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“I think I should drink more.”

This was a bad idea. Kim Dokja thinks. Shit, my alcohol tolerance might be worse than I thought.

Kim Dokja pauses in his drinking when a mellow smell wafts over to him, hints of lavender and vanilla tickling his nose. His eyes dart to his left, where the source of this pleasant scent is well into her sixth bottle and showing no signs of stopping anytime soon. Kim Dokja is simultaneously impressed and terrified. 

Suddenly, he stiffens as her shoulder brushes his—before relaxing and tilting his head in her direction. 

“Dokja-ssi.”

“Yes?”

Up close, Dokja could see that she isn’t wearing any makeup as his eyes roam over soft, unblemished skin.

Yoo Sangah leans further into his space, causing Kim Dokja's heart rate to speed up alongside the wild movements of the crotchets and quavers; the pounding in his ears drowns out the otherwise pleasant tune. Like a bowstring on the verge of snapping, the atmosphere around them is charged with tension. Nerves are set alight with energy as electric warmth surges through their bloodstreams. 

Kim Dokja’s eyelids flutter at the light touch of Yoo Sangah’s forehead on his. His lips quiver at the soft puffs of breath on them—warm despite the brisk night air. His mind sinks even deeper into a warm, cloudy haze.

Wait, something’s… something’s wrong. He blurrily muses, helpless to the hypnotic pull as he decides screw it , and angles his head—

“Kim Dokja,” a voice snaps, cutting through the fog muddling his senses.

He jerks back abruptly with all the grace of a puppet with its strings cut. Gripping his shirt, fingertips tingling with every beat of his racing heart, he snaps his head towards the direction of the voice.

The intruder steps smoothly out of the shadows and into his line of sight. 

The dying embers from the fire crackle loudly, painting his figure gold—an outline of light amidst a backdrop of darkness.

“Yoo Joonghyuk?”

The man grunts, narrowing his eyes at the bottles surrounding them. His hands are curled into fists at his sides, clenching them so tightly that Kim Dokja is worried his nails, no matter how blunt they are, would break the skin on his palms. 

[The exclusive skill ‘Fourth Wall’ has offset some of the drunkenness.]

Kim Dokja’s eyes widen. Crap, did he see that? 

He’s eternally grateful that the blush on his cheeks could be blamed on the alcohol.

“Yoo Sangah-ssi, come to your senses.” he urges, shaking her gently by the shoulders.

“Huh? Ah… ah?” Yoo Sangah blinks once, twice—then red blooms across her cheeks. “I-I, what did I…”

“Kim Dokja, I need to talk to you.” 

Dokja spares a glance towards the ground, eyeing the bubbles that fall to the ground.

—Buzzkill.

He coughs into his hand, willing the flush to go down. “Is it urgent? I’m kinda busy right now.”

Somehow Yoo Joonghyuk’s glare increases in intensity. If looks could kill, Kim Dokja’s entire existence would be completely erased from this worldline. The man keeps silent, however.

Dokja wisely opts to ignore the ticking time bomb behind him. “Say, Dionysus, I’m curious about your birth stories.” Great segue Dokja, real smooth. “The first version states that your mother was the Princess of Thebes.”

Yoo Sangah tilts her head questioningly at him.

He smiles at her. “The second says that your mother is Hades’ wife, Persephone. Which of the two versions is real?”

–Is this important?

“It is important. There is a reason I need it to be the latter.”

–Rude human. Still, I like rude humans.

Kim Dokja takes extra care in not revealing the fact that he already knows.

–There used to be a human as foolishly brave as you. He was someone who played the lyre very well. He didn’t end up well.

“I’ll be different.”

–I can open up the entrance of the Underworld. The Father of the Rich Night doesn’t like me but the goddess of the Underworld will listen to me. However, it is very dangerous and there is no guarantee you will come back alive.

“It’s—”

A hand clamps onto his shoulder forcefully. 

“Kim Dokja, what foolish things are you thinking of doing?” Yoo Joonghyuk growls. “Was dying once not enough for you?”

Dokja swallows back a retort of ‘Actually I’ve already died twice but who’s counting’. Instead, he says, “I failed to save her once. So I won’t fail this time.” 

Yoo Joonghyuk freezes, a brief flash of guilt appearing in his eyes. His hand lightens up from its death grip. 

‘There is only one thing I’m going to tell you. Captain can’t save anyone.’

“Why are you doing this? Why are you risking your life to save someone you don’t even know?”

“Because I made a promise, and I’m going to keep it. She sacrificed herself to roam the labyrinth of worldlines just so she could give you information from the future.” Kim Dokja’s voice softens. “It’s about time someone else does the sacrificing.”

“Why does it have to be you?”

A lopsided smile makes its way onto Kim Dokja’s lips. He turns back towards the string of words as he says, “It’s okay.”

–Good. I like eager people. But keep this in mind: I can only give you 12 hours. If you don’t come back in that time, then you can never return to the scenarios.

The hold on his shoulder turns near bruising. 

Kim Dokja turns around to tell him to kindly knock it off, but he catches a hint of worry in his expression. Before he could ruminate further, his vision flickered. 

A wave of dizziness slams into Kim Dokja, and his eyelids droop from the onslaught of drowsiness that accompanied it. 

Damn it, so this is why he made me drink. Dokja blindly waves his hand in Yoo Sangah’s direction. “Yoo Sangah-ssi, wake up the… the kids.”

He pitches forward—gravity being the bitch it is and not giving his tired self a break— but is pleasantly surprised when strong arms catch him and pull him close. His head lolls forward and rests against warm skin, nose skimming the junction between neck and sternum.

Dokja inhales deeply. A faint metallic scent fills his senses, paired with a light hint of sweat and something so intrinsically soothing that Kim Dokja slumps bonelessly into the hug. 

He shuts his eyes as the sounds of merry laughter fade into nothingness.

–I hope the Father of the Rich Night will listen to you.

Kim Dokja leans back in his seat, arms folded with one leg leisurely swung over the other. The scene before him does not resemble a civil meeting between kings.

“That’s Baekje. Your sponsor is from Later Baekje.”

“What does that mean? Of course I have to go. How can I believe in your antiquated sponsor…”

“Everyone, wait a minute. Please calm down…”

Instead of trading ideas and information, they’re trading petty insults. Dokja brings a hand up to his temple, massaging it. 

After his soul had returned from its impromptu trip to the Underworld, he had opened his eyes to the sight of a worried Shin Yoosung and Lee Gilyoung hovering over him. Apparently, they told him, Yoo Joonghyuk had kept watch all throughout the night, and had only woken them up and left a few minutes ago—probably to gather up his companions.

The mind of a sunfish is a complex thing. He exhales through his nose and looks around the room, gaze landing on the King of Wanderers.

She regards him without a word, a slight smile painting her lips.

He turns towards the rest of the kings. “There is no use in us arguing about this now.”

From the ground, faint vibrations slither up Kim Dokja's legs, gradually increasing in severity.

He casually plucks a biscuit from the table. Why did he always show up late?

“The last king hasn’t come yet.”

Dokja bites into the biscuit at the same moment the side of the tent explodes.

“You can take care of the rest.”

Excuse me, what the heck? Kim Dokja chokes, coughing to dislodge the errant piece of beef jerky.

Yoo Joonghyuk had chosen to stand next to him during that one-sided meeting—close, but not close enough to touch. Surely if he hated his guts, he would not willingly place himself anywhere near him, right? So imagine his surprise when his name was absent from the list of participants.

What about me? Why was he looking at me like that? Kim Dokja stumbles out of the tent, quickly chasing after him and grabbing his wrist. His fingers tingle with warmth—it travels all the way down to his palm—and he ignores how Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes zoom in onto their joined hands.

“What’s wrong with you?” Dokja huffs, irritated. 

“It doesn’t matter if you sit this one out.” Yoo Joonghyuk eyes the tent like he’s trying to set it on fire. “You have a woman you love.”

“What? What are you talking about?” 

The people milling about them have stopped, and now multiple pairs of curious eyes are staring at them.

What a spectacle we must look like to them. Dokja purses his lips.

“Not here.” Yoo Joonghyuk tugs against his hold, pulling him along as they weave through the stupefied crowd and into the quiet, dilapidated halls of Yongsan Station. 

Kim Dokja lets go of his wrist, striding towards one of the few intact pillars remaining. He leans his back against it and gestures for him to continue.

Yoo Joonghyuk breathes out loudly through his nose. “This scenario will be hard.”

Is he saying this out of consideration for me? Wait no, this is the sunfish bastard we’re talking about. 

“This could be the last time you see that woman.”

Just in case, Kim Dokja activates stage 2 of Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint and manages to catch the trail end of a thought.

「 —like to lose someone precious. 」

Dokja bites his bottom lip. 

Right, this man in front of him has gone through two regression turns and has had to watch his companions die—on top of it all, he was betrayed by someone he trusted. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that Yoo Joonghyuk was arguably the world’s greatest authority when it came to losing a loved one.

He shakes his head. “We’re not like that. Take a good look at this face.” Dokja shifts his body forward. “ Do you think it’s full of love, hm?”

Yoo Joonghyuk’s lips curve down but he doesn’t look away. All this while, he maintains eye contact, seemingly intent on searching for something tucked away inside. 

Kim Dokja just doesn’t know what it is.

“You two were fairly close last night.”

Scarlet crawls across his cheeks. He waves a hand dismissively. “I don’t think of Sangah-ssi like that. Whatever you saw was just the alcohol talking.”

Joonghyuk raises a single perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

“Anyways,” he coughs. “I trust in the abilities of my companions to make it through this scenario. That includes you too, you know?”

The sunfish responds by widening his eyes. It’s almost faintly comical, but why was he so surprised? He’d already acknowledged Kim Dokja as a companion—granted it was indirectly and only after he had died in front of the man.

Attempting a smile, albeit wobbly and unsure, Dokja places a tentative hand onto Yoo Joonghyuk’s shoulder and squeezes lightly. Not enough to prompt a violent reaction, but enough to provide a sense of comfort. At least, that’s what Kim Dokja’s hoping for. Losing a hand after coming back to life would suck.

The man is as still as a statue, staring at the hand with a mixture of constipation and—fear, maybe—and something else on his countenance that Kim Dokja doesn’t recognize.

Yep, he’s losing a hand today. 

Yoo Joonghyuk reaches up to pry his hand off, but before Dokja could tuck it back into his pocket and subsequently out of range of the cutting edge of his sword, he grabs it and interlaces their fingers.

Is he going to break my hand? Because this sure is a weird way of doing it. Kim Dokja pulls against their entangled hands desperately. It doesn’t budge an inch, of course.

Curiously enough, Yoo Joonghyuk is faintly shaking.

This was the moment Dokja realises how much space is between them—or rather a lack thereof. 

Joonghyuk crowds him as he backs into the pillar, essentially blocking all escape routes. Only like this, can Yoo Joonghyuk hear the soft sound of a heartbeat, indicating that the man in front of him is alive and well. Only like this, can he hear the sharp inhales of breath, instead of the wheezing, painful gasps that had littered the air around them as Kim Dokja bleeding out.

“Yoo Joonghyuk, is s-something wrong?” 

「 You’re here… You’re alive.」

“That’s right. You are my companion.” His shaky breath ghosts Dokja’s ear. “I thought you were gone.”

A blush spreads across his cheeks, ears burning with heat. 

“I thought I was too late.” The hand in his squeezes tightly. “It only took your death for me to realise that—” Yoo Joonghyuk cuts himself off; his dark eyes, once cold and unforgiving, now tremble with raw emotion.

Joonghyuk leans in, mouth a hair’s breadth from his own. “I can’t bear to lose you—not anymore.”

He closes the distance, lips pressing gently against his. Their noses bump softly as Joonghyuk tilts his head slightly, humming into the kiss. 

Dokja completely shuts down. His entire form is rigid and stiff, heart racing at a speed that not even Way of the Wind could achieve. Despite this, Yoo Joonghyuk wraps his free arm around his waist and pulls him into an embrace—melting whatever was left of his remaining brain cells.

His every sense is filled with Yoo Joonghyuk, like drowning in an endless sea of fuzzy cotton with no lifeguard in sight. It’s heady and warm, but it's also all-encompassing and too much, way too much, so much so that a prickling sensation begins to sting at his eyes. 

Lifting his hand, he scrambles to clutch onto the back of Joonghyuk’s coat to regain his bearings. The fourth wall has somehow mysteriously disappeared ever since the start of the kiss, providing no help whatsoever for Kim Dokja’s mental state.

They stay like that for a while—Yoo Joonghyuk pressing slow, chaste kisses on his lips, all of which send pleasant tingles down his spine, as Dokja struggles to form a single coherent thought. 

With extreme difficulty, Dokja gathers up his scattered thoughts and manages to send a message over Midday Tryst. 

–S-stop! Wh at a bout Lee Seol hwa?

Dokja feels him frown against his lips, and even that causes him to shiver minutely.

–That regression has passed. I don’t feel that way towards her anymore.

–But she’s here with you in this turn. You can rebuild your relationship with her again!

–I don’t want her. 

Yoo Joonghyuk pulls away.

–I want you.

Kim Dokja’s eyes widen, a fluttering in his stomach stirring up at the honest confession. Nauseously, he wonders if Lee Gilyoung is not the only one who can summon insects.

–This doesn’t make any sense. You’re not acting like yourself!

Joonghyuk rolls his eyes, but a hint of fondness colors his gaze. He tilts his head to press light kisses to his cheeks, then to both of his eyelids, and finally in the middle of his forehead. The simple, yet intimate, actions almost prompt Dokja to lose it then and there.

–You don’t even like men—Joonghyuk-ah, you’re not thinking straight!

Huffing like he’s amused, Yoo Joonghyuk moves back to admire his handiwork. Red now coats the entirety of Dokja’s face, softening the impact of the point Kim Dokja is trying to make here.

A corner of Yoo Joonghyuk’s lips quirk up.

–Does any of this seem straight to you?

–Is that—was that a joke? I didn’t know the Supreme King Yoo Joonghyuk could make jokes like—

Kim Dokja falters as hands reach up to cradle his face. Yoo Joonghyuk’s thumbs rub soothing circles on his cheeks, the little motions igniting sparks all over his skin. He involuntarily leans into the touch.

“You have to take responsibility.”

Dokja sputters out a protest.

–For what?

He doesn’t trust his mouth to function normally just yet.

“For making me fall for you.”

Kim Dokja’s head spins. 

–This…You—What?

“What is there to misunderstand? I only want you… you and no one else.”

Somehow the brain damage from Yoo Joonghyuk’s sudden kiss has affected Dokja’s sight too: a blurry sheen covers his eyes and the prickling sensation from before returns with a vengeance. 

–But I’m not anything special? I’m not like Lee Seolhwa, I’m nothing like her. And you still want that? You still want…me?

Joonghyuk thumbs away an unshed tear from the corner of his eye. “You don’t have to be like Lee Seolhwa, you’re enough.”

He then releases his face and flicks Dokja’s forehead lightly. “I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t want you, fool.”

Now that is more typical of Yoo Joonghyuk’s character. Kim Dokja frowns, all sorrow burning away to make room for indignation. This sunfish bastard.

“Hey, that’s not very romantic you know, you should be nicer—”

A tug on his waist pulls him into another kiss, shutting him up effectively. Miffed, Dokja smacks his arm, only to sigh and throw his arms around the other's neck in defeat.

Afterwards, they leisurely take their time walking back, their hands linked and swinging casually between them. The atmosphere around them is calm and serene, like the still waters of a quiet lake.

Out of the corner of his eye, Yoo Joonghyuk sees a shit-eating grin worm its way onto Kim Dokja’s face. He can already feel the beginnings of a migraine forming. 

“You know, I didn’t think you were the type to get jealous easily." Dokja says, eyes twinkling with mirth.

Yoo Joonghyuk’s lips tug downwards. He staunchly refuses to look in his direction. 

Dokja laughs, reaching out to poke at a crimson-flushed ear. “I think red suits you much better than green.”

He swats his finger away, quickening his pace and forcing the other to do the same. The giggling rat bastard teases him all throughout their little journey back—however, despite all this, not once does he let go of Dokja’s hand.