Chapter Text
![[ID: A drawing of Kim Dokja and Yoo Joonghyuk. Yoo Joonghyuk is sat at a computer while Kim Dokja sits on the desk by his side, his phone in hand. Kim Dokja is smiling while Yoo Joonghyuk is not. A red string is tied between their pinkies and loops in the bottom of the picture to form a heart.]](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/GV2llTHWoAALVeK?format=png&name=900x900)
Cover by Sash
Kim Dokja collapsed onto an open seat without even a half-hearted glance around the subway car to check for the presence of pregnant women or elderly people. Forget that. Tonight, he was the elderly person. His back creaked enough to qualify.
Wearily, he dug through his bag for his earphones. He put them in while the Star Stream app loaded on his phone. By the time he logged in, Yoo Joonghyuk’s stream had long started. His mood lifted when the familiar black avatar appeared on his screen. As [Supreme King] had promised, he was halfway through a solo run of the Ichtyosaur Lair dungeon. He was being besieged by a group of the sea dragons.
Within seconds of Kim Dokja watching, [Supreme King] launched a flurry of skills. The ichtyosaurs reeled, the Staggered icon appearing above their heads, just in time for a massive AoE attack to reap them down.
The chat room exploded.
[x_delusionaldemon_x] woah, look at him go!
[youngki] bravo!
[ghost_fleet] awesome, master!!!
[goryeosfirstsword] 👏👏👏
[the_tyrant_king_himself] like I said, what’s so good about this old man?
[cheon_inho] Yeah he’s so lame
[cheon_inho] What a chuunibyou lol
[ghost_fleet] you wanna go??
Kim Dokja frowned.
[bald_general_of_justice] You should step out if you don’t enjoy watching.
[the_tyrant_king_himself] what’s wrong with you idiots licking his boots
[the_tyrant_king_himself] wake up, he bombed the last world championship!!!
[the_tyrant_king_himself] SK is finished, you might as well put him in the retirement home
[cheon_inho] Fr. Zarathustra should have given him the boot way earlier
[cho_jinchul] yeah!!! he should die for the sh*t he tried to pull on queen anna!
[queenofbeauty] hmm... you should definitely stop talking now
[persephone] I wouldn’t bother warning them, honey.
[persephone] It’ll happen any time, now.
[cheon_inho] I heard he tried to put her in his bed and she kicked him out of the team lol
[cho_jinchul] our queen is a thousand times too good for him!!!!
[queenofbeauty] Whoops, here we go.
[x_delusionaldemon_x] DK coming in clutch! f**k yeah, ahjussi!
[👑demonkingofsalvation] Nirvana, you’re on thin ice. If I catch you spamming again, I’m banning you permanently.
[queenofbeauty] good evening, Demon King
[👑demonkingofsalvation] Hey everyone.
[ghost_fleet] youre late, ahjussi!!! why did we have to stand here listening to those jerks while you slept on the job?
[👑demonkingofsalvation] Yeah, sorry.
[👑demonkingofsalvation] Meeting ran late.
Who the hell scheduled a department meeting at six in the evening, anyway? Usually Kim Dokja just caught the beginning of the stream at his work station, one browser window stealthily pulled up in the corner of his screen. Although he had been bothering less and less with the stealth lately. What were they going to do if they caught him? Fire him? His contract was set to end in a month.
He put his long list of fruitless job applications out of his mind.
The donation message popped up on the stream. In the box in the corner, Yoo Joonghyuk’s head turned. Kim Dokja could just about make out his frown.
This was why he preferred watching on a computer instead of his phone whenever he could. The picture from the live feed was too small to do justice to Yoo Joonghyuk’s face, let alone read his micro-expressions.
“You’re late, Demon King,” a deep voice growled in his ears.
Kim Dokja found his tightly wound shoulders relaxing. Yoo Joonghyuk could have done ASMR videos with that voice. Too bad he preferred using it as little as humanly possible.
[👑demonkingofsalvation] Hey YJH, did you know your baby teammates try to throw hands with haters in the chat when nobody is watching them?
[👑demonkingofsalvation] That’s got to be good for the team reputation.
This time Yoo Joonghyuk’s frown was fierce enough to be seen from the moon.
[x_delusionaldemon_x] I didn’t even do anything???
[👑demonkingofsalvation] I’ve got a censored message from you saying otherwise.
[ghost_fleet] those jerks deserved it! I wouldn’t have needed to say anything if you had banned them faster!
[👑demonkingofsalvation] Maybe I should just mute you two.
[👑demonkingofsalvation] Help you save your own reputations.
[x_delusionaldemon_x] wtf unfair!!!
“Mute them for an hour,” Yoo Joonghyuk said, merciless.
[ghost_fleet] master noooo!
[👑demonkingofsalvation] It is done, my liege.
[queenofbeauty] 👀🙈
Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t answer, having already gone back to his systematic ransacking of the dungeon. For a few moments, Kim Dokja’s bout of spring cleaning left the chat calm and quiet.
[youngki] hmm what was all that about, anyway? earlier.
[youngki] “queen anna”???
[queenofbeauty] oh, you sweet summer child
[queenofbeauty] don’t ban him, Demon King, he’s new
[👑demonkingofsalvation] Hey, what do you take me for?
[👑demonkingofsalvation] I don’t ban that easily.
[bald_general_of_justice] You have been known to get overzealous.
[persephone] Especially when AC is mentioned 😉
[👑demonkingofsalvation] I have not?
[bald_general_of_justice] It’s alright, I’m sure the Supreme King is grateful for your assistance.
That brat? Wasn’t general-chat muting enough for her? Did she want to get banned entirely? Kim Dokja waited for Yoo Joonghyuk’s reaction. The streamer’s only visible response was to trigger his Breaking the Sky skill, setting off the sound of thunder in Kim Dokja’s earphones.
[queenofbeauty] omg that smirk 🙈
[persephone] I have to wonder where Judge of Fire is tonight. She’ll be sad she missed this.
Oh yeah, come to think of it, Uriel was also late, wasn’t she? It was only a passing thought for Kim Dokja, whose fingers were working at zooming on his screen. When he could see Yoo Joonghyuk clearly, that handsome face looked the same as ever: deep dark eyes focused on the game under an elegant but severe brow, needlessly beautiful jawline set in concentration. What smirk?
[persephone] Anyway. To answer your question, youngki: that person was referring to Anna Croft, an american pro gamer.
[youngki] oh yeah
[youngki] I think I’ve heard of her
[youngki] wasn’t she in the same team as the Supreme King not long ago?
[bald_general_of_justice] Team Zarathustra, yes. But SK left them after the championship last year, and they’ve been vague about the reason. That’s why there are so many nasty rumors floating around.
[queenofbeauty] maybe Ghost Fleet and Delusional Demon know more? that’s when SK formed Team 999 with Steel Sword and them, isn’t it?
[goryeosfirstsword] who cares
[goryeosfirstsword] stupid drama
[persephone] Demon King?
[👑demonkingofsalvation] Yeah?
[👑demonkingofsalvation] Are you suggesting I unmute the kids? And disobey my liege?
Not that unmuting Lee Jihye and Kim Namwoon would do much, anyway. Kim Dokja knew better than to think Yoo Joonghyuk had opened up to them about this.
[persephone] I’d rather know what you think, actually.
‘Why are we talking about Anna Croft,’ was what Kim Dokja was thinking. He just wanted to spend his subway ride relaxing to the therapeutic view of Yoo Joonghyuk obliterating monsters in Ways of Survival.
[👑demonkingofsalvation] About?
[persephone] Oh, come now, don’t pout.
[persephone] The faster we get an answer to our questions, the faster we’ll stop talking about it.
[persephone] was annoyingly perceptive for someone on the other side of a screen. She had been a regular fixture of the streams for a few years now, and she seemed to have made teasing him into a sport.
[👑demonkingofsalvation] Ask YJH, then.
[persephone] But aren’t you the Supreme King’s oldest and staunchest fan?
[persephone] Surely you know more than we do.
[youngki] did the Supreme King tell you something?
[👑demonkingofsalvation] You think he talks to me? That’s funny.
[goryeosfirstsword] you definitely know something. you hate that woman’s guts
[👑demonkingofsalvation] I thought you didn’t care about the drama? Also I don’t hate her?
[goryeosfirstsword] false
[queenofbeauty] hmm...
[persephone] There, there, Demon King. We understand.
What did he do in his past life to deserve this kind of abuse? Kim Dokja cast a longing look at the overhead screen facing him in the subway. The only comfort it had for him was a cartoony safety-instruction video that he knew by heart.
“Kim Namwoon, Lee Jihye,” Yoo Joonghyuk snapped, making Kim Dokja tense in his seat. “Keep using my donations as your personal chat and I’ll ban you myself.”
Those idiots! Did they want Yoo Joonghyuk to pay attention to the conversation in the chat? Kim Dokja waited, but Yoo Joonghyuk said nothing more. Only when he was certain that the man was focused on managing his aggro did Kim Dokja take to typing again.
[👑demonkingofsalvation] You’re all making such a fuss... It’s not that interesting.
[👑demonkingofsalvation] They kept clashing for leadership of Zarathustra, the sponsors favored AC after YJH’s poor performance last year, YJH left.
[👑demonkingofsalvation] The end.
[aileen] strange. that’s not what I had heard...
[aileen] (sorry, first time chatter. Hi!)
[queenofbeauty] (hi! welcome!)
[👑demonkingofsalvation] I bet.
[queenofbeauty] ooh, here comes the vinegar
[aileen] what do you mean, Demon King?
[👑demonkingofsalvation] I can guess at the things you heard. AC has got half the esport community playing the white knight for her, and not exactly the better half.
[queenofbeauty] true. and pretty impressive considering the number of sexist bullies in there, actually...
[aileen] well that’s not her fault, is it? she’s not responsible for what trolls throw around
[👑demonkingofsalvation] Have you ever watched one of AC’s interviews? She’s very good at talking. She’ll imply anything under the sun to avoid admitting that YJH was just in her way.
[👑demonkingofsalvation] Meanwhile YJH won’t let anyone ask him questions about Zarathustra, probably because he knows it would be bad PR if he glared someone to death or put his fist through a wall.
“Demon King.”
Kim Dokja nearly jumped out of his skin. Yoo Joonghyuk was glaring into his camera.
“Stop saying unnecessary things,” he said.
Kim Dokja felt a knot form in his throat. Yoo Joonghyuk wasn’t wrong. He had meant to shut down the conversation, not feed it.
Far be it from him to acknowledge his mistakes, though.
[👑demonkingofsalvation] What, am I wrong?
“Be quiet.”
[👑demonkingofsalvation] You tell them, then.
[👑demonkingofsalvation] The chat wants to know why you left Zarathustra.
Well, the first part of Kim Dokja’s prediction got proven right. Would Yoo Joonghyuk put his fist through a wall next?
“It’s a decision I made for my own career. Stop asking questions.”
Having said his piece, Yoo Joonghyuk returned to the game with a vicious frown.
[👑demonkingofsalvation] Voila.
[👑demonkingofsalvation] Straight from his majesty’s mouth.
[youngki] wow
[youngki] man of few words
[queenofbeauty] yes, I’m afraid he’s not a very talkative streamer
[👑demonic_judge_of_fire_] at least half of the things he says on stream will be “Demon King” and “shut up”, actually 🤭
[bald_general_of_justice] Evening, Judge of Fire.
[👑demonic_judge_of_fire_] hello! sorry I’m late, I’ve been running everywhere at work lately.
[👑demonkingofsalvation] Hey, you.
[👑demonic_judge_of_fire_] hi DK!!! ♥♥♥
[👑demonic_judge_of_fire_] oh, why are Lee Jihye and Kim Namwoon muted? what did those two do again...
[persephone] You’ll want to watch the replay, Judge. I believe there are a few entries of choice for your compilation.
[👑demonic_judge_of_fire_] !!! thank you, I’ll do that!
[queenofbeauty] the compilation?
[👑demonic_judge_of_fire_] the Demon King compilation!!
[👑demonkingofsalvation] Excuse me.
[👑demonkingofsalvation] The what.
[👑demonic_judge_of_fire_] haha, I didn’t tell you about it?
[👑demonic_judge_of_fire_] it’s a compilation of all the times YJH says “Demon King” during streams
[👑demonic_judge_of_fire_] it’s 3 mn long so far!!
[queenofbeauty] wow
[queenofbeauty] 🙈🙈🙈
[persephone] *laughing quietly*
What the… Kim Dokja loved Uriel, but some people had weird hobbies.
[👑demonic_judge_of_fire_] I’ll have to extend it to your previous username, though
[👑demonic_judge_of_fire_] I have been digging reaaally deep in the channel, and I hadn’t realized you were [a_reader] from his very first stream!
[👑demonic_judge_of_fire_] I knew you had been with him for a long time, DK, but you were actually there from the start 😍😍😍
[queenofbeauty] really? but DK and SK don’t know each other irl, right?
[persephone] It must have been fate, then.
A wry smile curved his lips.
Fate. Sure.
[👑demonkingofsalvation] My stop is coming up.
[👑demonkingofsalvation] Since you’re here now, Judge, I’m going to leave mod duty to you. I need to afk for a bit.
[👑demonic_judge_of_fire_] *salutes* leave it to me!
Kim Dokja rose from his seat without lifting his eyes from his phone. Usually he would just go home like this, one eye on the street and the other on the screen, but he had to make a detour to buy himself something to eat. [Supreme King] stopped to check his equipment before the chamber of the final boss. Yoo Joonghyuk would probably conclude the stream after this. A little frustrated that he was going to miss the end, Kim Dokja moved his finger to close the window.
“Demon King.”
He halted. Yoo Joonghyuk glanced at his camera, a brief look in between clicking on tabs.
“Don’t be late next time,” he said.
Weirdly moved, Kim Dokja smiled.
You could never tell how much of the chat Yoo Joonghyuk caught. He rarely reacted, and could even go as far as to ignore donation messages. But he wouldn’t have spoken up if he hadn’t caught sight of [demonkingofsalvation] leaving.
[👑demonkingofsalvation] Jerk? Then pay me to be here?
He zoomed. Yoo Joonghyuk’s only answer was the curl of his lips. Sometimes, the bastard could be a bit cute.
Kim Dokja pushed the door shut with his shoulder and toed off his shoes. He dropped his convenience store kimbap on the kitchen table, then poured himself into the nearest chair and thunked his forehead down next to the plastic bag. He let out a deep sigh.
He wanted nothing more than to spend his evening reading webnovels, but after dinner he should probably muster up the energy to write a few more job applications.
It felt so futile, though.
Say he found another job. All that that would achieve was to offer him more of the same: days spent in the company of people he disliked, doing something he disliked. He would try to be the dutiful employee at the beginning, but soon enough he would slip back into his usual apathy. If he could muster some zeal at work, maybe he wouldn’t find himself so often staring the specter of unemployment in the face. But faking enthusiasm for his job was taking it too far in his book, even to keep a roof over his head.
Sometimes, he wished he was more like Yoo Sangah. His ex-colleague was still thriving at Mino Soft while he was stuck in one dead-end job after another. Some people were just the protagonists of their own lives. That’s the way it was, for people like Yoo Sangah and…
As if summoned by his thoughts, the fulguration bloomed behind his eyelids. Kim Dokja smiled ruefully.
“… nother great stream, Joonghyuk-ssi!”
In Kim Dokja’s mind eye, a familiar office appeared. The wall in front of him was occupied by a bookshelf with more trophies than actual books, all neatly arranged. The blinds hadn’t been closed on the window and city lights glowed in the corner of his vision. The desk he was looking at was the most cluttered surface in the room, two monitors taking center stage amid gaming paraphernalia and the mess of cables that came with it.
The cursor navigated with practiced ease through Star Stream’s menus. The replay video started uploading. The software was closed. With a pang, Kim Dokja noticed that the desktop background had finally been changed. The picture of Yoo Joonghyuk and Lee Seolhwa, gorgeous in their wedding attires, had been replaced with Transcendence Gaming’s logo. A hand wider than Kim Dokja’s came up to card through thick hair. He felt it, a ghostly sensation on his own scalp.
“Keep it short,” Yoo Joonghyuk said. “I have to start dinner for Mia soon.”
“Of course,” Uriel’s voice chirped through the phone pressed to Yoo Joonghyuk’s ear. “Oh, but how is your sister? Hasn’t she just entered middle school?”
“She is fine.”
“You could give her a little more than that, Joonghyuk-ah,” Kim Dokja said. “She’s trying to bond with you, you know.”
Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t react. He couldn’t hear him. Kim Dokja knew that very well, but it didn’t prevent him from speaking to him out loud sometimes, like he was sending a comment on one of his favorite novels. Han Sooyoung would have laughed at him if she knew. But Han Sooyoung used her own fulgurations as inspiration for her stories, so she was hardly a model of healthy soulmate dynamics.
Kim Dokja straightened and stretched his arms up, realigning his spine with an audible click. He got up to pour himself a glass of water. Halfway across Seoul, poor Uriel kept chattering away, only getting curt responses for her efforts.
Transcendence Gaming was a new esport company. When Yoo Joonghyuk had left Zarathustra eight months ago, his old coach had snatched him up and founded Transcendence essentially around him. She had bullied a friend of hers into taking care of the business part of the venture while she gathered promising young gamers under her wings. Namgung Minyoung had a real eye for this. Transcendence Gaming’s two teams were already making waves in their respective leagues.
The rest of the company was no slouch either. Uriel, the manager of Yoo Joonghyuk’s new team, genuinely did her best by him. That had been enough to endear her to Kim Dokja, even before [demonic_judge_of_fire_] and [demonkingofsalvation] had met on Yoo Joonghyuk’s Star Stream channel.
Kim Dokja unpacked his dinner with a helpless smile. “Fate”, [persephone] had said earlier.
It hadn’t been fate that had guided him to Yoo Joonghyuk’s channel.
Yoo Joonghyuk was in the kitchen now, washing his hands and picking ingredients from the fridge. Kim Dokja hoped the fulguration would end soon. Looking at the culinary masterpiece that Yoo Joonghyuk was gearing up for was bound to put him off his own lackluster meal.
“… and the gaming house is coming along nicely,” Uriel was saying. “Did I send you the address?”
“Yes,” Yoo Joonghyuk said, and pulled the phone from his ear long enough to confirm that he had made a memo of it. “When are we moving in?”
“We’re hoping to make it happen by the end of the month. I know it won’t be a problem for you to get back into the habit of commuting, Joonghyuk-ssi, but hopefully you can get Kim Namwoon to stop fucking whining about it. Does that brat expect to be able to work from home his whole life?”
“I’ll talk to him.”
“I’ll be counting on you, team leader! If anything, you’d think he’d be happy to see Lee Jihye in person every day. Doesn’t he have a crush on her?”
Kim Dokja picked up his chopsticks as the conversation continued. It was like eating while watching a movie. Just a normal evening of listening to trade secrets and events happening to people he had never met.
Modern science struggled to understand fulgurations. What set them off? How did they work? Why was it that some people only received thoughts, or emotions, while others got the full experience of their soulmate’s five senses?
Only a couple of things were known for certain. At seemingly random moments, some neurons in the brain would fire; without even noticing, that person would start projecting. Their soulmate would then receive the projection as a fulguration.
It was a fact of life, and easy to get used to and to ignore.
Except for people like Kim Dokja, who received a record-breaking average of four fulgurations per week. It was surprising, because Yoo Joonghyuk was usually successful at everything he set out to do, but the man was just abysmal at bond control.
Kim Dokja was swallowing a mouthful when a shout rent the air.
“Oppa!”
He choked and fell into a coughing fit. Yoo Joonghyuk turned away from the counter with a burst of alarm. Mia usually knew better than to startle her brother when he was using sharp knives.
“What’s wrong?” he said as he hung up on Uriel.
The girl stood in the kitchen door. Yoo Joonghyuk and Kim Dokja looked her up and down, but she didn’t seem injured. If anything, her eyes shone with excitement.
“I got one!” she squealed. “I’m having one. A fulguration!”
Kim Dokja’s shoulders unwound. So that’s what it was. Come to think of it, Mia was eleven. She was about due for her bond to settle. Was it her first time?
“She’s growing up so fast, Joonghyuk-ah,” he whispered.
He felt old all of a sudden. He could barely remember having been in her position. He had matched her enthusiasm, that much he knew.
Yoo Joonghyuk smiled as Mia rushed to hug him.
“I have a soulmate,” she giggled.
“Is it nice?”
She nodded with energy.
“I think he’s not Korean?” she said.
“It’s a he?”
Kim Dokja snorted at the wariness that bloomed in Yoo Joonghyuk’s mind. Mia would have a hell of a time dating when she got to that age.
He finished his dinner, only listening to the siblings with one ear. He generally tried not to pay too much attention during private conversations, but he had seen things far more intimate than this over the years… especially when Yoo Joonghyuk and Lee Seolhwa were still together. That had been the only times of his life when he had actually cursed Yoo Joonghyuk for never walling up his mind.
“I can sort of tell he’s not speaking Korean. But I can still understand what everyone in the vision is saying? It’s weird,” Mia said.
So Mia’s soulmate lived in another country. Well, that was common. It was far more unusual for two soulmates to be born in the same city, the way Yoo Joonghyuk and Kim Dokja had been.
“I’m bilingual, now!” she proclaimed proudly, hands on her hips.
“In what language?” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
She faltered.
“Uh… I think… Maybe…”
The corner of Yoo Joonghyuk’s lips lifted. She smacked his arm and huffed.
“Well, what about you? What language does your soulmate speak, huh?”
“Korean, corporate English, and I can say ‘where are the toilets please’ in Mandarin,” Kim Dokja said, amused.
But the smile faded from his face when he felt Yoo Joonghyuk’s unease.
Yoo Joonghyuk was reluctant to answer her question. He didn’t want to upset her.
He didn’t want to upset her? What did that mean?
“Oh, is it Seolhwa-unni?” Mia whispered, looking contrite.
The divorce had happened just a few months ago. She knew it still hurt her brother to talk about his ex-wife.
Yoo Joonghyuk shook his head and ruffled her hair in reassurance. He kept his expression unaffected.
“I don’t have a soulmate.”
Kim Dokja froze.
“You don’t?” Mia exclaimed. “How come?”
“It happens sometimes.”
Yes, to people whose soulmates were dead.
What was going on? Was Yoo Joonghyuk so underwhelmed by Kim Dokja that he’d rather lie to her? But Kim Dokja would feel it if he was lying. There was no impression of disconnect between Yoo Joonghyuk’s words and his thoughts.
“But that’s not fair!” Mia shouted. “Are you sure? Really really sure?”
“It’s not important, Mia. Fulgurations would distract me during a tournament. It’s better this way.”
And there, now, there was dissonance in his mind. This part, he didn’t really believe. This part, he was lying about. There was a pang of sadness, of loneliness in his chest.
Kim Dokja recoiled as if he had been burned.
If this had been fiction, the scene would have ended here. But no matter how much Kim Dokja pretended sometimes, Yoo Joonghyuk’s life wasn’t a book, and Kim Dokja couldn’t just turn the page in denial. He had to sit here, staring at the wall, as the fulguration continued; as Yoo Joonghyuk comforted a disappointed Mia and sent her back to her homework; as Yoo Joonghyuk returned to his cooking like nothing had happened.
Unaware, like he had apparently been all along, of the man looking over his metaphorical shoulder.
Finally, the sound of running water faded. The view of Yoo Joonghyuk’s hand on the faucet disappeared too. Kim Dokja was left alone in the ringing silence of his small apartment.
Chapter Text
According to statistics, less than forty percent of people in South Korea were in active contact with their soulmate. Only eight percent had ever met them.
These numbers were on a constant rise since the middle of the 20th century, when international communication and travel had become affordable for the general public, but they remained low. Differences of culture and language, personal preferences, lack of money were all factors that meant a meeting wasn’t always possible, nor sometimes even desirable.
A soulmate was just this person you knew, somewhere on the other side of the world, and that you shared random bits of your day with. Only in fiction did it turn out otherwise.
“Can you believe the nerve of this troll?” Han Sooyoung fumed as she hammered at her keyboard, hunched over her desk. “‘Too many tired tropes,’ well damn, don’t read it then!”
“You do use too many clichés.”
“Oh, go to hell. Actually, are you the one who wrote that? Get out of my comment section!”
“Why would I bother with anonymity when you’re the one begging for my opinion on your drafts?” Kim Dokja said without raising his eyes from his phone.
She threw a creased paper ball at him. He let it rebound on his forehead and fall sadly on the cushions of her couch.
There was a silence.
“Okay, what’s up with you?” Han Sooyoung said.
“Hmm?”
“You still haven’t whined about me being late for dinner.”
“You’re always late.”
“Yeah, and you always bitch. What gives?”
Kim Dokja let the hand holding his phone drop onto the sofa. He looked at Han Sooyoung’s ceiling.
Only eight percent of people in South Korea had ever met their soulmate.
It was funny. Kim Dokja had forgotten until now, but when he was young, he really wanted to meet Yoo Joonghyuk. That naive yearning felt so far away. Too much had happened since then.
Nowadays, he was fine with what they had. Just spying on Yoo Joonghyuk once in a while was good enough for him. And after all, Yoo Joonghyuk had never hinted that he wanted to meet either. There were ways to pass that message along. Yoo Joonghyuk hadn’t hung a red ribbon in his room, like was in fashion when they were teenagers, or worn a brightly colored woven bracelet like they did in America, in the hope that his soulmate would see it during a fulguration. He hadn’t left his address or his phone number in conspicuous places.
Often, Kim Dokja’s pride had chafed at being so uninteresting to Yoo Joonghyuk. But it had been hard to blame him. He wouldn’t have wanted himself as a soulmate, either.
He heard himself say:
“Have you ever heard of one-sided soulmate bonds?”
To his surprise, Han Sooyoung whirled around on him, cat-eyed in her excitement.
“Ooh, look who is talking about clichés! I’ll have you know it’s called a Psychic Self-Isolation Syndrome.”
He stared at her bragging posture.
“What?”
“The romance cliché?” she said impatiently. “‘Oh, woe is me, I’m the only person in the world who doesn’t have a soulmate. There must be something wrong with me. Oh, wait. Turns out I do have a soulmate! He’s just traumatized! Hurray!’”
“Right,” said Kim Dokja, whose literature of choice had never been romance.
He was aware that soulmates were overrepresented in the romance genre, of course. In real life, even when someone was in regular contact with their soulmate, it wasn’t always a romantic bond. Your soulmate could be your best friend, a sibling figure, sometimes a parent… Lee Jihye’s soulmate was a woman ten years her senior whom the girl idolized, saying she was a kendo genius.
Fiction had a different take on it. Romance in particular leaned either on the “soulmates find each other against all odds” trope or on the “lovers reject their soulmates to be together” cliché. As someone involved in a decidedly platonic soulbond, Kim Dokja found his suspension of disbelief stretched too thin with those books, so he avoided them.
Han Sooyoung turned back to her computer, looking smug as anything.
“Anyway. Turns out it does happen in real life! But it’s pretty rare, obviously, and the actual medical name is Psychic Self-Isolation Syndrome. Which nobody ever gets right. I have to do everything around here.”
“You did research? You did research on a cliché. You?”
“Hey, shut up,” she said, glaring at him. “I do research for my novels!”
“Isn’t your current novel high fantasy, anyway? Doesn’t the King of Reincarnators have better things to do than meddling with romance?”
“What, I can’t introduce a subplot? At least wait until I send you the draft before you criticize!”
She pecked at her keyboard, in a huff. He regretted diverting her from the original subject. She had actually been saying something interesting. Luckily she kept speaking, presumably to prevent him from getting another barb in.
“Anyway! One-sided bonds don’t exist, obviously. Soulmate bonds always go both ways. But sometimes, someone with trauma will develop a PSI Syndrome, right, kind of like a wall in their head? To keep people out.”
“A wall,” said Kim Dokja.
He was feeling a bit sick to the stomach. Maybe it was hunger.
“Yeah. And then they don’t send fulgurations anymore. They still sent them before, though! That’s what most novels get wrong. The trope doesn’t work if your dreamy soldier of a love interest got PTSD from fighting in the war, because then the heroine should have received fulgurations while they were young. The only way she doesn’t know she has a soulmate is if he got trauma as a kid or something…”
She trailed off suddenly. Her typing stopped. Kim Dokja’s hand clenched around his phone.
Han Sooyoung turned her chair around. She fixed her eyes to a point above his shoulder and licked her lips.
“Which happens, obviously. There are plenty of kids with messed-up home lives out there. The stats say about half the people diagnosed with the syndrome got it when they were young.”
Silence draped itself thick and heavy between them.
Kim Dokja hadn’t told Han Sooyoung about his past. They had met in college. He had been living on his own for the first time, he had left his bullies behind in high school, and the notoriety of his mother’s book had been beginning to fade. He had had no interest in revisiting those dark years. But though Han Sooyoung hadn’t heard it from him, she was shrewd enough to have guessed the gist of it.
“So. Uh…” she said, awkward in a way she rarely was. “You got it, then?”
Kim Dokja looked away from her.
PSI Syndrome.
A wall in his head.
Well. It was better than the ghost theory. A morbid part of his brain had spent the last days wondering if he had died years ago, in the end, and had just failed to realize it. Only people whose soulmate were dead or not yet born didn’t have a bond.
“Apparently.”
Han Sooyoung seemed to chew on her tongue. Maybe she was trying to be tactful. No wonder she looked to be having such a hard time of it.
“Are you sure? Like, how the fuck would you only realize that now?” she finally blurted out. “I thought you got a ton of fulgurations from what’s-his-face. He never, I don’t know, thought about it?”
No. Yoo Joonghyuk never thought about soulmates during the fulgurations. Generally speaking, he went about his days without ever concerning himself about the bond.
Still, he had to have talked about it at some point. With a doctor, maybe, or at the very least with Lee Seolhwa. Soulmate information was definitely something you shared with someone you wanted to marry. That conversation with Mia just happened to be the only one that Kim Dokja caught.
He let his nape drop against the couch backrest.
A wall in his head.
Why had he never wondered at what Yoo Joonghyuk was receiving from his end of the bond? If Kim Dokja sometimes got embarrassing or extremely personal visions from Yoo Joonghyuk, why had he never feared that he was projecting things that he didn’t want to show either? Sure, he practiced bond control, unlike Yoo Joonghyuk. But that wasn’t a guarantee. Sometimes fulgurations slipped through. Yet he had never been worried.
Han Sooyoung rolled her chair closer to him. Now that her surprise had passed, her eyes were sharp.
“So… what?”
“What ‘what’?” he retorted, weary.
“You don’t like it?”
The unexpected question pricked something in him. Like it had only been waiting for this, a burst of emotion exploded in his chest.
“I hate it, I think,” he said, his gaze unfocused.
Yoo Joonghyuk felt lonely.
Yoo Joonghyuk felt lonely.
Yoo Joonghyuk, whose side he had always stood at, didn’t have the slightest inkling that he existed. Kim Dokja had been with him through the grief, through the divorce, through the betrayals. And Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t know. He had never known that there was someone out there who shared his pain, who felt for him, who understood intimately everything that he was and would be.
Yoo Joonghyuk may have held no interest in him, but Kim Dokja had thought, at the very least, that neither of them would ever have to be alone.
His hand hurt where he was clenching it around the angles of his phone.
“Good,” said Han Sooyoung.
That startled him enough to look at her.
“What’s good about this?” he said in disbelief.
She scoffed and returned to her computer.
“You’re always so willing to lie down and take it, I half expected you to convince yourself that this guy was better off without you. So, good! He doesn’t know you exist and you hate it. That’s great! Progress!”
Kim Dokja would have argued that he wasn’t worried about himself, here, but it didn’t matter.
“So what are you going to do?” she asked.
Kim Dokja paused. He relaxed his grip and turned the phone round and round in his hand. He stared into the distance.
Han Sooyoung rolled her eyes at him.
“There we go,” she said. “Scheming.”
She dipped her hand in the small basket on her desk and threw candy at him. He caught it without looking.
The thing was, Kim Dokja couldn’t exactly walk up to Yoo Joonghyuk and introduce himself as his soulmate. He might have been tempted once upon a time, but that had been when he thought that Yoo Joonghyuk knew him. Since he didn’t, he would just think Kim Dokja a liar, maybe even a stalker.
So he had two possible paths: get rid of the PSI Syndrome, or make contact in another way.
The first alternative involved research and, from what he quickly found out on the Internet, an unfortunate amount of therapy. Now, technically the state’s universal health coverage would pay for therapy sessions, but that didn’t mean Kim Dokja wanted anything to do with it.
So he read. He bought books, even physical books for a change: medical primers, testimonies, historical accounts. He hadn’t spent this much time reading nonfiction since his college years. But he thought he could feel it, now. The wall in his head.
Tearing it down was another story. Kim Dokja could think of nothing more terrifying than someone knowing him as well as he knew Yoo Joonghyuk.
So Plan B it was.
A Tuesday morning in Gwanghwamun. At the foot of an unremarkable office building, an agitated woman directed a group of burly men into discharging their cargo. The moving truck had been late, of course. Stuck in traffic, as it was wont to be at this hour.
The woman raked a hand through her long blonde hair and sighed. She was making a visible effort not to swear. The movers were already doing their best to catch up, rolling carts loaded with furniture disappearing through the building’s sliding doors.
“Rough morning?”
She startled. A man stood next to her. He was so unassuming, in his slacks and white shirt, that she hadn’t noticed him coming. He was watching the movers going to and fro. There were two Starbucks cups in his hands. She found herself eyeing them with envy.
He must have caught the look, because he tilted one toward her.
“Want it?”
“Oh, I don’t mean to…”
“It’s fine. You can have it. I got stood up by my date, anyway.”
His smile was bland, like it hadn’t even been a surprise for him. Uriel found her initial wariness fading. Her heart went out to him. He wasn’t ugly, really, just a bit plain. Not everyone could be Yoo Joonghyuk.
“Sounds like it’s a rough morning for everyone,” she said in commiseration, taking the offered drink.
“It’s a macchiato,” he said.
She made a rough sound of approval and took an eager sip. Aah, bliss! She liked this guy already.
The guy, of course, was Kim Dokja.
And he wasn’t here for a date, obviously. But he knew that Uriel, despite her uncompromising nature, had a soft spot for sob stories. He also knew that her favorite drink was caramel macchiatos, but he had skipped the caramel. She would have been suspicious if a stranger had just “chanced” upon her drug of choice.
“So your company is moving in?” he asked, sipping at his own coffee.
“That’s right. Transcendence Gaming will have the fourth floor from now on.”
He let his eyes lit up.
“Oh, I know Transcendence! You have Yoo Joonghyuk’s new team, right?”
“Yes!” she said, beaming.
She didn’t add, however, that she was Team 999’s manager. So she was still cautious of him. It was probable that the only reason she allowed the conversation was that the address of Transcendence Gaming’s new gaming house had yet to be made public, so there should have been no way for a rabid fan to show up here and offer her coffee.
“You are into esport?” she said.
“I used to be, when I was working for Mino Soft. Ways of Survival is their biggest title, so most of us watched the league. It kind of soured it for me when I was let go, though. These days, Yoo Joonghyuk is the only gamer I follow anymore.”
He crafted his story with care. Talking about his past professional failures was a risk for what he was aiming for, but he was banking on his candor to win Uriel over.
“That’s a shame,” she said, her eyes softening. “So you are a game developer?”
Maybe she was already thinking that it would be good to have him as a professional connection.
“I’m in the technical field,” he fudged, because QA sounded a lot less impressive.
“How do you like it?” she asked.
Right on track.
“I’m getting a bit tired of it, to be honest. I think I’d like to do something different, but I don’t really know what.”
He glanced at his coffee in contemplation. Then he looked at her with a small smile.
“Say, Transcendence Gaming wouldn’t happen to be hiring, would it?”
He said it like it was a joke, even though it really wasn’t.
He knew Transcendence Gaming was looking to expand. Its current employees could barely sustain its growth. Uriel was constantly overworked, and her presence today was a symptom of that. It shouldn’t have been up to a team manager to oversee the installation of the new facilities.
She speared him with a piercing look. Kim Dokja’s hand became sweaty around his cup. He sustained her gaze, not allowing his poker face to slip.
If she brushed him off here, it was all over.
Kim Dokja had never tried something so brazen in his life. To find a job in IT, you looked up postings online, emailed your CV and made phone calls. Even during job interviews, Kim Dokja was the demure type: delivering a rote script of his achievements, answering questions, shaking hands and thanking people for their time. Unless you had the kind of self-confidence and ass-kissing needed to make department head before thirty, you didn’t just walk up to someone and ask them if they were hiring.
But here was Uriel, a woman he had only ever seen in Yoo Joonghyuk’s fulgurations. A woman who had always felt a bit like a fictional character to him. He could hold out his hand and touch her, and she would be warm and solid. But it had yet to fully sink in. He felt like an actor playing a part in a movie.
“You know…” she said slowly. “I do believe we are.”
His heart jumped. He allowed himself to show his surprise.
“Really?”
“Really,” she said, smiling. “Would you like to apply? I could do with an assistant.”
Assistant manager of Yoo Joonghyuk’s team!
He held firmly onto his composure. The deal wasn’t done yet.
“Well… I don’t know,” he said, sounding interested but cautious. “What would I have to do?”
“Oh, all sorts of things! Scheduling training matches, making travel reservations, assembling files for sponsor meetings, contacting the press for interviews… Coffee runs, definitely,” she added, lifting her cup with a cheeky grin.
“I can do coffee runs,” he smiled back.
“You speak English, right? We have a lot of international sponsors, and teams we like to practice with.”
He wasn’t exactly fluent, but he got by.
“Well then! What do you think?” she said.
“You know, I’m really tempted,” he admitted.
She held out her hand to him.
“I’m Uriel.”
“Kim Dokja,” he said, shaking it.
“Well, Kim Dokja-ssi, why don’t you start with helping me with the move-in? And we’ll see if I find you up to par while we do that.”
He held on to his friendly expression through sheer force of will. Uriel’s smile was angelic. One could almost believe that she hadn’t just scammed some poor sucker into providing free labor.
At least he knew her well enough that he had taken the day off.
“Let’s get to it, I suppose,” he sighed as he binned his empty cup.
“That’s the spirit!”
He managed to avoid having to handle the heaviest furniture, aware that he didn’t have the musculature to impress her this way. The movers knew what they were doing far better than him, he argued. It was obvious by the gleam in her eyes that she saw through him, but she stopped teasing him into moving this or that cupboard when she realized that he knew his way around computers. Not that he usually had cause to manipulate brand-new, top-of-the-line gaming equipment, but he had picked up enough from Yoo Joonghyuk. She clapped her hands and decided that he was to set up the training rooms.
There were two training rooms, for the two teams currently working under Transcendence Gaming. He got to work pushing tables into position, then gutting cardboard boxes holding hard drives, expensive flat screens and miles and miles of cables. The keyboards and mouses he set aside in cabinets, knowing that every gamer would bring his own preferred set from home.
“This looks wonderful,” Uriel said when she stopped by to check on his progress.
Kim Dokja was taking a break in one of the new gaming chairs. He stretched his sore back. Damn, this chair was really comfortable. To think that Yoo Joonghyuk would spend all his days in one of these…
He forgot his envy as it occurred to him that Yoo Joonghyuk might, in fact, choose the very chair he was sitting in. The leather under his thighs suddenly felt too warm.
“Streaming rooms next?” he said, getting up and dusting his pants.
Uriel gasped.
“It’s like you’re reading my mind. How did you know?”
She said it with humor, but her eyes were inquisitive. Streaming rooms weren’t part of the default setup for esport companies. Streaming and competitive gaming were two different beasts entirely.
“Yoo Joonghyuk is getting old enough to think about retiring from tournaments soon, right?” Kim Dokja said. “But Transcendence Gaming still contracted him. You didn’t touch his streaming schedule either. I figure that means you plan to support him when he leaves competitive gaming and switches to full-time streaming. More and more esport companies are making that choice with their retiring headliners lately. If I’m right, of course you’d need at least one room for him to stream in peace.”
He wasn’t cheating much this time. He hadn’t heard anything about this from Yoo Joonghyuk. But he knew that Namgung Minyoung would never leave her protege in the lurch.
Uriel’s lips curved slowly.
“Who knows,” was all she said, but he thought she sounded impressed. And then: “The streaming rooms are in the next corridor over.”
He smiled.
“But I’ll let you go for today,” Uriel added. “It’s getting late.”
“For today?” he stressed.
She beamed.
“So, how soon can you start?”
One week and one “farewell party” later (really an excuse for his colleagues to get drunk at the nearest bar), Kim Dokja found himself packing up his desk in the QA department. He left without fanfare and without regret.
He was on his way home unusually early. Finding a seat in the subway was easy. He deposited his small box of personal affairs next to him and settled down to catch Yoo Joonghyuk’s stream. The background of the webcam feed was no longer Yoo Joonghyuk’s home office, but a blue wall displaying Transcendence Gaming’s logo. The chat commented on the change. For once, Yoo Joonghyuk answered.
“We have moved into Transcendence Gaming’s new facilities. Namgung Minyoung prefers in-person coaching, so now that the office is open, it will also serve as a gaming house. Since it’s more convenient, I will be streaming from here too. There will be a slight modification to my schedule as a result. Starting next week, the Wednesday streaming session will be moved half an hour earlier. The Saturday stream will stay at the same hour.”
No doubt he had made that decision so he had time to go back home to Mia at the end of the day. The Saturday stream was already scheduled pretty early in the afternoon, so it wasn’t a bother. It being maintained, however, meant that Kim Dokja, like Uriel and the rest of the team, would be working Tuesday to Saturday from now on. She had warned him of that.
No more watching the streams on lazy weekend afternoons. No more catching them on his way home.
If he thought about it too long, it made him maudlin.
[persephone] Uh-oh.
[ghost_fleet] woah! ahjussi making a donation? are you sick???
What a brat. Money didn’t grow on trees, alright? He only had a small stash of Star Stream coins that he used when he had to get Yoo Joonghyuk’s attention in an emergency.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s head swiveled.
“You have to leave?” he said, frowning.
[👑demonkingofsalvation] Aren’t you going to praise me for sending a proper notice this time? See how well I’m meeting your unreasonable demands, YJH? It’s almost like I’m getting paid for this.
[ghost_fleet] lol “this time”?
“Demon King,” Yoo Joonghyuk growled. “What?”
[👑demonkingofsalvation] It’s like I said. I probably won’t make the streams in the next few weeks.
Hopefully he’d be able to pop back in once he had adjusted to the new job, but he’d have to play it by ear.
[👑demonic_judge_of_fire_] oh no!
[persephone] That’s a shame, Demon King.
[persephone] Did something happen?
“Is it because of the new schedule?” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
[👑demonkingofsalvation] Just some things changing in my life. Nothing to worry about.
He zoomed in on Yoo Joonghyuk. The man looked surprisingly petulant.
“Fine,” he said after a silence.
He sounded reluctant like a boss signing up on an employee’s leave request. Hey! Once again, the jerk didn’t actually pay him for this!
“Hurry up and come back,” Yoo Joonghyuk added and, to signify the end of the conversation, launched his character into a brutal monster slaughter.
Really, only that guy.
[👑demonic_judge_of_fire_] see you soon, DK!!
Yes. He’d see them both very soon.
The office had changed since the last time Kim Dokja had set foot inside. All the rooms were properly furnished, the decorations and plants had been set out, and the space was starting to feel lived in. Uriel’s desk particularly was a mess of sticky notes, files and pens. One lone water bottle stood next to the computer monitor in an attempt to escape the chaos.
“I have so many things to show you!” Uriel said, gesturing with the macchiato that he had brought her. “Right, first off: this is your desk.”
He had assumed so. The bare piece of furniture had been shoved into a corner of the room, since Uriel’s office hadn’t originally been meant for two people. Still, the room was big enough to accommodate them and he wasn’t picky. Working in an open space for his entire career had ensured that.
While he stored his bag behind the seat, Uriel kept talking.
“My colleague Gabriel is next door. She’s in charge of the 73rd Demon World team, while I take care of the Ways of Survival team. I’ll introduce you when she comes in, but you are not to let her steal you! You are my assistant. She can get her own.”
“So if she tries to grab me, I just tell her to take it up with you?” he smiled.
“Damn right. Oh, Donghoon-ssi!”
The young man who had been trying to pass undetected in the corridor flinched. He hesitantly poked his head in.
“Donghoon-ssi, this is the new guy, Kim Dokja. Dokja-ssi, this is our IT expert and social media guru, Han Donghoon.”
Kim Dokja opened his mouth to say hello, but Han Donghoon gave a quick bow and disappeared. Uriel shrugged cheerfully.
“He’s a bit shy.”
She launched into a detailed explanation of the corkboard on the wall and her filing system. Kim Dokja listened even as he kept an ear turned to the corridor, hyperaware of the elevator every time it deposited someone new on the floor.
Still, it felt like Uriel was skipping a step. He interrupted her to ask about the contract he had yet to sign. She stopped, looking embarrassed.
“Ah, about that… Well, it’s…”
“It’s with me,” someone else cut in.
Kim Dokja’s heart lurched. But even as he whirled toward the door, he recognized that this wasn’t Yoo Joonghyuk’s voice. The man standing there was certainly handsome, but his hair was long and pale and his eyes were glacier blue.
“Director-nim!” Uriel hurried to say, like she was trying to pass a cue card to Kim Dokja.
But he didn’t need the introduction.
“Director Kyrgios Rodgraim-nim,” Kim Dokja said with a polite bow.
Kyrgios looked at him down his elegant nose.
“At least you’re not totally clueless,” he grumbled.
Kim Dokja tried not to sweat as that blue gaze dissected him. Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t have much to do with Transcendence Gaming’s daily operations director, and mostly knew him as his teacher’s ill-tempered friend. It was hard to figure out how to butter the man up.
“Outside of our players, recruitment usually falls to me,” Kyrgios said. “I acceded to Uriel’s request because we do need more hands. I trust you will not make me regret it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And despite what Uriel may have said,” he added with a gimlet eye to her, who feigned innocence, “I expect you to assist our second team if Gabriel requests help. We all have to pitch in until we can recruit more.”
“Understood, sir.”
Kyrgios humphed. He drew a sheaf of paper from his briefcase and shoved it at Kim Dokja’s chest. Then he spun on his heel and exited.
Uriel dropped her act and pouted at his back. Then she turned to Kim Dokja.
“Don’t be discouraged. It’s nothing personal, the director is always like that.”
Yes, he knew. But he smiled at her, appreciating the reassurance.
The papers were Kim Dokja’s contract. He started skimming it, just in case Kyrgios had sneaked in a petty clause.
No sooner had he turned the first page that Uriel shouted:
“Guys! Come meet your new assistant manager!”
The contract shook wildly in his hands. He let it drop on his desk.
Kim Namwoon was the first to bound into the office.
“Finally, the new minion is here,” he cackled.
“You’re not to bully him,” Uriel warned. “Only I can do that.”
Lee Jihye shoved Kim Namwoon aside and looked Kim Dokja up and down. Unlike her partner in crime, she bowed, though not very deep.
“Hello,” she said, sounding vaguely unconvinced.
His lips quirked up. The disconnect was here again. How strange to face these people he knew so much about, but for whom he was a stranger.
“Hey. Nice to meet you.”
He meant it, but most of his attention was on the door. Two men were approaching in the corridor. The tallest one, Lee Hyunsung, kept his bulk behind his team leader, a polite smile on his face. And Yoo Joonghyuk…
Oh. Had Yoo Joonghyuk always been so tall and fit? His black shirt stuck to his chest like a second skin. His coat framed wide shoulders. Long legs ending in military boots carried him forward with ground-eating strides. His eyes were lowered, causing his lashes to fan over sharp cheekbones.
Yoo Joonghyuk looked up. Their eyes met.
It caught them both like a punch to the gut.
Kim Dokja lost his breath. Yoo Joonghyuk froze. The white showed all around his irises. He looked astonished.
He looked like he knew Kim Dokja.
Chapter 3
Notes:
Reminder that the special divider you'll sometimes see starting from this chapter is by Shiix (and it's so pretty <3).
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
So Kim Dokja had made a mistake.
When people recounted meeting their soulmates for the first time, they often described experiencing an instant feeling of connection. But Kim Dokja had always thought that those stories were fanciful flourishes. Either those people were bragging, or their brains had played tricks on them due to wishful thinking and a heightened emotional state… some romantic nonsense, he had told Han Sooyoung.
But there would have been absolutely no way for Kim Dokja to ignore that the man in front of him was his soulmate, even if his face hadn’t been as familiar to him as his own. He recognized him in a way that went deeper than memory, deeper than physical senses. He felt like a young bird at the end of his first migration, discovering an alien land below yet knowing in his bones that this was home.
And if Yoo Joonghyuk felt this too…
Kim Dokja’s pulse was beating in his ears. Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes were on him, unblinking. He hadn’t moved from the doorway. Kim Dokja opened his mouth.
“I can… I can go, if you’d…”
“No!”
In an instant, Yoo Joonghyuk had unfrozen and crossed the room. His large hands closed around Kim Dokja’s arms.
It struck him like a thunderclap, like an earthquake. In the back of his mind, the wall shook. For a fraction of a second, part of it crumbled. Light shone through.
The sensation disappeared as fast as it had come. But Yoo Joonghyuk’s features had slackened. He stared at Kim Dokja, dazed.
Kim Dokja felt something ugly try to rise up his throat. He swallowed it down.
“Alright,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Alright. I won’t go.”
“Master?” gaped Lee Jihye.
He had forgotten entirely about the other people in the room. Uriel looked back and forth between them, alarmed.
“Captain, is something wrong?” Lee Hyunsung said.
“Sorry, but could you guys give us a few minutes?” Kim Dokja said.
Uriel frowned in worry. Kim Namwoon lifted sardonic eyebrows.
“Master?” Lee Jihye prompted again, glaring warily at the newcomer.
Yoo Joonghyuk recovered himself somewhat.
“Leave,” he said, not looking away from Kim Dokja.
Lee Jihye seemed put out, but she let Lee Hyunsung herd her and Kim Namwoon out. Uriel followed after them and closed the door.
Kim Dokja avoided Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes. He had seen this beautiful face plenty of times through a high-quality webcam. He didn’t understand why physical eye contact had felt so different.
The silence stretched.
“Your name?” Yoo Joonghyuk asked.
“Kim Dokja.”
“Strange name.”
“I hear that often.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s lips thinned. He stepped back, hands trailing away from Kim Dokja’s arms. He seemed at a loss for words. That was natural. After all, this mess was Kim Dokja’s doing.
Kim Dokja forced himself to look at him properly. Thankfully, the bone-deep recognition was gone.
“I’m sorry, Yoo Joonghyuk.”
Yoo Joonghyuk frowned at him.
“I didn’t realize you weren’t getting anything from my end of the bond. I didn’t know.”
Yoo Joonghyuk looked taken aback.
“Your end of the bond,” he said.
Kim Dokja nodded.
“Then you…” Yoo Joonghyuk said, then trailed off.
There was no tactful way to put this.
“Yes. I’ve been getting fulgurations. For the past twenty years, I’ve been getting them.”
Yoo Joonghyuk moved to the window behind Uriel’s desk. He stared out, his large back to Kim Dokja.
Kim Dokja wasn’t fooled. This outwardly cool appearance was Yoo Joonghyuk’s go-to tactic when he was flustered.
“How?” he eventually asked.
This wasn’t a question that Kim Dokja wanted to answer. But he owed Yoo Joonghyuk something, at least.
“It’s my fault,” he confessed. “A problem on my end.”
Yoo Joonghyuk turned back to him. His dark eyes dissected Kim Dokja’s features.
“Earlier…” he said.
Kim Dokja had an inkling of what had happened when the wall had shaken. He kept his voice neutral.
“You got one.”
Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t bother confirming. Slowly, he raised his hand. Kim Dokja didn’t step away. Yoo Joonghyuk took his arm again.
Nothing happened. The wall remained intact, and Yoo Joonghyuk showed no reaction.
Kim Dokja’s frantic heartbeats slowed down. He gave a bitter smile.
“It couldn’t be that easy, I guess.”
Yoo Joonghyuk let him go. He kept staring.
“You’re Uriel’s new assistant.”
Kim Dokja felt a pang. He would never have tried meeting Yoo Joonghyuk this way if he had had the slightest inkling that Yoo Joonghyuk might recognize him on sight.
“If it’s too much…” he said. “I can just give you my contact information and go. I don’t have to…”
“No,” Yoo Joonghyuk cut him off with a frown.
He glanced away.
“No. Stay.”
Then he walked to the door and left.
This could have gone better.
This could also have gone a lot worse.
Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t seem to resent his intrusion into his life, at least. Not right now, anyway. Maybe he would feel differently once he had had time to absorb what had happened.
They didn’t cross paths again that day. Whatever Yoo Joonghyuk had told Uriel when he had exited the office, it hadn’t dampened her enthusiasm about her new assistant, so Kim Dokja was kept busy with an endless slew of introductions and work briefings.
But considering that Yoo Joonghyuk was bound to be in a troubled mood, maybe Kim Dokja should have expected the fulguration that bloomed in the afternoon.
Normally, fulgurations didn’t prevent him from working. But this one turned out different, because Yoo Joonghyuk was thinking about him. Excerpts of their conversation kept running through Yoo Joonghyuk’s mind even as he reviewed Kim Namwoon’s performance in the media room. He was distracted, and Yoo Joonghyuk was never distracted during work. Lee Hyunsung, Lee Jihye and Kim Namwoon kept throwing him curious glances.
‘They’ve been doing this all day,’ Yoo Joonghyuk griped to himself, pointedly ignoring them. ‘It’s that guy’s fault.’
A flash of Kim Dokja’s face, his calm eyes (‘too calm,’ thought Yoo Joonghyuk, annoyed that he had been the one most off kilter), his nondescript suit, the thinness of his arms when Yoo Joonghyuk had touched him.
Yoo Joonghyuk was analyzing everything about him. After a childhood like his, Kim Dokja didn’t get embarrassed easily, but now his cheeks burned. He had to duck behind his computer to escape Uriel’s notice.
He half wanted to go bang on the media room’s door and remind Yoo Joonghyuk that he wasn’t always alone in his head, but it would have just mortified Yoo Joonghyuk and ignited his temper. Kim Dokja didn’t want to die.
But he was left unnerved. He hadn’t wanted to see this. Fulgurations had sometimes shown him glimpses of Yoo Joonghyuk’s reactions to [demonkingofsalvation], but this felt worse somehow. On top of that, for the first time of his life, he felt a sprinkle of guilt at the accidental eavesdropping. For once, he was in a position to signal his presence, and he didn’t.
The fulguration faded naturally. At five, noise in the corridor signaled that Team 999 was preparing to go home. The team under Gabriel’s responsibility would stay much longer, but Yoo Joonghyuk, Lee Hyunsung, Kim Namwoon and Lee Jihye would finish their days’ training at home. That had been Yoo Joonghyuk’s condition to sign with Transcendence.
Kim Namwoon poked his head in the office.
“Good evening, Uriel-ssi! Good evening, minion! See you tomorrow!”
Uriel and Kim Dokja returned the farewell, but though Lee Jihye and Lee Hyunsung also chimed in, Yoo Joonghyuk had already disappeared. Since nobody seemed to find it unusual, Kim Dokja tried not to take it personally.
The end of his own work day came. By the time Kim Dokja made it to the restaurant, Han Sooyoung was already waiting for him at their usual table. She was munching on the toothpick that had come with her cocktail.
“Finally,” she said, perking up as soon as she spotted him. “So? That first day at the new job?”
He sat heavily in the opposite seat and stared into the distance. His eyes hurt. His spine hurt. He could still hear Uriel’s voice drilling calendar management into his brain.
“That bad, huh? You going to quit?”
“I have been forbidden to.”
“What? By who?”
He propped his head on his hand and looked at her in wariness.
“Why do you care, anyway? This is the first time you’ve asked this many questions about one of my jobs.”
“Because you won’t tell me anything about this one!” she fumed. “You’re obviously plotting something. I want in!”
“In?”
She kicked his chair.
“I want to know what the hell you’re doing. It’s bound to be interesting, even — especially — if it goes down in flames.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Hey, you should be flattered. You’re my main source of inspiration for ill-advised decisions.”
Before he could answer, the waiter approached their table. Kim Dokja managed to drag one more social smile out of a quickly depleting well.
As soon as the man was gone with their order, Han Sooyoung said: “If you won’t tell me about the job, at least tell me about the soulmate.”
Kim Dokja stared at her, unimpressed. Han Sooyoung was certainly smart enough to realize that the two subjects were more linked than he had let on. He had gotten cagey about his job search right after discovering his PSI Syndrome.
“Oh, come on!” she said when he didn’t answer. “You never tell me anything important about the guy!”
That was true. He had done all that he could to avoid Han Sooyoung figuring out the identity of his soulmate. It had always felt like something that should be kept private. Besides, if she had known that his soulmate lived so close, she would definitely have nagged him to make contact. He hadn’t wanted that. He hadn’t wanted his world to intersect with Yoo Joonghyuk’s, not even during joking conversations with his friends.
But their worlds had irremediably collided today. There was no taking it back.
“It’s Yoo Joonghyuk.”
Han Sooyoung choked on the last sip of her drink. She spluttered and hacked.
“The streamer you’re obsessed with?” she shouted.
“He’s a pro gamer,” he said, throwing a napkin at her.
“Shut your face. Oh my god. He’s Korean.”
“He sure is.”
“Your soulmate was Korean the whole time?!”
“Do you mind lowering the volume?” he said, turning away from the glares they were getting from other tables.
She ignored him. She planted her elbows on the table and hid her face in her hands.
“You could have been speaking to him the whole time,” she lamented. “Wait. You have been speaking to him! Aren’t you his damn chat mod?”
“Yeah, well. He doesn’t know that yet.”
She eyed him like there was no redeeming quality to be found on his person.
“What does the poor guy know, really…”
“A great deal more today than he did yesterday,” he retorted, studiously examining her glass.
She blinked.
“Wait. You talked to him? You walked up to him and told him? No way.”
“No. I figured it would go better if he got to know me before I dropped the bomb on him, so I got hired in his company. But he recognized me on sight.”
Han Sooyoung was holding onto her laughter so hard she was shaking. Her face was slowly turning red.
“Just get it over with,” Kim Dokja sighed.
He couldn’t pretend that he hadn’t earned this.
“So,” she managed, “he did have fulgurations?”
“No.”
“But he recognized you anyway. This sounds like romantic nonsense, Kim Dokja.”
“Shut up.”
She giggled-snorted, coughed, then poured herself water from the complementary pitcher. He was honestly impressed by her restraint. He had expected her to be laughing like a hyena by now.
But once she had gulped down her glass, she set it down with a resolute thunk and looked him in the eye.
“Are you freaking out?”
He was so taken aback that he didn’t answer at once.
“I’m fine,” he said finally.
Han Sooyoung raised skeptical eyebrows. She seemed on the verge of saying something.
In the end, she looked away.
“I’m a bit surprised,” she said. “I thought you were keeping your distance from the guy, but it turns out you’ve been stalking him online for years. What did he do to hook you like that?”
“His streams are very entertaining.”
“You wouldn’t even have gotten into esport if it hadn’t been for him,” she scoffed, as usual coming uncomfortably fast to uncomfortably accurate assumptions about Kim Dokja. “He’s the only pro gamer you follow.”
“So?”
“So you sure didn’t get interested in him because of his job. How old were you when your fulgurations started, anyway? Thirteen, fifteen? Was it the face? Did you imprint on him in a cloud of teenage hormones?”
“No…”
Kim Dokja glanced out the window without really seeing the pedestrians outside.
Not thirteen or fifteen. He had been eight.
He was at school the first time. He zoned out right there in the courtyard, in the middle of recess, and took a ball to the face for his trouble. When he tried to explain what had happened, it took the teacher far longer than it should have to understand what he meant.
It was rare for a child to get fulgurations that young. Rarer still for the child’s fulgurations to be fully sensory. It wasn’t completely unheard of, though, and it didn’t have to be a problem as long as Kim Dokja learned to ignore the visions.
He didn’t.
From the very start, he was fascinated by his soulmate’s life. Every time that window opened into Yoo Joonghyuk’s world, he paid ravenous attention. It was like a story written just for him. A story about a brave, talented boy. A story where adults were an afterthought, like in all good adventure books. A story where nobody yelled, where the opening of the front door was never followed by the stench of alcohol.
Yoo Joonghyuk basically lived on his own. He cooked for himself, he did his own laundry. He kept his room clean. He did his homework effortlessly. His teacher often praised him, his classmates always wanted to play with him at recess.
Meanwhile, Kim Dokja hadn’t been popular to start with, since he spent most of his time with his nose in a book; but it only got worse as he began spacing out with increasing regularity. The teachers scolded him countless times for his lack of focus. The children whispered about him and avoided him, when they didn’t find him an easy target for bullying.
One bold teacher walked up to Kim Dokja’s mother one day to suggest finding her son’s unruly soulmate sooner rather than later.
“Bond control is traditionally taught in middle school, but I’m afraid that if you wait until then, Dokja’s education will be greatly stunted. If the parents of the other child are receptive, it would be good if that child could start bond control lessons early.”
Lee Sookyung smiled and nodded until the woman was gone. Then she looked into Kim Dokja’s eager eyes.
“When you are older, we’ll find him,” she told him.
Kim Dokja wilted. It was the same thing she always said.
At that age, Kim Dokja shared everything he learned about his soulmate with his mother. She listened with an expression that, years later, he would describe as bittersweet. She knew Yoo Joonghyuk lived in Seoul. She knew Kim Dokja had long memorized his address. But when Kim Dokja asked to go, this was the answer she always gave.
Some days, Kim Dokja wanted to rage at her. Why did he have to wait? Even the teacher said to find Yoo Joonghyuk!
Yet something in him already understood Lee Sookyung’s decision, in the same way that he understood whenever the front door opened and she ordered him to his room. In the same way that he knew to keep quiet when he heard voices rise and glass break in the living room. Making contact with Yoo Joonghyuk would have meant bringing him into this.
His father hated the vacant stare Kim Dokja sported during fulgurations. Kim Dokja learned to hide it.
He entered middle school. From then on, he diligently practiced bond control. He didn’t want to burden Yoo Joonghyuk with glimpses of his ugly life. But though he knew that Yoo Joonghyuk was following the same classes he did, the frequency of the fulgurations never diminished; it seemed to be the only thing Yoo Joonghyuk had no talent for. So his story continued for Kim Dokja, both a blessing and a curse.
Then Kim Dokja’s life fell apart.
Once the dust had settled and he was left all alone in the world, he waited with bated breath for the fulgurations to stop. It felt like the bond should be severed. It would only take Yoo Joonghyuk receiving one fulguration for him to realize what had happened, because Kim Dokja couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t stop rereading it again and again like his mother had asked him to. And then Yoo Joonghyuk would want nothing to do with him.
But like clockwork, the next fulguration came.
Yoo Joonghyuk had just discovered what would later become his flagship game, Ways of Survival. He was staring in betrayal at the message written on his screen.
[You have died.]
‘No way,’ he seethed. ‘This is definitely the right way to clear that puzzle.’
He respawned his character and returned to the place of his defeat. Soon…
[You have died.]
‘This game is bugged!’
Kim Dokja watched in numb disbelief as Yoo Joonghyuk bashed his head against that wall again and again. Not a thought was spared to the catastrophe that had beset his soulmate’s life. He just kept playing.
Kim Dokja saw that morbid message flash a dozen times in quick succession. Before he knew it, he was laughing. It was an ugly laugh, and he couldn’t seem to stop.
‘Mock me all you want,’ Yoo Joonghyuk thought, fuming, at the death message that had appeared again. ‘I’m not dead. I’m right here.’
Kim Dokja’s laughter cut off.
‘I will do this as many times as I need to. I will keep getting back on my feet. It’s only over if I give up.’
This was no longer about the game. It was about an empty house, a gnawing solitude and an unknown future.
Kim Dokja had been watching Yoo Joonghyuk for years. But only in that instant did he truly see him.
Yoo Joonghyuk mashed that key. And Kim Dokja, too, respawned.
Uriel may not have changed her mind about hiring Kim Dokja, but it was obvious that whatever Yoo Joonghyuk had told her about his strange reaction to her assistant hadn’t been enough to quell her curiosity either.
“You didn’t come in with Yoo Joonghyuk today?” she asked Kim Dokja the next morning, innocent as freshly fallen snow.
Her question would have felt more natural if Kim Dokja had crossed paths with Yoo Joonghyuk even once since their private meeting.
She was fishing for information. Kim Dokja could easily have spun some tale about him and Yoo Joonghyuk being old acquaintances, but he didn’t want to risk getting caught in a lie. Uriel would resent it, and he was hoping to build a good relationship with her. Not only because they worked together, but because he genuinely liked her.
This left him parrying her inquiries with bland answers and guileless smiles. At least Uriel seemed to be enjoying their little verbal spars.
Kyrgios Rodgraim wasn’t the type to enjoy verbal spars. Kim Dokja became aware of that as he stood in the glaring man’s office, twenty-four hours after their introductions.
“I heard there was a commotion yesterday,” Kyrgios said, sounding like a commotion was a crime punishable by death.
“My apologies. It was settled quickly and won’t happen again.”
The evasive statement only seemed to wind Kyrgios up.
“What’s your relationship with Yoo Joonghyuk?” he asked.
“I’m sure he’d call me a stranger.”
“Then why did he demand to talk to you?”
Kim Dokja shrugged. “I’d rather not divulge the contents of a private conversation.”
“Are you testing me?” Kyrgios said, his voice low.
Was Kim Dokja pushing his luck too much? The contract was signed, now. Even if he was in his probationary period, Korean law prevented Kyrgios from firing him without a rational and objective justification. “Won’t answer invasive questions” didn’t qualify. But Kyrgios could still make his work life hell.
Somehow, though, Kim Dokja doubted it would happen. The icy anger in the man’s eyes felt familiar. Kim Dokja could see right through to the pride beneath, to the worry that he might not be able to protect something dear.
He held back a smile.
Ah. Namgung Minyoung really had a type.
“I’m not some insane fan.”
Kyrgios stopped short, surprised by the sudden straightforwardness.
“Nor do I represent a danger for anyone in this office,” Kim Dokja added.
“That sounds like something an ‘insane fan’ might say.”
“Do you think I would be standing before you if Yoo Joonghyuk objected to my presence?”
“You seem that shameless type.”
Wow. It took so little backtalking to be classified as a problem employee.
“Do I also seem fearless enough to mess with Yoo Joonghyuk under President Namgung Minyoung-nim’s roof?”
This drew a startled bark of laughter from Kyrgios.
“At least you’re not totally clueless,” he said, a repeat of their first meeting.
The look he leveled on Kim Dokja was appraising. He finally sat back in his plush desk chair.
“You’re aware of what awaits you in the near future, so I will let this go,” he said with a mean smile.
Kim Dokja bowed his head and let the man dismiss him.
Of course he did know. He was just lucky that Namgung Minyoung was currently away on a business trip.
The work itself was fine. Kim Dokja knew a lot more about the company’s daily dealings than someone uninitiated should have, and Uriel seemed pleased with the speed at which he was picking things up. The tasks were more diverse than he was used to, and he found that even things that he had never been a fan of, like phone calls, came to him more easily in this context.
Of course, the downside was that he had far less time to slack off and read webnovels, but he liked learning more about Yoo Joonghyuk’s field and organizing things in the background of his life.
Inevitably, he and Yoo Joonghyuk bumped into each other.
First they crossed paths in the corridor; Kim Dokja nodded and called a good morning. Yoo Joonghyuk stared.
Later, Yoo Joonghyuk entered the restroom as Kim Dokja was washing his hands; Kim Dokja met his eyes in the mirror and greeted him by name. Yoo Joonghyuk stared.
Later still, Kim Dokja reached the break room door just as it opened and Team 999 exited; he apologized and stepped aside. Yoo Joonghyuk stared.
On Saturday, Uriel organized a team meeting to talk about the upcoming World Championship. Kim Dokja sat in as an observer. But he felt more like an observee. Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes on him were now intense enough that the staring was edging into glaring.
“Hmm… is there a problem?” Uriel asked, looking caught between laughter and worry.
“No,” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
But he didn’t stop. Lee Hyunsung seemed distraught. Lee Jihye scowled at Kim Dokja like he had killed a litter of puppies in front of her.
“Alright, seriously!” Kim Namwoon said, highly entertained. “Come on, what’s going on with you two? Are you going to brawl with the minion, Captain? That could be fun, but he looks like a twig. I doubt he’d last long.”
“Shut up, Kim Namwoon.”
“Do you know him, Master?” Lee Jihye asked next.
“I said,” Yoo Joonghyuk growled, finally turning his glower to his teammates, “that it’s none of your business.”
Kim Dokja coughed.
“You’re kind of making it their business, disrupting the meeting like this,” he said, mild as milk. Ignoring the five pairs of eyes swiveling to him with various amounts of surprise and anger, he added: “Do you have something to say to me, Yoo Joonghyuk?”
It was easy to read the man’s outrage.
“What could I possibly have to say to you?” he snapped.
Wow, wasn’t this jerk so nice? Yes, they were strangers. What a kind reminder. Kim Dokja gave him his fakest smile. “Then pay attention, won’t you?”
Lee Jihye gaped at his gall, but Yoo Joonghyuk just looked away.
“Continue, Uriel.”
“R-right!”
At the end of the meeting, Kim Dokja waited next to the door while everyone else filed away. Yoo Joonghyuk drew even with him.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to leave?” Kim Dokja asked him.
Four unsubtle eavesdroppers froze in the corridor. Yoo Joonghyuk slammed the door closed on them.
“I said it’s fine,” he stressed.
“You could have changed your mind.”
“I didn’t.”
“You realize that if Namgung Minyoung thinks I’m making trouble for you, she’ll skewer me?”
Yoo Joonghyuk stiffened.
“It’s none of her business either,” he hissed.
He stormed out, leaving Kim Dokja to roll his eyes behind his back.
Like that would stop her.
The following week, Namgung Minyoung came back from her overseas trip.
One could only guess at what she had heard from Kyrgios, since she promptly declared a mandatory company dinner.
Kim Dokja didn’t know why she hadn’t just summoned him to her office, but as far as first meetings went, this seemed to be a more advantageous setting for him. Surely she wouldn’t get violent in a restaurant. Too public.
So, feeling cautiously optimistic, he found himself one evening following Uriel up a well-maintained path to a huge traditional house. His sense of safety lasted as long as it took him to recognize the curved roof and the dog lying in front of the wooden door.
He stopped and swallowed back a groan of dismay. This was not a restaurant.
Well, now he could guess how the evening would go. Namgung Minyoung’s garden was certainly big enough to bury his body.
“Good evening, Master!” Uriel cheerily greeted the dog.
Master got up to accept her pats, tail wagging. As Uriel stepped away from her to knock, the dog’s intelligent eyes turned on Kim Dokja.
He experienced a bout of nostalgia. The first time Yoo Joonghyuk had met Master, he had finished buried under seventy pounds of fluff. Those were the days.
But Master was also Namgung Minyoung’s guard dog, and purportedly a very good judge of character, so this was no time to reminisce. He held up a hand to be examined. For some reason, his heart was pounding in his chest. Master gave his palm a long sniff test.
Finally, she sat at his feet and held her head in a way that was both permission and command. He exhaled. He scratched at her ears. She gave a satisfied boof and meandered back to the door, where an outrageously tall woman was now silhouetted.
A pipe in hand, Namgung Minyoung was staring at Kim Dokja with heavy-lidded eyes. He smiled at her and bowed.
“Good evening, President-nim. I’m Kim Dokja.”
“Hmm,” she said.
She stepped aside to let them in. Master went first, then Uriel, with Kim Dokja bringing up the rear. He fought not to tense as he passed by Namgung Minyoung.
“Thank you for having us tonight, President-nim!” Uriel said as they took off their shoes.
Namgung Minyoung made to answer, her eyes still on Kim Dokja (so this was where her protege had learned to stare, huh), but at that moment, voices floated through the open door. Gabriel was coming up the path, 73rd Demon World team in tow. Kim Dokja took advantage of the flurry of greetings that followed to slink away.
He breathed easier once away from Namgung Minyoung’s scrutiny. Maybe he should have done an about-turn when he had realized where they were going, but how would he have explained that to Uriel? Maybe he could fake a phone call and pretend an emergency to leave. Or fake an allergic reaction during dinner. Could one be allergic to tomatoes?
He found Lee Jihye, Han Donghoon and Kim Namwoon already chatting in the living room.
“Hey, Ahjussi! You made it!” Kim Namwoon said.
Ahjussi? He was a bit vexed. He wasn’t that old. It was one thing when Kim Namwoon addressed [demonkingofsalvation] like that, but now the brat could see his age for himself. Although he supposed “Ahjussi” was still better than “minion”.
Lee Hyunsung entered the room through another doorway.
“Ah, good evening, Kim Dokja-ssi,” he said, sounding as uncertain as he usually did around Kim Dokja.
“You guys got here early,” he noted.
“Well, it’s just…” Lee Hyunsung said with a vague gesture over his shoulder.
The repetitive sound of a knife meeting a cutting board came from that direction. Ah, of course.
“Is Yoo Joonghyuk cooking?”
He slipped down the hall rather than wait for an answer.
When he reached it, the kitchen was alive with so many delicious scents it was an assault on the senses. Yoo Joonghyuk’s back was to him.
That Yoo Joonghyuk would cook for himself was a given. Looking back on it, it was logical that Namgung Minyoung hadn’t chosen a restaurant for this dinner, since Yoo Joonghyuk would have refused to join if he had to eat food made by someone else. He was unreasonable like that.
But, from what Kim Dokja could see of the room, there was far too much food for Yoo Joonghyuk to only be cooking for one person.
“You’re cooking for everyone?” he said in surprise.
Wow, Namgung Minyoung really was a miracle maker.
Yoo Joonghyuk glared at him over his shoulder.
“Go away.”
Well. He didn’t want to question his good fortune. Getting to eat Yoo Joonghyuk’s cooking? With his own mouth? That was like a dream come true.
On the other hand, Yoo Joonghyuk was working on his own to feed twenty people. And Kim Dokja really needed to make himself busy so that Namgung Minyoung wouldn’t whisk him away for a “casual chat”.
“Can I help?” he said, despite already knowing the answer he would receive.
“No. Go away.”
This guy really had no faith in anyone, huh.
“Don’t be stubborn. Just point me at the stuff you won’t eat.”
Yoo Joonghyuk gave no answer.
“You know I literally learned how to cook from you, right?”
This did bring Yoo Joonghyuk short. He speared Kim Dokja with a searching look. Kim Dokja put up with the critical up-and-down examination that followed. How ridiculous. It was cooking, not martial arts, okay?
Yoo Joonghyuk wordlessly shoved a cutting board in his direction. Kim Dokja’s eyelid twitched. It was covered in a small mountain of onions. What a petty bastard.
Nevertheless, Kim Dokja was now committed. He shed his jacket and draped it on the back of a chair, rolled his sleeves up, washed his hands and set to work. Instead of returning to his tasks, Yoo Joonghyuk watched him like a hawk. Did he expect him to pour laxatives on the vegetables, or what?
Enduring that supervision steadily got more mortifying. Yoo Joonghyuk, of course, was immune to onion cutting. Maybe it was because he had done it so often. Or maybe it was because tears were ashamed of staining his stupid perfect protagonist face. Whatever the case, Kim Dokja did not share that supernatural ability. His eyes were leaking like a fountain by the time Yoo Joonghyuk finally turned back to the stove. Kim Dokja took advantage of that moment to furiously wipe his eyes on his sleeve.
A blurry blue shape appeared in the doorway. The person stopped short.
“There you are,” Kyrgios said after a long minute.
Kim Dokja blinked to clear his vision.
“Good evening, Director-nim,” he said dutifully.
Kyrgios gave him a strange look. He probably hadn’t expected to find him around Yoo Joonghyuk, of all people.
“I thought you might have already fled, but you were just hiding here,” Kyrgios said, and the eyes he set on the cutting board expressed a great deal of pity and judgment.
Yes, well, so he did prefer cutting onions over subjecting himself to whatever grilling Namgung Minyoung had planned for him. So what?
“Are you done?” Yoo Joonghyuk rudely interrupted, in a tone that implied he should be.
“Yes, Chief-nim,” Kim Dokja shot back in his most grating voice.
Yoo Joonghyuk shoved him out of the way to inspect his work.
“These are not cut evenly.”
“Some of us have to squint when we cut onions, Yoo Joonghyuk. If you wanted to evaluate my technique, you should have given me the carrots.”
Yoo Joonghyuk wordlessly kicked the garbage bin closer.
“Oh no, you don’t,” Kim Dokja said, and snatched the onions before Yoo Joonghyuk could reach for them.
He poured them in the waiting pan. They spread in the oil with a sizzling sound.
“Kim Dokja!”
Yoo Joonghyuk made to lounge for the pan, but it was Kim Dokja’s turn to elbow him out of the way.
“These are perfectly fine by anybody’s standards but yours,” he said. “If you don’t want to use them, I will. It’s the second batch anyway. You can just eat the first.”
“You don’t know the recipe.”
Kim Dokja sneaked a glance at the doorway. Kyrgios was gone, but he still lowered his voice to retort, “You make this at least twice a month. In what world don’t I know the recipe?”
The reminder just seemed to agitate Yoo Joonghyuk. He didn’t shoo Kim Dokja out, but he buzzed around him like an angry bee.
Kyrgios must have snitched, because Namgung Minyoung made her appearance in the corridor. She watched as they worked around each other with a steady back-and-forth of annoyed quips. Her eyebrows were so high that they couldn’t be seen behind the top of the door frame.
“You have a new assistant, Joonghyuk-ah?” she said.
“No. Add more pepper,” he volleyed at Kim Dokja.
“Mind your own pot, Yoo Joonghyuk.”
Kim Dokja waited until Namgung Minyoung was gone and Yoo Joonghyuk’s back was turned before adding more pepper.
While Yoo Joonghyuk finished in the kitchen, Kim Dokja started ferrying dishes to the big dining room.
“Hi, minion,” Jang Hayoung said, interrupting her arrangement of the chairs when she spotted him.
“Hey, he’s our minion!” Kim Namwoon protested.
“Kyrgios-nim said he’s ours too,” she retorted, looking smug.
She was the leader of Transcendence Gaming’s second team, the one dedicated to the strategy game 73rd Demon World. They were less united than Yoo Joonghyuk’s team, since the game was 1v1, but they still trained together. Jang Hayoung herself was not much older than Kim Namwoon and Lee Jihye, but she was as blindingly beautiful as Yoo Joonghyuk, a fact which had considerably helped her popularity.
“Stop calling him that,” Gabriel intervened. “If anything, he’s mine and Uriel’s minion.”
To which Uriel glared and pouted at her, earning herself a gloating smile. Those two went along like cats and dogs, but it was obvious that they were close in their own way.
“Anyway, Ahjussi,” Jang Hayoung said, stopping him on his way back to the kitchen, “how old are you? Thirty-something? I’ll put you on the elders side of the table.”
First Kim Namwoon, now her. Hey. Were these children trying to start something?
He gave a baleful glare at the chairs. The worst of it was that there was such a huge age gap between Transcendence’s professional gamers and their administrative staff that speaking up would make no difference. He would be seated squarely in the middle of the table whether he wanted to or not[1].
“Kim Dokja is not thirty,” Yoo Joonghyuk spoke up as he and Lee Hyunsung entered with more dishes.
He sounded affronted. Maybe this should have pleased Kim Dokja, but it just annoyed him more.
“Why? Because if I was, you’d have to use honorifics with me?” he said, smiling stiffly. “I’m older than you anyway, Yoo Joonghyuk. You are being a rude brat.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes narrowed in challenge.
“How old are you?”
“28.”
“We’re the same age.”
“I was born six months earlier than you.”
“You’re a petty guy.”
“You should be calling me ‘hyung’.”
Yoo Joonghyuk flinched in open disgust. It was true that Yoo Joonghyuk could skip honorifics since they were born in the same year, but Yoo Joonghyuk never used honorifics, so Kim Dokja felt that negated any good point he made.
Jang Hayoung was laughing up her sleeve. Lee Hyunsung clapped his hands, visibly afraid that bloodshed was imminent.
“T-the food! Captain, we can’t let the food go cold.”
He ushered Yoo Joonghyuk back into the kitchen.
Kim Dokja soon found himself sandwiched between Uriel and Lee Hyunsung. Lee Hyunsung kept glancing at Yoo Joonghyuk, seated across from Kim Dokja, like his team leader was in danger of leaping across the table to strangle their new assistant manager. His concern was touching, but Yoo Joonghyuk’s attention was firmly on the food.
To be fair, Kim Dokja’s attention was also on the food. Thanks were given for the meal, and then Kim Dokja could finally taste Yoo Joonghyuk’s cooking.
He nearly wept.
Ugh, to think that Yoo Joonghyuk had started as a health nut before he got into gastronomy. Where was the guy who thought chicken breast and salad made an appropriate breakfast? Life was so unfair.
The air filled with appreciative noises and compliments. Yoo Joonghyuk took it as a given. Predictably, the dish that Kim Dokja had made emptied more slowly than the others. It was good, but… well, he had never expected it to withstand the comparison.
“So, Kim Dokja-ssi,” Namgung Minyoung said from the head of the table. “I saw your CV. You used to work in QA, was it?”
“That’s right.”
“Isn’t it only the guys who can’t get better jobs that end up in QA?” Lee Jihye grumbled.
She was clearly convinced that he had done some terrible thing to Yoo Joonghyuk and had decided to resent him on principle. That said, he couldn’t refute her words.
Namgung Minyoung’s lips twitched, but she was tactful enough to brush over her intervention.
“You worked for Mino Soft’s Korean branch, I saw?”
“For a year or two, yes. That was an interesting time,” he said, though apart from Yoo Joonghyuk’s streams, nothing about it had been particularly interesting.
What was she fishing for, anyway?
“Was it on Ways of Survival?” Kyrgios said.
“That’s right, I was in the QA team for WoS.”
Heads perked up. Yoo Joonghyuk wrenched himself away from his meal long enough to throw him a quick glance. Even Lee Jihye looked reluctantly interested.
“Can you give us insider tips, then, Ahjussi?” Kim Namwoon said with a wild grin.
“It’s been a few years. All my tips would probably be obsolete.”
“It’s nice that we have someone who knows the game as our assistant manager,” Lee Hyunsung said.
Ah, Lee Hyunsung. Always so polite and friendly. Looking at this guy, you wouldn’t believe that he had nearly joined the army.
“I see you on your phone all the time in the break room,” Gabriel said. “Are you a social media addict like Donghoon-ssi?”
Han Donghoon ducked into his rice bowl. Kim Dokja blinked, but Namgung Minyoung seemed indifferent to the topic change. Had she not been fishing for something, then?
Wait. Was this the “getting to know you” conversation? Kim Dokja was more used to holding those in bars while trying to avoid drinks getting pressed into his hands.
“Ah, no. I just read.”
“You like reading, Kim Dokja-ssi?” Uriel asked.
“As said on the tin,” he confessed with a wry smile.
“Oh, is that what Dokja means? ‘Reader’. Not ‘only child’?”
“Well, that too.”
He suddenly noticed that Yoo Joonghyuk was looking at him. Against all odds, he was listening. Kim Dokja’s stomach gave a weird flip.
This was the point where he would usually change the subject, but he heard himself add:
“I think my father wanted me to have a strong, independent name. But my mother had her own idea. She was a bookworm.”
“So she sneaked it in?” Uriel laughed. “That’s sly.”
Kim Dokja smiled without answering. His throat had closed up. He couldn’t understand what had possessed him to say this. He never brought up his parents if he could help it.
Uriel turned to talk to Gabriel, but Yoo Joonghyuk kept watching him. Kim Dokja pushed food around his plate.
Dinner passed uneventfully, with good food and harmless conversation. Neither Kyrgios nor Namgung Minyoung tried to prod at him, and nobody brought up Yoo Joonghyuk’s strange outburst.
Could it be said that Kim Dokja had been lured into a false sense of security?
“Fancy seeing you here,” Namgung Minyoung said, smiling, when he exited the bathroom to find her blocking his way back to the dining room. “Let’s have a chat.”
Notes:
1 According to Korean dining etiquette.
_____
Many people in the comments of the previous chapter came up with the theory that Yoo Joonghyuk might have received a few fulgurations from Kim Dokja when they were younger, and that he saw something in them that made him think Kim Dokja was now dead. That would definitely have been an interesting twist! But (outside of the fact that it would have been so angsty it would have hurt my soul to write that) I like to think that Yoo Joonghyuk would sometimes remember his dead soulmate, if only to lament that he had never gone to him while he still had time; and eventually, Kim Dokja would have received a fulguration of one of his guilt trips and been like ❓❓❓
So no, in this one Yoo Joonghyuk never received a single fulguration before Kim Dokja's mind walled itself.
Chapter Text
Namgung Minyoung’s home office had the look of a room that didn’t see much use. Some papers lay forgotten on the desk and the bookshelves hadn’t been dusted in a while. The ceiling light reflected on the window pane, hiding the dark garden beyond.
Namgung Minyoung’s large hand on Kim Dokja’s shoulder guided him to a chair and pushed him down. He sat.
“It’s nice to finally have you to myself,” she said with a shark-like grin as she took the closest seat, the better to loom over him.
“As President-nim says.”
If she expected him to be cowed, she was disappointed. Namgung Minyoung may have been biding her time, but while she was sizing him up, he had been sizing her up. Would he have been foolish enough to isolate himself otherwise? His bladder could have waited until he was back home.
Her grin faded as she took in his attitude.
“Letting me see you cook with Joonghyuk-ie was inspired,” she said, sounding more irritated than impressed.
“Thank you, President-nim.”
“He allows you strange liberties. One would nearly think you were blackmailing him.”
Kim Dokja didn’t gratify such absurdity with an answer.
“But then, he wouldn’t have tried your cooking during dinner,” she allowed.
Kim Dokja’s composure slipped. What was she talking about? He hadn’t seen Yoo Joonghyuk do any such thing. Why would he have? Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t eat what had been made by others.
Noticing his reaction, Namgung Minyoung gave him a mean smile.
“He didn’t go for seconds,” she told him sweetly.
He held in a twitch.
“Is that so.”
So that brat had just tasted the dish so he could complain later? Kim Dokja should have thrown the extra pepper at his face instead.
“What are you to Joonghyuk-ie?” Namgung Minyoung said.
Her expression was intent. As expected, she didn’t have much patience for beating around the bush. Kim Dokja looked the lion in the eyes, opened his mouth…
“Why doesn’t President-nim ask Yoo Joonghyuk?”
… and poked it.
Namgung Minyoung darkened like a storm cloud was bearing down on her.
“That child is stubborn. He doesn’t always know what’s good for him.”
“Then if Yoo Joonghyuk wouldn’t tell you, why should I?”
“Are you refusing to tell me?”
“I see no interest in answering.”
“I am your employer.”
“Certainly, President-nim.”
“You won’t answer your President’s questions?”
“President-nim may ask all the questions she wants about my credentials.”
“You don’t have any.”
“Not for my current position, that’s true.”
“Then why don’t I just fire you?”
“President-nim can certainly cherry-pick her employees, but can Transcendence Gaming really afford to be so short-staffed?”
She glared at him. He didn’t budge.
The moment she had engaged him in this conversation, he had known that he had nothing to fear. If Namgung Minyoung objected to something, she acted. She didn’t argue the point to death. He just had to talk circles around her until she got sick of him and dismissed him.
She leaned toward him, throwing her shadow over his entire body. She pointedly articulated each word. “Are you sleeping with my disciple?”
He reached for his next reflexive counter and… found nothing.
“What?” he heard himself say.
The door slammed open.
“Teacher!” Yoo Joonghyuk shouted.
Master was wrapped around his legs and panting with obvious delight. He had a hand buried in her fur to keep his balance. How long had those two been wrestling in the corridor, one trying to pass through and the other cheerfully obeying her command to stop him?
“My, Joonghyuk-ah,” Namgung Minyoung drawled. “Were you eavesdropping?”
There could be no doubt from the look on Yoo Joonghyuk’s face that he had at least caught the tail end of their exchange. For some reason, Kim Dokja found it easier to stare at the dog. She looked so happy. It must be nice to live an uncomplicated pet life.
“You’re out of line!” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
“I think I should be made aware if two of my employees are having an affair.”
Kim Dokja stood up.
“Since Yoo Joonghyuk is here, you can continue this conversation with him,” he said with a wooden smile. “I hear the others leaving. I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome.”
“Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk grated as Kim Dokja sidled around him.
“I don’t care what you say to her, as long as you do not let your mother figure think I’m having a homosexual affair with a man just divorced,” Kim Dokja hissed at him from the corner of his mouth.
Yoo Joonghyuk seemed on the verge of arguing (probably against the mother figure part, like his denial could possibly hold any water), but Kim Dokja “accidentally” pushed against his shoulder, causing him to trip over Master’s body and into the room proper. Kim Dokja bowed at Namgung Minyoung, wished her a good evening and closed the door.
Kim Dokja slept the sleep of the just that night. Really, there was no reason why Namgung Minyoung and Yoo Joonghyuk’s communication issues should be his problem.
They couldn’t be so bad at talking that Namgung Minyoung thought her protege would take a man as his lover. Would take Kim Dokja as his lover. Surely she had been trying to goad him into reacting. Yoo Joonghyuk could tank her assault himself, Kim Dokja would just stay out of the way.
He was humming in the shower the next morning, rather satisfied with the way he had handled this, when the water suddenly turned freezing. He jumped, startled wide awake. He cursed the building’s old pipes and turned the faucet off. But ice kept running over his skin.
Belatedly, he saw Yoo Joonghyuk’s hand superimposed on his. It was fiddling with a faucet far more modern than Kim Dokja’s. The fulguration had started without Kim Dokja noticing. For once, the problem was not in his building. Yoo Joonghyuk was cursing too, much more viciously than Kim Dokja for how unused he was to the cold shower.
“Just give it up, Joonghyuk-ah,” Kim Dokja pleaded.
Yoo Joonghyuk kept fighting the faulty device. Kim Dokja turned his shower back on, the water as hot it would go. All it did was make him woozy from the contradictory sensations. Sighing, he gave up and started drying himself. “A soulbond is a profound spiritual connection.” Yeah, his goosebumped ass.
At least Yoo Joonghyuk wasn’t thinking of him today. Yoo Joonghyuk’s rotten mood didn’t seem to be only due to plumbing issues, but he was too busy trying to resuscitate his apartment’s hot water circuit to reflect on anything else. Eventually, he had to let it go and rush through the rest of his and Mia’s morning routine. Kim Dokja was in the subway by the time the fulguration stopped.
Twenty minutes later, Kim Dokja was clutching a cupholder and people-watching with absent eyes at the foot of Transcendence Gaming’s building.
Yoo Joonghyuk appeared, sweeping through the crowd with ground-eating strides. He slowed down when he spotted Kim Dokja, his expression turning wary.
Kim Dokja thrust one of his three coffees at him. Yoo Joonghyuk stared down at it. The moment lingered.
“You don’t want it?”
Yoo Joonghyuk slowly took the cup. Kim Dokja used his freed hand to lift his own drink to his lips.
“If you’re going to apologize, don’t act that way in the first place,” Yoo Joonghyuk said, frustrated.
“Oh, I’m not apologizing,” Kim Dokja told him blithely. “I’m commiserating.”
He turned to go in. Yoo Joonghyuk caught him by the arm. He was frowning at his coffee.
At least he wasn’t as picky about this as he was about food. Or rather, he hated coffee, but he did lower himself to drinking it when he lacked the time for the lengthy preparations of his favorite tea. Did he understand that Kim Dokja knew that?
“Earlier. I… projected?”
“Yes.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s jaw clenched. He finally took a sip. As expected, his eyes scrunched in displeasure. It must still have been hot, because he didn’t just down it.
He swept into the lobby without looking at Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja followed. He licked his lips. The atmosphere felt awkward, suddenly.
“So, what did you end up telling Namgung Minyoung?” he prodded. “It’s your business what you want her to know, but you understand that there is no reason why she should come after me instead of…”
“The fulgurations,” Yoo Joonghyuk cut in.
Kim Dokja closed his mouth. He had expected this conversation much earlier.
“Do they happen often?” Yoo Joonghyuk asked.
Kim Dokja gave a wry smile. Yoo Joonghyuk had to have guessed the answer to this. He was the one who had never bothered practicing bond control because he thought it was useless to him.
“A few times a week.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s lips thinned. He glared into the distance.
“I’ll work on it,” he grumbled.
“I don’t mind them.”
“I’ll work on it,” Yoo Joonghyuk bit out with more strength.
Right. Kim Dokja looked away with a stiff shrug.
“I can get you the number of a plumber, if you want,” he said. “I know a good one. My apartment’s plumbing isn’t great.”
There was no answer before the elevator opened to let them in. Kim Dokja leaned against a wall as Yoo Joonghyuk pushed the fourth floor button. Kim Dokja set his drink in the cupholder to get his phone out of his pocket, then nudged Yoo Joonghyuk’s arm with it. The man stopped staring a hole into the closed doors to glance down. He looked back up at Kim Dokja, unwelcoming.
“Your KakaoTalk,” Kim Dokja insisted. “I’ll send you the plumber’s contact information.”
“Don’t you already know my phone number?” Yoo Joonghyuk said, irony heavy in his voice.
Kim Dokja pondered that.
“I’m missing two digits, I think,” he said truthfully.
Yoo Joonghyuk snorted. Kim Dokja wondered if he had crossed a line. But Yoo Joonghyuk just took out his own phone and scanned the QR code Kim Dokja had pulled up.
Kim Dokja accepted the friend request. The elevator deposited them in the lobby as he was filling the nickname field with a sunfish emoticon.
“See you later,” he said, moving toward his and Uriel’s office.
“Kim Dokja.”
He stopped in his tracks. Yoo Joonghyuk was frowning at him.
“Did you… did you ever need medication?”
It took him a long, blank moment to understand the question. Enlightenment came to him with an uneasy swoop of the stomach.
There was medication that could dampen the fulgurations, that was true. Some people had to take it, when their jobs required it, or when their soulmates turned out to have no respect for boundaries, or had mental conditions difficult to bear.
His father had once made noise about shoving the pills down his throat. But the man had never had the money to spare, had he?
“I told you, I don’t mind them,” Kim Dokja snapped.
Did Yoo Joonghyuk think him so weak?
Yoo Joonghyuk kept staring at him like he was waiting for more. This bastard, what did he want? For Kim Dokja to start spinning some sob story?
Finally, Yoo Joonghyuk went on his way. There was a crease on his forehead. Kim Dokja held in a scoff and turned. That’s when he spotted Uriel at their office’s door. She was glowing with curiosity.
“So…” she said. “What was that about?”
Kim Dokja shoved his third cup at her.
“A bribe for your silence,” he said, only half serious.
She rolled her eyes.
“Damn, fine. Oh, you got me caramel!”
Yoo Joonghyuk had totally spilled the beans to Namgung Minyoung.
Kim Dokja wondered if he was even aware that he had done so. He was too stubborn to answer her questions outright, but also abysmally bad at hiding anything from her. It was very possible that she only had a well-informed guess.
It would explain why she was still trying to extract a confession from Kim Dokja.
“Joonghyuk-ie always told me he didn’t have a soulmate, you know,” she said conversationally as she took her time preparing her tea. “But the more I think about that, the less it makes sense. It’s common knowledge that everyone has one. Doesn’t Kim Dokja-ssi agree?”
Kim Dokja hummed. It was difficult to escape the break room while his employer was talking to him. Han Donghoon sat at the table, watching them curiously over his phone. He probably wasn’t used to Namgung Minyoung talking about such private things with random staff members.
“But then, why wouldn’t Joonghyuk-ie know anything about his?” she continued.
“Some people have very faint fulgurations.”
“I suppose. But isn’t it the soulmate’s responsibility to make contact in that case?”
Now she was just pushing it.
“Does everyone make contact with their soulmate?” he countered mildly, his eyes on his cup of water. “President-nim, are you in contact with your soulmate, then?”
“Yes, I am.”
That stopped him short. He wouldn’t have expected it from her. She was a practical woman. Did being acquainted with her soulmate benefit her in some way?
Wait. Kyrgios Rodgraim was a foreign name. Where had those two met? How had they become close enough that she had immediately run to him to create a company?
Namgung Minyoung watched the cogs turning in his head.
“It looks like you have some brains,” she said, baring sharp teeth. “Then why don’t you tell me, since you’re so smart. Why wouldn’t Joonghyuk-ie’s soulmate make contact with him? And if they were going to do it now, why wouldn’t they do it earlier? He’s nearly thirty. What could have stopped them all this time?”
“A number of things, I’m sure, President-nim,” he said with a polite bow. “Please excuse me, I should really get back to work.”
Master was lying next to the door. At his approach, she rose to her feet, ready to bar his way. He slipped her a biscuit he had filched from the box on the sink counter. She lost all interest in him, letting him escape into the corridor.
It was true that Kim Dokja could have contacted Yoo Joonghyuk once he was living away from his parents. His relatives couldn’t have cared less about what he was doing, so there was nobody stopping him anymore. He toyed with the idea for a long time.
Meanwhile, Yoo Joonghyuk was falling deeper into the rabbit hole that was Ways of Survival. In those early days, WoS was a stupidly hard game. And Yoo Joonghyuk was a stupidly stubborn individual.
Kim Dokja lost count of how many times the fulgurations showed him that same death message. Mauled by monsters, fallen from a cliff, burned by lava, attacked by other players, drowned, sometimes even swallowed by a random bug… [Supreme King] truly was a sunfish character.
But as time went on, the game stabilized and became more popular. Yoo Joonghyuk always played at the same PC Bang, a shady place with a few rows of computers installed in a basement, and some of the regulars noticed him. They started paying him to raise their levels. Word got around.
One day, Namgung Minyoung appeared.
Yoo Joonghyuk never returned to that dark basement. At fifteen, he won the first Korean WoS tournament. Kim Dokja saw it happen on a screen, the first glimpse he caught of that small black-clad character outside of his own head. The pride that he felt could have choked him.
That was a good moment to contact Yoo Joonghyuk, surely? he thought. To congratulate him, if nothing else?
Then his mother’s book came out.
All of Kim Dokja’s tentative plans fell to dust. How could he in good conscience expose Yoo Joonghyuk to the reporters haunting his footsteps, to the sordid scrutiny, to the cruel whispers? Yoo Joonghyuk deserved better.
He stopped visiting his mother. Not only had she broken her promise to find his soulmate together, she had robbed him of the chance to do it on his own. He found that he could no longer bear to see her face.
Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t attempt to contact him either. That was… that was fine. Kim Dokja was grateful enough that he could keep watching him. Some days, it was all that kept him going. While his existence had turned hellish, little by little, Yoo Joonghyuk’s future was getting brighter.
[Supreme King] had stopped dying. With Namgung Minyoung’s help, Yoo Joonghyuk swept through every WoS tournament. He attracted professional attention. As for the woman herself, though she started as Yoo Joonghyuk’s mentor, it didn’t take long for her to become more than that. To Yoo Joonghyuk, a mother had always been a woman who paid for his groceries and talked to him twice a year. Namgung Minyoung changed that.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s makeshift family gained its third member the day his absent parents brought home a newborn.
“This is Mia. Please treat her well, Joonghyuk-ah.”
Kim Dokja was there. He saw Yoo Joonghyuk’s too big hands shake as he touched her, heard his terrified thoughts that he would do something wrong, would hurt her somehow. Yoo Joonghyuk loved Mia immediately, fiercely, and so Kim Dokja loved her too.
But that streak of good luck couldn’t last. Soon after he turned nineteen, Yoo Joonghyuk’s parents disappeared entirely. Their numbers were disconnected; the money stopped coming.
Maybe they were dead. Maybe they weren’t. It didn’t matter much to Yoo Joonghyuk. All he knew was that he, only nominally an adult himself, was left the sole guardian of a young child. He had already been raising Mia, but the loss of his parents’ income meant that he was forced to think of his career in a more long-term light than he had until then. He was playing professionally by that point, but esport athletes retired young. If he wanted to be able to support Mia until she gained her own independence, he had to start planning.
Namgung Minyoung was the one to suggest a new Internet trend: live streaming.
And so, one day, college student Kim Dokja found himself creating a Star Stream account. He refreshed the search page until the brand new [Supreme King] channel finally appeared.
“So slow, Joonghyuk-ah,” he muttered. “Are you an old man?”
He subscribed.
He had given up on meeting Yoo Joonghyuk, but surely this was okay. He already watched every one of [Supreme King]’s tournaments, and the distance of a video on a screen wasn’t too different from the fulgurations. There was no harm in helping the channel take off. The more followers Yoo Joonghyuk had from the start, the more the Star Stream algorithm would promote him. Kim Dokja could just watch the streams and make up the numbers.
Or at least, that had been the plan.
“Really?” Kim Dokja exclaimed as Yoo Joonghyuk opened his inventory again.
He had already spent ten minutes tweaking his build and half an hour farming the most tedious quest available on the map. Kim Dokja slumped on his desk. Yoo Joonghyuk played with zero regard for his audience. Yoo Joonghyuk played as if he didn’t have an audience.
Before Kim Dokja knew it, he was in the chat.
[a_reader] Yoo Joonghyuk-nim, don’t you think you should talk more on stream? Or do more interesting quests?
Yoo Joonghyuk glanced at his second screen. He frowned. Kim Dokja was the first person to speak in the chat, so there was really no missing his line. His heart beat harder in his chest as he realized what he had just done. He had broken his and Yoo Joonghyuk’s unspoken no-contact agreement. He gulped as he waited for a reaction.
Yoo Joonghyuk turned back to the game.
Kim Dokja was struck dumb for a moment. Maybe it shouldn’t have surprised him to be ignored. Yoo Joonghyuk had always ignored him. Kim Dokja had abstained from using his real name, but maybe this pseudonym was too obvious and Yoo Joonghyuk suspected who he was. Still, the snub felt different in this context. He was trying to help, wasn’t he?
Hurt didn’t really have a chance to register. Annoyance won by a landslide.
[a_reader] Oh, nice.
[a_reader] Is that how you’re going to treat your loyal viewers, Yoo Joonghyuk?
[a_reader] I know this is new for you, but maybe you should do some research.
[a_reader] I hear [reaching_nirvana] is a successful channel these days.
[a_reader] Though on second thought he seems very annoying, so maybe not.
[a_reader] They? I think he is a they.
[a_reader] I don’t know, new pronouns confuse me.
“Shut up,” was growled into his earphones.
Kim Dokja mashed his keyboard. He barely managed to yank his hands away before they could touch the Enter key in their rampage. He closed his eyes hard enough to see stars. After a few deep breaths, he opened them again.
So Yoo Joonghyuk was talking to him now. Great. That was…
He ignored the part of his brain that wanted him to yank his computer’s power cord out of the wall socket and go lock himself in the bathroom.
[a_reader] Maybe I wouldn’t be spamming the chat if I wasn’t *bored*, did you think of that?
“You can leave,” Yoo Joonghyuk growled.
[a_reader] Yoo Joonghyuk, are you even trying to make this work?
[a_reader] I am literally your only viewer right now.
For a moment, they both watched the viewer count. It tentatively switched to 2, then immediately returned to 1. Probably a misclick.
Yoo Joonghyuk scowled. From that moment on, he refused to look at the chat anymore. Kim Dokja gave up. Who gave him such a mule for a second half?
After the dinner at Namgung Minyoung’s, Yoo Joonghyuk seemed to unwind. His eyes still followed Kim Dokja across the room, but he no longer looked like he was considering wrenching his head from his shoulders. Kim Dokja was able to approach him about the team’s new jackets without fearing for his life. They huddled over Kim Dokja’s laptop, Kim Dokja dutifully jotting down Yoo Joonghyuk’s remarks.
“What about us?” Kim Namwoon complained. “Don’t we get to see them?”
“Kim Namwoon,” Lee Hyunsung sighed.
“I want to make sure they look cool! You grandpas have no sense of style.”
Anyone who looked at Yoo Joonghyuk and called him uncool was a blatant liar. Usually, Lee Jihye would have been on Kim Namwoon in a heartbeat for daring to say something so idiotic, but she wasn’t paying attention to him.
“The design isn’t finalized,” Kim Dokja said. “But take a look if you want.”
He turned the screen toward them, mostly so Lee Jihye would stop glaring at him for daring to sit so close to Yoo Joonghyuk.
At least the girl seemed to be the last holdout of the office. Namgung Minyoung was content to look from afar for now, and Kyrgios had aligned his attitude to hers. Gabriel and Uriel delighted in having someone to boss around. Han Donghoon seemed to find his company agreeable, as they could spend entire breaks together without speaking or looking up from their respective phones. A few friendly conversations with Lee Hyunsung were enough for the man to open up. Kim Namwoon bugged him about anything under the sun, from his relationship with Yoo Joonghyuk (“why don’t you ask him”) to his opinion on dragons (“overrated”). Even Jang Hayoung’s team was friendly. Kim Dokja would often make coffee runs when both teams took their breaks together.
“Hey, why didn’t you get Master anything?” Lee Jihye huffed angrily the first time he distributed the cups.
Kim Dokja lifted his eyebrows. He looked pointedly at the sleek metal water bottle Yoo Joonghyuk had brought from the training room.
“What, so you or Kim Namwoon can steal it when he doesn’t drink it? Kind of shameless, don’t you think?”
Lee Jihye blushed, taken aback. Jang Hayoung laughed.
“You are a good judge of character, Ahjussi! You can already tell!”
Yoo Joonghyuk snorted at that. Kim Dokja chose not to react.
If Yoo Joonghyuk suspected that Kim Dokja had used his knowledge from the bond to get hired, he didn’t say anything. He seemed more preoccupied with new fulgurations than with old ones.
The first use he made of Kim Dokja’s contact info, only days after their initial conversation, was to send him a message one evening:
< 🐡
Today
Yoo Joonghyuk: You had better not be listening, Kim Dokja.
Kim Dokja, who had been reading on his phone and had just been wrenched out of a particularly poignant death scene by the sudden notification, squinted at the text.
Well, now he was curious.
What was it that Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t want him to hear? Another conversation with Mia? Or was he on the phone with Lee Seolhwa? Maybe he was thinking up ways to kill Kim Dokja and dump his body in the river.
< 🐡
Kim Dokja: I’m not.
Kim Dokja: But you do realize that even if I was in the middle of a fulguration, *I* couldn’t do anything to stop it, right?
There was no answer. Unsurprised, Kim Dokja went back to his novel.
An hour later, Kim Dokja migrated to his bed so he could keep reading while his phone charged. The cable was just long enough to keep the phone plugged in as long as he sat awkwardly against the wall. He was stretching his cramping wrist when the device vibrated in his hand. It slipped through his fingers and disappeared into the sheets. He fished it out with a hiss of tired frustration and groped for the disconnected cable. There was a new message on the screen.
< 🐡
Yoo Joonghyuk: Tell me when they start.
Kim Dokja frowned.
< 🐡
Kim Dokja: What, you want me to warn you every time?
Yoo Joonghyuk: Yes.
Kim Dokja: This sounds like a very bad idea, Yoo Joonghyuk.
Yoo Joonghyuk: Just tell me.
What was this, all of a sudden? His skin crawled. Something about that request felt ominous.
< 🐡
Kim Dokja: What about if you’re sleeping? Or busy?
Yoo Joonghyuk: Are you refusing?
Kim Dokja: Let’s talk about this tomorrow, okay.
Maybe the night would bring Yoo Joonghyuk clarity and he would realize how unreasonable he was being.
Right, and maybe pigs would fly.
The next morning, as Kim Dokja approached Transcendence Gaming, Yoo Joonghyuk charged up to him right there on the sidewalk. He had obviously spent the night working himself up to frothing anger.
“I have the right to know,” he ground out, sparing no greeting.
Seeing him like this, it was clear that Kim Dokja wouldn’t be able to change his mind. He really had the most stubborn soulmate in the world. He should switch that sunfish emoticon for a donkey.
“Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk stressed, grabbing a fistful of his suit jacket.
“Yes, yes, I heard you.” He clicked his tongue and pried him off. “Fine, we’ll try it your way.”
Yoo Joonghyuk gave him a distrustful look, but swept ahead of him into the lobby.
It was hard to begrudge him some control of the bond. If Kim Dokja thought about it, it couldn’t be nice for Yoo Joonghyuk to know that he was projecting bits and pieces of his life to a stranger.
Still, this felt wrong.
Two days later, Kim Dokja was answering some emails when the white screen bled WoS’ bright colors in front of his eyes.
< 🐡
Today
Kim Dokja: This is your warning.
Yoo Joonghyuk noticed his silenced phone lighting up from the corner of his eye. He waited the few minutes it took his team to finish the current scrimmage before picking it up. Kim Dokja felt his spike of surprise.
‘What, now?’ he thought.
Kim Dokja typed without waiting for a proper response.
< 🐡
Kim Dokja: Most of them are completely random, you know.
The message appeared on Yoo Joonghyuk’s phone as he was still debating answering something. A muscle jumped on Yoo Joonghyuk’s jaw. A mixture of embarrassment and irritation bloomed in his mind.
‘Kim Dokja,’ he thought in reproof.
Despite himself, Kim Dokja felt his lips curve.
For years, Yoo Joonghyuk had been a black hole to him, absorbing any thought he believed he sent and never reflecting anything back. The total lack of attention Yoo Joonghyuk had paid the bond had been daunting. But now, here, he could say something and feel Yoo Joonghyuk react. It was weirdly thrilling.
< 🐡
Kim Dokja: Yoo Joonghyuk.
Yoo Joonghyuk glared at his phone. He slammed it face down and called to his three teammates for the start of another session.
But Yoo Joonghyuk was distracted. Even trying to concentrate on the game could only take him so far. He second-guessed his decisions more than usual and kept reviewing his own thoughts in a strange feedback loop.
‘Lee Jihye still can’t chain that combo properly. Did he hear that? I asked for it on purpose. The point of training sessions is to work on our weaknesses. Am I justifying myself to that guy? Why? It’s a fact that she still can’t do it.’
He had never been so long-winded, his thoughts usually short and to the point. Kim Dokja resisted the urge to gloat that he had been right about the stupidity of the warnings. He kept chipping at his own work. Yet it was more difficult than usual to ignore the fulguration. He could sense Yoo Joonghyuk’s focus on him and it was instinctual to return it, the way he would automatically look up at someone speaking to him.
Eventually, Yoo Joonghyuk announced a break. Lee Hyunsung, Lee Jihye and Kim Namwoon scurried out of the room with the speed of people used to keeping track of his moods. Kim Dokja heard the three gamers pass in front of his office. The continuity from the fulgurations to real life felt strange, as if characters from a novel had just escaped the page.
“What do you think has got him flipping his wig this time?” Kim Namwoon said, not bothering to lower his voice.
Lee Jihye shushed him angrily.
“You saw him on his phone, maybe he got some bad news!”
Yoo Joonghyuk, meanwhile, hadn’t moved. He was still in his chair, elbows on the armrests and forehead resting against his crossed hands. Curious, Kim Dokja paid more attention. Yoo Joonghyuk was recalling half-forgotten lessons and painstakingly stitching them together.
Kim Dokja only understood what he was doing when the fulguration closed, yanking him back into his own skin.
Bond control. Yoo Joonghyuk had decided to work on his bond control.
“Are you alright, Dokja-ssi?” Uriel said, peering worriedly at him.
What did he look like for her to ask? Smiling at her took an inordinate amount of energy.
“Ah, just a bit of a stomachache. Must be something I ate.”
He hunched over his keyboard and swallowed back nausea.
Chapter Text
< 🐡
Today
Kim Dokja: This is your warning.
Kim Dokja: Most of them are completely random, you know.
Kim Dokja: Yoo Joonghyuk.
Kim Dokja: Hey, you did it! It’s over. Well done yjh.
Yoo Joonghyuk: Shut up.
Their KakaoTalk log soon filled with conversations like these, Kim Dokja sending different variations of “heads up” and Yoo Joonghyuk rarely answering with anything more than mental grumbling before he found a way to close the fulguration.
< 🐡
Today
Kim Dokja: Bond is open.
Kim Dokja: What are you baking? And can I have some?
Kim Dokja: Fine, be that way.
The fulgurations’ frequency initially seemed to floor Yoo Joonghyuk.
< 🐡
Today
Kim Dokja: You’re up.
Kim Dokja: Yes, again.
Kim Dokja: You’re the one who wanted me to warn you every time, you know.
Kim Dokja: Don’t blame me if it’s annoying.
But instead of Yoo Joonghyuk finally understanding how ridiculous his request was, all that those warnings did was entrench him in his position. He started getting faster and faster at closing the fulgurations. He got competitive about it. His phone would notify him of a message and he would begin working on bond control before he had even checked the sender.
Soon, he gave Kim Dokja’s contact profile its own notification tone.
It would have been flattering, if it hadn’t meant that Yoo Joonghyuk got an instant spike of anxiety and frustration every time it rang.
< 🐡
Today
Kim Dokja: Heads up.
Kim Dokja: Wow okay, that was fast.
But as efficient as Yoo Joonghyuk was getting, the fulgurations still tripped him up during games. He was no longer putting his phone on silent while the team was training, which was the stupidest decision Kim Dokja had ever seen him make.
The World Championship was fast approaching and Lee Hyunsung, Kim Namwoon and Lee Jihye had all noticed their leader’s occasional drop in concentration. Kim Dokja caught them whispering together in the break room one day.
“Maybe we should just steal his phone.”
“Kim Namwoon! There has got to be a better way to go about this,” Lee Hyunsung said.
“Should we tell President-nim?” Lee Jihye suggested.
“Tattling to the teacher? Lame.”
They couldn’t seem to make up their minds about what to do. Yoo Joonghyuk had a habit of walling them out when they tried to ask personal questions, and this time was no exception.
< 🐡
Today
Kim Dokja: Are you even still reading what I type in here?
Kim Dokja: You didn’t even open the message.
Kim Dokja: I could just send you paragraphs of the novel I’m reading and you wouldn’t care, huh.
Whether or not the team ended up talking to Namgung Minyoung, inevitably, there came a day when Kim Dokja received a fulguration while she was in the training room coaching the four of them.
He didn’t send a warning.
Did he look like he had a death wish? If Yoo Joonghyuk’s phone rang now, the first thing she would do after trashing her disciple for not muting it would be to check the screen to see who had dared distract him during work.
So, for the first time in weeks, the fulguration ran its full course. Coincidentally, that night Kim Dokja slept better than he had in a month.
< 🐡
Today
Kim Dokja: Yoo Joonhyun stared into the many eyes of the Three-Headed Manticore Dragon, his heart pounding. Blood ran down his cheek from a cut at his hairline. His heavy arms raised the Black Angelic Devil Sword once more.
“You’ve been in a rotten mood, lately,” Han Sooyoung told him.
“What? Just because I said last week that that plot twist of yours was stupid?”
She glared at him. He looked away, feeling a minuscule pang of regret.
“Yeah yeah, maybe I was exaggerating. I guess you can still do something with it.”
“Why, thank you so much. Have you decided to stop being a gratuitous asshole, then?”
“Well, you know. Life is meaningless and we’re just here to enjoy the ride.”
“I changed my mind,” she groaned. “You should never have met Soulmate Guy.”
He couldn’t help but agree.
< 🐡
Today
Kim Dokja: A sunfish, also called a mola, is any fish in the genus Mola (family Molidae). The fish develop their truncated, bullet-like shape because the back fin, which is present at birth, never grows. Instead, it folds into itself as the creature matures, creating a rounded rudder called a clavus.
Yoo Joonghyuk: Stop sending me crap.
Kim Dokja: So you do remember how to read! I was starting to wonder.
Yoo Joonghyuk: Is it a fulguration or not?
Kim Dokja: You have already closed it.
Yoo Joonghyuk: Just send a clear warning next time.
Kim Dokja: Why? You don’t read them.
Kim Dokja: You do realize that if I need to contact you for work, this is going to become a problem?
Yoo Joonghyuk: Stop sending me stupid stuff and I’ll read them.
Kim Dokja: Fine.
He looked at his phone a bit longer, but of course, Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t send anything else. His jaw clenched.
He should never have made contact with Yoo Joonghyuk. Nothing had been wrong with the way things used to be. Why had he tried to fix what wasn’t broken? If Yoo Joonghyuk was feeling lonely, clearly, it wasn’t up to Kim Dokja to remedy it.
He slammed his phone down.
Yoo Joonghyuk was helping Mia with her homework.
Kim Dokja wasn’t having a good day. It was a Sunday. None of his favorite webnovels had updated and he couldn’t find anything good to keep his mind busy. So he watched Yoo Joonghyuk help his sister with her homework.
Eventually, though, he had to cave and open KakaoTalk. He didn’t want Mia to fail math.
< 🐡
Today
Kim Dokja: That’s not how you resolve those.
That familiar, hateful trill rang in Yoo Joonghyuk’s pocket, causing Kim Dokja and Yoo Joonghyuk to tense. They had both developed full Pavlovian reflexes to the sound. Yesterday in the subway, Kim Dokja had heard a stranger’s phone ring with the same tone and had instantly felt the urge to punch Yoo Joonghyuk.
Mia looked up at the sound.
“Is that him?” she said, with an eagerness that surprised Kim Dokja. “Soulmate-oppa?”
So Yoo Joonghyuk had told her about him.
Yoo Joonghyuk grunted an assent even as he took a cursory look at his phone. He frowned at the content of the message.
‘How would that guy know?’ was his immediate defensive reaction. It was followed by a suspicious, ‘How long have you been watching?’
Kim Dokja’s stomach twisted. Weeks of playing according to his rules and the jerk was still wary.
< 🐡
Kim Dokja: I’ll have you know I babysit two kids in my neighborhood.
Yoo Joonghyuk pointedly typed.
< 🐡
Yoo Joonghyuk: It works this way.
Kim Dokja: Sure, but that’s not how it’s taught to them in school.
Kim Dokja: You’re going to confuse her. Check her textbook.
Scowling, Yoo Joonghyuk hauled a second chair to Mia’s side of the table and sat down to do just that. Mia took his abandoned phone without qualms. Another parent might have scolded her, but Yoo Joonghyuk spoiled his sister.
“Kim Dokja,” she read with delight. “Weird name.”
A message appeared under her eyes.
< 🐡
Kim Dokja: We can’t all have a cool name like your brother.
Mia made a pleased noise. Yoo Joonghyuk looked up with a frown.
‘Kim Dokja. Don’t do anything unnecessary,’ he warned.
Unnecessary, what was unnecessary here?
“Mia,” Yoo Joonghyuk said out loud when she tried to type something back.
She pouted, but put it down.
“When are you going to bring him home?” she said. “I want to meet him.”
She did? Well, she probably pictured her brother’s soulmate as someone way cooler than Kim Dokja. Still, he was a bit flattered.
But Yoo Joonghyuk’s mind bristled protectively at the idea.
Kim Dokja recoiled. That bastard, really? What had he ever done to make him think he could be a threat to her? Kim Dokja’s fingers dug into the cushion by his side.
“I’ll be back,” Yoo Joonghyuk told Mia.
He took his phone to head into the corridor. His mind felt like a storm cloud.
‘How long have you been watching?’ he asked again.
< 🐡
Kim Dokja: Hey, you’re the one who still hasn’t closed it.
‘Kim Dokja. Are you really telling me about all the fulgurations? You’ve been sending less warnings lately.’
His heart fell to his feet.
It was true. Ever since that time with Namgung Minyoung, he had been skipping some of the warnings. When they would have distracted Yoo Joonghyuk at work, mostly. But sometimes at other moments too, because Yoo Joonghyuk would get suspicious if he received a lot more messages when he was at home than when he was training, right? That was just logical. And it was for the man’s own good, really.
< 🐡
Kim Dokja: I’m getting less of them.
Kim Dokja: You’re working on your bond control regularly now, right? It’s not surprising.
He was fudging the truth, but it wasn’t a lie. On top of the fulgurations getting shorter, he really was receiving fewer of them.
His nail punctured the battered cushion case.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s mind radiated suspicion.
‘… Fine,’ he replied, and finally worked on closing the fulguration. But just as his presence in Kim Dokja’s head faded, a stray thought filtered through. ‘How can I trust that guy.’
Kim Dokja found that he had difficulty breathing suddenly. He extracted his finger from the cushion foam. He brushed impatiently at his cheeks.
“You used to trust me,” he muttered, angry and bitter.
What was wrong with trusting him? Yoo Joonghyuk had done it so easily before.
After that disastrous first stream, it took a while for Yoo Joonghyuk to try again. He was busy enough with his career.
By coincidence, the day he finally came back to Star Stream, he did so just after a fulguration. Kim Dokja logged in. One wouldn’t have known it from looking at his face on the screen, but Yoo Joonghyuk was in a good mood. So Kim Dokja reached for his keyboard and dared another overture.
[a_reader] Good evening, o Supreme King.
Yoo Joonghyuk frowned.
“You’re back.”
[a_reader] Yep. Back for another jolly good time of boring farm quests and complete silence.
[a_reader] I wish I could say that at least the view is nice, but frankly it’s not all that.
[a_reader] Would you at least buy a better webcam? You have a face like that and you hide it behind a pixellated nightmare, don’t you have any shred of business sense?
[lokapala_surya] lol we’re better off not seeing his ugly mug
Huh, who was that? Come to think of it, the viewer count was a bit higher today. Well, Yoo Joonghyuk had just won an important match, after all. A few more wayward souls must have given in to curiosity.
Kim Dokja should probably let it go. Any audience had to be progress at this point.
He did not let it go.
[a_reader] His ugly mug? Seriously?
[lokapala_surya] what, you a girl?
[lokapala_surya] are you one of the bints who yells their lungs out every time he opens his mouth?
[lokapala_surya] he could be a good gamer if he made an effort, but I swear his only fans are women
[a_reader] Wow.
[a_reader] No, I’m not a woman. I’m not half as insecure as whatever you’ve got going on, either.
[lokapala_surya] what?
[a_reader] My friend, you clicked on his star stream channel. You know he’s a good gamer. You know that because he’s a *literal world champion*. But your breathtaking take is that he would be better if (let me see if I understand your argument correctly) “women stopped paying attention to him”?
[0x0swampredator0x0] hey man no need to bite his head off
[0x0swampredator0x0] he was just agreeing with you that we dont need to see that guys face
[a_reader] Nothing makes me lose my faith in humanity faster than the internet’s lack of reading comprehension.
A soft snorting sound drew his attention away from the train wreck of a conversation.
[a_reader] Oh hey! Yoo Joonghyuk, are you going for the Absolute Throne questline? Good choice!
Yoo Joonghyuk gave no answer but a twitch of his eyes.
Yet over the next few streams, [Supreme King] started doing more interesting quests and dungeons. Yoo Joonghyuk still wouldn’t talk unless provoked, but he wasn’t very good at pretending to ignore the chat.
The day he got a better webcam, Kim Dokja was so moved he launched an immediate campaign to convince him to stop skipping the NPC dialogues and lore exposition. Yoo Joonghyuk repeatedly hissed at him to shut up, but by some happy accident, he always seemed to be taking a drink of water whenever a cutscene was starting. Would you look at that?
[a_reader] I’m so proud of you. I feel like a mother watching her chick leave the nest.
“Be quiet,” Yoo Joonghyuk growled.
No matter how much Kim Dokja prodded at him, though, it was too much to expect him to make small talk on camera. He never even bothered explaining the puzzles, and Kim Dokja got into the habit of figuring them out himself and giving his reasoning in the chat. He thought that if anyone was watching these streams for the actual game, that should be the bare minimum they’d want.
The number of viewers grew. Some thanked Kim Dokja, some tried in vain to interact with Yoo Joonghyuk, who seemed to pay less attention to the chat the more messages it contained.
Some trolled.
Yoo Joonghyuk had as many detractors as he had fans, and [lokapala_surya] was a pretty meek example of them. The ones that came later were far more virulent, and when they woke up and chose violence, Kim Dokja had his hands full stopping them from turning the chat into a dumpster fire.
On one such occasion, [Supreme King] stopped moving. One could hear Yoo Joonghyuk click around, but nothing was happening onscreen, and as usual he didn’t bother enlightening his audience. Kim Dokja, who was in the middle of a particularly vicious argument, didn’t pay him any mind.
Until a Star Stream notification informed him that he had just gained moderation rights.
[👑a_reader] Oh
[👑a_reader] Oh I RISE.
Yoo Joonghyuk glared at his camera. It seemed like he was looking straight at him through the screen, and for a second Kim Dokja felt something, something strange and invasive and vertigo-inducing. Kim Dokja broke the pseudo eye contact.
“I can take it away,” Yoo Joonghyuk warned.
Kim Dokja typed an answer with one hand even as he banned all lowlifes with the other.
[👑a_reader] Don’t be like that, Yoo Joonghyuk.
[👑a_reader] We’re companions through life and death now, you and me.
Yoo Joonghyuk grunted and turned away.
Kyrgios caught him texting under the table during a group meeting.
“… not so understaffed that we can’t afford to let you go if you keep up that deplorable attitude. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, Director-nim,” Kim Dokja dutifully replied.
The scolding had been lasting for long enough that his back was starting to hurt from bowing. At least everyone else had been dismissed.
“No, you don’t,” Kyrgios scoffed. “I know your type.”
Kim Dokja opened his mouth to answer, but Kyrgios closed the file in front of him with a decisive snap.
“Listen, Kim Dokja,” he said, leaning forward with enough intensity that Kim Dokja, surprised, obeyed. “You have potential for this job. Don’t let that ill-mannered disciple of Namgung Minyoung’s influence you into wasting it.”
Kim Dokja felt sweat bead under his shirt. This was bad.
Kyrgios hadn’t seen who he was messaging. He had no reason to bring Yoo Joonghyuk into this unless the two heads of the company were starting to catch on. Namgung Minyoung had to have noticed Yoo Joonghyuk’s unstable results by now. Considering the timing of his arrival, Kim Dokja would naturally be her first suspect. If Kyrgios brought this incident up with her…
“I’m not sure what Director-nim means?” Kim Dokja said blankly.
Kyrgios wasn’t fooled.
“I won’t bring this up with the President,” he said. “Yet. Solve this issue or you will leave me no choice.”
Kim Dokja bowed.
“Thanking Director-nim for his patience.”
Kyrgios waved him away. Kim Dokja left the meeting room with relief. He closed the door behind himself and turned, only to stop.
Yoo Joonghyuk was standing there.
They looked at each other in silence. For once, Kim Dokja didn’t feel like making the effort of talking first.
Finally, Yoo Joonghyuk spoke. “Uriel said you were getting dressed down.”
Kim Dokja gave him an insincere smile.
“And? Were you thinking of taking the blame? How noble.”
He wasn’t hiding the thorns in his voice. Yoo Joonghyuk’s jaw contracted.
The faint sound of footsteps behind the door heralded Kyrgios’ approach. Rather than getting caught standing here like a boulder, Kim Dokja made a split-second decision.
“You know what? Yoo Joonghyuk, you’re on your way home, aren’t you?” he said, taking Yoo Joonghyuk’s coat-clad arm. “Won’t do you come buy me a coffee?”
His grip was just this side of too tight, but Yoo Joonghyuk could easily have shaken him off. Yet he let himself be towed away.
Kim Dokja made a quick detour through his office to get his satchel and apologize to Uriel for his behavior during the meeting. She gave him an embarrassed smile, but looked intrigued to find Yoo Joonghyuk waiting for him at the door.
The two of them didn’t speak as they headed to the closest Starbucks. Once there, Kim Dokja shamelessly ordered something much costlier than his usual and let Yoo Joonghyuk pay, even knowing that the man wouldn’t get anything for himself.
The shop was just starting to fill with the end-of-the-day crowd. Kim Dokja found a small table in a back corner. Yoo Joonghyuk put his wallet away and sat in front of him without comment.
“Look at you, being so accommodating,” Kim Dokja drawled. “Are you actually feeling guilty?”
“You could have waited for the meeting to be over before messaging me.”
Kim Dokja gave a sour snort. Sure. And been accused of withholding information again.
But he didn’t have a thick enough face to say so aloud when he was guilty as charged in the first place. He had been trying to keep a careful balance of sending just enough warnings not to make Yoo Joonghyuk suspicious, and he had failed.
Yet hadn’t he been set up for failure from the start? Even if he had played exactly by Yoo Joonghyuk’s rules, the simple truth was that Yoo Joonghyuk would have had to take his word for it. And how could someone so paranoid rely on blind faith?
Maybe Yoo Joonghyuk also knew that. He was watching Kim Dokja like he was one of the most frustrating puzzles he had ever encountered.
“… Are you getting disciplined?” he said.
“Not this time.”
Silence settled between them. Kim Dokja sipped at his coffee.
“You’re going to end up disciplined if you keep this up, though,” he added.
Yoo Joonghyuk grunted.
“I don’t understand how it’s not a problem,” he said, glaring at the table.
Wasn’t Kim Dokja’s whole point that it was?
“I just said…”
“I send you multiple fulgurations a week,” Yoo Joonghyuk cut him off. “How is it not a bother?”
Kim Dokja blinked at him.
“You’ve made it pretty clear that it’s bothering you.”
“But not you?”
“I told you it doesn’t.”
“Why?”
Kim Dokja sat back in his chair, frowning.
“I don’t understand what you want from me, Yoo Joonghyuk.”
“Isn’t it better if they stop entirely?”
A flash of cold froze his entire body.
“You can’t,” he heard himself say, a knee-jerk denial.
He couldn’t, because that was impossible. As long as both soulmates were alive, there would be fulgurations.
But also… also he couldn’t. He couldn’t do that to him.
Yoo Joonghyuk leaned his torso over the table. He looked like a predator smelling blood.
“Why?” he stressed.
Kim Dokja tried to withdraw his hands to his lap, but found one of his forearms held captive under Yoo Joonghyuk’s palm. Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes on him were dizzying. It felt like he was standing on the edge of that first instant of bone-deep connection again.
Yet it eluded him. He couldn’t, didn’t want to understand why Yoo Joonghyuk was so insistent about this, and Yoo Joonghyuk couldn’t understand him either. So here they were, two strangers sitting at a table.
Some soulmates they were.
Kim Dokja couldn’t bear it. He had put them in this situation. He had broken the status quo. If he couldn’t find a way to reach Yoo Joonghyuk, Yoo Joonghyuk would break them entirely.
“It’s,” he said, his lips numb. “Yoo Joonghyuk. It’s like spices.”
“Spices?” he said, frowning.
“If you use them correctly, they only meld with the taste of the dish, right? You don’t really think about each spice you’ve put in when you’re eating. But if you had to stop using them, wouldn’t you hate that?”
What nonsense was he saying now?
Yoo Joonghyuk’s hand slackened on his arm.
“The fulgurations are the spices?”
Kim Dokja didn’t answer. He was all out of bullshit.
Yoo Joonghyuk scrutinized him.
“That’s why you won’t tell me about them?”
“I won’t tell you about them? I just nearly got fired for telling you about them,” Kim Dokja countered, but his voice came out more bitter than self-righteous.
“You’re a dishonest guy.”
“You’re the one who wanted me here, Yoo Joonghyuk. If you’ve changed your mind, let me buzz off already.”
Yoo Joonghyuk glared at him. He stood up with a clatter of his chair and stormed off. Kim Dokja’s hand clenched around his coffee. He raised it to his lips and tasted nothing but ash.
Kim Dokja spent a sleepless night.
The next morning, he staggered through his routine and dragged himself to work. He just wanted to avoid Yoo Joonghyuk, Namgung Minyoung and all their ilk, make it through the day and go back home to his bed.
The stars were not feeling merciful. He had barely entered the building before his eyes fell on Yoo Joonghyuk.
He and Lee Hyunsung were sitting in the lobby, both in sportswear. Yoo Joonghyuk’s head was propped against the wall behind him, baring the long column of his throat and the faint shine of sweat on his collarbones. He was wearing a tank top and shorts and his hair was in disarray. Kim Dokja’s brain blanked for a painfully long moment.
Lee Hyunsung got up and left for the sports room at the back of the ground floor. Kim Dokja snapped out of it. He speed-walked to the elevator, embarrassed to have been caught by surprise.
Yoo Joonghyuk and Lee Hyunsung making use of the building’s sports room was nothing new. Yoo Joonghyuk came early twice a week to do just this. The other days, he jogged in the morning before cooking breakfast for Mia and him. He was probably just taking a break before hitting the showers.
“Kim Dokja.”
Kim Dokja froze, hand hovering over the call button.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes had opened a slit. His dark eyes gleamed at Kim Dokja under thick lashes.
“What do you want?” Kim Dokja said. “I’m late.”
“Whose fault is that?”
“Yours, if you make me any later,” he retorted, and jabbed the call button.
“Kim Dokja!” Yoo Joonghyuk barked.
He surged to his feet, muscles tensing under his shirt like he was about to drag Kim Dokja into this conversation kicking and screaming. Kim Dokja gave an angry huff. He whirled around, crossed the lobby, threw his satchel to the ground and let himself drop into Lee Hyunsung’s abandoned seat.
Yoo Joonghyuk watched him warily. When all Kim Dokja did was glare at the opposite wall, he sat back down.
“Sorry,” Kim Dokja ground out, before he managed to convince himself to swallow the word back and never let it see the light of day.
Yoo Joonghyuk threw him a surprised look. Kim Dokja refused to meet his eyes.
“About yesterday,” he continued. “I… look, I know I get a bit… possessive,” he said like it was burning his tongue, “about the fulgurations. And I get that it’s not really fair to you. But, Yoo Joonghyuk, this isn’t something you can afford to be a control freak about, either.”
Yoo Joonghyuk let that float between them. When he gave no reply, Kim Dokja reluctantly opened his mouth again.
“If it was easier before, when you didn’t know me…”
“Don’t leave,” Yoo Joonghyuk cut in.
Kim Dokja frowned. How come he was still saying that?
“Why not? It’s not like we’re getting much out of me being here.”
Yoo Joonghyuk looked affronted somehow.
“Isn’t it better than the fulgurations?”
“What is?”
“Meeting. Like this.”
No, that was… What? It was completely different. Being in Yoo Joonghyuk’s head and looking at him from across a bench were two different worlds entirely. For starters, Kim Dokja had no idea what he was thinking when he spouted such outlandish things.
“We barely see each other all day,” he said, rather than to figure out how to even begin to explain that. “You don’t even answer my texts.”
“Let’s meet,” Yoo Joonghyuk said. “For coffee. Every week.”
Kim Dokja goggled at him.
“Did you hit your head this morning, Yoo Joonghyuk? Meet… and talk about what? We couldn’t last five minutes yesterday without arguing.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s jaw tensed. His eyes roved around the lobby. Seeing him so obviously struggling with words, Kim Dokja found himself relenting. Wasn’t Yoo Joonghyuk finally trying to reach out, in his own awkward way?
Kim Dokja sighed.
“Fine,” he said. “We can try it, I guess.”
He foresaw a lot of forced, clumsy conversations in his near future. But his concession made Yoo Joonghyuk relax. With so much of his body in plain sight in his shorts and T-shirt, it was a showy affair, muscles unclenching all over his arms and legs. Even the line of the crook of his neck softened with the trapezius going lax.
“You can drop the warnings during work hours,” he said.
“Oh!” Kim Dokja said, astonished. “Okay.”
Now they were making progress! Yoo Joonghyuk gave him a dark look.
“But keep warning me about the others. All the others.”
Kim Dokja found himself in a good enough mood that he didn’t even take offense.
“I wasn’t lying, you know,” he said. “There really are fewer of them now.”
But he smiled at Yoo Joonghyuk. As long as he had some fulgurations to himself, he could follow the rules.
Yoo Joonghyuk seemed to take his behavior for the mute agreement it was. He examined him thoughtfully.
“They really don’t distract you?”
This again. Kim Dokja rolled his eyes. This guy really took him for a weakling.
“I once went through a major exam with you cursing about paperwork in my head the whole time.”
Yoo Joonghyuk quirked a brow.
“And you passed it?”
“Well, no,” Kim Dokja admitted. “But that’s because I had been up all night reading a novel.”
Yoo Joonghyuk… laughed.
It was just a huff of dry laughter, but the curl of his lips hit Kim Dokja right in the chest.
“Oh, Dokja-ssi! Good morning,” Lee Hyunsung said, reemerging bright-eyed and damp-haired into the lobby.
“Morning!” Kim Dokja said.
For some reason, he felt like he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t. He hurried to get up and join Lee Hyunsung by the elevator.
When he sneaked a glance over his shoulder, Yoo Joonghyuk was heading for the showers. But he was still watching Kim Dokja. Their eyes met. They held until Yoo Joonghyuk disappeared from sight.
Notes:
Change of plans: my family and I were supposed to leave on vacation tomorrow, but covid is in the house. 😔 (Not me... not yet) I'll still stop with the daily updates because it's getting a bit overwhelming, but I'll probably post every few days; there won't be a week-long hiatus after all. Unless I do catch it, I suppose... I'll try to post any health update on social networks.
Chapter 6
Notes:
Thanks for all the well wishes for me and my family! So far covid hasn't spread, and while the one person sick isn't having a great time of it, it's not getting too bad either. I'll try to update every two days this week, we'll see how it goes.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The knock sounded on Kim Dokja’s door as he was shoving pairs of socks into his suitcase. Damn, trust that guy to be right on time.
He crossed the room, hastily closing enough of his shirt’s buttons that his neighbors wouldn’t accuse him of exhibitionism. He opened the door. Yoo Joonghyuk’s tall and dark silhouette stood out against the dawn. Seeing the sky only just lightening made Kim Dokja want to dive back into bed.
Yoo Joonghyuk looked him up and down. His frown expressed his displeasure at what he was seeing.
Kim Dokja managed to dig up a polite smile. “Sorry, I’m running a bit late. Do you mind waiting for a…”
Yoo Joonghyuk shoved past him into the apartment. Kim Dokja gritted his teeth and slammed the door shut.
“Hurry up,” Yoo Joonghyuk grunted. “The plane isn’t going to wait for you.”
“I just need a minute,” Kim Dokja ground out.
He hurried back to the suitcase on the bed. Now he had added incentive to be fast, anyway. He hadn’t counted on Yoo Joonghyuk seeing his living space today, and he didn’t like it.
The place was clean, and it wasn’t unusual for single guys his age to rent a studio apartment, he reminded himself. But when Yoo Joonghyuk had gained his independence, he had jumped straight from a family house to a two-bedroom apartment with Mia. He probably couldn’t fathom paying monthly rent. Like most people, he used a Jeonse contract[1].
“Not a lot of books here, for someone who reads so much,” Yoo Joonghyuk said behind him.
Thank you, Yoo Joonghyuk, this kind of running commentary was precisely what Kim Dokja didn’t want to hear.
He didn’t answer. They would be gone four days. If Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t figure out for himself in that time that Kim Dokja mostly read webnovels, Kim Dokja would have to think him terribly unobservant.
He crammed his bathroom kit into the suitcase and zipped it up. Then he tucked his shirt in his pants, grabbed the first pair of socks he found and sat on the mattress to put them on.
Yoo Joonghyuk had stepped further into the room.
“Shoes, Yoo Joonghyuk!” Kim Dokja said, annoyed.
This guy had zero manners. Who entered someone’s home without removing their shoes first?
Yoo Joonghyuk had stopped in front of the kitchen table. When Kim Dokja spotted what had caught his attention, his voice died in his throat.
Yoo Joonghyuk had found the only books that Kim Dokja had left lying around. They were messily piled there, next to a stack of colorful post-its he had used to mark their pages. They weren’t novels; their plain covers and sober, clinical titles made that clear.
A heavy weight dropped in Kim Dokja’s gut. He watched as Yoo Joonghyuk took one and riffled through the pages.
He didn’t know how much effort Yoo Joonghyuk had dedicated to figuring out why their soulbond was different from others. For all that Yoo Joonghyuk nitpicked on his own projections, he seemed to go about his life without lingering on the fact that he was the one missing out on what should have been a common experience. He had to have done at least some research, though. There was no surprise on his face at the name of the syndrome plastered over every book cover.
Yoo Joonghyuk was the one to break the stifling silence.
“Can I borrow a few?”
Kim Dokja returned to his socks.
“I’m done with the one you’ve got.”
Truth be told, he had finished all of them. Yet every now and then, he still found himself rereading pages, like prodding at a wound that wouldn’t heal.
Maybe Yoo Joonghyuk could tell he was holding back, considering sticky notes poked out of every book in the stack. But he just nodded. The volume disappeared in his pocket.
He finally turned to Kim Dokja, who had moved on to his tie.
“Are you ready?”
Kim Dokja tugged the tie into place, shrugged into his suit jacket and grabbed his luggage. He swept his arm toward the door, though with less gusto than usual.
“I wouldn’t want to make His Majesty late.”
Yoo Joonghyuk glared, but strode out.
On a regular day, there was never any parking space left in Kim Dokja’s street. But because Yoo Joonghyuk’s life was clearly a blessed one, he had managed to park his car right in front of the building. Kim Dokja shook his head in wonder. Some people just had the Protagonist Halo in real life.
He stashed his suitcase with Yoo Joonghyuk’s in the trunk, then eagerly claimed the passenger seat. He just about melted into the upholstery. This car was just as comfortable as the last time he had gotten a fulguration of it. Yoo Joonghyuk looked at him skeptically as he made himself right at home, extending his legs and reclining the backrest until he was all but lounging.
Yoo Joonghyuk started the car.
“You have the tickets?” he said as he pulled them into the early morning traffic.
“Don’t patronize me, Yoo Joonghyuk. Who is the manager, here?”
“Assistant manager,” Yoo Joonghyuk corrected.
Well, wasn’t he being cute?
“If you objected to me coming instead of Uriel-ssi, you should have said so earlier.”
“I don’t object. We’ll see if you’re up to the task.”
This made it sound like he was being tested. But Kim Dokja couldn’t disagree.
It should have been Uriel’s responsibility to accompany Team 999 on this trip. But she had insisted that he go instead, saying that it would be a formative experience for him. Kim Dokja just hoped that his learning curve wouldn’t happen at the expense of the team. They were only flying to Toronto so the WoS World Championship Committee could organize marketing content of all the teams participating, but it still meant that they would be rubbing elbows with tournament officials, sponsors and competitors.
A car swerved into their lane. Yoo Joonghyuk punched the horn with a snarl. Kim Dokja winced at the loud sound.
“Do you mind? It’s too early for your road rage.”
“This car isn’t…”
“… following the three-second rule,” Kim Dokja said at the same time as him. “I know. You’re so anal about this.”
“Then why don’t you drive?” Yoo Joonghyuk said, affronted. “You’re the manager. Why am I the one driving us?”
“You really got used to your managers driving you around during your formative years, huh? A little role reversal will do you good, Yoo Joonghyuk.” Then, as Yoo Joonghyuk was opening his mouth to retort: “Anyway, I don’t have a driving license.”
Nor a car, obviously.
“Why not?”
Kim Dokja felt a vein pulse at his temple. Why would he waste precious money on one when he lived in a city with robust public transport? Yoo Joonghyuk had seen his apartment. Did Kim Dokja look like he could afford that kind of frivolous lifestyle?
“Fulgurations are dangerous when operating heavy equipment,” he said sweetly.
The dig caused Yoo Joonghyuk to fall silent.
The sun was just crossing the horizon when they walked into Incheon International. Lee Hyunsung, Lee Jihye and Kim Namwoon were already waiting at the agreed meeting spot. Kim Namwoon was schmoozing Lee Jihye’s parents, much to her disgust.
There was a round of greetings as the middle-aged couple recognized Yoo Joonghyuk and Kim Dokja introduced himself. Eventually, Lee Jihye managed to get her parents to leave. They did so with Kim Dokja’s card and Lee Hyunsung’s assurance that they would contact them if anything went amiss.
“Geez,” Lee Jihye said once they were out of earshot. “They’re embarrassing. I can take care of myself! I’m an adult!”
She looked very young to Kim Dokja in this instant, as she glared at her feet with her cheeks dusted red. Yet she was right. She was nineteen, and financially independent at that.
But she was a woman. Worse: a woman who had chosen to work in a predominantly male field. Her parents couldn’t seem to let go of the notion that she wasn’t safe, that she needed to be protected.
“Eh, let them talk!” Kim Namwoon said, grinning. “They don’t know anything, anyway.”
He tried to throw an arm around her shoulders. Furious, Lee Jihye pushed him away.
“I don’t want to hear that from you! You were practically licking their shoes!”
“Hey! I-I wasn’t!”
As they made their way toward their departure hall, Kim Dokja thoughtfully watched the girl. They were as different as night and day, but for a moment, she reminded him of Yoo Sangah.
He sped up to walk by her side.
“Are you thinking about moving out?”
“Huh?” she said, startled.
“You can ask Uriel-ssi or me for help if you do. We could find you some good places to look at.”
“Oh… Th-thanks, Ahjussi…”
It was common for people her age to still live with their parents, and hers probably expected that she would stay until she married. But Kim Dokja was the last person who would promote traditional family dynamics.
“Actually,” Lee Jihye said, emboldened, “I’m waiting for someone.”
“What?” Kim Namwoon squeaked.
“Someone?” said Lee Hyunsung, who was clearly hearing about this for the first time too.
Even Yoo Joonghyuk glanced back at her in surprise.
“That’s right,” Lee Jihye said proudly. “Heewon-unni has been saving up to come live in Seoul. So I’m waiting, and then we’ll live together!”
Kim Namwoon made several attempts to talk, but words seemed to have deserted him.
“Heewon… is that your soulmate?” Kim Dokja said.
“Yeah, how did you know?” Lee Jihye said.
“Uriel-ssi mentioned her, I think,” he lied. “She sounds pretty cool.”
Lee Jihye’s face lit up.
“She is! Heewon-unni is so cool!”
She started gushing about the older woman. Jung Heewon lived in Daejeon, but she often made the trip to spend a weekend with Lee Jihye. They had been planning to move in together since Lee Jihye had signed up with Transcendence Gaming. Lee Jihye had an inexhaustible amount of stories to tell about her, and it put her in a much better mood.
Kim Namwoon fumed quietly in the background. It was pretty obvious to Kim Dokja that Lee Jihye was in awe with her soulmate, not in love, but Kim Namwoon didn’t seem to see the difference. It was also plain from the way he was glaring at Kim Dokja that he was blaming him for having to hear this.
“You’re listening pretty intently there, Ahjussi,” Kim Namwoon drawled as they were waiting in line to get through security. “Are you in the market for a hot kendo girlfriend?”
That shut Lee Jihye up immediately. Her hackles rose.
“You’d better not! She’s way too good for you. There’s no way she’d be interested. And she could break you in half! Without a sweat!”
“I’m sure Kim Dokja-ssi was just curious,” Lee Hyunsung intervened. “Lee Jihye, you’re always so happy when you talk about Jung Heewon-ssi. I like hearing your stories too.”
Lee Jihye shot her teammate a grouchy look, but she backed off. Still, she put some distance between her and Kim Dokja. It seemed she had remembered that she didn’t like him in the first place.
Kim Dokja sighed. The lack of animosity had been nice while it lasted. Kim Namwoon smiled smugly behind Lee Jihye’s back, happy to have spread his misery.
They crept forward another meter.
“I bet your soulmate is as lame as you,” Lee Jihye muttered.
Kim Dokja laughed, too startled to rein it in. His mirth doubled at the incredulous glare Yoo Joonghyuk sent Lee Jihye without her noticing.
“You’re right!” Kim Dokja said. “He’s very lame. You have good taste, Lee Jihye.”
Yoo Joonghyuk transferred his glower to him. Lee Jihye looked at him like he had lost his mind.
The plane’s business class already felt like a foreign country.
This was Kim Dokja’s second time traveling abroad for work, but nobody in his previous jobs would have wasted money on a contractor, so he had spent his first flight stuck in a middle seat in economy class.
And now he was working with celebrities. The professional gamers naturally got comfortable seats, and since it would have been awkward if Kim Dokja was stuck in economy while his four precious charges enjoyed business class without supervision, here he was, discovering a new world of luxury.
He promptly snagged a window seat.
Yoo Joonghyuk and Lee Hyunsung were busy arranging the luggage in the overhead compartments to their satisfaction, and they didn’t react when he ducked under their arms. He happily settled in and fiddled with the chair’s commands. Kim Namwoon and Lee Jihye were already squabbling in the row behind him, the boy having snagged the seat that she was trying to save for Yoo Joonghyuk.
The two men in the aisle finished with their task. Lee Hyunsung smiled at Kim Dokja and took a step as if to sit next to him. Apparently not noticing his intention, Yoo Joonghyuk slid into the spot before he could reach it.
Kim Dokja flinched. Lee Hyunsung looked startled. He must not have expected that choice from Yoo Joonghyuk since he had every reason to think that his captain didn’t like their manager. Pleased, he beamed at them and pivoted to take the last seat in the middle aisle. Kim Dokja resisted the urge to shove Yoo Joonghyuk out and call Lee Hyunsung back. Yoo Joonghyuk seemed to have taken this seating arrangement for granted and it was making his skin crawl.
Yoo Joonghyuk frowned at his stare.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Kim Dokja turned to the window.
They took off. Kim Dokja spent the first hour feasting his eyes on the view of the coastline far below.
Still, eventually, he got bored. The flight was a long one. Thirteen hours separated them from Toronto, and much to his chagrin, the plane didn’t offer wifi. Millions of won per ticket and no wifi! He put his phone away with a scowl.
His eyes wandered toward the aisle. That’s when he noticed that Yoo Joonghyuk had pulled out the book he had borrowed from him. He was well into the first chapter. Kim Dokja watched him straighten the sticky notes, paying particular attention to the pages that Kim Dokja had marked.
Kim Dokja whipped back to the window.
“Did you warn your fans that you would miss tomorrow’s stream, Yoo Joonghyuk?” he threw out.
This succeeded in getting Yoo Joonghyuk to look up.
“Yes,” he said, and managed to carry in a single word the notion that he didn’t appreciate a newbie trying to tell him how to do his job.
Kim Dokja scrambled for a way to keep the conversation going. Unexpectedly, Lee Jihye came to his help.
“Speaking of the streams,” she said, popping her head over their seats. “Master, how much longer do you think Demon King will be gone? It’s been weeks already.”
Oh? How unexpected for that name to come up.
“He didn’t say,” Yoo Joonghyuk replied, sounding disgruntled.
Kim Dokja’s lips twitched.
“Shouldn’t you name a few more mods anyway?” Kim Namwoon said. “Two isn’t a lot for a channel that big, Captain. What if DK doesn’t come back?”
“Of course he’ll come back!” Lee Jihye said, affronted.
“Ow! Why are you hitting me?! I’m just saying, the dude has a life!”
Kim Dokja scratched his forehead to hide his expression.
To think Kim Namwoon would ever be the voice of reason in a room. Yes, two mods was a ridiculously small number for a channel of that size. But would Yoo Joonghyuk consent to listen?
Unlikely, considering he had already gone back to his book in an obvious bid to ignore the teenagers.
Kim Dokja shook his head. So many years had passed and still this guy stayed the same.
By the time Kim Dokja finished his second year of college, Yoo Joonghyuk’s Star Stream channel had properly taken off. So Kim Dokja packed his bags.
Military service came with a rigid schedule, which meant he would definitely miss some of the streams. But at that point, the chat was lively and regular donations came to supplement Mia’s education fund. Yoo Joonghyuk would do just fine without him.
The form Kim Dokja had to fill prior to his departure included a question about his soulmate’s nationality. He answered it without fuss.
Before his first day in the service was over, he was quietly ushered aside by an officer who explained to him, as close to beaming as one ever got in the army, that if he would just hand over his soulmate’s identity so counterintelligence could investigate them, he could get switched over to a cushier posting, and earn a promotion and a permanent position by the end of his service.
That was a surprise. Kim Dokja hadn’t realized how desperate they were for recruits whose fulgurations didn’t pose a security risk. After all, most people were born in a different country than their soulmate.
He refused. Needless to say, his hierarchy took an instant dislike to him.
At least he was no stranger to gritting his teeth and bearing it. It was fine. As long as he could escape into Yoo Joonghyuk’s life once in a while, he was fine.
Unfortunately, catching the streams proved even harder than he had expected. Personal phones were forbidden on base and he was on duty during the Wednesday stream. On Saturdays, the base’s computer room was packed with recruits taking advantage of their day off to catch up on emails or unwind online. It hadn’t taken long for Kim Dokja’s batchmates to catch on to the way the officers were treating him. The recruits had gotten into the habit of shoving him in the corridors and other such annoyances. Stepping into a closed room with so many of them would have been unwise, so he contented himself with slinking in during the evenings to watch the streams’ replays.
But he still had the fulgurations. Training sessions on WoS, meetings with sponsors, quiet moments with Mia and Namgung Minyoung… they were all welcome distractions to whatever hellish day Kim Dokja was going through.
As time passed, though, he started worrying. Whenever a fulguration happened during a stream, Yoo Joonghyuk felt somber and brooding. Was this sunfish already so bored with streaming?
One day, Kim Dokja heard him consider closing the channel.
He was startled by the pang of grief in his chest. The streams were his only interactions with Yoo Joonghyuk and, selfishly, he had come to look forward to them. Would they really stop before he could even watch one more live? He didn’t want that. But it was out of his hands.
Eighteen months went by at a crawl, until finally, Kim Dokja stood in an empty studio in Seoul, the sum total of his belongings fitting in three cardboard boxes on the floor.
Rather than unpack, he flopped down on the bare mattress and took out his phone. His batchmates had been delighted to go back to their girlfriends, and here he was, giddy to be loading the Star Stream app.
[Supreme King] appeared on his screen. Yoo Joonghyuk was silent, WoS’ background music and sound effects speaking for him. Kim Dokja basked in that return to normalcy for a long moment. At least he had come back before the channel disappeared.
The instant he said his greetings in the chat room, Yoo Joonghyuk’s playing ground to a halt.
“Where were you?” he growled, glaring at the camera.
The chat stayed silent out of confusion.
“Reader.”
[👑a_reader] Wait, me??
“Where were you?”
[👑a_reader] Doing my military service???
Yoo Joonghyuk, as an esport celebrity, was allowed to delay his own service. Kim Dokja knew he would take advantage of it as long as he could, if only so he did not have to leave Mia when she was still so young.
Yoo Joonghyuk scowled.
“You couldn’t have given notice?”
[👑a_reader] Notice? What is this, the office?
[👑breakingthesky] Am I finally relieved of mod duty? About time
“Teacher,” Yoo Joonghyuk said, sounding almost chagrined.
Kim Dokja goggled at his screen. This was Namgung Minyoung? Namgung Minyoung was in the chat? Namgung Minyoung had a Star Stream account?
[👑breakingthesky] I have better things to be doing with my time than babysitting your fans, brat
[👑breakingthesky] Hey you, reader idiot
[👑a_reader] Yes ma’am?
[👑breakingthesky] Hmm, good, you understand quickly. You’re really back?
[0x0swampredator0x0] breakingthesky is a woman???
[👑a_reader] Yes ma’am.
[👑breakingthesky] Then don’t skip out from now on
[persephone] Excuse me, I’m rather confused
[persephone] I hadn’t realized this channel had two mods?
[👑breakingthesky] No, it only has one
[breakingthesky] disappeared from the list of watching users. Yoo Joonghyuk returned to his game without further comment.
Yoo Joonghyuk couldn’t seriously have asked Namgung Minyoung to hop online to replace [a_reader], right? What the hell. The idiot could just have given moderation rights to any halfway decent stranger. Kim Dokja bit his lip.
[persephone] So, new or, I suppose, old mod. Who are you?
He failed to swallow back his smile.
[👑a_reader] Hi, nice to meet you. I’m reader, Yoo Joonghyuk’s companion through life and death.
It was mid-morning in Toronto when they landed.
Kim Dokja felt haggard. Despite multiple attempts to distract Yoo Joonghyuk, the jerk had made significant progress on his reading. Hours in, he had finally put the book aside and leaned his seat back, eyes closed and earphones plugged in. By then, Kim Dokja had been too high-strung to do the same.
“Ugh, too bright,” Lee Jihye complained when they disembarked, one hand shielding her bleary eyes.
“I told you to rest on the plane,” Yoo Joonghyuk said without mercy.
“It was too hard to sleep, Master! And Kim Namwoon kept bugging me,” she added with a glare at her grinning seatmate.
“You’ll have a bit of time to nap once we’re settled,” Kim Dokja said. “That’s all, though. We’re expected at Mino Soft HQ for lunch.”
“Lunch,” Lee Jihye said with disgust.
At this point, they had been awake for eighteen hours. Jet lag was going to be hard to contend with. You wouldn’t have believed it watching Yoo Joonghyuk power through the airport, though.
“Hurry up,” he told his companions as they dragged their tired bodies toward customs.
Lee Hyunsung and Lee Jihye made a valiant effort to speed up.
Kim Dokja slowed down. Kim Namwoon shot him a delighted smile and aligned his pace with his.
“Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk growled, glaring daggers at him.
“I saw it too, Yoo Joonghyuk,” Kim Dokja said, but all that his soothing tone achieved was to make Yoo Joonghyuk stiffen up like an injured animal ready to bite.
“Then hurry up.”
“They’re going to be faster than us anyway. Better let them pass.”
“She’s going to wait,” Yoo Joonghyuk predicted between gritted teeth, and he whirled around.
“Then make her wait!” Kim Dokja called after him, but Yoo Joonghyuk was already striding away.
Ugh. That guy really had no notion of psychological warfare.
“Who’s ‘they’, Ahjussi?” Kim Namwoon said.
Kim Dokja just hurried him along before they lost their esteemed leader’s black and green jacket in the crowds.
They passed through customs and baggage claim and into the public areas of the airport. Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t stop. Kim Dokja rolled his eyes and came to a halt, letting his four ducklings charge their way through the hall without him. He had a detour to make first.
By the time he caught up to them, the team had reached the airport exit. They stood on the curb, frozen in a tense standoff with a group of people wearing gray and pink sports jackets. Yoo Joonghyuk’s hand was white-knuckled around his luggage.
“See?” Kim Dokja muttered as he stepped up next to Lee Hyunsung. “Didn’t I say we should have taken our time?”
“You knew about this, Dokja-ssi?” Lee Hyunsung whispered worriedly.
“The arrivals screen showed a Los Angeles flight touching down just before ours.”
Zarathustra’s players looked between Yoo Joonghyuk and the pretty blonde woman among them. She smiled.
“Good morning, Joonghyuk,” she said in English. “It’s been a while. How have you been?”
Though her expression was inviting, her eyes on Yoo Joonghyuk were cold. They warmed up significantly when she turned to Lee Jihye, Kim Namwoon and Lee Hyunsung.
“Pleased to meet you, I’m Anna Croft,” she told them in Korean. “I hope we’ll get to know each other.”
The three gamers shifted in unease.
“What do you want?” Yoo Joonghyuk ground out.
“Joonghyuk, good morning!” another person intervened, in English again.
It was Selena Kim, Zarathustra’s manager. She smiled at her ex-colleague like she couldn’t feel the awkwardness of the situation.
“We saw you were landing at roughly the same time as us, so we figured we could all share the cars Mino Soft sent to take us to the hotel,” she said. “It’s more convivial this way, right? We can catch up, and you can introduce us to your new teammates.”
Yoo Joonghyuk glared at her in disbelief. His eyes swept over the rest of Zarathustra. Two of his ex-teammates ducked their heads, unable to meet his gaze.
Anna Croft always did this. There were three women in her team, and their manager was also a woman. It often caused their opponents to underestimate them. Anna Croft had learned to weaponize that; Zarathustra made it a point to appear charming and non-threatening in meetings with other gamers. Sometimes they could gain invaluable information about their rivals’ tactics this way, but even just encouraging arrogant men to let their guard down before an important game was a point in their favor.
It was no wonder that she had wanted to get rid of Yoo Joonghyuk. Not only was he incapable of making her charade work with an appearance like his, the act’s mere existence offended him. And now she dared to turn it on his new team? She had guts.
“No,” Yoo Joonghyuk said, an absolute rejection.
Selena Kim’s face fell. Kim Dokja had never been able to tell if she was in on Anna’s schemes or if Anna was taking advantage of her natural friendliness.
“Really, Joonghyuk?” Anna said, sounding like a disappointed mother. “We can be civil, can we not?”
The look that Yoo Joonghyuk fixed on her was terrible. To her credit, she didn’t flinch. She addressed his three teammates, switching to Korean once more in a bid to endear herself to them.
“We’ll be working together for the next few days. It would really be our pleasure to get to know you. We can fill each car with two people from each team…”
“I said no,” Yoo Joonghyuk snapped.
“Captain… if you want, I can go…” Lee Hyunsung said.
Turning himself into a shield to keep the peace? That was his style. Meanwhile, Lee Jihye was frowning, but her loyalty to Yoo Joonghyuk kept her from speaking up. Kim Namwoon didn’t seem to care one way or another. Anna wasn’t making much headway with them.
She probably realized that, since she turned to Yoo Joonghyuk to berate him again.
“We were colleagues for so long. We’ll see each other a lot this week. Can’t you let bygones be bygones?”
She kept using Korean to bootlick and English to taunt. How flexible. How about switching it up once in a while?
“You certainly don’t let success get to your head, lecturing a grown man about the grudges he should or shouldn’t be holding against you. How gracious.”
Only Selena Kim and Anna Croft understood Korean in Zarathustra. They both looked at Kim Dokja in surprise.
“Who are you?” Anna Croft said.
He gave her his fakest smile.
“Thank you for your offer, but it won’t be necessary. We’re not staying at the hotel Mino Soft provided, and I already reserved a taxi.”
He pointed at the middle-aged man who had followed him from the arrivals hall. The bemused driver had been standing there watching them talk all this time, a placard reading “Transcendence Gaming” still in his hands.
“So if you’re done taking up our poor driver’s time, we’ll be on our way.”
Kim Dokja nodded at the man. “Sorry for the wait. We can go now,” he told him in heavily accented English.
“Ah, this way, this way.”
Lee Hyunsung eagerly followed after their driver, Lee Jihye and Kim Namwoon in his wake.
Maybe Yoo Joonghyuk was taken aback by the sudden lack of conflict. He didn’t move until Kim Dokja laid a hand on his back and pushed.
“Look at you, getting tunnel vision on me,” Kim Dokja whispered to him. “Am I not your manager? Shouldn’t you be the one following me? Where were you even going, huh?”
The muscles under his hand slowly unwound.
“We’re not going to the same place?” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
“Do I look stupid?”
Why would he want to give Anna the opportunity to cross paths with friendly Lee Hyunsung in a hotel lounge or restaurant? Why would he want Lee Jihye and Kim Namwoon to spend more time than necessary with the two girls their age in Zarathustra?
“Joonghyuk!”
Yoo Joonghyuk ignored the voice and kept walking. Kim Dokja glanced over his shoulder. Anna Croft seemed to have accepted her defeat. The antagonism had disappeared from her eyes.
“I just wanted you to know,” she called after Yoo Joonghyuk. “I learned about the divorce. I was sorry to hear it.”
Yoo Joonghyuk froze mid-step. At one glimpse of his face, Kim Dokja dropped his suitcase.
“Lee Hyunsung!” he shouted.
He threw himself at Yoo Joonghyuk’s waist just as Yoo Joonghyuk whirled around.
“Anna Croft!” he shouted with an animalistic snarl.
Anna Croft flinched. The open surprise on her face saved her life. If Kim Dokja thought she had done this on purpose, he would have let Yoo Joonghyuk wrench her head off. Lee Hyunsung’s arms closed around Yoo Joonghyuk’s shoulders and strained to hold him back.
“Be patient, Yoo Joonghyuk!” Kim Dokja said. “Destroy her in game. In game!”
Although startled, Zarathustra hurriedly closed ranks around Anna Croft. Selena Kim was smart enough to take Anna’s elbow and pull her away.
“Captain, please!” Lee Hyunsung said.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s bloodthirsty eyes followed after his enemy until she disappeared in the crowds. He stopped fighting against their hold. His frantic breaths hissed through gritted teeth.
His hand closed like a vise around Kim Dokja’s arm. Kim Dokja let him go with a wince. Lee Hyunsung jumped away. Yoo Joonghyuk whirled around and strode ahead without a word.
“Are you alright, Dokja-ssi?” Lee Hyunsung said.
“I’ll live,” he said, and bent to retrieve his luggage.
“This is not a hotel,” Kim Namwoon said.
“Very astute of you to notice,” Kim Dokja replied.
It was a relief to be out of the taxi. Yoo Joonghyuk’s dark mood had seemed to take all the space in the car with them, killing any conversation before it could start.
They entered the apartment building. Kim Dokja led them up a few floors and down a short corridor. He found the correct door and squinted at the key lock box on the wall. He had never had the money to travel during his time off, so this was his first time using one of these short-term rental services.
“Why is it not a hotel?” Kim Namwoon said again. “I wanted to try ordering room service at 2a.m.”
“Exactly because of that,” Kim Dokja smiled at him beatifically.
“Mean, Ahjussi.”
As he entered his code on the keypad, Kim Dokja added: “I rented an apartment because I figured it would be nicer if you guys could spend time in a common space at the end of the day, instead of everyone disappearing in their hotel room. Plus, hotels are a hassle for Yoo Joonghyuk. This picky guy can’t cook there, so he barely eats anything.”
Lee Hyunsung, Kim Namwoon and Lee Jihye looked at Yoo Joonghyuk. Yoo Joonghyuk stopped glaring at the wall to stare at Kim Dokja.
Kim Dokja opened the door. Lee Jihye and Kim Namwoon immediately set off to explore.
“Alright,” Kim Dokja said, dropping his suitcase in the living room and stretching his arms. “There are two rooms with a queen bed and one room with twin beds. Lee Jihye gets one of the queens, the rest of you share however you want.”
“Do we have to?” Kim Namwoon complained.
Lee Jihye made a happy noise and promptly claimed the room with the en-suite bathroom.
“What about you, Dokja-ssi?” Lee Hyunsung asked.
Kim Dokja sat heavily on the couch. He patted the cushion.
“I’ll be out here. The sofa is a pull-out.”
“Alright, well…”
Lee Hyunsung sent an interrogative glance at Yoo Joonghyuk, but Yoo Joonghyuk was still looking at Kim Dokja and didn’t react. Lee Hyunsung fidgeted. Then he collared Kim Namwoon before the teenager could sneakily claim the other queen bedroom for himself.
“Let’s share, Kim Namwoon.”
Kim Namwoon whined, but let himself be herded into the third room.
“I’m waking you all in an hour, so get some sleep while you can,” Kim Dokja called.
“Yes, Mom,” Kim Namwoon shouted back.
Doors closed. There were sounds of curtains being drawn and clothes rustling.
Kim Dokja looked at the man standing by the balcony door.
“Aren’t you going to get some rest, Yoo Joonghyuk?”
Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t answer. His eyes were now on the buildings outside. Kim Dokja dropped his neck against the backrest.
An entire minute passed before Yoo Joonghyuk said: “You know about last year.”
Kim Dokja contemplated the ceiling. He licked his lips.
“A lot of things happened last year,” he said.
Yoo Joonghyuk turned toward him. Kim Dokja met his eyes. He seemed calmer, at least.
When it became obvious that Yoo Joonghyuk wouldn’t say anything more, Kim Dokja repeated: “You should go rest.”
After a moment of deliberation, Yoo Joonghyuk crossed the room. Kim Dokja returned to his scrutiny of the ceiling.
When Yoo Joonghyuk passed behind the couch, Kim Dokja thought he felt something skim through his hair. He looked up, but the door was already closing behind Yoo Joonghyuk.
His heart gave a confused beat.
Notes:
1 In Korea, there are two ways to rent a place:
- a Wolse lease, which is what most of us know: you pay rent every month. Most studios use a Wolse lease.
- a Jeonse lease: you make a huge lump-sum deposit at the start, then only pay utilities every month. When you move out, the landlord gives you back the full deposit. The landlords make a profit from investing the deposits.
Jeonse leases were more common than Wolse for a long time, and it's only in recent years that the trend has started reversing. Kim Dokja would need a bank loan to afford a Jeonse lease, so he's feeling the class divide here.
Chapter Text
As he had warned, Kim Dokja knocked on the bedroom doors an hour later on the dot.
“Rise and shine! Time to pretend you’re all functional human beings.”
Groans rose from Lee Jihye’s room, followed by a litany of curses from Kim Namwoon. Something heavy fell.
Yoo Joonghyuk was the first one to yank his door open. He was wearing a clean shirt and slacks, but his hair was messy and his eyes bloodshot as he glared at Kim Dokja.
“No need to yell,” he hissed.
His usually perfect complexion had wilted. Kim Dokja offered him coffee. Yoo Joonghyuk eyed his petty smile and the to-go cup with equal degrees of prejudice. After some internal debate, he took the drink. His shoulder knocked none too gently into Kim Dokja’s as he moved past him.
The team eventually gathered, bleary-eyed and grumpy. They guzzled down the caffeine Kim Dokja had fetched for them. While they came back to life, Kim Dokja closed his laptop and secured it in his satchel.
“How are you so cheery, Ahjussi?” Lee Jihye complained, disgusted. “Did you even sleep?”
“No.”
He had used the time to answer his emails and make some last-minute preparations.
“No?” Lee Hyunsung repeated.
“I’ve found I usually feel worse if I sleep just a bit than if I pull an all-nighter.” He smiled. “It’s fine. I’ll just crash this evening.”
“Man, I should have tried that,” said Kim Namwoon, collapsed in one of the armchairs.
Yoo Joonghyuk transferred his glare from Kim Dokja to him.
“Don’t take advice from that guy and his trash habits.”
“What’s the matter, Yoo Joonghyuk? Bitter that your athlete lifestyle and strict sleep schedule are failing you today?”
Lee Jihye must have been really tired, because she snorted out a laugh before she could catch herself.
“Captain, can you handle seeing that woman again today?” Kim Namwoon said, irreverently jovial. “Or are you going to kill her? I could help you hide the body.”
Kim Dokja cringed. But while Yoo Joonghyuk’s face soured, his murderous vibes stayed in check.
“It’s fine,” Yoo Joonghyuk said, and binned his empty cup. “Let’s go.”
Lunch went fine. Thankfully, they weren’t sat at the same table as Zarathustra. There were a lot of introductions and small talk. Yoo Joonghyuk, Lee Hyunsung, Lee Jihye and Kim Namwoon caught up with gamers they knew from other countries. Kim Dokja distributed more of his business cards than he had ever done while he was in QA.
That was ironic, considering that some of the people from Mino Soft he met that day were important enough to have featured in the company-wide emails he used to receive. Of course, not a single one of them had any idea that he had once worked for them.
After that, the actual professional gamers were given a tour of Mino Soft’s facilities. Meanwhile, the managers were taken aside to discuss everyone’s schedule for the next few days.
Kim Dokja frowned at the packet he had been given. While others were talking, he pulled out his phone under the table.
< 🐡
Today
Kim Dokja: You’ve got a joint interview with Anna Croft planned for the day after tomorrow.
Kim Dokja: Am I kicking up a fuss?
He waited, tapping the phone against his thigh.
The reply came a few minutes later.
< 🐡
Yoo Joonghyuk: No. It’d just give them what they want.
Yoo Joonghyuk: Let them ask.
Kim Dokja: Alright. But we are preparing your answers together.
Yoo Joonghyuk: Fine.
On the other side of the table, Selena Kim gave Kim Dokja an embarrassed smile.
“It’s easy to guess what those journalists are trying to pull,” Kim Dokja grumbled. “There’s no reason to put the leaders of two competitive teams in one room unless they plan to ask about you leaving Zarathustra.”
“It’s not the first time they try.”
“Which just means they should know better.”
Kim Dokja ducked behind Yoo Joonghyuk to avoid an aggressive shopper going the other way. So far, he wasn’t liking Canadian shopping malls much.
Aware that a lot of their guests were battling with jet lag, Mino Soft’s organizers had magnanimously released them in the afternoon. Most of the gamers had decided to gather in groups at their hotel bar or at venues near Mino Soft HQ. Lee Hyunsung had wanted to go. Lee Jihye and Kim Namwoon had of course chosen to follow, since Toronto’s drinking age was nineteen. Just as obviously, Yoo Joonghyuk had snubbed the gatherings. He was more eager to get groceries for their stay than to socialize, so here the two of them were, in the temple of capitalism.
“What?” Kim Dokja said, noticing that Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes were on him.
“You’re angrier about this than me.”
“Annoyed,” Kim Dokja corrected. “I’m annoyed. If it goes badly, I’m the one who is going to get scolded back home.”
Yoo Joonghyuk hummed. He stopped in the middle of the mall.
“What, now?” Kim Dokja said.
The entrance to the supermarket was in sight. Kim Dokja glanced warily around, on the lookout for Toronto denizens ready to ram into them with their shopping carts for just standing there.
“Let’s get coffee.”
Startled, he followed Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes. Huh. Starbucks were really everywhere.
“You mean…”
“We haven’t had our weekly meeting yet,” Yoo Joonghyuk said, already striding that way.
This guy was so weird about that. They had only had two of those “weekly meetings” so far, and they had just ended up talking about work. There was no need to make a fuss about them. Still, Kim Dokja could do with some caffeine if he had to get out in a few hours to help Lee Hyunsung wrangle their two youngsters back to the apartment.
“Isn’t it weird to say ‘let’s get coffee’ when you aren’t going to get anything?” he still complained as he followed.
Yoo Joonghyuk sent him a look. Once they got to the counter, he got himself a cup of water.
“Are you getting passive-aggressive at me, Yoo Joonghyuk?”
Yoo Joonghyuk just took a smug sip of his water.
They found a table to sit at. Kim Dokja massaged a crick in his neck.
“I hope Lee Jihye and Kim Namwoon aren’t getting themselves in trouble,” he said.
“Lee Hyunsung will keep an eye on them.”
“That’s not going to help if Anna Croft is on the prowl for them.” Kim Dokja had checked that Zarathustra was heading toward a different bar than Yoo Joonghyuk’s teammates, but he couldn’t help but worry. What if she somehow learned that they were unsupervised? “I really should have gone with them,” he muttered.
For some reason, Yoo Joonghyuk looked offended.
“You told me last week that you don’t drink.”
“It’s not that I don’t drink,” Kim Dokja edged. “I don’t really like alcohol, but I can drink. Mandatory gatherings with coworkers are mandatory, alright? Lucky for you that Namgung Minyoung is the type to hold them in her own home rather than in bars.”
“If you don’t like drinking, then don’t drink.”
“Hey, Yoo Joonghyuk,” Kim Dokja said, “it’s really annoying when you act like everyone can afford to be as rude as you[1]. Do I look like an esport celebrity?”
Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t answer, but his expression was mulish. Kim Dokja’s eyebrow twitched.
“You…” he said, before cutting himself off. After a second, he started again: “Is that why you dragged me off before I could go with them? You thought I didn’t want to go?”
He immediately wanted to swallow the words back. Wasn’t he a bit out of touch with reality today?
“Aaah, never mind. You just wanted to use me as a pack mule for your shopping spree, huh?” he said, taking a gulp of his coffee.
“You didn’t want to go with them,” Yoo Joonghyuk declared.
The coffee went down the wrong pipe. Despite Yoo Joonghyuk’s confident tone, he had been watching Kim Dokja’s face with attention. Kim Dokja’s sudden coughing fit only seemed to confirm to him that he had been right. He leaned back in his seat, satisfied.
“Yoo Joonghyuk,” Kim Dokja rasped, pained. “You really don’t need to do those things.”
“What things?”
The weekly meetings over coffee, Yoo Joonghyuk sitting next to him on the plane like it was a given, now this…
“You don’t need to force it,” Kim Dokja said.
The soulbond wasn’t an obligation, okay? There was no need to think so hard about it.
Yoo Joonghyuk frowned.
“I’m not forcing anything.”
Rather than let him see how skeptical he felt about that, Kim Dokja took another sip of his coffee. He stood up.
“Let’s just get those groceries,” he said. “You want to make dinner and head to bed early, right?”
Yoo Joonghyuk was watching him like a puzzle he needed to solve. It was giving Kim Dokja cold sweat.
“By the way,” Kim Dokja said as they exited the coffee shop. “I don’t think the apartment has a rice cooker.”
“What? Why not?” Yoo Joonghyuk said, incredulous.
Kim Dokja shrugged.
“I couldn’t find an apartment that had a rice cooker on the appliances list. I guess they don’t really use them in Canada?”
Yoo Joonghyuk looked so personally affronted by the Canadian lifestyle that he forgot to scrutinize him. Kim Dokja breathed easier.
What was Yoo Joonghyuk thinking, trying to do him a favor? It had always been the other way around, and Kim Dokja was alright with that. Why change something that had worked just fine for years?
Working for the company behind Ways of Survival felt… strange.
Mino Soft was Kim Dokja’s first professional experience, and he was sure that he only got the job because he was lucky enough to pair up with Yoo Sangah on recruitment day. So he should have been relieved and grateful… but getting assigned to the team that worked on Ways of Survival really felt like stepping into a parallel universe. It was like his favorite novel had become reality and invaded his everyday life.
Sure, he was only in Quality Assurance, but that was its own ordeal. Now, when he watched Yoo Joonghyuk’s streams, he found himself thinking things like “oh, this looks weird, I should check it later” or “I wonder if doing this or this would break the questline? Need to test.”
Yet this unexpected zeal didn’t actually translate well into his career. It was hard to explain why he had found a bug in the main game when he was assigned to testing the next storyline expansion, and he soon gained a reputation as a disrespectful overachiever among his seniors.
One Saturday afternoon, as Kim Dokja was listlessly watching Yoo Joonghyuk grind equipment in a rather unpopular dungeon, a fulguration bloomed behind his eyelids.
If Kim Dokja had hoped for a distraction, he was disappointed. Yoo Joonghyuk was also in a foul mood.
‘This dungeon is annoying,’ he fumed. ‘Should I go somewhere else? But at least there aren’t many players here. If I have to fend off party requests from idiots today, I’ll kill someone.’
Kim Dokja groaned, half in empathy at how annoying human beings could be, half in protest that this wasn’t helping his own misanthropy.
‘All I ask for is one good piece of equipment. Damn it.’
Kim Dokja perked up. On screen, [Supreme King] discarded a high-level chest plate like it was a piece of trash. The chat room protested, but he paid them no heed.
Come to think of it, Kim Dokja knew this dungeon. He chewed his lip.
There were many reasons not to do this. For starters, Kim Dokja usually avoided interacting with the chat while a fulguration was ongoing. It felt unnerving, like he was watching TV and his face suddenly showed up in the program’s background. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what Yoo Joonghyuk was thinking when he read his messages.
But…
Oh, screw it. He needed to see something funny.
[👑a_reader] Hey, Yoo Joonghyuk.
[👑a_reader] You should put something back in that chest you just emptied.
hmm why though?
Too busy brooding, Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t notice the messages. Kim Dokja clicked his tongue. The bastard was really antisocial today. How was he supposed to catch his attention?
...
Damn, he had wanted to avoid that. But he had a job now. He had money. He could afford Star Stream’s cheapest coin package if he ate plain rice for a meal or two.
One detour to the online shop later, he was back on the stream.
[persephone] Reader? Has your account been hacked?
this mod is making a donation? Will pigs fly next???
[👑a_reader] I’ll have you know that some of us are broke.
[mass_production_maker] We can tell, friend
[mass_production_maker] 10 coins? Rly? 😂
[👑a_reader] I don’t want to hear that from you of all people.
[mass_production_maker] 🤷
Yoo Joonghyuk had stopped in confusion. Kim Dokja felt him teeter for a second, then decide that he was too annoyed to humor him if it meant retracing any of his steps in this stupid dungeon. [Supreme King] kept going.
[Supreme King] stopped again.
“What do you want?” Yoo Joonghyuk growled.
[👑a_reader] You still have that demonic monster core in your inventory, right?
[👑a_reader] Go back to that room with the three chests.
Yoo Joonghyuk squinted at the chat room.
[👑a_reader] ♥ Pleeease Joonghyuk-ah? ♥
rolling on the floor right now
“Never do that again,” Yoo Joonghyuk said with a scowl of disgust.
Rude.
[👑a_reader] Go back, then.
[👑a_reader] Come on, I know you’re curious...
To Yoo Joonghyuk’s frustration, he was. The character on the screen swiveled and backtracked.
“If it’s something stupid, I’m banning you,” he warned.
‘For a week,’ he added mentally, surprising Kim Dokja with the strange magnanimity. Then, darker: ‘No, a month.’
That was more like it. Still more generous than a permanent ban, though.
[Supreme King] reentered the room and made a beeline for the three chests lined up against the back wall.
“What now?”
[👑a_reader] Put the core and any sword you want in the last chest.
[asmodeus] lmao whats happening
[asmodeus] so random
Yoo Joonghyuk deposited the requested items in the chest and slammed it closed, or as near slamming as you could with the click of a mouse.
“And?” he growled, only to cut himself off.
The chest had started glowing.
[The random loot box has been activated!]
hey what the hell
[A high-grade item has emerged!]
After a moment of immobility, [Supreme King] opened the box.
[You have received the SS-class item ‘Holy Sword of Salvation’!]
HEY WHAT THE HELL
[persephone] :o
[👑a_reader] Lol
WHAT THE HELL READER
Kim Dokja didn’t answer, tickled pink by the situation. This probably constituted a breach of his contract with Mino Soft, but frankly, he didn’t care. He hadn’t even logged this bug yet since he knew it would just get him the third degree.
He basked in Yoo Joonghyuk’s surprise. But the glow of some warmer emotion soon overtook the bond, and Kim Dokja found his snickers dying in his chest as a flush rose to his cheeks. He cleared his throat. Hey, it was just a sword. That guy didn’t need to be so happy.
[mass_production_maker] What a king!
[asmodeus] a demon, you mean
[persephone] All hail reader, our demon king of the holy sword of salvation.
[👑a_reader] I humbly accept that crown. Please forward all gifts of fealty to my Kakao Pay.
Kim Dokja ended up bundling Lee Hyunsung, Lee Jihye and Kim Namwoon back to the apartment at nine p.m. sharp. Lee Hyunsung looked a bit wounded at being included in the curfew, which made Kim Dokja feel like he was kicking a puppy; but his guilt vanished when he spotted Anna Croft and one of her young teammates coming in just as they were exiting the bar.
“And this is why our team leader shouldn’t monopolize the manager, alright? You’re not the only person I’ve got to babysit,” he told Yoo Joonghyuk the next day, vindicated.
Yoo Joonghyuk glared, though it was difficult to tell if he was angrier at him or at Anna Croft’s schemes.
Lee Jihye and Kim Namwoon initially protested the enforced bedtime much more loudly than Lee Hyunsung, but when morning came and they found themselves battling a hangover on top of their jet lag, they belatedly discovered wisdom.
“I’m never drinking again,” Kim Namwoon groaned as they piled into a taxi. “Not a drop.”
“Liar,” Lee Jihye grumbled, then winced as the slamming of the car doors jostled her headache.
This was enough to turn to ashes the teenagers’ dream of partying it up in Toronto the whole trip. After a long day of interviews and photoshoots, they turned down invitations for more drinking and sullenly followed after the three older members of their party.
Lee Hyunsung and Kim Dokja both felt that if you were going to travel abroad, you had a moral duty to do some sightseeing. So the five of them trooped downtown to stare at the CN tower from the ground, detoured to the Nathan Phillips Square for some obligatory pictures in front of the huge Toronto sign, and topped it all off with a half-hearted stroll through the old distillery district. Then, secure in their belief that that box had been properly ticked, they returned to the apartment.
Yoo Joonghyuk set out to cook dinner while the rest of them piled in the living room. Lee Hyunsung turned on the TV and started mouthing the news anchor’s words, his brow creased in earnest concentration. Maybe he was working on his English. Kim Dokja and Lee Jihye were soon absorbed in their phones. Kim Namwoon had brought a console.
It was a peaceful atmosphere, and Kim Dokja appreciated having all his ducklings where he could see them. He might not be giving enough credit to Lee Hyunsung, Lee Jihye and Kim Namwoon, who had seemed resistant to Anna Croft’s manipulation anyway, but he preferred not to risk it.
He heard the oven open and close in the kitchen. A minute later, Yoo Joonghyuk joined them and sat beside Lee Hyunsung. Kim Dokja paid him no heed, assuming that he was watching the TV too. But when the rustle of turning pages started underscoring the beeps and jingles of Kim Namwoon’s video game, Kim Dokja had to glance up.
Yoo Joonghyuk was again reading PSI Syndrome: How to recognize it, how to live with it. His frown said his weary mind was struggling to make sense of the technical terms, but he kept chipping at it.
Kim Dokja sunk lower in his armchair. Should he steal the book? He didn’t want to get beaten up. Start a conversation? What would be a topic that Yoo Joonghyuk would ignore less readily than Kim Dokja’s attempts to distract him on the plane?
Lee Jihye’s typing petered out. Maybe the person she was talking with got busy. What time was it in Korea? Early morning, right? Lee Jihye’s old friends from school must be leaving for their college classes.
Lee Jihye looked around the room. To Kim Dokja’s dismay, her eyes landed on Yoo Joonghyuk’s reading material. She tilted her head and mouthed the words on the cover.
“I didn’t know you were interested in medical stuff, Master,” she said, baffled.
Yoo Joonghyuk looked at her. He glanced at Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja pretended not to notice.
“Sounds boring,” Kim Namwoon snorted. “What about you, Ahjussi? Are you reading something snooze-worthy too?”
He kicked at Kim Dokja’s foot. Kim Dokja retracted his legs.
“It’s a fantasy novel.”
That was a bit unusual, admitting the truth to a colleague instead of hiding behind the fridge in the break room or claiming to be checking his emails.
“Oh, that sounds better. I mean, reading is still boring, but at least there are dragons. There are dragons, right?”
“No.”
“Your taste sucks, Ahjussi.”
Unfortunately, Kim Namwoon’s intervention hadn’t deterred Lee Jihye. She fidgeted, inching a bit closer to Yoo Joonghyuk.
“Hmm… It looks like it’s a book you borrowed from someone?” she asked.
Maybe the riot of colored sticky notes gave that away. Kim Dokja didn’t like her attitude. What was she fishing for, here?
“Maybe…” she said, sweating under Yoo Joonghyuk’s gaze. “Maybe Seolhwa-unni?”
Kim Dokja relaxed. He went back to his phone, snorting. Lee Jihye’s hackles rose.
“What?” she hissed at him.
“You could just ask how Lee Seolhwa-ssi is doing if you want to know so much.”
“I can’t say that!” she protested. “You’re so insensitive, Ahjussi. Don’t just bring her up like that! What if it’s painful for Master?”
Yoo Joonghyuk looked between them both.
“Lee Jihye,” he said, silencing her instantly. “It’s fine.” A pause. “Seolhwa is fine too.”
Kim Dokja wasn’t sure why she cared to know. Yoo Joonghyuk and Lee Seolhwa had decided on a divorce only a few months after Yoo Joonghyuk had joined Transcendence Gaming. Lee Jihye couldn’t have met Lee Seolhwa more than a handful of times. She really tended to imprint on older women, huh.
“Is the divorce fully processed, now?” Lee Hyunsung asked.
Yoo Joonghyuk nodded.
“It was simple.”
Kim Dokja twitched. Divorce by agreement, no children; it only took a month for the paperwork to be processed. He had looked it up.
“Why did you divorce her, anyway?” Kim Namwoon said. “Not everyone can net a wife that hot.”
“Kim Namwoon!” Lee Jihye barked, incensed.
“What? It’s true! And it was so sudden! One moment Captain is married and the next he’s not!”
“Of course it would have seemed sudden to you,” Lee Hyunsung said. “Only the two of them need to know why they divorced. It’s the Captain’s private life, so it’s not really any of our business.”
“But…!”
The squirming unease in Kim Dokja’s gut grew until it felt like he had swallowed something alive. He glanced around the room. Kim Namwoon, Lee Jihye and Lee Hyunsung were arguing together. Lee Hyunsung was sitting right next to Yoo Joonghyuk. So why did it seem like there was a rift between Yoo Joonghyuk and the others? Why did it seem like Yoo Joonghyuk was standing alone in a universe of his own?
Kim Dokja knew why. That was what it did to you, to carry a wound so terrible that you couldn’t bear to expose it to those around you.
Yoo Joonghyuk looked up. Their eyes met.
Kim Dokja wanted so badly to reach out, to bridge that rift.
If he was being honest, he had wanted that for a long time. When everything had happened, he had spent many sleepless nights convincing himself not to make contact. He had thought that if Yoo Joonghyuk needed him, he would have asked.
But Yoo Joonghyuk hadn’t known he was there. And now, it was too late, wasn’t it?
Kim Dokja blinked. Realizing that his body had tensed like he was about to jump across the room, he relaxed and broke eye contact. How long had he been staring at Yoo Joonghyuk like a weirdo? How embarrassing.
He glanced furtively back. Yoo Joonghyuk was still looking at him. Kim Dokja’s neck warmed.
Great. Now that guy definitely knew that Kim Dokja had seen what had happened a year ago.
Faced with resistance from both Lee Jihye and Lee Hyunsung, Kim Namwoon crossed his arms with a pout.
“I just wanted to know if the divorce had something to do with that bitch Anna Croft,” he grumbled.
Kim Dokja blinked in surprise. Yoo Joonghyuk predictably darkened at the name.
“Anna Croft?” he said.
“You know, since you yelled at her yesterday?” Kim Namwoon said, his eyes lit up with an unholy love of drama.
Kim Dokja smacked him on the back of the head.
“Ow! Ahjussi?”
“You, what kind of trashy scenario are you picturing?” Kim Dokja said, annoyed. “Enough of your bullshit.”
The teenagers looked at him with wide eyes. What, had they never heard an adult swear?
It didn’t take Kim Namwoon long to rally. He slouched with a glare.
“Alright, then what about you, Ahjussi?” he said.
“What?”
“I know Hyunsung-hyung is afraid of women,” he declared, to poor Lee Hyunsung’s flustered sputtering, “so he’s got no game. What about you? You’re single, right? Got any hot friend?”
“Why are you assuming I’m single?” Kim Dokja countered, piqued.
“You look like the kind of loser who is friends with only girls, but who can never get any of them to date him.”
Kim Dokja stared at him without a word. This brat? Where had that uncanny guess come from?
“Wait, he’s right?” Lee Jihye snickered.
Lee Hyunsung coughed, red-cheeked.
“I’m friends with two women,” Kim Dokja couldn’t resist correcting, “and I did date one of them.”
Han Sooyoung and he had sworn never to talk of those two months back in college ever again.
“Pics or it didn’t happen,” Kim Namwoon said.
Kim Dokja was tempted to roll his eyes.
“How old are you?” he said, but opened his phone’s gallery.
He found a picture of Han Sooyoung and tilted the screen toward Kim Namwoon. The phone was snatched out of his hand.
“Hey,” he protested.
“Oh, not bad!” Kim Namwoon said, Lee Jihye crowding behind his shoulder to see. “Can I get her number?”
Kim Dokja tried to steal his phone back before the brat could access his contacts, but Kim Namwoon twisted around.
“She’s too old for you. Also, she would eat you alive,” Kim Dokja said.
Though it would at least be entertaining to watch.
Kim Namwoon swiped at the screen. Both he and Lee Jihye gave audible gasps.
“Woah, now that’s a beauty!”
Kim Dokja did a rapid recounting of the pictures he had on his phone. It didn’t take long: he didn’t use the camera that often in the first place. It was Yoo Sangah, then.
“She’s way out of your league, Ahjussi,” Lee Jihye said fervently.
No, who was in Yoo Sangah’s league in the first place? That woman even used her commute to exercise or learn foreign languages.
One long arm snaked over Lee Jihye’s shoulder and plucked the phone out of Kim Namwoon’s hand. The two gamers swiveled around, not having noticed Yoo Joonghyuk walking up to them behind the couch. Yoo Joonghyuk examined the screen with an undecipherable expression.
Kim Dokja raised his eyebrows. Now that would be an interesting way to answer his rhetorical question.
“How about it, Yoo Joonghyuk? Do you want her number?”
Yoo Joonghyuk glared at him.
“No.”
Then he swiped through the gallery.
“Excuse me?” Kim Dokja complained. “I expected better manners from you than from the children, Yoo Joonghyuk. Were you raised by wolves? If this is the kind of example you give these two, no wonder they turned out like this.”
While Kim Namwoon and Lee Jihye protested, Lee Hyunsung laughed. Kim Dokja got up and approached Yoo Joonghyuk.
“Give it back.”
Yoo Joonghyuk evaded his extended hand and went the other way around the teenagers.
“No.”
He sat in the second armchair with the phone. Kim Dokja gaped at him. What in the world had gotten into that guy?
Yoo Joonghyuk gave him a defiant look.
“It’s only fair,” he said.
Kim Dokja’s jaw snapped closed.
Oh, that jerk. What was he supposed to retort to this?
Lee Hyunsung looked between them.
“Hmm… Captain, isn’t dinner ready?”
The oven had started beeping in the kitchen.
“Go ahead and turn it off,” Yoo Joonghyuk said. “You can eat. Just put what’s left back in the closed oven for me.”
Lee Hyunsung gave Kim Dokja a hangdog look, but his distraction tactic had failed and he had just been dismissed, so the obedient man had no choice but to leave. Kim Namwoon and Lee Jihye hesitated, one highly entertained, the other confused. But when nothing more interesting happened, Yoo Joonghyuk simply rooting through the phone and Kim Dokja sitting back to stare out the window, Kim Namwoon bounded to his feet.
“I don’t know if I’ll leave any food to you, Captain! It smells too good!”
Even that threat didn’t succeed in moving Yoo Joonghyuk, who let the teenagers vanish into the kitchen.
Kim Dokja didn’t follow them either. He didn’t think he could swallow anything right now. He crossed his legs and knocked his heel against his armchair. He wished he could go back to his reading. It would at least allow him to keep his hands busy. But of course he couldn’t, since his novels were being held hostage along with the rest of his most prized possession.
Yoo Joonghyuk stopped. He turned the phone toward Kim Dokja.
“The kids you babysit?” he said.
Kim Dokja took one look at the picture.
“Yeah. Lee Gilyoung and Shin Yoosung.”
Yoo Joonghyuk nodded.
“They look about Mia’s age.”
“That’s why I am qualified to give advice,” he returned flippantly.
“Because you’re the same age mentally?” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
Oh, how funny.
“Aren’t you a comedian lately, Yoo Joonghyuk,” he said dryly. “Is it the lack of sleep, ah? Are you having a stroke on me?”
The corner of Yoo Joonghyuk’s lips lifted. Despite himself, Kim Dokja softened. This was miles better than the mood earlier.
Yoo Joonghyuk offered another picture for commentary. Kim Dokja wrinkled his nose at the group shot of drunk men crowding around his own awkward figure.
“Ugh, pass. Just previous colleagues. Actually, delete that. I thought I had done it already.”
Yoo Joonghyuk obeyed, then turned the phone around again. Kim Dokja gave him an unamused look.
“That’s a cat, Yoo Joonghyuk,” he drawled.
“Yours?” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
“No. I don’t have any pet.”
He could barely take care of himself, most days. Yoo Joonghyuk nodded. He passed through a few more pictures. The next time he turned his wrist expectantly, Kim Dokja gave up. With a muttered curse, he hauled himself out of his chair and perched on Yoo Joonghyuk’s armrest. He threw an arm on the cushion behind Yoo Joonghyuk’s head.
“What,” he said with a tired sigh.
Yoo Joonghyuk made Kim Dokja go through most of the camera roll. Kim Dokja didn’t pay much attention to the thing usually, so he had random shots of subway maps and documents he had “scanned” to email in between actually relevant people and places. Some pictures dated as far back as college.
“Ugh, that’s old,” he muttered, embarrassed, at the remnant of a time when he had tried his hand at selfies. Why did he look so self-satisfied? There was a pimple on his chin and, even back then, he had bags under his eyes. “Delete that.”
Yoo Joonghyuk smirked and kept staring. When Kim Dokja moved to press the delete button himself, Yoo Joonghyuk swiped to the next one.
Prick.
“That woman again,” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
“Hmm? Yeah. That’s Han Sooyoung.”
“The one you dated.”
What was he doing, paying attention to stuff like that?
“I’m not talking about that without an attorney,” Kim Dokja grumbled.
“You’re still friends with her.”
“Yeah, well. We clearly both have terrible taste in friends.”
He was rewarded by the twitch of a smile.
Lee Jihye crossed the room and glowered at Kim Dokja like he was committing a terrible taboo by sitting so close to Yoo Joonghyuk. Lee Hyunsung and Kim Namwoon appeared next, the former firmly pushing the latter away from the kitchen.
“But there is still so much food left!” Kim Namwoon protested.
“Those are Dokja-ssi’s and the Captain’s portions.”
“Alright, enough,” Kim Dokja said, reaching for his phone again. “Dinner is going to get cold, Yoo Joonghyuk.”
He wasn’t doing this with an audience. Besides, they had nearly reached the end of the gallery. He didn’t want to have to explain why the device contained no trace of his life in highschool or before. He was already intimately aware that nothing in these pictures suggested the existence of a family.
Yoo Joonghyuk had to have noticed. But he didn’t mention it. He didn’t resist either, letting Kim Dokja slip the phone into his pocket with relief.
The evening passed quickly. Everyone was still tired, so it wasn’t long before, one by one, they retreated to their bedrooms.
Since he slept in the living room, Kim Dokja had to wait until they were all done. Already in his sleepwear, he set up the pull-out and closed the blinds while Yoo Joonghyuk took the last turn in the bathroom.
Kim Dokja was slipping between the sheets when Yoo Joonghyuk got out. Yoo Joonghyuk turned the bathroom light off. Only the small lamp next to Kim Dokja was left on. It traced the lines of Yoo Joonghyuk’s muscles in his sleeveless shirt. Kim Dokja laid down and watched him cross the room. Yoo Joonghyuk disappeared behind the couch.
“Good night,” Kim Dokja muttered as he extended a hand for the lamp.
“Kim Dokja.”
He stopped.
“Yes?”
There was a lengthy silence.
“Thank you. For coming.”
Kim Dokja stayed frozen. Did he mean… the trip? Or…
The bedroom door closed.
Kim Dokja bit his lip. He turned the light off.
Notes:
1 Reminder that Kim Dokja isn’t exaggerating. In South Korea, it is considered disrespectful to refuse a drink, especially when you’re out with colleagues.
Chapter Text
“It’s been an honor having you both here today,” the interviewer said.
His smile was so obviously artificial. Yoo Joonghyuk held nothing but contempt for him. Journalists were all snakes in the grass.
The man went on. “I don’t think I need to tell you how disappointed fans were to see Yoo Joonghyuk and Zarathustra go their separate ways last year. There were rumors that the split was due to Yoo Joonghyuk’s poor performance in the last World Championship. Would you care to address those?”
All of Yoo Joonghyuk’s muscles locked. It was either that or go for the throat of that two-faced swine. To the journalist’s credit, his expression didn’t waver under the full brunt of Yoo Joonghyuk’s anger. Only the sweat beading at his temple gave him away.
Yoo Joonghyuk felt a calm gaze weigh on him from beyond the camera. Kim Dokja was there, waiting next to Selena Kim.
“You’ll be filmed,” the man had said. “Try not to glare. You’re the one who agreed to this, so if you want to prove that these questions don’t affect you, your rotten temper can’t show on your face.”
Yoo Joonghyuk had had a thing or two to say to that. Unfortunately, Kim Dokja was right. And that man would know, wouldn’t he? Nothing ever showed on his face that he didn’t want there.
It incensed Yoo Joonghyuk for reasons that he couldn’t even pinpoint.
But just for today, he could channel some of that maddening attitude. His shoulders loosened. He stared at the wall behind the interviewer’s head, sure that he would do something violent if he kept looking at him.
Anna Croft, of course, hadn’t waited for him to compose himself.
“… were very happy to have Yoo Joonghyuk with us,” she was saying. “The Supreme King’s talent is undeniable. But Yoo Joonghyuk was the only one of the team still living in Korea, and the difference in time zones was starting to take a toll on everyone. It’s regrettable that we had to say goodbye, but I believe that it was the best decision for all of us.”
Empty words, pretty compliments that did nothing to dispel the interviewer’s pointed reminder of the worst performance he had ever given in an international competition. If anything, she was putting the blame on Yoo Joonghyuk, for having been unwilling to move his sister and his entire life to the United States.
“I see. Yoo Joonghyuk, your thoughts?”
Yoo Joonghyuk pried his jaw open.
“I have always given my best to Zarathustra, as with any team I have ever worked with,” he said. “Anyone can check my track record for themselves. If that stumble was enough for the team to overlook my entire career, it’s true it was necessary to move on. I’m done indulging Zarathustra’s poor priorities.”
Selena Kim’s eyes widened. The journalist blinked twice. It was the first time Yoo Joonghyuk had confirmed that he hadn’t left of his own accord. Anna Croft had certainly done plenty of dancing around the subject. She kept her face carefully neutral, but her hands tightened on her lap. The truth put a dent in her facade of gentle friendliness.
Yoo Joonghyuk sneaked a glance at Kim Dokja. He was looking down with a quiet smile.
When Kim Dokja had insisted that they prepare this interview together, Yoo Joonghyuk had expected that he would want him to keep his answers as bland as possible. But Kim Dokja had made far less effort at policing his words than the way he would say them.
“Mutual agreement, then,” the journalist said with a smile that did little to hide his satisfaction. His piece had just gotten a lot more interesting. “Yoo Joonghyuk, this will be your tenth World Championship. What do you reply to those who say it is time for you to retire?”
“No need to beat around the bush,” he growled. Kim Dokja’s eyes bore warningly into the side of his face. He struggled to rein in his temper. “I know very well that my performance last year was pitiful. Nobody knows it better than me. But if anyone believes that makes me obsolete, they have lost their mind.”
He lifted his chin, staring down his nose at the gulping journalist.
“This year’s Championship belongs to Team 999,” he said, icy. “I look forward to seeing anyone try to steal this crown.”
“Bold words!” A nervous chuckle. “Anna Croft, a word to conclude this interview, maybe?”
She gave a serene smile.
“Well, there isn’t much to add, is there? We will soon see who is the true king of this arena.”
“Yes, of course,” the journalist said. “Thank you both very much for this opportunity, and good luck in the Championship!”
Yoo Joonghyuk launched himself out of his seat as soon as the camera turned off. He stormed out. A woman was waiting outside to take him and Anna Croft to the next event. She jumped, but Yoo Joonghyuk strode past her before she could say anything. Kim Dokja’s voice rose behind him, leisurely smoothing down feathers in his stead.
Yoo Joonghyuk spotted a glass door to the side of the corridor. He shouldered through it. Cold wind greeted him. He had left his jacket on the ground floor, but the fresh air lightened the pall of anger on his mind.
The long balcony was empty. He approached the edge and closed his hands around the railing.
The door opened and closed. Kim Dokja appeared by his side. He shivered with a frown of distaste, but made no move to retreat inside.
They stared down at the street a few stories below. The sounds of traffic filled the space between them.
“I hate her,” Yoo Joonghyuk snarled.
He had never said the words out loud before. But it wasn’t a confession. It was a vow.
Kim Dokja gave no outward reaction. Of course, Yoo Joonghyuk reflected bitterly, not much he did ever seemed to surprise the man. Kim Dokja only hummed and looked away.
Then something happened.
At the beginning, Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t even notice. He was angry enough that more of the same emotion just slid seamlessly into his. But as dark thoughts swirled in his mind, some of them rang unfamiliar. This resentment was quieter than Yoo Joonghyuk’s. It slid under conscious thoughts. It whispered into abandoned places. It kept itself invisible and silent, but no less burning for it.
This was not the proud anger of Yoo Joonghyuk, which shone honestly on his face and had to be exorcised by action. This was the anger of a man who had learned to keep all his negative emotions hidden, all his acts of revenge quiet and devious. And yet, it echoed so beautifully.
“You…!” Yoo Joonghyuk said, staring at Kim Dokja in amazement.
Kim Dokja blinked back, confused.
‘What? What’s with that look?’ rippled across Yoo Joonghyuk’s mind like the wind on the surface of a lake.
Then a picture: the memory of the only other time Yoo Joonghyuk had looked at Kim Dokja this way, the day they had met.
Shock and embarrassment crashed onto the link. It slammed closed. Color rose on Kim Dokja’s face.
“What… wait. Just now. Did I…” he stammered.
Yoo Joonghyuk couldn’t glimpse anything from his mind anymore. Still, that snapshot had been enough.
So Kim Dokja could also feel like this.
Weeks of careful observation and regular squabbling hadn’t helped Yoo Joonghyuk understand this man any better. Kim Dokja was an enigma. He appeared aloof and self-serving, but he had on two occasions risked getting fired for refusing to breach Yoo Joonghyuk’s privacy in front of their bosses. He pretended not to care about this job, but he was shouldering the work of two assistant managers without complaint and consistently going above and beyond. Just last week, he had stayed overtime of his own accord to teach Kim Namwoon to read a contract.
And now this. Blank-faced, glib Kim Dokja hated Anna Croft. Why, when he had only met her two days ago?
Yoo Joonghyuk smiled.
Here was someone who knew what he had lived through, more intimately than anyone else. And still his response was the same as Yoo Joonghyuk. Could there be anything more vindicating in the world?
Kim Dokja stared at him, looking dazed.
“What’s the matter?” Yoo Joonghyuk taunted. “Fulgurations don’t bother you, right?”
“Shut up,” Kim Dokja muttered. He turned away. The back of his neck was red. “Ass.”
He tucked his hands under his crossed arms. He was shivering.
Like Yoo Joonghyuk, he was only wearing a button-up. He was much thinner, though. Considering the things Yoo Joonghyuk generally saw him eat, it was no surprise that he was skin and bones.
Taking pity on him, Yoo Joonghyuk opened the door.
“Get in.”
Kim Dokja didn’t need to be asked twice.
“Are you done playing the broody protagonist, then?” he said, feigning nonchalance like he wasn’t struggling to meet Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes.
Yoo Joonghyuk shut the door, barring the wind outside. He stepped up to Kim Dokja. His gaze dissected him.
Maybe he was finally starting to understand. Nothing that Kim Dokja offered freely could be trusted at face value. You always had to look underneath.
What a needlessly complicated guy.
What was with the staring? And why was Yoo Joonghyuk standing so close? The corridor wasn’t that narrow. Looking back at him was giving Kim Dokja a crick in the neck. Really, who had allowed Yoo Joonghyuk to be so tall?
Kim Dokja stepped back.
“Come on. We’re nearly done. Just this last mixer, then we can go home.”
He led the way, willing the skin of his nape to cool down already.
He couldn’t believe what had just happened. He hadn’t even noticed the “wall” opening this time.
Was it how it worked with most people? Not even a warning sign, and suddenly your thoughts were no longer private?
Of course that was it. Of course that’s how it was meant to work. He had always known that intellectually, but to live through it…
His mind whirled. He felt like a cage full of birds. A few had escaped when Yoo Joonghyuk had opened the door, and now the rest wouldn’t settle, flitting in a panic inside the confines of his brain. He couldn’t even hear himself think.
At least Yoo Joonghyuk hadn’t seemed to mind. Whatever he had glimpsed of Kim Dokja’s inner workings, it hadn’t seemed to put him off. But how long would that last? Kim Dokja had dark corners that even he didn’t like to root through. If the fulgurations started escaping his control, how long until Yoo Joonghyuk…
He blinked away the image of Yoo Joonghyuk’s bright smile, the wind sweeping through his dark hair and moving the lines of his shirt against his chest. Who knew that guy could look so happy?
He ditched Yoo Joonghyuk with their minder from Mino Soft, pretexting a bathroom break to part ways with them. He felt Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes follow him. Kim Dokja didn’t look back, unwilling to see his expression.
He locked himself inside the toilet and splashed water on his face. He took a deep breath.
He had to get a grip. His job here wasn’t done. He could think about this later.
He scrutinized himself in the mirror above the sink. He looked pale.
Maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, his history with Yoo Joonghyuk was a long chronicle of Kim Dokja setting boundaries only to cross them later. When it came to Yoo Joonghyuk, he was pathetically weak-willed.
The replay of the stream where [a_reader] showed Yoo Joonghyuk the chest exploit went viral. So many players proceeded to use the bug in the following days that Mino Soft had to deploy an emergency fix.
The developers at the office grumbled about it all week, but nobody pointed a finger at Kim Dokja. QA techs were invisible mice to the rest of their colleagues. Everyone just assumed that the problem had been caused by one of the overzealous players who made it a habit of testing a game’s limitations.
In fact, this was what the followers of Yoo Joonghyuk’s channel assumed about [a_reader] too. For years, he had been fielding the questions Yoo Joonghyuk should have answered in the chat, so it wasn’t much of a stretch to think he played WoS himself. He was perfectly happy to hide behind that excuse. The only issue was the party offers he began receiving on Star Stream. Did people think he had SS-class items pouring out of his pockets?
More and more people started asking him for tips and tricks. Between Kim Dokja’s job and what he had learned through Yoo Joonghyuk, [a_reader] soon became known as a WoS minutiae expert.
The requests got so specific that he did end up creating a game account just to test some of his theories. His professional QA account was too traceable for the most outlandish stuff.
“I can’t believe you’re getting into video games,” Han Sooyoung told him.
She was morbidly watching him edit the WoS wiki on his phone. It was distressing how often people were wrong on the Internet.
“I’m not. I’m just in it for the lore.”
“You need a better work-life balance.”
“I’m not doing this for my job,” he said, offended that she’d dare suggest such a thing.
“Whatever. This had better not eat into the time you spend reading my chapters. And don’t skip on sleep either, you idiot! I’ll break into your apartment and replace all your coffee with decaf!”
Ways of Survival was an MMORPG with a competitive PvP league. Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t stream his actual PvP training, unwilling as he was to offer his opponents easy footage of his habits, but he spent hours every week farming equipment and working through the new quests, or “scenarios”, that WoS released regularly. He did that alone: he was known for never accepting party invitations. If a scenario required a team, he would cooperate with his professional teammates. Sometimes, this resulted in a joint streaming session, but most often he just did it out of his streaming hours.
One sunny Saturday, Yoo Joonghyuk opened his mouth.
“Reader, get online.”
Kim Dokja, who had just dragged himself out of bed to catch the stream and was only listening with half an ear, felt his elbow slip from the table. He caught himself just before he fell out of his chair.
[👑a_reader] I... am online?
[👑a_reader] Or am I not?
[👑a_reader] Am I actually still asleep and dreaming this? Would I know if I was?
[👑a_reader] It’s too early for this kind of existential questions, yjh.
To no one’s surprise, Yoo Joonghyuk glared.
“In the game,” he said slowly, as he was wont to do when he thought someone dimwitted. “You have an account, right? And it’s 2p.m.”
omg
reader and SK teamup???
[maritimewargod] :o
[👑a_reader] What? No.
“You don’t have an account?” Yoo Joonghyuk said, sounding unfairly skeptical.
[👑a_reader] What’s it to you whether I do or don’t?
[👑a_reader] Don’t tell me you actually want to team up?
“Are you coming or not?”
What. That wasn’t a no. Was Yoo Joonghyuk seriously asking…? Kim Dokja typed an answer just to gain some time to think.
[👑a_reader] Why would you even assume I play in the same server as you?
“There is only one Korean server,” Yoo Joonghyuk hissed.
He sounded annoyed, but really, that was his own fault. Nobody had asked him to drop a bomb like that on camera. Kim Dokja’s eyes roved around the screen, belatedly catching up with the situation. It seemed Yoo Joonghyuk was going for the new Halloween scenario. Seasonal scenarios were often underwhelming for high-level accounts, but Yoo Joonghyuk was currently raising an alt, so that part wasn’t surprising.
[👑a_reader] Why don’t you ask Anna or Iris?
He wanted to take the words back the instant he hit Enter.
It was only recently that Yoo Joonghyuk had joined Zarathustra, and he had argued with Anna Croft just a day ago. The whole team was walking on eggshells around him.
Yoo Joonghyuk averted his eyes.
“Just get online.”
Kim Dokja cursed him in his mind.
Who did that guy think he was? Kim Dokja didn’t want to play with him. Being his mod was as close as he was willing to get. A reader didn’t enter the pages to mess with the story. An audience didn’t cross the screen to become pixels. There were some lines that shouldn’t be crossed.
come on reader! you know you want to!
[thursdaythunder_] Hurry up man!!!
[thursdaythunder_] It’s not every day we get to see SK team up
Could the peanut gallery please shut up?
[mass_production_maker] Are you really going to leave him hanging? 🤠
[persephone] He’s waiting, reader.
Yes, speaking of, why was Yoo Joonghyuk still waiting? Wasn’t [a_reader]’s answer obvious at this point? The longer Yoo Joonghyuk stayed motionless, expecting a partner that wouldn’t come, the more pathetic it made him look to his stream viewers.
“Just snag some random player, Joonghyuk-ah,” he gritted out.
[👑a_reader] I have to mod.
“That’s fine,” Yoo Joonghyuk said instantly. “You can just stand in a corner while I do the scenario. I only need you to make up the numbers.”
That little…?
[mass_production_maker] Lol?
dyiiing!
Despite everything, Kim Dokja found himself laughing too. What an asshole. Of course he wasn’t expecting [a_reader] to be of any help.
Damn it. The stream would turn out boring if Yoo Joonghyuk couldn’t find a teammate. Why hadn’t that idiot planned the session better?
[👑a_reader] Fine.
[maritimewargod] ooooh
!!!!
It was only his game avatar, right? It’s not like he would be turning on his webcam. He could lend his account as a background prop, since Yoo Joonghyuk was that bad at finding his own.
[👑a_reader] You can lug me around like a mannequin. But if I die, I’m billing you for any expense sustained by respawning.
“You won’t die.”
It was said confidently. Well, if anyone could manage a scenario meant for a group while not letting a single scratch land on their AFK teammate, it was Yoo Joonghyuk.
Kim Dokja shook his head and launched the game on his computer.
His character appeared at the mouth of the broken bridge that served as the dungeon. A crowd of players was milling around. Only the bravest dared send party requests to the famous professional player among them. [IB Supreme King] was ignoring them all.
Kim Dokja selected the black-clad avatar. On the stream now open on his phone, a new message window appeared:
[[Dem.n King .f Salvati.n] has sent you a party request!]
[persephone] Oh, from a few months ago? I’m flattered.
[persephone] This username suits you, reader.
[thursdaythunder_] Wait a sec
[thursdaythunder_] Isnt there a 20 car limit for usernames?
Kim Dokja took his phone in hand to type rapidly.
[👑a_reader] Oh yeah, fun fact.
[👑a_reader] The last extension introduced a bug. Dots no longer get counted.
Yoo Joonghyuk never used the range of emoticons or stances Ways of Survival offered for social interactions. But at that moment, something appeared above the head of [IB Supreme King]: 💬
[persephone] ...
...
[mass_production_maker] ...
[maritimewargod] ...
[thursdaythunder_] lol scammer
[👑a_reader] Rude.
[👑a_reader] Are you heading a cult, yjh? Is that what’s happening here?
“Your stats are pathetic. You should grind more.”
[[IB Supreme King] has agreed to your party request!]
By necessity, Kim Dokja was good at compartmentalizing. He could shake hands and exchange complimentary words with strangers, memorize faces and names and every tidbit of information that he would need to report to Uriel when he got back.
He could do that and not think about what had happened out on that balcony.
Kim Dokja ended the conversation with another sponsor. He slipped the man’s card in his pocket with the rest of them and allowed his smile to drop. He sighed. The wine in his hand had long gone lukewarm and the hubbub in the room was starting to give him a headache. Was it too early yet to make their excuses?
He checked the time on his phone. To his relief, it was getting close to the cutoff time he had planned. He could probably gather all his ducklings and head off now. After all, they had a plane to catch after this, and one had to account for traffic…
He looked around the room for his team. Yoo Joonghyuk and Lee Hyunsung’s tall figures should have been the easiest to find, but raised voices snatched his attention first. In a corner near the refreshments table, Kim Namwoon was arguing with Iris, one of Zarathustra’s youngest members.
Kim Dokja held back a curse and swiftly moved through the crowd. Lee Jihye stood next to Kim Namwoon, but she wasn’t doing anything to stop him. Both their faces were red, Kim Namwoon’s even more so than Lee Jihye’s, and in a way that spoke less of emotion than of tipsiness.
Maybe it had been a bad idea to leave two nineteen-year-olds without supervision. Despite Kim Namwoon’s vow of sobriety, alcohol had a powerful allure for teenagers who had just reached the Korean drinking age.
With Kim Dokja’s bad luck, it wasn’t surprising that Zarathustra reached the argument first. Selena Kim managed to bundle the fuming Iris away, leaving Anna Croft to fend off Kim Namwoon’s abuse with a wry smile.
The moment Kim Dokja was about to intervene, a large back swept in his way.
“Master!” Lee Jihye cheered. “You tell her! You tell those jerks at Zarathustra!”
Instead of calming the situation in any way, Yoo Joonghyuk just glared at Anna Croft.
Kim Dokja gritted his teeth. At least he hadn’t opened his mouth to make things worse.
Kim Dokja went around Yoo Joonghyuk, knocking into his shoulder to get him to stop standing there like a hostile statue. He might as well have flicked him for how little it got the huge bastard to move.
“Sorry about that,” Kim Dokja told Anna Croft. “Our colleagues can be a bit rowdy. We’ll get them out of your hair.”
“You get out of my hair, Ahjussi,” Kim Namwoon snarled when Kim Dokja stepped in front of them, hands outstretched to get them to back off. “I mean my way. I mean… whatever. Fucking move!”
He snatched Kim Dokja by the lapels of his jacket. Immediately Yoo Joonghyuk’s glare swiveled to him.
“Kim Namwoon,” he growled.
Kim Namwoon froze. For all that the young man was too aggressive for his own good, he had learned months ago not to cross Yoo Joonghyuk. Those muscles weren’t for show. Kim Namwoon meekly let go. He and Lee Jihye let Kim Dokja turn them around, grumbling.
Anna Croft smiled at Yoo Joonghyuk.
“It’s a shame that you couldn’t find more mature colleagues, Joonghyuk,” she told him, falsely commiserating. “But I suppose you’ve never been overly concerned with your reputation in the field.”
Her words rooted Kim Dokja to the spot. Blood rushed to his ears.
Was this woman trying to start something? What was her angle today? Did she want Yoo Joonghyuk to punch her in a room full of witnesses so Mino Soft would have no choice but to exclude him from the Championship? If that was her plan, it was working. The glint in Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes was murderous and there was no Lee Hyunsung to stop him this time.
Well, that wouldn’t do.
“Certainly, when it comes to reputation, you’re an expert, Anna Croft.”
This time Kim Dokja had spoken in English, in a voice pitched to carry. A few conversations nearby petered out, curious ears turning in their direction. Surprised, Anna Croft looked at him.
“Excuse me?”
“You’ve come so far despite your humble beginnings,” he said with a smile. “What was it you used to be called? The Prophet of Las Vegas? If I was your manager, I wouldn’t dare to give a company card to someone with a history of gambling addiction. But I suppose your sponsors are very progressive. Good for you!”
Whispers broke out in their vicinity. Kim Dokja wondered idly how many journalists had heard that. The approaching Selena Kim stopped in her tracks and stared at Anna like she had never met her before.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes were on Kim Dokja. So were Anna Croft’s.
“That was private information,” she said after a long moment had passed.
“Oh?” he said, feigning concern. “You are known as such a sincere person, I wouldn’t have thought it was a secret.”
The corner of her lips lifted, but there was nothing friendly about her expression. Had she thought that nobody would be willing to play dirtier than her? Kim Dokja had never claimed to be an upstanding citizen. He would play as dirty as he pleased.
“I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” she said.
“I’m Kim Dokja,” he said, genially offering his hand. “Team 999’s assistant manager.”
She shook his hand like it was a poisonous snake and released it as fast as propriety would let her.
“I see. Mr. Kim, you seem rather protective of Joonghyuk. I would advise you not to expect too much from him.”
“Anna,” Selena Kim said in a reprimanding tone.
She put a hand on Anna’s shoulder, trying to get her to leave.
“I just don’t want you to be disappointed,” Anna continued. “Joonghyuk doesn’t have much patience for sycoph—”
“Anna Croft.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s voice cut like a knife through her words. Steel glinted in his eyes. Kim Dokja tensed, prepared to have to do damage control.
But Yoo Joonghyuk used Korean to say:
“This is the person I share everything with.”
Kim Dokja’s eyes widened. Behind him, Lee Jihye breathed in so sharply she fell into a coughing fit.
“The person with whom I share everything.” Although in the modern age, this expression was sometimes used between effusive lovers, it was formally meant to designate one’s soulmate. The idea of Yoo Joonghyuk getting that cheesy with a significant other was laughable, so it was impossible to misunderstand what he meant.
Anna Croft paled.
The thing about living in a world with fulgurations was that you could never be certain of how many people observed your actions, regardless of how many were in a room with you. And when you chose to hurt someone, you could never tell whether they had a witness in their corner.
“What’s the matter?” Yoo Joonghyuk taunted her. “Weren’t you going to warn him about all my flaws?”
When she didn’t answer, he scoffed at her and strode away.
Kim Dokja clicked his tongue. Did Yoo Joonghyuk really have to top that off with a dramatic exit? He wanted to complain about his bad timing, but that look of vicious satisfaction Yoo Joonghyuk had been sporting made it impossible to stay annoyed.
“Hey,” Kim Dokja said, turning to Lee Jihye and Kim Namwoon. They were staring at him like two dumb mini-sunfish. “Catch up to him, will you? Our taxi is here.” He held up his phone which had just chimed. “If he has to storm out, make sure it’s toward the car.”
“Hmm,” Lee Jihye said, oddly flushed. “W… what about you, Ahjussi?”
“I’ll be here soon. I just need to find Lee Hyunsung-ssi and warn people that we’re leaving.”
The two gamers disappeared without argument. That was a nice change from their usual. Kim Dokja searched the crowd for his fourth charge.
“Mr. Kim Dokja?”
He turned back in time to catch sight of Anna Croft’s retreating figure. Not even a goodbye to him? For shame. But Selena Kim was still here, so he swallowed his smile.
Selena Kim licked her lips. She looked troubled.
“I’m sorry about this. It’s a shame that the situation is so tense between Anna and Joonghyuk now.”
Kim Dokja lifted skeptical eyebrows. She couldn’t be that naive.
“It’s always been tense,” he said, in Korean since he was no longer talking for an audience. English was stupidly difficult.
She sheepishly ducked her head.
“I suppose there is no hiding it from Kim Dokja-ssi,” she said, indulging him with the language change. “Anna always saw Joonghyuk-ssi as a threat to her leadership of the team.”
So she did know. It didn’t raise his opinion of her that she had understood what was going on and had still been unwilling to step in.
She found it in herself to smile at him.
“I didn’t have the time to congratulate Joonghyuk-ssi, but… I should say, it’s nice to finally meet you, Kim Dokja-ssi.”
Under her expectant gaze, he found his lips parting.
“It’s nice to be met.”
The words felt flat and alien in his mouth, but she beamed. “It’s nice to be met” was what you were supposed to say when you met your soulmate’s acquaintances for the first time, an acknowledgment that you knew more about them than they did about you. It was so unnatural it made him want to tear off his tongue.
“I understand that you have to hurry,” Selena Kim said. “But I was hoping we could talk for a minute.”
“What is it?”
“Joonghyuk-ssi is… I know that he resents me. It’s true that I could probably have done more to intervene between him and Anna. But just because he’s no longer part of the team, it doesn’t mean that I don’t care about him anymore. We used to be colleagues. I would have called him a friend, even.”
He crossed his arms.
“I don’t think he considers you a friend anymore.”
“No,” she agreed, frowning sadly. “I suppose not. But still, I’m a bit worried.”
“Worried?”
“I expected him to be angry at being pushed out of Zarathustra, but not this angry. His reaction a few days ago… I don’t know. I just want to make sure he’s okay.”
Kim Dokja stared at her.
What kind of answer was she hoping to hear? Most probably, something that could assuage her guilt. Something that could make her put her history with Yoo Joonghyuk to rest, with a happy ending and a neat little bow on top.
Hearing the truth would hurt her deeply.
He wanted so badly to tell her.
She may not deserve to bleed for what she had done, but Yoo Joonghyuk had deserved none of what they had put him through. Kim Dokja would have released the poisonous words in a heartbeat if it hadn’t meant baring Yoo Joonghyuk’s most private wound to her.
“He is as you saw,” he said.
Selena Kim looked disappointed.
“Right. Hmm. How is Lee Seolhwa-ssi, do you know?”
“They’re divorced.”
“Yes, but…”
Kim Dokja glanced at the screen of his phone.
“Excuse me. I should really get going.”
As he turned away, she threw one last question.
“What about the child?”
He stopped.
“The child?”
“Yes.” She gave an awkward little laugh. “I never learned whether it’s a boy or a girl. But Lee Seolhwa-ssi was pregnant, was she not?”
“... She was.”
“Does Lee Seolhwa-ssi have custody?”
Kim Dokja didn’t answer.
“Does… does Joonghyuk-ssi?”
Kim Dokja only looked at her. At his continued silence, her face crumpled like paper. Her lips shook.
“I see,” she said in a strangled voice.
So she wasn’t stupid after all. Maybe deep inside her, she had always known the truth. Maybe she had suspected all along what they had done to Yoo Joonghyuk the day they had cut him out.
He hoped she never forgave herself.
All this drama had put them behind schedule. Traffic made an awkward taxi ride even longer. Clueless Lee Hyunsung kept glancing between the rest of them. Lee Jihye and Kim Namwoon were surprisingly quiet, Yoo Joonghyuk sat cross-armed and lost in thoughts, and Kim Dokja was scrambling to file their preflight check-in on his phone so they could gain some time at the airport. It was probably obvious to Lee Hyunsung that something had happened, but he didn’t dare ask.
However the two teenagers must have talked to him at some point during their dash through security, because by the time they all made it to the plane, Lee Hyunsung could no longer look at Kim Dokja without tripping over himself. Kim Dokja had never before seen a bear-sized man snap a military salute while blushing like a schoolgirl, but Lee Hyunsung managed that before willingly diving into the middle aisle seat.
Similarly, Lee Jihye didn’t even try to get Yoo Joonghyuk to sit next to her. She accepted Kim Namwoon as her seatmate without complaints and absorbed herself into the contemplation of the dark window.
Their behavior made Kim Dokja want to run for the hills. It didn’t help anything when Yoo Joonghyuk took a step back in the aisle to offer him the window seat. The show of courtesy made his skin crawl, but there were people behind him. They couldn’t keep blocking the corridor.
He reluctantly slid into the seat. The backrest sagged a little when Yoo Joonghyuk settled his large frame next to him.
The flight attendants made their rounds, checking on the passengers and closing the overhead compartments. Kim Dokja closed his safety belt and leaned his shoulder against the wall, leaving the middle armrest to Yoo Joonghyuk.
“How did you know?” Yoo Joonghyuk said suddenly.
Kim Dokja turned to him.
“About that woman’s past,” Yoo Joonghyuk clarified. “Or were you bluffing?”
Bluffing? Who was bluffing?
“There were rumors online about her at some point. I just did some digging of my own.”
Kim Dokja took the flight magazine in the pocket in front of him and leafed through it.
“She’s still on the wall of fame of three casinos in Las Vegas,” he added. “She was good. I wonder if she really stopped.”
It might be that she had just learned how to be quieter about it to protect her reputation. If that was the case, her secret probably wouldn’t hold up to professional journalists taking an interest.
When there was no reply, he looked up. Yoo Joonghyuk was staring at him. His expression gave nothing away.
“So this is how you hate someone.”
“I don’t hate her,” Kim Dokja said, a knee-jerk answer.
Though he wouldn’t have minded if she took a long walk out of a short cliff.
Yoo Joonghyuk snorted. Kim Dokja immediately checked the wall in his mind. That thought hadn’t gone through, right?… He didn’t think it had. At this rate, he might have more luck tracking the fulgurations from Yoo Joonghyuk’s face. For someone so dour, he lit up whenever he received one.
Kim Dokja’s stomach flipped. He absorbed himself in his magazine.
The plane accelerated on the driveway. Soon, the feeling of weightlessness took over Kim Dokja’s body. He watched through the window as the ground fell away. Unlike the previous trip, it was already night outside. The lights of Toronto gathered under them, more numerous the more they gained altitude.
He didn’t expect someone like Yoo Joonghyuk to appreciate the spectacle, so it was a shock when he turned around to find that the man’s eyes were on the window too. Feeling boxed in, Kim Dokja warily leaned back in his seat. He looked around, hoping that the vending cart would make an appearance soon. He hadn’t eaten much at the mixer and he hadn’t had time to snag something at the airport.
His eyes fell on Yoo Joonghyuk’s lap. A familiar book rested there, waiting to be opened. Annoyed, Kim Dokja glanced away.
“Why do you hate it when I read this?”
The voice made a muscle jump in his leg. Yoo Joonghyuk was watching him now. Kim Dokja opened his mouth.
“Don’t say you don’t hate it,” Yoo Joonghyuk said, contemptuous.
Kim Dokja closed his mouth. He glared.
“You said I could borrow it,” Yoo Joonghyuk reminded him.
“And now you have it. Is it an illuminating read?”
Yoo Joonghyuk ignored the sarcasm.
“You don’t like when I read it in front of you.”
“I dislike the whole thing, Yoo Joonghyuk.”
“The syndrome?”
Hello, had he stuttered? An insult was on the tip of Kim Dokja’s tongue. He stopped himself. He glanced between their seats. The curious gazes of two eavesdropping youngsters greeted him. Lee Hyunsung was also peeking at them around his magazine.
Lee Jihye ducked away as soon as Yoo Joonghyuk turned to glower at her. The trip to the airport seemed to have sobered her. Kim Namwoon was far more shameless.
“So are you two seriously soulmates?” he said. “Like, for real?”
“Yes,” Yoo Joonghyuk grunted.
The easy way he said it struck Kim Dokja dumb. Was he really… Couldn’t that jerk at least…
Fuck. Whatever. Apparently they were doing this.
“Wicked,” Kim Namwoon said, grinning.
On the contrary, Lee Jihye let out a high-pitched whine.
“I called you lame!” she exploded.
She launched herself out of her seat, her expression wild.
“I’m so, so sorry, Master! I didn’t mean to! It’s Ahjussi’s fault!”
Kim Dokja tried to restrain his laughter, but his shoulders shook. Kim Namwoon smacked his arm, cackling.
“Good job, Ahjussi.”
“Inside voice, Lee Jihye,” Yoo Joonghyuk said between his teeth as the other passengers turned disapproving faces toward her shouts.
“I’m really so sorry!!”
Kim Dokja usually liked Lee Hyunsung, but he found himself uncharitably glad for the man’s tendency to go tongue-tied when he was flustered. Kim Dokja would have strangled him if Lee Hyunsung hadn’t fallen silent out of embarrassment after his second fumbling attempt to congratulate them.
There was really no need to speak about this, alright? Kim Dokja could go his whole life without hearing another word on the subject.
The atmosphere in the cabin steadily got drowsy. One by one, people turned their lights off and received blankets from the attendants. Kim Dokja closed his eyes so they would stop straying toward Yoo Joonghyuk’s book.
He woke up an indeterminate amount of time later. Although he was certain that he had fallen asleep against the vibrating wall, he was now tilted the other way. It took him far too long to realize that his cheek was resting on Yoo Joonghyuk’s shoulder.
He jerked away. His move jostled the seats. Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes slit open. The look he gave him threatened violence.
![[ID: Art of Yoo Joonghyuk sitting with his arms crossed, and Kim Dokja asleep with his head on Yoo Joonghyuk's shoulder.]](https://imgur.com/sHS5W9n.png)
Art by Lemi
“S… sorry,” Kim Dokja whispered.
Had he woken him? Yoo Joonghyuk’s arms were crossed and he was slumped in his seat. His blinks were sluggish.
Kim Dokja surreptitiously rubbed his cheek. Thankfully, it didn’t look like he had drooled on Yoo Joonghyuk’s shirt.
The cabin was dark and silent. Kim Dokja rummaged in his pocket. His phone said it was 3 a.m., Toronto time. Yoo Joonghyuk grunted in protest at the glare of the screen. His large hand engulfed it.
“Sorry,” Kim Dokja said again. “Go back to sleep, Joonghyuk-ah.”
His words had the opposite effect to the one intended. Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes opened fully and watched him with startling intensity.
Belatedly, Kim Dokja’s tired brain caught up to what he had said. He bit his tongue hard enough for it to hurt. What an idiot. He had been making conscious efforts not to call Yoo Joonghyuk so familiarly.
“Sorry, Yoo Joonghyuk. I didn’t mean to…”
“Be quiet.”
The hoarse whisper made something shiver in his guts. Yoo Joonghyuk’s arm looped around his shoulders. Before he could stiffen, he was tucked back into the crook of Yoo Joonghyuk’s neck. His hand clenched around his phone. Yoo Joonghyuk leaned his head against his.
“Sleep,” Yoo Joonghyuk breathed.
He said nothing more. Kim Dokja waited, heart thundering in his chest, to be certain that Yoo Joonghyuk had drifted off so he could slip from his hold.
But he found his eyes closing of their own accord. Yoo Joonghyuk was warm and his shoulder was at the perfect height. Between one blink and the next, he fell asleep.
Notes:
(I hope all of you wishing for bed sharing in the past few chapters will accept this as a substitute. <3)
Chapter Text
“It will be a formative experience!” Yeah, right.
As Kim Dokja zoned out staring at the elevator’s shiny buttons, he finally understood the real reason Uriel had sent him on that trip in her stead. The jet lag was hitting him hard. To think he still had to go through work today before he could spend the weekend starfished on his bed… She had played her cards well.
“I was hoodwinked,” he remarked to the empty cabin.
It was said with good humor, though. He could never stay angry at Uriel.
The doors opened on Transcendence’s floor. He blinked. Speak of the devil-like angel and she shall appear. Uriel was talking with Lee Jihye in the lobby.
“Morning,” he said as he stepped out. “Uriel-ssi, my apologies. It seems that I was so tired this morning I forgot to get you coffee while I was getting mine.”
He was only teasing her a bit, so he was surprised when she whipped around to him, looking like a deer caught in headlights.
“Dokja-ssi, good morning!” she said loudly. “That’s quite alright! How… how was your trip?”
She went back to Lee Jihye without waiting for his answer.
“Thank you for keeping me informed, Jihye! Let’s talk some more about this later, alright?”
The girl was staring at Kim Dokja in a rather unsettling manner.
“Sure thing, Unni,” she said, and walked away with her eyes still on him.
She only stopped gawking when she bumped into a corner. Uriel smiled at Kim Dokja.
“Shall we get to work then?” she said brightly. “Dokja-ssi must have a lot to tell me!”
He followed her to their office, his stomach contracting with a feeling of doom.
He hadn’t forgotten about what had been revealed the previous day, per se. Nor had he expected that Lee Jihye and Kim Namwoon would keep quiet about such a juicy piece of gossip. But he had hoped that the only one to care would be Namgung Minyoung. It was disheartening to have his dreams dashed so early in the morning.
Uriel pointedly didn’t bring up the subject of his soulbond with Yoo Joonghyuk. They had enough work in the wake of the trip to keep them occupied the entire day, but it didn’t prevent a strange awkwardness from looming over them.
Kim Dokja felt restless. What was the problem, exactly? Had she realized that he hadn’t been completely honest with her during their first meeting? Did she resent it? It was difficult to apologize if she didn’t address the matter first.
As uncomfortable as the atmosphere in their office was, the rest of the company was worse. It was a Saturday, so only the staff that followed Team 999’s schedule was at work. The news spread so quickly that when Kim Dokja emerged for his break, every employee he saw stared at him.
It was no surprise when someone finally appeared at his desk to inform him that he was being summoned by the president.
What was surprising was that the gopher turned out to be their daily operations director in person.
Kim Dokja raised his eyebrows at Kyrgios. He hadn’t even known this guy was on the Tuesday-Saturday schedule. Nevertheless, he followed him without comment.
Kyrgios let them in Namgung Minyoung’s office. She was sitting in an intimidatingly big chair, Master poised at her feet like an ominous guard dog. Frankly, Namgung Minyoung looked like a mafia boss. But the effect was lost on Kim Dokja, who still couldn’t get over the fact that their CEO took her dog to work. Who did that?
“Ah, there you are,” she said with an ominous glint in her eye. “Thank you, Kyrgios.”
It was an obvious dismissal. Yet Kyrgios, once again taking Kim Dokja aback, glared at her and didn’t move.
“I saw that interview with Yoo Joonghyuk and the Zarathustra woman,” he told Kim Dokja, abrupt. “Was there really a need to antagonize her?”
“Uriel-ssi seems satisfied with the way Yoo Joonghyuk handled himself,” Kim Dokja said, brandishing humility like a shield.
“Uriel,” Kyrgios said darkly. “She can advise on censoring oneself the day she gets rid of that potty mouth.”
Kim Dokja didn’t quite manage to hold in a twitch of his lips. He wasn’t wrong. In fact, Kim Dokja had been counting on her personality to obtain her approval.
“Kyrgios…” Namgung Minyoung tried again.
“What’s wrong,” he all but barked. “We’re here to talk about work, aren’t we.”
It took Kim Dokja a fair amount of effort to keep his face blank.
Kyrgios was probably just annoyed that personal issues were starting to take too much space in his office, but the backup was both unexpected and welcome.
It was clear that Namgung Minyoung hadn’t seen his warning coming either.
“I thought the interview was perfectly fine,” she said after a long moment.
“Of course you did,” he scoffed, and Kim Dokja fought back a smile again. They both knew that Namgung Minyoung would never resent Yoo Joonghyuk speaking his truth there. “Then you’ve got no problem with his work, have you?”
Startled, Namgung Minyoung and Kim Dokja met eyes. If pressed, Kim Dokja wouldn’t deny that he had coached Yoo Joonghyuk for the interview. It was his job to take responsibility for these things.
But Namgung Minyoung didn’t ask. She grimaced. Feeling her owner relax, Master gave up her stiff stance and flopped on her side with a whuf.
“You won’t disappear again?” Namgung Minyoung said reluctantly.
“Unless President-nim fires me,” he retorted cheekily. Then, feeling somewhat compelled to match the spirit of concession she was displaying, he added: “He has my number now.”
She sighed.
“I wish you’d explain. Why come now? Why not a year ago?”
Kim Dokja’s heart gave one harsh thud in his chest.
“I don’t believe it’s President-nim’s business.”
“No,” Kyrgios agreed. “And we’re done here. Get back to work.”
He bodily turned Kim Dokja around. Namgung Minyoung admitted her defeat with a fatalistic hand gesture, which, if anything, was all the proof Kim Dokja needed that these two were closer than husband and wife. Bemused, Kim Dokja let himself be expelled from the room. The door slammed shut behind him.
All in all, the soulmate revelation sent more tongues wagging than he had hoped, but had less of an effect than he had feared. People like Jang Hayoung and Gabriel went out of their way to tease him about it, but the majority of the employees simply smiled at him in the corridors like he was some delightful novelty.
Lee Hyunsung cornered him in the bathroom the following week to apologize for his behavior.
“I hope it doesn’t look like I’m ill at ease because of Dokja-ssi,” he said with a sheepish bow. “I was really surprised when Jihye told me. I have never met anyone’s soulmate before, you see. My family is pretty conservative about them.”
Based on Kim Dokja’s own military experience, he would guess that Lee Hyunsung’s stint in the forces hadn’t helped.
“It’s fine,” Kim Dokja said. “Really, you can just treat me like I’m Yoo Joonghyuk’s distant cousin or something.”
And please let him get out of the toilet.
Lee Hyunsung beamed.
“That makes sense. It’s a bit like a family member, right? Thank you for being understanding, Dokja-ssi.”
Kim Dokja didn’t feel very understanding. He wished that everyone would forget about this already. Why had Yoo Joonghyuk decided to open his big mouth? That had been completely unnecessary. The least the jerk could do was keep his distance and not make matters worse.
His store-bought kimbap was yanked out of his hands and launched into the garbage bin. Kim Dokja stared blankly at Yoo Joonghyuk.
“I bought that,” he gritted out.
“Stop eating trash.”
Yoo Joonghyuk dropped a lunch box on the table. When all Kim Dokja did was look at it, Yoo Joonghyuk frowned and pushed it into his chest. Kim Dokja’s hands closed around it on reflex. His anger fizzled out. It was replaced by a pit in his stomach.
“Yoo Joonghyuk,” he said, his lips numb. “Would you mind not feeding the rumors?”
“I’m feeding you,” Yoo Joonghyuk said, sitting in front of him with his own meal. “Eat.”
This… That was…
Yoo Joonghyuk only cooked lunch boxes for the people he deemed important in his life. Even Lee Seolhwa had had to wait two months into their relationship before Yoo Joonghyuk started packing lunch for her.
Kim Dokja must have been coming down with something. His throat was so tight that he found himself unable to finish the whole box. Yoo Joonghyuk watched him, his expression unreadable.
“Mind if I take the leftovers home?” Kim Dokja said meekly.
Yoo Joonghyuk looked away.
“Just bring the box back tomorrow.”
“Ahjussi.”
Kim Dokja stopped.
“Oh hey,” he said, smiling at the young woman jogging toward him through the subway crowd. “Morning, Lee Jihye. Running late?”
“If I’m late, what does that make you?”
“I’d say Uriel-ssi is a more permissive boss than Yoo Joonghyuk,” he said, unconcerned.
“You’re just lazy,” Lee Jihye grumbled.
He shrugged. They made their way through the station and up the stairs to the street.
Once the greetings were out of the way, the air between them turned uncomfortable. Since she had learned the truth, Lee Jihye no longer seemed to know how to treat him. Kim Dokja rubbed at his neck. He actually preferred her previous animosity to this indecisiveness of hers. There was something to be said about Kim Namwoon’s brashness. He was the only member of the team who had taken the soulbond in stride.
Halfway down the street, Lee Jihye visibly gathered her courage.
“Ahjussi!”
“Hmm?”
“What are your intentions toward Master?”
He looked down at her blazing eyes.
“… What?” he said.
Did she hear herself when she talked? Did their situation look like a Jane Austen novel to her?
“You showed up so suddenly. Are you trying to take advantage of Master’s vulnerability after his divorce? He has other options in his life, you know!”
Kim Dokja put a hand up to slow her down, overwhelmed by the use of the word “vulnerability” in a conversation about Yoo Joonghyuk.
“Wait, wait, what are you picturing here? Isn’t your imagination running too far?”
Lee Jihye clutched the strap of her backpack.
“I just want the best for Master,” she said, looking conflicted. “He’s a good person. He did a lot for me.”
Kim Dokja dared to put his hand on her shoulder.
“I want the best for him too.”
“Really?” she said, squinting at him suspiciously.
“Lee Jihye. He’s my soulmate.”
The words mellowed her down.
“Just making sure,” she muttered.
He patted her shoulder and let go.
“I’m just here to support him. That’s all.”
She scoffed and tossed her hair, shedding the emotional tone of the conversation.
“Well, do what you want. It’s not like Master needs you or anything. He was fine before you came along.”
“Sure.”
“… Is it true he cooks for you now?”
“Are you jealous?”
“I could stab you for that food, Ahjussi.”
“I’m not sharing.”
The day of the release of the World Championship’s trailer video came. Most of Transcendence’s employees gathered in the media room to watch it.
It was an energetic montage with catchy music and handsome shots of every team competing. Yoo Joonghyuk appeared on a velvet background, his glare chill-inducing and a fur-lined cape thrown over his shoulders; the symbol of a golden crown gleamed over his head. Lee Hyunsung came next, flexing one of his biceps in a valiant pose as a silver sword gleamed behind him. Lee Jihye was grinning against a backdrop of tempestuous sea, and Kim Namwoon followed with his wild snarl and the stylized wings on his back. [Supreme King], [Steel Sword], [Ghost Fleet] and [Delusional Demon] in their full glory.
Everyone clapped when it was over. Namgung Minyoung nodded in satisfaction.
“Bravo! Bravo!” Uriel acclaimed, delighted.
Yoo Joonghyuk was standing, arms crossed, next to Kim Dokja’s seat. Kim Dokja couldn’t resist nudging him.
“Look at you, didn’t you perform well for the fans in the end?” he teased. “Teenage girls could put up a poster of this in their rooms.”
“Be quiet,” he scoffed.
“You were complaining so much about that cape, but it turned out pretty good.”
“I didn’t complain.”
“Right. So you were glaring at the camera because you were so happy to be there?”
A large hand landed on his head and forced his neck to bow.
“Be quiet, Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk repeated, stressing every word with a push.
“Are you bullying the minion, Captain?” Kim Namwoon said, grinning.
“Would that count as spousal abuse?” Jang Hayoung mused. “Or, wait. Soul, spirit… spiritual abuse?”
“What the hell is that?”
People laughed. Kim Dokja freed himself from Yoo Joonghyuk’s grip, embarrassed. He shouldn’t have started this with an audience.
Yoo Joonghyuk was far more relaxed around him lately; he no longer tensed when a text message alerted him to a fulguration, and when he entered a room where Kim Dokja was already present, he often sought a position nearby. Since he clearly didn’t care what people thought, it was up to Kim Dokja to ensure that they presented a professional front. Not… this.
At least Kyrgios had ignored their squabbling and Namgung Minyoung was smiling.
Uriel, though… she looked troubled as she watched them. It made a weight drop into his stomach.
Kim Dokja got to his feet and excused himself, pretexting an urgent need for a cup of water.
But luck wasn’t on his side. As the rest of the Transcendence staff dispersed, Team 999 amiably followed him to the break room. At the back of the group, Uriel was deep into another conversation with Lee Jihye. They looked solemn, but Kim Namwoon was monologuing loudly about the trailer and the upcoming championship, preventing Kim Dokja from hearing what they were talking about.
Kim Dokja made a beeline for the water cooler and got himself that drink, trying to ignore the two women. Yoo Joonghyuk detached himself from the conversation of his male teammates. He approached him, his brow furrowed.
“Kim Dokja.”
“What is it?”
“Do you have any allergy?”
That startled Kim Dokja into a laugh.
“Are you only asking now? What if you had poisoned me earlier, huh, Joonghyuk-ah?”
Ah. He was doing it again. It was really too hard not to tease Yoo Joonghyuk now that the guy had mellowed out.
“I realized that I don’t trust you to tell me on your own if you have any,” Yoo Joonghyuk said darkly.
“Hey…”
“Allergies?” Yoo Joonghyuk cut him off.
“None,” Kim Dokja said with an annoyed smile.
“Food you don’t eat?”
“Tomatoes.”
Yoo Joonghyuk nodded. He took his phone out to make a note of it, which was the point where Kim Dokja’s chest got so tight that he had to avert his eyes from him.
“Don’t you think so, Joonghyuk-ssi?” Uriel asked suddenly.
Yoo Joonghyuk looked askance at her strained smile.
“What?”
“Aren’t you worried too? About Demon King of Salvation.”
Kim Dokja nearly choked on his water.
“This again,” Yoo Joonghyuk said, frowning at Lee Jihye.
The girl kicked at the ground.
“It’s just, he has never been gone that long…” she said.
It was true that it had been a while. Kim Dokja had been with Transcendence Gaming for a couple of months at this point. He could hardly believe that time had passed so quickly.
Of course he’d like to go back to watching the streams. The problem was, he worked during them now. Uriel watched them on her work computer, but being Yoo Joonghyuk’s mod was part of her job. If Kim Dokja tried to join, he ran the risk of her catching him in the act. That would be unprofessional. And what if she saw a glimpse of the username on his screen?
“He was gone much longer once,” Yoo Joonghyuk disagreed. “And he gave notice this time. You worry for nothing. That guy is crafty. Whatever he’s doing, he’s fine.”
“Are you talking about Captain’s mod?” Lee Hyunsung said.
“Hyung, you’re never on Captain’s streams,” Kim Namwoon said to him. “You should join in sometimes.”
“Maybe I will,” Lee Hyunsung replied, smiling. “You guys are always talking about that Demon King person. They sound fun.”
“Demon King is a very fun person!” Uriel agreed enthusiastically. “And very nice, and very loyal to Joonghyuk-ssi.”
To Kim Dokja’s surprise, Lee Jihye nodded with energy.
He felt touched. Did the team really talk about [demonkingofsalvation] so often? He hadn’t even thought Lee Jihye liked that Internet ahjussi of hers.
“He’s been your companion for a very long time, right, Joonghyuk-ssi?” Uriel said. “Don’t you miss him?”
Yoo Joonghyuk looked away.
“He’ll be back,” he said.
Despite his dismissive words, his jaw was taut. Maybe he was thinking of those eighteen months when [demonkingofsalvation] did his military service. Thinking of that time of his life himself, Kim Dokja found that he wasn’t eager to repeat it. The streams… they were fun. He should really find a way to go back to them.
“Aren’t you playing a bit too hard to get?” Lee Jihye muttered to Yoo Joonghyuk’s shoes, pouting.
Uriel elbowed her. Seeing the both of them so obviously dissatisfied with the conversation, Kim Dokja opened his mouth.
“Didn’t he say some stuff had changed in his life? Maybe he got married or had a kid.” Much as he hated bringing it up, a lot of his age-mates were at that point in their lives. His busybody of a neighbor certainly liked to ask him when he would find a wife and start churning out babies. “He might need a bit more time to get settled.”
“You know about DK, Ahjussi?” Kim Namwoon said.
For some reason, Uriel beamed at Yoo Joonghyuk.
“Did Joonghyuk-ssi tell you about him, Dokja-ssi?”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s shoulders tensed. He stared at the wall behind Kim Namwoon, apparently deep in thought.
Shit. Kim Dokja hadn’t been too obvious, had he? He reviewed his words, but nothing he had said sounded suspicious.
“I just watch the streams sometimes. I told you I followed Yoo Joonghyuk’s career, didn’t I, Uriel-ssi?”
“Oh! Right,” she said, flustered.
She knew why he had done that, now.
“You did?” Lee Jihye said. “So you were stalking him before you got here?”
“What’s wrong with following your soulmate’s career, exactly?”
“If even Dokja-ssi watches the streams, I guess I really have to take a look,” Lee Hyunsung said.
Kim Dokja should change the subject before they all tried to turn this into a viewing party. Or should he create a new Star Stream account to back up his claims? The best thing to do might be to retire [demonkingofsalvation] and come back with another online persona… but the thought made his heart sink. He had gotten attached to this one.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s gaze swiveled. It bored into his temple.
“You said you used to work for Mino Soft?”
Kim Dokja blinked at the non sequitur.
“Yes?” he said, bemused.
“When?” Yoo Joonghyuk asked.
Alarms blared in Kim Dokja’s head. He didn’t know what Yoo Joonghyuk was fishing for, but he was disinclined to give it to him.
“A few years ago,” he said vaguely.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes narrowed. Kim Dokja felt himself start to sweat. He shored up his mental defenses. He couldn’t afford a fulguration now. If he worked at it on top of the PSI Syndrome… The damn syndrome had to be good for something, right?
“Master?” Lee Jihye said when the silence prolonged itself.
“Since you’re a manager,” Yoo Joonghyuk said slowly, “you should get moderating rights on the streaming channel. What’s your account?”
Oh, the utter bastard.
The cup of water threatened to slip from Kim Dokja’s sweaty palm.
Yoo Joonghyuk had dragged his feet for months before allowing Uriel moderating rights. Just two weeks ago, he had ignored Kim Namwoon when the guy had suggested appointing new mods. This wasn’t a show of trust, this was Yoo Joonghyuk attempting to confirm a theory.
How could Yoo Joonghyuk already suspect? Kim Dokja had been so careful. [demonkingofsalvation] had never hidden that he was Korean and a man, and his age range could be estimated from the year he had done his military service, but that was the extent of the personal information he had given in the chatroom. Should Kim Dokja have kept his mouth shut today? Wouldn’t silence have sounded even more suspicious when everyone else was participating in the conversation?
“Ah! Wait!” Uriel exclaimed. “Joonghyuk-ssi, please wait until Demon King is back before naming a new mod!”
“He’s the one who’s not here to do his job.”
Kim Dokja bit his tongue not to remind Yoo Joonghyuk that he was not being paid for this.
“But wouldn’t it be bad if he thought you were replacing him?” Uriel argued. “You can’t play with people’s feelings this way, Joonghyuk-ssi.”
“Yeah, Master. You should be more considerate! What if Demon King doesn’t come back because of you?”
Yoo Joonghyuk looked at them in incredulity, then at Kim Dokja in outrage. Kim Dokja didn’t let himself react.
The door of the break room opened.
“Are you all still lazing about?” Namgung Minyoung said. “Hop back to training! We have a lot to work on before the championship.”
Yoo Joonghyuk tsked, but he couldn’t disobey an order from her. He trudged out with the others, his stare burning into Kim Dokja until he disappeared in the corridor.
“You are the dumbest person I have ever met,” Han Sooyoung said.
She sounded admiring.
“Shut up.”
Morose, Kim Dokja sucked on the lemon candy in his mouth and threw the wrapping into a trash can as they passed by it.
“It has to be pure talent,” she insisted. “Who the hell hides something from their soulmate?”
Kim Dokja bit on the candy.
He knew, okay?
If there was one thing that every media, every first-hand account and every piece of common wisdom could agree on about soulmates, it was that keeping secrets from yours was an exercise in futility. Since there was no way to tell when a fulguration would occur, they would naturally see things you didn’t want them to see. You could take steps to lower the risk, but you couldn’t erase it. Talk shows on TV were full of people bemoaning the impossibility of throwing surprise parties or popping the big question unexpectedly on their other half. In a soulmate couple, affairs weren’t even worth mentioning.
“I have the syndrome.”
“Yeah? So he still hasn’t gotten any fulguration from you?”
The candy split in two with an audible crack. When he didn’t answer, Han Sooyoung stared at him like one would look at a puppy peeing on a carpet.
“You know this should be a good thing, right?” she said. “Nature is healing and all that?”
“You’re not helping.”
“How am I supposed to help, exactly? You’re digging yourself deeper so enthusiastically, should I throw you a shovel?”
Kim Dokja hunched his shoulders against a chilly wind. Summer was coming in slowly this year, and the trees dotting the bank of the canal were shielding them from the sun. A group of children were chasing each other with happy cries. At least they were keeping warm.
“Seriously,” Han Sooyoung said, still watching him. “Why don’t you just tell him? He kept you as a mod all this time, he can’t dislike you that much.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
It would probably be better to tell Yoo Joonghyuk rather than risk him figuring it out on his own, right? It was just an online username, nothing that should create that much anxiety.
Kim Dokja’s teeth ground the candy into sweet-tasting dust. If he had hoped that Han Sooyoung would lose patience and change the subject, he was disappointed.
“He’d be angry,” he finally said.
He would have every right to be. Kim Dokja had been poking his nose into his soulmate’s life for years, talking to him without ever revealing who he was.
Back then, he used to soothe himself with the thought that Yoo Joonghyuk had probably long guessed that the other half of his soul was behind the username [demonkingofsalvation]. How else would a random stranger on the Internet have known so many things about him?
But Yoo Joonghyuk hadn’t even known he existed. Thus Kim Dokja’s only defense was revealed for what it was: a lie he had told himself to excuse his own actions.
Han Sooyoung snorted.
“And here I thought making people angry was your favorite hobby. You actually care about his feelings? What a lucky guy!”
“It’s not the same thing,” he muttered.
He had made Yoo Joonghyuk angry plenty of times before. But this was… it would be…
“Yeah, I know,” Han Sooyoung said.
Her tone was suddenly utterly sober. He tensed. Her eyes seemed to pierce right through him.
“You’re afraid he’ll cut you off,” she said.
He stopped walking.
Sometimes, there was nothing more hateful than knowing one person in his life saw him so clearly.
If Yoo Joonghyuk threw Kim Dokja out of his life, that was one thing. But if he turned his anger on both Kim Dokja and [demonkingofsalvation]? Especially now that Yoo Joonghyuk knew to keep a tight lid on the fulgurations?
If this happened… if Kim Dokja lost Yoo Joonghyuk entirely…
“You do care,” Han Sooyoung said, sounding wondering. “I can’t believe that guy has got you wrapped around his little finger and you never introduced me.”
“Han Sooyoung.”
Something in his voice or face made her relent. She punched his arm without strength.
“Hey, come on. Why are you immediately jumping to the worst-case scenario? He’s tied to you for life anyway. Like he could ignore you that long.”
“Reassuring,” he mumbled.
“Isn’t it? In any case, he can’t be too right in the head if he’s compatible with you,” she said, and her voice was nearly fond. “He’s already suspecting, so the idea can’t be that much of a shock.”
“Not reassuring.”
“You’re too picky. Fine, don’t listen to me. But let’s at least do something fun while you brood. You want to get ice cream?”
Kim Dokja did not want to get ice cream. Kim Dokja thought that no sane person should want to get ice cream in this weather. But he also knew better than to refuse Han Sooyoung’s sugar-spun olive branches, so he sighed and let himself be towed into the shop.
Whether it was [demonkingofsalvation] or “Kim Dokja”… he just wanted to stay this close to Yoo Joonghyuk. Was it too much to ask?
“Reader, get online.”
Kim Dokja only refrained from hitting his head on the desk because of his location.
[👑a_reader] Can’t. I’m at work
“You’re watching this at work again?” Yoo Joonghyuk said, his expression judgmental.
[👑a_reader] Says the guy who plays video games all day.
reader #1 model employee
[reaching_nirvana] This seems a little sloppy on your part, reader, don’t you think?
[mass_production_maker] Boss makes a dollar, I make a dime. That’s why I watch streams on company time
[👑a_reader] MPM gets it
[👑a_reader] Wait, why are you the one who gets it? You’re one of yjh’s top three donors
[mass_production_maker] *takes a bow*
speaking of people making a bid for the top three
Kim Dokja wrinkled his nose. He must have accidentally cursed Yoo Joonghyuk when he talked about Nirvana during that first stream. Now that Yoo Joonghyuk’s Star Stream channel was reasonably big, Nirvana had found it. Kim Dokja didn’t know why they were so obsessed, but they had been hounding Yoo Joonghyuk about a collab for weeks.
Yoo Joonghyuk ignored the very obvious flashing message.
“Reader, what’s wrong.”
Kim Dokja’s hands froze on his keyboard. Were it not for the total absence of an interrogative tilt at the end of that sentence, one could nearly have assumed this was a show of concern. Why, though?
[👑a_reader] Nothing’s wrong?
Yoo Joonghyuk gave a long look at his camera. Kim Dokja’s heart beat harder in his chest.
Had he sounded more cynical than usual? More listless? The truth was that these were Kim Dokja’s last weeks in Mino Soft. His contract wasn’t set to be renewed, and he still hadn’t found a new job. All his free time lately was spent writing applications. Han Sooyoung kept saying that she’d employ him as her editor if all else failed, but she wasn’t earning so much money that she could make that kind of promise.
Yoo Joonghyuk looked away.
“You’re playing with me on Saturday’s stream, Reader.”
Again? This was the third time. Wasn’t Yoo Joonghyuk getting on just fine with his Zarathustra teammates now?
Wait a minute… Kim Dokja did a double take at his calendar.
[👑a_reader] You can’t be serious.
[asmodeus] oh this is going to be good
[👑a_reader] For the Valentine’s Day scenario, yjh? Seriously?
[asmodeus] cant wait to watch you two idiots holding hands to eradicate cherubs lmfao
“What,” Yoo Joonghyuk said flatly.
Kim Dokja fought the urge to slap a hand to his face.
[👑a_reader] Don’t you have a girlfriend these days?
[reaching_nirvana] He does?!
Yoo Joonghyuk narrowed suspicious eyes at the chat.
“She doesn’t play.”
[👑a_reader] So I get to be your side piece for Valentine’s Day? Goody.
[persephone] Poor reader. This sounds like a toxic relationship.
[👑a_reader] Persephone also gets me. See, yjh? Can’t you be more understanding of your companion through life and death?
The nature of the event did explain why Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t feel like going through the awkwardness of asking his female teammates to partner up. Still, common sense demanded that Kim Dokja spend his entire weekend working on his job applications. If he worked hard enough, maybe he’d reward himself with a discounted cake from the store for his birthday on Sunday. Han Sooyoung wouldn’t be free before Monday to celebrate it with him.
On Saturday, Kim Dokja opened his eyes to his small and empty apartment. He pictured two days of it remaining small and empty. He pictured a single piece of cake on his kitchen table.
He was reminded so viscerally of his highschool days he felt sixteen again.
He logged in on WoS.
[[IB Supreme King] has agreed to your party request!]
> Dem.n King .f Salvati.n: Good afternoon
> Dem.n King .f Salvati.n: Why are there so many people connected on the stream?
> Dem.n King .f Salvati.n: It can’t be that interesting to watch two heterosexual men go through a couple scenario
Had [asmodeus] or [flyingfox] plugged this stream somewhere? There were a lot of new Star Stream users. The chat was so active that his messages would get lost if he tried to talk through it. He would just keep an eye on it on his phone and communicate with Yoo Joonghyuk through the game chat.
“You should use a mic,” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
> Dem.n King .f Salvati.n: Absolutely not.
And have Yoo Joonghyuk hear his voice? Have the entire Internet hear his voice? Not in a million years.
“Fine. You must be a squid with the speed you type at, anyway.”
lmao this is already off to a great start
[demonic_judge_of_fire_] （⊙ｏ⊙）
[demonic_judge_of_fire_] squid... cute... 😳
On the stream, Yoo Joonghyuk opened [Dem.n King .f Salvati.n]’s profile.
“You did grind,” he said, sounding darkly satisfied.
> Dem.n King .f Salvati.n: No, I didn’t.
Who had the time to grind video games when they could be reading webnovels?
Yoo Joonghyuk frowned.
“You gained thirty levels since last time.”
Yes, because even if Yoo Joonghyuk was using his new alt instead of his main account when they played together, his level was rising so fast it had been making Kim Dokja feel insecure. Something had had to be done.
> Dem.n King .f Salvati.n: I’ll remind you that if you’re rich and underleveled enough, you can just pay coins to level up.
There was a silence as Yoo Joonghyuk visibly calculated the insane amount of game coins one would need to level up thirty times in a row. WoS wasn’t a game where you could buy coins with real money either.
...
[persephone] ...
[mass_production_maker] ...
[masterofparadise] ...
[asmodeus] ...
Before Kim Dokja could complain about the peanut gallery, the chat was buried under questions from other users.
[mass_production_maker] Lol, you guys aren’t used to our Demon King yet, huh
The chaos only doubled at the next message to pop up:
Kim Dokja huffed. Yes, he knew. And he had very ostensibly been ignoring their messages.
Too many Mino Soft employees watched Yoo Joonghyuk’s streams these days. Kim Dokja wasn’t talking to a colleague on his day off. How about they took care of his official bug reports instead of hounding a stranger on the Internet?
The stream continued. Like the last two times they had teamed up, Kim Dokja was content to plant himself in a corner of each room and provide a steady fire of commentary while [IB Supreme King] mowed down all the enemies on his own.
> Dem.n King .f Salvati.n: Do you mind if I take that ‘sexy devil horns’ equipment? I think it would really work with my look.
“You don’t have a look.”
> Dem.n King .f Salvati.n: That’s mean, yjh. You’re a lousy date.
Watching two heterosexual men go through a couple scenario must have been riveting after all, because the replay video went viral. Kim Dokja couldn’t claim he understood the Internet’s tastes.
People at the office started talking about [Dem.n King .f Salvati.n].
The first time he heard his username spoken in the break room, Kim Dokja was appalled. Nobody knew [Dem.n King .f Salvati.n]’s identity, but irrationally, it felt like a breach of privacy. He kept his head down and gritted his teeth. Suddenly it seemed like everyone was bringing the topic up.
Yet bafflingly, the tone was always positive. The opinion of Mino Soft’s employees on [Dem.n King .f Salvati.n] was that he was a fun and smart person.
“He would be a good QA tech,” Deputy Yoon said one day, to a chorus of entertained agreement from the rest of their team.
Deputy Yoon noticed Kim Dokja staring at him.
“What?” Deputy Yoon said.
‘How about you say that to HR so they sign my renewal?’ Kim Dokja thought.
“Nothing.”
Morbidly curious, he eventually answered his Star Stream private messages.
No sooner had [a_reader] provided a full description of the username bug that it was corrected with an alacrity Kim Dokja had never seen on his professional reports. Mino Soft even kindly changed his WoS username to [Demon King of Salvation] as thanks, despite the fact that it breached the game’s length limit.
When they went as far as to offer to intervene with Star Stream to allow him to change his name there so he could match between the two platforms, he finally got it.
Ah. It was a PR stunt. They were trying to capitalize on Yoo Joonghyuk’s notoriety.
Dark humor rose in him. He had no doubt that if he sold his identity to Mino Soft at this point, they would keep him on board just so they could parade him on their social accounts. He could get his contract renewed.
But another company had finally followed up on his application.
Revenge that nobody but him could see was still revenge. Yoo Sangah didn’t seem to understand why he was so cheery, but when the time came, he strode out the door with a smile.
“Demon King. You’re good?” Yoo Joonghyuk asked in his next stream.
[👑demonkingofsalvation] Never better.
Kim Dokja stayed on his guard the next few days, but the topic of [demonkingofsalvation] didn’t come up again in Transcendence.
The Ways of Survival World Championship loomed ever closer. Training for Team 999 had reached a feverish intensity. Their breaks were short and they were no longer going home early, instead often leaving the office even after Jang Hayoung’s team.
Namgung Minyoung was in the room with them all the time now, coaching and making sure that they weren’t taking it too far. More than once, Kim Dokja saw her kick the team out of the office as he was heading home himself.
Yoo Joonghyuk was the one pushing them the hardest. Lee Hyunsung, Lee Jihye and Kim Namwoon took it with equanimity, eager to meet his expectations. Uriel was also cheerfully encouraging about it.
“I like Joonghyuk-ssi’s attitude lately. He is ready to bring the trophy home!” she said. “He’ll definitely show the world that last year was only an accident. Don’t you think so, Dokja-ssi?”
Kim Dokja hummed, noncommittal.
One morning, he entered the lobby to a commotion happening near the sports room. A few salarymen from other floors glanced nervously in that direction. They piled into the elevator as soon as it came and stabbed at the buttons. Kim Dokja didn’t bother running to try to catch the cabin before it left. Instead, he approached the two muscular figures fighting at the back of the lobby.
Frankly, it wasn’t much of a fight. Namgung Minyoung had Yoo Joonghyuk in a stranglehold. Despite his struggles, all he was managing so far was to escape the hand reaching for his arms.
“Should I put you over my knee?” she said.
There was nothing teasing about her demeanor today. Her face was dark.
“Let go,” Yoo Joonghyuk snapped.
“I won’t tolerate a disciple of mine being such a fool!” She finally caught one of his wrists. “Look! Do you even see what you have done?”
She shook the hand before his eyes. His knuckles were red and looked inflamed. He was in sportswear and breathing hard. Even if Kim Dokja hadn’t seen it happen himself, it would have been obvious that he had gone overboard on the punching bag.
Namgung Minyoung was right. This was one of the stupidest things Yoo Joonghyuk could do with the championship so close. His hands were his work tools.
Yoo Joonghyuk stubbornly averted his eyes. They fell on Kim Dokja. He stiffened.
“Allow me,” Kim Dokja said to Namgung Minyoung.
He dug into his satchel, producing the salve he had just bought. Namgung Minyoung blinked, but thrust Yoo Joonghyuk’s hand toward him.
“Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk ground out.
Kim Dokja spread the paste over the abrasions with brisk efficiency, earning himself a hiss.
“I did warn you fair and square that I was watching, Yoo Joonghyuk,” he said, blank-faced. “You’re the one who ignored my message.”
Because closing the fulguration would have required interrupting his rampage. That was what Kim Dokja had been counting on, and what Yoo Joonghyuk had known he was counting on.
‘Butt out,’ Yoo Joonghyuk had thought viciously, and had kept on his path to self-destruction.
Kim Dokja finished with one hand, caught the other one and unwound the boxing wrap that had already come half undone.
“Is it still ongoing?” Yoo Joonghyuk grated.
“No.”
Once both hands had been treated, Yoo Joonghyuk shrugged off Namgung Minyoung’s grip and strode back toward the showers. They watched him go.
Namgung Minyoung shoved her phone at Kim Dokja.
“Call me next time.”
He obediently saved her contact information.
Their eyes met.
Everyone in the office thought that Yoo Joonghyuk’s increasingly short temper and sudden workaholism were signs of his will to redeem himself after his defeat in the previous championship. They alone knew better.
Namgung Minyoung’s expression was complicated.
“Nine days to go,” she said, grim.
Kim Dokja nodded.
“I’ll stay and make sure he doesn’t sneak a few more hits,” Namgung Minyoung said.
He handed her the salve.
“I’ll tell the rest of the team you’ll be there shortly.”
They could only keep watch, and hope that the incoming storm wouldn’t hit too hard.
Chapter 10
Notes:
There is a slight Content Warning for this chapter, please check the end of chapter notes for its nature.
Also, observant readers will have noticed that the chapter count has gone up by 1. There are still four chapters and an epilogue left. (Never mind that it's a Big Bang fic and it's supposed to be finished, nooo, I'm still fiddling enough with it to add chapters 😭) (Do make sure to check the other fics in the Story Time Big Bang collection above, by the way!)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
There was a day marked in gray on Kim Dokja’s phone calendar.
The text field was blank. It was just a solid block of gray in the middle of a week.
One year ago, that day had fallen right between the second qualifier round of the WoS championship and the finals. But the championship’s schedule had moved around a bit, and this year the gray day was set to land just before the second qualifier round started.
Was it better this way? Was it worse? Kim Dokja didn’t know. This was new territory and he couldn’t predict how badly Yoo Joonghyuk would react.
The first qualifier round began. All over the world, those teams who had once gathered in friendship in Toronto logged in for a ruthless series of battles. Team 999 spent two days holed up in their room. Employees tiptoed past their door. Only Namgung Minyoung and Han Donghoon were in and out, the latter constantly muttering to himself about bandwidth and equipment performance. The break room was empty the whole time, people instead gathering in the media room where the screen was always tuned to the competition feed.
Team 999 emerged victorious. The office gave a unanimous cheer. Uriel clapped with delight and made noise about organizing a quick party.
“We haven’t won the title yet,” was Yoo Joonghyuk’s bleak answer.
He turned his back on them and dragged his teammates right back to training. There were splutters and surprised laughter behind him.
Namgung Minyoung sent Kim Dokja a tired look and trailed after her athletes.
“You can review the last matches, then you’re resting whether you want to or not,” Kim Dokja heard her say.
“Dokja-ssi…” Uriel said.
“Yes?”
“Does it seem to you…” Uriel faltered. “Ah, no. It’s nothing.”
Her expression was uneasy. It looked like she had finally realized that something was amiss. But she didn’t bring up the subject, and Kim Dokja let the conversation die.
Days passed. The block of gray on Kim Dokja’s calendar loomed ever closer.
Although Kim Dokja did his best to act like normal, by the time it was the afternoon before the gray day, he had trouble focusing on his tasks. He hadn’t received a fulguration in a while. He wished one would come so he had a better idea of what was going on in Yoo Joonghyuk’s head.
Over at her desk, Uriel swore softly. She stabbed at her keyboard’s backspace key with a frown. It seemed she wasn’t faring any better than him today. Was he distracting her? It was hard to hide his mood when they worked so closely.
He was about to offer a coffee run to energize them both, and hopefully clear his mind, when their door slammed open. Namgung Minyoung swept in, her usually tan skin two shades too pale.
“My idiot dog ate something she shouldn’t have,” she told Kim Dokja. “I need to take her to the vet. You…”
“Go,” Kim Dokja said, already getting up. “I’ll keep an eye out.”
She was out as fast as she had come in. He made to follow her, but Uriel called his name. She got to her feet, twisting her hands in anxiety.
“Is there anything I can do?” she said.
He managed a smile for her.
“It’s probably nothing. But I’ll have to trouble you with handing in that report late…”
She was waving him out of the door before he had even finished speaking. He felt a wave of fondness for her. None of his previous supervisors would ever have let him get off that easily.
When he reached the training room, Namgung Minyoung was bundling her huge dog into her arms like she weighed nothing. Master listlessly laid her chin on her shoulder.
“I’ll try not to be gone for long,” Namgung Minyoung announced to the room. “Kim Dokja is in charge while I’m away.”
She was gone before Kim Namwoon could do more than open his mouth to question that. The young man threw Kim Dokja a surprised look instead.
“Are you secretly a professional coach, Ahjussi?”
“I’m just here to refill water bottles,” he said with a bland smile.
Yoo Joonghyuk was glaring at him. Kim Dokja took a seat in a corner and opened his webnovel app.
“Go ahead and ignore me.”
Lee Hyunsung, Lee Jihye and Kim Namwoon exchanged glances, but Yoo Joonghyuk was happy enough to take him at his word. Training resumed.
Hours passed. Namgung Minyoung sent Kim Dokja the occasional update on her situation, but it seemed that she would be gone longer than she had hoped. The summer sun slowly sank toward the horizon. Rush hour started in the street below, then trickled to an end.
There was a groan from Kim Namwoon. The screens of the four gamers flashed identical messages of defeat.
“Sorry, Captain,” Kim Namwoon said, rubbing at his eyes. “I messed that up.”
That was an unusual concession for him.
The office was silent by then, their room the only one still lit on the floor. Kim Dokja stretched. Usually, his back would hurt after so long spent reading without moving. These gaming chairs really were marvels.
“Again,” Yoo Joonghyuk grunted.
Lee Hyunsung looked about to say something. He bit his lip. They were all exhausted, but the second qualifiers were only two days away. They turned back to their screens.
“No,” Kim Dokja said.
Yoo Joonghyuk tensed.
“Ahjussi?” Lee Jihye said.
“I’m kicking you guys out. Namgung Minyoung would kill me if I let you stay any longer. Isn’t she always saying that rest is also part of training?”
The look Yoo Joonghyuk threw him was murderous. His teammates didn’t dare move.
“Be quiet, Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk bit out in a voice that cut like a knife. “Again,” he barked at the other three.
As they scrambled to obey, Kim Dokja stretched a foot under the table. He couldn’t drag Yoo Joonghyuk out like Namgung Minyoung would have, but as the person who had set up this room, he knew where everything was. He tapped the switch of the adapter tucked against the wall. Every computer instantly turned off.
Yoo Joonghyuk jumped to his feet.
“Kim Dokja!” he bellowed.
“Out,” Kim Dokja said to Lee Hyunsung, Lee Jihye and Kim Namwoon.
The teenagers snatched their bags and fled the room. Lee Hyunsung was slower. Yoo Joonghyuk closed his fist around Kim Dokja’s collar and hauled him out of his chair.
“Captain!” Lee Hyunsung exclaimed.
“Out!” Kim Dokja told him again.
His tone brooked no argument. There was no need for anyone else to see this. Lee Hyunsung wavered, but finally left.
“You have no authority to interfere with my team,” Yoo Joonghyuk snarled in his face.
“You haven’t cared about the team in weeks, Yoo Joonghyuk. Otherwise you would have noticed that in trying to punish yourself, you’re just punishing them.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s expression splayed open in shock. His eyes wavered.
Then the rage took over. His fist came flying. Pain exploded in Kim Dokja’s cheekbone. He fell back in the chair, nearly toppling it over.
Yoo Joonghyuk loomed over him, violence written in every line of his body. Kim Dokja watched him without a word. His cheek throbbed in time with his heartbeats.
At his continued silence, Yoo Joonghyuk started shaking. The look on his face was rapidly becoming unhinged.
“Why won’t you fight back. Why don’t you ever fight back!”
He whirled around and threw an arm out. Flat screen, keyboard and water bottle fell to the ground with a resounding crash. Wires hung from the desk, stretched taut like the noose of a dead man. Yoo Joonghyuk braced himself against the cleared table.
Kim Dokja let out the breath he had been holding in. It came out quivery.
“I’ll stay with you,” he said. “I’ll play with you, if that’s what you want. But this has nothing to do with Lee Hyunsung, Lee Jihye and Kim Namwoon.”
He didn’t know how he could fulfill this promise without exposing his [Demon King of Salvation] account. But Yoo Joonghyuk needed to keep himself busy. He understood that. This was the only way Yoo Joonghyuk knew to manage the overwhelming grief inside of him.
“And this has anything to do with you?” Yoo Joonghyuk scoffed.
The strength of his contempt stung. Kim Dokja swallowed with difficulty. The truth was, he couldn’t lash out like Yoo Joonghyuk wanted him to because his own guilt choked him.
“I’m sorry, Yoo Joonghyuk,” he said.
The words drifted into the air. Yoo Joonghyuk leveled a heavy gaze on him. He didn’t ask what he was apologizing for. Kim Dokja didn’t know if it was a relief or not that he understood. Kim Dokja had tipped his hand about this weeks ago, but he had hoped that Yoo Joonghyuk hadn’t been paying attention.
“Do you think that you coming last year would have changed anything?” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
His tone was a blade. Kim Dokja’s eyes fell to the ground. Shame swelled in his throat.
What could he have changed, in the end? What had he thought? That his presence could have soothed Yoo Joonghyuk somehow? And what right did he have to apologize today anyway? How dare he make this about himself?
He nodded once, an agreement to everything staying unsaid.
“Namgung Minyoung-ssi will be back soon,” he made himself say. “Do you want to wait for her? I’ll get you coffee…”
He had to get out of this room, even for just a minute. Then he could mold himself into what Yoo Joonghyuk needed, or at least as close to it as someone like him could ever get.
He made to get up.
Yoo Joonghyuk wrenched himself away from his desk. Kim Dokja froze.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s legs buckled. Like a great tree felled by the axe, he crashed to his knees. His proud back bowed. He burrowed his face against Kim Dokja’s chest. His arms closed around him, caging him there.
Kim Dokja stopped breathing. His eyes stared at the door without seeing it. The wall at the back of his thoughts shook.
Something wet his shirt. Only then did Kim Dokja’s arms fly to Yoo Joonghyuk’s back.
![[ID: Art of Kim Dokja sitting in a black and green gaming chair with Yoo Joonghyuk's head pressed against his chest. Kim Dokja is wearing a white shirt and Yoo Joonghyuk a black and green sports jacket with his name on the back. Both of them are crying.]](https://i.ibb.co/HPdNTHv/Mortifying-Ordeal-Big-Bang-Shiix.png)
Art by Shiix
He kept him there, close and tethered, as Yoo Joonghyuk wept without a sound. Yoo Joonghyuk’s grip was so tight it hurt. His breathing was labored, but he didn’t sob.
“I should have come earlier,” escaped Yoo Joonghyuk’s mouth. A whisper, a confession.
Kim Dokja shook his head. Yoo Joonghyuk had been leaving work when he had received word that Lee Seolhwa had gone into labor. He had gone to the hospital as fast as he had been able to, but the taxi had gotten stuck in traffic. He had never forgiven himself for not having stayed home that day.
“It wouldn’t have changed anything,” Kim Dokja said, more sure of this than he was of the sun rising in the morning.
“It would have,” Yoo Joonghyuk argued. “It had to. If I had been there…!”
“It wouldn’t have,” he repeated, hugging him tighter, wishing him to hear, to believe. “There was nothing you could have done, Yoo Joonghyuk. You did everything right.”
“Then why?” The shout left Yoo Joonghyuk’s lungs like a weapon.
Kim Dokja’s throat closed. He burrowed his nose in Yoo Joonghyuk’s dark hair. Only when he felt that his voice wouldn’t fail him did he say:
“Sometimes there is no answer, Yoo Joonghyuk. Sometimes we lose, and it’s no fault of our own.”
This lesson was one that someone like Yoo Joonghyuk had never managed to learn. He had always barreled through life with his own strength. When he fell, he got back up and tried again. He tried as many times as it took. Kim Dokja had always admired him for it, but it made him so desperately fragile against the most pointless cruelties of existence.
Eventually, Yoo Joonghyuk calmed down.
His back rose and fell in a hypnotic rhythm under Kim Dokja’s hands.
This wasn’t a fulguration. It wasn’t anywhere close to one, the immediate physicality of the moment strange and foreign. So why did Kim Dokja feel like this?
“You should go home,” he said. “You know Mia is going to wait up for you.”
Maybe it wasn’t wise to remind Yoo Joonghyuk that in his grief, he was failing another person in his life. Mia had barely seen her brother these past few weeks and she was bound to be besides herself with worry. Unlike Yoo Joonghyuk’s coworkers, she knew very well what anniversary they were on the verge of.
Yoo Joonghyuk swallowed. Slowly, he disentangled himself from Kim Dokja. Their eyes didn’t meet as he got up. Kim Dokja felt the irrational urge to hide the evidence of tears on his shirt. He crossed his arms.
“You’ll tell Teacher where I am?” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
“I will.”
“… How is Master?”
“It seems she’ll be fine, though she’ll stay at the vet for a few days.”
“I see.”
That was the point where Yoo Joonghyuk should have left. He didn’t move.
“I’m taking tomorrow off.”
As annoying as it would have been to hear this any other day (how did this guy think company life worked exactly? had he never heard of advance notice?), it was a relief this once.
“I’ll arrange it,” Kim Dokja said.
“Teacher and Seolhwa will come by in the evening.”
Kim Dokja nodded. A day like this should be faced with family.
“Will you be there?” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
He wasn’t looking at him, his eyes on the setting sun outside. Kim Dokja’s ears buzzed. Surely he had heard wrong.
When no reply came, Yoo Joonghyuk turned an impatient frown on him.
“I…”
The correct answer was no, of course. It wasn’t his place.
But picturing Yoo Joonghyuk alone in his apartment the entire day, Mia at school and no training to keep him busy…
“I guess I’ll have to come for lunch since you won’t be bringing it in.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s features relaxed at once. It was so obvious that there was no way for Kim Dokja to pass it off as a trick of the light. Yoo Joonghyuk nodded. He departed without another word.
“After a performance like this, I’d suggest looking for another team to take you in,” Anna Croft told Yoo Joonghyuk. “You won’t be with us much longer.”
If any of her fans could have seen her in that moment, they wouldn’t have recognized her. Her smile was coldly satisfied. Kim Dokja wished suddenly, viscerally, that he could reach through the fulguration and hurt her.
But there was no anger left in Yoo Joonghyuk for her. He had turned it all inward. So he walked away from her, walked away from the worst championship of his career, and dragged himself on a plane back home.
He shouldn’t have come. He had left his wife alone in the wreckage of their lives, and for what? To honor his obligations to colleagues who had never done anything but spit on him? He was a fool.
The fulguration closed too soon.
The fulgurations always closed too soon, these days. The only thing Kim Dokja could do was watch, so he wanted to watch.
He watched as Yoo Joonghyuk and Lee Seolhwa spiraled around each other, two stars in orbit suddenly wrenched off course. Yoo Joonghyuk tried to cling to her, to offer her comfort, but she was closing herself off in her grief and he no longer knew how to reach her. The guilt of having left her those first few days threatened to drown him. Namgung Minyoung was there, her steady voice keeping his head above water, her steady hands taking care of Mia when he no longer remembered how to. Mia’s warmth, her hugs, her tears. She had so looked forward to being an aunt.
Kim Dokja watched it all. He slept poorly himself, ate little.
He was there for every stream, logging in early and leaving late. He was swift and merciless with the wave of trolls that tried to flood the channel after the championship. But Yoo Joonghyuk played mechanically and paid no attention to the chat. His regular audience assumed it was a result of his poor performance in the competition and respectfully stirred away from the subject.
[ghost_fleet] you’re so good with the red phoenix shunpo skill! would you teach me??
Kim Dokja blinked. Oh? They didn’t get many good-faith newbies these days.
[ghost_fleet] I’ve been trying to include it in this combo, but I can’t seem to get the timing right
[ghost_fleet] sent a link. That was an amateur mistake, since Star Stream automatically blocked the message and sent it to Kim Dokja for review.
[ghost_fleet] aww it won’t show
[maritimewargod] oh, you took my recommendation, jihye-yah? I should have warned you that this streamer doesn’t look much at the chatroom
[ghost_fleet] awwww uncle
Usually, Kim Dokja would have ignored it. But it was a YouTube link that she had sent, hardly anything dangerous, so on a whim, he copy-pasted it in a new tab. His eyebrows rose as he watched. It was a capture video of [ghost_fleet]’s WoS character failing to make its way through a tricky fight.
He sent the link deconstructed so the algorithm wouldn’t flag it.
In the back of his mind, Yoo Joonghyuk stirred.
The fulguration had been terribly quiet until then, so it was reassuring to feel some movement. Yoo Joonghyuk stared at the username on his screen. He nudged his mouse over.
[ghost_fleet] !!!
[ghost_fleet] uh who is this? how did you see the vid I sent?
[👑demonkingofsalvation] I’m the mod. I see everything.
[ghost_fleet] you sound like a creepy ahjussi
Hey.
[ghost_fleet] but thank you!! that was nice of you
[👑demonkingofsalvation] No problem. You’re pretty good. Are you trying to go pro?
[ghost_fleet] I am!
[ghost_fleet] and don’t bother telling me it’s not for girls, alright?
Seriously, why had she immediately pictured him as the worst old man on this website?
[ghost_fleet] I’m prepared to work hard! I know I can make it!
“You can.”
After hours of silence, Yoo Joonghyuk’s voice was like a cool balm applied on a burn. Kim Dokja closed his eyes in relief. On his end of the bond, Yoo Joonghyuk was still watching [ghost_fleet]’s video, rewinding parts of it to look at them closer. He felt fully invested in something for the first time in weeks.
“Your build isn’t optimized. You can do better with this setup,” Yoo Joonghyuk said. “PM me.”
[maritimewargod] 😮
[ghost_fleet] !!!!!
[ghost_fleet] yes!!!! thank you so much master!!!!
Master? What did she think this was? Some martial arts movie?
[mass_production_maker] Oh? Is the Supreme King going to abandon his faithful game companion for a younger woman?
[mass_production_maker] Are you going to let this go, DK?
[👑demonkingofsalvation] Alas, all flowers are meant to wilt. I shall go into the night quietly and with dignity.
It would be a relief if Yoo Joonghyuk found another reliable WoS teammate. Kim Dokja only opened the game at his request these days, and he had reached the limit of levels he could buy with coins.
“Demon King, get online.”
[👑demonkingofsalvation] What... now?!
Yoo Joonghyuk felt darkly amused. That jerk, had he decided to bully him to alleviate his depression? Swearing, Kim Dokja hurried to find the game icon.
“A half-day off?” Kyrgios said, unimpressed. “Have you never heard of advance notice?”
Kim Dokja could only bow in apology. He hadn’t been thinking straight last night, alright?
He had only been here a few months. It felt irresponsible to already use his annual leave, especially in such a busy time at the office. But he had promised.
Kyrgios pursed his lips and considered him.
Namgung Minyoung popped her head through the door.
“Sign off on it,” she told Kyrgios.
She looked tired, but strangely cheerful. Kyrgios glared at her.
“Is this your brat’s fault again?”
Grumbling, he waved Kim Dokja away. Namgung Minyoung patted Kim Dokja’s shoulder with a heavy hand when he passed her by.
“Thanks for the wrangling. See you tonight!”
Dinner with his boss again? He really hadn’t been thinking straight. That’s it, he would find a reason to excuse himself once the first guests had come.
He spent the morning dodging questions from Uriel, Lee Hyunsung, Lee Jihye and Kim Namwoon. No, Yoo Joonghyuk wasn’t sick. Yes, he would be fine. He just needed a bit of time to himself, that’s all, and by the way, Kim Dokja would be gone for the afternoon too.
The coincidence wasn’t very subtle, and Lee Hyunsung brightened at the news, but it only seemed to make Uriel melancholic.
“I would have rather multishipped for DK,” she nonsensically sighed to herself.
At noon on the dot, Kim Dokja was gone.
Yoo Joonghyuk opened the door wearing a black T-shirt and jeans. His hair was damp. Kim Dokja narrowed his eyes at him.
“Were you exercising again?” he said.
‘Did you push it too far again?’ was what he meant.
Yoo Joonghyuk looked away.
“Just jogging.”
Kim Dokja clicked his tongue. At least it was better than the punching bag. You couldn’t expect too much self-preservation from a sunfish.
He dropped his satchel in the entryway and toed his shoes off. Yoo Joonghyuk stayed there, watching him. When Kim Dokja straightened, Yoo Joonghyuk frowned and reached for his face. His thumb brushed none too gently against his cheek. Kim Dokja flinched away from the burst of pain. Yoo Joonghyuk looked at the streak of beige on his thumb with a complicated expression.
“Do you mind?” Kim Dokja said, annoyed. “It took me forever this morning to hide it.”
He beelined for the bathroom to check the damage in the mirror. The bruise peeked through the layer of makeup now. Grumbling, he tried to better spread the paste that remained.
“Why?” Yoo Joonghyuk said, looming in the doorway.
“Should I have just wandered into work like that and torpedoed your reputation in the office?”
“Take it off. Let me see.”
Kim Dokja batted away Yoo Joonghyuk’s hands.
“Absolutely not. I didn’t bring makeup with me and I refuse to look like a thug in front of your sister.”
Yoo Joonghyuk hovered while he washed his hands.
“Did you ice it?”
“Of course I iced it.”
Honestly. Kim Dokja had extensive experience nursing cuts and bruises. He didn’t need anyone giving him lessons.
Yoo Joonghyuk still hadn’t moved when he put the towel back. Looking at his face, Kim Dokja found himself softening.
“It’s fine, Yoo Joonghyuk. It’ll heal fast.”
He probably had deserved the punch, running his mouth like he had at the worst possible time. Yoo Joonghyuk had a bad temper, but he didn’t make it a habit of hitting people.
Yoo Joonghyuk scrutinized his expression for a long moment. He ducked his chin in a reluctant nod and finally walked out.
Kim Dokja followed him to the kitchen. He froze at the sight of the table.
“Are you expecting the entire neighborhood for lunch?”
Yoo Joonghyuk sat and started loading Kim Dokja’s plate from the insane spread.
“Eat,” he said. “We’ll go shopping after.”
“You’re going to buy even more food,” Kim Dokja deadpanned.
Well, cooking for the whole city was certainly one way for Yoo Joonghyuk to keep himself busy. At the rate things were going, nobody would be leaving this apartment tonight without a week’s worth of leftovers.
For the sake of everybody’s figure, Kim Dokja did his best to disrupt Yoo Joonghyuk’s plans.
He spent the grocery trip needling the man about his healthy shopping habits and trying to sneak a bag of chips into his basket. In the end, Yoo Joonghyuk hauled him out of the store by the back of his collar.
“Obnoxious,” he said, though without much bite.
“Me or you?”
Yoo Joonghyuk shook him like a misbehaving kitten.
“Ow! Hey, enough, enough,” Kim Dokja said, and tripped over his feet when Yoo Joonghyuk suddenly stopped walking.
Kim Dokja followed his eyes. Yoo Joonghyuk had zeroed in on a coffee shop across the street. He glanced between his grocery bags and the shop, frowning.
Kim Dokja laughed at him.
“Are you developing automatisms, Yoo Joonghyuk? Go shopping with Kim Dokja, get coffee with Kim Dokja?”
“We didn’t go last week.”
That was true. Yoo Joonghyuk had already been closing himself off, and he was always the one initiating these outings. As ridiculous as Kim Dokja found them, he couldn’t deny that he had felt a little bereft.
He shrugged off Yoo Joonghyuk’s grip and took one of the bags from him.
“We’re already spending the afternoon together,” he said. “It’s not good for my health or my budget to be drinking that much coffee, anyway. Come on, let’s get all this to a fridge.”
“You could get something else,” Yoo Joonghyuk said as they started walking again.
“Then why go to a coffee shop if neither of us is going to get coffee?”
Once the groceries had been properly stored, Kim Dokja resumed his distraction attempts. He managed to drag Yoo Joonghyuk away from the kitchen long enough to poke at his video game console. This type of game wasn’t Yoo Joonghyuk’s favorite, but he had bought the console at Mia’s request so the two siblings could play together once in a while.
“Are you even trying?” Yoo Joonghyuk growled as he again pummeled Kim Dokja’s character on screen.
“Why are you going at it so hard?” complained Kim Dokja, pride smarting. Why had he thought that facing Yoo Joonghyuk in his element would be a good idea, again? He had stopped putting in effort, because there was nothing more humiliating than giving it your all and still getting trashed.
Of course, Yoo Joonghyuk objected to that. He tossed his controller on the coffee table.
“You’re the one who wanted to play. If you’re not going to take this seriously…”
The front door opened before Kim Dokja could tease him for letting his professional habits bleed into a party game with ridiculous character design.
“I’m back, Oppa!”
There was a hasty shuffle in the hall, the sound of a bag carelessly dropped, then a young girl barged into the room. Mia was panting. In her worry for her brother, she had made record time from the school.
She halted at finding Kim Dokja there.
“Who are you?”
That useless guy, he hadn’t even warned his sister that he had invited a stranger over? Kim Dokja cobbled together a smile.
“Hello, Yoo Mia. I’m Kim Dokja.”
Her eyes widened. She looked him up and down. Kim Dokja felt ridiculous hanging on to the judgment of an eleven-year-old, but he couldn’t help the way his stomach tightened in anxiety.
“You’re uglier than I thought,” Mia finally announced.
His eyebrow twitched.
Since Yoo Joonghyuk was a terrible guardian who would never see fit to impart to his sister the good manners he himself didn’t have, he didn’t even scold her. He just got up to pat her head. (Wait, was he actually rewarding her? Asshole?)
“He’ll be with us tonight,” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
Then he rounded the couch and returned to the kitchen, leaving them to stare at each other.
Kim Dokja had multiple excuses to leave lined up, now that Yoo Joonghyuk had company, but choosing this moment to use any of the stories he had planned would just sound like he was fleeing from a schoolgirl. Mia was too ornery not to remark on it if he tried.
She walked up to the couch and plopped herself on her brother’s abandoned seat, as if to state that this was her territory and she wouldn’t get intimidated by an unknown adult.
“So you work with Oppa now?” she said.
“That’s right.”
“Why didn’t you show up earlier?”
Ouch. Trust kids to ask the hard questions from the start.
“I didn’t think Yoo Joonghyuk would want me to.”
Mia frowned.
“That’s stupid! Why wouldn’t he want you to?”
“Well, I don’t know. I thought maybe he found me boring, or annoying.”
Mia nodded wisely, appeased.
“You do look pretty boring.”
His smile was stiff. What was he even supposed to reply to that? These siblings could really make you despair of humanity.
“Oppa said he didn’t get fulgurations because you’re sick. Are you no longer sick?”
That hit Kim Dokja like a truck. He swallowed, but his mouth was dry.
“No. I… I still am.”
“How come? Didn’t you go to a doctor? Is your doctor bad?” Mia said, looking affronted at some imagined stranger’s incompetence.
Kim Dokja made the corner of his lips lift.
“It’s not that simple.”
“You could see a therapist.”
The low male voice had every muscle in Kim Dokja’s body locking up in anger. He glared behind him. Yoo Joonghyuk was in the kitchen’s doorway, his shoulder propped against the jamb.
“And when are you going to see one?” Kim Dokja snapped.
He couldn’t believe that he was hearing this from Yoo Joonghyuk, of all people.
One year ago, the man had lost his child and nearly his wife to a miscarriage. He had staggered through his grief to attend a competition that had made him the laughingstock of the esport world, then been fired by a colleague who had only been waiting for the first sign of weakness on his part. His marriage had collapsed a few months later, when he and Lee Seolhwa had realized that they were dragging each other down in a never-ending cycle of misery, that they needed space from each other to heal from their loss.
And through all this, never once had it occurred to him to seek psychological help.
Yoo Joonghyuk frowned. Something prickly swelled at the back of Kim Dokja’s mind. A moment later, the feeling was forcefully banked by its owner.
‘… maybe,’ Kim Dokja heard.
The picture of the couch as seen from behind was projected to him.
Kim Dokja closed his eyes. The outrage he had been feeling washed away, replaced by a bone-deep weariness. He couldn’t stay angry when Yoo Joonghyuk was actively pondering his words, picking at the way he had lashed at his colleagues these past few weeks, wondering if he wouldn’t be a better guardian for Mia if he took that one step.
“Heads up, Yoo Joonghyuk,” Kim Dokja sighed.
He shouldn’t have lashed out. If Yoo Joonghyuk went to see a therapist, would he expect Kim Dokja to do it too? Since when did Yoo Joonghyuk heed what others said, anyway? Kim Dokja didn’t like that. He didn’t like it at all.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s thoughts halted at the warning. But he didn’t immediately work at closing the fulguration. The picture of the living room got clearer. Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes lingered on Mia, then on Kim Dokja, reclining on the sofa with his eyes closed. Kim Dokja was seized by a weird vertigo. Did he really look like that? That wasn’t the way he saw himself in the mirror.
There was a strange warm glow to Yoo Joonghyuk’s mind. It was good that Yoo Joonghyuk appreciated having people with him today, but why was he letting Kim Dokja eavesdrop? Maybe it was backwards, but to Kim Dokja, a fulguration felt more uncomfortable when they both knew it was happening.
He saw himself open his eyes to glare at Yoo Joonghyuk. He was rewarded by a ripple of amusement.
‘Fool.’
The fulguration finally closed. Kim Dokja turned back to face the TV. Mia looked between her brother and him in fascination. Kim Dokja offered her a controller.
“You want to play?”
She regarded him for a long, critical moment. She hopped from the couch.
“I don’t want this game,” she decreed, and went to change the game disk.
Yoo Joonghyuk returned to his cooking. Mia proceeded to pummel Kim Dokja in a racing game. Nobody could claim that she wasn’t true to her blood.
“You’re really bad at this game, Ahjussi.”
Kim Dokja twitched. “Ahjussi” again? What was with everyone younger than twenty calling him that? He couldn’t look that old. He moisturized and everything.
“Yep. That’s me. Really bad at video games.”
But because he was the kind of trash adult who could carry a grudge against an eleven-year-old, he took advantage of a well-hidden shortcut in the next level and popped up at the finish line under Mia’s nose.
“Hey! No fair! How did you do that?” the girl yelled.
Yoo Joonghyuk burst into the living room like a bat out of hell. Kim Dokja jumped.
That bastard, was he hardwired to come fists swinging as soon as Mia raised her voice? Did he not trust Kim Dokja in his sister’s presence? That actually hurt. He had thought they were past that.
“Oppa!” Mia said. “Ahjussi totally cheated!”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s gaze switched from Kim Dokja to the game’s victory screen. He looked deeply suspicious. Kim Dokja gave a benign smile.
“I don’t see how I could cheat at this kind of game.”
Yoo Joonghyuk said nothing. He just watched him, his expression hair-raising. What? What was it? Ugh, couldn’t the fulguration have waited a bit and shown up now instead?
The ringing of the doorbell saved him from whatever was going on. Mia lit up.
“Is it Seolhwa-unni or Ahjumma?”
She ran to the hall.
The newcomer turned out to be Namgung Minyoung. Kim Dokja retreated to the kitchen to putter around Yoo Joonghyuk, filling the dishwasher and cleaning the counters. They didn’t talk, content to let the sounds of Mia and Namgung Minyoung catching up in the living room fill their silence.
Yoo Joonghyuk pushed a few peppers at Kim Dokja.
“Another test, Joonghyuk-ah?” he said, amused.
“If you can’t cut these evenly, get out of my kitchen.”
Dinner was just about ready when the doorbell rang again. Yoo Joonghyuk set the soup to simmer before following Mia. Kim Dokja returned to the living room and found Namgung Minyoung there. They exchanged a knowing look and stayed, granting space to the reunion happening in the entryway.
Mia came back first, looking over her shoulder more than she was paying attention to where she was going. Yoo Joonghyuk and Lee Seolhwa entered together, engrossed in a quiet conversation. Lee Seolhwa was as stunning a woman as Kim Dokja had always thought, even with the sad smile on her red lips.
She turned from Yoo Joonghyuk and blinked at discovering Kim Dokja’s presence. This time, Yoo Joonghyuk had the decency to introduce him himself.
“This is Kim Dokja,” he said. “My soulmate.”
Lee Seolhwa’s expression brightened in pleasure.
“Hello,” Kim Dokja said with a bow, a bit startled by her reaction.
“It’s nice to meet you, Kim Dokja-ssi.”
“It’s nice to be met,” he replied, and found he nearly meant it this time.
“You’ll be with us tonight?”
“I was keeping Yoo Joonghyuk company,” he said. “But I should go now. I wouldn’t want to intrude today.”
He had decided to just be honest when excusing himself. This was a family event, and Lee Seolhwa had the right to grieve for her lost child without worrying about the presence of a stranger. But Yoo Joonghyuk glared at him with great prejudice and Lee Seolhwa simply smiled.
“Nonsense. I spent the entire evening yesterday on the phone with my soulmate. She would have been here if she could have.”
“Oh.”
Kim Dokja awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. He couldn’t remember off the top of his head what country Lee Seolhwa’s soulmate lived in, but those international calls must have cost a fortune. Lee Seolhwa was estranged from her family, so she had no one else to bring.
“I’ll set the table, then,” Kim Dokja said, off kilter.
There went his escape window.
Dinner wasn’t as excruciating as he had feared. Mia was delighted to have both Lee Seolhwa and Namgung Minyoung here, and the two women rarely had cause to cross paths, so the conversation flowed naturally between them. Having them all around seemed to ground Yoo Joonghyuk in a way he hadn’t been in weeks. He seemed content to listen to them and put food in everyone’s plates.
This was heartwarming and all, but couldn’t he keep the affectionate gestures for actual family members? Kim Dokja intercepted Yoo Joonghyuk’s chopsticks as they were heading for his rice bowl, and soon they were engaged in a quiet cutlery war.
“Are you trying to fatten me up for slaughter, Yoo Joonghyuk?” Kim Dokja said under his breath. “Do you know how much I ate at lunch because of your cooking sprees?”
At least Kim Dokja had managed to limit the afternoon rampage enough that all the food could fit on the dining table.
Their skirmish brought them to the attention of the others. Sadly, Lee Seolhwa took that as her cue to attempt to get to know him. Kim Dokja answered the best he could.
He wished she would just ignore him. Looking her in the eyes felt like torture. Over the years, he had watched her in so many embarrassing contexts; he had seen her at her silliest, seen her devastated and vulnerable, even seen her naked and sweaty in bed, smiling softly at her husband. Didn’t she worry about that? Maybe she didn’t realize how frequent Yoo Joonghyuk’s fulgurations had been.
In fact, Lee Seolhwa’s lack of curiosity about the fulgurations was suspicious. At no point did she ask why Yoo Joonghyuk had been convinced during his entire relationship with her that he didn’t have a soulmate.
At some point in the past few months, Yoo Joonghyuk must have told her about him. It made Kim Dokja uncomfortable. He didn’t like not knowing what had been said.
Inevitably, there came a moment when the topic segued to the reason they were all here. The child wasn’t mentioned directly, but she was on everyone’s minds. Her presence shone through the anecdotes the people around the table recalled, snapshots of Lee Seolhwa’s pregnancy.
Namgung Minyoung’s expression was fond, and Mia’s wistful. They had helped Lee Seolhwa pick the color of the baby’s room in the couple’s old house, and the minuscule clothes that had long been donated away.
Kim Dokja had been looking forward to watching the child grow too. He had lost many hours picturing what kind of father Yoo Joonghyuk would be. He had been so impatient to see it happen.
“Wasn’t that the point Yoo Joonghyuk decided you shouldn’t be walking around?” he said. “He wanted to carry you everywhere.”
Startled, Lee Seolhwa laughed.
“He did, he did!” Mia recalled, delighted. “He even carried her to the toilet and back again!”
“That’s the first I’m hearing of that,” Namgung Minyoung said, beaming.
“Kim Dokja!” Yoo Joonghyuk growled, looking anywhere but at them. It was unknown whether he was angry that Kim Dokja knew about his moments of doting stupidity or that he dared to speak of them.
Through her smile, Lee Seolhwa discreetly dabbed at her eyes. Kim Dokja pretended he hadn’t noticed.
After dinner, there was one more concerted effort to give Lee Seolhwa and Yoo Joonghyuk space.
Mia insisted on showing Namgung Minyoung the new decorations in her room. The girl left while throwing unsubtle hopeful glances over her shoulder. She had never understood the divorce, and it was plain to see that she was waiting for Lee Seolhwa and Yoo Joonghyuk to get back together. Kim Dokja hoped for it too, but he knew that it would take far longer than this. Still, he removed himself to the bathroom. Han Sooyoung’s latest chapter kept him company while he sat on the throne.
There was only so long that he could stay there without inviting mockery from a mean eleven-year-old or his ruthless employer, though, so eventually, he flushed the toilet and reemerged.
Lee Seolhwa and Yoo Joonghyuk had relocated to the kitchen. Kim Dokja checked the time on his phone. He winced.
Reluctantly, he moved toward Yoo Joonghyuk’s domain. He tried not to pay attention to the murmur of conversation wafting from the door. But when he was only three steps away, he found himself freezing.
Had he just heard his name?
“… given any thought to the nature of it? What you wanted it to be?” Lee Seolhwa said.
“I’m not sure yet,” answered Yoo Joonghyuk’s voice, a soft rumble in the evening stillness.
“I see. But you’ve been wondering about it?”
A silence.
“I’m glad, Joonghyuk,” Lee Seolhwa said with warmth. “Truly.”
Kim Dokja must have been mistaken. He backed away on silent feet.
He gathered the last of the dishes on the dining room table. The clatter announced his approach, and Lee Seolhwa smiled at him when he came in. She had her hand on Yoo Joonghyuk’s arm. Yoo Joonghyuk was turned to the window above the sink, arms crossed, in that signature pose of his that only telegraphed his embarrassment to the people who knew him.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Kim Dokja said, genuinely apologetic, as he put the dishes down on the counter. “But it’s getting late. I don’t want to bug you, Yoo Joonghyuk, but you’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
“The qualifiers are late in the day,” Yoo Joonghyuk grumbled. “Time zones.”
“Yes, and you’re so good at adapting to time zone differences.”
Yoo Joonghyuk threw him a glare. Kim Dokja returned an innocent smile.
Lee Seolhwa laughed softly.
“I have the morning shift at the hospital tomorrow, so I can’t stay late either.”
She patted Yoo Joonghyuk’s biceps. Then she turned to Kim Dokja.
“Thank you for being here tonight, Kim Dokja-ssi.” Her expression became wistful. “There are things that we can’t explain to people with words. Pains that can only be shared by those who know our hearts. I’m grateful you are among them.”
Her sincerity shook him to the core. Here he was, barely able to face her through his shame, yet the only words she had for him were those.
It made him feel small. It was so terribly wrong that Yoo Joonghyuk had had to let go of such an incredible woman. Kim Dokja could only bow his head.
“I’ll go say my goodbyes to Mia-yah and Minyoung-ssi,” Lee Seolhwa said, and left the room.
Kim Dokja licked his lips. Yoo Joonghyuk was watching him. It felt like Yoo Joonghyuk was always watching him, these days.
“I’m leaving,” Kim Dokja said abruptly.
If he stayed too long, he risked leaving at the same time as Lee Seolhwa and having to make small talk. He didn’t think he could bear it.
“Do put yourself to bed at a reasonable time, Yoo Joonghyuk,” he added. “I’m sure Namgung Minyoung-ssi will tuck you in if you ask nicely enough.”
“Go away,” Yoo Joonghyuk told him, and turned his back on him to fill the dishwasher.
A minute later, the front door opened and closed.
Notes:
CW: This chapter contains parts that skim pretty close to Domestic Abuse between the main couple. In particular, Kim Dokja's thoughts about it are unhealthy enough that they could upset readers.
Chapter 11
Notes:
Here is a shitty visualization of how a double-elimination bracket works, for people who had never heard of it (like me until I did research for this fic). Though I hope the chapter is understandable even without it.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Doesn’t it seem unfair to you?” Kim Dokja asked idly.
“Hmm?” Uriel said, distracted by the papers in her hands.
“That some teams have to come halfway around the planet to compete in the finals? Don’t Americans players have an unfair advantage over Korean and European players, who are already tired from the trip?”
“Does Dokja-ssi want to make an official complaint?”
“Maybe we should. There are plenty of esports arenas in Korea. Why did we have to come to Canada?”
Uriel laughed, which wasn’t the reaction he was aiming for.
“Dokja-ssi, you are pretty protective of Joonghyuk-ssi, huh?”
“It’s not about that,” he protested.
“I see!” she said, clearly not believing a word of it. “Well, it’s true that it would be fairer if the finals could be fully online like the qualifiers. But then we would be missing this energy, don’t you think?”
She cupped a hand around her ear, underlining the whisper of thousands of voices filtering all the way to the back corridors where they stood. The audience was finding their seats in the arena.
Personally, Kim Dokja thought that missing this “energy” would be perfectly alright. But it was such a relief to have Uriel treat him normally these days that he let her have this one. She seemed to have resolved whatever issue she had had with him, and he wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.
Their obligations pulled them apart for the rest of the preparations. Uriel went on stage, making a last-minute check of the gaming chairs and computers, while Kim Dokja returned to the team’s dressing room. He filled water bottles and helped his ducklings stretch while Namgung Minyoung provided her last pieces of advice.
“I wish we were up against Zarathustra already,” Kim Namwoon grumbled.
“Don’t underestimate your first opponent, Kim Namwoon,” Namgung Minyoung said. “They made it here, to the top four, for a reason.”
“I know, I know, Coach. I watched the videos!”
Kim Dokja tidied up the room, putting trash away and pushing bags in corners where they wouldn’t trip anyone.
“Alright?” he murmured as he drew even with Yoo Joonghyuk.
Yoo Joonghyuk hummed. He was reclined in his chair, his eyes closed. His black and green sports jacket hung open over a black T-shirt. He glanced at Kim Dokja.
“You’re the one fussing,” he told him.
Kim Dokja’s cheek twitched in annoyance. But again, he declined to argue. Yoo Joonghyuk seemed calm, and the last thing he wanted was to jeopardize that.
After a small eternity, staff came to get the team. Kim Dokja and Namgung Minyoung stayed in the room and turned on the provided TV. Uriel soon joined them. They watched the arena broadcast as the two teams filed onto the stage glowing with blue and green neon lights. The applause was generous.
Team 999 took the seats on the left, the European team the ones on the right. The huge screen above their heads started displaying the virtual arena that would host the first round of the match. The commentators chattered while the players settled and checked their setup.
“Stop vibrating, you two,” Namgung Minyoung said. “I can feel my teeth rattling.”
Kim Dokja felt that was an unfair remark. He was perfectly serene. Barely nervous, really. He had watched Yoo Joonghyuk compete dozens of times, what was one more?
He shouldn’t have had that third cup of coffee.
“How is Master, President-nim?” Uriel said with a sheepish smile.
“She’s good. She’s finally home, the little idiot.”
The match started. Kim Dokja crossed his hands so they would stop fidgeting. This last part of the competition used best-of-seven matches, so Team 999 needed to triumph four times over the Europeans to get the win. It was also a double-elimination bracket, so even if the team lost here, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. They would get a second chance in the afternoon. But it would be better for them to win and to save their endurance for the next day’s matches.
Team 999 trashed their opponents 4 to 0.
“What a match!” a commentator yelled over the crowd’s thunderous applause. “We all knew Supreme King was on the war path after his performance last year, but… ah, what a match!”
Kim Dokja let Uriel hug him and shout her happiness in his ear. He breathed out for what felt like the first time in an hour.
His phone buzzed.
< Yoo Sangah
Today
Yoo Sangah: Dokja-ssi, congratulations!
Kim Dokja: Are you watching?
Kim Dokja: Sangah-ssi, isn’t it late back home?
Yoo Sangah: It is, but I wanted to support you!
Yoo Sangah: I’m sure Sooyoung-ssi is watching too, though she won’t admit it.
He smiled.
< Yoo Sangah
Kim Dokja: Thank you, but you should sleep now.
Yoo Sangah: I will.
Yoo Sangah: Good luck for tomorrow! I’ll be watching too!
Yoo Sangah: Let’s get lunch sometime when you come back.
He messaged her an agreement and joined the congratulatory huddle happening at the door. Yoo Joonghyuk was breathing fast, but his eyes shone with a predatory glint. When their arms brushed, the hair on Kim Dokja’s skin rose from barely contained energy.
Zarathustra won their own first match. Team 999 would be meeting them in the semifinals.
They all stayed for the afternoon to watch the lower semifinals between the two losing teams, but Kim Dokja suspected that Namgung Minyoung was the only one clear-headed enough to observe that match properly. The atmosphere in the dressing room was electric.
It felt like standing in a room full of hungry wolves. Even Lee Hyunsung looked too intense for comfort. Kim Dokja eventually left to get some air.
Uriel’s voice caught his attention. It was coming from the end of the corridor. She was swearing abundantly, which was never a good sign. He hurried to back her up, but his steps slowed when he recognized the person she was talking to.
“Absolutely fucking not,” Uriel was telling Anna Croft.
Anna glanced over Uriel’s shoulder and spotted him there. Her eyes shone with a steely glint.
“Kim Dokja-ssi,” she said, her expression unreadable.
Kim Dokja stopped by his coworker’s side.
“Is there a problem, Uriel-ssi?”
“She wants to talk to Yoo Joonghyuk-ssi,” she scoffed. “In the middle of the fucking finals? I don’t think so.”
That was pretty bold. He looked at Anna Croft. She met his eyes squarely.
“Since you’re here, Kim Dokja-ssi, I was hoping we could talk too. About a certain novel.”
His heart skipped a beat. Cold sweat broke under his shirt.
“A novel?”
“Yes. What was the title, again? A Murderer’s notes… I think it started like that.”
He gave no outward reaction.
“I can take care of this, Uriel-ssi.”
Uriel glanced between the two of them. But she tended to defer to Kim Dokja on matters that concerned Yoo Joonghyuk, these days, so she nodded and turned back. He wouldn’t be surprised if she planted herself in front of the team’s door like an abuse-hurling bodyguard.
“I see you did some research,” Kim Dokja said.
“Of course.”
In fact, it had been predictable. Anna Croft wasn’t the type to take an attack on her reputation without searching for a way to retaliate.
“Do you think it matters?” he said. “You can spread rumors about me, but I’m just an assistant manager. It’s hardly going to make as many waves as your own secrets.”
“You’re Yoo Joonghyuk’s soulmate.”
She thought she could dirty Yoo Joonghyuk’s reputation by using Kim Dokja’s sordid past?
“Who said that?” Kim Dokja said, smiling. “Do you have proof?”
Since the bond between Yoo Joonghyuk and Kim Dokja wasn’t public, only the most worthless tabloids would believe a story like that. Even the attendants of Mino Soft’s mixer couldn’t bear witness since Yoo Joonghyuk had announced it in Korean. Anna’s eyes narrowed.
“You’d forsake him?”
“You can’t hurt Yoo Joonghyuk with that useless piece of info. So if that’s all you have, you can turn back now.”
She stayed motionless for a moment or two. Then her shoulders slumped a bit.
“That wasn’t… I wasn’t trying to blackmail you.”
He didn’t bother entertaining such a blatant lie with an answer.
“I really just want to talk to Yoo Joonghyuk,” she said. “Selena… she spoke to me.”
Kim Dokja’s eyebrows rose. So that’s what it was about. Selena Kim had wanted to share the burden on her soul, and had unleashed it all on the person most deserving.
“I know you didn’t tell her you were coming here today,” he said. “She would have known better than to let you.”
“I don’t mean any harm. I would have contacted him another way if I could, but he cut off all communication channels between us.”
“I wonder why.”
Anna Croft heaved a frustrated sigh.
“I started this on the wrong foot,” she muttered to herself. “Look, is it true?”
“What is?”
She no longer seemed willing to beat around the bush.
“Did Yoo Joonghyuk’s wife suffer a miscarriage last year?” she said, frank to the point of brutality.
Kim Dokja said nothing.
“Did it happen during the championship?” she insisted.
“Do you care?”
“Of course I…”
“You didn’t care last year,” he cut in.
“I didn’t know,” she argued.
“You didn’t care,” he said again, and was startled by the snarl in his voice. He forced it back as he continued, forcefully blank. “You saw him come to the championship like a dead man walking. If you’re good at anything, Anna Croft, you’re good at people. You knew something was wrong. You knew he shouldn’t compete. You could have asked him what was going on at any time. You could have benched him. That’s why teams have four players for a 3vs3 game. But you let him play. Just enough that he wouldn’t damage the team’s results too much, but more than enough for anyone to notice that he wasn’t fit to be there.”
“He would have fought me if I had tried to bench him,” she objected.
“You fought once a week. When did that ever stop you?”
“He didn’t tell me,” she hissed. “He could have just told me.”
“Yes, because you had given him so many reasons to trust you with personal information.”
Her jaw contracted. She drew breath, but Kim Dokja didn’t leave her time for more asinine arguments.
“I’m not here to listen to your whining,” he said, a slap to her face. “If you want to come up with reasons why you shouldn’t feel guilty for what you did, go talk to someone who cares.”
She reeled back on her heels, but otherwise took the hit with composure. She slipped back behind her professional facade.
“I really didn’t mean to hurt him,” she said. “Not like that. There was nothing personal in my actions. Will you tell him that?”
“No.”
She shook her head like he was being unreasonable.
“I understand that I’m the villain of this story to you. I know I didn’t help my case by bringing up your past. I was only hoping that you would let me meet with Yoo Joonghyuk, but I see now that it was the wrong way to persuade you. Just… try to see it from my perspective. You don’t know how difficult it is for women in this field. I fought hard for this position, so having Yoo Joonghyuk in the team was a risk…”
“Again,” Kim Dokja interrupted, “I don’t care. If you’re prepared to do anything to reach your ends, the least you can do is accept that the people you trample on your way will hate you for it.”
She gave him a long considering look.
“What about you, Kim Dokja-ssi? Do you hate me now?”
He smiled, but there was nothing warm or friendly about the expression.
“I won’t wish you luck, Anna Croft,” he said. “I have a feeling it has already deserted you.”
She nodded slowly. She turned around. He kept vigil until he was sure that she wouldn’t come back.
Team 999 won the semifinals against Zarathustra 4 to 3.
Zarathustra descended to the lower bracket and went toe-to-toe against the team that had won the lower semifinals. Zarathustra’s victory earned them a second chance at the title.
In the grand finals that opposed Team 999 and Zarathustra for the second time of the championship, Team 999 won 4 to 1.
“I’m just doomed to sit next to you on planes, huh,” Kim Dokja said, annoyed.
“What’s wrong with sitting next to me?”
“Variety is the spice of life, Yoo Joonghyuk. I do like talking to other people occasionally.”
Yoo Joonghyuk gave him a look, but declined to argue. He was so even-tempered since the end of the tournament that it was starting to unnerve Kim Dokja. Was Yoo Joonghyuk adopting the zen lifestyle? That just didn’t seem right.
Though it was weirdly nice to see him so at peace with the world.
“Did we pack the trophy?” a squirming Lee Jihye asked Uriel in the seats in front of them. “We did, right?”
By comparison, Lee Jihye and Kim Namwoon acted like they were on the longest sugar rush of their lives. They wouldn’t settle, and even Namgung Minyoung was reluctant to discipline them so soon after their moment of glory. The best they had all managed was not to let the youngsters sit next to each other during the trip home, lest the other passengers riot.
On second thought, Kim Dokja was fine with Yoo Joonghyuk as a seatmate.
The plane started its slow drive toward the runway. Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes were glued to his phone. That was surprising, so Kim Dokja didn’t feel much guilt when he peeked. The screen was right there, after all.
Yoo Joonghyuk was scrolling through pictures. Lee Seolhwa was taking care of Mia while he was gone, and it seemed that they had sent a copious amount of congratulatory pics. There were party hats and streamers. Kim Dokja found himself as engrossed as Yoo Joonghyuk. Mia and Lee Seolhwa were smiling so wide. It couldn’t have been a more different sight than the one that had awaited Yoo Joonghyuk when he was on that same plane bound for home last year.
Maybe the atmosphere finally got to Kim Dokja. He leaned his shoulder against Yoo Joonghyuk’s. Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t move, content to let him look.
The plane accelerated. Yoo Joonghyuk put his phone away. Kim Dokja’s stomach swooped down as they took off.
His eyes on the lit belt signal overhead, Kim Dokja said:
“So? What now?”
Yoo Joonghyuk took his time to answer. Finally, he nodded.
“It’s time,” he said.
Kim Dokja nodded back. He turned to the window to watch Canada disappear behind them.
“Retiring?” Kim Namwoon yelled.
Kim Dokja fought the urge to plug his ears. Transcendence Gaming’s meeting rooms weren’t that big, they could all hear him fine. Yoo Joonghyuk kept his gaze calm as he looked at his teammate.
“What do you mean, you’re retiring?” Kim Namwoon went on at the same volume. “We just won!”
“You can’t, Master!” Lee Jihye concurred.
Lee Hyunsung looked like all the misery of the world was falling on his head, but he didn’t add his voice to theirs. It was really only a surprise for their two starry-eyed youngest players. Uriel was biting her lip, but her face just expressed sadness. At the head of the table, Namgung Minyoung hadn’t even reacted to Yoo Joonghyuk’s announcement.
“Should I wait until I can’t win anymore, then?” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
His tone suggested that they would all be gray-haired and wrinkled before that happened.
“Why not?” Kim Namwoon countered.
Kim Dokja glanced down. Yoo Joonghyuk would never admit it, but the fact of the matter was that he wasn’t twenty anymore. Training ten hours a day was starting to take its toll on his body, without even mentioning the time zone conflicts, the long plane journeys and the chaotic stays abroad. Yoo Joonghyuk was tired. He had been tired for a long time. The only thing keeping him going had been his drive to take revenge against Zarathustra.
There would never be a better time to stop than now, when he had just proven all his critics wrong.
“You know,” Kim Dokja cut in, “Yoo Joonghyuk is twenty-eight.”
“So?” Lee Jihye snapped, defensive. “Athletes can go longer than this!”
“He still hasn’t done his military service.”
That brought both Kim Namwoon and Lee Jihye short.
“There is only so long he can put it off,” Kim Dokja continued. “He’s going to have to leave soon. When that happens, his esports career will be over anyway. There is no way he could go back to his current level after an absence of nearly two years. Not at his age.”
Kim Namwoon pushed his chair back. He strode to the corner of the room where he viciously kicked the empty trash can. Kim Dokja didn’t react.
“You guys’ victory has earned him enough public goodwill that if he stops now, we can probably negotiate the breathing room necessary for him to switch to full-time streaming before he has to go serve. Then he can come back to a well-established channel instead of struggling to relaunch his brand from zero. That’s the best move for his career in the long term.”
“I get it already,” Kim Namwoon barked.
Although he had never said so in front of Kim Dokja, Kim Namwoon was probably one of those men opposed to the military service. He would have a hell of a time when his turn came.
“Are you the one who talked him into this, Ahjussi?” Lee Jihye said, glaring at him with red eyes.
“Lee Jihye,” Yoo Joonghyuk said, sounding offended.
Frankly, the idea that Kim Dokja could talk Yoo Joonghyuk into anything he didn’t want to do was laughable. Lee Jihye ducked her head, though her expression was too mulish to be called chastised.
“We’ll miss you, Captain,” Lee Hyunsung sighed.
This seemed to mark the switch to a mood of grudging acceptance.
“Where are we even going to get a fourth?” Kim Namwoon grumbled.
“Leave that to me,” Namgung Minyoung said. “I have a few candidates in mind. I don’t expect that I’ll have any trouble recruiting for a team that just won the World Championship.”
At this proof that even their coach had no objection, Kim Namwoon let himself fall back into his chair, his face grim. In an effort to cheer everyone up, Uriel hoisted a smile on her lips.
“Well, Dokja-ssi was a hundred percent right! I couldn’t have put it better myself. If we’re going to do this, we have to commit to it fully. So I hope you’re prepared, Joonghyuk-ssi, because we’ll have to hurry to relaunch your channel bigger and better!”
Yoo Joonghyuk nodded.
“The timing is a bit of a shame,” Uriel said, wistful. “Your audience stats haven’t been great these past few months. Frankly, I don’t think it’s a stretch to say your interactions with Demon King represent a significant part of the channel’s appeal.”
“What?” Kim Dokja said, startled into looking up from his notes.
He glanced at Yoo Joonghyuk, but the man didn’t even blink at that outlandish claim. Lee Jihye outright snickered.
“Well, Master isn’t exactly a born entertainer,” she said.
“What’s the problem with that mod guy?” Namgung Minyoung said, frowning.
“He’s been on break for a while,” Kim Namwoon said.
“Again? Can’t you contact him and haul him back?” Namgung Minyoung scolded her disciple.
“No.”
“You don’t have his contact info? How long has he been your mod, again? Did you want a repeat of last time?”
Yoo Joonghyuk stubbornly looked away.
Uriel clapped her hands.
“Well! I’ll send Demon King a private message on Star Stream just in case, but for now, let’s assume we’ll have to make do without him,” she said with determination. “What we need to do is diversify the channel offer.”
“Diversify?” Yoo Joonghyuk repeated warily.
“You need to create other types of content. We can get you sponsorships with game companies to stream their latest products, instead of only playing Ways of Survival. But ideally, we’ll also want to branch out of plain gaming! Collabs with other popular streamers, for example.”
The disgusted look on Yoo Joonghyuk’s face immediately made it obvious that he was thinking of Nirvana.
“I get to veto anything,” he burst out.
“Of course!”
“Can we make joint streams?” Lee Jihye said, leaning over the table in her excitement. “The whole team together?”
“Oh, that’d be nice!” Lee Hyunsung concurred.
The notion that they could keep working with Yoo Joonghyuk despite his departure from the team was enough to thaw even Kim Namwoon. Soon, ideas were being volleyed around the table, and if some were clearly said with the full expectation that Yoo Joonghyuk would instantly put his foot down, plenty more made it on the meeting notes that Kim Dokja was jotting down.
Kim Dokja smiled at his notebook. Yoo Joonghyuk had found himself a good team here.
Yoo Joonghyuk had been with Transcendence Gaming for two months when Kim Dokja logged into Star Stream to find that [demonkingofsalvation] had received a private message.
This wasn’t such a rare occurrence. He still received the occasional offer to team up on Ways of Survival, though most people sent them directly to his WoS account these days. Sometimes he’d also get insults and death threats from some jerk he had banned from Yoo Joonghyuk’s channel. All in all, his inbox was uninspiring enough that he only checked it once in a while to empty it.
That particular day, he still had some time to kill before Yoo Joonghyuk’s stream, so he clicked on the notification.
supremeking
supremeking: Can we talk?
Kim Dokja sat up so suddenly his cheap kitchen chair gave an alarmed creak. Yoo Joonghyuk? Yoo Joonghyuk had never contacted him before. If he had something to say, he said it during a stream.
The timestamp was from two days ago. Hopefully the matter hadn’t been time-sensitive.
supremeking
demonkingofsalvation: Sure. What’s up?
Yoo Joonghyuk probably wouldn’t see his message until he started preparing for the stream, and then he wouldn’t have time to reply. Expecting that he wouldn’t hear from him before the stream had ended, Kim Dokja opened his emails. If he sifted through the spam with enough doggedness, he could often unearth some interesting discounts.
A ping startled him.
supremeking
supremeking: Do you never check your messages? Here and on WoS too.
demonkingofsalvation: You also contacted me on WoS?
demonkingofsalvation: Don’t bother. I just blow the dust off that account whenever you need a background prop.
supremeking: ... You don’t like playing?
demonkingofsalvation: Does my account level look like I like it?
demonkingofsalvation: There is only so long I can poke at the game’s flaws before it loses its shine.
supremeking: That’s not how you’re supposed to play.
demonkingofsalvation: I don’t think a guy who hates teaming up with strangers and couldn’t care less about lore gets to lecture me about the many wonders of MMORPGs.
demonkingofsalvation: Anyway, what did you need?
Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t answer immediately. Kim Dokja checked the time. They were cutting it a bit short. But knowing Yoo Joonghyuk, he wouldn’t care if he started the stream late. That guy worked at his own pace.
supremeking
supremeking: You’ve been the channel’s only mod for years now.
demonkingofsalvation: Yes? Well, unless we count your teacher’s tenure a while back.
supremeking: Do you mind it?
demonkingofsalvation: Your teacher being mod?
supremeking: Being the only mod.
demonkingofsalvation: Oh. Not really?
Sure, it was a bit annoying that nobody had his back on days where he was late or just couldn’t make it to the stream. But at least he never had to justify his decisions or butt heads with a mod who disagreed with him. Why was Yoo Joonghyuk…
The realization came to him belatedly. He had seen Yoo Joonghyuk’s new manager a few times during fulgurations. She had been making noise about helping out with the channel, hadn’t she? Yoo Joonghyuk had been ignoring her so far, but she seemed adamant.
supremeking
demonkingofsalvation: Is this about your new company?
demonkingofsalvation: It’s fine if they want someone in the chatroom, YJH.
supremeking: ... You don’t mind?
demonkingofsalvation: Hey, they’re the ones paying you.
supremeking: That’s not what I’m asking.
Kim Dokja shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position on his hard chair. Why was Yoo Joonghyuk insisting so much? Really, who cared what [demonkingofsalvation] thought?
He hesitated, his hands hovering over the keyboard. He typed slowly.
supremeking
demonkingofsalvation: It’s Namgung Minyoung-ssi’s company, so it’s fine.
Namgung Minyoung would never hire anyone who would harm Yoo Joonghyuk. He believed that.
There was a long silence on the chat.
supremeking
supremeking: If there is any conflict, tell me. I’ll demote their account.
He wanted to tease Yoo Joonghyuk about his unexpected earnestness, but the words were such a relief to read that he couldn’t quite muster the will.
supremeking
demonkingofsalvation: Okay.
supremeking: Do you want to
He waited a while, but nothing more came.
supremeking
demonkingofsalvation: ?
supremeking: It’s been years and we’ve never met.
demonkingofsalvation: So?
Another silence.
supremeking
supremeking: Nothing.
supremeking: I’m starting the stream.
Okay? Good to have some warning.
Kim Dokja’s screen soon filled with the muted colors of WoS’ Industrial Complex area. Yoo Joonghyuk’s face appeared in the corner.
“Good afternoon,” he said without looking at the camera, and proceeded to silently click at things nobody could see.
Kim Dokja shook his head with a smile. Some things never changed.
[ghost_fleet] good afternoon, master!
[x_delusionaldemon_x] so what’s happening in these streams anyway?
[ghost_fleet] kim namwoon? what are you doing here??
[x_delusionaldemon_x] what? I was curious
Oh, Yoo Joonghyuk’s new team was taking an interest in his streams? That was novel. Although Lee Jihye had been a given. She hadn’t missed a single one since Yoo Joonghyuk had taken her under his wing.
[👑demonic_judge_of_fire_] good afternoon, everyone
[👑demonic_judge_of_fire_] oh!!! joonghyuk-ssi, you ended up giving me the role! thank you!!!
Yoo Joonghyuk hummed an acknowledgment and turned back to the game. His character started moving toward the area’s exit.
[👑demonkingofsalvation] So you’re my new colleague. Hello!
[👑demonic_judge_of_fire_] omg 😳😳😳
[👑demonic_judge_of_fire_] hi Demon King!!!
[👑demonic_judge_of_fire_] I want you to know that I’m a huge fan of you and joonghyuk-ssi, so please tell me if I’m doing anything wrong!!
[👑demonic_judge_of_fire_] managing the channel by yourself must have been a lot of work, so I’m here to help. I really hope we get along \(@^0^@)/
The enthusiasm took him aback. He had expected someone professional and distant, but this was… Come to think of it, that username was a bit familiar.
[👑demonkingofsalvation] Oh, I think that I remember you from a few previous streams?
[👑demonic_judge_of_fire_] ❗
[👑demonic_judge_of_fire_] k... kya... senpai noticed me...
[ghost_fleet] unni???
Did that mean that she was happy? Kim Dokja scratched at his head. He might need some time to get used to this, but with these people running afoot, it sounded like Yoo Joonghyuk’s channel wouldn’t get boring any time soon.
The press release for Yoo Joonghyuk’s retirement went out to all esport outlets. At the same time, a video was planned to announce it on the channel. It would be the first pre-recorded video on a channel full of live streams, so Uriel wanted it to set the tone right away.
“I can start by interviewing Yoo Joonghyuk about his decision to retire and his plans for the future,” she said as Kim Dokja scribbled notes, “and then we could move on to a presentation of the office! We haven’t really communicated about our move here, so it’ll be all new content and it’ll set the scene for future videos. We can show some of the rooms, introduce the staff…”
Said staff generally reacted well to the proposition, with the odd exception. Han Donghoon went white and tried to hide behind a potted plant at the simple notion of appearing on screen, but Uriel’s reassurance that participation wasn’t mandatory had him melt in relief.
The few days spent filming were chaotic, but it was a fun kind of chaos. The entire office was being drawn into Yoo Joonghyuk’s career switch, and it became common to chuckle at Lee Jihye, Jang Hayoung and Kim Namwoon’s squabbles about who should get the most screen time.
Faced with the collective eagerness, Uriel turned the video’s launch into a viewing party. They all assembled in the media room and chatted around snacks while the channel played on the wall screen. The screen was big enough that there was a round of laughter and applause every time an employee appeared, larger than life through the lens of the camera.
The channel’s audience was discovering the results of their filming efforts at the same time as them. The chatroom was displayed on the side, showing their live reactions. Kim Dokja kept an eye on it as he sipped at his cup of orange juice. Familiar usernames talked between themselves. It felt nostalgic.
how is this blue-haired guy not a model???
[queenofbeauty] theyre all so pretty... whats going on in transcendence...
Despite Lee Jihye, Kim Namwoon and Jang Hayoung’s internal war, it seemed the stars of the show so far were Kyrgios and Uriel. Uriel had introduced herself from the start as [demonic_judge_of_fire_], so she had gained instantaneous popularity.
“Are you regretting not taking your turn on the big screen, Dokja-ssi?” said the very object of his thoughts.
Kim Dokja smiled at her as she joined him.
“I was thinking of congratulating you on your newfound stardom, actually.”
A moue came over Uriel’s face.
“I’m sure you could also have made an impression if you had only agreed to show up…”
“Somehow, I doubt it.”
“I don’t know why you would! You are rather handsome, you know.” The sudden compliment left him off kilter. He didn’t know how he could be deemed ‘handsome’ while Yoo Joonghyuk was standing eight feet away. When his only answer was silence, she shook her head. “Ah, forget it. It can’t be helped if you’re camera shy.”
Camera shy… Well, maybe that was one way to put it. He certainly had had plenty of bad experiences with cameras.
“It’s nice that the chat likes me,” Uriel sighed, “but I wish we could have their favorite back.”
Kim Dokja frowned.
Was Uriel right? Was the absence of [demonkingofsalvation] from the chatroom costing Yoo Joonghyuk viewers? Since she had mentioned the possibility, it kept niggling at him.
Maybe he should tell Uriel the truth. Watching the streams from the office wouldn’t be a problem if he had her on his side. This was probably the best path to take, but the idea didn’t settle well with him. It would feel like conspiring behind Yoo Joonghyuk’s back. Would she even agree to keep his secret?
He opened his mouth, unsure of what he would say. But at that moment, he had to do a double take at the screen.
[blackflamempress] What’s this CEO so tall for? To change lightbulbs without a stepladder?
“Excuse me,” Kim Dokja told Uriel, and beelined for the door.
He abandoned his drink on the corner of a table, the better to tap at his phone screen. There was nobody in the corridor when he made it there, but he absconded to the empty break room for additional privacy.
He hadn’t accessed his Star Stream account in so long that the app spent nearly a minute pondering his credentials. It finally greeted him with a wall of notifications that he swiped away without a glance. When the channel loaded, it was to a view of Gabriel and Uriel talking about their job. They had managed to keep the on-screen squabbling to a minimum, though neither was losing any opportunity to brag about their respective team’s achievements.
“And by the way, Transcendence Gaming is hiring,” Gabriel said. “There is an open position as assistant manager for our team…”
“Oh, Director-nim has signed on it?” Uriel said. “Good, you’ll finally stop stealing my assistant.”
[asmodeus] she keeps singing her assistant’s praises lolol
[queenofbeauty] true, that! when do we get introduced, judge? will he show up in the video?
[blackflamempress] I bet he’s nothing to write home about.
[queenofbeauty] beauty is in the eye of the beholder, empress!
Kim Dokja’s eyes narrowed. Now he knew for sure that this was her.
[👑demonkingofsalvation] What are you doing here, empress?
DK???
[queenofbeauty] demon king!!! you’re back!
[mass_production_maker] Finally! This chatroom wasn’t itself without you, friend
[asmodeus] what took so long?
[persephone] Welcome back, Demon King! You have been missed.
The sudden flood of messages took him aback. His fingers wavered. No matter what Uriel said, he hadn’t really believed that… But they had missed him?
[blackflamempress] What? This is a public channel.
He shook off his surprise. This was more important.
[👑demonkingofsalvation] I can kick you out.
[persephone] Is there a problem with this person, Demon King?
[queenofbeauty] empress has been a regular these past few weeks. she’s a bit inflammatory, but otherwise I think she’s fine?
[blackflamempress] “Inflammatory”? Wow, nice.
Weeks? Han Sooyoung had been hanging out in Yoo Joonghyuk’s chatroom for weeks? He had to fight through the sudden panic. Had she told Yoo Joonghyuk anything? Was this why Yoo Joonghyuk was breathing down his neck lately?
[blackflamempress] Stop freaking out, you idiot.
[blackflamempress] I just wanted to see that gamer you’re so obsessed with.
He forced himself to take a deep breath. No. No, Han Sooyoung wouldn’t do that to him. There was no reason to spiral into full-blown paranoia.
That said, she wasn’t being honest either. If she had been curious, she’d have watched a replay and called it a day. Instead, not only had she made it a point of interacting with a live stream, she had come back multiple times.
[blackflamempress] Should you be sleeping on the job so much, though? It took you forever to notice.
She had come back until he had seen her. But what for? What was she trying to do?
[persephone] It sounds like you know our Demon King IRL, empress. Am I wrong?
[queenofbeauty] you never said!
[blackflamempress] It didn’t come up.
we were wondering how Demon King was doing literally last week
[blackflamempress] Yeah, I don’t get the hype.
[blackflamempress] You guys realize this guy is a loser, right?
Kim Dokja’s frantic heartbeats slowed down. This was just Han Sooyoung. He could handle Han Sooyoung.
[👑demonkingofsalvation] Someone is really itching for a ban.
[mass_production_maker] Yeah but he’s our loser
Hey, what. The disrespect in this chat had only doubled during his absence, huh.
He typed, “empress, let’s take this to kakaotalk”, but before he could send the message, his phone was snatched from his hands.
His heart jumped into his throat. Kim Dokja whirled around.
Yoo Joonghyuk held the device. He was looking at the screen with a blank expression.
“Hey!” Kim Dokja said, and lunged for the phone.
Yoo Joonghyuk swiped. Star Stream’s profile window appeared.
The name [demonkingofsalvation] sat conspicuously at the top.
Kim Dokja froze. His hands lowered and balled at his sides.
His eyes roved over Yoo Joonghyuk’s face, but he couldn’t read him at all. Why was it always in moments like this that he couldn’t seem to understand Yoo Joonghyuk? Was Yoo Joonghyuk angry? Of course he was angry. How angry was he? How much anger would it warrant to find out that your soulmate had been coyly hanging around the whole time, never bothering to make real contact?
Kim Dokja might have been shaking. Not his body, because he was holding himself with the perfect stillness of an animal in the presence of a predator. Something was shaking all the same.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes met his. Kim Dokja’s ribs felt tight around his lungs.
“I’m not angry,” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
What a joke. Who was he trying to convince with such a flimsy lie? Kim Dokja opened his mouth to say exactly that, but before he could get one word out, a large hand cupped the back of his head. Yoo Joonghyuk leaned closer, his dark eyes glinting.
“You think too much,” he rumbled.
And kissed him.
Notes:
Next chapter will be on Monday <3
Chapter 12
Notes:
Lots of yelling in the comments 😂 You were all very patient, so here you go!
Chapter Text
Kim Dokja didn’t have much kissing experience. His kisses with Han Sooyoung, back when they had been dating, had been perfectly nice, but he thought comparing them to what was happening to him right now would have been very unfair.
It didn’t feel like fireworks in his guts. It felt like he was the firework.
Yoo Joonghyuk dipped inside his mouth and a moan ripped out of him. What was this? Was he a porn actor to be making sounds like that? He desperately tried to regain control, but his body wasn’t listening to him. He was shivering like a newborn foal in Yoo Joonghyuk’s arms and he couldn’t stop himself from kissing back.
“Joonghyuk-ssi, did you see that Demon King…!” Uriel’s excited voice shattered the spell. “Oh shit!” she cut herself off, suddenly high-pitched. “Sorry!!”
Their lips separated with a tiny wet sound. The world slammed back into place around Kim Dokja. Or maybe he was the one to slam back down to Earth. That would explain why his knees were trying to buckle.
The way Yoo Joonghyuk was looking at him made Kim Dokja feel such contradictory instincts that his head spun. He wanted to run. He wanted to stay right here. He wanted to say something. He wanted to never talk about this again.
Uriel had ducked out of the room. It sounded like she was having a breakdown in the corridor.
“Sorry! I’m so sorry! Please carry on!”
Her heels clattered back toward the media room. Heat rose to Kim Dokja’s face. No, that… What did she think was happening exactly?
“You should go back,” he said, clearing his throat. Yoo Joonghyuk hadn’t moved, so he stepped back in his stead. “That party is for you, you know.”
He made for the door. Yoo Joonghyuk caught his wrist in a grip like steel.
“Kim Dokja.”
Kim Dokja didn’t turn. His heart beat like a drum in his chest.
Yoo Joonghyuk pried his hand open. The hard rectangle of his phone was pressed into his palm.
“I will let you run away just this once. Remember that.”
Kim Dokja clenched his hand and hurried out.
“I had to take a look at the guy,” Han Sooyoung said. “It’s your fault for not introducing me, you know!”
Kim Dokja hummed. He stuck his phone between his cheek and his shoulder while he unlocked his door. Han Sooyoung kept ranting unprompted.
“I can’t say I understand the appeal. Sure, he’s nice to look at, but does he even have a personality? He barely talks during those streams. Does he get that people watch him for entertainment?”
This had also been Kim Dokja’s complaint from the very beginning. But after years of arguing against critics online that were making that very point, he found himself opening his mouth to protest on reflex. He swallowed the words back and toed out of his shoes.
“You find him that boring, yet you watched him for weeks?” he said instead, tart.
“Well… I guess the chat is fun,” she said, with the satisfaction of a cat that had gotten the treat it was after. “Not that you’d know since apparently you deserted it months ago.”
He kept silent.
“Hey, don’t pout at me. I’m trying to make a point, here.”
“Which is?”
“Do you know how much those guys on the chat talk about you? Are you really going to give up on something you like on the off chance that Soulmate Man might get angry?”
Kim Dokja dropped his bag on the floor and sat on the edge of his bed. He pressed a hand to his eyes. He didn’t want to have this conversation.
“You know I wouldn’t tell them anything,” Han Sooyoung added, her tone serious now. “I don’t think you should keep this whole thing a secret, but who am I to intervene in your very own drama plot?”
The last remnants of his annoyance at her vanished. It was senseless to blame her when it was his own actions that had caused him to blow his cover.
“Yeah,” he said, his throat tight.
Behind his closed eyelids, he couldn’t stop seeing Yoo Joonghyuk’s face as he looked at his username.
“Hey, are you okay?” Han Sooyoung said, sounding suspicious. “You’ve barely chewed me out. Did something happen?”
A flash of Yoo Joonghyuk’s lips moving closer.
“No,” he forced out. “Nothing happened. Do what you want, I guess.”
He hung up on her loud disbelief. She immediately tried to call him back. He let the phone ring and hid his face in his hands.
Nothing had happened. Absolutely nothing.
Uriel couldn’t meet his eyes without blushing.
Kim Dokja ignored her the best he could. He kept chipping away at his work.
“Come to think of it,” Uriel said brightly. “You and Joonghyuk-ssi haven’t met for coffee in a little while, right? You can leave early if you’re going tonight.”
“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,” Kim Dokja replied, polite.
She definitely had the wrong idea. Maybe Kim Dokja shouldn’t have let Yoo Joonghyuk wait for him at the door all those times they had gone for coffee before. Those hadn’t been dates, alright? They had been Yoo Joonghyuk’s clumsy attempts to get to know him. And now there was no longer any need for them.
The kiss had to have been Yoo Joonghyuk taking revenge on him. This was a little more convoluted than an angry Yoo Joonghyuk usually got, but… Or maybe Yoo Joonghyuk’s wires had gotten a bit crossed in the confusion. Whatever the case, this wouldn’t be happening again. Every time they crossed paths in the corridors that day, Yoo Joonghyuk watched him without saying a word. Since he obviously needed space, Kim Dokja stayed silent and ducked out of the way.
When lunchtime came, he did them both the courtesy of leaving the company to eat outside. There was no need to go through the awkwardness of Yoo Joonghyuk showing up with only one lunch box.
All in all, he thought he was being very sensible and patient about the whole affair. Yoo Joonghyuk had done something stupid, sure, but Kim Dokja had been the one in the wrong by hiding important information from him, so he could be mature about this. He was rather proud of his level-headedness.
Which made it rather vexing when Yoo Joonghyuk glared at him as soon as he entered the meeting room in the afternoon.
Lee Hyunsung, Lee Jihye and Kim Namwoon looked between them in surprise. It had been a while since they had seen this scenario occur. Uriel seemed outright alarmed.
“H-hmm!” she said, hastily setting her laptop down on the long table. “Let’s start this meeting, shall we? So, the second new video on Yoo Joonghyuk’s relaunched channel!”
Lee Jihye wasn’t very interested in Kim Dokja as a rule, so it didn’t take much more than that to redirect her attention.
“If we’re all here,” she said, “does this mean we’re going for the group stream?”
“Yes,” Uriel smiled.
Kim Namwoon, Lee Jihye and Lee Hyunsung cheered. Yoo Joonghyuk turned away from Kim Dokja with a short-tempered sigh.
Patience, Kim Dokja repeated to himself. He was the one at fault. He could be patient. Yoo Joonghyuk hadn’t asked him to leave Transcendence yet. Kim Dokja could work with this.
He hunched over his notes, writing down all the ideas that were being put forward.
“We have a room where you can all play together,” Uriel said, “so instead of having four camera inserts from your webcams superimposed on the game feed, I thought we could have one big horizontal camera insert that would show all of you at your computers.”
“I like that,” Lee Hyunsung said. “It’ll feel more friendly.”
“We’ll have to coordinate with Han Donghoon-ssi and get a camera installed on the wall behind the computers,” Kim Dokja said.
“The computers will also need to be pushed back toward the center of the room to widen the camera angle. Dokja-ssi, you’re very familiar with moving that furniture, aren’t you?” Uriel teased.
How mean. What had he done to deserve that?
“As for the content…” Uriel continued.
“I can get Demon King of Salvation to join.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s abrupt declaration caused a silence to fall on the room. It didn’t last long.
“Really?” Uriel yelled. “Really, you’re in contact?”
What was Yoo Joonghyuk… Why was he…
“Is he coming back?” Lee Jihye asked eagerly.
“I’m so happy!” Uriel said. “I couldn’t get any news from him. Did he answer your private messages, Joonghyuk-ssi?”
With a twinge of guilt, Kim Dokja remembered that she had meant to contact him on Star Stream. He had seen message notifications when he had opened the app, but he hadn’t taken the time to look through them. He should spare a minute to reassure her that [demonkingofsalvation] was fine.
“He’ll come,” Yoo Joonghyuk said, looking straight at Kim Dokja.
“DK will play with us?” Kim Namwoon said. “I like that. Let’s go for a superhard dungeon.”
“You know Master always tanks for him. Don’t make his job harder,” Lee Jihye argued with a punch to her teammate’s shoulder.
The conversation moved on to deciding which dungeon would be the most interesting to tackle for a four-and-a-half-player team. Uriel let the gamers decide while she wrote a storm of advertising ideas on her laptop. She seemed adamant that the presence of [demonkingofsalvation] would mean a boost in audience. It was nice to see her so enthusiastic, but Kim Dokja couldn’t say that he shared the feeling. He just wanted this meeting to end already.
When they finally wrapped up, everyone got to their feet smiling. Only Yoo Joonghyuk and Kim Dokja stayed seated.
Uriel blinked at them. It took her a second, so absorbed in her own thoughts did she seem to be, but she startled.
“Oh, right! Take your time, Dokja-ssi!”
She ushered the other three gamers out of the room. She probably believed that they needed the privacy because of Yoo Joonghyuk’s attitude at the beginning of the meeting, but whatever worked.
The door closed.
“Demon King of Salvation will join?” Kim Dokja said.
“Won’t he?”
“He’s a bit busy these days, Yoo Joonghyuk.”
“You always complained that you weren’t paid to join the streams. Now you can be.”
Kim Dokja sighed. He leaned his forehead against his hands.
“Is this you getting back at me?”
“I told you I’m not angry,” Yoo Joonghyuk said with an impatient frown.
“Sure,” Kim Dokja said, sarcastic.
Yoo Joonghyuk snatched Kim Dokja’s arm and tugged it down, uncovering his face. Kim Dokja looked up in surprise.
“If you can’t show up, just say it,” Yoo Joonghyuk said, looking him fully in the eyes. “You don’t have to be in the room with us. Nobody needs to see your face if it’s such a problem.”
“And where would I play? In my office, where Uriel would definitely notice that I’ve got WoS pulled up on my computer?”
“Why do you need to hide it so badly?”
Kim Dokja opened his mouth for an automatic retort, but he stopped.
That was actually a good question.
How much longer did he expect to hide that he was [demonkingofsalvation]? And why would he bother? Sure, admitting it would mean setting himself up for a few difficult conversations, especially with Uriel.
But Yoo Joonghyuk knew.
It hadn’t fully hit him since the events of the day before. His sleepless night had been spent pondering… other things. But Yoo Joonghyuk knew that he was [demonkingofsalvation]. In that case, who cared?
Kim Dokja sat back in his chair.
“Fine.”
Yoo Joonghyuk looked a bit suspicious at his easy surrender.
“You’ll join?”
Kim Dokja shook off Yoo Joonghyuk’s grip on his arm. When he answered, it was [demonkingofsalvation] addressing [Supreme King].
“Sure. That’s how it works, isn’t it? You want me there, I’ll be there.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s jaw tightened. His face took on an expression that Kim Dokja had trouble interpreting, but that made him feel ill at ease. Kim Dokja looked away.
“Ah, but I’m not doxing myself online,” he added. “That might make things uncomfortable, legally speaking.”
The weird cast of Yoo Joonghyuk’s features disappeared, replaced by grim triumph.
“So you did give me that sword while you were under contract with Mino Soft.”
“‘Giving’ isn’t exactly the right word, don’t you think? Anyway, it’s their fault for not addressing bugs on time.”
Yoo Joonghyuk rubbed at his temple. He looked long-suffering.
“I should have known earlier that it was you. It’s so obvious.”
“It’s not,” Kim Dokja said, affronted.
“You called yourself ‘a reader’,” Yoo Joonghyuk said with contempt.
Kim Dokja averted his eyes.
“That was years ago,” he muttered.
Admittedly, he hadn’t hidden his tracks that well. The timing of [demonkingofsalvation] going on his break the day before Kim Dokja had appeared in Transcendence had also been suspicious. But he hadn’t thought that it would matter. [demonkingofsalvation] could have been any of hundreds of thousands of strangers. Those clues Kim Dokja did drop could only be noticed if one paid attention, and he hadn’t expected Yoo Joonghyuk to pay attention.
Yoo Joonghyuk got up.
“I’m revoking your leave of absence,” he said.
“Not actually my boss, Yoo Joonghyuk.”
“Then work it out with your boss.”
Yoo Joonghyuk stopped at the door and speared him with a severe look.
“Just be there.”
He left Kim Dokja to gather his notes and his thoughts. He didn’t have much of a choice, did he? Both Uriel and Yoo Joonghyuk believed that it was important that [demonkingofsalvation] came back to the channel. In that case, there was no way through but forward.
He returned to his office slowly, but by the time he reached the door, the best way to broach the subject was still escaping him. Uriel was absorbed in her screen when he came in.
“Uriel-ssi…”
She looked up, a question in her eyes. He searched for his words.
Before he could find them, Yoo Joonghyuk barged in. He shoved an insulated bag into Kim Dokja’s arms.
“And don’t you dare waste food,” he said, his face dark.
He was gone as fast as he had appeared. Confused, Kim Dokja opened the bag. It contained a single lunch box.
Uriel giggled.
“Joonghyuk-ssi has such interesting ways to show he cares, don’t you think?”
Kim Dokja closed the bag and put it down next to his satchel. His hand lingered on the package.
“I’m so glad he’s in contact with Demon King now,” Uriel continued. “And don’t worry! I’m sure he’s told him about you, Dokja-ssi. Do you think you’ll be joining the chat during the stream? We could introduce you two…”
Kim Dokja closed the door.
“Uriel-ssi,” he cut in. “I’m Demon King of Salvation.”
A truck lumbered by in the street outside. A cloud briefly hid the summer sun; shadow and light chased each other on the corkboard on the wall.
Uriel didn’t move.
Kim Dokja looked at his desk. There were barely any personal effects on its surface. He had learned long ago not to get attached to his workplaces.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I didn’t want you to feel like you had to give me a job just because we knew each other, and afterward, well…”
She jumped to her feet. Her eyes were wide.
“You’re really… really really…”
He shifted his weight.
“I know I haven’t answered your messages on Star Stream. I can do it now if you need proof…”
He cut himself off when she produced a noise like a boiling kettle. She rushed out from behind her desk and threw her arms around him.
“DK!” she yelled.
He reeled under the sudden hug, but she let him go before he had even found his footing.
“Oh no!” she said, red-cheeked. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… Oh fucking hell! I can’t believe this!”
“Sorry,” he said again.
“You’re only telling me now?” she protested, outrage slowly catching up to her shock.
“I know, I…”
“You’ve been DK the entire time?”
“Yes…”
“So wait, I…”
She seemed to sway on her feet for a moment. He held out a worried hand, but didn’t dare to touch her. Was it really that much of a blow?
Her eyes fell on the insulated bag.
“Does Joonghyuk-ssi know?” she said, breathless.
“Ah, yes. Since yesterday.”
He might as well have offered her a miracle. The color deepened on her cheeks and her eyes shone. She joined her hands as if in prayer.
“I knew it!” she shouted. “I knew it, I… I was never really into Joonghyuk-ssi multishipping, DK! I always believed in you!”
“Huh… thank you?” he said, feeling like he was stepping into a trap he couldn’t see.
At least she was happy? She tried to regain her composure, but her frown wasn’t in the least believable. She gave up and resorted to a pout.
“But you owe me an explanation, fuck.”
He couldn’t help but laugh in relief.
Uriel’s easy acceptance did much to bolster his morale. Plus, unlike what Kim Dokja had expected, Yoo Joonghyuk behaved like usual, so it seemed like they would be able to ignore what had happened in the break room and find a new normal.
And if the notion made his chest hurt a little, well… that was probably the guilt of breaking his promise to Yoo Joonghyuk; when a fulguration came during the next weekend, he chose not to report it.
If he reported it, Yoo Joonghyuk would see his contact name appear on his phone and he would think about Kim Dokja. Everyone knew that trying to force yourself not to think about something was the fastest way to think about it. And surely Yoo Joonghyuk wouldn’t want Kim Dokja to be privy to what would go through his head if he was reminded of him right now? Even if Yoo Joonghyuk acted like it hadn’t happened, he was probably still embarrassed about the kiss. It would be very impolite of Kim Dokja to peep on that.
So Kim Dokja didn’t say anything, and the fulguration went by with Yoo Joonghyuk fully focused on the game he was playing with Mia. This was really better for everyone.
On the day of the group stream, Uriel made good on her threat and enlisted Kim Dokja to move the furniture. He didn’t doubt that this was her revenge for keeping his silence for so long. Team 999 worked from home while he and Han Donghoon spent the better part of the afternoon prepping the training room.
The gamers appeared in the doorway fifteen minutes before the stream was due to start. They glanced around curiously.
“You didn’t put a badass mural on the background wall?” Kim Namwoon said, disappointed.
“Do it yourself,” Kim Dokja retorted.
He had shed his suit jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves, and he was sprawled in the room’s fifth computer chair. This was really too reminiscent of his interview day, except this time Han Donghoon had also roped him in to configure the system. He was beat. Transcendence Gaming really needed to recruit more employees. When had he become assistant IT?
“The spare computer is also set up?” Lee Jihye said, bounding in excitedly. “Master, does that mean Demon King is coming here?”
Yoo Joonghyuk walked past her to take the seat next to Kim Dokja. He put his bag on the table and threw him an interrogative glance. Kim Dokja jabbed his chin at the camera standing on its tripod near the back wall.
“The spare computer is out of frame. It’ll just be you four onscreen.”
Yoo Joonghyuk nodded and set about taking his mouse and keyboard out of the bag.
“You’ll call him Demon King during the stream,” he told his teammates.
That brought them short.
“What?” Lee Jihye said.
“Are we committing identity fraud now?” Kim Namwoon asked with a complicated expression.
But at the same time as them, Lee Hyunsung said: “Oh, Dokja-ssi, so you’re that Demon King person? Pleased to meet you!”
The teenagers turned to stare at him. Yet Lee Hyunsung, as uninvolved as he was with Yoo Joonghyuk’s channel, failed to understand their incredulity. He just smiled at Kim Dokja like it made perfect sense.
“You too,” Kim Dokja said pleasantly. “Let’s work well together today.”
“Yes!”
Lee Jihye and Kim Namwoon turned their shocked stares on Kim Dokja. He watched with petty glee as the realization that this wasn’t a joke dawned on their faces. Take that, Yoo Joonghyuk. It hadn’t been obvious.
“What?” Lee Jihye screeched.
“Holy shit,” Kim Namwoon said.
“What!!” Lee Jihye said again.
Kim Namwoon burst into rib-cracking laughter.
“Don’t laugh, you hyena! It’s not funny!” Lee Jihye shouted at him.
Kim Namwoon slapped his desk multiple times, unable to catch his breath long enough to answer her. Lee Hyunsung and Yoo Joonghyuk watched him, one confused and the other unimpressed.
“I don’t believe you!” Lee Jihye shouted at Kim Dokja. “Ahjussi, are you lying?”
Kim Dokja rolled his chair to the spare computer and turned on the monitor. WoS’ character selection screen was already up, the avatar of [Demon King of Salvation] rotating slowly in the middle.
“Ten minutes to stream,” he said. “Shouldn’t you guys be getting ready?”
“What!” Lee Jihye said a third time, before storming out yelling, “Unni!”
Yoo Joonghyuk wasn’t fooled by Kim Dokja’s attempts to hide his smile. He stared at him judgmentally. Yes, so Kim Dokja was enjoying this. What about it?
“Get to work, ex-team leader,” he said with a gesture at Yoo Joonghyuk’s computer.
“Ahjussi, you’re my idol,” Kim Namwoon gasped.
“That’s one of the most alarming things I’ve ever heard,” he confessed, which just sent Kim Namwoon into new peals of laughter.
Lee Jihye came back just before their starting time. She stopped by Kim Dokja’s chair, red-cheeked and pouting.
“You’re an ass, Ahjussi,” she grumbled, staring at her feet. “But… thank you for introducing me to Master.”
She bowed startlingly low, then hurried to her computer without looking at him. Kim Dokja’s amusement faded. He shifted on his chair. Why would she thank him for that? Yoo Joonghyuk was the one who had decided to take her under his wing.
Yoo Joonghyuk was the one smiling now, a smug curl at the corner of his mouth.
Kim Dokja focused on his screens, fiddling with his avatar’s equipment on the left and the Star Stream display on the right. Viewers were logging in while Yoo Joonghyuk’s placeholder animation counted down to the start. It seemed Uriel had been right. The chat was already getting lively, and one in three comments mentioned [demonkingofsalvation]. He had never even seen some of these usernames.
“Am I getting Internet famous?” he muttered, frowning.
“Uriel-unni’s compilation brought in new viewers,” Lee Jihye said with obvious schadenfreude.
“Her compilation?”
What was it about, again?
“Pfff, that’s nothing,” Kim Namwoon said. “I keep getting recognized in the street now. A group of girls asked for my autograph yesterday.”
He slipped a hopeful glance at Lee Jihye, but she didn’t even react.
“We’re starting,” Yoo Joonghyuk cut in.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” Lee Hyunsung said, beaming at the camera. “Team 999 here!”
“And associate,” Kim Namwoon added. “Say hello, Ahjussi!”
Kim Dokja stuck a hand into the frame and waved over Yoo Joonghyuk’s head.
“Oh? Are you getting shy?” Kim Namwoon teased.
“Shouldn’t you introduce yourself properly before you start saying things like that?” Kim Dokja retorted.
“But viewers already know me, right? Hi to Captain’s fans! I’m Kim Namwoon, Delusional Demon!”
Lee Hyunsung and Lee Jihye took their turns speaking up while the chat scrolled by nearly too fast to see.
[aileen] hi you guys! congratulations on the championship!
[maritimewargod] good to see you, jihye-yah
[queenofbeauty] I didn’t imagine this? it was DK out of frame??
[goryeosfirstsword] must be
[morning_star_goddess] I thought he never talked on screen?
fr, back AND talking on mike? they changed him while he was gone?
“And, as you may have noticed, we have Demon King-ahjussi with us today,” Lee Jihye said with another resentful glance in his direction. “Which was a bit of a shock to most of us.”
Kim Namwoon snorted.
“Hey, blame Yoo Joonghyuk,” Kim Dokja said. “He sprang this on me too, you know.”
[queenofbeauty] hi, DK!!!
[👑demonic_judge_of_fire_] welcome back! 🥰
[bald_general_of_justice] So glad to hear from you.
[blackflamempress] Wth? When did you spill the beans to YJH???
[persephone] Will we see you on streams from now on, Demon King?
[blackflamempress] And why am I the last one to know??
“I’ll be back in the chatroom, Persephone. Yoo Joonghyuk thinks he can bully me now that he has my Kakaotalk.”
He sent a dry glance at Yoo Joonghyuk, only to find the man already looking at him. Didn’t that guy know better than to look outside the camera frame?
“Teleport to me,” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
“What? Oh right, I’m still in the Industrial Complex.”
Kim Dokja opened his near-empty WoS friends list and moved to [Supreme King]’s location. His avatar appeared on the stream with the others. His phone kept buzzing in his pocket.
“Empress, stop blowing up my phone or I’ll block you.”
Star Stream automatically censored her next chat message. He didn’t bother opening it.
“Ahjussi, we’re doing a First Murim dungeon, you know,” Lee Jihye said.
“I know? I was there when we were planning the run.”
“Why didn’t you disagree? You don’t really like the First Murim, right?”
“It’s not that I don’t like it. It’s just that they hyped it up so much pre-launch, and for what? The items you can get here are cheap. Even Peace Land has better stuff.”
“I don’t think your assessments of what’s cheap can be trusted,” Yoo Joonghyuk said as they started the journey for the dungeon.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Kim Dokja said.
“You’re the kind of guy who manages to buy SS-class skills and items in the Interstellar City’s auction house for a handful of coins.”
“That was when they had just launched the auction house. There were so many ways to abuse the system before they rebalanced it, you can’t blame people who took advantage.”
“You have SS-class skills and you don’t fight?” Kim Namwoon said with raised eyebrows.
“It’s not an offensive skill. It’s called King of No Killing.”
Lee Hyunsung’s character slowed down. He frowned.
“Isn’t that the skill that’s famous for being useless? It boosts your defense stat really high, but while it’s turned on, you can’t use items or any other skill… or even attack enemies?”
Lee Jihye and Kim Namwoon visibly processed that.
“Of course it’s useless if you’re trying to play the game straight, but why would I do that?” Kim Dokja dismissed. “Did you know that some dungeons’ reward rooms aren’t locked behind the death of the boss? You can just walk up to them and loot, and get out before the boss kills you if you’re fast enough.”
The chatroom was a deluge of laughter and questions from the newbies. Kim Dokja held on to his composure. Sounding nonchalant required an inordinate effort from him today. It never used to faze him when the chat focused on [Demon King of Salvation], but this felt different.
When Yoo Joonghyuk had first asked his mod to feature on his streams, Kim Dokja had done all that he could to preserve the distance between them, to stay an anonymous face on the other side of a screen. He didn’t like the fact that his voice was now floating online.
[goryeosfirstsword] you should come for more streams
yes! please dont let this be your only stream, DK. please please please?
[morning_star_goddess] does anyone know this mod’s irl identity? 👀 supreme king knows him, right?
[defense_master] Who cares?
[queenofbeauty] empress?
[blackflamempress] What business is it of yours? If he wanted you to know, he’d be on frame.
[persephone] That’s true. DK has a right to his anonymity.
Something unclenched in Kim Dokja’s chest.
“Thanks, Persephone,” he said while his four teammates went to town on a wave of enemies standing in their path. “You know, how about that: anyone who doxes me online has to pay my legal fees if I get sued by an undisclosed third party.”
LMAO
[bald_general_of_justice] That’s our Demon King alright.
[goryeosfirstsword] who did you scam this time
“Are you in trouble, Dok…” Lee Hyunsung started, worried.
“Ah ha,” Kim Dokja said with a warning look.
“Hmm! Demon King-ssi?”
“Not as long as everybody keeps their mouth shut, I’m not.”
Kim Namwoon started cackling again.
[blackflamempress] What did you do? I swear, I can’t take my eyes off of you for five seconds.
“Wait, Ahjussi. That SS-class skill…” said Lee Jihye, whose complete inattention to the current topic neatly put an end to it. “Does that mean Master doesn’t actually tank for you? You have zero aggro so he just gets all of it?”
She sounded scandalized.
“How are you just discovering that?”
“No, I do tank for big fights,” Yoo Joonghyuk butted in unexpectedly as he was leading them to the dungeon entry. “If he has no enemies nearby, he’ll turn off the skill and heal me.”
“You were doing that on purpose?” Kim Dokja said. “I thought you just had random suicidal urges!”
“And you still healed him?” Kim Namwoon said. “Wow, Ahjussi, you’re whipped.”
“Good to know that you don’t expect to need a healer today, Kim Namwoon. It’s been a while since I played, so I can’t seem to remember how to turn off King of No Killing. Guess you guys are on your own.”
[👑demonic_judge_of_fire_] qsdfgh 🙈🙈🙈
[aileen] wow that look on Yoo Joonghyuk’s face. feeling painfully single suddenly
[morning_star_goddess] more of whatever this is, please 🖐 I’m subscribing!
The sun was low in the sky outside the windows of the empty training room. Kim Dokja watched it with absent eyes.
He should put the room back in order so the team could use it like normal tomorrow. His back protested at the thought. Maybe he could just get up early in the morning and do it before anyone came in…
He stretched his arms, then fell bonelessly in his gaming chair. The stream had been a resounding success, but he was exhausted. He hadn’t signed on to become an Internet sensation, but he wasn’t sure he could stop it at this point. At least he was doing his part keeping the lights on at Transcendence Gaming. Should he demand a raise?
Something cold nudged his exposed neck. He twitched.
Yoo Joonghyuk was standing over him. He held out a can from the vending machine on the ground floor. Kim Dokja sat up to take it.
“You’re still here?” he said, a bit embarrassed.
He had to be out of it if he hadn’t noticed that Yoo Joonghyuk’s bag was still at his desk. He had thought him gone at the same time as Lee Jihye, Kim Namwoon and Lee Hyunsung.
Yoo Joonghyuk sat next to him and opened his own drink. Apple juice, of course. He wouldn’t have bought soda of all things. Kim Dokja watched him throw his head back and take one long swallow. There was something hypnotizing about the strong column of his throat. Kim Dokja looked away and pressed the cold can against his warm ears.
“Good work today,” he said.
Yoo Joonghyuk turned gentle eyes on him. It made Kim Dokja’s stomach twist. He never knew what to do with himself when Yoo Joonghyuk looked so at peace with the world.
Yoo Joonghyuk hooked his foot around Kim Dokja’s ankle. He used the hold to tug his rolling chair closer. Kim Dokja looked at him askance.
“Don’t go away again,” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
“You could just name other mods.”
“Kim Dokja,” he admonished.
It felt weird to hear Yoo Joonghyuk say “Kim Dokja” when he clearly meant “Demon King”.
Kim Dokja cracked open his can of juice and took a sip. The weird atmosphere of the room felt heavy on his shoulders. The office was silent around them, most people already gone home. Yoo Joonghyuk was looking at him like he expected something, but Kim Dokja didn’t know what to say.
He should just take his leave. Yoo Joonghyuk’s leg was still wound around his. Kim Dokja made to untangle them. His muscles had barely tensed before Yoo Joonghyuk’s palm landed on his thigh, pinning it in place.
The juice slid down the wrong pipe. Kim Dokja coughed and spluttered.
“Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk growled.
What right did the jerk have to sound like that when Kim Dokja was the one struggling for his life, here?
“I warned you that I wouldn’t let you run away anymore.”
Kim Dokja froze. He kept his head down. His throat gave a few more spasms. He swallowed them down, ignoring the way his eyes watered.
“Yoo Joonghyuk…”
“Do you have an answer for me?”
Yoo Joonghyuk ducked closer, forcing him to meet his eyes. His lips curled in contempt.
“Or have you spent the past week pretending nothing had happened?”
Kim Dokja leaned back in his chair and gazed at the wall behind Yoo Joonghyuk. He put his drink down on the table.
“An answer to what?” he said blankly.
Yoo Joonghyuk produced a sound that was more animal than human. He stood up so fast his chair rolled back and smacked into Lee Jihye’s. Kim Dokja tensed, but before he could run for the door, Yoo Joonghyuk crowded in on him.
The kiss this time was rough and demanding. Kim Dokja’s neck strained from the angle. His nails dug into one cushioned armrest. It felt like something warm and thick as molasses was being poured down his spine to pool around his hips.
It took everything in him to pull back. His chair bumped into something, halting his retreat. Yoo Joonghyuk had a death grip on it anyway.
“Yoo Joonghyuk…” he said, his heartbeats so loud in his ears that they nearly drowned the sound of his own voice.
“This. Answer this,” Yoo Joonghyuk hissed.
But he couldn’t answer a question he didn’t understand.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Why not?”
“Why n…?” Kim Dokja said in incredulity. He hid his face in his hands, despairing. “Yoo Joonghyuk, have movies rotted your brain? Did you watch too many romantic comedies with Mia? You don’t have to do this just because we’re soulmates.”
“I know that,” Yoo Joonghyuk said, the offense obvious in his voice.
“Then what are you trying to do, here? You don’t even like men.”
“I kissed you,” Yoo Joonghyuk argued, outrage rising. “Twice.”
“Yes well, we all have off days…”
“Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk interrupted, and his tone had Kim Dokja wisely shut his mouth.
Yoo Joonghyuk let go of the chair and straightened. He closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. Kim Dokja resented that. If anyone should be praying for patience here, it was him.
Yoo Joonghyuk opened his eyes again and speared him with a look.
“Date me,” he said, his expression brooking no argument.
“Absolutely not,” Kim Dokja said, appalled.
“Why not?”
“Look, Yoo Joonghyuk, I know you’re still grieving, but you don’t have to rush it. You and Lee Seolhwa will heal. You deserve someone who’ll make you happy…”
“You make me happy.”
Kim Dokja’s throat closed on the rest of his words. That single sentence sat between them, massive, absorbing all the oxygen in the room. Yoo Joonghyuk looked him straight in the eyes, solemn and quiet, like he hadn’t just torn open his chest for Kim Dokja to see.
Kim Dokja stared down at his clenched hands.
“You work hard to make me happy,” Yoo Joonghyuk added, which was horrible and terrifying and just plain wrong.
Kim Dokja shook his head, a torrent of denials pressing against his lips, but his tongue wouldn’t move.
Yoo Joonghyuk crouched. He laid his warm hands on Kim Dokja’s.
“Make me happy, Kim Dokja. Date me.”
Kim Dokja’s sigh nearly sounded like a sob.
“You can’t possibly want this,” he said. “You don’t know what you’re asking, Yoo Joonghyuk.”
Yoo Joonghyuk brushed moisture off his cheek.
“You think I don’t see you,” he grumbled. “You think it only goes one way? Everything has to be dramatic with you.”
“Hey,” Kim Dokja protested weakly.
Yoo Joonghyuk pushed a sweet kiss against his lips.
“Stop overthinking,” he said. “Just say yes.”
And this was as far as Kim Dokja’s pathetic resistance could take him. He saw clearly now that no matter how much he argued, he was a fish thrashing on the hook. Perhaps his biggest fault was that he had never learned how to say no to Yoo Joonghyuk.
He sank in Yoo Joonghyuk’s next kiss. He closed his eyes.
Perhaps it was better this way. Let Yoo Joonghyuk see for himself that this wouldn’t work. In the meantime, Kim Dokja would…
Well. He was a selfish person, after all. He looped his arms around Yoo Joonghyuk’s neck and deepened the kiss.
Chapter 13
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
A few days later, Kyrgios swooped into Uriel and Kim Dokja’s office with a thundering frown.
“What’s this I hear about you fool having legal trouble hanging over your head?” he asked Kim Dokja.
Damn.
“Ah, it’s nothing Director-nim. I promise I won’t make trouble for the company…”
“I’m asking you what it is,” Kyrgios cut in impatiently.
Kim Dokja looked at Uriel, hoping for some support. But she just beamed and flashed him two thumbs-up behind Kyrgios’ back. What?
“Breach of contract?” Kim Dokja ventured. “I mean, arguably. I don’t think Mino Soft could get anything to stick after all this time, but I also don’t have the financial means to get sued by a company that big…”
“The contract,” Kyrgios interrupted again, holding up a hand.
“… I don’t have it here?”
Why would he bring his contract from a previous job at work? Kyrgios’ arm dropped back to his side.
“I want a copy of it in my inbox tomorrow morning, along with a full description of your transgression,” he ordered. “And if you ever breach our contract, you’re fired.”
That went without saying? Kyrgios exited, leaving him to stew in his confusion.
“What was that?” he said.
Uriel clapped her hands, delighted.
“I hope the Director can work it out! It would be great to have you appear on-screen with Yoo Joonghyuk. The audience would love it!”
Warning bells rang in his head. Him, appear on-screen? They couldn’t seriously want that. What purpose would that serve?
No, Kyrgios probably just wanted to check that there was no way the case could impact Transcendence Gaming. Kim Dokja frowned, trying to think of a way to “describe his transgression” that wouldn’t be usable against him in court. Didn’t Kyrgios know that putting anything in writing meant admitting guilt? Kim Dokja would just send him a link to the Holy Sword of Salvation video with the relevant timestamp.
An alarm beeped on Uriel’s desk.
“Stream time!” she said. “Are you logging in?”
“Right, yeah.”
He pulled up the Star Stream website and entered his username and password. It felt so strange to do it here, with Uriel’s excited face just a few feet away.
The countdown had started on Yoo Joonghyuk’s channel, but the man himself had yet to appear. While he waited, Kim Dokja noted that Star Stream had updated their graphic design a little. The icons looked different.
His eyes slid over the lit messaging icon, reminding him of Uriel’s still unopened private messages. He should clean up his inbox while he had the time. He nudged his mouse to the icon. A notification box appeared.
56 new messages??
That was way too many. Had the website update introduced bugs? Had there been a bot attack?
He clicked with trepidation.
He found Uriel at the top of his inbox, a bold number 4 next to her username. Opening her message log revealed nothing unexpected. She was politely inquiring after his health and wondering if he could spare the time to come back to the streams sometimes.
There were a handful of messages from names he hadn’t expected. [persephone], [mass_production_maker] and, even more surprisingly, [goryeosfirstsword] had all reached out at some point during his absence, hoping for some news from him.
But the real bug had to be the line [supremeking] – 44 sitting just below Uriel.
supremeking
supremeking: How much longer are you going to be gone?
supremeking: This better not be like last time.
supremeking: You fool probably aren’t checking your messages again.
supremeking: Answer when you get this.
The timestamps were all over the place. They started not long after [demonkingofsalvation] had gone on a break. Sometimes there were multiple messages in one day, then a long pause. Sometimes there was one message per day, every day.
supremeking
supremeking: It’s been two weeks. You really aren’t checking this.
supremeking: When are you going to come back? Give some timeline next time.
supremeking: Demon King.
supremeking: Log in.
The grousing continued for a dozen more lines. Had Yoo Joonghyuk expected that adding more identical messages would magically change the fact that [demonkingofsalvation] wasn’t paying attention? Since when was Yoo Joonghyuk a serial texter? How hadn’t Kim Dokja known that about him? It felt like the world had flipped on its head.
Some way down the page, Yoo Joonghyuk switched tactics and started recounting interesting things that had happened during the streams.
supremeking
supremeking: I think queenofbeauty is getting married.
supremeking: Haters in the chat again today.
supremeking: Nirvana is getting bolder. Uriel isn’t as good as you at handling them.
Kim Dokja’s lips curled up. Had Yoo Joonghyuk been trying to bait him into coming back? Look at him, paying attention to the chat. It was like he cared.
Further down still, the tone changed abruptly.
supremeking
supremeking: This is ridiculous. What if something happened to you?
supremeking: I would have no way to know.
supremeking: We’ve known each other for years and I don’t even have your number.
supremeking: We should have met.
supremeking: I should have asked you to meet in real life.
Kim Dokja’s smile fell.
supremeking
supremeking: Let’s meet when you come back, Demon King.
supremeking: I won’t let you disappear again. You’re too good at it.
supremeking: You’d better be alright.
And then, dated on the day of the death anniversary:
supremeking
supremeking: It’s you, isn’t it? You’re finally here.
The silence buzzed loudly in his thoughts.
“Dokja-ssi?” Uriel said. “Aren’t you going to answer Flying Fox’s question?”
“Ah, sorry,” Kim Dokja said, hastily changing tabs. “I was working on something else.”
He focused on the chat, trying to ignore the webcam insert in a corner of the screen where Yoo Joonghyuk was now blinking placidly at his game. His nails dug into his palm.
The weekly coffee meetings returned with a vengeance. They were actual dates, now. Kim Dokja resented that. How could he explain to Uriel that she had been wrong when she was now right? She insisted on waving him out the door with the kind of expression he would have expected from a woman impatient to marry off her child. He found it faintly distressing.
“You’re quiet,” Yoo Joonghyuk said as they were walking to their destination.
His hand was firmly wrapped around Kim Dokja’s. It was a bit uncomfortable in the growing summer heat, but Yoo Joonghyuk acted like he was liable to disappear if he let go for even a moment.
Kim Dokja opened his mouth.
“Were you…”
The rest of the sentence stayed stuck in his throat.
‘Were you in love with Demon King of Salvation?’ Just thinking the question to himself made it sound preposterous. He was [demonkingofsalvation]. Surely Yoo Joonghyuk had better taste than that.
“It’s nothing,” he amended. “Why aren’t we going to Starbucks, anyway?”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s face scrunched up in distaste.
“Not for a date,” he said like it was obvious.
“Alright?” Kim Dokja said.
Yoo Joonghyuk led them to a quaint little café Kim Dokja would never have entered on his own. He blinked at it, bemused, but followed the man to some seats by the window. Their table was small enough that their knees bumped under it. Kim Dokja shuffled his feet awkwardly until Yoo Joonghyuk solved the issue by shoving one of his legs between his. Kim Dokja gave him the stink eye.
Soon the waiter was walking away with their order. Kim Dokja stared at his companion.
“You’re actually getting something.”
Yoo Joonghyuk glared defensively.
“You complain when I don’t.”
He twisted his hips to extract his wallet from his pants pocket. His thick thigh leaned briefly into Kim Dokja’s. He set the wallet on the table like he was trying to make a point.
“I’m paying, so stop worrying about your budget already. We can do this often. Order more if you want.”
What was this, some caveman urge to provide?
“Uh-huh,” Kim Dokja said.
He had to hide his skepticism, especially when the waiter came back and Yoo Joonghyuk aimed a frown at the tea cup and piece of cake that were set in front of him.
Anyway, cramped accommodations aside, Kim Dokja couldn’t complain about Yoo Joonghyuk’s sudden snubbing of Starbucks. The coffee was much better here and the strawberry tart he had ordered was delicious. If Yoo Joonghyuk had told him earlier that he was footing the bill, he would have gotten something costlier. The more expensive something was, the better it must taste, right?
Kim Dokja could indeed have ordered more.
He didn’t.
He was proven right in his decision when Yoo Joonghyuk finally put his spoon down in disgust. It seemed the tea had found his favor, but only a few bites had been taken out of the cake. Even Yoo Joonghyuk’s stubbornness couldn’t strong-arm his delicate taste buds.
Kim Dokja drew the full plate to his side of the table. He wanted to be unimpressed, but he couldn’t help but smile. This side of Yoo Joonghyuk was a little endearing.
“Should I also finish your food every time we do this?” he needled.
Yoo Joonghyuk looked out the window. The move wasn’t as successful at concealing his embarrassment when he couldn’t turn his back on Kim Dokja.
Kim Dokja pulled his foot back and gently pressed their calves together.
“You don’t have to try so hard,” he said, loading his spoon with cake. He took a bite. It was sweet and moist. Yoo Joonghyuk truly had the palate of a gourmet food critic to find it wanting. “We can just go to yours.”
Maybe that was a bold thing to say for their first date, but it caused Yoo Joonghyuk’s shoulders to relax.
Really, Kim Dokja was getting a bit sick of cafés, and neither of them was the movie-theater type. Restaurants were only an option if Kim Dokja agreed to get dragged to the kind of place that stayed tastefully silent about price on their menus. Plus a guy at the corner table must have recognized Yoo Joonghyuk because he kept glancing their way. Esports champions weren’t idols, tabloids rarely bothered with their dating life. Still, staying home would be easier than being out in public.
“Even with Mia?” Yoo Joonghyuk checked.
He had had a few false relationship starts before he had found someone like Lee Seolhwa who didn’t mind that he already had a child at home. It did put a damper on making out on the couch.
“Why not?” Kim Dokja said, glib. “Are you afraid that she’ll yell at me for having designs on your virtue?”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s smile was fleeting but radiant.
“Maybe.”
Okay, maybe Kim Dokja was worried about that himself. But he wasn’t about to offer his studio as an alternative. His apartment didn’t even have a couch. He had two chairs and his bed just a few feet away from his only table, and that just… it would send a signal that he wasn’t trying to send, alright.
“Autograph seeker in approach,” he said, and Yoo Joonghyuk turned an annoyed look toward the man walking up to them with a pen and a napkin.
And so, Kim Dokja met Yoo Mia for the second time.
“I’ll get started on dinner,” Yoo Joonghyuk said, patting his sister’s hair as he passed her by on his way to the kitchen.
It left Kim Dokja alone in the entryway with Mia. She was staring him down with fierce eyes, her arms akimbo.
“Ahjussi,” she greeted, deadpan.
Kim Dokja held back a wince. At least he hadn’t expected a warm welcome. He toed off his shoes.
“Listen, I know,” he said in a voice low enough that Yoo Joonghyuk wouldn’t hear him. “I don’t think this dating thing is a good idea either. But let’s be patient with him, alright? He’ll go back to Lee Seolhwa-ssi in his own time.”
He had meant to be reassuring, but Mia just bristled.
“You don’t want to date Oppa?” she said, indignant.
What a stupid question. Ah, but she was a child. What was obvious to adults didn’t need to be obvious to her.
“Anyone would want to date your brother, Mia. It doesn’t mean that just anyone would be good for him, right? It doesn’t matter what I want.”
He had expected her to agree, but she just looked at him for a long moment. Eventually, her face scrunched up. She ran off. A door slammed closed somewhere in the apartment.
Kim Dokja gazed after her as he trudged into the kitchen.
“I think I upset her,” he said helplessly.
Yoo Joonghyuk looked up from the garlic he was peeling. He set it down, washed his hands and left the kitchen. Staying here waiting felt like he was just taking up space, so Kim Dokja picked up the abandoned knife and worked on the cloves.
Yoo Joonghyuk came back.
“She says you’re stupid,” he relayed, unimpressed.
“Should I leave?”
“It’s fine.”
“She won’t be uncomfortable? Maybe I shouldn’t come by when she’s here.”
“I said it’s fine,” Yoo Joonghyuk said as he took out a mixing bowl. “She’s not angry, only in a mood.”
Yes, an angry mood. But there wasn’t much Kim Dokja could say about that if Yoo Joonghyuk refused to see, so he shut up and bent over his task.
A sheaf of paper slapped down on Kim Dokja’s desk.
“You can show your face, now,” Kyrgios said, looking supremely smug. He turned to Uriel to add: “I didn’t do all this for nothing. Milk this guy for all he’s worth.”
“Yes, Director-nim!”
Kyrgios strode out while Kim Dokja was still leafing through the documents. That crazy guy had really done it? Mino Soft had agreed to waive off all previous grievances with Transcendence Gaming staff as long as Transcendence Gaming kept producing streaming content related to Ways of Survival.
“Didn’t we want Yoo Joonghyuk to branch away from WoS?” Kim Dokja said.
Uriel had come up behind him to read over his shoulder.
“It’s still his flagship game,” she said happily. “The team will want to do more joint-streaming sessions, I’m sure. Plus Kim Namwoon told me he was considering starting his own channel.”
She ran back to her desk and rooted around.
“This is great! I had sooo many ideas for new roles you can fill on the channel, DK. We can finally start working on them!”
Kim Dokja goggled at the bulging file that she brandished. Wait, she had been serious about having him appear more on Yoo Joonghyuk’s channel? Did Kyrgios and her actually expect him to show his face, to give up his anonymity?
“I don’t remember agreeing to this, Uriel.”
She froze at the harshness of his rebuttal.
He should have seen this coming. Maybe this was where his path had led since the moment he had agreed to lend his WoS account for Yoo Joonghyuk’s streams. But this was where he put his foot down. It wasn’t the role of the audience to become a character on the screen.
Uriel seemed more concerned than chastised. She peered at his face with a frown. He wasn’t sure what his expression was doing.
“Well… of course, we don’t need to do anything you don’t feel comfortable with,” she said.
Kim Dokja nodded and took this as the end of the conversation. He put Kyrgios’ documents aside and returned to work. Uriel wavered for a moment. She made a few aborted attempts to speak, then finally sat back in her chair. Kim Dokja didn’t look at her.
If he had hoped that this would be the end of it, he was disappointed. Within hours, Kyrgios’ displeasure about the news trickled down the company’s ranks. Even Han Donghoon timidly asked Kim Dokja if it was true that he had refused to take on a more active role on Yoo Joonghyuk’s channel.
It didn’t come as a surprise when Yoo Joonghyuk himself cornered Kim Dokja in the empty break room.
“You’re camera shy?” he asked.
Everyone was making such a fuss. Listen, it wasn’t Kim Dokja’s fault, alright? If Kyrgios had asked instead of assuming, the director wouldn’t have needed to put in all this useless work.
“It’s not that,” Kim Dokja said, annoyed. “I have a right not to see my face online, you know? One celebrity between the two of us is enough.”
He threw his empty water cup into the recycling bin.
“You don’t have to…” Yoo Joonghyuk started, as he caught Kim Dokja’s hand in what seemed to be an automatic move. He stopped in the middle of his sentence.
Kim Dokja kept his eyes on the wall above the sink. Really, he had never thought that Yoo Joonghyuk would be so big on hand-holding. He seemed to take any and all excuse to engulf Kim Dokja’s palm in the warmth of his. But this time, Kim Dokja had to resist the urge to wrench his hand away.
It would just have made it more obvious, anyway. There was no hiding the subtle tremor of his fingers now that Yoo Joonghyuk had touched him.
Yoo Joonghyuk stared at him with a troubled frown. He pressed Kim Dokja’s shivering knuckles against his chest.
“Kim Dokja…”
A gasp cut him off. They both glanced at the door. Lee Jihye’s eyes were wide as saucers.
“Unni was right? You guys are dating?” she said, amazed.
“Hey, no, that’s not…” Kim Dokja tried, but she was only paying attention to Yoo Joonghyuk’s reaction.
When he gave no denial, only looking at her placidly, she took off down the corridor.
“Guys guys, did you know?” she yelled.
Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t move. Kim Dokja threw him an impatient look and tugged his hand back.
“Aren’t you going to run after her?”
“Why?” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
“You…” Kim Dokja bit his tongue hard enough to taste blood.
He had been trying to keep this on the down low in the office. There was no need for everyone in Transcendence to know about their ill-fated experiment.
The problem with dating a colleague was that once you broke up, you risked impacting your professional life. To make matters worse, Transcendence Gaming was a small company. If there was tension between him and Yoo Joonghyuk after the breakup, everyone would naturally take Yoo Joonghyuk’s side. If that happened, Kim Dokja would have to leave and find another job.
But since her captain hadn’t seen fit to stop Lee Jihye, there would be no curtailing the rumor now.
“Whatever,” Kim Dokja said, a bit forlorn. He might as well start looking at job listings. “I’m going back to work.”
Yoo Joonghyuk made as if to hold him back, but Kim Dokja sidestepped him and ducked out. They had created enough gossip fodder for one day.
Surprisingly, their colleagues’ reactions to their new relationship were overall positive. Some seemed to find it natural since he and Yoo Joonghyuk were two soulmates working together, which Kim Dokja found both presumptuous and vaguely insulting. He had expected that Lee Jihye, once her surprise had passed, would resent him much like Mia had, but she was astonishingly cheerful about the whole thing.
“About time, Ahjussi!” she told him, like she hadn’t had a very obvious crisis of faith when she had first discovered that Kim Dokja was Yoo Joonghyuk’s soulmate.
Kim Namwoon didn’t care, and Lee Hyunsung was only flustered for a short while before he took it in stride.
The hardest sell, of course, must be Namgung Minyoung. But she made no attempt to broach the subject with Kim Dokja. Maybe Yoo Joonghyuk had already discussed this with her; she just watched them from afar.
Kim Dokja would have found it easier to deal with it all if the revelation had at least been enough to quash the previous hot topic in the company. But Lee Jihye seemed more adamant than ever to have him appear on the team’s next joint streams, Kim Namwoon and Lee Hyunsung were very on board with the idea, and Uriel had yet to put away that thick file of hers.
Even Yoo Joonghyuk asked again. And as stubborn as Yoo Joonghyuk was, he usually had too much pride to insist on something when he had already been brushed off once.
So that was their first “lovers spat” out of the way.
Kim Dokja had fully expected that one screaming match would be enough for Yoo Joonghyuk to break up with him. Instead, Yoo Joonghyuk just got clingier. He always left work at the same time as Kim Dokja, now, and for three days, they walked to the subway station in frosty silence.
They were halfway to their destination on the third day when Kim Dokja heard it.
“There you are!”
That voice had him freeze on the sidewalk. Yoo Joonghyuk also stopped, questioning him with his eyes.
A woman was striding toward them, lollipop in hand and shit-eating grin in place.
Oh no.
“What are you doing here?” Kim Dokja said.
“Taking matters into my own hands. You won’t introduce me, so I’ll introduce myself.” She turned to Yoo Joonghyuk. “Hi, I’m Han Sooyoung.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes narrowed.
“The terrible-taste friend,” he said.
Han Sooyoung’s smile turned predatory.
“I’d hit you for that, but that sounds like something that idiot would say.”
“You’re Black Flame Empress?”
“Hey, you’re not dumb,” she said, her eyebrows rising in surprise. “Yeah, that’s me.”
“What do you want?”
Kim Dokja watched the exchange with trepidation. Maybe he should have had faith, but he never knew what to expect from Han Sooyoung. She sent him a sardonic glance, like she could hear him sinking into paranoia.
“Just to offer my services,” she told Yoo Joonghyuk, glib. “I know how easy it is to get this guy to talk about himself, and your fulgurations don’t help much, right? I figured I could help level the playing field.”
She held out her phone, her Kakaotalk contact already pulled up.
Absolutely not.
“Stop that,” Kim Dokja said, swiping for her phone.
She moved it out of the way.
“What’s wrong? It’s not like I’m your mom. I don’t have any embarrassing baby pictures to pull out,” she said, projecting innocence like it wasn’t laughably ill fitting.
She may not have baby pictures, but she had more than enough embarrassing pictures of him.
“Get lost,” Kim Dokja said. “Like Yoo Joonghyuk would want to talk to you…”
A chime cut him out. While he had been grappling with Han Sooyoung for her phone, Yoo Joonghyuk had moved his own close enough to catch her QR code. Kim Dokja watched him save her contact with a feeling akin to betrayal.
“You’re a smart man,” Han Sooyoung said with a sharp smile. “Ask me whenever you’re stumped on something, alright?”
“Do you know why he refuses to properly appear on the channel?”
Kim Dokja locked his muscles to hide a wince. Han Sooyoung looked taken aback. She hadn’t expected that Yoo Joonghyuk would take advantage of her offer that quickly. She glanced at Kim Dokja, but he refused to meet her eyes.
“Stop acting like you’re entitled to my public image, Yoo Joonghyuk,” he said, his voice icy.
This already felt like a well-trodden argument. How long would Yoo Joonghyuk bring them into circles?
“I don’t care whether you show up or not,” Yoo Joonghyuk snapped, which was so different from what he had said until now that Kim Dokja found his automatic reply stuck in his throat. “I want to know why it’s such a problem for you.”
“I just don’t want to…”
“Stop lying,” Yoo Joonghyuk interrupted him, teeth bared in frustration. “Something is wrong and you won’t tell me what.”
“Nothing is wrong.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s jaw worked.
“Why is it so hard for you to trust me?” he said, his voice low and rough. “You know everything about me. But you won’t even tell me when you’re hurt?”
Kim Dokja couldn’t find anything to say to that. Something unknown was pressing on his chest and chasing the words from his mouth.
“Do you know?” Yoo Joonghyuk abruptly asked Han Sooyoung.
Kim Dokja knew the kind of face Han Sooyoung would make when dragged into what was clearly a private squabble of his: half-resentful, half-skeptical. But when he turned to her, she just seemed uncomfortable.
His stomach flipped.
She threw him a look. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have said her expression was apologetic.
“You know he can literally Google it,” she said.
It felt like the ground had opened up under his feet.
He hadn’t told Han Sooyoung about his past. But she wasn’t dumb, and she was right. The facts were only an Internet search away.
Yoo Joonghyuk glanced between them. His hand clenched around his phone like he was considering pulling up a browser window on the spot.
“Don’t,” Kim Dokja said, and wrapped his stupid shaking fingers around Yoo Joonghyuk’s hand. “Don’t.”
The idea of Yoo Joonghyuk reading about this on a screen was more than he could take.
“It’s a vulgar and boring story, Yoo Joonghyuk.”
It was. So why was it still affecting him so much? It had been years. He had thought he had put it behind him, but all it had taken was Anna Croft’s words to bring everything rushing back.
“My name is associated with bad things, and I don’t want my old reputation to affect you or Transcendence Gaming. That’s all.”
Yoo Joonghyuk pressed his free hand around Kim Dokja’s, as if to call him out on the lie again. If Kim Dokja was only concerned about others’ wellbeing, he wouldn’t be so out of sorts that even Yoo Joonghyuk had noticed.
Instead of pointing that out, though, Yoo Joonghyuk just said:
“I want to know.”
Kim Dokja closed his eyes. It was illusory to hope that he could keep this to himself. His sole choice was whether to stick his head into the sand or to act like a grown man.
“Alright.”
Han Sooyoung patted his shoulder awkwardly. Kim Dokja didn’t react. But when he turned toward a nearby park where he sometimes went to eat lunch and Han Sooyoung followed after him and Yoo Joonghyuk, he didn’t protest.
The three of them found a bench and sat. And Kim Dokja talked, blank-faced, about the alcoholic father who abused his wife and son, and about the mother who went to jail for killing him. About the book.
Really, his mother’s book was the only part of this story that stood out from the experience of many strangers around the world. It truly was an uninteresting story.
The more he talked, the more Yoo Joonghyuk’s fingers tightened around his hip. Kim Dokja eventually shut up, if only because they were sitting so close by now that if he kept at it, Yoo Joonghyuk would be hauling him on his lap. He squirmed a little, trying to regain some breathing room, but Yoo Joonghyuk’s expression was dark and unyielding.
“Anyway, there you have it,” Kim Dokja said. “Not many people remember it now, but A Murderer’s Notes From the Underground was a bestseller. So if I start showing up on a popular channel, my name will ring a few bells. And you know how the Internet gets. It’s going to create a huge scandal for no reason.”
Nobody answered him.
Silence settled between the three of them. The sound of traffic in the distant street provided a steady background. A few children ran down the paved path with shrieks of delight.
“You know,” Han Sooyoung said brusquely. “I had gathered the gist of it. But it’s just like I thought. Hearing you talk about it makes it so much more infuriating.”
Kim Dokja looked down at his knees.
“I really want to box your mom’s ears,” she grumbled.
“My mom?” he said, startled into looking up.
“I checked that book, you know. She didn’t even use pseudonyms. Who doesn’t use pseudonyms on a true story? It’s not like she saddled you with a dime-a-dozen name either!”
She buried her face in her hands and dissolved into muffled imprecations. It sounded like her author sensibilities were deeply offended.
“It’s been years,” Kim Dokja tried. “It’s fine.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s fingers dug into his flesh.
“Ow! Hey, let off a bit, would you?”
“Shut up,” Yoo Joonghyuk ground out.
“Yeah, shut up before I hit you,” Han Sooyoung seconded.
Silence fell again. The longer they sat there — the longer neither Han Sooyoung nor Yoo Joonghyuk made any move to pull away from the small bench — the more Kim Dokja felt something unwind in him. He only realized he had started to sag against Yoo Joonghyuk when Yoo Joonghyuk’s hand finally left his hip to cup his head and tuck it into the crook of his neck. Kim Dokja thought about resisting, but he found that he couldn’t muster enough conviction for it.
“Heh. Don’t you two look cozy,” Han Sooyoung said.
Kim Dokja blindly tried to stomp on her foot. He missed.
“You didn’t tell me you were together now, you jerk,” she added.
“Go away.”
“You’d better be damn sure of yourself, because he’s going to make you work for it,” she said, and her tone made it clear that she was no longer talking to him.
“Han Sooyoung!” Kim Dokja said, wrenching his head upright to glare at her.
“I’m sure,” Yoo Joonghyuk said at the same time.
She got up to avoid Kim Dokja’s next retaliatory strike, but otherwise ignored him. Her eyes were on Yoo Joonghyuk, and her smile was sharp.
“I’ll hold you to that,” she said. “Cling on for your life, you poor bastard.”
“Get lost,” Kim Dokja told her.
“Yeah, I’m leaving. We’re still on for Sunday, right? Yoo Sangah is coming.”
He wanted to refuse just to be petty, but that addendum had him deflate, just like she had known it would. He didn’t see Yoo Sangah that often. He could all too easily picture her disappointment if he canceled.
“I hate you.”
She replied with a sarcastic hand wave and wandered down the path.
“You don’t have to listen to her,” Kim Dokja said. “It’s just Han Sooyoung being Han Sooyoung.”
Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t reply. He tugged him back into his neck. Though initially tense, Kim Dokja soon melted into him again. He was tired, like he had put down a weight he hadn’t known he was holding this whole time. So close to Yoo Joonghyuk, he could smell the scent of his skin under his deodorant.
He closed his eyes. The world felt closer, as if he had found an unknown frequency that allowed him to harmonize with it. Yoo Joonghyuk’s heart stuttered for a second under his ear, but it returned to normal before he could be bothered to ask about it.
A small eternity passed like this.
“I should have known all that,” Yoo Joonghyuk whispered.
Kim Dokja glanced at him from the corner of his eyes. Yoo Joonghyuk was frowning. The expression looked pained.
“I didn’t want you to know,” Kim Dokja admitted.
Yoo Joonghyuk looked at him.
“I didn’t want you to have to deal with this. I kept telling myself, ‘I hope Yoo Joonghyuk doesn’t see this, I hope Yoo Joonghyuk doesn’t see this…’”
He trailed off.
“It’s how it started?” Yoo Joonghyuk guessed.
The PSI Syndrome.
Kim Dokja gazed at the trees in the distance. One couldn’t build a wall that tall and expect it to just disappear.
“I would have helped,” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
He looked so earnest. Kim Dokja had to duck his head and laugh. Helped? Of course Yoo Joonghyuk had helped. He had helped on a thousand different days, in a thousand different ways. Just by opening that window into his world, he had saved Kim Dokja.
‘You’re the only thing that made life bearable,’ he thought, because at least in his heart of hearts, he could admit it.
Yoo Joonghyuk suddenly clutched his head. He pulled him up and into a searing kiss. Kim Dokja grunted in surprise, but allowed it. Yoo Joonghyuk drew back only to shower his face with butterfly kisses. Kim Dokja retreated, flustered.
“Alright, enough already, Joonghyuk-ah. There is a playground right around the bend, any of those kids could recognize you. Let’s not defile the youth’s innocence. What’s gotten into you?”
“Come home with me,” Yoo Joonghyuk ordered, which made heat rise to Kim Dokja’s face like a tidal wave.
That was so out of the blue! Was Yoo Joonghyuk’s celibacy affecting him so much? He usually had good control of his lust.
“What are you thinking?” Kim Dokja protested. “Mia will be home by now!”
“You shouldn’t be alone tonight.”
That gave him pause.
“Is this about…? Joonghyuk-ah, I’m really fine.”
But Yoo Joonghyuk just held on to his arms, his eyes dark and intent.
“I won’t let you be alone tonight,” he vowed.
Kim Dokja wavered. This coddling was unnecessary. He would be fine. He had managed those memories alone for years. What would be one more evening?
But when Yoo Joonghyuk got up and tugged him away from the bench, he didn’t resist.
Notes:
This was the first part of the chapter I ended up splitting into two because I wouldn't stop adding stuff to it last minute 🙄 As a result, the next part and the epilogue aren't ready, so the next update will take longer to come. I'm thinking one or two weeks. (Just so we're clear though, don't expect a change in rating!)
Chapter 14
Notes:
Sorry this took longer than planned, Kim Dokja fought me for every inch of this one. Picture a full "cat trying to escape bath time" scenario. Tears were shed 💀
Please note that I added the "Fade to Black" tag. I should be able to post the epilogue tomorrow!
Chapter Text
Kim Dokja looked up from the dishwasher he was filling to find that Yoo Joonghyuk had stopped moving. His strong hands, covered in sudsy water, still held on to the pan he had insisted on washing by hand. He was staring out the window. Kim Dokja followed his eyes, but found nothing more notable than the Seoul skyline by night.
“Joonghyuk-ah?”
Yoo Joonghyuk turned to him. He stared at a spot on Kim Dokja’s left cheek, frowning.
“This is why you know how to cover bruises.”
Was Yoo Joonghyuk still thinking about his story? Dinner had passed with no mention of it, so Kim Dokja had lowered his guard. That was his mistake; of course they wouldn’t talk about this in front of Mia. He should have known better than to expect that meant the end of the topic.
Actually, he had learned how to cover bruises in high school. While his father had been alive, his mother had taken the brunt of it all. But when the book’s notoriety had ballooned, there had been nobody left to shield him from teenage bullies, and signs of weakness had only painted a bigger target on his back.
There was no point in exposing his miserable school life. He added one more bowl to the dishwasher.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s wet hand brushed against his cheek. Kim Dokja blinked at him.
“It’s healed, Yoo Joonghyuk.”
“Is it really?” Yoo Joonghyuk insisted. “You’re not wearing any makeup?”
“It’s been weeks. Do you want to watch me wash my face to prove it? By the way, do you have any moisturizer I could borrow? I don’t have any of my stuff since you dragged me here so last minute.” He squinted at Yoo Joonghyuk in judgment. “No, you don’t have any, huh.” Come to think of it, he had never seen Yoo Joonghyuk take care of his skin in a fulguration. Life was truly unfair.
Yoo Joonghyuk paid no attention to his words. He seemed unsatisfied. The pan lay forgotten in the sink.
There was a long silence that left Kim Dokja more and more bewildered. What was Yoo Joonghyuk thinking?
Finally, the man opened his mouth.
“If I ever hit you again, tell Namgung Minyoung.”
“What?” Kim Dokja said, torn between bafflement and outrage.
Even if it happened again, why in the world would he go tattle to Yoo Joonghyuk’s mother? She didn’t even like him. Why would that concern her?
Yoo Joonghyuk moved closer, crowding him in.
“Promise me,” he stressed. “If I hit you again, she needs to know. Promise me, Kim Dokja.”
He was so emphatic about it that Kim Dokja found his indignation fading away. Well… Namgung Minyoung was also Yoo Joonghyuk’s martial arts coach. There might be rules of conduct that Kim Dokja wasn’t aware of. Kim Dokja should probably let her decide if her pupil deserved a trashing for using violence outside of a training room or whatever.
“Fine,” he said, mystified. “Far be it from me to get in the way of proper martial discipline.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s brow managed to inch even lower than its previous position.
“You promise?”
“Yeah yeah. I promise.”
“No matter the reason I’d hit you, you’d tell her.”
“Yes, Yoo Joonghyuk. Can we finish the dishes now?”
Despite getting his way, Yoo Joonghyuk still looked sullen when he turned back to the sink. He took the sponge and attacked the pan with vigor.
After a pause, he grumbled:
“I’ll start looking for a psychiatrist tomorrow.”
In his surprise, Kim Dokja slammed the dishwasher closed with more strength than he had meant to. His blood ran cold.
“Don’t I get a say in this?” he said, all inflection dropped from his voice.
Yoo Joonghyuk stopped rubbing and frowned at him. They stared at each other for a long moment. A thought seemed to come to Yoo Joonghyuk. His expression turned exasperated.
“For me, you fool,” he said, and opened the faucet to stick the pan under the running water like he hadn’t just shocked Kim Dokja speechless.
Kim Dokja was still staring at him when Mia barged into the kitchen.
“Found the spare spare toothbrush!” she said.
She shoved it, still wrapped in plastic, into Kim Dokja’s hands.
“Where is the first spare toothbrush?” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
“I used it for arts and crafts,” she replied with an innocent expression.
Yoo Joonghyuk gave her a look, but declined to comment.
“Write it on the shopping list.”
“Yes!”
She sent an eagle-eyed look at Kim Dokja, then moved to obey. Out of sorts, he left to take his turn in the bathroom.
That turned out to be an exercise in frustration. The lack of skin products aside, Yoo Joonghyuk had lent him clothes, with predictable results. The drawstring pants were the right size, though they hung looser on him than on their owner, but the shirt was too wide. Far too much of his collarbones showed.
When Kim Dokja emerged in the corridor, Yoo Joonghyuk interrupted his search through the linen closet and stared at him. Kim Dokja glared back and ignored the heat on his cheeks. He had already known that they were built differently, alright. He hadn’t needed the hit to his self-esteem.
“Don’t you have a shirt that shrank in the wash or something?” Kim Dokja said.
“No,” Yoo Joonghyuk said, because of course he was too good for laundry mishaps. He paused. Then: “Maybe one of Mia’s…”
“I hate you.”
Yoo Joonghyuk smirked.
“I’m going to have to make the trip back to my apartment early tomorrow so I can change in time for work,” Kim Dokja grumbled, adjusting the shirt so it at least wouldn’t slide off his shoulder. “Will you reimburse me for my lost sleep?”
“You should bring some clothes here.”
“We’re not making a habit of this!”
He eyed the bed sheets in Yoo Joonghyuk’s arms. Something in him unclenched. At least Yoo Joonghyuk wasn’t the type to push somebody into his bed after a few weeks of dating. Kim Dokja was determined not to cross any boundaries until Yoo Joonghyuk came back to his senses, but he wasn’t sure he could have resisted the temptation.
“And I’m taking the couch,” he added.
“I can take it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Your couch is more comfortable than my bed. Plus you’re the athlete between the two of us, you need your rest.”
He took the sheets from him. Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t argue, but he took advantage of Kim Dokja’s full hands to press a slow kiss to his lips. He caressed the side of his neck, dipping low enough that Kim Dokja shivered. Kim Dokja stepped back, cursing him under his breath as he checked nervously that Mia was still in her room. Yoo Joonghyuk wandered away with a smug look on his face.
It was still early in the evening, so Kim Dokja left the sheets on the coffee table and nestled himself in a corner of the couch with his phone. Once Yoo Joonghyuk had changed into his own sleepwear, he joined him with a gaming magazine.
An hour passed in comfortable silence. At one point, Mia passed nearby in search of a glass of water, then went back to her room while calling out a good night that they both returned.
Eventually, though, Kim Dokja had to cave to his phone’s insistent warnings.
“Can I borrow your phone charger?”
Yoo Joonghyuk grunted an agreement. By the time he opened his mouth to give him directions, Kim Dokja was already heading to the office. He unearthed the cable from the first desk drawer and returned to the living room, in search of an outlet to plug it in. When he turned back to the couch, Yoo Joonghyuk was watching him.
“What?”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s only answer was to brace his arm on the back of the cushions. Kim Dokja wavered at the clear invitation. There was no reason to refuse, though, so he sat closer than before and let Yoo Joonghyuk pull him against his shoulder. He glanced at the magazine lying open on Yoo Joonghyuk’s lap. In the absence of webnovels, this would have to do.
But Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t return to reading.
“Do you really think people would recognize you?” he said.
Kim Dokja didn’t reply at once.
“I don’t know,” he said slowly. “But like Han Sooyoung said… my name is unusual.”
“It shouldn’t matter if they do. You did nothing wrong.”
“The world doesn’t work like that, Joonghyuk-ah.”
Yoo Joonghyuk pressed his mouth in Kim Dokja’s hair. There was no need to lecture him of all people about the injustices of the world.
“Will you talk about it with the others?” Yoo Joonghyuk said after a long silence.
“… The others?”
“Teacher. Uriel. That director; he likes you.”
Kim Dokja tensed.
“Why would I do that?”
But even as he said it, he could answer his own question. As assistant manager, he was already in a semi-public position. He met with sponsors, game tournament officials, even journalists. He could be recognized at any moment, and his employers deserved to know that they had hired a potential PR bomb.
He deflated.
“They could help,” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
Help themselves, certainly. And Kim Dokja couldn’t begrudge them that. He wouldn’t have cared to warn any of his previous employers, but he didn’t want his presence in Transcendence Gaming to cause trouble for everyone. The company was still growing. Team 999 was renowned now that they were world champions, but Jang Hayoung’s team wasn’t so well established.
Still.
“I don’t want to,” he mumbled into Yoo Joonghyuk’s shirt.
Yoo Joonghyuk grunted.
“Fine.”
Surprised, Kim Dokja leaned back to look him in the eye, but Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t appear angry or unwilling.
“You…” Kim Dokja said, then sighed. “No no. We have to.”
Now Yoo Joonghyuk frowned at him.
“You don’t have to tell anyone anything you don’t want to, Kim Dokja.”
“You made me tell you things I didn’t want to, though?”
“It’s different with me,” he said, brazen enough that Kim Dokja had to laugh.
He hesitated, then stretched up to press a kiss to the corner of Yoo Joonghyuk’s lips. Yoo Joonghyuk looked happily surprised. Kim Dokja didn’t usually take these kinds of initiatives.
“Off to bed with you,” Kim Dokja said. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”
“I can stay.”
“I can survive the night alone on your couch, Joonghyuk-ah. And I’m tired.”
It had been an exhausting day, and he would need his strength if he had to revive this with different people tomorrow.
Yoo Joonghyuk squeezed the arm around his shoulders and didn’t move. His gaze was on Kim Dokja’s gaping collar. Kim Dokja realized with a hot flash that at this angle, Yoo Joonghyuk could see far more of his chest than he had accounted for.
His mind chose that instant to remind him that Yoo Joonghyuk had always liked it when Lee Seolhwa wore his clothes.
Yoo Joonghyuk breathed in sharply. Kim Dokja didn’t need to look down to know that the skin of his chest had started to redden.
For a moment, there was a buzzing tension in the air. Everything seemed to hang on who would move next, and in which direction.
Yoo Joonghyuk got up.
Kim Dokja exhaled shakily. He busied himself with the bed sheets as Yoo Joonghyuk walked to the door. Yoo Joonghyuk stopped.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he said without looking back.
“You’ll be up before me. I’ll leave when you go for your run.”
Yoo Joonghyuk nodded and finally disappeared. Kim Dokja rubbed his face and gulped.
Giving in to every one of Yoo Joonghyuk’s whims was definitely a mistake.
“Kim Dokja was harassed by journalists when he was a teenager.”
Namgung Minyoung raised both eyebrows. Uriel blinked. Kyrgios looked unimpressed.
Even Kim Dokja had to stare at Yoo Joonghyuk. Certainly, that was true, and yes, Kim Dokja had been floundering about how best to explain the situation. But if Yoo Joonghyuk had left him just a minute, he would have come up with something, and it wouldn’t have been so… sparse.
“This is what you called a meeting about?” Kyrgios grumbled, glaring at Kim Dokja. “I thought there was actually something wrong.”
The words stung, but Kim Dokja carefully didn’t react. However, Namgung Minyoung laid a big hand on top of her director’s head, in a way that could have looked affectionate if it hadn’t caused him to tense like a deer at the first call of the hunting dog.
“What I’m sure Kyrgios meant,” she said with a smile, “is that he’s relieved the problem wasn’t anything urgent. Right?”
Kyrgios’ expression mellowed into something still grumpy, but vaguely sheepish.
“Or new,” he muttered. He speared Kim Dokja with a look. “You can’t have imagined that I didn’t know.”
Kim Dokja breathed in, breathed out.
“Apologies to Director-nim,” he said with a numb tongue.
Sometimes, it was a hassle to work with competent people.
So Kyrgios was the type to research the people he hired. He probably hadn’t done it at once, since Uriel had been the one to put Kim Dokja’s application forward, but it shouldn’t have been a big surprise that he had gone the extra mile when Kim Dokja had proven such a troublesome employee.
Then why was Kim Dokja still here?
“You knew and you wanted him to appear on Joonghyuk-ie’s channel more?” Namgung Minyoung said, sounding judgmental.
“How is that incompatible?” Kyrgios retorted. “Nobody is asking him to show his face.”
“You aren’t?” Kim Dokja blurted out.
Uriel looked pained.
“Oh, Dokja-ssi! This is my fault,” she said. “I meant to discuss it with you, but I went about it all wrong, and then I didn’t know how to bring it up again… I’m so sorry! If I had known, I would have been more sensitive about it!”
She drew the bulging Demon King of Salvation folder from her satchel, opened it, gathered a good half of the pages in her hands, and casually dropped them into the closest trash bin. They made an audible thump when they fell.
“These are my ideas if you wanted to remain anonymous!” she said brightly, hefting the remaining half of the folder. “We can keep doing what we did for the joint stream. You can stay off-screen with a mike.”
Kim Dokja opened and closed his mouth a few times.
“Wouldn’t it… just make the audience more curious?” he said when he finally found his voice. “People were already starting to ask about me in the chat.”
“It would be nothing unusual. There are a lot of anonymous content creators online. And I was thinking that we could get you one of those Vtuber setups! I’ve been researching artists and brainstorming some designs, I can show you. I actually thought that might better fit your style than a face reveal since you’re such a mystical figure on the channel. Once they’ve got an appearance to link to your voice, even if it’s a virtual one, the audience won’t care to dig deeper. You’ll see!”
A “mystical figure”? That was stretching things a bit.
More to the point, though… he had overreacted, hadn’t he? He had never let Uriel say her piece before snapping at her. His neck felt warm with shame. He wanted to apologize, but she was already moving on, sliding her notes toward Yoo Joonghyuk’s outstretched hand.
“You want to see, Joonghyuk-ssi?” she said, sounding very excited. “I’m not much of a sketcher, I apologize.”
She babbled while Yoo Joonghyuk leafed through rough designs and artist portfolios. On the other side of the table, Kyrgios looked at his watch. Kim Dokja was convinced that he only wore a watch because glancing at it was a much more effective way to convey his impatience than consulting his phone.
“Are we done here?” he grumbled, soft enough that it was clearly aimed at Namgung Minyoung next to him. “This could have been…”
“Don’t say, ‘this could have been an email,’” Namgung Minyoung said ominously.
“Well,” he scoffed. “Not with how paranoid he is about putting information in writing, no.”
“I remember you complimenting him about that not too long ago,” she said, and sent Kim Dokja a teasing glance that made it clear she knew he was listening.
“I most certainly didn’t!” he blustered, followed her gaze, then told Kim Dokja forcefully: “Don’t listen to a word of hers! You’ve still got a long way to go!”
Kim Dokja had more pressing issues than their soulmate squabbles.
“The channel aside,” he said, and Uriel stopped talking to listen, “I could still be recognized at any time. Shouldn’t we take that into consideration?”
“How bad was it?” Namgung Minyoung asked, and to Kim Dokja’s surprise, the question was aimed at Kyrgios.
Kyrgios made an ambivalent gesture.
“He was a witness in a rather dreary affair fifteen or so years ago. Nothing that should have made such stupidly big waves, but far too many so-called reputable publications printed his name. It flopped over in a matter of weeks, as these things are wont to do.”
Had it been weeks? It had felt like years.
Yoo Joonghyuk slipped a hand under the table to squeeze his knee.
“There is a book,” Kim Dokja heard himself say.
“So there is,” Kyrgios shrugged.
“Then people who read the book today might recognize you,” Namgung Minyoung said. “Still, you did nothing wrong, so I hardly think we need damage control.”
“So the child from back then is now an employee for an esports company,” Kyrgios agreed. “So what? Children grow. It’s not exactly headline material.”
His nonchalance floored Kim Dokja. Was he serious? Tabloids didn’t care about logic, and public opinion was unpredictable. Innocent or not, he was the son of a killer. It was impossible to tell whether this would blow out of proportion if it was brought forward. Was Kyrgios really willing to take the risk for an easily replaceable entry-level employee?
Namgung Minyoung studied Kim Dokja’s expression.
“Alright, everyone get out,” she said. “Let me talk to him for a minute.”
Kyrgios and Yoo Joonghyuk looked equally disgruntled, but got up without argument. Uriel gathered her notes.
“Let me know whether you want to discuss this further, alright, Dokja-ssi?” she said. “I promise I won’t push!”
She closed the door behind the three of them.
Kim Dokja held Namgung Minyoung’s eyes and felt on a firmer footing. Finally. He had been expecting that conversation for a while.
“I apologize,” Namgung Minyoung said. “I preferred asking Kyrgios for the details rather than putting you in the position of having to talk about this further.”
That… was not the opening salvo he had expected.
“It’s fine,” he said.
Namgung Minyoung nodded. She took her pipe out of her pocket, though she knew better than to light it in the company building. She tapped it pensively against the table.
“Understand that we’re not trying to minimize what you went through, Dokja-ssi. I’m sure you had a lot of trouble back then. But that’s the past. We have mechanisms in place to handle paparazzi and I’d have no qualms making them available to you. You might need them anyway, considering your relation to Joonghyuk-ie.”
Kim Dokja waited, but she said nothing more.
“That’s all?” he said, incredulous.
“What do you mean?”
He pressed his lips together.
“The Soulmate and Marriage Equality Bill may have passed years ago, but there are still plenty of people in this country who think men shouldn’t be dating men and women shouldn’t be dating women. Us being together would already work in Yoo Joonghyuk’s disfavor if it was made public. My baggage makes it worse. I’m sure you see that.”
“Are you saying that I should be asking you to break up with my pupil?”
“Won’t you?”
“I will not,” she said, and her tone was final enough that he couldn’t find anything to reply.
But… wasn’t this why she had asked to speak to him in private? He had thought for sure… She had been bidding her time, and he had brought her the perfect motive. Hadn’t he?
After a second or two of watching him, she sighed through her nose.
“I didn’t even necessarily mean the fact that you’re dating,” she specified. “You’re Joonghyuk-ie’s soulmate. This alone would put you under scrutiny. Our employees may be discreet for now, but at some point, that information will come out.”
He looked away. That had been Yoo Joonghyuk’s fault, so why was he the one being blamed?
“… I’m sorry.”
“I’m not asking for an apology. Do you even listen when people talk?”
Now she was starting to annoy him. She was the one beating around the bush here.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, just for the pleasure of seeing her twitch in aggravation, “but I can’t seem to understand what Director-nim is trying to say.”
“Damn it, boy! I’m saying you need to stop bracing for a hit that won’t come. Nobody is going to fire you. You’re too competent by half and Kyrgios would be insufferable. And as for your relationship with Joonghyuk-ie, I’m not sticking my nose into that. I’m not thrilled about workplace relationships, but I’m also not a hypocrite. But you need to stop being wishy-washy. You’re the one who came to Joonghyuk-ie. So why does it feel like you’re ready to disappear at a moment’s notice? Where is that backbone you showed me the first time we talked? Do you want to be here or not?”
Kim Dokja clenched his hands and didn’t answer. Namgung Minyoung’s face contorted in ways that made it hard to read. She got up.
“This is enough of a lecture. I’m not your mother. And I don’t know your story. But if you’re going to stay by Joonghyuk-ie’s side, I’d hope you’d fight for it. He deserves that, at least.”
For a minute there, the lines of age around her eyes seemed deeper, her shoulders heavier. Kim Dokja gulped. He unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth.
“I didn’t sign to be a streamer. If I’m to be a regular fixture on the channel, I want a raise.”
A toothy smile chased the shadows from her face.
“Talk to Kyrgios. He’ll be thrilled,” she said, and because he was beginning to doubt these people’s sanity, he couldn’t even be sure that it was sarcasm.
He questioned himself a lot in the following days.
The risk of a public backlash sounded so minor in their mouths. Were they right? A Murderer’s Notes From the Underground had been a flash success, and way overrated. He hadn’t been giving it a thought until Anna Croft had brought it up, but she had been actively trying to put him off kilter.
Could it be that simple?
He would never know what would happen if he didn’t take the risk. And thinking about all the usernames greeting him after his absence on the channel, the private messages inquiring after his health… he couldn’t deny that Uriel’s plan was tempting.
But there was still one issue.
Worming [demonkingofsalvation] deeper into Yoo Joonghyuk’s brand would make work extremely awkward if Yoo Joonghyuk reacted badly after the breakup.
“Bet you ten thousand wons he’s thinking about something stupid again,” Han Sooyoung said.
Kim Dokja gave her a dry look and thunked her drink down hard enough that some of it splashed onto the table. She cursed at him for the waste and mopped the drops sliding down the glass.
“You shouldn’t stake money on a friend’s emotional state, Sooyoung-ssi,” Yoo Sangah scolded, because Yoo Sangah was the kindest and wisest person he knew. “That said, please don’t make hasty decisions tonight, Dokja-ssi.”
Han Sooyoung laughed meanly.
Yoo Sangah was the kindest and wisest person he knew. But kindness was in short supply in his social circle.
“I’m not making any decisions,” Kim Dokja grumbled as he sat down in the third chair and slid her drink to Yoo Sangah.
She gave him an apologetic smile.
“You do seem troubled. Do you want to talk about it? Is it about your boyfriend? New relationships can be tricky.”
Kim Dokja sent a glare at an unrepentant Han Sooyoung. That witch wasn’t shy about talking about his personal life. At least she hadn’t gone into details. Yoo Sangah would have asked more questions if she knew he was dating his soulmate, or the minor celebrity he worked with.
“There is nothing to talk about. Everything is going fine.”
He leaned back in his chair, absently watching the bar around them.
That was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it? Everything was going fine.
Yoo Joonghyuk and he had been dating for weeks now. Kim Dokja had clashed with his sister and spilled his pathetic family history. They had to be careful about being seen in public. Balancing their personal and professional lives was awkward. They had had their first explosive fight.
And still Yoo Joonghyuk hadn’t broken up with him.
“Geez, I wonder what that could mean,” Han Sooyoung said breezily, earning an interrogative glance from Yoo Sangah. “There must be a convoluted explanation to this.”
Yes yes, laugh it up. Despite what she liked to imply, Kim Dokja wasn’t incapable of taking a hint. Yoo Joonghyuk was unnaturally stubborn, but he didn’t tolerate annoyances gladly.
The jerk really wanted this.
“Am I missing something?” Yoo Sangah said.
“Just Kim Dokja struggling with the mortifying ordeal of being liked,” Han Sooyoung said.
“Shut up,” Kim Dokja groaned, rubbing at his temple.
This wasn’t what he had planned at all. What was he supposed to do now? His current course of action had been taken with the understanding that they would only be dating for a short time. If that wasn’t the case…
As if brought forward by his thinking about it, the fulguration bloomed open. Rows of zucchini superimposed on his view of the bar. Yoo Joonghyuk was on an evening shopping trip.
Kim Dokja groaned again and sank into his chair.
“Do you have a headache, Dokja-ssi?” Yoo Sangah said, worried. “You might be stressing about this a bit too much, don’t you think?”
“Tell me about it,” Han Sooyoung said.
She was typing something on her phone. He eyed her warily and didn’t correct Yoo Sangah’s assumption. He couldn’t imagine that Han Sooyoung and Yoo Joonghyuk talked much, even now that they were in contact, but he had no way to be sure. If she were to tell Yoo Joonghyuk that he was having a fulguration…
Kim Dokja should have told him. He should be the one on his phone right now.
But he hadn’t warned Yoo Joonghyuk about the fulgurations since they had started dating.
So far, he wasn’t being too obvious. One fulguration in two occurred while they were at work, and the overall frequency had gone down enough that Kim Dokja often went an entire week without having to send a heads-up. He had figured that Yoo Joonghyuk wouldn’t notice him skipping a few texts.
But if they weren’t breaking up, it was no longer a viable plan. Especially since, in a stroke of statistical bad luck, the frequency of the fulgurations was starting to rise again. The number of warnings that Kim Dokja omitted kept climbing, and his guilt climbed with it.
But what was the alternative? Sending alerts again?
That would just provoke what he had been trying to avoid.
Han Sooyoung threw a peanut at his face.
“Are you going to stay in your head all evening?”
“Maybe it’s more pleasant than looking at you,” he replied maturely.
And maybe, if Yoo Joonghyuk wouldn’t break up with him, he should do it himself…
A week later, a sunny morning found Kim Dokja heading to Yoo Joonghyuk’s with a bag filled with his toiletries and two sets of spare clothes.
He spent the subway trip despairing at himself. Hadn’t he said that they wouldn’t be making a habit of this? But Yoo Joonghyuk’s birthday was coming up, and when asked if he wanted anything in particular, he had been so adamant about Kim Dokja spending the weekend at his house… Kim Dokja hadn’t had the heart to say no.
Now, however, he regretted it. The last time he had stayed the night had been…
Yeah. There was no guarantee that their restraint would hold again.
There was no guarantee that Yoo Joonghyuk was interested in restraining himself again.
Kim Dokja shifted on his feet, a bit hot under the collar.
He toyed once more with the idea of just breaking up. They could have a serious conversation about this, separate properly, then Kim Dokja would turn around and march himself back home. He hadn’t gone grocery shopping since he was supposed to be away for the weekend, but he probably still had enough food in his cupboards for a lackluster lunch. Everything could go back to normal. He just had to open his mouth and say it.
He was still musing about the contents of his fridge when the elevator deposited him on the correct floor. He stepped out, then froze.
“Lee Seolhwa-ssi,” he said in surprise.
Lee Seolhwa looked up and smiled at him.
“Kim Dokja-ssi. Good morning.”
“Ah. Yes…”
Lee Seolhwa finished tying Mia’s shoe laces and straightened up from her crouch. Mia was pouting at Kim Dokja. It was her usual expression when she saw him these days. There was a sparkly backpack at the girl’s feet.
“Morning, Mia. Are you two spending the day together?” Kim Dokja said.
“Yes,” Lee Seolhwa said. “We’re going shopping, just the two of us. A girls’ day out.”
“I see,” he said, horribly aware of the overnight bag on his own shoulder.
Lee Seolhwa had to know what it meant. If she still spent time with Mia, she had to know Yoo Joonghyuk was dating him. And to think that Yoo Joonghyuk had gotten Mia out of the apartment the day Kim Dokja was coming… Lee Seolhwa hadn’t needed to see this. Wasn’t it really unfair to her? Kim Dokja had come too early.
He opened his mouth to say something, anything. Explain that this was all temporary, that he slept on the couch anyway, that he hadn’t meant to…
“Seolhwa-unni,” Mia cut in. “I forgot my hairbrush.”
She ran back into the apartment, slamming the door behind her. Lee Seolhwa hid her smile behind her hand.
“Subtlety isn’t her forte,” she said. “But then, cats don’t raise dogs, don’t you think?”
Certainly, Mia took a lot after her brother.
“She resents me,” Kim Dokja said. “Well, I can’t blame her.”
Lee Seolhwa threw him a sharp look.
“Rather than resenting you, I think she’s worried about you. She’s simply not very good at expressing it.”
“Worried?” he repeated, incredulous.
Lee Seolhwa had always struck him as a reasonable and smart woman, so what tall tale was she spouting now?
“Actually, Kim Dokja-ssi, I’m happy to see you,” she said, already moving on from the topic. “I wanted to apologize to you.”
“I… don’t follow.”
She glanced away.
“I feel a bit guilty that I didn’t think of the PSI Syndrome when Joonghyuk told me he didn’t have a soulmate. The lack of fulgurations could have been due to a dead soulmate, of course. That’s always the most likely explanation. But if I had discussed the possibility of the PSI Syndrome with Joonghyuk, you might have heard and realized what was happening earlier. As a medical professional, I’m disappointed in myself.”
This conversation had a bitter taste. Kim Dokja had guessed that Yoo Joonghyuk had talked to her, but the confirmation that she knew about the syndrome was making him feel uncomfortably naked.
“It’s hardly on you to apologize for my faults,” he said, voice wooden to his own ears.
“Problems,” she corrected gently. “Your medical problems, Dokja-ssi.”
After a beat, he inclined his head in agreement.
“But you’re not my doctor.”
“That’s true,” she said, and graciously took the hint that this wasn’t any of her business. “You found your way to Joonghyuk anyway. I’m very glad.”
She smiled at him.
“I’m happy that he found happiness in you. This is exactly what we were hoping for when we chose to divorce. Joonghyuk is moving on, and so am I. I hope that it won’t make you uncomfortable that I’ll be hanging around for Mia’s sake.”
Kim Dokja watched her for long seconds.
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that Yoo Joonghyuk had been happier with her. To plead for her to give their relationship another try.
He didn’t say it.
It wasn’t just that she sounded so disarmingly sincere. Despite his wishes, Namgung Minyoung’s words haunted him. She had been right. Yoo Joonghyuk deserved to have someone who would fight to stay by his side. Kim Dokja didn’t feel qualified to be that person. But Lee Seolhwa couldn’t be, because she had already given up once.
So Kim Dokja wrapped the familiar cloak of selfishness around himself and smiled a smile full of hidden knives.
“Of course not. I won’t mind at all.”
There was something to be said about the fact that Yoo Joonghyuk would ask his ex to babysit his sister so he could spend time with his new boyfriend, wasn’t there.
Maybe Lee Seolhwa could tell what he was thinking. She looked amused.
Mia chose this moment to whirl her way back out.
“Ready!” she proclaimed, shouldering her bag.
“Then off we go,” Lee Seolhwa said.
“See you tonight, ugly Ahjussi.”
“Have fun,” he said.
They walked past him to the elevator. The cabin closed on the sounds of Lee Seolhwa scolding Mia for the way she had addressed Kim Dokja. He stood pensive in the corridor.
Yoo Joonghyuk poked his head through the door Mia had left open. He frowned at Kim Dokja.
“What’s wrong? Get in.”
Kim Dokja moved slowly to the shoe rack. Yoo Joonghyuk closed the door behind him and kissed him in greeting. The kiss lasted long enough that Kim Dokja’s hand slackened on his bag. When Yoo Joonghyuk stepped back, the man lost no time stealing the bag and walking deeper into the flat. Kim Dokja snapped out of it when he saw him heading for the master bedroom.
“I’m still taking the couch, Joonghyuk-ah,” he called down the hall.
Yoo Joonghyuk ignored him and disappeared with his belongings. Kim Dokja clicked his tongue and followed him, agitated. Yoo Joonghyuk exited the bedroom empty-handed and intercepted him. He looped his arms around Kim Dokja’s waist, holding him captive.
“It would be in the way in the living room,” he argued.
That… No. That was such a transparent excuse. What the hell.
Kim Dokja held in a groan of dismay and let his forehead drop on Yoo Joonghyuk’s collarbone. At least he knew where they stood.
When Kim Dokja uncharacteristically let himself be held, Yoo Joonghyuk frowned and asked again, “what’s wrong?”
Kim Dokja shook his head.
“Nothing.”
On the trip here, he had been pretending to think about breaking up with Yoo Joonghyuk. What a joke. He would never have done it today, not so close to Yoo Joonghyuk’s birthday.
He didn’t want to do it at all.
He locked his arms around Yoo Joonghyuk. The possessiveness swelling in his chest should have felt new. But it just seemed that way because, for once in his life, he was letting himself feel it. There had always been a part of him that was convinced that Yoo Joonghyuk was his. A soulmate bond was for life, unbreakable and unique. Even marriage paled compared to that.
But he had also always known that he was the only one thinking that way between the two of them. Yoo Joonghyuk meant the world to him, but he had never meant much to Yoo Joonghyuk.
Was it truly no longer the case? Could he have that? Could he be so lucky?
He wrapped a hand around Yoo Joonghyuk’s neck and pulled him down. Yoo Joonghyuk gave a surprised grunt at his heated kiss, but promptly indulged it. He licked into Kim Dokja’s mouth. Kim Dokja shivered and pressed closer. His free hand sought the edge of Yoo Joonghyuk’s shirt. When he found skin, Yoo Joonghyuk’s fists clenched into his clothes, bunching up the fabric. Kim Dokja traced a meandering pattern along his abs.
Yoo Joonghyuk drew back just far enough to speak. His rapid breaths washed over Kim Dokja’s lips and his dark eyes glittered. His voice was hoarse with barely concealed desire when he said, “now?”
Kim Dokja’s only answer was to push him backward into the bedroom. The door slammed shut behind them.
They lay among the rumpled sheets afterward, sweaty skin to sweaty skin.
“I thought you’d be harder to convince,” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
“Did I disappoint you? Should I have played harder to get?” Kim Dokja said snidely.
Yoo Joonghyuk gave him a dry look. His hair was tousled and Kim Dokja had left marks on his skin. The fulgurations were in first person’s point of view, and maybe that was their biggest fault. For all the intimate moments during which Kim Dokja had watched Yoo Joonghyuk, he had never seen him like this. He was breathtaking.
Yoo Joonghyuk leaned over and dropped a peck on his lips, melting the causticity lingering there.
“Fool.”
He nuzzled his nose against Kim Dokja’s. It made his throat close up. He could handle what they had just done, the sheer physicality of it. It was the easy affection that kept taking him apart at the seams. He burrowed his face into Yoo Joonghyuk’s chest. Yoo Joonghyuk huffed a laugh.
“Now you’re getting shy?”
Kim Dokja grumbled a denial, but Yoo Joonghyuk evidently didn’t buy it. He kept Kim Dokja captive in bed a while longer, pressing kisses and soft touches to his skin. A good chunk of the morning had passed when he finally took pity on Kim Dokja’s squirming and let him escape. Kim Dokja ignored his amusement and fled to the shower.
Kim Dokja took the time to compose himself. When he came out, Yoo Joonghyuk was dressed again and bustling around the place. Kim Dokja reclaimed his spot on the couch with his phone. He was initially wary, but Yoo Joonghyuk left him alone.
Days off in this apartment were slow days. Yoo Joonghyuk cleaned, did laundry, cooked, and seemed content to have him lounge around without lifting a finger to help. He just glanced in his direction once in a while, as if to reassure himself that he was still here. Kim Dokja noticed all the glances; he may have pretended to be reading, but he couldn’t seem to focus on his screen.
A sliver of him had expected that Yoo Joonghyuk would turn him out once he had gotten what he wanted from him. That was ridiculous. Yoo Joonghyuk had never been that kind of person.
But every additional second that he spent here, welcomed into Yoo Joonghyuk’s space, his presence the only thing requested while Yoo Joonghyuk went about his tasks… the sheer domesticity of this moment felt unreal.
He could have this. He could have this, if he found the courage to face the pain ahead. What was a little hurt in the end? He had suffered far worse, surely.
He was quiet during lunch. Yoo Joonghyuk noticed, if his frown was any indication, but he didn’t ask.
In the afternoon, Yoo Joonghyuk migrated to his office to try one of the new PC games Uriel hoped he would want to work on. Kim Dokja went to grab Mia’s desk chair and wheeled it in. He sat next to Yoo Joonghyuk and zoned out at the screen.
Yoo Joonghyuk watched him roll his chair back and forth with suspicious eyes.
‘… might have been too early.’
Kim Dokja froze.
Shit. A fulguration? Now?
His vision blurred, a view of the room from a slightly different angle superimposing on his.
‘I shouldn’t have let him push me into this. He has a habit of forcing things before he’s ready. What’s going on in his head now? Is he regretting it? He wasn’t so coy about what he wanted earlier.’
Kim Dokja tensed, indignant and embarrassed in equal measures. Was he too raunchy or a blushing virgin? Which was it, Yoo Joonghyuk! Make up your mind!
Yoo Joonghyuk zeroed in on his reaction with alarming intensity.
‘Is it happening?’
The question felt so intent that Kim Dokja nearly replied by reflex. He stayed quiet instead.
But since Yoo Joonghyuk kept staring at him, he ended up having to open his mouth anyway.
“What?”
Yoo Joonghyuk leaned toward him.
‘Kim Dokja. Am I projecting?’
Kim Dokja’s heart dropped to his lap. How had he noticed that fast? No, Yoo Joonghyuk had to be guessing. Best to play innocent.
“Why are you looking at me like that? Aren’t you going to play?”
Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t let up.
‘You think I can’t tell that you’re trying to wall me off again? You haven’t sent warnings in weeks.’
Kim Dokja couldn’t help a flinch. Yoo Joonghyuk turned smug.
“I am projecting,” he said, the picture of satisfaction.
Kim Dokja had years of experience hiding his fulgurations. How could Yoo Joonghyuk possibly have seen it so quickly? Had he been on the lookout for them? That was the only thing that made sense.
“Did you invite me for the weekend just to watch me?” Kim Dokja said, then cut himself off as his mind run further along this line of thought.
Watching Kim Dokja for two days didn’t seem like a very efficient tactic to confirm he was hiding fulgurations when they could easily have spent that entire time without a single one happening. At least, that had been the case before the fulguration frequency had started going up again. But if Yoo Joonghyuk had known about the frequency increase…
Kim Dokja’s lips parted in shock.
“Yoo Joonghyuk. Have you dropped bond control?”
Yoo Joonghyuk blinked placidly at him.
This hadn’t been a stroke of bad luck. The fulgurations had been happening more often because Yoo Joonghyuk had suspected what he was doing, and had schemed to prove it.
How had he forgotten that Yoo Joonghyuk was deviously smart when he wanted to be?
Kim Dokja looked away, his cheeks warm.
“Alright, yes,” he said. “You got me. I was skipping the warnings again. You can close it now.”
“No.”
Kim Dokja goggled at him.
“No? What does that mean? You’re just going to leave the door open?”
What had happened to the guy who wanted to micromanage his projections?
“What are you afraid you’ll see?” Yoo Joonghyuk volleyed back.
Kim Dokja’s heart beat like a drum in his ears.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Kim Dokja.”
Yoo Joonghyuk rolled his chair until it bumped into Kim Dokja’s. He was watching his face so relentlessly that Kim Dokja’s fight-or-flight response activated, adrenaline flooding his body.
“You stopped telling me about the fulgurations so I wouldn’t think of you while you could hear.”
That was… way too insightful. Where had he plucked that theory from? Kim Dokja wanted to file a complaint to the universe. This shouldn’t have been allowed. His nails dug into his thigh.
Yes. So what? What if he didn’t want to see himself through Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes? He knew what love felt like in Yoo Joonghyuk’s mind. He didn’t want to categorize the obvious differences between how Yoo Joonghyuk thought of him and how he had thought of Lee Seolhwa. Why should he have to go through that? There was such a thing as knowing too much about someone.
Sometimes, knowing Yoo Joonghyuk so intimately was torture.
Yoo Joonghyuk cupped his face in his warm hands.
“You truly are stupid,” he said.
And then Kim Dokja saw.
He closed his eyes with a gasp. The Kim Dokja in Yoo Joonghyuk’s mind glowed.
He couldn’t recognize this person. His virtues were far too many, and though his flaws were present, they were painted with the soft brush of fond exasperation and roiling worry. He didn’t know who this was.
“Joonghyuk-ah,” he said, wheezing like a drowning man.
He curled up. Yoo Joonghyuk embraced him, leaning his head against his chest. The area of Yoo Joonghyuk’s consciousness that reacted to touch lit up like a Christmas tree. He liked having Kim Dokja so close. He liked having him solid and warm in his arms. He liked when they held hands. He liked kissing him, finally turning him quiet and pliant.
Kim Dokja shuddered.
This was nothing at all like what he had imagined. It was nothing at all like Yoo Joonghyuk’s feelings for Lee Seolhwa, either. In Yoo Joonghyuk’s mind, she had been kindness and softness and a bright intelligence, something to be cherished and admired like fingers of sunlight through the leaves of a tree. But Kim Dokja was clever and ruthless and a fierce heart beating through too many walls, and Yoo Joonghyuk loved him still, the way the light embraced the sharp edge of a blade.
Kim Dokja smacked a fist against Yoo Joonghyuk’s side. There was no strength behind the gesture.
“Stop it. I get it. I get it, alright?”
His voice shook. Horrified, he realized he was crying.
The fulguration closed. Yoo Joonghyuk slid a comforting hand along his spine.
Kim Dokja would have liked to say that he gathered himself, that he smiled at Yoo Joonghyuk and accepted what had happened graciously. But the truth was that he sobbed like a child for an embarrassingly long time. And still Yoo Joonghyuk held him and dropped kisses in his hair.
“You have,” Kim Dokja panted when he found enough breath, “really bad taste, Joonghyuk-ah.”
“You’re the one making everything difficult.”
“It was simple until you went and fell in love with me.”
Yoo Joonghyuk paused. When he spoke again, each of his words had a palpable weight.
“There was nothing complicated about falling in love with you, Kim Dokja.”
Kim Dokja closed his eyes, a fresh wave of tears flooding down his cheeks. There was nothing he could say to that. This sentence felt like an impossibility. But he thought that, one day, he might be ready to believe it.
“Do you want to lie in bed until Mia comes back?” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
Exhausted, Kim Dokja wound his arms around Yoo Joonghyuk’s neck.
“Please,” he said, and didn’t give a single token protest when Yoo Joonghyuk hoisted him in his arms like he was something precious.
Chapter 15: Epilogue
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
[Transcript of video, The Two Kings #1]
Pro streamer and ex-pro gamer Yoo Joonghyuk sits in front of the camera in a black shirt. The logo for Transcendence Gaming can be seen on the wall behind him. A long window on the right part of the screen shows the stream chat.
Yoo Joonghyuk: Good afternoon. Thank you for joining us on this stream.
A male voice comes from off-screen.
Unknown man: Look at you being polite. You nearly sound like a regular streamer. Are you nervous?
YJH glares to the right of the screen.
YJH: Introduce yourself.
UM: You people always do this backward.
An animated character appears in the corner of the screen, just under the chatroom. It’s a black-haired man wearing a long white coat. He has red horns and black wings. The character waves.
UM: Hi, everyone. I’m Demon King of Salvation, and in case you wandered here by luck: this grumpy guy is the Supreme King Yoo Joonghyuk, six-time winner of the Ways of Survival World Championship.
YJH stares at the person off-screen.
Demon King of Salvation: What? Don’t just stand there, say something.
YJH: You’re bragging.
DKOS: I’m doing no such thing? Why would I brag about you? (A long silence. YJH starts looking increasingly smug.) No. That is not what is happening. Would you go to work and start the stream already?
YJH turns back to the camera. The corner of his lips is pulled up.
YJH: You’re watching our new series “The Two Kings”.
The video switches to a title screen. The background is gray. YJH sits on a throne, wearing a long black coat. There is a sword on his knees and he’s glaring at the camera. A figure in a white coat stands behind the throne, their back turned to the audience. Two red horns extend from their dark hair, and two black wings frame YJH’s throne. Both YJH and the person in white are wearing golden crowns. The title “The Two Kings” is written in gold on the bottom third of the screen.
The streaming room comes back on screen. The lines in the chat window are moving rapidly.
DKOS: We already have so many questions in the chat.
YJH: Most of them are for you.
DKOS’s animated character sweatdrops.
DKOS: I did not set out to become popular online, but here we are, apparently.
YJH: You people should have seen the announcement on social media. Yes, we’re launching a new streaming series. It’ll be weekly. No, it won’t be about Ways of Survival. We’ll be testing different games.
DKOS: Yes, I’ll be here every time. It’s a proper collaboration and everything. And on that note, please admire my new Vtuber model, courtesy of artist Biyoo.
DKOS’s character launches into a series of animations, first blowing hearts at the screen, giving a thumbs up, then bowing.
DKOS: We put a link to her socials in the stream’s description. She really did an amazing job, and it was a pleasure working with her. Everyone should commission her.
YJH: You won’t shut up about her.
DKOS: Really? Well, she’s adorable. I kind of want to adopt her. Is that creepy to say?
YJH: Yes.
DKOS: Killjoy.
A message from [flyingfox] appears on the chat window: “YJH, are you happy you and DK finally met? it was such a long time coming!”
YJH: Yes, Flying Fox.
DKOS: What? What was the question? We should probably read them aloud before we answer them so it doesn’t get too confusing. So Flying Fox was saying… oh.
YJH: “Are you happy you and DK finally met?” Yes, I am. And Queen of Beauty asks how we met.
DKOS: (clearing his throat) Some things should be kept private, I think.
YJH: It was long and convoluted.
DKOS: What kind of answer was that? You…
[persephone] says in the chat, “Are the two of you finally dating, at least?”
DKOS: Persephone! We’re not answering that. Alright, time to end the FAQ. You guys are just slamming down the personal questions like they’re shots in a bar.
YJH: (with the faintest smile on his lips) You won’t read the question?
[mass_production_maker] says in the chat, “Aren’t you cheating, friend? If you’re going to use one of those vtuber things, use the vtuber thing!”
YJH: Mass Production Maker is right. You don’t use the model enough.
DKOS: You want me to use the model? Fine, I’ll use the model.
DKOS’s animated character plants his fists on his hips with a frown, steam coming out of his ears.
YJH: That’s not the face you’re making right now.
YJH stretches a hand like he’s trying to reach something on the table off-screen. Another hand appears briefly to push him back. It’s pale and the wrist is clad in what seems to be the sleeve of a white button-down shirt.
DKOS: Leave that alone, jerk. And start the game already. What are we playing today?
[...]
***
[Transcript of video, The Two Kings #7 – Great War of Saints and Demons]
[...]
DKOS’s animated model shakes his fist at the sky. A red anger vein appears on his head.
DKOS: Can you believe the nerve of that villain guy? Kidnapping your character’s soulmate like that?
YJH: Hmm.
YJH’s game character approaches a stack of crates and starts climbing.
DKOS: You don’t look too shaken up about it, Joonghyuk-ah. That breaks my heart. What if it was me who just got kidnapped, huh?
YJH blinks. He stops playing and looks off-screen. DKOS’s animated model stops moving.
DKOS: (after a silence) Wait. Shit. We’re live.
YJH: You’re the one who said it was fine if we didn’t edit these videos before posting them.
DKOS: I know. I just… Ah, ignore that, guys, I didn’t mean anything by it. It was just a turn of phrase.
The chat window is moving so rapidly it’s hard to read anything.
[queenofbeauty] is repeatedly posting, “AAAAAAHHH???”
[bald_general_of_justice] says, “I’m confused. So they are soulmates?”
[flyingfox] says, “what’s with that half baked denial??? you two are so close that you compare yourself to SK’s soulmate even though you’re not????”
[mass_production_maker] says, “I don’t think you’ll be beating the allegations any time soon, friend. What in the world was that?”
YJH: Chat is exploding.
DKOS: I can see that.
YJH: Don’t panic.
DKOS: I’m not panicking. Can we pull this video off the face of the Internet if we stop streaming now? No, that’s stupid.
YJH clicks on something. The sound from the room cuts off. YJH gets up and walks off-screen. DKOS’s model still isn’t moving, only blinking once in a while. Great War of Saints and Demons’ game character starts its idle animation.
[asmodeus] says in the chat, “wtf? I thought they didn’t know each other until a few months ago lololol. where is the lie?”
[masterofparadise] says in the chat, “Is this an advertising gimmick?”
A door opens on the edge of the room. A woman with long blonde hair pokes her head in. She looks in the direction YJH disappeared. Her lips move like she’s having a conversation.
[persephone] says in the chat, “I’d say this actually explains a lot.”
The woman leaves and the door closes.
[flyingfox] says in the chat, “@persephone and raises way more questions than it answers???”
[demonic_judge_of_fire_] says in the chat, “I know how exciting this is, everyone (believe me I know!!!) but let’s try not to overwhelm them! this wasn’t a planned reveal and DK isn’t feeling too good about it. let’s be supportive!”
The chat slows down a little. A few people make harsh comments and get quietly banned.
Yoo Joonghyuk comes back on screen and sits. The sound returns.
YJH: Thanks, Uriel. (a glance to his side) Let’s just keep playing.
DKOS: (after a silence) Yeah, okay.
YJH’s game character starts climbing again. DKOS’s animated model lies down on the ground and a cartoon-like soul escapes from his mouth.
DKOS: Sorry about the commotion, everyone. That was one hundred percent my mistake. But frankly, this is none of your business, so we won’t be answering questions. I’m not even going to be looking at the chat for the rest of the session.
The chat stops moving for two whole seconds.
[mass_production_maker] says in the chat, “Oh so it’s definitely true.”
[persephone] sends a smiling emoticon.
[flyingfox] says in the chat, “DK, we love you but wth”
[...]
***
[Transcript of video, The Two Kings #11 – Next City]
[...]
DKOS: So like we’ve been warning you guys for the past few weeks, this was the last of Yoo Joonghyuk’s streams for a little while.
YJH: I’m leaving for my military service.
DKOS’s animated model gives what has become known as his “unfortunate smile”.
YJH: Demon King will keep the keys to the channel.
DKOS’s model switches to its annoyed animation.
DKOS: Hey, you keep saying that like you expect me to do your job for you. I’m not a streamer! I might post a video once in a while so the audience knows you’re not dead, but to be clear, this channel is now on break.
YJH: Chat keeps saying that they’ll miss you.
DKOS: That they’ll miss us.
YJH: Would it be so bad to stream whenever you play something?
DKOS: Hey, Joonghyuk-ah, how long have we been doing this? You know I only have fun playing video games if it’s with you.
YJH looks at the person off-screen. His expression is different than usual. There is a hitting noise and his chair shakes a bit, like someone kicked it. YJH’s expression returns to normal.
DKOS: (clears his throat) Anyway, let’s wrap this up. Thank you for following this channel, everyone, and we hope to see you in two years. We’ll be brainstorming better and more in-depth content in the meantime, so please look forward to that. Yoo Joonghyuk will be back!
YJH: I’ll be in everyone’s care.
DKOS’s animated model waves goodbye. YJH gets up and leans toward the person off-screen before the camera even cuts off. The animated model freezes. The stream ends.
Yoo Joonghyuk had never been in the habit of lingering in bed in the morning. It was a waste of time when he could be cooking breakfast for Mia or exercising before the day got busy. But since his return from military service, he had found himself making exceptions.
Those past eighteen months, he had had to content himself with brief glimpses of Kim Dokja whenever the man visited him on base on the weekends. Not nearly often enough, since the fool mostly came if Namgung Minyoung wasn’t available to bring Mia.
Having Kim Dokja here, in his bed, in his arms, was a treat long awaited. Yoo Joonghyuk greedily basked in it. Kim Dokja always woke later than him. So every morning, Yoo Joonghyuk watched him sleep.
Kim Dokja looked younger, like this. The layers of bullshit and misdirection fell off his face. He didn’t try to wave his feelings away, he stopped pretending that he had been less hungry for Yoo Joonghyuk’s presence than Yoo Joonghyuk had been for his. All that was left in these moments was Kim Dokja, in all his fractured glory. Yoo Joonghyuk brushed a gentle thumb on the circles under his lover’s eyes.
Kim Dokja exhaled. To Yoo Joonghyuk’s pleased surprise, he shuffled closer. Yoo Joonghyuk embraced him and rested his chin in the crook of his neck.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyelids grew heavier. He frowned. No matter how comfortable he was, he didn’t usually fall back asleep after six o’clock, and it was nearing eight. What was…
Ah. Now he recognized the sleepy consciousness tangling with his, unknowingly trying to drag him back under. He smiled. Kim Dokja’s awakening process was much more difficult than his.
His smile widened as he realized why he hadn’t noticed the fulguration at once.
Kim Dokja tensed. Drowsiness slowed down his thoughts. It took him a few confused moments before he fully remembered that he was Kim Dokja, not Yoo Joonghyuk. He blinked his eyes open in his own body. Yoo Joonghyuk’s amusement greeted him, both visually and mentally.
Wait, why was the echo this time so disconcerting? He felt like he was standing in a hall of mirrors.
‘Double fulguration.’
Yoo Joonghyuk’s thoughts were the ones to answer him. That was, in itself, an answer.
Kim Dokja flinched. Double fulguration. Fuck.
Yoo Joonghyuk laughed at him. Kim Dokja couldn’t even tell if it was a sound or a feeling.
He had heard of double events, of course. With fulgurations occurring randomly for either soulmate, it was bound to happen that sometimes the bond would open in both directions at once. Depending on your relationship with your soulmate, the experience could either be pleasant or a huge pain. What everyone agreed on, though, was how deeply overwhelming it was.
Yoo Joonghyuk rolled his body on top of Kim Dokja. The circular feedback of skin contact nearly fried his brain. Yoo Joonghyuk unabashedly fed him his awakening lust. Kim Dokja gasped for breath and hit his arm in reproach.
All that Yoo Joonghyuk did in answer was to kiss him. Kim Dokja made a noise of protest.
Yoo Joonghyuk wasn’t the only stubborn one out of the two of them. Kim Dokja squeezed his eyes shut, refused to kiss back, and focused with all his strength.
He felt it in Yoo Joonghyuk’s mind when the fulguration closed on his end. Yoo Joonghyuk pulled back and frowned. His disappointment rang loud and clear.
“Why would you want this?” Kim Dokja panted, incredulous.
‘Why not?’
“It’s too much. And talk out loud, would you? Close the fulguration already.”
‘What happened to fulgurations being the spice of your life?’
“I think the situation is spicy enough,” Kim Dokja said, dry as peeling paint.
He didn’t need the bond to feel Yoo Joonghyuk’s desire against his thigh.
‘It’s only when you show up in them that you pretend you don’t like them,’ Yoo Joonghyuk thought at him, accusatory and maybe… maybe a little hurt. ‘Do you still not believe?’
Kim Dokja stopped. He licked his lips. He felt self-conscious about his morning breath, but Yoo Joonghyuk never seemed to mind.
“No, I do,” he said, his voice thinner than he would have liked it to be. “It’s just… a lot.”
‘Get used to it.’
Kim Dokja sputtered another protest, but Yoo Joonghyuk was already burying him under both his bulk and his feelings. He caved embarrassingly fast. Even through a one-sided bond, Yoo Joonghyuk’s hunger for him was a flood that swept him away in its current. Every time Yoo Joonghyuk used a fulguration to his advantage, Kim Dokja became putty under his hands. All he could do was cling on for dear life and keep quiet so Mia wouldn’t hear them from down the hall.
Once Kim Dokja had been thoroughly debauched, Yoo Joonghyuk let the fulguration fade. The flood receded, leaving him dazed on the shore.
Yoo Joonghyuk dropped a kiss on his lips. He sat up and patted Kim Dokja’s bare thigh.
“Get up. I’m starting breakfast.”
Kim Dokja groaned in dismay. Why did he have to date a morning person? The guy had just come back from military service, for goodness’ sake. You’d think he’d relax a bit. It was Sunday, even Mia didn’t have school. Couldn’t Kim Dokja lounge around in bed a little longer? He thought he deserved it after all this exercise.
Then again, now he was hungry.
Reluctantly, he dragged himself out of bed and into the shower.
The hot water helped to shake the last cobwebs from his mind. Now that he was clear-headed, something was niggling at him. He was frowning when he padded to Yoo Joonghyuk’s kitchen.
Yoo Joonghyuk was fixing his tea while he waited for breakfast to cook on the stove. The morning light was kind to his profile. Kim Dokja’s fingers itched to take a picture. His desk at work was getting crowded since Lee Gilyoung and Shin Yoosung had gotten competitive about gift-giving, but surely he could find space for one more picture frame.
Yoo Joonghyuk glanced at him. He nudged the cup of coffee next to his hip.
“What is it?” he said.
Kim Dokja crossed the tile floor, cold on his bare feet, to reach the mug.
“You didn’t look surprised to get a fulguration from me,” he said, deliberately casual.
Yoo Joonghyuk just hummed. Kim Dokja took a deep breath.
“Joonghyuk-ah. Am I projecting more?”
Yoo Joonghyuk turned back to the stove to stir the soup.
“I am, aren’t I?” Kim Dokja said, blank. “How often? When did it start? Did you get a lot while you were gone?”
He had thought that he was bound to notice when the fulgurations happened, by Yoo Joonghyuk’s reactions if nothing else. But Yoo Joonghyuk had been gone eighteen months. That was more than enough time to get used to them while Kim Dokja wasn’t watching.
“Don’t get paranoid.”
“I shouldn’t get paranoid?” Kim Dokja said, affronted. He put his mug down hard enough that coffee splashed on his hand. “If that’s not the pot calling the kettle black!”
Yoo Joonghyuk frowned. He took his hand, tugged him to the sink and turned the water on.
“This is how fulgurations are supposed to work, Kim Dokja,” he said as he washed the hot coffee from his reddened skin. “You didn’t send me warnings during my military service. I didn’t send any either.”
“So I’m just supposed to ignore the fact that you had me send you texts at all hours of the day when we first met? I don’t get the same courtesy?”
His hand was shaking. He only noticed when Yoo Joonghyuk lifted it to press his lips to his trembling knuckles. Kim Dokja closed it into a fist, humiliated.
“You’re still afraid of what I’m going to find in you,” Yoo Joonghyuk said. “Kim Dokja. Don’t you think I know you by now? Don’t you think I see you?”
Kim Dokja ducked his head. Yoo Joonghyuk folded his arms around his shoulders and drew him to his chest.
“That one person who understands me better than anyone else,” he whispered into his ear. “You gave me that. Let me be that person to you.”
Kim Dokja exhaled shakily. He burrowed his face into Yoo Joonghyuk’s shirt.
So the wall was falling. Well, fine. Fine.
At least it was letting in the light.
Notes:
So, for those of you who didn't suspect until now... I guess you get to reread and try to figure out in which scenes Yoo Joonghyuk was hiding a fulguration 😏
Many many thanks to all of you for reading and commenting! This fic turned out longer than even my most generous estimate (when do they not) and I honestly struggled with Kim Dokja's point of view, but it was a balm to read all your reactions and commiserate with everyone wishing they could shake Kim Dokja like a ragdoll. <3
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