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Joonghyuk turns on the light and drags his two suitcases along, doing his best to ignore his vibrating phone which had chosen to get stuck in a very uncomfortable place. He curses whoever it is that’s been calling him for the past ten minutes and then immediately takes all his curses back when he sees Mia’s name on the screen.
He all but collapses on the couch of his living room like a man who’s already lived three quarters of his life, and accepts the call, readying every reprimand in humankind’s history to give to the girl for staying up this late.
“Oppa, you finally picked up. What took you so long? I was so worried. I’m really going to break your legs one day.”
His sister’s voice comes out clearly enough, in spite of the distance the two of them share currently. What with Joonghyuk being on another continent and all. But he knows Mia a little too well. The ounces of worry seeping out every here and there, the quivering lips she was trying to hide with the lying shades of the bedside lamp; she had been crying.
“Sorry, Mia. There's so much snow outside so it took me a while to settle,” he responds, a small smile he reserves only for her plastered on his face. “Forgive your oppa, okay? Please don’t break my legs!”
Mia huffs then, crossing her arms and looking away. She looks adorable this way. Sitting crossed-legged on her bed, her Supreme King plushy she’d gotten from Joonghyuk himself on her last birthday resting comfortably in the middle. Joonghyuk is almost jealous of a plushie that looks like a kkomafied version of himself.
“Oppa, I thought something bad had happened.”
Joonghyuk breathes out a small sigh. “I didn’t know my little sister was a worrywart.”
At that, Mia looks like she’s about to roll her pretty eyes but probably out of respect she has for him, refrains from doing so. “You’re my only brother, though. Of course, I’ll be worried.”
“And I’m going to be even more worried if I come back and see dark circles under my sister’s eyes because she decided to stay up until three in the morning. So go to sleep right now.”
“Ehehe,” she sweats. “It’s not only me who is up, though. Gilyoung and Yoosung are here too.” At the mention of the other kids’ names, two new faces show up in Joonghyuk’s point of view. Shin Yoosung smiles and waves at him, but she quickly turns away and yawns, meanwhile Lee Gilyoung glances anywhere but at him, barely grunting in acknowledgment. Joonghyuk, for the life of him, doesn’t know what he did to piss off the kid this badly. He’s probably still sulking after that one time he went to his world and farmed all his scarabs for his character in Genshin.
Well, he is a content creator who plays games on streaming platforms for a living so all the skills the kid had were taught to him by Joonghyuk in the first place. He’d discussed this with Lee Seolhwa once. She’d laughed and told him, word for word: “Maybe he’d like you better if you weren’t so ready to throw hands with him at any given opportunity.”
She was wrong, of course. If given the right opportunity, and if nothing was at stake, Yoo Joonghyuk was ready to throw hands with everyone . So Gilyoung wasn’t special in his eyes whatsoever.
Despite Joonghyuk’s earlier warning, he and the kids continue to chat some more. It’s still Friday here, but it’s Saturday in Korea now, so Joonghyuk can afford to be lenient every once in a while.
“Show us your house then,” Gilyoung says. He has his own phone out. Joonghyuk squints a bit and sees familiar graphics on the screen.
“I’ll call tomorrow and then show it to you three.”
“Hah, you’re just saying that because I bet your house is a mess right now.”
Joonghyuk sighs, pinching lightly the bridge of his nose. The kid makes it too hard not to mess with him sometimes.
“No,” he snorts. “I’m saying this because you three need to go to sleep right now. If you don’t, I’ll sell your Genshin accounts when I come back.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s illegal,” Yoosung interrupts, too tired to even move her head from his sister’s leg, using it as a pillow.
“Try me,” he says and leaves it at that. She’s right, of course, but a little fear never hurt anybody. “This is the last time I’m saying this. Go to sleep. I better not catch you staying up so late again.”
“Okay, okay, oppa. No need to get angry. We will sleep now, and I’ll call you again tomorrow. Good night.”
Joonghyuk nods, says goodnight back, and his screen goes black. A look at the ticking clock on the wall behind him tells him it’s nine PM. He spent almost a full hour speaking on the phone with his sister and her friends and realizes he already misses them. Sighing, Joonghyuk runs a hand through his locks, turns off his phone, and takes a shower.
He’s already as naked as on the day he was born when he realizes that he has no hot water at all. He curses out loud and showers the quickest he has ever done in his almost thirty years of life, praying to whatever God is mocking him right now that he doesn’t catch a cold.
Waking up to some chickens' clucking was not in Joonghyuk’s bingo for the year. With the last of his sleep and patience quickly eroding away, he opens the window and grabs it by the neck. It does nothing to stop the clucking but Joonghyuk finds out it has a name tag around her neck.
Finding out that this annoying chicken actually has a name was not in his bingo for the year either. Joonghyuk is of the mind to get up and grab a kitchen knife and make tasty dinner out of this chicken-turned-pet creature which has found her way to his house completely unprompted when he hears human footsteps fastly approaching.
“Oh my god, Biyoo, what is up with you lately?” the man says, halting as his eyes land on the hold Joonghyuk has around the chicken’s neck and then moving on to his torso. Very bare, and very cold torso, he might add, because Joonghyuk slept naked last night — laziness is a disease — and it’s also cold enough that he sees nothing but white in the area, save for the trees and the other houses that, because of the darkness from the night before, had gone unnoticed by him.
So yeah, now he’s being ogled at by some chicken-pet owner who can’t even take care of his pets and has to bother Joonghyuk first thing in the morning. Maybe he should switch places with his chicken instead, Joonghyuk muses. Not only would he get a better view but Joonghyuk might put him out of his misery.
“You don’t plan to cook Biyoo, do you?” the man says, seemingly having come to his senses now. “For the record, she’s pregnant, so you’ll be killing many souls in one go if you do. Are you really that heartless?”
“Why, you wanna take her place, then?”
“You want to c-cook me?” the neighbor points at himself. His fingers are red, Joonghyuk notes. In spite of his coat and scarf — both white, which only serves to irritate Joonghyuk to no end because why has he made it his life or death mission to blend in with the snow and not wear darker colors when he looks like he’s freezing if his constant shivering amounts to anything. “So you’re not only heartless but a cannibal, too, now? Oh, the terror.”
“Are you mocking me right now? Do you want to die?” Joonghyuk all but yells, but eases the hold on Biyoo’s neck. He sees her tilting her little head and staring at him. Great, the pet is exactly like her owner.
The owner in question laughs and walks closer, uncaring for Joonghyuk’s glare and previous threatening words. “I’m just joking.” And laughs some more. “Joking, joking, don’t take it to heart. I’m sorry for Biyoo’s antics, I really don't know what’s gotten into her these past few days but she always comes here.”
He reaches for the chicken and Joonghyuk releases her. He is of the mind of closing the window to his face but it seems like his neighbor is not done yet.
Now that he’s up close, Joonghyuk gets a better look at his face. He is, to put it simply, nothing special. Pale, average looks at best, his skin is clear and unblemished — he definitely has a skincare routine — though Joonghyuk is sure his breathing stopped when he stared at his neighbor’s eyes.
Slanted and dark and shining. He’s never seen eyes like this. Not in all the games he’s played, and definitely not in real life either. For a moment, he considers his neighbor to be wearing fake contacts instead, because otherwise why would he be so pre—
He clears his throat before his mind finishes that thought without his consent. Okay, maybe his looks were above average. The man doesn’t need to know that. Joonghyuk opens his mouth once he finds his voice back and says dumbly. “She woke me up.” And there’s definitely no hint of sulking to be detected.
The neighbor blinks. “At this hour?”
At the unexpected remark, Joonghyuk frowns and quickly checks the time, and holy shit, it’s already afternoon. He’s successfully skipped both breakfast and lunch. . . which is an absolute first for him. “Ah, shit,” he curses, scrambling for a pair of sweatpants and a shirt to wear.
The neighbor is left forgotten until Joonghyuk hears him laughing outside the window. “Seems like my Biyoo did you a favor. Isn’t she the best girl ever?”
Joonghyuk is putting on his socks yet can’t help but turn his head toward the voice. “Hmm,” he agrees. “Guess I can promise not to cook her now, then.”
“That’s great,” the man nods his head. “I’m Kim Dokja, by the way. ‘Dokja’ as in ‘reader’. Not to be confused with ‘only child’.”
So, his neighbor is Korean, too, he thinks, before turning to face him fully. He’s not sure how he looks to Kim Dokja right now, but the glint in his eyes is enough to tell Joonghyuk that he finds his bedhead amusing, and his choice in wardrobe even more so.
“Then how many siblings do you have?” Joonghyuk asks with a raised eyebrow. Somehow, Kim Dokja doesn’t strike him as someone who’s known the struggles of older siblings taking on the role of deadbeat parents like he has when Mia was basically dumped at his doorstep.
Kim Dokja laughs awkwardly. “I am an only child actually. My name just doesn’t mean that, and many have asked me if I was an only child whenever I would introduce myself so now telling my neighbors the story behind it has become a habit. But what’s your name though? You never told me.”
“You never asked,” Joonghyuk says. His neighbor has the nerve to pout, and Joonghyuk has no other choice but to sigh. “Yoo Joonghyuk.” He waits for the hint of recognition in his eyes, for Kim Dokja to suddenly pull out a pen or a permanent marker and ask for an autograph, or worse, pull out his phone and take a selfie or record him.
Joonghyuk knows this is no bragging matter, but in Korea, he can’t ever leave his apartment without a proper disguise. And it’s a curse way more than a blessing. Because blessings don’t usually bring you mail containing death threats and force you to move apartments or in Joonghyuk’s case, take an indefinite hiatus.
He’s only sad he had to say goodbye to DKOS9158, though. Guwon is the only fan he ever liked even if Joonghyuk doesn’t know anything else about him. But Guwon has been kind enough to respect his privacy, not even asking for his name or personally-signed Supreme King merch even if Joonghyuk had been more than willing.
Kim Dokja, however, seems unaware of everything. “Nice to meet you, then.”
When he leaves, Joonghyuk’s eyes follow the trail his boots make in the snow. It’s definitely not because Joonghyuk wants to know where he lives, and Joonghyuk definitely doesn’t get happy when he finds out Kim Dokja’s house is nearest to him. So he closes the windows after his bedroom has gotten enough fresh air and starts unpacking.
“I know I promised not to cook you but this is getting ridiculous,” Joonghyuk says. When Biyoo doesn’t acknowledge his suffering in favor of making a trail in the snow that has piled up on his windowsill, Joonghyuk’s eye twitches. “Come on in,” he says, glaring when the annoying chicken actually lands on top of his bedside lamp, almost knocking it over if it weren’t for Joonghyuk’s quick reflexes. Maybe he should’ve promised not to cook her for a certain amount of time because this was getting harder and harder by the minute.
“Isn’t she cute?” Kim Dokja had acquired when he’d visited him again that night, a basket filled with wood on his back and Biyoo resting on top of his shoulder. “I got these for you since I’m assuming you need to keep your little house warm, no?”
Joonghyuk had not bothered to refute since his neighbor was right. He’d grunted his thanks and had expected that to be it. Kim Dokja would leave and Joonghyuk would return to unpacking and cooking dinner. He’d sent Mia a message right before hearing his neighbor knocking on his door.
Yet the annoying chicken had a mind of her own clearly since it chose that exact moment to jump off her owner’s shoulder and land right beside Joonghyuk’s slippers. However, Kim Dokja was quick this time around, quick to catch her and out of harm’s way, as he put it after seeing Joonghyuk’s glare.
Since that night, he hadn’t seen Kim Dokja or his chicken. He’d planned on going to hunt by the end of the week and get something for the neighbor as thanks for last time, but it appears he might be forced to see him with no gift to present. “Why are you even here, just to make me suffer?” He asks no one in particular because Biyoo ignores him once more, in favor of rushing towards the door and Joonghyuk has reached his limit already. "Aren't you supposedly pregnant?" He puts on his coat, and wraps a scarf around him, knowing he already has no choice but to walk her back to her owner.
It's a short walk to Kim Dokja's house. A baby blue cottage that reminds him of spring in spite of the snow reaching all highs and lows. The small wooden door creaks when Joonghyuk enters the small garden. The short, narrow pathway had definitely seen better days too because Joonghyuk doubts Kim Dokja has bothered to shovel all the snow, unlike Joonghyuk. Truly, Joonghyuk and Kim Dokja were like polar opposites in so many ways, laughably so once you consider how the only thing they had in common is their motherland.
He knocks on Kim Dokja's door once, and there's no shuffling or rushing from the other side. He knocks again and there's still nothing.
"Kim Dokja?" A pang of restlessness fills him when there's no answer once again. He puts Biyoo down and walks around the house, squinting his eyes when trying to peek inside. Kim Dokja's kitchen is small and there's nothing out of the ordinary so Joonghyuk doesn't stay longer than necessary. Next, he sees a bed, sheets done tidily — to his chagrin — no clothes on the floor or in the chair, although there's a book by the bedside drawer with a black bookmark with green neon edges. It's a bit familiar but he wills his eyes not to linger there any longer. So he shrugs and continues to walk around the perimeter.
He doesn't take three full steps before Joonghyuk experiences what it feels like to be hit with a snowball for the first time in his life. Once when he was streaming he’d been asked whether he takes his sister out to play in the snow, and Joonghyuk had confided in the presence of thousands of viewers that he’d never once even played in the snow himself. He still remembers how the chat started pitying him about how he’s never known the joy of being hit by a snowball. Joonghyuk had rolled his eyes at the time and had continued playing his video games in peace.
He barely registers Kim Dokja’s annoying laugh when a second snowball flies the distance and reaches Joonghyuk’s left shoulder. He avoids the third one as best as he can before glaring at the other, a “what the fuck are you doing?” escaping his lips. Kim Dokja ignores Joonghyuk’s threatening tone, choosing to throw another snowball. Joonghyuk catches it this time. It’s cold outside so the snowball doesn’t immediately melt, although the perfect shape of the object is undoubtedly ruined.
He narrows his eyes at Kim Dokja, palms shaping the snow gathered on his coat into a rather bigger snowball. He’s too weak to fight off his smile muscles, because he smirks, raises an eyebrow at his neighbor, and throws his latest masterpiece in his direction.
“Ow!” Kim Dokja grunts as Joonghyuk’s snowball hits him right in the middle of his forehead. “You bastard, that hurt, you know.”
“You started it,” says Joonghyuk, throwing another successfully.
“Okay, okay, hahaha, stop throwing so many at my head.”
“No,” Joonghyuk replies, rushing towards the other man. Kim Dokja raises his hands up in surrender, squeezing his eyes shut as he prepares for Joonghyuk’s next attack. For some reason, he muses, the other man hasn’t thought of running away, so Joonghyuk concludes that his neighbor might like their little game. He tackles him to the ground, small chuckles erupting from Kim Dokja as he does so. The snow cushions their fall and when Joonghyuk raises his eyes to have a better look, he halts.
The sun shines across Kim Dokja’s face, pale and flushed. His plump, pink lips have opened slightly to help him breathe easier, and Joonghyuk can feel the beating of his heart. Dark bangs frame Kim Dokja’s face stunningly, making him look no older than twenty. It reminds Joonghyuk that he knows nothing about his neighbor — not even his age. That’s because it hasn’t been long since they met, the voice of reason in his head smartly deduces.
It is a surprise, however, that Joonghyuk has the desire to know more about Kim Dokja. He wants to know why he keeps his house tidy and clean, yet has a pet chicken. He wants to know why he wears so much white, and what the book he saw in his room is about. Is his neighbor a reader or a writer and where—
“—o Joonghyuk? Joonghyuk! Joonghyuk-ah, are you listening to me?” Joonghyuk pulls himself to the present, the man underneath him having resorted to slapping his cheek — it didn’t hurt, but how dare he — to get his attention again. Joonghyuk catches his wrist and stops himself before he crosses the point of no return.
“Fuck.” He curses at the mental image of Kim Dokja, wrists being held above his head by one of Joonghyuk’s hands, squirming underneath Joonghyuk, trying uselessly to get away from him.
Kim Dokja startles when Joonghyuk quickly scrambles back to his feet. Joonghyuk registers how he calls out his name, small and worried and fragile, and Joonghyuk can’t bring himself to look back. He darts towards his house wordlessly, listening to his phone’s ringtone as he locks the door despite it being daylight. Lee Seolhwa, it reads, and Joonghyuk lets out a shaky breath and curses again.
She was the first and the last person he’d fucked. Dating her had come as a surprise to absolutely no one who had known the two, and breaking up while still remaining friends had been one of the best decisions they both had taken.
As Lee Seolhwa had once put it “Honestly, Joonghyuk, I simply do not feel butterflies anymore.” Joonghyuk had never felt them in the first place. Even after they had sex, for a while Joonghyuk kept thinking that maybe the reason why he had a low drive was that he simply didn’t care for it. Maybe he preferred not to have sex at all. Seolhwa had only shrugged when he’d brought it up, seemingly having nothing to add because it wouldn’t ruin their relationship.
So for a few years, Joonghyuk didn’t bother to question his identity, and inquiries of his sexual orientation and activities by fans with no sense of self-preservation went unanswered and the latter were rewarded with the block button.
Certainly, after he and Seolhwa broke up, he did masturbate from time to time, but not once did he get the urge to find a hole to stick his cock into.
Until today that is.
“Ah, fuck!” It’s almost embarrassing how fast he brings himself to completion, chest heaving up and down, lungs seeking more air. The image he’d conjured of Kim Dokja earlier refused to be buried even after his dick fell soft against his sticky fingers. His phone rings again but Joonghyuk is too far gone to pick it up at this point.
If there’s one lesson Joonghyuk learned the hard way, it is that no one, under any circumstances, should self-diagnose. Just look at him and the predicament he’d found himself in these past few days, for example. He’d thought that the fear-induced stress — he didn’t fear for his life as much as he did for his sister’s — had been the main benefactor to his self-diagnosed insomnia but ever since he’d done that while thinking of a particular neighbor, he’s slept like a baby.
Sure, more often than not he wakes up with a hard-on because of certain not-safe-for-work dreams but that’s beside the point.
The actual point is that Joonghyuk is an idiot.
No wonder Seolhwa had never prescribed him any medicine when Joonghyuk had made an appointment once after he moved apartments. Or during that time she had brought Mia back from Yoosung’s house at about nine PM and, per Joonghyuk’s request, had stayed over. When she caught him on his phone in the living room at 4 AM in the morning she’d taken one look at him and shaken her head with a quiet sigh. At the time, Joonghyuk had thought that maybe she was silently scolding him — and she was, because Joonghyuk wouldn’t mistake her disappointed look for anything — but now he had doubts.
Has he been missing many hours' worth of sleep because he. . . missed sex? Specifically, missed having a mental image of someone whenever he masturbated? Was there any scientific explanation for this on Google that Joonghyuk was somehow missing because he really doubts he’s special enough to have a disease that’s never been seen or heard of before?
He’s washing the dishes from yesterday’s dinner when he sees Kim Dokja parking his car in front of his porch. Joonghyuk squints, trying to check the bags he’s holding. He was sure that if he had a mirror right now, he would’ve looked like a gossip-loving ahjumma.
Kim Dokja walks towards the door, careful not to break the eggs he’s bought, among many other things. Joonghyuk can’t help but raise an eyebrow. He didn’t take Kim Dokja for a baker, though, he supposes that Kim Dokja is also someone just like Joonghyuk, living in the middle of nowhere, and feeding himself or else he starves to death.
Joonghyuk wouldn’t let him starve, though. If Kim Dokja would let him, he would cook for him for the rest of his life, or for the rest of his stay in this place at the very least.
Biyoo immediately darts towards her owner and Kim Dokja laughs and says something to her that Joonghyuk obviously can’t hear. Seeing them together brings out a memory of a few nights before when Joonghyuk, skeptic of Biyoo’s condition, had googled how long can chickens stay pregnant. As a result, he found out that Kim Dokja had been lying to him about it in the first place. He should’ve been angry at him if he weren’t busy with other matters at the time.
Once Kim Dokja closes his door and disappears inside, Joonghyuk saunters towards the couch and unplugs his phone charger before resting. Now that he has nothing to do, he logs in to his private Twitter account. There’s an unacknowledged post Han Sooyoung had tagged him on because she had too much time on her hands despite having so many deadlines to meet with her publishers. He scrolls past and three posts later his eyes widen when he sees a promoted ad containing a collage of a few pictures filled with white and red, and hearts and roses. But what struck Joonghyuk more was the caption of the ad. ‘Let this Valentine’s be unforgettable!’
Huh, okay.
Was Kim Dokja baking cookies for Valentine’s? For whom? Was he online dating and planning to send the chocolates to his girlfriend somehow? But today is Valentine’s so isn’t he a bit too late? Or maybe, a shiver ran through Joonghyuk’s body at the thought, he’s started dating a girl from the village, after all, and he’s baking her cookies.
Or maybe he’s baking them for me, the delusional part of his mind supplies, and Joonghyuk, a man with mostly (doubtful) a functioning brain, wills himself to ignore it for the sake of his, already crumbling, sanity.
Pathetically, Joonghyuk spends the rest of Valentine’s day staring out the window in the direction of Kim Dokja’s house. The light of his kitchen has been on for a while now, even as the sun had long since set and Kim Dokja had not left his house with a box of chocolates in hand, to give it to the imaginary girl Joonghyuk had brought into existence as Kim Dokja’s girlfriend.
When it’s past nine, the lights turn off, probably indicating that whatever Kim Dokja had been doing in his kitchen all day had finally ceased and the other man was preparing to call it a night. Joonghyuk is, for better or for worse, very puzzled by this.
The next day begins uneventfully. Joonghyuk wakes up, makes his bed, showers, and cooks himself breakfast from ingredients he’d purchased a few days ago. Then, once he knows it’s late enough, he calls Mia on the phone and asks her how she’s doing. She rolls her eyes and says “same as yesterday, oppa.” Truthfully, Joonghyuk doesn’t know what he’s expecting. On one hand, he’s never been far away from her for this long, and on the other, he knows what she says is correct. There’s nothing that could’ve probably happened in the span of a few hours because human life’s monotone at best.
He’d make the same argument for his own life too had Kim Dokja not self-invited himself into it. His fingers pause before his laptop screen. He was about to press the play button on a movie Netflix had suggested that also caught his eye because the main character looked an awful lot like his favorite neighbor, but now he sat on his bed, legs crossed and fries on a plate beside him. Joonghyuk couldn’t remember when Kim Dokja’s existence had started to become so important to him to the point where he made Joonghyuk’s life interesting.
He’s not shocked by this revelation, more like, angry because it took him months to realize and acknowledge. Then again, he thinks rather bemusedly, it’s still only been two months, so maybe he’s not in his right mind. Maybe he’s rushing. Maybe his neighbor. . . Dokja doesn’t share his feelings. At the end of the day, they don't know each other.
But he wants to. Gods above, he really wants to.
He all but sprints towards the door when he hears someone knocking. It’s familiar to Joonghyuk, that pattern. He admits he and Dokja haven’t actually crossed paths that many times, but Joonghyuk recognizes the knock to be his.
"Hey," Dokja says when Joonghyuk opens the door. He is shaking from the cold, holding something in front of him with his hands bare and reddish. Joonghyuk steps aside and allows him in. The last time they. . . parted ways left much to be desired from Joonghyuk's perspective but he can't possibly even bear the thought of Kim Dokja freezing outside because of him.
Even though he's reckless enough to walk outside without gloves. He'll surely die young at this rate.
"Uhm, I brought some cake."
Like a broken record, Joonghyuk replies reflexively. "I don't eat food made by others."
"Eh? Ah. . . I. . . see."
The dejected look on Dokja's face almost convinced Joonghyuk to strike himself until he drew blood. He'll have to mend this somehow.
"Cake is okay, though."
Dokja brightens up instantly. Joonghyuk makes way for him to enter inside, taking the cake out of his hands as he does so.
“Ah, your place is much warmer than mine,” Dokja says with a sigh. “I’m kinda jealous now. When you first arrived you didn’t even have a single piece of wood.”
Joonghyuk snorts but doesn’t bother replying, opening the cake instead. It’s a chocolate cake if the overly brown color is of any indication. Makes him wonder a few things; one, did he go shopping the other day to bake this cake? And two, why share it with Joonghyuk in the first place? A day after Valentine’s Day was over, no less.
He serves two pieces on the small table in the living room, making sure Dokja gets the larger piece because he’s way too skinny as it is. Seriously, does this man eat his meals regularly? Why is he all skin and bones and like he’s seconds from breaking in half? Joonghyuk hasn’t even sat properly on the couch beside Dokja when he’s urged to take a bite by the man, eagerly waiting to know how it tastes.
“It tastes fine,” Joonghyuk says after swallowing a piece. “I would’ve baked a better one.”
Dokja pouts, crossing his arms to his chest and throwing an accusatory stare in his direction. Joonghyuk finds his silent tantrums to be infinitely cute but it’s not like he’ll open his mouth and tell him so. Him thinking about it is embarrassing enough as it is.
“It doesn’t work that way,” Dokja mutters, taking a small candle out of his pocket. “You got a lighter on you?”
Joonghyuk nods and gives it to him, not understanding what the candle is needed for before something in his brain clicks. A cake and a candle — amongst other things — is a combination used in many types of parties, but given the atmosphere right now, a cozy little home blocking the scary blizzard outside, a dim, sometimes flickering light, and a sole candle burning brightly on a single cake piece.
“It’s your birthday.” It’s a statement. Joonghyuk finally connected the dots.
Dokja glances at his probably incredulous expression and laughs. “Well yeah. I have a birthday too.”
“I know that.” Of course, Joonghyuk knew Dokja had a birthday. What he didn’t know, however, was why he had decided to spend it with Joonghyuk. He even baked a cake for crying out loud when it should’ve been him who did the baking and even bought a gift for him. Joonghyuk would’ve done so if he knew.
“I would ask you to wish me happy birthday but I know you can’t sing so,” he shrugs his shoulders, “happy birthday to me.” He blows on the candle and the small flame goes out just as quickly as it ignited. “I’m officially old enough for you to call me hyung.”
“I’m not calling you hyung,” Joonghyuk grits out, more so from embarrassment than anything. “Besides, how can I know you’re telling the truth? Hard to believe you’re older than me when you look like that—” he stops before ending up blurting something inappropriate. Luckily, Dokja doesn’t seem to have picked up anything strange about his words because he doesn’t question him about it.
Instead, he clicks his tongue and playfully shakes his head. “You really wound me with such harsh words, Joonghyuk-ah.” Joonghyuk blinks at him, his breath halting midway at the term. A piece of the cake quickly melts in his mouth at his sudden pause, yet Dokja, unaware or unbothered, he can’t quite tell, continues. “Not everyone was blessed with genes as good as yours. I’ll have you know my mother is beautiful and looks young just like me. Her inmates often mistake us for siblings whenever I visit. My biological father on the other hand was an ugly man inside and out.”
Ah. . . What? Joonghyuk thinks dumbly at the sudden revelation. He is rather shocked that Dokja is comfortable enough to share so much about his past with him. Joonghyuk, for his part, doesn’t want to pry too much into it and cross a line he shouldn’t. “Was?” However, he can’t help but inquire after remembering this small detail.
“He’s dead now,” Dokja says with an absent wave of his hand. “It was an act of self-defense but father’s relatives insisted mother be judged harsher than she should’ve been. Probably to get more money because I’d become their burden. Those assholes.”
Assholes, indeed. What should Joonghyuk reply in this situation, though? I’m glad you’re better. Or maybe, do you want me to kill those good-for-nothing relatives? No, he has Mia to take care of.
“Sorry,” Dokja says, promptly putting an end to Joonghyuk’s weird scenarios in his mind. “I came here for a happy occasion yet ended up trauma-dumping on you of all people.”
“Of all people?”
“Yeah, you’re on your break because of the death threats, and yet I—”
“What did you say?” Joonghyuk grabs his neck, instantly pouncing at him. His eyes shoot red from anger and betrayal. Why, he isn’t able to fathom. “You knew who I was? All this time you knew me?”
Dokja hisses in pain underneath him. Despite himself, Joonghyuk loosens his hold but doesn’t remove his hand. “Ah, wait. Let me explain.” a pair of slender fingers hold Joonghyuk’s hand, yet don’t try to pry it away from his throat.
“Then talk.”
“A-ah, yeah. I’ve watched your streams for years,” Dokja says, “I’m your fan.”
Ah, fuck, why, Joonghyuk thinks, disgusted at himself more than at the other man. “So why didn’t you say anything when we met, then?”
“Because you were going through a hard time already and I — ah hey, stop pressing so hard, will you — I didn’t want to scare you off.”
His explanation makes sense, and Joonghyuk hates how he immediately believes him as he lets go of Dokja’s neck and sits back down. He notes how Dokja’s white shirt had slightly lifted and exposed a bit of the soft and pale skin of his stomach.
Joonghyuk shifts his gaze down to his feet, running a hand through his hair. He must’ve glared pretty hard because the next thing he knows, Dokja stands up and makes his way to the door.
“Where are you going?” Joonghyuk blurts out before he can stop himself.
Dokja shakes his head. “I should leave. Sorry.”
“Stop apologizing and sit back down,” Joonghyuk demands. “I can’t eat all this cake by myself,” he adds for good measure. It’s a lie, of course, and he is certain Dokja has picked up on it, but his neighbor listens and settles back down on his previous spot on the couch. This time around, however, Joonghyuk makes sure to notice the light pinkish hue that graces his cheeks and his treacherous heart skips a beat against his ribcage.
“Are you mad at me?” comes the hushed question from his neighbor. Dokja looks bashful still, what with his hands in between his thighs. He is also adamant about glancing anywhere but in Joonghyuk’s direction.
Joonghyuk shifts closer to him. The same hand that was previously wrapped around the man’s neck now reaches up and holds his face. Dokja flinches and finally stares at him. “Joonghyuk-ah, what are you—”
“Do I have the reputation of hating my fans? Why would I be mad?” Well, Joonghyuk had lost his cool for about two minutes or so given that the marks his fingers left on Dokja’s pale neck were still visible. Dokja’s blush reddens and spreads all the way down to his neck. It was the most adorable thing Joonghyuk had gazed at, almost on par with the sight of Mia with pigtails and the bunny ears she’d bought on her trip to Disneyland.
“Well, I hid things from you.”
“Not to scare me off. Yes, you already told me that.” He lets go of Dokja’s cheek and lets his fingers brush lightly against his chin instead. Like this, Dokja’s face is tilted upwards and they’re way too close. “Do I know you from my streams? What’s your username?”
“Eh?” Dokja blinks. “Ah, yes you do. I’m, i-it’s DKOS9158.”
Joonghyuk’s eyebrows shoot up at that. He remembers that username more than he remembers his own. No way! There’s no way that Kim Dokja is the guy who’s witnessed Joonghyuk’s gaming journey relentlessly for the past thirteen years.
“Is that the reason why you always refused to meet up?” Joonghyuk asks after he felt like he’d had enough time to process the new information. He lets go of Dokja’s face completely when he feels the other tensing under his touch. “How long have you lived here?” he elaborates when the other man blinks at him in confusion.
“It’s been a few years,” Dokja says. “My adoptive parents are old money so they arranged for me to live here if I wanted to after graduation.” A shrug. “I saw the opportunity and took it. I’m grateful, of course, selfish as I may be.
But it wasn’t. . . me living here wasn’t the main reason why I didn’t want to meet you face-to-face.”
“Okay.”
“You don’t want to know?”
Joonghyuk shakes his head and shrugs. “It’s fine. Whatever your reasons, they must’ve been important. Besides, today’s your birthday, right? It’s still the 15th so let’s stop talking about it.”
He wasn’t really the best at lighting up the mood but for the first time since his stay here, a sense of dread sinks at the bottom of his stomach. Dokja looks down at the table, eyeing the half-eaten piece of cake, and smiles.
“I was lonely. These past few weeks,” he confesses. “It took me a lot of thinking and pondering before I decided to spend my birthday with you. Once I made up my mind, I looked up countless baking tutorials on Youtube. . . so I could at least have a reason to come to you.” Then, as if having remembered something funny, Dokja chuckles. “I failed so many attempts too, it’s a miracle my house is still intact actually.”
A small chuckle escapes Joonghyuk’s lips as well. “Fool,” he comments. “I’ll bake a cake for you tomorrow. You could use some more meat on your diet too. Maybe your pregnant chicken will do.”
“Oh my god, Biyoo’s not pregnant you idiot.”
After that night, Dokja and his chicken were a constant presence in Joonghyuk’s house. In every corner he turned to, there was either Dokja reading a book, physical or webnovel, or Dokja wearing a hoodie with Joonghyuk’s signature in it — Supreme King merch, he had told him a week after his birthday passed. So much for Joonghyuk willing to gift him one — and he would lie if he said he didn’t like seeing Dokja in a hoodie with his gamer tag. He looks nice, his mind said. He looks yours, his cock boasted. Joonghyuk fiercely glared down.
Masturbating with Dokja’s face in mind aside, ever since he found Dokja and Guwon were the same person and the feelings of betrayal which lasted for a good two minutes had long since subsided, he hasn’t been able to stop fantasizing about the lewdest faces of his neighbor, who, most definitely, didn’t even know were possible to make.
So far gone he’d been that he even searched ‘what is fanfiction’ on Google after having taken a peek at his fans and coming across a fanmade story of Guwon and himself with a link to a site — archive? — and read it in its entirety. . . all thirty thousand words.
If it weren’t for Mia following his private account he would’ve retweeted that story without thinking twice. He resorted to saving the post in his bookmarks for future. . . uh, references.
Which brings him to his current predicament. Dokja (Biyooless) is lying down on his couch, sniffling at something he was reading on his phone.
"Are you okay?" He frowns after Dokja's sniffling shows no signs of stopping. Joonghyuk is gently running his fingers through his hair mindlessly, internally marveling at how soft it is.
Dokja looks up at him with puffy eyes. He shifts his head slightly, rocking gently against Joonghyuk lap that was currently being used as Dokja's personal pillow, and says, "how can I be okay, Joonghyuk-ah?"
Joonghyuk's fragile heart will never get used to this endearment and at this point, he thinks it's too late to try.
"The protagonist sacrificed himself again for his friends. It hurts so bad."
"Then stop reading," Joonghyuk reasons.
"No, why would I do that?"
"So you don't get unnecessarily hurt?"
Dokja scoffs and sits up to face him. Internally, Joonghyuk laments the loss of his warmth. He waves an accusatory finger in front of Joonghyuk's face. "Have you ever read anything in your entire life? Do you not know our tears are top-tier vitamins for the authors?"
Joonghyuk snorts and looks away, sulking with his arms crossed close to his chest. "I'd rather not cry for the likes of Han Sooyoung."
Joonghyuk doesn't think much when he mentions her name, definitely not expecting Dokja to know her name or her user or her works. He was utterly mistaken.
"Han Sooyoung?" Dokja's voice comes out almost like an echo, which, combined with the glare he shoots in Joonghyuk's direction, sends chills across his spine. "You know Han Sooyoung and you never told me?"
"Okay, aren't you being a bit weird right now?" Joonghyuk feels himself getting defensive at the unfair accusations he's facing. "I didn't think you were a fan of hers too."
"Oh my God!" Dokja all but throws his hands up in the air in exasperation. "Joonghyuk-ah, sweetheart, Han Sooyoung is by far the most amazing webnovel author. And this one-of-a-kind novel that I'm reading right now, yes, it's written by her."
"Fine," Joonghyuk snaps, a wave of jealousy creeping up his being as he speaks. "I'll make sure to let her know of your infatuation the next time I talk to her."
"Eh? What do you mean by infatuation? She's not y—" he coughs, flushing and glancing away, but the deed's already been done. The cat is already out of the bag.
Joonghyuk grabs Dokja by the collar, hovering over him. He gazes at his tomato-red face and tries too hard (and fails) to hide the smirk creeping onto his lips. Dokja on the other hand, for lack of a better word, looks like he's contemplating whether or not he should use his hands and cover his blushing or face or push Joonghyuk off.
As far as the latter goes, Joonghyuk didn't plan to budge. Not after Dokja just confessed to him unintentionally.
"She's not me, eh? Is that what you meant to say?"
"N-no," comes the quick rejection. Joonghyuk can tell it's a lie this time. "You're definitely m-mistaken."
Joonghyuk's breath brushes lightly against Dokja's ear, hot and teasing and tingly. "Am I?" He asks. He pleads.
Dokja's body visibly shivers under him when Joonghyuk's lips trail shadow kisses against his neck. Then Joonghyuk has the bright idea to leave a soft bite at the conjunction between his neck and collarbone. Dokja moans.
For a short moment, Joonghyuk buffers just like Genshin in poor Jihye's phone. Once he comes to, he races to catch his lips in a breath-stealing kiss.
Dokja lets himself be led by him, fingers clutching at Joonghyuk's shirt for support. His phone gets discarded to the floor with a soft plop but neither of them care.
Joonghyuk kisses him more, deep and slow at first, until Dokja, clearly inexperienced, opens his mouth for air. Joonghyuk steals the opportunity before it's given to him. His tongue slips in and meets Dokja's own. His neighbor gasps mutely and trembles under him. His arms circle around Joonghyuk's neck, bringing him as close as he can go.
Then, Joonghyuk's fingers play with the hem of Dokja's shirt, slipping underneath and meeting with warm, pale skin. Dokja's abdomen is soft, not like Seolhwa's had been, but not toned like Joonghyuk's either.
He is perfect.
Joonghyuk can't seem to find which God smiled in his direction when they threw Dokja in his sights that fateful afternoon. But he’s thankful.
He loses himself in the taste of Dokja’s mouth, hot and wet and soft. Dokja’s muted moans are swallowed and forgotten and it isn’t until he is hitting Joonghyuk’s chest with as much force as a child’s that he breaks them apart. Joonghyuk regrets it immediately.
“Agh,” Dokja gasps. His eyes stare up at the ceiling, ignoring Joonghyuk’s hovering figure in their unfocused state. It takes about a minute of Dokja pulling himself together from the kiss and Joonghyuk watching him with an amused look before he gains his focus back, shifting his eyes to glare at Joonghyuk.
“Were you trying to kill me, or something,” he pushes lightly at his chest. There’s no force behind it so obviously, Joonghyuk doesn’t budge. Instead, he lowers himself further down, their chests touching and locking Dokja underneath.
“Ugh, this tactic of yours is quite fear-inducing, I’ll have you know. If I didn’t know any better, I would be convinced you’re some sort of famous serial killer,” Dokja continues, giving up on trying to reason with him.
Joonghyuk smirks. “My bad, my bad. I didn’t know my Guwon is a virgin.”
The effect is instantaneous. Dokja flushes a deep red, bringing his hands to cover his face. He muffles something and, even though they’re lying so close to each other, Joonghyuk still can’t make out what he said. “What was that?” So he asks him. Joonghyuk carefully pries Dokja’s hands away from his face. “Dokja, baby. What was that?”
He didn’t know it was possible for a deeper shade of red to exist, yet Dokja had apparently made it his life’s mission to prove him wrong.
Dokja averts his eyes at first as if contemplating his choices, yet Joonghyuk hopes he knows him better than this. Joonghyuk is, by no means, a quitter.
“It’s not easy to say.”
In spite of his redness, Dokja’s words are articulate. Maybe Joonghyuk had gotten used to his neighbor’s slight stutter whenever he got embarrassed.
“You saved me, you know,” he confesses. His slender fingers play with Joonghyuk’s hair absentmindedly. It’s gotten longer and he’s probably in need of a trim, yet Dokja’s fingers relax him an abysmal amount. Joonghyuk lowers his head to Dokja’s chest, listening to his soft and rhythmic heartbeat. As Dokja prepares to speak some more, Joonghyuk notices how his heart picks up speed just a notch.
“I became your fan for the first time fifteen years ago,” he chuckles, and his breath tickles at the top of Joonghyuk’s head. “I still remember watching your first video from my hospital bed.”
Joonghyuk’s arms instinctively wrap around him, hugging him tight and close. His treacherous mind conjures up the image of a teenager, bruised and broken, or whatever the reason may be that he ended up in a hospital. He knows Dokja will open up to him in due time, so for now, despite his overwhelming curiosity, Joonghyuk forces his mouth shut and listens. Joonghyuk listens to Dokja’s tale.
Dokja typing “survival” in the search bar and Joonghyuk’s first video showing up. Dokja realizing halfway through the video that the reason for his search and the content in the video had nothing in common yet still staying awake until the doctors threaten to take his phone away so he can watch him.
“It’s because you had such a beautiful face even then,” he reasons, more so to feed Joonghyuk’s already titanic ego than anything. “But even more so, I started rooting for you when all the other comments tried to convince you that you’ll lose against the boss.”
“Is that what happened?”
“Yeah,” Dokja nods. “I used to rewatch your first video quite often.”
“Used to?” Joonghyuk looks up. “What made you stop?”
Dokja clears his throat. Louder and longer than it should be. Joonghyuk raises an eyebrow.
Luckily for Dokja — and unluckily for him — whatever answer Joonghyuk was about to force out of him gets quickly forgotten when his phone rudely decides now was the perfect time to interrupt the two. Hearing the ringtone he had specifically set for Mia, Joonghyuk can’t even be mad at the call. Mentally though, he curses at whatever deity is watching him right now.
“Hey, bastard. How have you b— eh? Who's that?”
Ah, shit, he thinks, before scrambling to his feet. He forgot it was a video call.
Ah, fucking shit, he thinks again, as Han Sooyoung tries too hard (and fails) to take a look at Dokja through the phone screen.
“Where is Mia? Why are you on her phone?”
Sooyoung rolls her eyes at him. “Relax. She’s fine. Cooking some dumplings with Sangah and Yoosung. We’re having a girls’ night which was long overdue.”
“I don’t care for the details. Why are you on her phone?” He repeats, irritated at the witch in disguise for a human. Seriously, if Dokja knew her in real life, he would’ve never been her fan. From the corner of his eye, he glances at him, almost expecting him to walk over and demand he speaks to her and fanboy over her books. Dokja doesn’t do any of the sorts — thank God — so Joonghyuk turns his vision back to the screen.
“Stop being so paranoid, for God’s sake. I wanted to call you but knew you wouldn’t pick up so I took her phone instead.”
“You stole it behind her back, you mean.”
“Heh,” she puffs her chest. “As a matter of fact, I won it fair and square in a rock, paper, scissors contest that spanned ten rounds.”
Joonghyuk feels a vein pop up on his forehead. “What are you? Ten?”
“WhAt aRE YoU? TEn?” She mimics. “Can you at least have the decency of not changing the subject? I saw the guy you were molesting when you answered my call. What dubious activities are you engaging in now that there’s no adult to supervise you?”
“What I do with my boyfriend is none of your concern,” Joonghyuk says instinctively. Behind him, he sees Dokja stilling, staring at him with wide, dark eyes. God, he’s pretty. He almost wants to punch himself for categorizing him as average looking when they first met.
Sooyoung on the other hand takes a minute too long to respond, her brain too slow to process. “YOUR WHAT?” On the other end of the screen, Joonghyuk hears voices from Mia and Yoo Sangah worriedly asking if there’s something wrong.
“D-did I hear that right? Your boyfriend? That guy is your boyfriend? He looks twenty.”
“He’s thirty.”
“THIRTY?”
“What are you two talking about?” Mia inquires, entering his vision. She watches him with curiosity. Specifically, she narrows her eyes at a spot behind Joonghyuk. “Hmm, you can do better, oppa.”
“Oh, wow,” Dokja mutters, giggling behind his hand. “She’s right.”
“No, she isn’t,” he snaps. “Mia, please behave.” Dokja doesn’t know this, but Joonghyuk has never once reprimanded Mia over someone else. Sure, he might give her a piece of his mind sometimes, especially if she’s spending too much time on social media and ignoring meals and sleep, but otherwise? Mia could beat up her rude classmates and when her teacher calls him to show up at school, he would ask her if she won first thing.
So, it’s no wonder that Mia is silent at his words.
“Oh, well, can’t say that’s an unpleasant surprise,” Yoo Sangah says. “We just weren’t expecting you to find a boyfriend on your vacation, is all.”
It’s supposed to lighten the mood, yet when Joonghyuk glances at Dokja, his boyfriend — he hasn’t even asked him out yet, for crying out loud — seems lost in thought, staring unblinkingly at his phone’s lock screen. There are two people in it, he gauges. A man and a woman smiling and holding a chick — Biyoo when she was young, maybe.
She used to look like such a puffball.
“Yeah, things happened,” Joonghyuk shrugs. “I’ll talk to you guys later.”
He ends the call without waiting for a goodbye from the others, puts the phone on silent, and slowly makes his way to the couch. He sits at Dokja’s side, their thighs brushing together just barely, and reaches for his phone.
“Uh,” Dokja mutters. “Sorry, I got lost in thought.”
“It’s okay. Who are they?”
A smile forms on Dokja’s lips. “My parents. I got this picture when they first came to visit me. This was just before they left, too.” His smile widens a tad. “I cried myself to sleep that night. Pathetic, right?”
“It sure is,” Joonghyuk teases. He entwines his fingers with Dokja’s and lightly squeezes. You’re not alone, Joonghyuk hopes the gesture conveys. I’m here now.
“For how long?” Dokja asks. “How long till you leave?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Could be a month, or maybe a year or two. Maybe ten.”
“Don’t make fun of me,” Dokja says. Don’t give me hope, Joonghyuk hears.
“I said I will take an indefinite hiatus, no?”
“You have a family in Korea. Your little sister—”
Joonghyuk kisses him, mostly to shut him up but also because suddenly he missed Dokja’s mouth on his. It’s a short kiss this time, totally unaccustomed of the two, because Joonghyuk has things to ask Dokja, and tell him just how deep his feelings for him went.
“I like you.” The atmosphere in his living room doesn’t explode when he confesses. There are no fireworks lighting the night sky, or raindrops pitter-pattering at their feet. It’s just Joonghyuk and Dokja in a dimly lit living room, a fire by the hearth, and a truth said from the bottom of Joonghyuk’s heart. “I want you in my life. When I return to Korea, I want you to be there with me. It’s selfish of me, I know, but it’s my truth.”
“Are you sure?” is what Dokja says after he’s had a minute to reassess, to understand that he’s not inside a dream, if pinching his thigh and wincing is enough of a tell. “You’re popular, handsome, and have a life outside this small village.”
“And?” Normally, Joonghyuk ought to have used ‘but’ instead, but with Dokja’s self-deprecating nature, he couldn’t take any chances.
“And your sister is right, really. I’m just me. Someone who coped with his misfortunes through somebody else.” I don’t deserve you, is left unsaid.
Dokja unlaces their fingers and stands up, heading to the door. As his hands touch the doorknob, Joonghyuk starts running toward him, hugging him from behind. Dokja holds his hands, like one last comfort before they go the way they used to be before. Strangers and neighbors. A celebrity and his oldest fan.
“Can I not be selfish one last time?” Joonghyuk mutters. Standing behind him like this, he breathes in the scent of Dokja’s shampoo. It’s flowery and sweet and it suits him. Joonghyuk doesn’t want to stop taking it in. He wants to fall asleep to it and wake up by this scent. As he waits for an answer, he could swear his heart had never beat that loud before.
A sigh escapes from Dokja’s lips, and then soon after, a soft laugh follows. “Silly.” Dokja turns around to face him, cupping Joonghyuk’s face with his hands. “Do you think two selfish people can make one selfless? Can we—”
“We should try,” Joonghyuk says, lips brushing against Dokja’s forehead.
The next time they kiss tonight, Dokja is pushed back until his back hits the door, and Joonghyuk’s arms cage him on both sides. The kiss is wild and demanding. It’s a claim and a stamp and a full stop.
Joonghyuk wakes up wincing to the rays of sunshine swimming violently in his bedroom, Biyoo clucking on his windowsill, and his own shampoo scent coming from Dokja who was still cozying at his side. He stirs awake soon after, gives a soft kiss to Joonghyuk’s collarbone, and chuckles at Biyoo’s antics.
“My daughter has finally come.”
Joonghyuk’s eyes fly to his watch and smirks. “She’s late a second time.”
“Hey,” Dokja smacks him lightly. “She doesn't have the best sense of time or direction. Plus, maybe she wanted to save me from you.”
“You didn’t want to be saved last night.”
“I quite literally begged you not to hurt me?”
Joonghyuk raises an eyebrow. “Really? Because I remember you saying ‘harder’ and ‘faster’ though. Unless there’s a new language rule where those words had their meanings changed?”
“Ah, you’re seriously—” Dokja flushes, hugging Joonghyuk tightly and hiding his face on Joonghyuk’s chest.
He laughs, gazing at Dokja’s nape. Dokja hisses when Joonghyuk’s fingers brush against a particularly dark bite mark he must’ve left on him last night.
“Joonghyuk-ah.”
“Hmm?” Joonghyuk answers, kissing the top of Dokja’s head.
His boyfriend narrows his eyes at him. “Why are you getting hard, you monster?”