Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

APRIL 22, 20XX: 19:54 P.M.

Yoo Joonghyuk booted up League of Legends before he began his stream. His fingers were chilled from the cold water he’d poured into his bottle from the refrigerator. Dokja had given him it out of the blue two years ago, talking something about the ‘importance of staying hydrated’ and how not doing so would make him ‘grow wrinkly sooner’.

“And then nobody will want to watch your streams anymore, Joonghyuk-ie. The only thing you have going on for yourself is your face and your skills, so take care of it okay?”

Joonghyuk had criticised him then, telling Dokja to eat properly first and then worry about the future of his streaming career. Dokja had looked so offended, his face had contorted into a frown and his eyes crinkled in that way which conveyed utter annoyance, which could only be described as the most befitting reaction to the audacity Joonghyuk had been showing.

Dokja walked away after that, mumbling incoherently about irredeemable bastards; completely missing the reverent way Joonghyuk had held the sleek, matte black bottle, thumbing at the silver rim.

Kim Dokja had washed it and filled it up with ice cold water.

Yoo Joonghyuk had wanted to put the bottle away, wrap it up in transparent cling film and keep it safe in that one compartment where he’d left all of Mia’s gifts and little tidbits of things he’d collected through the years.

And he’d done that.

A week later Dokja had gotten drunk because of some project well done, stumbling into their apartment like a newborn foal and face-planting into the couch. Sangah, who had accompanied him back home, shot a demure smile at Joonghyuk.

“Dokja drank a lot, please look over him, Joonghyuk-ssi,” she said, looking completely put together. Joonghyuk nodded to her, already focussed on the limp Dokja. “I’ll take my leave then.”

“Message once you reach home safely,” Joonghyuk said to her as she turned to the door.

Sangah sent a smile his way, and left.

“I’m not drunk,” he’d groaned, “just tipsy.”

Joonghyuk had sighed and leaned down to pull the shoes off his feet, letting Dokja giggle like a fool and whine about how it tickles without a bother. The fool never learned to shut up, always having something or the other to quack about. (But then he saw how Dokja interacted with others, silent in groups, awkward to strangers. Even with those he was close with, there lacked a twinge of his voice, a glint in his eyes, a curve of his lips and Huh, he really didn’t mind it at all. Maybe it was selfish, but god did it make him feel special.)

He’d uncapped a bottle of water, and offered it to the man sitting dazed on the couch, only to be faced with an expression he could only describe as aggrieved. His thin brows furrowed, glazed eyes appeared to flare with burning doubts as his lower lip was worried by the tips of his teeth.

This guy. . . he could act like this too.

“What is it?” Joonghyuk questioned, just a little distracted by the revelation. You really can’t learn of every nuance a person has. “Spit it out.”

Dokja threw a glare at him, a frankly useless action given his dishevelled state. It just made him seem more idiotic. He must really be brave if he was acting like this. His tie was crumpled, with hair sticking out in odd directions and a face blotched with pink. To glare when he’s in such a state. . . Kim Dokja was a fool indeed. A fool oblivious to his own immodesty.

“You,” Dokja paused, his voice sounding just as wronged as his face looked.

“You don’t use the water-bottle I got you.”

This fool. . .

“And it was expensive too!” he exclaimed. “From those brands that specialise in being ‘BPA free’ and without microplastics, it’s eco-friendly too!”

Kim Dokja always managed to surprise Joonghyuk. There wasn’t a moment between them where he could rest, believing that Dokja was done with his mindlessness. But this, this was a new level of manipulation. Ignore that Joonghyuk had called him mindless a moment ago. Kim Dokja knew what he was doing. He had to. Acting all coquettish, was he trying aegyo on him? Hah, why was it always him who was the victim to Dokja’s adventures towards complete idiocy?

(Joonghyuk willed his thudding heart to slow down. Will his blood pressure forever be high around this guy?)

“If you don’t want it, then give it back to me! At least I’ll use it then!” Dokja’s voice had grown sulky.

Did it matter that much to Dokja? Did he wish to see him using that bottle so badly?

“Yah, answer me you bastard!” Dokja was this close to reaching up and shaking Joonghyuk by his collar.

Yoo Joonghyuk looked down at the very drunk Kim Dokja who was growing more agitated by each second of his silence.

Cute.

“If you don’t respond this second, I’ll- I'll—” Dokja hiccuped, losing his train of thought at the motion.

And Joonghyuk couldn’t hold the huff threatening to leave his lips inside. Did Kim Dokja get like this when he was wasted? Noisier than he usually is, more open than he usually is, guileless and soft and sentimental? Dokja was lucky that he wasn’t a bastard (well a complete bastard) because he’d tamped the urge to tease down for this long. He should be praised for doing so, for maintaining his restraint and maturity, even when there laid such an amusing game right in front of him.

Dokja stared up at him, his gaze stuporous; before pulling his eyes away and looking resolutely at the potted plants placed on the shelf in the distance. Fingers came together to intertwine and disentwine, the digits twiddling with each other in a form of faux ease, just to be put off by Dokja’s sudden silence. Stroking the nail of his index finger and tracing the cuticle, he was now meek.

Was Dokja embarrassed?

“Don’t laugh at me,” came a mumble, tinged with something close to chagrin and humiliation.

“I’ll use it from now onwards,” Joonghyuk said finally, after a bout of silence.

Dokja’s drunk mug returned to look at him again, staring intently at Joonghyuk. Was he expecting an explanation?

“I want it as a keepsake,” Joonghyuk clarified following a moment's hesitation. “It’ll wear down if I use it.”

He could admit so much. It was Dokja’s fault anyway, his idiocy had begun to rub off on him. Yoo Joonghyuk did not get sentimental over water bottles. Yet here he was, attributing the reason to not wanting to see it succumb due to usage.

Dokja remained silent, not having removed his gaze from him since. And then, chuffed out a giggle; ultimately giving into a bout of laughter. Yoo Joonghyuk stared the display of joy. Dokja peeked up at him with an almost cognizant gleam.

“Yah, I’ll just get you another when it wears down.” His words streamed out in an affectionate cadence. “I’m not a dead person for you to need keepsakes.”

Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t know what, but something in him had shifted that day. Something had clicked, like an incomplete puzzle had a piece rotated and slid into place. As if two parts of a whole had fit together, as perfect as the slide of a dovetail joint.

The next day, Dokja stumbled into the kitchen with a case of bad bed-hair and an atrocious hangover. Blinking blearily, he plopped down onto the stool next to the kitchen island, wincing at the vertigo it brought. Joonghyuk wordlessly pushed over a bowl of steaming hot Haejangguk.

“Urgh. . . Thanks,” Dokja mumbled, his voice rough, and began to eat. Humming contentedly at the taste. The beef was cut into bite sized pieces and so, so tender. He felt as if his headache was being sucked away with each bite. Dokja looked over at Joonghyuk, who was watching him eat with a complicated look on his face.

Noticing his attention, Joonghyuk pulled the bottle out of nowhere, and slowly brought it to his lips, taking a slow sip as he maintained his gaze on Dokja’s tired apparition. Dokja blinked in confusion, and Joonghyuk’s stare intensified into something he couldn’t name.

“You’re using the bottle,” Dokja said tentatively. What did Joonghyuk want?

Yoo Joonghyuk narrowed his eyes, his gaze almost confused. He placed the bottle down and continued to look at Dokja, seemingly expecting something from him.

“That’s good?” Dokja remarked questioningly.

(He would be lying if it didn’t make him happy. Dokja hadn’t seen the bottle around Joonghyuk since the day he’d given it to him. Maybe Joonghyuk had thrown it somewhere, already forgotten about it. It was stupid that he had noticed it, and even stupider was the fact that it mattered to him.)

Joonghyuk frowned, thinking for a moment before he spoke, “Get me a larger bottle next time.”

“What?” Dokja asked, stupefied. Joonghyuk looked offended, offended that Dokja hadn’t agreed. Now Dokja felt annoyed.

“If you want one, buy one yourself! Ungrateful bastard. . .” Dokja returned to his food, which kind of person is gifted something, and then has the audacity to ask for another, better version? Oh wait, Yoo Joonghyuk did.

Joonghyuk huffed, shooting him a glare, and left the kitchen without a word.

This fool. He had forgotten everything.

It was ingratiating.

(Yoo Joonghyuk was bitter.)

Dokja had forgotten his words. Had forgotten his promises. Had forgotten his own actions. And Joonghyuk was left with the memory of it, with only himself to reminisce about it. As if the moment didn’t exist to Dokja at all. As if Joonghyuk was alone that night, alone in the living room, alone as he stared down at the mirage on the couch, into his glimmering irises. He’d imagined the pout, imagined the flutter of eyelashes. The sounds and words befitting of a wronged wife were a conjured hallucination of his deepest desire.

It had taken the form of Dokja, the one person he craved so strongly to hear from.

Joonghyuk sneered. All this over a water bottle.

(It was more than that. It was so much more than that—)

APRIL 22, 20XX: 20:06 P.M.

Joonghyuk was in a good mood as he booted up Twitch. He’d glanced over his phone a moment ago. Dokja had the propensity to send these stickers, stupid looking ones.

(”How befitting of you,” Joonghyuk had said once.

“I don’t know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult,” Dokja had mumbled in return.)

He adored seeing them. Joonghyuk adored reading their exchanges days after they’d taken place. Not that he’d ever admit it though.

He pressed the button to begin the stream, sliding on his headphones. And was immediately flashed with the rapidly increasing view count.

Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t bat an eye to any of the comments, rather, he didn’t bother to even glance at the chat. It was only at the automated voice message from the donator did his expression even change. A subtle softening of his brows that no one caught.

“He is fine,” Joonghyuk said with his usual terseness.

“We’re doing League today.” Joonghyuk’s hands moved to queue up, before pausing. “We’ll do a round of ARAM and then ranked.”

“Orriana?” Joonghyuk murmured. It was a good pick, his eyes narrowed and he got into his zone.

Losing is not an option.

APRIL 22, 20XX: 21:53 P.M.

“It wasn’t hard to predict that they were coming in for the hit,” Joonghyuk replied. He then went on to explain the circumstances of the play, explaining the details and even going as far as to show a replay and repeat that same moment in another game.

Instantaneously, the chat was filled with people spamming and asking him to take a break. Yoo Joonghyuk glanced over it and couldn’t help but agree. It had been quite a bit.

“I’ll return in fifteen minutes.” He pasted an AFK notice and left the room, the stream still running.

Joonghyuk walked, his gait brisk, around the apartment. It was ten already? And Dokja wasn’t back still. That was odd. Dokja had announced that he’d be back home by 09:00 before he left. It was unlike him to be so late. Maybe there had been a change of plans.

A sense of unease began to fizzle on the back of his neck. Joonghyuk tried to ignore it, but the feeling just wouldn’t dissipate. Had Dokja messaged him? He should check up on Dokja, ask him when he’s coming back. He pulled his phone out from the pocket of his jacket, pushing the power button to switch it on. Opened up the familiar sight of his lock screen, a void like night sky with nothing illuminating its vast body but a single star present a light year away. The sole reason for its visibility was a well timed shimmer he’d somehow been able to capture.

It wasn’t the prettiest picture, it had been three years since then, when he’d taken it using a beat up camera. There was just something about that scene that made him feel poignant. He’d snapped it in a motion he couldn’t recall just moments later. Looking into the screen of his phone, that same poignance seemed to flicker.

That star was alone in the vast sky. It had looked lonely, bound with the duty of watching over earth for all of eternity with no one to stand beside it. Yoo Joonghyuk was not one for such frivolous thoughts, but the feeling had persisted, making him wonder about it for much after that trip. Without the darkness of the aphotic sky, would the star have been perceivable? With stars surrounding it, would it have been engulfed in the luminance of others?

“Ah? Did you take that yourself Joonghyuk? It looks really nice,” Dokja had said.

He was there during that fleeting moment, leaning closer so that he could peek into the camera.

“But why that scene though? There’s barely a star in the sky.” Dokja had asked, glancing up at him innocuously.

“I’d rather take this,” Joonghyuk had replied with no particular explanation.

“If you say so, anyway, we’re gonna start the campfire,” Dokja said easily and dragged him away.

The camera remained with him all the way back. When the others had asked him to show the pictures he’d taken, Joonghyuk had passed the camera around with no hesitation. No one had inquired about the picture of the star. When the camera made its round back to him, Hyunsung asked offhandedly where he’d stood to take that picture, to tell them where the spot was.

And Joonghyuk couldn’t answer.

He’d hummed in agreement but never replied, and the conversation went on without trouble.

Joonghyuk would never let anyone know of that patch of grass, the rocks and pebbles, the flowers and twigs lining the path to that opening. The sky was his, the star belonged to him, the moment was his alone.

Dokja glanced over at him, with eyes that seemed to just understand.

He hadn’t revealed the clearing.

The fire crackled, sparks and glints of it spewed outwards sporadically.

Dokja’s visage was illuminated in that flame, and in those eyes Joonghyuk saw stars.

Joonghyuk breathed out. Now a little more calmer, he clicked on Dokja’s profile in KakaoTalk.

Dokja hadn’t messaged anything new. Joonghyuk typed a few messages out, sending them to Dokja.

Fool

Kim 'Pretty Princess' Dokja.

APRIL 22, 20XX: 22:43 P.M.

Yoo Joonghyuk’s plays were getting harsher by the minute. His playstyle grew aggressive. He didn’t follow particular tactics he usually would choose to employ, instead, he leaned into defeating enemies using face on skill and offense instead of tactic.

His phone was on vibrate, sitting in his pocket. He’d waited patiently for the past forty-five minutes, and nothing. Absolutely nothing. Kim Dokja hadn’t deigned him worthy of a response it seems.

Maybe it was a slight from his phone, Joonghyuk had considered. Maybe the vibration wasn’t working. So, he’d been stealthily checking his phone every once in a while too, and still, nothing from Dokja.

It was unlike Dokja to simply be ‘away’ from his phone. That fool seemed to gravitate to it, not being even conscious of the way his hands involuntarily shifted to the device, switching it on to do something or the other. It went like this: pulling the notification bar down to see if he had gotten any new alert or message of concern. If there was nothing, he’d dismiss the ones of no importance and press on KakaoTalk or Twitter or TikTok. Glancing over the applications for a minute or two, Dokja would always retreat back into his webnovels. Some site or the other, some story or another, always reading. Always devouring a narrative and immersing himself so thoroughly, he’d bubble himself into a corner of that world, leaving this earth just to observe the lives of another in a universe that didn’t exist.

The sky is blue. The grass is green. The earth is round. And Kim Dokja is always on his phone.

So, why the fuck wasn’t Joonghyuk getting an answer?

Had he gotten lost? He wouldn’t be surprised if that was what had taken place. Maybe his phone broke. Maybe he couldn’t get reception. Maybe Kim Dokja just didn’t have his phone switched on, he could just not be using it. Maybe Dokja’s plans had changed, and he was just too swept up to tell him.

Yoo Joonghyuk knew he was overreacting, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered because Joonghyuk didn’t know where Dokja was.

Yoo Joonghyuk tried to convince himself that Dokja was a grown man, he could take care of himself, he’d be fine, he didn’t need to let Joonghyuk know where he was at like a child telling their mother where he was going.

Kim Dokja had a life of his own.

But had their lives not intertwined together years ago? Woven along and into the others’ own, till the strands of their existence couldn’t be picked apart.

Yoo Joonghyuk pressed a key a little too hard.

Maybe Kim Dokja was just occupied.

…so occupied he’d ignore him for hours?

Yoo Joonghyuk’s sigh was muted as it poured out unwittedly. Was it really that obvious?

And then came a flurry of movement. The chat began to speed up in an intensity Joonghyuk had seldom seen. The view count began to sky rocket, reaching higher and higher and messages began to ping more and more. Donations began to pile in.

Yoo Joonghyuk was lost for words as the chat barrelled on, making accusations more heinous than the one before. He couldn’t even interject. Kim Dokja was not home, he was getting antsy. He couldn't think of what to do, about what step to take. And now there was this rumour floating around about him and Lee Seolwha. What? How was Seolwha involved in any of this?

Joonghyuk’s head was beginning to throb.

“I’m ending the stream.” He provided no further explanation and switched it all off.

Joonghyuk sighed, trying to collect himself, and opened his phone, navigating to KakaoTalk to send a message to his manager, asking about the situation. Her response was swift, reminding him to not engage with anything related to the matter, telling she’ll take care of it.

It was 10:55.

Where the fuck was Kim Dokja.

So much was happening. It was getting on Joonghyuk’s nerves.

It had been three hours. Three hours from the time when Dokja told he’d be back.

It wasn’t like Dokja to be so late.

He didn’t even know if Dokja had eaten.

Fool

He's losing it <3

Fool

He's losing it <3

Fool

He's losing it <3

Fool

He's losing it <3

Fool

He's losing it <3

Fool

He's losing it <3

APRIL 22, 20XX: 23:13 P.M.

Somehow it always came to this.

It always came to Yoo Joonghyuk gazing at the profile of the man who made his world worth living, his eyes tracing the contours of his frame, only to find it pellucid. He tried, he tried with all his might to commit that image to his memory, but his mind would fog and his eyes– blur, his fingers would tremble and his skin begin to frost. Yoo Joonghyuk couldn’t keep the memory to himself.

It didn’t use to be like this.

Kim Dokja always hid behind something. Like a skittish animal, he’d dart away whenever someone got too close. He’d stupidly give himself away for the benefit of others. Joonghyuk thought it was a full-fledged hero complex, that the man believed that he was some sort of Messiah or saviour, believing people needed him to survive. That Dokja sacrificed all those things for some sense of worth. In retrospect, it was funny. His ideas about Dokja were comical.

It was love. Kim Dokja loved so much, he gave so much, he was so terribly human, that it hurt.

Someone so tender and soft. Someone who gave and gave till he bled, having nothing left, but still wrought to give more.

But then why was he so cruel to Joonghyuk?

Was the affection Dokja offered to him meant to be a barbed vice? Was it meant to be the pieces of a shattered mirror, digging into his palm and replaying the moments of years ago when Joonghyuk was allowed to graze and feel and live by his side?

Kim Dokja protected his frail, bleeding heart with all his life. But it was that same heart he treated so callously.

He’d lacerate the beating part of himself, rip it piece by piece and hand it out to be chewed.

And they’d handle it with the gentleness of a lost lover, the people around Dokja. With the urgency and obsession of a man starved, Joonghyuk would lap it up. Hoping to find a string he could pull to bring Dokja closer, to find a way to breach inside, not to hurt but to adore. To see and worship and lave affection on.

But however gentle they were, no matter how reverent Joonghyuk was, that thrumming part of Dokja's soul would rot as it returned back to him. From the rotten flesh purled black blood, maggots whispered indecipherable words as they burrowed out and into Dokja’s ears, dimming the light in his eyes and sucking the life from his soul. Dokja still pressed his lips to it, consuming the flesh, which in his eyes was pearled with beads of ambrosia. Dokja would look at the rotten, gashed flesh of his and cherish it like the heavens themself had granted him reprieve from the cycles of hellish eternity.

It seemed, whatever they did, to Dokja it would be as if it was his last. As if their love would mutate into poison in his veins, to energy for Dokja’s mind to continue thinking, for it to make mosaics of a future that Joonghyuk couldn’t begin to conjure.

There wasn’t a more flawed person than Dokja.

Despite how much he tried, Joonghyuk could never touch the thorny edges of Dokja’s heart. Dokja gave his love out so freely to the ones he loved, but never let them hold it for too long. He never let them look at it and gaze at its shape and its wants and joys.

It was as if he wanted it to be squeezed and cut. Like that was what he expected.

Dokja didn’t want to heal.

Yoo Joonghyuk wanted to see him smile without the weight of his fears on his shoulders, without the murmuring of barbs into his ears, without the prick of his own chipped nails.

But Dokja never let him in.

Back then, Dokja didn’t seem so flighty. Maybe it was because Joonghyuk didn’t know him well enough, but Dokja didn’t act the way he used to. It was only after years of chipping away Dokja’s walls was Joonghyuk able to say that, ’Yes, I know Dokja,’. But with the way things had been, was it even true?

Did Joonghyuk really even understand Dokja?

Joonghyuk always thought of Dokja, always worried for him. But not to this extent.

Why was it that he was feeling so disconcerted by Dokja just being late?

He’d felt that something had changed in Dokja, yes. But that didn’t require such a response.

What the fuck was wrong with Joonghyuk.

Kim Dokja was a friend and a roommate. They were close.

They were companions.

He had the right to feel this way. To worry.

But did he?

Why was Joonghyuk so unsettled? It didn’t make sense, Dokja had been late before, rarely, but yes it happened.

Dokja was being weird but it was Dokja, he’d get into one of his moods but then come back to normal. He didn’t need to fucking psychoanalyse his behaviours and evaluate them. He was overthinking. It was stupid. All of this was stupid. Dokja was fine and okay and living his own life and that was fine, it was good.

It was good.

It was good.

No it wasn’t.

Yoo Joonghyuk hadn’t felt so anxious since. . .

No.

It can’t be.

Nothing had happened to elicit such a response.

Yoo Joonghyuk’s breathing began to shallow and his head started to swim. He felt as if he was thrown into a vat of viscous liquid.

It had been two years. Two years had passed. Those times had passed.

He wasn’t in that situation anymore.

Kim Dokja wasn’t in that situation anymore.

Just remembering it sent a tidal wave of guilt and pain and fear through the hollows of his bones.

Joonghyuk could hear something.

Ah. It was the sound of his breathing. His lungs. He could hear his heart.

And his skin too. It stung a little.

How could you hear skin?

Oh. No wonder. He was bruising his chest.

Joonghyuk’s right arm rained down onto the muscle of his chest. Was he punching himself?

Yoo Joonghyuk needed to think. He needed to breathe. He needed to do this to himself. He needed to—

He needed to catch a fucking grip.

Joonghyuk willed his hand to grasp onto the arms of his gaming chair.

One, two, three.

He sucked in a deep breath. It was okay. It was going to be okay.

As the screaming in his ears stopped, Joonghyuk heard something. Ringing.

His phone was ringing.

Fool

He's losing it <3

And everything came crashing back down.