story arc, Joonghyuk was ready to jump at it in an instant. 

“And you want to know his address because?” Mrs. P asked. 

Obviously, because Joonghyuk is sixty percent sure that Dokja is living in his car. However, he can’t tell a staff member this, because it would probably end with a visit from CPS and Joonghyuk knew that Dokja doesn’t need that right now. 

“I have some extra homework for him,” he lied. Badly. 

Mrs P. got this knowing look on her face, like she just figured out Joonghyuk’s entire life story and he was a man of pure evil. 

“Can’t you give the kid a break during Christmas? He’ll work himself to death.” 

“What?” Joonghyuk asked, then it clicked. “Hey, I’m not like those illiterate losers who use him to get into college.” 

But was he really any different? Sure, he spent enough time with Dokja outside of commissioning him for letters that any normal person would consider him friends. What he asked Dokja to do wasn’t academically unethical, but Joonghyuk knew that it was a hundred times more dishonest. Whatever, he had bigger things to worry about right now.

“Then what?” Mrs P. raised both of her eyebrows. 

Joonghyuk clenched his teeth, “We’re friends, I guess. He hasn’t been… feeling well recently. I just wanted to stop by and see him.” 

“Why can’t you ask him for it?” 

Joonghyuk’s mouth snapped shut. There was a beat of silence, no longer than a second, then Mrs P. sighed and pulled open the cabinet on her desk. She shuffled through a few files, then wrote something on a post-it. Joonghyuk felt his heartbeat in his fingertips. 

56 Avonton Rd. Unit 3

“Thank you,” Joonghyuk sighed. 

Recently, Joonghyuk saw Dokja every time he closed his eyes. Joonghyuk was a person who prided himself on remaining calm (or as Dokja would call it, “An unsettling neutrality, did you eat Switzerland, Yoo Joonghyuk? Is Switzerland safe?”) in all situations. So far, he’s only encountered two variables that cause his steeled resolve to falter: his younger sister, Mia, and his… well, Dokja. His Dokja, if you must. God, there it was again. His resolve, crumbled to dust.

Anyway, here’s the thing: Joonghyuk walked to school every morning. It was good exercise, especially in the off season. It helped him burn any lingering calories. Yesterday, he walked to school. He went through the school parking lot, and while he went through this parking lot yesterday, Joonghyuk walked past Dokja’s piece of shit wagon. 

Except, when he walked past, he noticed that Dokja was still in his car. Now, Joonghyuk didn’t often care for others' business, but he thought it was only logical to meet Dokja at his car, so that they could walk to the library together, where they both would have ended up anyway. Joonghyuk slowed down the speed of his steps, so that when Dokja eventually did get out of his car, Joonghyuk could simply be in his immediate vicinity and greet him casually. 

This plan was foolproof, but Joonghyuk had slowed his pace down to snail speed, shuffling his feet mere inches every second, and Dokja still had not exited his car.  

God, does Joonghyuk have to do everything himself? 

He stomped towards Dokja’s wagon. But, when he raised a hand to knock on the driver’s window, Joonghyuk’s arm was frozen in place. 

He hadn’t been able to erase what he saw from his mind since. Dokja was curled into himself, a hand gripping at his chest while his entire body shook. His eyes were shut gently, but his eyebrows were knit together in a deep frown. He was asleep, but he was obviously experiencing some kind of nightmare that had him in agony. 

Joonghyuk had felt nothing but panic pumping through his veins as he wrenched on the locked door handle repeatedly. He banged on the window and called out until Dokja woke up. 

What haunted Joonghyuk the most was Dokja’s face after he awoke. Tears clung onto his long eyelashes and fell almost gracefully down his cheeks. His narrow lips trembled with every word he spoke, and his eyes were flooded with misery. 

Every one of Joonghyuk’s idle moments was plagued with images of his face, and he had to do something about it.
Now that he had Dokja’s address, maybe going there and confirming that Dokja is living with a stationary head over his roof will be enough to quell his concern. He’s been typing the directions to the apartment into his phone every day for a week now, and Mia was spending the night at her friend's house, so he might as well make the trip while he had a free night.

Joonghyuk rummaged through his garage until he found his bike that had been put in storage for the winter months, and took off towards Dokja’s alleged apartment. 

Avonton road is quite a ways away from both the school and Joonghyuk’s house, so it makes sense why Dokja drove to school every day. Previously, Joonghyuk had taken Dokja as a person who enjoyed destroying the atmosphere with carbon emissions, since it would lead to his own imminent demise earlier. 

Joonghyuk found the apartment complex to be quite run down-- it definitely wasn’t the nicest place in town. Layers of grime tinted the white walls beige, while discarded garbage and broken furniture littered the parking lot. The smell of cigarettes lingered in the air. At least Dokja’s car was parked in front of the building, it was promising evidence that he did, in fact, live somewhere that was not his car. 

Joonghyuk leaned his bicycle against the trunk of Dokja’s wagon, then knocked on what was supposed to be Dokja’s apartment door. Joonghyuk glanced at the time on his phone, it read 9:56 pm. Dokja’s parents surely wouldn’t be asleep already, right? Even if they were, Dokja would definitely be awake. 

Dokja looked absolutely bewildered when he opened the door. Joonghyuk felt a smirk tug at his lips, but he maintained his composure. 

“Yoo Joonghyuk?” 

“Kim Dokja.” 

Joonghyuk almost forgot to tear his eyes from Dokja’s face to try and get a glimpse inside his apartment. From what he could see past Dokja’s shoulder, it was barren but still liveable. 

“What are you doing here?” Dokja asked nervously. 

Of course, Joonghyuk came prepared. He zipped open his backpack and shoved Dokja a stack of tupperware into Dokja’s arms.

“Banchan,” Joonghyuk lied. “We had a lot of leftovers.”

Dokja was slack-jawed at the amount of food Joonghyuk just handed him, “Hey, this is amazing. How did you find all these ingredients? I always knew that you were a good person deep down, Joonghyuk-ah.”

Joonghyuk had thrown together the dishes as a pathetic excuse to snoop on Dokja’s living situation, he really hadn’t expected this kind of reaction from him. 

“It’s nothing,” Joonghyuk shrugged. “I should get going, I just wanted to drop those off.” 

Dokja glanced behind Joonghyuk, “Hey, did you bike here? Let me give you a ride home.” 

Dokja tossed a pair of keys at Joonghyuk, who caught them in his hands. 

“Start the car and throw your bike in the trunk, I’ll be out in a minute,” Dokja grinned. 

For some reason, Joonghyuk’s stomach did a backflip. It was probably just the relief from learning that Dokja was in possession of a home. 

The drive back to Joonghyuk’s house is quiet. The streets were illuminated by strings of colorful lights, and Dokja hummed to a few seconds of every Christmas carol that played on the radio. Joonghyuk smiled gently at the comfortable silence.
“Yoo Joonghyuk, what’s with that weird look on your face?” Dokja asked, as he pulled into Joonghyuk’s driveway. 

“Nothing,” Joonghyuk mumbled.
Dokja got out of the car and opened his trunk. Joonghyuk noticed a couple snowflakes dusting the top of Dokja’s hair. When did it start snowing? 

Momentarily, Dokja looked down. A single snowflake settled on his long eyelashes. Joonghyuk found himself leaning in, wanting to examine the pattern on each leg of the snowflake. 

Dokja looked up, “Yoo Joonghyuk?” 

The snowflake melted away. 

Joonghyuk took a step back, feeling heat rise to the apples of his cheeks. 

“Merry Christmas, Dokja,” he said, hastily grabbing his bike from the trunk and marching towards his house. He felt the blush crawl down his neck. 

Joonghyuk slammed his front door behind him and watched from the window as Dokja’s wagon reversed out of his otherwise empty driveway. 

Chapter Text

Some time after school started back up, Dokja brought Joonghyuk to the community center. He’s had a genius epiphany, one that might save Joonghyuk from his upcoming date with Seolhwa. It’s a solution that combines both his immaculate literary prowess and ability to conjure a good metaphor, and Joonghyuk’s decent athleticism. Read: Ping-pong. 

“It’s called table tennis,” Joonghyuk corrected. 

“Hey, should I just leave? Where’s the respect for your teacher?”
Joonghyuk mumbled some string of unintelligible words that Dokja took as a “no”. 

“Anyway,” Dokja continued. He picked up a paddle. “Conversation is like ping-pong.”
Dokja served the ball across the table, “I hit one, then you--”
Joonghyuk harnessed the power of a thousand gods and slammed the ball back towards Dokja with so much force that it changed the direction of the wind. It flew past Dokja and hit the ground. 

“Sorry,” Joonghyuk grumbled. 

Dokja doesn’t falter. He sets his paddle back on the ping-pong table and pulls a pen and old receipt out of his pocket. He scribbled a word on the paper and folded it in half, then slid it across the table towards Joonghyuk. 

“Reconnaissance?” Joonghyuk asked, frowning as he unfolded the receipt. 

Dokja snapped his fingers, “That’s right. If we learn everything we can about Seolhwa, we can make sure that you’ll always have something to talk about with her.” 

“That’s ridiculous,” Joonghyuk crumpled the receipt in his hand.
“I am ridiculous,” Dokja said. “And you asked for my help.”

Fornite(?) Gamer [10:28]

A group of people are going to the movies tomorrow

Fornite(?) Gamer [10:28]

She will be there too. We should go

Me [10:29]

which movie? and what time?

Fornite(?) Gamer [10:30]

The name of the movie is Valley. 

Fornite(?) Gamer [10:30]

The screening is at 4:30

Fornite(?) Gamer [10:30]

I’ll meet you at your car by 3:45

Me [10:31]

aren’t all of your friends going?

Fornite(?) Gamer [10:31]

So?

Me [10:31]

you can sit with them, i’ll be fine on my own

Me [10:31]

not like we can talk during the movie anyway

Me [10:48]

yoo joonghyuk?

Apparently, Joonghyuk was more guilt-ridden than Dokja had initially thought, and arrived at Dokja’s car well before 3:45 the next day. 

“Hey, don’t you think this is going too far?” Dokja asked him. “It’s not like I’m billing you for this, you’re not contractually obliged to ditch your friends for me.” 

Joonghyuk only sneered at him and climbed into the passenger seat, yanking at the seatbelt almost violently before it clicked into place. 

Dokja drove to the movie theater in silence. In face of the menacing aura that Joonghyuk was emitting right now, Dokja, being the coward he was, surrendered all attempts to make conversation. 

“Yoo Joonghyuk, last chance to escape,” Dokja said as he pulled into the parking lot. 

“Kim Dokja,” Joonghyuk finally broke his still form and turned his head to glare at Dokja. “Did you ever think that I would just rather spend my time with you?”

“Oh,” Dokja replied, pretty dumbly. “Okay.”

It wasn’t really an answer to Joonghyuk’s question, but judging by the knowing look on his face, Joonghyuk wasn’t looking for one in the first place. Dokja was baffled enough that he didn’t bother with his pretend-protestations when Joonghyuk paid for his movie ticket and food for the both of them. 

Dokja had never really realized how introverted Joonghyuk was until they purposely avoided the group of students from their school and sat in one of the further-back rows of the movie theater. At least they could easily observe Seolhwa from where they were. (In a non-creepy romantic kind of way. It was all for the romance, in the end.) 

January 8 Log- Location: Movie Theater

• Likes: Action movies

• Likes: Skittles

• Dislikes: Popcorn?

• Likes: Sitting in the very first row of the theater (doesn’t her neck get sore?)

Notable events:

• Yoo Joonghyuk paid for my movie ticket

• We shared a bag of popcorn and once our hands brushed because we both reached for it at the same time and his hands were surprisingly soft? I thought that they would be all rough and calloused from rugby and video games but it also makes sense that he has good self care because he’s definitely a hygienic person

• Seolhwa sat beside Anna Croft during the movie. They must be friends

• When the movie was over Joonghyuk set a highscore on almost every machine in the arcade

• Then we played air hockey for like an hour and I lost every time but I kept challenging him anyway

• Seolhwa held the door for a group of strangers as she left the theater. Maybe she can teach that guy some manners. 

• Joonghyuk also introduced me to his friends and they seemed nice but also kind of loud and I knew that he hung out with the popular crowd but it doesn’t seem like he really enjoys it? 

• Seolhwa got a ride with Anna Croft. Maybe she doesn’t have a license/car or maybe she’s environmentally conscious?  

January 11 Log- Location: Grocery Store

• Likes: Spinach, garlic, everything bagels

• Dislikes: Cup Noodles, apparently. She skipped over them entirely. 

• Likes: Minty toothpaste

Notable events:

• Yoo Joonghyuk called instant ramyeon a culinary disgrace

• I briefly considered ditching Yoo Joonghyuk in the grocery store after he insulted my favorite food

• Seolhwa brings her own reusable bags to the grocery store. Definitely environmentally conscious

• Seolhwa removed the stems of the bell peppers before weighing them. I suppose that does save some money. 

• It seems like Yoo Joonghyuk does a lot of the cooking in his house. 

• Apparently, his parents get a lot of Korean ingredients imported. 

• I hate rich people. 

• Did Joonghyuk make that food he gave me during christmas break then?

• I want to be a rich person. 

• Seolhwa held the door open for another stranger. I think that she might be too polite for that guy. He would probably taint her with his brooding introvertedness.

January 17 Log- Location: School Library

• Likes: Classic novels 

• Dislikes: Non-fiction, I would guess. The entire section is covered in an inch of dust.

Notable events: 

• Yoo Joonghyuk asked to see these notes. I locked them behind multiple password walls.

• Seolhwa has good taste in books, nothing too presumptuous or lengthy. The type of things I should read. 

• Yoo Joonghyuk has apparently never checked out a book from the library during these three and a half years of highschool. No wonder his brain seems so mushy. 

• Seolhwa smiled at the librarian. She’s a pretty girl, it’s surprising that she doesn’t already have a boyfriend. 

• Maybe she already had a boyfriend then broke up with him once Joonghyuk started sending her letters. What a homewrecker. 

• I got an email telling me that I’m a finalist in three categories for the writing contest. Well, poetry never was my strong suit.

• Seolhwa was with Anna Croft again in the library. We should talk to her next. 

Anna Croft was skeptical, to say the least, of the charade that Dokja and Joonghuk tried to pull off a few days later. 

“Excuse me, we’re conducting a random poll on students in the school. Would you mind answering a few questions?” Dokja plastered on his shiniest smile. 

“So you can write it into an essay and sell it to Ricky Leishman for fifteen dollars? I’m good.”

Dokja smiled a bit wider. There was a reason he couldn’t stand Anna. 

“It’s for an article. I’m trying to start a school paper,” Dokja insisted.

“Fine.”

Anna sighed and rolled her eyes in what she probably thought was a sneaky act of defiance. At least Joonghyuk appeared to be ticked off by her behavior too, but that really wasn’t saying much. 

“What are your thoughts on internalized misogyny?” Dokja asked, at the exact same moment that Joonghyuk demanded, “What is Seolhwa’s favorite food?”

They both froze. 

“What are you doing?” Dokja hissed, after spinning Joonghyuk around so that their backs faced Anna. Not that it mattered, unless Anna Croft became suddenly fluent in Korean. 

“I’m good cop,” Joonghyuk said. 

“If you’re good cop, then why do you sound like dictator cop? You’re not even smiling.”

This was Dokja’s own fault. How could he have trusted the role of good cop in this most precise, delicate plan? Good cop/bad cop was a classic, and Joonghyuk was about to ruin this trope forever.

“Fine,” Joonghyuk bared his teeth like a rabid dog in what he must have thought was a smile. Dokja couldn’t help but laugh. 

“What the hell are you guys whispering about?” Anna asked. 

January 21 Log- Location: School Hallway (After Anna Croft Interrogation)

• Likes: Pasta, Anna Croft, Pursuing a career in medicine

• Dislikes: Trucks, team sports

Notable events:

• DO NOT LET YOO JOONGHYUK EVER BE GOOD COP AGAIN

• Joonghyuk has really white teeth

• Anna Croft is the worst why is Seolhwa friends with her oh my god

• Should I submit an application to start a school newspaper in case she cross-checks my story? 

• No, I’m a literary genius and will obviously never be denied. Then I would be stuck with another writing project I don’t have time for.

• Maybe I should teach Joonghyuk how to smile before his date

• God, the date is in three days

January 22 Log- Location: Outside the Lee family house (I know that sounds creepy. It’s for romance, I promise)

• Likes: Family dinners

• Dislikes: Eating with a fork. She’s the only one at the table with chopsticks. 

Notable events:

• How do stalkers get any enjoyment from this? I feel guilty even though her front window shows the entire dining room. 

• Joonghyuk is quieter than usual. He’s probably nervous for his date.

• I’ve never seen a family dinner, besides in dramas. 

• Yoo Joonghyuk has this look in his eye.

• It’s (evil?) (sad?)

• It’s longing. 

• He really wants this. Her. He really wants her. 

• I have to make sure that this date is successful.

• My stomach just rumbled. Kill me now.

“Should we get something to eat?” Joonghyuk asked. They only spent around ten minutes parked in front of Seolhwa’s house, but it seemed to be enough for the both of them to feel like complete lowlifes. 

“Sure,” Dokja agreed, all too happy to kick his car into drive.

“We can go to my house,” Joonghyuk suggested offhandedly.

Would Dokja be meeting his parents? His sister? Dokja pushed down any nervousness that flared up in his chest. It wasn’t a big deal, friends do it all the time, don’t they? 

Dokja wouldn’t know, considering that his only friendship stemmed from an argument on a web novel discussion forum. 

There were around a dozen cars parked outside of Joonghyuk’s house by the time they arrived, and Joonghyuk looked just as confused as Dokja felt.
“If your parents are hosting an event I don’t have to…” 

“It’s fine,” Joonghyuk declared. “It’s my house too.”

Dokja felt a sheen layer of sweat form on his forehead the moment he walked into the house. 

Dokja greeted Joonghyuk’s parents with a polite bow, “Nice to meet you.”

Both of his parents had blinding smiles, but there was something missing.

“Joonghyuk-ah, why didn’t you ever tell us that you had a Korean friend?” Joonghyuk’s mother asked. 

“I have told you,” Joonghyuk said, a little bit tiredly.

“Now if only he could find himself a girlfriend,” Joonghyuk’s father remarked with a sigh.

Dokja choked out a tense laugh, while Joonghyuk stayed silent.
“Aren’t I right Dokja?” Joonghyuk’s father said. “Surely, he’s got a lot of admirers at school?”

“He does,” Dokja replied. It’s far from a lie. 

Both of his parents excused themselves quite quickly after, anxious to get back to their guests that filled out the large house. Dokja and Joonghyuk stood awkwardly near the door for a few seconds, glancing at the black-tie attire on people around them. 

Joonghyuk’s face cracked a bit after the brief conversation with his parents. Any normal person wouldn’t be able to detect it, but Dokja’s put in a good amount of time attempting to read this specific face. It wasn’t obvious by any conventional means, but Joonghyuk looked hurt. 

Dokja wasn’t sure what upset him (RE: Not having any parental relationships) but it’s probably not a good idea to stay in this house much longer. 

“My place?” Dokja asked. 

Joonghyuk nodded, then turned and made a quick dash further into the house. When he returned, he was holding something under his right arm. With his left, he grabbed Dokja’s wrist and rushed back through his front door. 

  “Why are we so bad at being honest about our feelings? Is it because we’re so exhausted from living them that we don’t have the time to share them?” --Baek Sehee

“Sorry, the heating is broken,” Dokja lied, as he unlocked the front door of the apartment. “Make yourself at home, I’ll ask my neighbor to borrow a space heater.”

In the six minutes it took to persuade his neighbor to lend him the space heater, Joonghyuk started to cook what smelled like the best thing to ever grace this apartment. 

It was like God said, ‘sorry for your entire childhood and also Anna Croft,’ then condensed all of those sentiments into a meal. 

“Where did you get all this?” Dokja asked, plugging the space heater into the wall and pointing it at Joonghyuk’s feet. 

“I grabbed it from my kitchen before we left,” Joonghyuk shrugged.
Dokja gestured to the fridge, “You’re really missing out on my selection of ingredients.”

Joonghyuk raised an eyebrow and swung the fridge door open, “There are three eggs and a bottle of soy sauce.”

Dokja beamed.
Joonghyuk sighed, “The eggs will be useful, I guess.” 

Joonghyuk, being the fastidious bastard he was, had all of the ingredients cut and prepared the night before. Less than twenty minutes passed before Joonghyuk was cracking eggs into the pot of soondubu jjigae. Dokja put the leftover rice Joonghyuk brought in a bowl with a splash of water and covered it with a plate, before throwing it in the microwave. 

Dokja and Joonghyuk sat on cushions on the floor to enjoy the meal. Dokja, who felt a good amount of appreciation towards the guy right now, let Joonghyuk use his spoon. He could make do with his remaining fork and pair of chopsticks. It was warm and spicy in all the best of ways, and Dokja can’t remember the last time he scarfed down food so quickly. 

They moved to sitting on the couch under a blanket sometime after, while the food began to settle in their stomachs and weigh their consciousnesses into something more tired, more relaxed than usual. 

“Hey,” Joonghyuk said, eyes fixed on Dokja with an emotion that he didn’t quite recognize. “Why do you live here?” 

Dokja huffed out a laugh, “What kind of question is that? Was there cobalt in the food?”
“It’s just that… you seem kind of lonely in this town.” 

Dokja sighed, and finally brought himself to meet Joonghyuk’s eyes. 

“I was nine when I moved here from Korea, with my parents. My dad got a job on one of the fishing boats.” 

Dokja noticed an eyelash on the bridge of Joonghyuk’s nose. Without thinking, he tilted his head up and blew it away. Often, when he’s with Joonghyuk, Dokja either has his mind racing at a thousand miles a minute or he has it completely turned off. 

“Where are your parents now?” Joonghyuk asked quietly.

Dokja bit his bottom lip and tucked his knees up to his chest, readjusting the blanket to better cover the both of them, “You don’t know?”

Joonghyuk shook his head. Dokja felt a little bit lighter at the denial. Maybe this wasn’t all pity-driven.

“They’re not here.”

It was the closest thing to the full truth that he could manage to say.

“My grandmother immigrated here,” Joonghyuk took it upon himself to continue the conversation. 

He was paying Dokja back. A truth for a truth. 

“She married the wealthiest man in town, and then had my dad. He went to college back in Korea, and met my mom. Then they had me.”

“Hey,” Dokja tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling. “To be honest Joonghyuk, you seem kind of lonely here too.”

“It used to be worse,” Joonghyuk admitted. 

What changed? Bit at the tip of Dokja’s tongue, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask. A truth for a truth. 

“You’ve got your sister, right?” he asked instead. “I’ve always wanted a sibling.”
Dokja used to think about it often, if he would be different if he had someone to protect, someone to protect him during his younger years. If he had someone to share the burden with, to help him bear the pain. 

It was a selfish thought, Dokja knew that. Really, he was just relieved that no one else had to be subject to the same parents as he did. 

“That’s a bit ironic, no?” Joonghyuk said, in an obvious reference to his name.

“I suppose it is. Let me live vicariously through someone less cursed than me. Tell me about your sister,” Dokja asked.
Joonghyuk was silent for a moment, the soft fan of the space heater filled the apartment. Then, he began to speak. 

“Her name is Mia. She’s in the fifth grade now…” 

A fuzzy exhaustion weighed down on Dokja as Joonghyuk continued to ramble on. Maybe he was already dreaming, there’s no way that Joonghyuk would normally talk this much. How long has it been? Thirty seconds? Two minutes? Ten?

Joonghyuk’s voice was red-brown and all honey tones, completely lacking the usual sharp points and harsh edges. It resonated through Dokja’s ears and settled warmly in his chest. He sank further into the love seat and closed his eyes. The cushions that were usually firm and scratched at his skin, seemed to feel softer.

Dokja attempted to count the number of words that leave Joonghyuk’s mouth, but much like counting sheep, or counting the number of seconds that Dokja could hold his breath while he hid in the closet from his father at night, Dokja passed out eventually.

He woke up with the side of his head resting against something much firmer than the cushion of the loveseat. Much more mobile too, as Joonghyuk’s shoulder raised and lowered gently with his every breath. He’s sound asleep. 

Dokja couldn’t see any sunlight pouring in from behind the yellowed curtains yet, and made the selfish decision to close his eyes again. For the first time in six years, Dokja did not only sleep inside his apartment, but he rested. 

Chapter Text

“Ready?” Dokja challenged. 

A single bead of sweat rolls off of his forehead. The tension in the air was thick, thick enough to be cut with a knife. Joonghyuk nodded silently and raised his left hand. His muscles tensed with every motion, flexing and retracting purposefully. 

Dokja twirled the paddle in his hand. The world slowed to a still as he exhaled. 

“Hello,” Joonghyuk tapped the ping-pong ball with his paddle, sending it gracefully over to Dokja’s side of the table. 

“Hey,” Dokja replied. He countered with a classic… hit of the ball back towards Joonghyuk. Whatever, he doesn’t have the time to study ping-pong just for narrative sake. It was swift and smooth, an easy pass for most people, but then again, Joonghyuk wasn’t most people. 

Joonghyuk exuded determination as he opened his mouth again, “How was your day?”

He swung the paddle, it made contact with the ball, but it was clumsier than his last hit.

“It was fine, thank you for asking,” Dokja smirked, sending a short pass back. 

Joonghyuk froze. The ping-pong ball dribbled off the table and rolled into the corner.

Dokja sighed. “You really couldn’t think of anything to say?” 

Joonghyuk frowned in an expression that was almost sheepish, “You didn’t also ask me how my day was. We never covered that.”

“Not everyone will ask that,” Dokja pointed out. 

“Anyone with manners would.”

“Would you ask?”

Joonghyuk’s silence spoke volumes. 

“Okay,” Dokja rolled his shoulders a few times. They had time for a few more rounds. With Joonghyuk’s big date set for tomorrow, he could use all the practice available. 

“Is your neck giving you problems again?” Joonghyuk asked, serving the ping-pong ball. 

Dokja shrugged and returned the ball, “It’s not worse than usual. Sleeping on the couch last night didn’t help too much either.” 

Joonghyuk swung his paddle, “Ergonomics are important. A lot of professional gamers can develop carpal tunnel if they’re careless.”

Without trying, they’ve fallen into a seamless rhythm of hitting the ball back and forth. 

“Is that what you want to do? Professional gaming?”

“It’s something that I would enjoy.” Joonghyuk paused, “My father has other aspirations for me.”

“That sounds like a difficult situation,” Dokja said. 

He wished that he could provide Joonghyuk with more comforting words, but this is the one place where he’s at a loss. 

“What were your parents like?” 

Dokja fumbled his next hit, but still managed to send the ball across the table. 

He shrugged and quirked his lips a bit helplessly, “Young. Hardworking. Dead. Incarcerated.” 

Joonghyuk looked a little bit floored at the confession, but, to Dokja’s dismay, did not sway from the subject. 

“What were they like before that?”

Dokja caught the ping-pong ball in his hand and wiped his expression, “They weren’t good people. It’s fine.” 

Joonghyuk lowered his eyes to the ground in something similar to guilt. 

“Let’s start again,” Dokja served the ball again.

“Hello,” Joonghyuk said.

“Hi.”

“How are you?”

“I’m doing well, how are you?” 

“I am also well. I was looking forward to meeting you here today.”

“Joonghyuk.”

“Yes?”

“Why do you like Seolhwa?”

Joonghyuk tensed up. Dokja didn’t think that he'd ever seen him look so outwardly uncomfortable. Come on, Joonghyuk. You can go off script. Think of something to say.

“She’s pretty. And smart and nice, I guess.” 

Dokja wasn’t sure what he expected from this personification of a piece of granite standing in front of him, but he couldn’t help but feel a little bit crestfallen at the answer. 

“That’s it?”

Joonghyuk glared, “Why else could I like her?”

Dokja’s mouth opened before his brain could catch up, “The way she always meets your eyes when you speak. How she bites her bottom lip when she’s focused, or… how she pretends not to care, but you can tell that she does. How she’s effortlessly beautiful, and she always makes time for you. The way that she’s quiet, but you can read the thousands of intentions behind every word that she speaks.” 

Joonghyuk stared silently, eyes wide. Fuck. 

The ping-pong ball rolled past him and dribbled on the floor.

And maybe God is real, or a god at least, because Han Sooyoung miraculously decided to call Dokja’s cell phone at this exact moment.

Dokja flashed Joonghyuk a helpless smile and answered the phone, “Hello?”

“Good morning loverboy,” she said. “How are the pits of hell?”

“It’s great, actually. Should I greet your entire past and future demon lineage while I’m here?”

“That’s the highest compliment you could pay me,” she replied, sounding wicked as ever. 

“What do you need? I’m in the middle of something.”

"What could you possibly be doing at seven in the morning?”

“It’s the afternoon here,” Dokja reminded her. 

“If you say so,” Han Sooyoung replied, disbelieving. “I need you to edit one of my essays.”

“Why?” Han Sooyoung was quite a talented writer in her own right. Especially when it comes to written Korean, there’s probably not a lot he could contribute. 

“Okay, it’s not an essay. It’s my English homework. You know that I’m terrible at that shit.” 

Dokja pinched the bridge of his nose, “Fine, email it to me.” 

By the time Dokja hung up the phone and turned toward Joonghyuk again, that guy managed to wipe the stunned look off of his face. They ended up leaving shortly after that, after Dokja fired off a slew of excuses ranging from homework to the fact that Joonghyuk will need to be well-rested for tomorrow. 

When the date day (D-Day, Dokja abbreviated in a harmous combination of semantics and wit) finally arrived, Dokja wasn’t as full of dread as he thought he would be. Sure, the day passed in such a blur that he couldn’t recall if he ate or slept or even took a breath, but it wasn’t anything he hadn’t dealt with before. Dokja avoided his phone for most of the day, despite the numerous texts and phone calls from Han Sooyoung inquiring about his well-being. He picked up his phone only once, to wish Joonghyuk good luck and provide him with some last minute tips. His phone buzzed almost immediately with a reply after he sent the message, but Dokja couldn’t bring himself to read it. Instead, he turned back to his pile of commissioned essays and began typing. After all, if he couldn’t give himself the time to think, he wouldn’t be able to realize the scope that he has screwed himself over. 

A sort of fog came to settle in Dokja’s mind, fumigating any hope that still lingered after the few long years of his life. He experienced a bit of closeness, not stuck his nose in a bucket of cocaine. People have kicked worse addictions before. Even when Joonghyuk inevitably moved on from him, he was capable of learning to live again. Dokja had been living as a broken person for a very long time, and though he will never regain every part of himself that he’s lost, he could heal what remained. 

Evil Spawn [12:01]

holy shit

Evil Spawn [12:01]

i can’t read most of this shit on the website but this is your name right

Screenshot_354252.jpg

Evil Spawn [12:01]

i know that you’re ignoring me because you’re depressed over the date but

Evil Spawn [12:01]

kim dokja 

Evil Spawn [12:02]

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Evil Spawn [12:02]

don’t tell me that you already fell asleep 

Evil Spawn [12:02]

kim dokja i swear to god

“Congratulations,” was the first thing Joonghyuk said when they met in the school parking lot the next morning. 

Dokja blinked a few times at Joonghyuk’s blank expression. 

“Kim Dokja, are you still asleep?”

“I don’t know what you’re congratulating me on,” Dokja shrugged. 

The date must have gone well, Joonghyuk must be congratulating him on his teaching skills. Joonghyuk, his disciple that he raised from nothing but glares and awkward silences, managed to carry a conversation for an entire two hours. 

“Have you not checked your phone since last night?”

Dokja shook his head, before fishing his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans. Obviously, he first swiped away the myriad of KakaoTalk messages from Han Sooyoung that stacked up over the past day. When those two-hundred-something notifications were gone from his screen, one remained. 

E-mail [12:00]

Dear Dokja Kim, 

We are delighted to announce that you have been awarded standing positions in two categories of the Star Stream Writing Contest. Your talents have been recognized through your submission of the following pieces: 

The Importance of Mark Twain in the Development of Public Morality (Essay category- Third Place Runner-up!)

An Open Letter to Those Who Have Taught Me Love (Open category- First Place Winner!)

We sincerely hope that… 

“Oh my god,” Dokja said.

Joonghyuk had the gall to look smug, “Congratulations.”

“This is insane,” Dokja said, because he really didn’t know what else to do. 

He was actually able to pay for college next year, without taking out some insane number of student loans that would cripple him financially in later years. 

“Is it?” Joonghyuk shrugged like he had expected Dokja to win from the beginning. Or because he didn’t really care. It was a toss up. 

A faint feeling washed over Dokja, like he had stood up too quickly after laying down for a long time. It took a moment to register in his mind as relief. 

“Hey, Yoo Joonghyuk,” Dokja felt less tension in his face already. His smile was genuine. “Do you wanna go somewhere? I don’t really feel like school today.” 

“No,” Joonghyuk replied, even though he had already turned around and began making a beeline towards Dokja’s car.

After a quick stop for coffee (it’s no surprise that Joonghyuk, at the ripe age of seventeen, was drinking his black), they spent a good amount of time driving mindlessly, and Dokja doesn’t even have to worry about how much gas he’s burnt through. He had never really taken the time to appreciate the beauty of the town that he lived in, often too distracted by burdens much too heavy for him to carry. Dokja was not a person to appreciate the charms that life has to offer, he preferred to chug along bearing a tunnel vision to the things around him.

Thick layers of snow swept over the grounds and collected on every tree branch. The sky was cloudy, but offered a sense of reliability in its monotony. Dokja had never been a winter person, but he had to admit that the scene was quite lovely.

It’s lovely, but Dokja can’t stop his eyes from drifting away from the scenery and towards Joonghyuk’s (seemingly) serene expression, which he found a million times more captivating.

At some point, he stopped the car at some cliffside viewing point beside the ocean. He exited the car alongside Joonghyuk and peered over the edge of the cliff. It was a long drop down if he fell, with only a small sandbank to break his fall before the undertow of the waves would pull him away. 

“Don’t tell me that you’re scared of heights,” Joonghyuk said, coffee cup pressed to his lips.

Dokja took a step back from the ledge and puffed out his chest a bit, not that it could be seen under the thick layers of his winter coat.

“I’m not afraid at all,” he declared before catching a glimpse of a smile on Joonhyuk’s face from behind the cup. Was this bastard teasing him?

Dokja sighed, “By the way, how was the date?”

Honestly, he had completely forgotten about it for the past few hours. 

“It went well,” Joonghyuk said, then paused to struggle with his next words. “We… kissed.” 

Dokja’s heart all but dropped to his stomach. His brain did too, apparently, since he couldn’t stop himself from opening his mouth again. 

“How does that even happen?” he asked, a little bit bitter. 

“Kim Dokja, you really don’t know anything, do you?” 

Joonghyuk, being both a massive idiot and a massive tone of voice denier (“I simply do not believe in it,” he explained once to Dokja), proceeded to explain exactly how you initiate a kiss with someone. Dokja probably would have been better off flinging himself from this cliff at this moment.

“It begins with a look.” 

“A look?” Dokja asked.

“A look, it’s kind of like--” Joonghyuk made an expression almost identical to his ‘I’m bored’ face and his ‘I think that I could fight God and win’ face. 

“I don’t get it.”

“Fine. It’s not only about the look. It’s about everything.”

Dokja tilted his head to the side. As much as he wanted to end this conversation, he wanted to provoke Joonghyuk more, “Hey, are you sure that you really kissed her? It kind of sounds like you’re making this up.” 

It worked flawlessly, as Joonghyuk let out a frustrated huff. Satisfied with his result, Dokja began to scheme up a way to change the subject, though he was pulled out of his thoughts by the feeling of a hand on the side of his shoulder. 

Dokja looked up, and Joonghyuk was using the (few) inches he had on Dokja to tower over him in a position that should probably be menacing, but really had Dokja’s stomach doing flips. Joonghyuk’s other hand snaked into the front pocket of Dokja’s coat to encompass his own in a sunkissed warmth that only Joonghyuk could possess. 

“And then,” Joonghyuk said, tilting his head opposite to Dokja's. “The look.”

Joonghyuk met Dokja’s eyes, but this time, it felt as if Dokja was being seen for the first time. Dokja could hear his heartbeat in his ears. Joonghyuk’s breath was warm, drifting through the crisp January air as he spoke and fanning across Dokja’s face. He wanted to close his eyes. He wanted to reach up on his tippy-toes and close the distance between them. He wanted, more than he’s ever wanted anything in his pathetic life, he wanted to kiss Joonghyuk right here. 

Distantly, Dokja wondered, did he hold Seolhwa like this too? 

Right.

“Yeah, I think that I get it now,” Dokja broke free from the hold and took a few steps back. “Thanks.” 

There was something unreadable in Joonghyuk’s eyes, but Dokja didn’t have the courage to hold his gaze. If Joonghyuk was thinking about anything important, he doesn’t speak up about it, instead choosing to turn around and pick up his discarded coffee cup from the ground where he left it. 

“We can probably make it back to school in time for afternoon classes,” Dokja pointed out after checking the time.

“Beyond a certain point there is no return. This point has to be reached.” --Franz Kafka

Dokja’s foot was a bit heavy on the gas on the way back to school, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Maybe if he amassed enough unpaid speeding tickets, the law would send him back to Korea and he could live in Han Sooyoung’s basement with her collection of pet roaches, or whatever she kept down there. Anything could be better than this hell hole that Dokja seemed to keep digging himself deeper into. 

At least he’s pulled away from any love-life related drama when his modern literature class rolls around. Mrs P. greeted him with the largest smile he’s ever seen on her grouchy thousand year-old face. 

“I told you,” she grinned. 

“I should stop doubting you so often,” Dokja smiled back. 

“I’ll warn you now, they’re planning on awarding the prize to you on stage at the next spirit assembly.”

Dokja groaned, “Are they gonna give me one of those massive cheque?”

Mrs P.’s face fell, clearly telling Dokja the answer without needing to speak a single word. 

“Veto it, please Mrs P. Tell them that I won’t show up if they try to pull that,” Dokja begged. 

“What, am I your attorney?” 

Dokja pasted on his most pathetic facial expression before pleading with her again.

“Fine, now go sit down. I have to start class,” she agreed with a sigh. 

For the few weeks leading up to his grand coronation for winning the writing contest, Dokja tried to keep his head down at school. After spending so much time with Joonghyuk, people who he didn’t even know started to notice him, and now that Joonghyuk was probably going to dump their friendship on the side of the road, he should probably start distancing himself to not let his social status take a complete pitfall. 

Subsequently, Dokja started avoiding Joonghyuk. It was easier in theory than in practice, since they didn’t share any classes or mutual friends, but it wasn’t until Dokja made an effort not to see him, that he realized how intertwined Joonghyuk had become in his life. 

Joonhyuk was a nod in the hallways, a lunchbox placed in his locker, a bag of rugby equipment stored in the trunk of his car and a kick in the shin as they sat in their corner of the library. 

Dokja was mortified. How could he be stupid enough to rely so heavily on one person? 

Days blurred into nights, and Dokja’s birthday passed without much fanfare apart from a thousand texts from Han Sooyoung and a thermostat of seaweed soup left in his locker from Joonghyuk. He hasn’t had a real conversation with that guy since the kiss… tutorial, but Dokja has vowed to get rid of any feelings he might harbor for Joonghyuk before continuing their friendship. With boundaries. 

Another week passed before it was time for Dokja to hopefully not be publicly humiliated by a comically large cheque. Luckily for Dokja, end-of-week spirit assemblies were seen as a free pass to leave school two hours early, so the auditorium was decently barren. 

There were plenty of empty seats, and the school staff should have anticipated that, so why did they still reserve two seats in the first row “For Dokja Kim’s Parents” ?

It made Dokja feel a little bit sick to look at. This compounded on the general anxiety of walking out from behind the curtain that he was hiding behind and onto the stage in front of everyone’s eyes, had Dokja ready to hurl. 

Dokja was called out on stage before he had enough time to quell the trembling in his hand, but he pushed on with his largest smile and walked out on the stage to shake the Star Stream ambassador’s hand. There were a couple camera flashes from the audience, which made Dokja flinch slightly. Momentarily, he was brought back to the age of eleven, when reporters would swarm his aunt’s front door looking for a comment. Dokja shook his head clear from the thoughts, but his eyes still drifted towards the heinous reserved seats in the front row of the auditorium and-- oh. 

The sign is gone, and the seats are no longer empty. More specifically, one of them was filled by Joonghyuk, sitting with his legs crossed and a crumpled piece of paper in his left fist. The thrashing feeling in Dokja’s chest settled to something much more gentle. 

Dokja didn’t even burst into tears, moments later, when he was handed a cheque the size of a surfboard.

Chapter Text

“Yoo Joonghyuk.” Dokja called out, taking a few quick steps to catch up to Joonghyuk after the assembly ended. 

“Thanks,” Dokja said, gesturing to the crinkled paper in Joonghyuk’s hand. 

Joongyhuk hid the paper behind his back like it was a secret, “Don’t worry about it. Whoever put this up is an idiot.” 

Dokja waved his hand, “It’s fine. It’s probably better if no one realizes that I’m a glorified orphan, anyway.”

Joonghyuk, forever skeptical of Dokja’s humor, only frowned at the joke. 

“Congratulations, Dokja,” Seolhwa said as she approached from his right. 

“Thank you.” 

Seolhwa settled quite easily at Joonghyuk side, close enough that their shoulders touched. Dokja hoped that they didn’t notice how his eyes lingered at the contact.

“I really enjoyed your open category piece, I understood why it won first place. Writing a letter was very innovative, especially when portraying the thoughts of a character,” Seolhwa smiled.

Dokja felt as if he was drenched in a bucket of ice water after the remark, but put forward his most valiant effort to keep a strong face and wrap up this interaction as quickly as possible.

“It’s nothing that hasn’t been done before,” he replied. “I’m sure that both of you have plans since it’s Friday, I’ll see you later.” 

Okay, it wasn’t his most graceful exit, but Dokja was gay and angsty and desparate to have a moment where someone’s eyes weren’t on him, scrutinizing him for one reason or another.

He took refuge in the public library that evening, picking through the small collection of manga on the shelves. Anything that could numb his brain for a while would do. 

Fornite(?) Gamer [21:37]

Are you at home?

Me [21:37]

not right now

Me [21:37]

is something wrong

Me [21:37]

did you fall in the toilet again? :(

Fornite(?) Gamer [21:38]

Ok. Come pick me up then

Me [21:38]

why

Fortnite(?) Gamer [21:38]

Text me once you’re here

The last place Dokja expected to end up on this Friday night was at Anna Croft’s house. Dokja had never been to a party before, but the hellscape in front of him fit every description from books and movies that he’s ever seen. Loud music that thumped in his chest, people hanging off of every piece of furniture and staircase in sight, and a lot of booze. 

“Why are we here?” Dokja had to yell a bit over the music. “You hate Anna Croft.”

“Seolhwa asked me to come.” Joonghyuk replied. 

Dokja didn’t ask him why he’s not with Seolhwa, simply crediting it to Joonghyuk being shy. 

“This really isn’t my thing,” Dokja insisted for the nth time. 

“Relax, Kim Dokja.”

They ended up in a group with some of Joonghyuk’s other friends, who easily talked louder than the music. Dokja didn’t really understand what most of them talked about, with their words slurred and general sentence structure, sloppy. Honestly, Joonghyuk seemed like he was a weird combination of both tense and bored around them, only further fueling Dokja’s confusion on why he hung around with them in the first place. 

After a while, Joonghyuk nodded to something in the distance, “Look.”

Dokja followed his gaze until his eyes landed on a girl. Once they made eye contact, she walked over to him, “Hey, I sit beside you in algebra and I’ve always wanted to tell you that I like your style.” 

Dokja glanced down at his jeans and hoodie, before meeting her emerald green eyes again. This girl obviously knew a lot more about style than he did, with wavy blonde hair that fell past her shoulders and her lacy black dress. 

“Thanks,” he replied anyway. 

“Yeah, we’re playing beer pong- well, we’re using punch and not beer, but it’s in the garage if you want to join us,” she offered. 

Dokja turned to look at Joonghyuk like a small child may look at their parents when asking for permission to play with the neighbor. Joonghyuk only shrugged. He probably had his own schedule too, Seolhwa was bound to join his side eventually. 

Dokja learned very quickly that he has no talent for beer pong. Him and Uriel lost their first round quite pathetically. He was already tipsy from just a bit of the punch, but that was probably a combination of the miniscule amount of food he’s eaten today and the fact that he doesn’t drink. Uriel was kind and patient in giving him tips, but didn’t hesitate to tease him a bit whenever he missed the cup.
The second match was still a loss on their part, but much less pathetic than before. They managed to win the third one by a hair, but Dokja drank enough that the ping-pong ball in his hand doesn’t even remind him of Joonghyuk anymore. (It really doesn’t. He’s not bothered by it.)

Dokja excused himself from the game with a promise to speak with Uriel on Monday in algebra class, then finds his way back inside the house, nursing a half-empty cup of punch. He knocked over possibly two people as he stumbled into the house, feeling a little bit uncomfortable in his own skin. The room wasn’t spinning like it always did for characters in books and movies, but it definitely wasn’t stationary in Dokja’s eyes either. After several (or maybe few) minutes of searching, he found Joonghyuk across the kitchen.

“Yoo Joonghyuk,” he said. 

Dokja, not feeling the utmost confidence in the strength of his legs, tried to lean his weight back onto the counter in the same fashion as Joonghyuk, but he ended up pressed against something much more plush. It appeared that he ended up leaning against Joonghyuk’s side instead. Oh well. 

“Kim Dokja,” Joonghyuk replied, appearing to be much more steady on his feet than Dokja was. He glanced down at the cup in Dokja’s hands and back up at Dokja’s face. “Are you drunk?”

“Hey, I want you to know that I can tell that there’s alcohol in this cup. This is because I have had to pee much more often than would be necessary if I was drinking normal punch. So don’t think that I haven’t been monitoring this conversation.” 

Joonghyuk blinked a few times as he processed the soliloquy, “So how many cups have you monitored now?” 

Dokja went a little bit slack jawed at the question, realizing that he had, in fact, lost count. Joonghyuk grazed the back of his fingers along Dokja’s cheeks as he gently took the cup from his hand. His face must have gone completely red. Damn his Asian genes. 

“I didn’t drink,” Joonghyuk held his hand out. “I’ll take you home.” 

Dokja almost had his car keys placed in Joonghyuk’s palm before he paused.

“Do you even have a license?”

“Of course I do.”

“How have I never seen you drive?”

“Maybe you can buy me a car, now that you’re rich,” Joonghyuk said, grabbing the keys from Dokja’s fingers and wrapping an arm around Dokja’s waist? To stabilize him?

Dokja’s blush burnt a bit brighter than before. 

The full force of his last drink hit him as Joonghyuk was pulling away from the curb outside Anna Croft’s house. 

“Joonghyuk-ah,” Dokja pointed at a person on the sidewalk. “That guy looks exactly like Pororo.”

“No he doesn’t.”

Dokja grabbed Joonghyuk’s arm before they could drive away from the man, determined to have Joonghyuk share this enlightenment. 

“They have the same hat,” Dokja explained. 

Joonghyuk tilted his head to the side a bit, in the same way that a confused puppy would. 

“He’s not a penguin, though. And he has no orange goggles,” Joonghyuk said. 

Dokja sighed quite exasperatedly, and leaned back into the car seat. Joonghyuk began driving down the road. 

“You should have a bigger imagination,” Dokja advised him. 

“I don’t enjoy creating stories like you do.” 

Dokja scoffed, “I don’t create stories.”

“Your words aren’t making any sense. You won a writing contest.”

The street lights blurred together in Dokja’s eyes. “The open letter wasn’t written from a character. It was written from me.” 

“Don’t joke around.”

Dokja cracked the window a little bit, letting the late winter air blow across the skin on his face and push his bangs off his forehead. He took a deep breath in, letting the air settle in his heavy lungs.

“My parents always claimed that they loved me, but it was conditional. If I was quiet enough or kept my things tidy enough.”

“Kim Dokja,” Joonghyuk interrupted. 

“Yeah, you’ve probably read the letter. I couldn’t bring myself to write this, but I think I realized that love is more. It’s shallow and it makes you screwy.”

The car slowed down gently before making a right turn. Hey, Joonghyuk wasn’t too bad at this. 

“I’m sorry,” Dokja said, but he wasn’t quite sure why he’s apologizing. 

“It’s not your fault,” Joonghyuk replied, but Dokja couldn’t find it in himself to accept the words.  

“I’m selfish. I can’t look you in the eyes, but I can’t give you up.”

A pause. 

“You don’t have to.”

Dokja could feel his blinks grow slower with every second.

“Joonghyuk-ah.”

Joonghyuk raised an eyebrow. 

“Spring will be here soon. Make me pajeon on a day when it rains.”

“He is ugly and sad... but he is all love.” --Gabriel García Márquez

Dokja woke up under a duvet much too warm to be his own. The mattress under his back was pillowy and the pillow behind his head, soft. As much as Dokja wanted to close his eyes and surround himself in this cushioned heaven for a bit longer, he should probably figure out if he’s been kidnapped and locked up in the most comfortable hotel room ever built. 

He opened his eyes and sat up, letting a groan slip past his lips as he stretched his arms outward. The room around him is vaguely familiar, but it all clicked when Dokja turned to the tapping noise coming from the desk. There sat Joonghyuk, face scrunched together as he progressed through what looked like a very intense round of car soccer? He glanced back at Dokja momentarily as he peeled back the bedsheets and stood up. 

“You’re awake,” Joonghyuk said.

“Yup,” Dokja decided to steer the subject away from last night before it could even be brought up. “What are you playing?” 

He leaned over behind Joonghyuk to get a look at the monitor. 

“Rocket League,” Joonghyuk replied, and Dokja nodded like it had any significance to him. (It didn’t.) 

“I was under the impression that you exclusively played Five Nights at Freddy’s.”

Joonghyuk didn’t bother to turn around and glare at him, but Dokja felt the malice either way. 

It was a little bit therapeutic, watching Joonghyuk’s controlled movements as he played the game. His coordination was smooth and his team always seemed to win by a number of points that probably embarrassed their opposition.

They ended up spending the day lazing around Joonghyuk’s house, which was much quieter than usual with his parents off on some trip and Mia at her friend’s house. Joonghyuk fed him Advil and egg rice for a late breakfast, then continued to play video games while Dokja laid on his bed and read whatever books he could find in the back seat of his car. Spending time with Joonghyuk is easy, so easy that Dokja almost forgot why he deprived himself of this pleasant bliss for the past weeks. At some point, Joonghyuk plucked the book from Dokja’s hands and replaced it with some kind of video game controller.

“Hey, my page number--” Dokja protested, but Joonghyuk had already shut the cover. 

“You’ll find it again,” Joonghyuk replied, choosing the multiplayer option on the screen.

Joonghyuk tilted his monitor to the side so that they could both sit on the edge of the bed. His mattress is soft enough that even though they didn’t sit close together, it dipped under their weight and pushed them close enough that their thighs touched. Joonghyuk doesn’t seem to be bothered by it, so Dokja selfishly relishes in the warm press of Joonghyuk’s leg against his own. Consistent as ever, Joonghyuk provided concise instructions on the controls and mechanics of the game, then absolutely obliterated Dokja multiple times. 

“This is rigged, Yoo Joonghyuk,” Dokja whined. “I don’t even remember how to jump.”
Joonghyuk coerced him into trying a few more rounds, but gave up after Dokja flopped back onto the bed with an exhausted groan. 

“You’re really terrible at this,” Joonghyuk said, but there was no bite behind it. The tone almost bordered on affectionate, if that was even possible for Joonghyuk to express. 

“Hey, should I remind you of the first letter you tried to write?” Dokja asked.

Joonghyuk glared, and, well, if looks could kill. Yeah, if looks could kill, Dokja could probably die happily under one of Joonghyuk’s scowls. 

“Are you done staring?” Joonghyuk asked after a few long seconds.

Warmth rushed to Dokja’s face, “I wasn’t staring,” he lied, obviously flustered. 

“Why would I stare at you? That’s ridiculous. If anything, you were staring at me,” Dokja’s mouth, being the traitor that it was, ran at a mile a minute to try and cover up his embarrassment. 

“Oh?” Joonghyuk tilted his head a bit. “Why would I stare at you?” 

“Because you’re obsessed with me, obviously,” Dokja replied. “You can’t even survive at a party without me.” 

Joonghyuk’s shoulders dropped at the comment, and Dokja wonders if he’s gone too far. 

“Why did you bring me to the party with you?” Dokja asked, a little bit gentler this time. 

There was a dip in the bed, and Dokja glanced to the side and saw Joonghyuk flopped back in the same position he was, laying flat on his back with his knees bent over the edge of the bed. 

“I wanted you around.”

Something hot flared up inside Dokja, but it wasn’t sweet. It was bitter.

“Why?” Dokja asked. 

“I was in a bad mood.”

“Why?”

“Is that the only word you know how to say?” 

Dokja remained silent, trying to quell the unknown feeling bubbling up inside of him. 

“I overheard my father talking to Seolhwa’s father about our engagement. I didn’t even know that it was being considered.” 

“What?” Dokja sat up. “That’s insane! You’ve only been dating for a few weeks.”
Joonghyuk remained lying down. The quiver in Joonghyuk’s voice extinguished whatever emotion was previously building in Dokja.

“I don’t want this,” Joonghyuk confessed. “They’ve been hoping that I would get a girlfriend for a while but I didn’t think…” 

Dokja was shocked at the information, he really was. But, he wasn’t shocked at the idea. In small town America, a wedding right after graduation wasn’t unheard of. Especially if Joonghyuk’s parents are planning for him to help manage some of their business. (Dokja wasn’t really sure what this business entailed, but it’s probably important considering that they just about own eighty percent of the town.) 

“I’m sorry,” Dokja said as he laid back down.

Joonghyuk shook his head, “I’ll be fine.”

“Why did you send me off with Uriel at the party then?” Dokja asked, deciding that he had nothing left to lose.

“I didn’t want to hold you back.”

It was a raw confession, and Dokja wanted to examine it. He wanted to lay here for hours and continue to pick Joonghyuk’s brain, learning every uncomfortable thought and mundane detail in his life. 

“You couldn’t ever hold me back. I don’t mind staying at your side.” 

And Dokja meant it. Joonghyuk has been the person pushing him forward for the past months. Because of Joonghyuk, he’s rewritten his definition of love. 

“My parents won’t be back until Monday,” Joonghyuk said, after a while. 

It took Dokja a few moments to realize, but it’s an invitation to stay for another night. Dokja knew, he knew that he was getting more comfortable than he should at Joonghyuk’s side. Dokja had already confessed his selfishness to Joonghyuk, and he had no plans on repenting any time soon. For the first time, he doesn’t run when presented with the opportunity. Dokja sat still as Joonghyuk wrapped vines of sweet nothings around his frail heart. Dokja stayed.

Rugby season started just about as soon as enough snow melted off of the field that made it safe to run on without slipping and cracking your head open on the ground. Dokja, being the supportive and kind friend that he is, showed up to the first game of the season (or as it should probably be addressed, a nightmare so hellish that it was probably crafted by the demon Han Sooyoung herself). Sure, he knew absolutely nothing about rugby, but it’s not like Joonghyuk was expecting a full assessment on his performance. Dokja chose a spot about halfway up the bleachers, sitting on the end of the bench beside the staircase with his legs crossed. He spotted Seolhwa a few rows back and waved politely before turning to his phone. She really has been a good girlfriend to him. Generally, rugby wasn’t the most popular sport in highschools, however, Joonghyuk wasn’t on most rugby teams either. It wasn’t until this evening that Dokja realized the full scope of Joonghyuk’s admirers. His name seemed to be on every person’s mind, which were a lot of minds, because the bleachers were just about completely full of people. Sure, that included whoever showed up to cheer on the opposing team, but judging by that team full of mediocre white boys, there weren’t many. 

The crowd went wild as their school entered onto the field, and Dokja cheered and clapped as they announced Joonghyuk’s number. And here’s the thing, this first game wasn’t horrid because of the actual game, no. If there was one fact that Dokja knew about Joonghyuk, it was that he hated losing. Of course this extended to his rugby games. So, Dokja whooped and yelled as Joonghyuk pulled off another impressive defense play, and another, and another. Their school grew increasingly louder as the opposing team appeared to grow increasingly pissed off. Dokja smiled a little bit fondly, knowing that Joonghyuk was probably savoring both reactions. No, it wasn’t until the end of the first half that horror descended upon him. During this second half, Dokja was kindly informed by his bladder that it was full, and he had to pee. Dokja, knowing that the line would be endless if he waited until the first half was over, got up from where he stood and walked to the bathroom. It was still all smooth sailing from here. Then, after he exited the bathroom, he noticed someone lingering nearby. It was Seolhwa. She smiled as soon as she saw him. 

“Hello, Dokja,” she said. 

“Hello,” Dokja replied. “Aren’t you missing out on the game?”

“I was a bit dehydrated,” she explained. “I was looking for a water fountain.” 

“Oh,” Dokja set his backpack on the floor and dug through it until he found a water bottle. “You can have this. I’m pretty sure that there’s E. coli in the school water.” 

Seolhwa smiled gently, “As if the poisoned cafeteria food wasn’t enough. They might as well put a hit out on the entire student body.” 

Dokja smiled back. Joonghyuk definitely could have chosen worse girls to have Dokja pseudo-seduce for two months. He almost missed corresponding with her so often. Somewhere in the distance, a buzzer sounded. 

Seolhwa took a sip from the water bottle and glanced down at Dokja’s messy backpack again. 

“Are you reading that?” she asked, gesturing to a book in his backpack. 

“I finished it yesterday. I was planning on returning it to the library today but I’ve decided to enjoy the leisures of high school sports instead.”

“I’m certainly not one for sports either, but Joonghyuk is very dedicated,” Seolhwa said. “What did you think of it?” 

“I found the first half slow, but once the author found the balance between describing the journey and developing the characters, it was pretty good. I thought that they missed out when they killed--”

“The foundation leader.” Seolhwa finished his sentence perfectly. 

Dokja laughed along with Seolhwa, a bit astonished. 

Seolhwa took a step forward and handed the water bottle back to Dokja. Their fingers brushed briefly on the pass. “Thank you,” she whispered. 

Dokja frowned a bit at her change of tone. “Anytime,” he replied, carefully. 

Dokja looked down at the water bottle in his hand, and when he looked back up at Seolhwa, her eyes were wide and her face was closer than it was before and she was-- she was leaning in and her wide eyes were closed and by the time Dokja’s brain caught up, her lips were already pressed against his own.
Something like heartbreak jolted through Dokja’s veins as he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her back. 

“What are you doing?” he demanded. 

“What am I doing? You-- didn’t you?” Seolhwa had the mind to look just as bewildered. 

Dokja shook his head almost violently. He never wanted that. 

“But-- you wrote the letters. For months.” 

Dokja froze, “You knew?”

“I’m not stupid. You thought that no one noticed when you suddenly became attached at the hip with Joonghyuk? Whispering in Korean in the library after school and during lunch?” 

Dokja’s heart thumped in his chest, and warmth rose to his face. He couldn’t tell if it was humiliation or frustration, “Still, you’re-- you’re with him now. This is wrong.” 

“He doesn’t want me,” Seolhwa replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Only our parents want this, it’s not like you’re screwing him over.” 

“Please, just forget about this,” Dokja blurted out. He scrambled to zip up his backpack and leave. God, Joonghyuk was going to be heartbroken over this. He was almost dizzy with anger, and guilt, and, how could this happen? This is such a mess, it’s a massive mess and--

“Joonghyuk,” Dokja saw him a few meters away. He’s not frowning, but he looks shocked, no-- agonized, how much did he hear? Dokja’s chest ached. He wanted to reach out.

“Joonghyuk, wait it’s not--,” Dokja called out, but he had already stormed away. 

Seolhwa looked at Dokja, then at the spot where Joonghyuk had stood, then back at Dokja, “Oh. Oh my god. I didn’t realize--” her eyes widened more with every word. 

Dokja doesn’t stick around to hear the end of her sentence, running in the direction that Joonghyuk took off in instead. He ran past the bleachers, past the field and all the way out to the parking lot. It was too late. Joonghyuk’s gone.

From: [email protected]

Sent: Thursday, December 18 at 2:38 AM

To: [email protected]

Subject: Star Stream Writing Contest Applicant #9158- Open Category

Attached is my submission for the open category for the star stream writing contest. My name is Dokja Kim and my applicant number is 9158. The piece of submission is an open letter detailing the closure on the childhood of a troubled character, hence why there is no name signed at the end. It is a work of fiction. Thank you for your consideration!

Regards, 

Dokja Kim

Attached: [9158_Open.pdf]

[Preview of file…]

An Open Letter to Those Who Taught Me Love

Dear parents who loved me conditionally,

When I was younger, I often wondered how you forced the narrative of love into your lives. After observing your marriage for many years, I realized that there is only one way to love an abuser: you watch them burn-- and you burn for them. And when all that was of you was smoke in the air, I remained as your son, with raw eyes and blackened lungs. 

Mother, you once told me that if three people gathered in a room, there was no need for winter heating. I have abided by this rule for my entire life, except there is only one person left to gather in my room, and that person is me. You have left me alone in this room, with no winter heating…

[Please download this file to continue viewing.]

Chapter Text

Evil Spawn [1:09]

christ dokja

Evil Spawn [1:09]

i know you feel guilty about writing the letters but you have nothing to apologize to yoo joonghyuk for

Me [1:11]

then why won’t he speak to me

[Incoming call from Evil Spawn…]

“What is it?” Dokja answered the phone exasperatedly. 

“We’re talking about this until I finish walking to cram school, and then you’re going to bed,” Han Sooyoung replied. “You need to rest.” 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Dokja lied. 

“Yes you do. I can hear it just from your voice. You’re bursting at the seams.”

Dokja looked around at his empty apartment. He sat on the loveseat with his knees pulled to his chest and phone pressed to his ear. Every so often, when he squeezed his eyes shut and imagined that the fabric pressed against his cheek was a sweater covering Joonghyuk’s shoulder, Dokja was able to fall asleep here. 

“Fine,” he conceded. 

“And you’re going to school tomorrow. Missing three days when you’re this close to graduation is unacceptable.” 

“Do you ever stop nagging?”

“You’re depressed, Kim Dokja. Some nagging would serve you well.”

Dokja kept his mouth shut. Han Sooyoung sighed into the phone speaker. 

“So, you feel guilty, but do you regret it?”

Dokja rolled the question around in his mind a few times. Sure, his life was in shambles yet again, but regret wasn’t a word that ever held cards in this situation. The experiences that he’s accumulated over the past few months were invaluable to him. 

“No,” he finally replied. 

His eyes stung. 

“It’s like I made a wrong turn, and I acknowledge that. It was wrong,” he continued. “I made a wrong turn, but I stumbled upon fireworks.”

“Fireworks?”

Dokja bit his bottom lip, as if that would help soothe the trembling.

“So it wasn’t just for the money?” Han Sooyoung asked.

“It wasn’t,” Dokja confirmed.

“Then why did you do it?” 

Dokja thought back to the first letter he delivered Joonghyuk. He was teeming with confidence, the scrappy kind that could later stem into grit and tenacity. It was the first time he saw a crack in Joonghyuk’s stoicness. 

“At first, it was because I liked seeing him smile.”

“And now?” 

For some reason, Dokja broke. The tears that welled at the corner of his eyes finally spilled over, and a loud, ugly sob was ripped out of his throat. 

“I wanted to stay at his side,” Dokja wept. “I didn’t want to be alone anymore.”

“You’re okay,” Han Sooyoung assured him. “You’re alright, Kim Dokja.”

Dokja was almost too caught up in his own grief to notice the sniffle between Han Sooyoung’s words. 

“Are you seriously crying?” he laughed, but it was weak. 

“Fuck you. You know that I’m an empathetic cryer.”

“This I want to believe implicitly: Man was born for love and revolution.” --Osamu Dazai

Dokja made his grand return to school the next morning with puffy eyes and worse shoulder pain than he’s had in a long time. He doesn’t see Joonghyuk before class, or during lunch hour. He did accidentally lock eyes with Seolhwa once in the hallways between classes, but both of them snapped their eyes to the ground almost immediately. 

Joonghyuk wasn’t at rugby practice or in the library after school, either. Dokja only wanted a chance to explain himself, yet Joonghyuk was avoiding him as if Dokja was chasing him with a knife. Dokja was then struck with a chilling thought. Did he figure out what Seolhwa did? Even worse, did Seolhwa tell Joonghyuk about Dokja's feelings for him?

A sense of dread washed over him. Dokja can’t imagine what would be worse- Joonghyuk thinking that Dokja used him to get closer to Seolhwa, or Joonghyuk thinking that Dokja only stuck around to try and ruin their relationship and keep Joonghyuk for himself. 

No, he’s getting ahead of himself. At least there was something that he could do to try and clear some of the smoke in the air. 

“Anna Croft. Seolhwa,” he greeted the two girls seated in Anna Croft’s car, presumably just about to leave school for the day. Dokja was hunched over to talk to them through the rolled-down driver’s window.

Anna Croft sent him glare at the interruption while Seolhwa pointedly looked in the other direction. 

“Why do you only call me by my full name?” Anna Croft demanded. 

“It’s a sign of respect,” Dokja lied. They both knew that it was a sign of contempt. 

Anna Croft rolled her eyes. “What do you want, Dokja? I heard that you abandoned the newspaper club to start a GSA.” 

Dokja gave Seolhwa a glance, who only turned her head further away from him. 

“I’d like to talk to Seolhwa, actually.” 

Dokja slapped on his fakest smile as Seolhwa slowly exited the car. They took a few steps away from the car- far enough to be out of Anna Croft’s earshot. 

Dokja shoved his hands into his pockets before he spoke. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “For lying about the letters. I got caught up in it, and I didn’t mean to lead you on.” 

Seolhwa crossed her arms and turned her head to the side. She smiled, bitterly.

“I’m not faultless either. I shouldn’t have stayed with Joonghyuk after I realized he hadn’t written the letters. Let’s just forget about it.” 

“Have you spoken to him?” 

Seolhwa looked a little bit confused at the question.

“I apologized to him a few days ago, but that was all. Did he not tell you?”

Dokja frowned.

“Why would he have told me?”

Seolhwa frowned deeper.

“Because you two…” she trailed off for a moment then shook her head. “Nevermind. Is that all?” 

Dokja shrugged, “That’s it. I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Goodbye, Dokja,” Seolhwa said, retreating to Anna Croft’s car. 

From the driver’s seat, Anna Croft flipped him off. Dokja elegantly returned the gesture. 

The request comes later that night. Dokja learned at a very young age that life is cruel, and unrelenting. Every time he believed that he had hit rock bottom, something more horrible occurred and sent him spiraling even further down. 

This time, the universe decided to spit on his very existence in the form of a Venmo notification. 

‘Matthew sent you $20. Message: I need a book report on the Underground Killer for Cresman’s criminology class. Due in two weeks.’

Dokja stared at the notification for much longer than needed to read three sentences. Huh, when did they release an English translation? His aunt must be thoroughly enjoying the royalties.

‘ You sent Matthew $20. Message: Fully booked rn. Not taking new requests.’

A single student discovering his mother’s book was far from the end of the world. Dokja had never read the book, but he was aware that it became very popular in Korean book sales. Getting an English translation of it was only a natural progression. He was sure that it would be easy enough to find by Googling “true crime books'' and that’s likely what Matthew did when choosing his book for the report. Dokja wasn’t in Mr Cresman’s criminology class, he had seen enough lawyers and policemen to last his lifetime, but he knew that it was a pretty popular class. With so many students taking it, it wasn’t strange that one of them happened upon the Underground Killer. 

Until, that is, the next morning when Dokja’s phone buzzed again. 

Maddie Weller [8:44]

Hey Dokja can u write me three pages on this book called the Underground Killer??

Maddie Weller [8:44]

It’s for criminology with Mr Cresman

Dokja frowned at the text messages. Two people writing about the same novel? He hesitated before typing back, a little bit anxious to hear the answer to his question.

Me [8:46]

Does it have to be about this book?

Maddie Weller [8:46]

Required reading for the whole course :(

The phone fell from Dokja’s grasp onto the floor of his car. This might pose a bit of an issue. 

As usual, Dokja kept his head down at school. It should be fine, he’s sure that his mother wouldn’t be naive enough to put her son’s name in the book. The real risk was due to his own lapse in judgment: the writing contest. While Dokja wasn’t deluded enough to think that anyone in his school bothered reading his submitted pieces, he was aware that his open letter specifically dealt with a lot of the same content as his mother’s book. Really, the timelines that both of them painted were identical. All it took was a single person to read both and connect the dots before he was doomed. 

Dokja left school quickly that day, afraid of hearing whispers or conspiracies in the hallways. He gripped his steering wheel with trembling hands and tried to tell himself that he was being self-centered. No one cared about him enough to ever make the connection. 

It wasn’t even until he was back at the apartment that Dokja realized he neglected his Joonghyuk-hunt all day long.

Two days and four book report requests later, Dokja walked into school with a lot more eyes on him than usual. No one said it outright, besides one person who blurted out “Oh shit, that’s him?” a bit louder than intended, but Dokja can tell. They’ve all got the same eyes. 

He made it through two full classes before he can’t take the staring anymore-- and that’s the thing about small towns and small highschools. People talk, and rumors spread quickly. 

As if to fully prove that the world itself is against him, it was raining as he drove back to the apartment, chest heaving and ears pounding. Was he having a heart attack?

Dokja barely managed to unlock his front door before his legs gave out underneath him. The floor is cold and hard, but it’s the only thing tethering him to the earth. Dokja gripped at the collar of his sweater. It felt like someone plunged a knife into his chest-- was it always this hard to breathe? His vision was blurred at the edges, and he wiped his eyes but they were dry. His head spun, and he couldn’t feel any oxygen reach past his throat. It was as if his lungs were full of cotton. He sank further and further down.

Dokja stayed there, at the cold, hard ground for God knows how long before he was physically shaken by a banging on the door. The voice that followed sounded desperate. 

“Kim Dokja, open this door. I see your car out front. Come here and open the door, Dokja.”

Dokja turned the lock on the door knob from where he sat pathetically on the ground, letting Joonghyuk burst in. 

“What are you doing here?” Dokja asked, staring at his drenched shoes. 

Joonghyuk doesn’t reply, carefully stepping inside of the apartment instead. 

“Did you have lunch?” he asked. 

He didn’t wait for Dokja’s reply as he bent down to wrap Dokja’s arm around his shoulder and hoisted him up. Dokja was as limp as a straw doll in Joonghyuk’s arms, taking only weak steps as he was guided to sit down on the couch. 

Now that Dokja’s gaze was level with most of Joonghyuk’s body, he realized that Joonghyuk was dripping wet. Dokja’s eyes trail up and see that even Joonghyuk’s hair is soaking wet. Small droplets of water rolled off of the bangs stuck to his face and traveled down the sharp lines of his jaw, finally landing on the front of his shirt.

“It’s raining today,” Joonghyuk said.

Dokja didn’t have the energy to tease him for the obvious statement.

“I’ll make pajeon.”

The drunken request surfaced in Dokja’s distant memory. 

“Why?”

“You asked me--”

“No,” Dokja interrupted. “Why are you here?”

Joonghyuk returned from the kitchen with a glass of water and handed it to Dokja. 

“I’m making pajeon.” 

Dokja sighed and took a sip out of the glass. He leaned back into the cushions of the couch, letting them wrap around his frail form. 

“Okay.”

After a moment of listening to Joonghyuk putter around in the kitchen, Dokja spoke again. 

“I didn’t kiss her. Well, I did, but I didn’t want to.” 

“I know. She said that it was a misunderstanding.”

A pause. 

“Don’t try to apologize,” Joonghyuk said. 

Dokja’s mouth snapped shut. The sound of something sizzling filled out the apartment.

“The door across from the bathroom has clothes in it,” he said, eventually. “You’ll catch a cold if you don’t change.” 

Dokja had half the mind to blush a bit when Joonghyuk returned with the pancake cut into neat squares, wearing one of Dokja’s t-shirts. The fabric that was usually loose on his frame strained a bit across Joonghyuk’s shoulders and biceps. They ate in silence, then Dokja watched Joonghyuk play some mobile game as his eyes grew heavy. It had been a while since he properly slept. 

Joonghyuk seemed to notice the ever-slowing blinks, and paused his game momentarily to gently guide Dokja’s head so that it rested on his shoulder. 

“Why would I lie about him being okay?”

Joonghyuk spoke in a lower voice than usual, but it still pulled Dokja out of his sleeping state.

“It’s possible that you’re a kidnapper trying to throw everyone off of your trail.”

The second voice is a bit muffled, but still familiar. 

“Even if I was, what could you do about it?” 

“Hey, listen here…”

Dokja’s eyes snapped open, darting between Joonghyuk and the phone in his hand. 

“Here,” Joonghyuk handed the phone over like it was an explosive. 

“Han Sooyoung?” 

“Ah, thank god you’re alright.” she sighed through the phone. 

“What did you say to him,” Dokja hissed. 

“Nothing,” Han Sooyoung replied. Dokja could tell that it was a lie. “You weren’t answering my texts even though it’s like, the middle of the day for you. Then that guy picked up when I called.” 

“Well, I’m fine. I’ll talk to you later,” Dokja said, rushed, then ended the phone call. 

“I’m not sure what she said to you, but I should probably apologize.”

Joonghyuk shook his head, “It’s fine. Are you okay?” 

Dokja cringed inwardly as he recalled his behavior earlier. Seriously, could he make himself look any more pathetic?

Dokja smiled, though it was wobbly. 

“I’m feeling better. It’s just a lot to deal with sometimes.”

“I can talk to Cresman. I’ll make sure that he assigns another book,” Joonghyuk offered, slightly menacingly. 

“It’s fine, everyone knows that my mother wrote the book. What’s the harm in letting them dissect the murder of my abusive father too?” 

Joonghyuk didn’t laugh, not that Dokja expected him to. 

“Honestly, I don’t really want to go back. All I can see is the pity in their eyes,” Dokja confessed. 

“We can skip tomorrow. We’ll stay here and study.” 

Dokja had been gone for Joonghyuk for months now, but he still got butterflies whenever he heard the word ‘we’.

“Okay,” Dokja agreed. 

He closed his eyes and leaned his head onto Joonghyuk’s shoulder again. He took it as a good sign that Joonghyuk didn’t shake him off in disgust.

Really, Dokja took the fact that Joonghyuk showed up to take care of him at all as a symbol of peace between them. He could read into this entire situation a lot more, he could pull countless narratives from every one of their interactions, but he’s far too exhausted to do anything besides wallow in his own self-pity right now. 

“You’ll cook me dinner, too?” Dokja asked. 

Joonghyuk grunted in reply, and Dokja felt a smile spread across his face. This must be what home was. 

Dokja and Joonghyuk stayed home to study the next day, and returned to school the day after. As teenagers do, the people at their school moved on to another fresh piece of gossip quickly, and Dokja began to blend back into the crowd again, where he was comfortable. Any lingering gazes were shut down quickly by Joonghyuk, who stayed at Dokja’s side wearing what Dokja thinks might be his most sour expression yet. The criminology teacher sent Dokja an apology email for his ignorance, and promised not to assign the book for reading ever again. Dokja deleted it from his inbox without giving a thought to formulating a reply. He would rather just move on. 

Speaking of moving on, he’s fallen into a familiar rhythm with Joonghyuk again. Except that they’ve stepped it up from a steady Moderato to an Allegro. Probably. Dokja barely passed the recorder unit in the seventh grade. His music knowledge was scarce. 

The point is, they were back to normal, but they were different too. For one, casual touches were much more frequent. A nudge to the shoulder in greeting, gently brushing Joonghyuk’s bangs off of his forehead, even a hand stationed at the small of Dokja’s back to prevent him from slouching in his chair. There were other, smaller, things too. Like the way that Joonghyuk’s glares started melting into something fonder, or the way that his angry phone-tapping has subdued into a more thoughtful occasional typing. They’ve been spending a lot more time together, at that apartment. It was frequent enough that Dokja even forked over the money for another set of utensils. Dinner that night was dumplings, and Dokja tried his hardest to be casual when setting out another pair of chopsticks and a spoon on the kitchen counter. Joonghyuk didn’t outwardly comment on their now matching utensils, but he did stare at them much longer than any normal human should stare at a stainless steel spoon, then proceeded to grip the pair of chopsticks like they were a promise. 

He apologized, later that night.

“I shouldn’t have left. After the game.” 

“No shit,” Dokja snorted. “Our team lost pretty miserably after you disappeared at halftime.” 

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

Dokja tore his eyes away from the essay he was working on to look at Joonghyuk. 

“I went home and told my parents that I wasn’t going to marry Seolhwa. Or any girl that they push onto me.”

Dokja spoke slowly, “How did they react?” 

Joonghyuk struggled with his words as he opened his mouth again.

“They were upset. But it… felt good.”

“Good?”

“I don’t think that I really wanted to be with her.” 

“Oh,” Dokja said.

“I’m trying to say that I’m sorry for avoiding you.”

Dokja felt a smile tug at his face, because Joonghyuk’s words never seem to equate to the message that he’s trying to convey. To anyone else, their conversations would sound clunky and awkward, but to Dokja, they always pulled through in the end.

“It’s okay,” Dokja patted him on the head condescendingly, then narrowly dodged the swing of Joonghyuk’s fist. “You came back, afterall.”

It was a Thursday, the day that Dokja’s life really began for the first time. Joonghyuk was pulled into a last-minute rugby practice, and insisted that Dokja didn’t wait up for him. Dokja decided to return home, then almost swerved his car off the road, because when was the last time he called anywhere home?

When he opened the door to the apartment, he no longer felt the weight of his mother’s failed promises and his father’s curses against the world. He didn’t feel the same heavy loneliness that was once ingrained within him, either. Two forks sit in the sink. The desk has been turned into a makeshift dining table with two chairs. The stained curtains are left open during the day, and sunlight flooded into the apartment, waiting for people to return and bask in it. The fridge even contained some fruit in it. It’s different than it was six months ago. 

Dokja barely had time to set his backpack on the ground before there was a knock on his door.

Joonghyuk stood at his door, gripping a piece of lined paper so hard that his knuckles were turning white. 

“What happened to rugby practice?” Dokja asked. 

Joonghyuk inhaled deeply before reading, “When I look into your eyes, I see stars that shine brighter than the night sky. You are a star… that... shines. And we are like… chopsticks.”
Joonghyuk let out a frustrated groan before shoving the paper into his pocket. He stepped to the side and glared at two boxes on the ground behind him, “It’s memory foam.” 

Dokja stared at the boxes in silence for a moment, “What?”

“The mattress is memory foam,” Joonghyuk repeated. “It should help with your back pain and--”

Joonghyuk paused, and Dokja felt his heart jump to his throat because Joonghyuk was actually blushing . 

“--it’s big enough for both of us.”

Dokja finally understood. The planned speech and the large boxes and the nervous tremble in his bottom lip. It was all part of a big plan. A grand romantic gesture, if you must. 

He took a step forward, close enough that Dokja could count each of Joonghyuk’s bottom eyelashes. 

“You still are quite terrible with words.”

Finally, Joonghyuk reached out, trailing his fingers down Dokja’s spine before resting them on the curve of his waist. Joonghyuk’s gaze fell to Dokja’s mouth- and Dokja felt his lips part. It’s so, so perfect. Their eyes met again, and Joonghyuk’s eyelids began to flutter shut. It’s so perfect, but Dokja can’t stop himself from getting one last word in.

“Is this it?” Dokja whispered, afraid to blink and lose hold of Joonghyuk’s gaze.

“What?” Joonghyuk asked, so close that Dokja could taste the want in his every breath. 

Dokja smiled, “The look” he tried to say, but Joonghyuk’s lips were already pressed against his. 

Enamored, Dokja’s thoughts were silenced by Joonghyuk’s taste as if he were taking an adrenaline shot. It’s unyielding. And, oh, it’s good. 

The bed was assembled beside the window. Joonghyuk was early to bed and early to rise, and while Dokja usually hid from the sun like a vampire, he has always been a sucker for a nice sunset. Somehow, Joonghyuk deciphered the alien text known as an Ikea instruction booklet, and had the bed frame together in an hour. The mattress was one of the ones that came vacuum sealed and needed a few hours to pop up to its full size. A good quality one, that made Dokja gasp a little bit when he saw the price tag on the outside of the box. 

“How did you afford this?” Dokja asked, wearing what he was sure was a very stupid look on his face.

“I won a few gaming tournaments,” Joonghyuk shrugged. 

The steep price was very much worth it in the end. After a trip to the store to get everything the now bed owners would need, (It’s everything. Dokja owned virtually nothing that one with a bed would require.) they made their bed, and now they lie in it. In the literal sense. Dokja was quite pleased with how this situation turned out, actually. 

“What are you looking at?” Dokja asked.

He took the left side of the bed, and Joonghyuk took the right. Normally, he was a back sleeper, but he was enjoying laying on his side right now, studying every detail of Joonghuyk’s expression. 

“Your eyes.”

“Do you see the stars in them?” Dokja teased. 

Joonghyuk glared, “I only did that because Han Sooyoung said that you liked poetic words.” 

It became evident that Joonghyuk was a victim of Han Sooyoung’s outlandish plots. Instead of asking how they managed to establish a line of communication, Dokja shook off the feeling of imminent doom and feigned offense. 

“Only? So you don’t like my eyes?”

Joonghyuk turned onto his other side, now with his back facing Dokja.

“I have always seen stars in your eyes.”

Dokja grinned wickedly, scrambling forward to hook his chin over Joonghyuk’s shoulder. 

“And there was something about chopsticks, too? Were you going to use a simile? Mention how we’re a perfect pair?”

“Shut up, please.” 

Dokja rolled onto his back, unable to shake this giddy feeling. 

“Hey, can I read the entire speech? It seems like you put a lot of work into it.”

“What about you?” 

“What about me?”

“You’re the writer here. Where’s my letter?”

“It’s a work in progress.”

Joonghyuk rolled back over to face Dokja again. 

Dokja cradled Joonghyuk’s face in his hands, only for a moment. Gazed at him with the light of a thousand constellations in his eyes. 

“Kim Dokja,” Joonghyuk’s voice cut through the air. 

“Yes?”

“You make me feel screwy.”

Something tender blossoms in Dokja’s chest. 

“Yoo Joonghyuk, you make me feel screwy too.” 

The word love is left unspoken, but heard louder than any other.

Chapter Text

My dearest Yoo Joonghyuk, 

If you can love someone with your whole heart, even one person, then there's salvation in life. When trying to express the way you made me feel after we had only spoken twice, this was the first quote that came to mind. I believe that there was a small part of me that always knew in the end, you would be my salvation.

I tend to avoid metaphors involving drowning and a breath of fresh air because I find them dull and overused. 

For you, my love, I make an exception. 

When we first met, I was drowning underwater. My arms and legs had long grown tired of thrashing and struggling, so by the time you had come around, I made peace with the notion of sinking to the bottom. 

When you began to love me, it was not as simple as pulling me out from a body of water and pumping out the fluids that filled my lungs. 

You threw me a rope, and urged me gently to grab on. No matter how many times I tried to ignore it, I always found a lifeline waiting patiently beside me. 

Though I suppose that could all be credited to your unyielding stubbornness. 

I was damaged, and I still am. You have not tried to fix me, but you have embraced me, with all of my broken pieces, and helped me apply the tape and glue needed for me to become a person who is whole again. 

We were much younger and much, much more foolish back then. 

I know that you may disagree with that, but let’s face it. I chose to major in the liberal arts, for God’s sake. 

I made rash decisions back then, like how I swore to myself that I would write this very letter on the day that I decided to marry you. 

Oops, spoilers. We’ll circle back to that later. 

I used to have an incorrect notion of what love was, and you have not only corrected it, but tore my concept of love down to the foundation and built it up from the ground with your own two hands. 

I thought for many years that I would waltz through life in a clear cut path, graduate, work an office job, and probably die a virgin. You have shown me that love is desire, too, while holding the bricks and cement that created my meaning of love.

You have shown me that love is grasping onto the smallest sliver of hope found in a pipe dream. 

Originally, I thought that I would propose to you after I had completed my military service and we had both graduated from college. As always, you ruined my plans by renouncing the American side of your dual citizenship, following me halfway across the world to serve, then dropping out of college during your last semester, but you already know how the story goes. 

I now write this letter, and you are sound asleep in bed next to me. What prompted this declaration of love, you may ask? 

It’s simple, really. Most likely the most simple thing to ever occur in our relationship. 

I’ll set the scene, for all of our future lineage who get curious about Grandpa and Peepaw’s epic love story. (I am Grandpa and you are Peepaw, naturally.) 

It’s a quiet night, on some insignificant weekday. I’m plucking away at a draft of my new novel to send to my publisher. You crawl into bed beside me, sporting a pair of extremely sexy reading glasses, acquired just recently. You’re 25 now, a real decrepit age. I wouldn’t be surprised if you crumbled to dust the next time I touched you. 

You kiss me on the mouth and I ask you how your day was. You complain briefly about the new people who have been signed onto your ESports team, then proceed to open one hell of a book on your lap. 

You take to it with a blue pen, scribbling with fervor. I peek over, curious about what you could be so passionate about. 

It’s a cookbook. 

You are correcting recipes in a cookbook from a Michelin-star chef. 

I realize, oh, I want to marry this man. 

I tell you that I love you, because I am truly, so infatuated with you that I can’t remember a moment of my life clearly before I felt this way. 

And now, I am writing this letter. 

Bluntness has always been more your thing than mine, but I suppose that I should ask it outright. 

Joonghyuk, will you marry me? 

I know that at this point, I’ll probably be kneeling in front of you with a ring, my knees sore because I overestimated your reading speed and pulled out the ring too early. I know that you’ll have tears streaming down your face as you jump up and down with joy and exclaim, Yes, babe, I’ve been planning our dream wedding for years now. But you know that I always have to have the last word in, so hear me out, one last time. 

We are like a pair of chopsticks. You tried telling me this once, back when we lived in that small apartment in a small town whose name I have long forgotten. I have wondered what you could have meant by this for years. Only now, as I write this letter, do I realize what you meant. We are like a pair of chopsticks. You know what significance it holds, and I have come to see the depth in such a mundane statement too. Our dozens of grandchildren who will read this in many years won’t, or they might, but that’s their distinction to make. 

Currently, I have no solid plan on how I’m going to propose, all I know is that it will involve this letter. I’m sure that by now Mia and Han Sooyoung have released the confetti, or the doves, or some kind of celebratory garbage that I did not agree with. I’m sure that you’re holding me, and that I am holding you too. 

I’ll end the letter now, because I’m sure that you’ll reread this letter a thousand times until you’ve memorized every word, and I’m sure that I occupy enough of your brain space already.  It’s definitely not the most elegant thing I’ve ever written, it’s raw and unedited and we’ll both probably feel embarrassed when we look back on it. I’m sure that you’ll enjoy it anyway.

Yours, always, 

Kim Dokja