Chapter Text
It was a pleasant day out when Dokja decided to water his garden.
The sun was shining, gentle rays within reach filtering through some light cloud cover. A soft breeze passed by, dancing around Dokja's figure, rustling his hair just so.
Dokja hummed as he uncoiled the hose from the reel, and skipped over to the side of the house to turn the water on in a laid-back rhythm. He worked his way around the garden, starting with the flower bushes on the side of the house and the random plants that had been there before he moved in. He’d decided that the risk of removing them wasn’t worth it.
As he reached the front of the garden, where his produce beds were located, Dokja noticed a man walking down the street, on his way to pass his house. That’s strange, Dokja mused. Nobody really walks down this street. He tried getting a closer look, only noticing the stranger’s tall, muscular stature. He wasn’t much taller than himself, Dokja figured, but no doubt bulkier.
The stranger neared closer, and Dokja forgot about his presence as he turned the hose setting to mist.
Except, he skipped over it entirely and the setting landed on “center,” which soaked the stranger before Dokja was able to react.
Screw the shining sun and the nice cloud cover and the pleasant breeze passing by every so often. Never mind the enjoyable weather, he had to deal with a very (handsome) angry stranger who was soaking wet and Dokja was definitely not staring at the contour of the stranger’s muscular torso through the soaked shirt. It was after a few minutes of staring that he remembered to switch off the hose. (Which was still soaking the stranger.)
“Shit, I’m soososososo sorry,” Dokja said, while bowing profusely to the man while he was still on the inside of the fence, “ah, why don't you come in so I can take care of that mess.”
It's all the hose's fault. I wasn't doing anything, and then it decided to rebel against me and put me in this unfortunate situation, Dokja thought, crafting a story with victim mentality so he could tell it to his best friend Han Sooyoung later.
The stranger glared at him with an intense gaze. Piercing deep brown, almost black, eyes stared him down with thick, furrowed eyebrows, mouth folded into a thin line.
A few moments passed.
“Are you going to unlock the gate?” the stranger asked, his voice smooth with a slight edge to it.
Damn, even his voice was sexy.
A flustered Dokja apologized once more and let the stranger in the gate, ushering him inside after turning off the water for the hose.
“Um, welcome to my lovely but humble abode. As you can see, my garden is beautiful because I take care of it. I’m Kim Dokja, by the way,” he introduced himself as he walked to the hall closet to find some towels.
“Kim Dokja,” the stranger tested. Dokja shivered at the way his name sounded on his tongue, pulling out a stack of towels that the stranger could use to dry himself.
“Yes?” he responded, not knowing what to say as he handed the towels to the stranger and gestured to the bathroom door.
“Yoo Joonghyuk,” was all the stranger said before disappearing into the bathroom.
He shuffled his feet in discomfort outside of the bathroom door, and Dokja decided he could prepare a few refreshing drinks for the two of them while he waited. So the stranger’s name was Yoo Joonghyuk—a nice name, fitting for the nice face and body that he had.
Dokja's mind wandered as he stirred the lemonade, the ice getting caught in a mini whirlpool of chaos. He pondered the amount of time it took for one to dry themselves after getting soaked by a garden hose. Just when it seemed like Yoo Joonghyuk was taking a little too long in the bathroom, he emerged from the hallway with his wrenched-out clothes and a towel draped around his waist. Dokja, who was sipping on his lemonade, promptly choked, suffering in silence as he grappled with the drink in his throat.
“Where should I put my clothes?” Yoo Joonghyuk asked, although it sounded more like a statement than a question.
“Back on,” Dokja deadpanned, then after he was given an unamused look, said quickly, "I'll put them in the dryer for you. No need to worry, Joonghyuk-ssi."
“The shirt is hang dry. It’ll shrink in the dryer.”
Well, great. His pants and boxers would be done in ten minutes at most, but Dokja would have a handsome stranger lounging around his house shirtless until it was done. He did not have the mental capacity to restrain himself and his curiosity about how Joonghyuk had even gotten a body that good. (And a little bit about how the muscles felt, but that's besides the point.)
After putting Joonghyuk’s pants and boxers in the dryer, Dokja headed towards the bedroom, mentally going through his wardrobe to see if anything came up in his mind that could fit his guest. Having nothing else to do, Joonghyuk followed Dokja to his bedroom, footsteps padding on the creaky wooden floors.
“Yah, why are you following me? Rude bastard, wait outside,” Dokja scolded, his hand raising on instinct to whack Joonghyuk, disregarding the fact that they just met. Unfortunately (or not unfortunately), his hand just so happened to land on one of Joonghyuk’s muscular pecs (and stayed there), earning him a raised eyebrow paired with the same stoic expression.
Oh. It’s nice and firm, Dokja thought, as he squeezed. His pride had left him long ago, and whatever was left of his shame floated out the door with it.
“Like what you see?” Yoo Joonghyuk questioned, the timbre of his voice reaching Dokja’s hand, which recoiled quickly as soon as he felt it.
Dokja flushed, turning away to his wardrobe, opening the drawers, choosing not to answer.
As he rummaged through his drawers, he could feel Joonghyuk's gaze on him. What's with him? Dokja thought, feeling heat creep up his neck once again. The possibility that he was interested in Dokja in some way despite just meeting was unnerving. But, he figured, it was too far-fetched so he decided not to fry his brain analyzing the situation. Dokja's eyes settled on a plain black shirt, which looked big enough to fit Joonghyuk.
"Here, try this," Dokja tossed the shirt at Joonghyuk, who caught it with ease. As he put the shirt on, Dokja tried not to think about the lack of clothes in the former's nether regions despite having given him a towel.
"Thank you," he said, examining how the sleeves were baggy enough but not too tight on his arms.
Trying not to gape at how well the shirt fit his muscular stature, Dokja moved onto the subject of refreshments. “I prepared lemonade for us, but if you want food there’s snacks in the pantry or I can make something if you need me to.”
At the thought of Dokja preparing food for him, Joonghyuk wrinkled his nose. “Sorry, I don’t eat food made by other people. If you have ingredients I would rather make something myself.”
How rude, Dokja thought, stupid protagonist bastard—couldn’t you at least phrase it more nicely? He couldn’t deny that he was curious about the quality of Joonghyuk’s cooking, though, as they headed back into the kitchen and returned to drink the lemonade.
Of course Dokja’s stomach had to growl right then and there at the mention of food. It was such a good day, he lamented, as he tried squeezing his stomach to stop the rumbling. Joonghyuk arched an eyebrow, a mixture between annoyance and amusement towards the shorter man.
“…Guess I’m cooking something,” Dokja drawled as he heaved himself towards the pantry to find a cup of microwavable instant ramen. “Do you want anything?”
A moment of yet another silence lapsed over the two men, and just as Dokja thought Joonghyuk hadn’t heard what he said, he spoke up after contemplating something in deep thought.
“I can make something. I was getting hungry anyway, so you might as well save yourself the trouble.”
Fighting back something in between a half-embarrassed grin and a beaming smile of gratitude, Dokja couldn’t help but forget about honorifics. “Joonghyuk-ah, so kind and benevolent of you to cook something for us.”
Us. It was such a simple word, but seeing that Dokja had referred to them both as a team, it felt like they hadn’t been strangers before meeting after all. The beeping from the dryer signaling that it was finished snapped him out of his reverie, and he hurried to fetch the clothes after mumbling to Joonghyuk that his clothes were dry.
When he came back, he saw that Joonghyuk had busied himself with trying to find the right dishes and utensils to cook.
“Kim Dokja.” Joonghyuk turned around, looking at him as if he was insane, “Do you not have any decent cooking supplies?”
Dokja offered him a sheepish grin, shrugging while he did so.
“By the way, here are your clothes. Sorry about the wait, the towel must’ve been uncomfortable,” Dokja said as his eyes flitted downwards.
Joonghyuk cleared his throat, the tips of his ears a slight pinkish color, extending his arm to grab his clothes. As they made the exchange, their fingers brushed against one another, Dokja’s surprisingly soft ones against Joonghyuk’s more rough and calloused fingers. Dokja averted his eyes, blush evident on his face at his indecency from looking at a certain spot.
“I’ll turn around, okay? Jeez, I’m not a pervert!” Dokja yelped in defense—he didn’t even know why he felt the need to—as he shuffled away from Joonghyuk to give him space as he got dressed.
Said man found this endearing as he pulled his clothes on, noticing how Dokja drummed his fingers on the table in a futile attempt to make it seem like he wasn’t nervous, even when his ears and the back of his neck were flushed the color of a Jigglypuff, despite being subtle. After changing, Joonghyuk decided to tease Dokja, sneaking up on him and stopping just behind the poor, oblivious guy.
“I’m done, you can turn around now,” he murmured as he placed one hand on the counter in front of Dokja, hoping it was obvious that he was right behind the man.
Dokja squeaked in surprise as he turned around to face Joonghyuk, his embarrassment still evident from before.
He squeaked.
At that moment, despite shamelessly having groped Joonghyuk’s muscles (in Dokja’s defense, they just happened to be there), he wanted to crawl in a hole and die. But he had no time for that, as he was pinned to the side of the counter, facing a man who was exactly his type who was wearing of his shirts that looked like a compression shirt on him and his voice was sexy as hell and this information was all too much for Dokja to process, so he ended up just thumping his head against Joonghyuk's chest, wrapping his arms around his waist.
I really needed this hug, Dokja thought as he sighed, and snuggled closer. Being in solitude for so many years had deprived him of the love he needed through touch—even if he did have friends like Han Sooyoung, they lived far enough away that they weren’t able to see each other in person often.
Not knowing what to do, Joonghyuk reciprocated it, pulling Dokja a bit closer to him, stroking his back with feathery light touches. He’s so small. He needs to eat more, Joonghyuk thought. The latter had gotten quiet for someone so snarky and talkative, and Joonghyuk realized that he had fallen asleep. He smiled and gave a soft chuckle, not wanting to wake the sleeping man, as he hoisted him up into his arms, bridal-style. This fool. He should be more careful around strangers.