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The sky is blue. Blue, blue. It’s several shades more vibrant than the sky back on Earth, more turquoise, as if it’s been saturated with several layers of filters. Dokja lays on the grass upon the crest of a hill, watching white clouds skirt near the horizon. With this idyllic scenery, it’s hard to imagine the calamity that’ll hit First Murim in the next few years.
In the distance he can hear the barking of Breaking the Sky Master and the faint shouts of Jang Hayoung and Han Myungoh in a sparring session. A brief thought crosses Dokja’s mind, of a man dressed in all black wielding a shining sword. He wonders where Yoo Joonghyuk is right now.
“Ack!” Dokja curls up on himself like some sort of pillbug when a heavy boot kicks at his side.
“Kim Dokja. What are you doing?” It’s a familiar cool, imposing voice. Yoo Joonghyuk stands over him.
Kim Dokja groans and sits up. He blinks at Joonghyuk, who is… not wearing a shirt. Dokja has definitely seen him without a shirt before, but not right from training with the tanned skin of his broad chest covered with a sheen of sweat. His eyes move from Joonghyuk’s unfairly toned abs to his unfairly beautiful, and expectant face.
“... I was thinking for a moment.”
Joonghyuk studies Dokja’s face. He looks a bit dazed, hair disheveled, a light flush on his cheeks as if he just woke up from a nap. There’s stray strands of grass in his hair. Kim Dokja, Joonghyuk broods silently, is always thinking.
“You’re being lazy.”
“I have to be lazy. I’m a patient,” Dokja quips back. His gaze drifts to the disciples training at the base of the hill.
Maybe it’s because Joonghyuk just came from training or perhaps the peaceful atmosphere of First Murim, but Joonghyuk sounds and feels more relaxed than he usually is. It makes the ensuing conversation about their plans going forward less tense, despite the imminent severity of their situation. Besides, Joonghyuk had said “our nebula”, hadn’t he? Warmth spreads throughout Dokja’s chest at the words, but at the same time, a wistful feeling. They will be parting again, Dokja to the Gourmet Association and Joonghyuk staying here in First Murim.
Dokja gets to his feet, stretching languidly. “Okay, I’m going then.”
“We’ve established that.”
“No, I meant I’m going right now... to walk around Murim.”
Dokja manages to take two steps before Joonghyuk gets in front of him, blocking his path.
“What.”
“Aren’t you injured? Still recovering?” Joonghyuk says, voice somehow managing to sound accusatory.
“I am, but I’m just going sightseeing. I’m not going to—” Dokja tries to move around Joonghyuk but can find no way out. He turns around to walk the other way but Joonghyuk blocks his path again. Dokja throws up his hands. “Am I a prisoner?”
Joonghyuk’s dark eyes glitter angrily. Dokja pouts.
“Joonghyuk. I’m going to be a tourist. All I’m going to do is walk around the city, so you don’t have to worry.”
“I’m not worried.” It’s a straight up lie. “I’ll go with you,” Joonghyuk decides, a heartbeat later. “I don’t trust you.”
Dokja gives him a withering look. “Don’t you have training to do?”
“Master has banned me from training for the rest of the day. She says I’m working too hard,” Joonghyuk scowls.
“You workaholic.” Dokja sighs. He supposes it wouldn’t be too terrible of an idea to have Joonghyuk come along, especially since he knows the place intimately well. Dokja peeks at Joonghyuk, whose biceps are bulging from how he’s crossed his arms over his chest.
“Fine. But would you, you know… put a shirt on before we leave?”
✧✧✧
They set off to the outskirts of the sprawling city surrounding the Blue Dragon Castle, walking through the streets side by side. Strangely, the town seems rather empty today, with only a few street vendors and stray passerby. Dokja turns his attention to his surroundings. The Asian influence is prevalent in the architecture, from the curved roofs of houses to the half-moon shape of bridges over canals. They’re currently strolling through the residential area with its narrow streets and charming alleyways. Ivy winds along tall stone walls, the vines blooming with some kind of small white flower.
Dokja breathes in the history of the place and feels the ancient nostalgia carved into the cobbled pathways beneath his feet. Though it’s his first time visiting First Murim, somehow, he feels like he’s been here before. He glances at Joonghyuk, who has a pensive look resting on his handsome features. It’s likely he feels the stirring in his chest even more acutely than Dokja, this yearning feeling that comes from being borne back to the very beginning of a long and lonesome journey.
Joonghyuk has put on his full combat gear, black coat and sword and all. Dokja has forgone his own coat, opting for the thin tunic that Breaking the Sky Sword Saint had supplied them with. The weather is too nice to be wearing anything heavier.
Dokja has never remembered the weather being this perfect anywhere before. The breeze is cool on his skin, while the sunlight warms him to the core. Feeling this, he kind of gets why Joonghyuk seems more relaxed nowadays despite their impending deadlines. The usual spite and anguish in Joonghyuk’s fierce eyes has softened somewhat, along with the line of his brows and the set of his mouth. A slight frown returns when he sees Dokja, as if reminded of a particularly annoying fly buzzing around him.
“Is there anywhere you want to go?” Dokja asks Joonghyuk.
“What.” Joonghyuk stares at him, dumbfounded. “You idiot. I thought you wanted to go somewhere.”
“Nowhere in particular,” Dokja hums. “I don’t know where anything is.”
“You fake prophet,” Joonghyuk accuses. He glares at Dokja but it’s gentler than usual.
“I’ve never been here before! Besides, I know you know there’s some stuff I don’t know.” He frowns at the awkward phrasing. This is why he’s a reader and not a writer. “You’ve lived here. You’re more familiar with First Murim than I am.”
Joonghyuk looks at him silently. Dokja feels like he’s being judged for a crime he didn’t commit. “Uh…”
“Is there anywhere you want to go?” Joonghyuk says, echoing Dokja’s question from earlier.
“I— haven’t thought about it.” Dokja inspects his shoes and the clover growing in the gap between pavement stones. “Well, but there is…”
Joonghyuk tilts his head to the side, intrigued to hear what Dokja has in store for them. “What, a hidden scenario?”
“No…” Dokja bites his lip, ruminating on his answer. Finally, his eyes, filled with firm resolve, meet Joonghyuk’s. He opens his mouth.
“Take me to the restaurant that sells the best Murim dumplings.”
Silence settles between them like a stone sinking through water. Joonghyuk is visibly flabbergasted. Dokja’s face starts to heat up.
With a turn of the heel and the swish of a coat, Joonghyuk’s off in another direction without a word. Dokja ducks his head and follows, scrambling to keep up. It’s almost impossible to guess Joonghyuk’s mood, but surely, Dokja hadn’t said anything to offend him?
They weave through multiple alleyways, and Dokja gets dizzy from all the turns they’re taking. Damn Yoo Joonghyuk and his long legs. Every stride is longer than Dokja’s, so he has to take several steps for every one step that Joonghyuk takes. Despite how fast they’re moving, Dokja still manages to catch glimpses of the delightful details in their surroundings. There’s low stooping trees with fragrant violet blossoms on every corner, semi-circle archways with high thresholds that take them through walls, and herringbone patterns swirling on the path they’re walking on. They cross over stepping stones floating on an artificial pond, small fish darting around in the clear water beneath lily pads.
Finally, Joonghyuk halts before a rather run-down looking two story building that seems a bit squashed. Joonghyuk parts the curtain fluttering over the door, and they enter with the chiming of bells. The moment Dokja steps over the threshold, the gentle aroma of tea wafts through the air.
It’s a hole-in-the-wall teahouse with a dark wood interior, furnished quite nicely. There’s a sense of delicacy in the detailed wood carvings etched against the ceilings, walls, and furniture. Joonghyuk greets the waiter at the counter with a nod and leads Dokja further into the building. There are a few other patrons sitting at tables, conversing in low tones over tea. None of them pay Joonghyuk and Dokja any heed.
Dokja scoots onto the bench opposite of Joonghyuk at a table for two. They’re seated right by a window, overlooking a terrace with a small grove of bamboo and what seems to be mandarin trees. While Dokja gawks around at the restaurant, Joonghyuk says a word to the waiter and a pot of tea is quickly brought to their table.
Ah. Dokja almost forgot. Joonghyuk has a very refined taste.
Dokja feels something nudge against his knuckles as he cranes his neck to examine the bamboo stalks in his periphery. He looks back to see a full cup of tea at his hands. Joonghyuk has poured him a cup of tea.
That bastard… why is he being a gentleman now? Dokja wonders, fingers curling around the cup. Joonghyuk looks away from him into the distance, sipping at his tea.
Dokja blows gently at his tea and raises the cup to his lips. Now, Dokja is no tea expert, but this may be the best tea he’s ever had. It’s light and complex, with a delicate floral scent and the lingering clean aftertaste of honeydew. When he lowers his cup, Joonghyuk is staring at him. Dokja blinks at him, feeling a bit… shy at the casual atmosphere between them. Sitting at a teahouse, drinking tea with Joonghyuk… there’s something not right about this. Yet at the same time, Dokja feels like he belongs here.
His attention is diverted once more when a new scent reaches him. It’s one newly ingrained in his mind, the mouthwatering smell of Murim dumplings with chicken broth. Dokja makes an involuntary noise of excitement when the steaming dish is placed on the table before them. He glances at Joonghyuk once before he picks up his chopsticks and dives in.
Joonghyuk watches with faint amusement as Dokja practically inhales the dumplings. It’s cute. So cute. Joonghyuk feels his chest fill with indescribable rage at how adorable Dokja looks as he shoves the dumplings into his mouth. It’s the type of adorable that gives rise to violence. He wants to pinch and squeeze at Dokja’s cheek, which looks as soft and squishy as a Murim dumpling.
Dokja’s eyes light up at the taste, and he’s smiling too hard to chew properly. His elated expression clearly says, “Isn’t this the best?” as he turns excitedly to Joonghyuk, cheeks still stuffed full with food. Once he realizes how ridiculous he looks, he dips his head in embarrassment. Joonghyuk feels the corners of his lips twitching. It’s strange. Seeing Dokja so happy over some dumplings somehow makes his heart swell.
Dokja, head still lowered, reaches out to push the plate towards Joonghyuk. Despite his excitement, he’s held back and left half the dumplings for Joonghyuk. Joonghyuk picks up his chopsticks. He looks at Dokja’s bowed head and the tips of his reddened ears. He thinks about pure joy and how hard it is to find in a ruined world. He puts his chopsticks down, calls for the waiter, and orders another plate of Murim dumplings.
✧✧✧
A while later and they’ve exited the teahouse. Dokja is satiated and full, and Joonghyuk seems to be in an exceptionally pleasant mood. Dokja’s heart pangs when he thinks about when he’ll ever get to taste food so good again. It might be something Joonghyuk feels every time he leaves First Murim.
First Murim, in ways, is Joonghyuk’s origin story— the birth of his Transcendence skill that has built a path for him to reach the stars. Dokja has read it countless times: Joonghyuk’s first trip to First Murim, his harsh training that blossomed into the raw power to cut down the intangible with one sword stroke, the destruction of Murim and the death of Joonghyuk’s master. But there are things Dokja hasn’t read before, like this squashed little teahouse hidden in the corner of town. He wants to know more about First Murim.
Dokja weighs his words carefully before speaking up. “Joonghyuk, what’s your favorite place in First Murim?”
Joonghyuk startles at the unexpected question. “Why?”
“Don’t answer my question with another question, bastard. Just tell me.”
Joonghyuk considers briefly. “The training hill.”
It’s a short and insincere reply, but excitement rises in Dokja’s heart. It’s the burning desire to know more about a fantasy world straight from the protagonist of the story. Along with this, unbridled curiosity about the parts of Yoo Joonghyuk himself that TWSA didn’t mention.
Dokja fires off more questions. Joonghyuk grows increasingly more bewildered with each one. He isn’t used to this— Dokja is usually the one with the answers, never the questions. But as he reluctantly answers everything, it becomes a rather nice feeling, knowing something Dokja doesn’t. And Joonghyuk thinks he rather likes having Dokja’s full attention, feeling Dokja’s bright eyes on him, Dokja hanging on his every word.
As they converse and roam the streets, the sun sets, and it’s almost twilight before Dokja realizes. He only notices because of the color of Joonghyuk’s dark hair, set ablaze with the burning tones of First Murim’s sunset.
“It’s getting dark,” Dokja remarks. “I’ll have to leave soon.”
Joonghyuk’s fists clench at empty air. He gazes helplessly at Dokja.
After a while of watching the shadows of Dokja’s lashes shift on his cheek and the gold illuminating his face turn to copper bronze, Joonghyuk makes a decision.
“Okay. We will part here then. I hope you can find your way back.” Joonghyuk turns away.
Dokja nods dumbly, once, before his brain catches up. “Wait!” He reaches out towards Joonghyuk then falters, hand pausing in midair right before he can touch Joonghyuk.
Joonghyuk looks back at him, as if he’s been expecting it. “What?”
“I… I, uh, can’t find my way back,” Dokja confesses, drawing his arm back. “Can we go together?”
Joonghyuk sighs heavily, as if this is some particularly grievous task he’s been burdened with. “Yes.”
They trace their way back through the streets, yet Dokja can’t remember walking any of them before. His navigational skills… really could use some work. He wonders if there’s a skill for this out there to purchase.
The sky darkens rapidly, twilight bringing a cool blue sweeping over the city. Joonghyuk looks even more like a shadow now as he navigates the streets with familiar ease, a confused Dokja trailing a few steps after him.
Joonghyuk’s footsteps quiet to a stop right before the junction of a main street. Dokja barrels forward and almost gets run over by a cart full of cabbage rattling by. He blinks and gapes with awe at the spectacle before them.
The quiet town from earlier in the day has been completely transformed. The main street is bustling with people: martial artists, street vendors, and families alike. The smell of meat on the grill drifts through the air, and the noisy chatter of the crowd grows louder with each passing second. Most eye-catching of all is the bright golden glow of countless lanterns streaming into the sky. First Murim is absolutely brimming with warmth.
“What’s going on here?” Dokja asks Joonghyuk, who is watching the proceedings with a frown.
“First Murim’s Lantern Festival,” Joonghyuk answers. He’s a bit irked that he’s forgotten it’s during this time of the year. “I know another way to get back. We can take a detour—”
His words float off when he glimpses Dokja’s excited face and sparkling eyes. “... and look at the festivities,” he finds himself saying. Dokja’s resulting smile takes his breath away.
Lively music fills the ear, a symphony of tittering flutes, string instruments, and rhythmic drum beats. The street is lined with food stalls and their colorful cloth banners, as well as the glow of lanterns everywhere. Festive energy thrums in the air.
Dokja steps forward, entranced.
Joonghyuk grabs Dokja’s wrist. Dokja whirls around in surprise.
“You have a habit of getting lost easily.” With a tug, he draws Dokja closer.
Dokja looks at the hand gripping his wrist and struggles to shake it free. Joonghyuk tightens his grip. Dokja’s wrist starts to hurt a bit. He punches at Joonghyuk’s side with his free hand, but, of course, of course Joonghyuk’s waist is packed with muscle and Dokja just ends up hurting his own hand. Joonghyuk stares at him as if he’s an idiot.
Dokja winces. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed yet, but my Incarnation body still hasn’t fully recovered yet, and you’re not helping with that.”
Joonghyuk immediately lets go of Dokja’s wrist as if Dokja has burned him. The people milling about them jostle Dokja closer to Joonghyuk until he bumps against Joonghyuk’s shoulder. Dokja sighs, and loops his arm around Joonghyuk’s.
He feels ridiculous. Joonghyuk goes still.
Dokja begins to think that this is a Bad Idea and tries to slip away. The moment he loosens out, Joonghyuk squeezes Dokja’s arm to his body with alarming speed, like it’s a reflex. And then, without another word, they’re off again, arms tightly linked.
Dokja is again subjected to Joonghyuk’s absurdly long strides. In fact, he’s practically being dragged about as they make their way further down the street. The crowd makes way for Joonghyuk, probably because of his scary aura, but Dokja, like the sad punching bag he is, gets pushed and shoved around a lot.
Joonghyuk notices quickly and unlinks their arms so he can hold Dokja’s waist instead. They’re pressed even closer together. It’s quite an intimate position. Dokja wonders if Joonghyuk can hear his heart beating away wildly in his ribcage, right against where Joonghyuk’s hand is splayed.
Dokja is soon distracted from Joonghyuk’s secure hold on him. He gets a whiff of a now startlingly familiar smell: the tantalizing aroma of Murim dumplings and chicken broth. He’s salivating, reminiscing the taste.
Joonghyuk sees Dokja staring rather intently at a place and follows his line of sight to spot… a vendor selling Murim dumplings. Of course. Dokja is practically drooling, and his eyes are dreamy and wistful.
“Do you want?”
“Huh?” Dokja’s gaze snaps back to Joonghyuk. “Oh… that?” He points at the food stall shyly.
Joonghyuk nods.
“Uh, I guess, yes?”
Joonghyuk violently stalks over to the vendor and asks for a serving of Murim dumplings. He shoves the paper bundle into Dokja’s hands while he pays. Dokja’s eyes are wide open in shock.
“... This is for me? Or…?”
Joonghyuk glares at Dokja. “Eat.” He spits out the word like it’s a threat.
Dokja quickly stuffs a dumpling into his mouth.
It continues like this:
They stumble along the crowded street. Joonghyuk continuously buys food and shoves it at Dokja if Dokja so much as glances at a stall. Dokja wonders if he’s done something wrong and this is some sick new method of punishment from Joonghyuk. He gets assaulted with a variety of street food— hot fishcakes, frozen tanghulu, spicy-sweet tteokbokki, savory jianbing, and more.
Joonghyuk is still latched onto Dokja’s arm, annoyingly, like some sort of adamant starfish stuck to glass. He receives his latest purchase from the vendor, grilled squid on a stick, and promptly jams it into Dokja’s mouth. Dokja coughs in surprise and almost chokes on a tentacle.
“Are you trying to kill me?”
Before Joonghyuk can stick it further down his throat, Dokja hurriedly chews the squid down. Meanwhile, Joonghyuk has set his sights on another stall, which is selling what seems to be hand-pulled noodles. Dokja does not think he can swallow another bite. He’s simultaneously touched and terrified of Joonghyuk being so… nice to him. Consideration and the Incarnation known as Yoo Joonghyuk are two very different concepts.
Dokja tugs on Joonghyuk’s sleeve before Joonghyuk can stomp off to buy a bowl of hand-pulled noodles. He rearranges his question from earlier.
“Do you think I’m going to die?”
Joonghyuk stares at him. “No.”
“Then why are you…” Dokja flaps a hand in an awkward gesture. “Why are you doing this, feeding me so much food, and...”
“I thought you wanted to try First Murim cuisine?”
“Yes, but…”
Dokja slips into silence as he sinks deep into his thoughts. He’s overanalyzing everything again, assumptions and theories at full sprint as they circle around his brian.
Jonghyuk desperately wants to know what he’s thinking. It always goes like this. Dokja starts thinking, gets distant, and Joonghyuk will lose him one way or another.
Perhaps that’s why his hand reaches out to grasp Dokja’s neck— no, it’s a little higher than that, near the jaw, to turn Dokja’s face to face him. “What are you thinking?” His voice, low and quiet, can barely be heard above the din of the crowd.
Joonhyuk’s fingers move down to Dokja’s neck. His thumb brushes along Dokja’s Adam's apple and then right against his pulse point. Dokja’s mind goes completely blank. All he can focus on is Joonghyuk’s thumb moving on his throat, gently rubbing circles into his skin.
He looks blankly into Joonghyuk’s eyes. Gentle eyes, warm with the glow of the festival lights, almost fond. His touch on Dokja’s neck is feather-light this time, but Dokja finds himself unable to speak regardless. He was never one to know what to do when treated with kindness.
“I don’t know.” His eyes drift to a random spot near Joonghyuk’s shoulder. Looking anywhere, anywhere but Joonghyuk’s unbearably tender gaze. “Just… why?”
“Thank you for taking me here.”
Dokja is stunned. He’s not sure if he’s heard Joonghyuk ever say thank you to anyone before. He’s not sure if he deserves to hear this.
A smile blooms on Dokja’s lips. It’s a small, bitter thing. “Isn’t that supposed to be my line? Besides, you might regret it.” It’ll happen when First Murim gets destroyed once more and Joonghyuk is too far away to dash back and save this world.
Joonghyuk’s hand has moved to the base of Dokja’s neck, fingers against his collarbone.
“I’ve found that with you, there aren’t things such as regrets.”
Joonghyuk’s hand rests on Dokja’s shoulder. Warm, steady. There. Dokja trembles ever so slightly, feeling burning hot and all glowy inside and for the first time like he’s really, truly, become a star. It’s strange, so strange that Joonghyuk would say something like this. But Dokja keeps his mouth shut and reads the history in Joonghyuk’s eyes, the spark of happiness in there, something akin to home-coming.
Kim Dokja doesn’t feel burdened by Joonghyuk’s words. Instead he feels like he can make all the stars in the sky bow at his feet, at their feet, just with the weight of Joonghyuk’s hand supporting him. He feels like they could reach the epilogue of this story right now, shattering through all the walls before them with one touch.
“When I return, let’s go to the end together.” This time, his smile is euphoric.
Joonghyuk wonders if this is what real eternity is like, the kind that makes you want to live on forever for one person. To give that someone your hopes for safekeeping, trusting that all the dreams will become reality. Infinite, everlasting faith.
The lantern-light grows faint, and the sky spills ink blue when they reach the end of the street. Joonghyuk’s hand stays on Dokja’s shoulder until they part.
✧✧✧
Joonghyuk doesn’t send Dokja off. Dokja understands. Joonghyuk’s hatred of constellations and all things related… it’s no wonder the last he saw of Joonghyuk was the tail of his black coat in his night breeze as he left without a parting word.
But even now, the ghost of his touch lingers on Dokja’s skin as he’s whisked off to the stars.
Back on First Murim, Joonghyuk stands on a familiar hill and looks up at the night sky, searching for a certain star.