Chapter Text
Yoo Joonghyuk strolls down the street, one hand in his jacket pocket, one hand gripping a novel. He shivers. It was absolutely freezing today. Glancing at his watch, he picks up the pace. He had told Dokja he would be over by three, and it was already two fifty-five.
At this point, he’d known Kim Dokja for… what, a few months now? It feels like they just met yesterday, at the bookstore. They had both wanted a copy of the same book, ORV, and ended up fighting over it. Eventually, they reached a compromise--Joonghyuk would buy the novel for him, and after Dokja was done with it, he would give it back. They passed the book back and forth a few times, sharing their favorite parts from the completed webnovel while waiting for physical copies of the second volume to release.
While Kim Dokja had come over to Yoo Joonghyuk’s house multiple times, Yoo Joonghyuk had never gone over to his. Today was the first time he had been invited, and, while he hates to admit it, he is feeling a little excited.
He wonders what Dokja’s house is like. Is it big, like his? Does he have his own bedroom, or does he sleep with his parents? Speaking of that, what are his parents like? Joonghyuk’s parents themselves weren’t really in the picture. Dokja never talks about his parents, but--
Oh.
Yoo Joonghyuk suddenly remembers something.
That day at the bookstore, he had seen bruises on Kim Dokja’s arm. When questioned about them, Joonghyuk had inferred that they were from one of his family members. Or maybe even… multiple? He hopes not.
He slows down. Is it his dad, or his mom? Did he guess wrong, and is it someone else? Is it really just because of an accident while playing outside? But, no, that wouldn’t make sense… Yoo Joonghyuk had noticed other similar cuts and bruises when Dokja had come over. He never asked about them, however. It was obvious that the other boy was sensitive about it.
Yoo Joonghyuk realizes that he’s been distracted. When he looks up, he sees a house with the number 51 on the door. He quickly reaches back into his memory--yep, #51, that’s Dokja’s. Giddiness begins to grow in his stomach.
Approaching the front door, he presses his pointer finger to the doorbell. It chimes inside of the house with a slightly ominous melody. Joonghyuk waits patiently, fiddling with the hem of his jacket. He pulls on one of the loose strings, wrapping it around his finger.
A minute goes by and no one answers.
Yoo Joonghyuk glances behind him at the driveway, which has a car parked in it. Someone is probably home. He rings the bell again, pressing his ear to the door. The haunting sound plays again. He lifts the book he was holding and mindlessly flips through the pages.
Five minutes go by and no one answers.
He clicks his tongue, knocking on the door. “Anyone home?”
When there’s still no response, Yoo Joonghyuk almost gives up, but then, he decides to try the doorknob.
He turns it, not expecting it to be unlocked, but it just swings open. He peeks in, seeing no one in the living room. He slowly walks in, trying not to make too much noise. He tucks the novel deeper under his arm.
“Hey, Dokja. You in there?”
Assuming that no one is currently residing on the lower level, Yoo Joonghyuk is about to go upstairs when he hears something.
Muffled screaming… the unmistakable noise of a palm hitting flesh… and is that crying?
Alarmed, he follows the source of the sounds, eventually leading himself to the kitchen. The door is closed, but he opens it up without hesitation.
He should’ve mentally prepared himself. Why didn’t he mentally prepare himself?
Off to the side was a woman, with long brown hair and a fearful expression on her face. She looked tired; she was struggling to keep her balance.
Standing in the middle was a tall man, arm pulled back, poised in a practiced position. His eyes were full of fury and his clothes were crumpled. He was yelling something incoherent at the boy on the floor.
The boy on the floor, curled up with his eyes shut tightly. The right side of his face sported a large, red handprint. Quiet tears were making his shirt wet, and his sleeves were pulled back, showcasing the multicolored bruises and cuts.
The boy on the floor, Kim Dokja.
Yoo Joonghyuk doesn’t usually think things through. He just acts.
Which is what he does when he screams, “Stop!”
The room seems to freeze.
The other three inhabitants turn to stare at him. The woman seems confused, the man seems angered, and the boy looks simultaneously terrified and relieved, if such a thing is possible.
Kim Dokja speaks first. “J-Joong-hyuk,” he stammers, voice coming out shaky with a hiccup in between. “Y-you s-should leave…”
Yoo Joonghyuk doesn’t listen to him. Heart pounding, he walks through the deafening silence of the kitchen, grabbing Dokja’s arm and forcing him up. He flinches but complies.
The man, who Joonghyuk figures is Dokja’s dad, reaches for the two of them, but Yoo Joonghyuk stealthily dodges it.
He breaks into a run with the other boy trailing behind him. They exit from the front door. They run through the street, only stopping when Kim Dokja collapses, face red and panting. Tears continue to stream down his cheeks.
“Joonghyuk…” he whines, barely comprehensible.
Yoo Joonghyuk rushes to his side. He wraps his arms around the other boy, retracting when he shrinks away. “Is it okay if I hold you?” he asks.
Dokja hesitates, then nods.
The taller boy can feel the shorter boy’s heartbeat through his chest. It is quick and short. He presses closer, whispering in Dokja’s ear to “breathe”, “breathe”, “breathe”.
When that doesn’t work, Yoo Joonghyuk remembers the novel, the spine of which is currently digging into his forearm.
He pulls apart from Kim Dokja to retrieve it, flipping to the first page.
“There are three ways to survive in a ruined world,” he begins to recite in a calm tone. Joonghyuk closes the book--he doesn’t need it. He’s memorized this.
Kim Dokja’s eyes suddenly open in recognition. Yoo Joonghyuk can feel his pulse gradually begin to slow.
“I have forgotten some of them by now. However, one thing is certain,” he pauses, smiling at the other boy.
They both open their mouths to quote the last line at the same time:
“You who are currently reading these words will survive.”