Chapter Text
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It was hard being a fish.
It was even harder being an aquarium fish in love with the enigma named Kim Dokja.
Before Kim Dokja, Yoo Joonghyuk was drowning in monotonous days, living a sedentary life without purpose or direction, much like his subspecies of fish: the sunfish. Floating in the dark, lonely waters, without any other creature in sight, Yoo Joonghyuk would awaken to the subtle bioluminescence of nearby aquarium exhibits, and breathe in a vague approximation of a sigh.
It would be quiet then, with barely any staff in the aquarium, only the flickering emergency exits and the quiet hum of electricity greeting his senses
In the dim hours of the early dawn, he enjoyed the peaceful bliss of the surrounding quiet. The solitude granted him a measure of peace that he hadn’t found in years—a welcome reprieve from his worries. But it too was stifling, the walls entrapping him in an invisible cage of his own making.
As you would expect, there wasn’t much to do as an aquarium fish.
There was no entertainment to be found in the colorful corals and seagrass that decorated the open water exhibit, and no company to be found hiding in the corners of the aquarium. There were no sea creatures to greet him, and nothing interesting enough to hold his attention, even though Han Sooyoung would occasionally grace him with toys or her annoying presence.
On most days, it was just Yoo Joonghyuk and his thoughts. And for Yoo Joonghyuk, his thoughts were his worst enemy.
They were the kind of thoughts that festered in his chest, the ones that swam in his mind like endless waves, without pause or sympathy. The kind of thoughts that spoke of how useless Yoo Joonghyuk was, how pathetic he was as a team captain, and how his prospects for the future were ruined because of his one mistake—
—That too had been the start of what Yoo Joonghyuk thought was his inevitable mental collapse.
Maybe it was the end of his professional gaming career and the emptiness he had felt after retiring, or maybe it was the chasm of guilt he had felt after being forced to step away from his team. What started as a simple unease soon morphed into a persistent fear, and by the time he realized it, the growing fear had already sunk its claws deep into him, and it was already too late.
Yoo Joonghyuk had never planned for this to happen. After all, it was something he had never experienced until he lost everything. He had envisioned a different life with many years of his professional esports career ahead of him, only for him to taste the bitterness of loss, devastating a career-ending injury, and an uncertain future that loomed above him like an ever-persistent shadow.
Yoo Joonghyuk had initially thought that this feeling would go away. This crushing, blistering, suffocating weight pressed on his ribs until he couldn’t breathe past the strain, couldn’t think past the anxiety that had slowly crawled into his veins.
He waited for a reprieve. He told himself that feeling this way was useless, but that encroaching, unsettling fear of his unknown future—it never seemed to disappear. It ate at him like a poison, spreading its roots like a disease, until finally, something within him broke.
There was a degree of control required to maintain his human form, as was common with all shapeshifters. But in that moment, the threads of his sanity broke, and so too did his meticulous control. He barely even realized his shift; the transformation was immediate, the ground rushing towards him, the world spinning in hues of abstract colors.
From there, it was a haze.
Pain lanced through his body, his chest in agonizing pain. His vision blurred and his lungs seized up as he flailed uselessly on the ground.
He remembers suffocating, remembers the cold shock of entering the aquarium, a screaming Han Sooyoung, and hands dragging his unconscious body into the water.
He remembers looking through the blurred glass, Han Sooyoung’s equally blurred face on the other side, her face indistinguishable and unrecognizable.
I’m sorry. Yoo Joonghyuk tried to say, but as a sunfish, the words formed as useless bubbles, indecipherable to Han Sooyoung, who stood silently on the other side of the glass.
Was this an escape from his reality and truth? He wondered. Was it a biological response to all the stress he had accumulated over the years, only for his hard work and dedication to evaporate into nothingness? Perhaps.
Han Sooyoung’s manicured nails tapped against the aquarium glass, the sound dully echoing through the water. Her hands trembled at her side, and Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t need to hear her to hear the curses tumbling out of her mouth.
“You stupid sunfish idiot,” Han Sooyoung hissed. Her black tail swung in agitation behind her, her voice shaking as she slammed her fists into the reinforced glass. “What were you trying to do? Leave your dead fish body for me to take care of? Are you trying to die?”
No. Yoo Joonghyuk scoffed as he waved his fins dismissively, earning more shouting from the other side of the glass. He hadn’t wanted this, and it was unfortunate that Han Sooyoung was here to witness him at his lowest. Hesitantly, he glided his fins against the glass as a vague attempt at an apology.
“I don’t want your stupid apology, you stupid fish!” Han Sooyoung said angrily, her black ears bristling with agitation. She was surprisingly fluent in reading Yoo Joonghyuk’s body language, which was strange considering she was a cat hybrid. “I just want you to get back to normal.”
One consultation later (with Han Sooyoung placing a shapeshifting expert on speaker), Yoo Joonghyuk was struck with the realization that until his psyche recovered, he would not be able to return to his human form.
“Son of a bitch!” Han Sooyoung cursed after hanging up. She stepped back from the glass, her assessing gaze washing over him with a clinical accuracy that made him shiver. “Seems like there’s nothing I can do to help you. You couldn’t have dealt with your feelings the normal way, could you, you dumb fuck?”
Yoo Joonghyuk stared silently at her, small bubbles of disapproval exiting his mouth. If he had known this would happen, he would’ve planned accordingly. Han Sooyoung looked at him and sighed with frustration, more upset at the news than Yoo Joonghyuk was. He continued to stare at Han Sooyoung until she folded, rubbing her temples with a ferocity that mildly impressed him.
“Fine, you can stay in the aquarium,” she finally muttered with an exhausted sense of defeat. “I’ll organize something for you so you don’t die. But if you’re going to be in my aquarium, you’re at least going to make me some money.”
And so he became Yoo Joonghyuk, the sunfish horror exhibit: a sunfish renowned for its threatening aura and intimidating gaze. The sunfish who left behind a revolving door of aquarists who all spectacularly tried and failed to take care of it.
These stories would later make their way onto Reddit, where the sunfish gained international fame. At every given opportunity, Han Sooyoung gleefully bragged about all the revenue she had earned with his involuntary assistance.
The days passed without fanfare, and his condition did not improve. This should have worried him as a human, but as a fish, he had no such worries. Every day, Yoo Joonghyuk swam leisurely within the confines of his aquarium, drifting his large body across the enclosed space. Visitors came and went, their faces blurred and forgettable.
Yoo Joonghyuk swam. He ate. He watched the visitors pass. Something about the repetitiveness of his days settled the darkness in the corners of his mind.
But it was lonely. Awfully lonely. He'd been here so long that he couldn't remember why or how he'd got here.
“You know,” Han Sooyoung said to him one day, with her legs swinging on a nearby bench and a lollipop in her mouth. “Yoo Mia misses you. There’s only so much time I can buy before I have to tell her you’ll be stuck as a goldfish forever.”
She obnoxiously popped the lollipop out of her mouth with a loud sigh. Yoo Joonghyuk glared at her in reproach, but his silent, intimidating aura didn’t seem to have any effect on Han Sooyoung. Han Sooyoung sighed again, the tension from her shoulders draining as she looked towards the surrounding exhibits.
“Anyway, I found someone who will take care of your sorry ass,” Han Sooyoung continued offhandedly while fixing her nails. She took a single unimpressed look at the sunfish before she scoffed sarcastically. “Something tells me you two bastards will get along swimmingly. Maybe you’ll even stop being a fish.”
Yoo Joonghyuk highly doubted it.
And then Kim Dokja came.
Yoo Joonghyuk thought he would be like the others before him–easily scared and uninspiring. Someone who would temporarily accompany him and eventually give up. But Kim Dokja rose to the challenge, and even when Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t want him there, he diligently came.
Silly sunfish, Kim Dokja would later say when Yoo Joonghyuk was being particularly uncooperative. I have nowhere else to be but here.
Kim Dokja had dark, raven-hair, glittering eyes, and a hint of a teasing smile on his lips. When he walked away from the sunfish’s exhibit on his first day, Yoo Joonghyuk remembered the teasing sway of his hips, his glittering eyes, and the cat hybrid’s ears that looked soft to the touch.
Kim Dokja was awfully persistent and expressive, his tail a distracting wave that constantly drew his attention. He brought with him stories of his former workplace, a gentle voice floating through the calm waters. He grew onto Yoo Joonghyuk like a leech, treating him like he was an oversized dog rather than what he was.
Good boy, Kim Dokja would teasingly say when Yoo Joonghyuk mulishly ate his tasteless food.
You’re looking awfully intimidating today, Yoo Joonghyuk. Kim Dokja would smile as he greeted him, his smile blindingly bright and chipper in the early morning.
Do you want to scare me away? It’ll take more than that, I’m afraid. Kim Dokja would tease when Yoo Joonghyuk menacingly glared at him and threateningly waved his fins in a way that promised violence.
And on another occasion: What a handsome sunfish, Kim Dokja would comment as he drifted his fingers over the spine of Yoo Joonghyuk’s back, feeling across his rough scales.
Yoo Joonghyuk had allowed the touch, feeling a sense of peace from the cat hybrid’s presence. Han Sooyoung had been somewhere in the periphery, an affronted look on her face as she was stunned into silence.
Yoo Joonghyuk could ignore Han Sooyoung’s unnecessary disgust at their budding relationship. He could ignore her pinched face when Kim Dokja cooed lovingly to him, when he fed him tasteless slop, and when he peacefully drifted above, his tail gently cutting an arc through the water’s surface.
Kim Dokja was a balm to his aching psyche, bringing the light he desperately needed.
And so the days passed. It was after hours at the aquarium, the only staff left being Kim Dokja, who had a habit of leaving late. Yoo Joonghyuk was already used to the cat hybrid’s presence, and on this day, he was wholly unimpressed by Kim Dokja’s usual banter, his teasing voice already mocking him that he was going to become a fat sunfish if he kept brooding and hiding in the corner munching his food.
“You should do some exercise, Yoo Joonghyuk-ssi,” Kim Dokja innocently pondered aloud as he floated above him on the yellow eyesore of a floating contraption. “It seems like you've gotten slower since the last time I came to visit you. At this rate, we might need to put you on a diet.”
Yoo Joonghyuk glared as hard as he could with his fish eyes. Who are you calling fat, you fool? He aggressively splashed his fins in protest of the absurd commentary. Kim Dokja laughed with his eyes crinkling, his laugh like twinkling bells.
“Silly sunfish, you’re going to hurt yourself,” Kim Dokja chided, looking amused at the fierce fish below. “What’re we going to do if you injure your beautiful fins?”
The fond tone of the cat hybrid’s voice was soothing and warm, despite the chilly waters around him. It was moments like these that gave Yoo Joonghyuk life in his desolate aquarium. It was moments like this that made Yoo Joonghyuk feel awfully seen, and human.
Because Kim Dokja never treated Yoo Joonghyuk like a disease or an inconvenience. He simply saw him as he was, and neatly fit himself into the messy puzzle that was Yoo Joonghyuk.
So, it feels like a mirage when Kim Dokja falls.
At first, it seems like Kim Dokja is just reaching out into the water to touch the water’s surface, as he usually does, but he suddenly loses his balance, and his body goes pitching forwards, the water swallowing Kim Dokja’s startled yelp.
It happened so fast that Yoo Joonghyuk couldn’t react quickly enough, only able to catch sight of a dark silhouette falling into the waters before it plunged deeper into the depths of the aquarium. He desperately swam over, his large body a hindrance as it bumped into the flailing body, trying to push Kim Dokja back to the surface, to no avail.
As a sunfish, he couldn’t do anything. His body was round and flat, his fins useless and small. He continued to push Kim Dokja, but the effort was a hopeless endeavor, and the heavy impact only caused the cat hybrid’s body to instinctively curl in on itself.
Yoo Joonghyuk watched helplessly as Kim Dokja convulsed in the water, air bubbles flowing freely out of his mouth. Panic welled up, clouding his senses with the helpless emotions he had felt back then. If only he were human, if only he could change back—
And maybe that was what he was missing this whole time—a reason for him to return, a desire to become human again.
The change fell upon him like a blessing, his shift an effortless transition. His scales retracted into clean skin, his aquatic features melting back into a human form.
Yoo Joonghyuk resurfaced, breathing in a mouthful of air and plunging back into the depths of the water. He easily located the almost unconscious body, immediately sealing his lips over Kim Dokja’s.
Kim Dokja briefly struggled in his hold, but surrendered at the first breath of oxygen. His lips were so soft, so malleable to the touch. Yoo Joonghyuk could taste the sweetness of his mouth, even if only briefly, and without pause, he surged closer, encouraging Kim Dokja to take in the remaining oxygen from his lips.
Moments later, Yoo Joonghyuk felt Kim Dokja sag against him, his forehead pressed against his in exhaustion. Sensing the change, Yoo Joonghyuk wrapped his arms around Kim Dokja, propelling them back to the surface. He broke through the water, immediately swimming to the edge of the aquarium where he deposited the gasping Kim Dokja back to safety.
At once, Kim Dokja started heaving, water messily spilling from his bangs as he greedily breathed in mouthfuls of air.
“Yoo Joonghyuk—the sunfish—” Kim Dokja sputtered in between coughs. “You, this whole time!”
Undeterred by his own nakedness, Yoo Joonghyuk climbed out of the aquarium, his eyes devouring the image of Kim Dokja, in the flesh.
Kim Dokja was just as he imagined. Dark, mussed hair. Cherry-red lips that were parted in disbelief. A delicate neck. A pink flush was already spreading from his cheeks to his collarbone, the red flush hidden behind his shirt. His body was shivering from the cold, his arms held defensively over his chest.
Yoo Joonghyuk couldn’t help but find Kim Dokja endearing. His feline eyes stared blankly at Yoo Joonghyuk’s human form with a shy embarrassment in his gaze. Confusion made him tuck his soft ears against his temple, as his whole body was pliant from the earlier shock.
“Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk replied slowly with a slow tilt of his lips. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
Yoo Joonghyuk gently trailed his fingers through the damp, raven locks of hair, delighting as a shiver wracked the smaller frame. He followed an invisible path to the cat hybrid’s flushed cheek, his fingers deftly moving down to his red lips, his other arm gently wrapping around a thin wrist to draw the cat hybrid close.
“You’re alright now,” Yoo Joonghyuk reassured, chasing away the remnants of shock. Kim Dokja barely struggled in his hold, instead leaning into his warmth as if seeking comfort. “Let me take care of you, too.”
Yoo Joonghyuk wasn’t ever going to let him go.
.
.
.
And as for Han Sooyoung, she had taken one glance at them, Kim Dokja held in a princess carry, a large, oversized coat over his shoulders, his drenched clothes dripping on Yoo Joonghyuk’s half-naked body, spat out her coffee, and said:
“Congratulations on your fish boyfriend. Now please, take him away from my aquarium. I’m tired of seeing his stupid fish face.” She turned away, scoffing. “And get him some goddamn clothes while you’re at it.”
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