Work Text:
Rain hammered the subway entrance like the sky had decided to flood Seoul all at once. By the time I forced my way down the stairs, my hair clung to my face and my coat felt twice as heavy.
The platform was already crowded. Commuters packed shoulder to shoulder, each person lost in their own world. Some chatted loudly, some stared at their phones, others smoked near the entrance despite the rain blowing inside. A group of students laughed while sharing earphones, completely unaffected by the chaos around them.
And in the middle of all that noise stood him.
A guy who looked like a college student. Blue hoodie, black pants, white rubber shoes already damp from the rain. Completely focused on his phone like nothing else existed.
I found myself watching him longer than necessary.
What was he even looking at that demanded so much attention? Strangely, I want to get to know him.
Approaching a stranger would be weird. But trying to be friendly shouldn't be illegal, right?
Just as I decided to move closer, someone shoved me from behind. Hard.
No apology. Not even a glance back.
"Hey, watch it!" I snapped, nearly losing my balance.
My foot slipped on the wet floor and before I could curse again, someone grabbed my wrist.
The phone guy.
He held my wrist steadily, helping me regain footing. His phone was now tucked in his pocket, attention fully on me.
Well. That saved me the trouble of introducing myself.
Unfortunately, my mouth betrayed me.
"What's with you, old dude?"
I froze.
Why did I say that?
The guy blinked in shock. Clearly offended. But surprisingly, he didn't let go.
I sighed and reluctantly accepted his help, standing upright.
"...Thanks."
He smiled, easy and warm, as if my rudeness hadn't bothered him at all.
"You're welcome. Be careful, Ms..."
He waited.
Ah. So that was his plan.
For some reason, instead of brushing him off, I answered.
"Han Sooyoung."
"Sooyoung," he repeated.
And strangely, hearing my name from a stranger's lips felt... nice.
Why?
"Flower of excellence, right? Pretty name. It suits you. I'm Kim Dokja."
Kim Dokja.
The name tickled something familiar.
"Only child?" I asked automatically.
He laughed.
"No. Reader. But yes, technically an only child. I just like reading."
Reader. Dokja.
Right.
Before I could tease him, the rumble of the arriving train echoed through the station.
"Ah, sorry. Let's get inside first," he said, gently guiding me forward.
I rolled my eyes.
"I can walk on my own."
"Good. Then you won't fall again."
"That was sabotage."
"Sure. Blame the mysterious subway villain."
Despite myself, I laughed.
Inside, the train was just as crowded. We stood close to the door, swaying slightly as it began moving.
A moment of awkward silence passed before he spoke again.
"So where are you getting off?"
I named my stop.
"Anguk Station."
He blinked.
"Oh. That's near my workplace."
"You work around there?"
"Yeah. Small café. Books and coffee."
I stared.
"Books and coffee? That's either genius or pretentious."
He gasped dramatically.
"How dare you insult literature and caffeine in the same sentence."
"So you serve coffee and force people to read?"
"We encourage intellectual growth."
"You guilt-trip customers into buying novels."
"It's called business strategy."
I snorted.
We kept talking, conversation flowing effortlessly. Sarcasm met sarcasm. He fired back every time I tried to tease him, and somehow it didn't feel tiring.
Annoyingly, it felt fun.
Somewhere between arguing about pineapple on pizza and debating whether subtitles were superior to dubbing, I realized something uncomfortable.
I was enjoying this.
Talking to him felt... easy.
And that bothered me. Because everyone always gives up listening to what I say. They don't want to listen to an unwanted child.
He is different. He don't know me but... he listens anyway.
The train suddenly announced our station.
"That's ours," Dokja said.
The doors opened, and a wave of people pushed out.
Then disaster struck.
Rain poured even harder outside the station exit.
He checked his phone and cursed under his breath.
"I'm going to be late for work."
"Then go," I said.
He hesitated. Looked at me. Looked at the rain.
Then suddenly grabbed my wrist.
"Run with me."
"What?"
Too late. Before I take a step back I was dragged by him. Despite his thin physique he is quite strong.
We dashed into the rain.
Cold water soaked us instantly, shoes splashing through puddles as we ran down the street. Dokja laughed like an idiot, holding his hoodie over his head in a useless attempt to block the rain.
Under the streetlights, I finally got a proper look at him.
Rainwater clung to his dark hair, strands falling messily over his forehead. His eyes curved into crescents as he laughed, one eye squeezed shut when water dripped straight onto his face. His smile was bright, careless, and ridiculously genuine.
His hoodie and shirt clung to his frame, outlining narrow shoulders and a lean build. Water droplets slid down his jaw and neck as he ran, still grinning like getting drenched in the middle of the night was the most normal thing in the world.
For a moment, the noisy city faded behind him.
And all I could think was.
'Why does this guy look so happy just running through the rain with me?'
He stopped in front of a warmly lit café, breathless. Books lined the window display behind him.
He turned back to me, still smiling.
"So. Welcome to my workplace."
And annoyingly enough, I found myself smiling back.
Rainwater dripped from our hair and sleeves as we stood in front of the café entrance, both slightly out of breath. The station announcement still echoed faintly in my head.
I didn't know there is a cafe like this near the Anguk Station.
Kim Dokja pushed open the glass door, warm air immediately spilling outside along with the scent of coffee and old books. Soft light glowed inside, shelves lining the walls, tables tucked between them. It looked quiet and comfortable, like a place where people forgot time existed.
He turned to me, suddenly looking guilty.
"Come inside first. You'll catch a cold."
"I wouldn't be drenched if someone didn't suddenly decide we were in an action movie chase scene."
He scratched his cheek.
"Fair point. Come in anyway. I'll get you a towel and coffee. Apology package."
I crossed my arms.
"So this is how you lure customers in. Drag them through rain first."
"It works, doesn't it?"
"...Unfortunately."
I stepped inside. The warmth felt heavenly against my freezing skin.
He locked the door behind us since the café was already closing, then disappeared behind the counter. A minute later he returned with two fluffy towels.
He handed one to me and started drying his own hair without shame.
"Here. Sorry for dragging you through the rain."
I rubbed my hair roughly.
"You owe me dry cleaning money."
"You called me old dude first."
"You looked older than me."
"I'm twenty-two."
I paused. Two years older than me.
"...You do look older."
He stared at me in disbelief.
"You're really rude for someone accepting free coffee."
"That's because this is compensation."
He sighed dramatically and headed to the counter again. Soon the sound of a coffee machine filled the quiet café.
I took the chance to look around. Books everywhere. Fiction, poetry, essays. Even some old classics stacked neatly by the window.
It was surprisingly cozy.
Dokja returned, placing a warm cup in front of me.
"House blend. Good for rainy nights."
I wrapped my hands around the cup, letting the warmth sink into my fingers.
"...This is good."
He smiled smugly.
"Of course. I made that."
I rolled my eyes but took another sip anyway.
Silence settled, comfortable rather than awkward. Rain continued to drum outside the windows.
After a moment, he spoke again.
"So your place is near here?"
"Five minutes away. I usually walk."
"Good. Then at least you won't get lost when you come back."
I blinked.
"Come back?"
"For coffee. And books. And to properly apologize next time without rain involved."
I stared at him over the rim of my cup.
"What gave you do idea that I like books anyway?"
"I saw you carefully scrutinizing the books, someone who reads or write only does that."
This guy really just invited me to come again like it was natural and also deduced that I like books.
And strangely, I didn't hate the idea.
I clicked my tongue.
"Only if the coffee stays free."
He laughed.
"No chance. I still need to make money."
I scoffed, but the corner of my mouth lifted anyway.
Somehow, between the crowded platform, the rain, and this unexpected stop at Anguk Station, the night turned out better than expected.
And as much as I hated admitting it,
Talking to Kim Dokja was... fun.
"Hey I'm about to head home soon since it's already 9:30 PM. When are you heading out?"
"Were you waiting for me? I actually live at the attic. The owner kindly allowed me to stay so that I can help whenever he needs help. He has a house nearby. Before we arrive he already messaged me that we are closing but I only managed to read it when I got the towels."
He lives here? How lucky.
"Then, I'm going now. It looks like the rain will stop anytime soon too." I say after I finish my coffee.
"Then take my umbrella, you can return it when you come back." He says as he reach out for my hand and stopping me in my tracks.
It is a simple gesture of kindness yet my chest tightens anyway. Just what is this?
"Sure, and where is it?"
"Oh." When he finally realize that he is holding my hand he couldn't help but get flustered. He backed away red faced and is raising his arms as if he had been caught doing something naughty.
"W-wait here, it's in my room."
A few minutes later, Kim Dokja returned, slightly out of breath as if he had run upstairs and back down in record time. In his hand was a simple black umbrella, still folded neatly.
He avoided eye contact for a second before holding it out.
"Here."
I took it from him, our fingers brushing again. He flinched like the contact shocked him.
Seriously.
"Relax," I said. "It's just a hand."
"You say that now," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
I slipped my bag onto my shoulder and walked toward the door. The café lights felt warmer now, almost reluctant to let me leave.
I paused and glanced back.
He was standing behind the counter, watching me with that same easy smile from earlier, as if this whole night was completely normal to him.
"...Thanks for the coffee," I said.
He waved it off. "Come back and pay next time."
"Not happening."
"We'll see."
I pushed open the door before he could say anything else. Cool night air rushed in, rain now reduced to a light drizzle. The streets shimmered under streetlights, puddles reflecting yellow and white streaks across the pavement.
Behind me, the café door clicked shut.
I opened the umbrella and started walking.
Five minutes, I told him.
Normally, the walk home felt longer. Tonight, it passed too quickly.
My apartment building greeted me with its usual dull silence. The hallway lights flickered as always. No voices, no laughter, no smell of food from neighboring doors. Just the echo of my own footsteps.
I unlocked the door and stepped inside.
Darkness.
Cold air.
The familiar emptiness.
I kicked off my shoes and dropped my bag without bothering to turn on the lights right away. The apartment looked the same as always, small and cluttered, notebooks stacked on the desk, clothes thrown carelessly over a chair.
Nothing changed.
So why did it feel different?
I leaned against the closed door, umbrella still in my hand.
Too quiet.
The memory of laughter from earlier resurfaced without permission.
Him running through the rain like an idiot.
His hoodie dripping.
His eyes closing when water hit his face.
The way he listened without interrupting. Without judging.
Just listening.
My grip tightened around the umbrella.
"...What's wrong with me?"
We had only talked for a couple of hours.
A stranger.
Someone I met because someone shoved me on a wet platform.
And yet.
The apartment suddenly felt unbearably empty without someone talking back to my sarcasm.
Without someone laughing at stupid arguments about pizza toppings.
Without someone calling me Sooyoung so casually, like it was natural.
I shook my head and turned on the lights.
Ridiculous.
I changed into dry clothes and crawled into bed, exhaustion finally catching up. Rain still tapped softly against the window, distant traffic humming somewhere outside.
I closed my eyes.
His face appeared again.
That stupid smile.
Why did he look so happy just running through the rain with me?
Annoying.
Warm.
Comfortable.
Before I realized it, tears slipped down the sides of my face, soaking into the pillow.
I didn't even know why I was crying.
Maybe because for a brief moment tonight, I forgot how lonely things usually were.
Sleep eventually pulled her under, the quiet patter of rain fading into darkness.
Then her eyes opened.
The ceiling above looked exactly the same. The faint glow from outside still seeped through the curtains. Nothing in the room had changed.
But Han Sooyoung had.
The lingering ache from earlier was gone. The vulnerability that clung to her chest before sleep had vanished, replaced by a calm, almost chilling clarity.
She sat up slowly, face expressionless.
There was no confusion in her eyes. No hesitation. Only purpose.
“I don’t have time to waste,” she muttered.
The voice was hers, yet the tone lacked the softness from earlier. It was sharper. Detached.
She swung her legs off the bed and stood, moving without pause toward her desk. The computer flickered to life, bathing the small room in pale light.
Documents opened one after another, revealing a story already in progress.
Her story.
Or perhaps, more accurately, the story meant for someone else.
Her fingers hovered above the keyboard for only a second before beginning to type with mechanical certainty. Words flowed effortlessly, as if they had already been decided long ago.
The rain continued outside, the lonely apartment silent except for the steady clacking of keys.
A faint smile appeared on her lips.
“My reader is waiting.”
And without wasting another second, the other Sooyoung continued writing the next chapter.
Kim Dokja tossed and turned on the narrow bed in the café attic, staring at the ceiling lit faintly by the streetlights outside. Sleep refused to come.
Every time he closed his eyes, her face appeared again.
Her annoyed expression when he teased her. The way her brows twitched before firing back another sarcastic comment. The look she gave him whenever she thought she’d won an argument.
And strangely, none of it felt unpleasant.
'This is trouble,' he thought, dragging a hand down his face. 'I can't believe I feel this way about someone I just met.'
He rolled onto his side, exhaling.
But the memories refused to leave.
He remembered the way Han Sooyoung sat at the café table, hair still slightly damp from the rain, shoulders wrapped in a towel he’d handed her. She tried to look unimpressed, yet her eyes wandered around the café, quietly taking everything in.
Especially the books.
And then there was that moment.
She lifted the cup cautiously, as if expecting disappointment. He remembered watching her over the counter while pretending to clean something.
Her fingers wrapped around the mug, absorbing the warmth. She took a sip, paused, and for a split second her expression softened.
Not sarcastic.
Not defensive.
Just… relieved.
Comfortable.
And when she muttered, “...This is good,” like she didn’t want to admit it too easily, he almost laughed out loud.
He turned onto his back again, staring at the ceiling.
The way she kept arguing about everything.
About pineapple on pizza.
About subtitles being superior.
About how his café concept was pretentious.
And yet she stayed. Talked. Listened.
Most people either ignored him or talked over him. Conversations usually felt like something he watched from the outside.
But with her…
It felt natural.
Too natural.
He groaned quietly, pulling the blanket over his face.
Why did running through the rain with her feel so fun?
And then another memory surfaced.
Her standing at the café door before leaving. That brief pause. The way she glanced back, like she wanted to say something but didn’t.
For some reason, that image lingered the most.
Dokja sighed, finally giving up on sleep.
“...She’ll come back to return the umbrella anyway,” he muttered to the empty room, as if reassuring himself.
But even as he said it, a small smile formed.
And somewhere between replaying her reluctant smiles and sharp retorts, Kim Dokja eventually drifted into sleep, unaware that tomorrow night he’d probably find himself glancing at the café door more often than usual.
A month had passed since that rainy night.
Not that we never saw each other again after that. Somehow, our schedules kept colliding. Some weeks we’d run into each other on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Other times it was Tuesdays, Thursdays, or a random Saturday night when both of us were heading home late.
Never planned.
Never consistent.
Just… happening.
We talked sometimes. Other times we just shared the train ride, arguing about something stupid until our stops came. And somehow, meeting him at the station became normal.
Tonight was one of those coincidences again.
The platform was calmer than usual, fewer commuters lingering around. No rain, no chaos. Just the hum of trains passing through.
I sat on the bench, scrolling through my phone while waiting.
I’d actually dressed decently for once. A loose purple jumper knit top hung comfortably over black fitted jeans, the fabric soft enough to move with me. Clean white rubber shoes and a simple silver necklace completed the look. Casual, but put together enough that I didn’t look half-asleep.
Not that it mattered.
My bag sat beside me, heavier than usual thanks to the books I borrowed earlier.
“Still getting pushed around by random guys at subway stations?”
I looked up without surprise.
Blue hoodie. Hands in pockets. Same relaxed smile.
Kim Dokja.
I scoffed. “You wish.”
He sat beside me like he belonged there.
“What have you been up to?” he asked.
“Surviving midterms. You?”
“Trying not to fail my thesis while working.”
I glanced at him. “Wait. You’re still in college?”
He looked offended. “What did you think?”
“I thought you were joking when you said you're twenty-two. You look like a tired salary man.”
“That hurts.”
“So what year?”
“Fourth. Literature major.”
I paused.
“…You’re kidding.”
He frowned. “Why?”
“I’m literature too.”
Silence.
We stared at each other.
“Second year?” he guessed.
“Yeah.”
"Dongguk University?"
"Yeah!" This time I can't help but shout.
“That makes no sense,” he muttered. “How have we never met?”
I crossed my arms. “The department isn’t that big.”
“We should’ve seen each other somewhere.”
“Unless you never go to campus.”
“I go. Now you know why I'm like a tired salary man."
“Fair, but it’s weird.”
He stared toward the tunnel, thinking.
“…Maybe we exist on different timelines.”
“You’re stupid. Is that what you've been reading about?”
'How did she know? I never told her about TWSA.'
“You’re disrespectful.” he thought he was smooth with it but I noticed how his eyes widened. I finally got what he was reading that got his undivided attention.
The train announcement echoed through the station.
He glanced at my bag. “Reading anything interesting? Want to talk?”
“Depends. If you say movie adaptations are better again, we’re fighting.”
“Some are.”
“Wrong.”
And just like that, conversation slipped back into place as easily as every other time we met.
As the train approached, one thought crossed my mind.
For someone I only met a month ago, running into Kim Dokja felt strangely natural.
And for some reason, I didn’t mind if it kept happening.
The next day, I ran into him again.
This time, on campus.
I was leaving the literature building with a stack of books threatening to slip from my arms when someone tapped behind me.
I turned my head when suddenly I felt a finger in my cheek.
I turned to see Kim Dokja poking me, he is smiling and is preparing to laugh, he has a backpack hanging loosely from one shoulder. He looked like he hadn’t slept at all.
I frowned. “How mature senior...”
"Hey don't act as if you didn't do this to me on our second meeting." he says, trying to defend his actions.
"I'm not your senior though." I said not letting it go. I will win this time. I can't help but smirk at him.
Deciding he can't win he did a crocodile tears and say "I-I just want you to laugh." dramatically.
Seeing him like this is so funny. Not like the person I saw a month ago. I didn't know he is like this.
Deciding to let it go I changed the subject.
"By the way, did you even sleep? You look like a person that came back from death."
“Barely,” he admitted. “Thesis work. And café shift.”
“Sounds like a you problem.”
He laughed and fell into step beside me as we crossed campus. Students passed around us, some heading to class, others already escaping for the day.
It was still weird knowing we studied in the same department all this time.
“So,” he asked, “heading home?”
“Eventually.”
“Train?”
“Yeah.”
I hesitated for a second before saying, “I’m stopping by your café first.”
He glanced at me. “Really?”
“Coffee.”
“You just want free drinks.”
“I’m a loyal customer.”
“You’ve paid once.”
“Still counts.”
He snorted. “Fine. Come by.”
The train ride passed with the usual nonsense argument about movie adaptations ruining good novels. Before long, we were walking toward the café again.
Through the glass window, warm light spilled onto the street. And through it, I could see someone inside the kitchen area.
Dokja pushed the door open casually, the bell chiming above us.
Inside, the café smelled different today.
Spicier.
Richer.
“Smells good,” I muttered, stepping in.
From the kitchen, a tall man glanced up briefly before returning to the stove, stirring something in a large pot.
“That’s the owner,” Dokja said quietly. “He’s making curry. Boss! I'm back. I brought a costumer.”
The boss didn't look at us but he nodded his head, to show that he heard him.
“So your café sells curry now?”
“Only sometimes. He has a daughter named Biyoo and he mostly spend his time with her. So sometimes he is here sometimes he is not. Once I learn how to create curry the same as him I'll abuse that." He whispers.
The owner didn’t greet us, but the atmosphere felt oddly comfortable anyway.
Dokja slipped behind the counter, tying on an apron.
Then he looked at me, expression suddenly professional.
“Welcome. What would you like to order?”
I blinked. “You’re acting like you don’t know me.”
“Customer is customer.”
I rolled my eyes and leaned on the counter.
“Fine. One coffee and a curry. Your best curry!”
“What kind?”
“The one you think fits my personality.”
He studied me for a second, pretending to think seriously.
“…Something strong, slightly bitter, and impossible to deal with.”
“That sounds like you.”
He smirked. “Dark Roast Arabica Blends and Indian Curry it is.”
I moved to my usual seat while he started preparing the drink. The quiet clatter of cups and the faint sound of curry simmering filled the café.
Strangely enough, the place already felt familiar.
And I realized I didn’t mind staying here a little longer before going home. No. I want to stay here instead of my dull apartment.
Kim Dokja didn’t realize something was wrong at first.
The first day passed normally.
He finished his morning classes, rushed to his shift at the café, helped serve customers through the afternoon, and returned to the attic late at night, too tired to think about anything beyond sleep.
He only noticed the absence the second day.
He stood on the subway platform, hands in his pockets, eyes drifting across familiar faces out of habit.
He wasn’t waiting for anyone.
At least, that’s what he told himself.
Still, his gaze kept shifting to the bench where she sometimes sat scrolling through her phone. Or near the pillar where she once leaned while complaining about exams. Or the vending machine she occasionally kicked when it swallowed her coins.
But Han Sooyoung wasn’t there.
He boarded the train, brushing the thought aside.
People had schedules. Classes changed. Life happened.
It meant nothing.
Right?
The third day passed the same way.
The fourth too.
And by the fifth, the realization settled in.
He hadn’t seen her all week.
No accidental meetings at the station.
No sarcastic greetings.
No pointless arguments about movies.
Nothing.
Dokja frowned at his phone while sitting behind the café counter during a quiet afternoon.
He opened his messages out of habit.
And froze.
There was no chat with her.
Of course there wasn’t.
They never exchanged numbers.
He leaned back slowly in his chair.
“…Seriously?”
It hit him all at once.
He didn’t know her contact information.
Didn’t know where she lived exactly.
Didn’t even know her class schedule.
All he knew was her name, her department, and that she lived somewhere near Anguk Station.
They had met over and over purely by coincidence.
Coincidence he’d started taking for granted.
He exhaled quietly.
“That’s bad.”
At the kitchen entrance, Yoo Joonghyuk glanced at him. “What is?”
“Nothing.”
Joonghyuk didn’t ask again. He is always like that but hey he helped him when he was being bullied. If he isn't hurt he think Joonghyuk is fine with everything.
Dokja stared at his phone.
He replayed their conversations in his head without meaning to.
Her sarcastic tone.
The way she argued about everything, even things she didn’t actually care about.
The way her expression softened when she drank something warm after getting caught in the rain.
The way she observed bookshelves when she thought no one noticed.
The way she stayed longer than necessary at the café.
He rubbed his temple.
Why was he thinking about this so much?
People drifted in and out of life all the time.
Meeting someone a few times didn’t mean anything.
Yet the café felt quieter lately.
Subway rides felt longer.
Arguments with regular customers felt dull.
He found himself glancing at the café door without realizing it, expecting her to walk in and complain about homework or demand free coffee again.
She didn’t.
Days passed.
A week.
Still nothing.
Dokja lay in bed one night, staring at the ceiling, the attic silent except for distant traffic.
And his thoughts wandered again.
To the first time they met.
The rain.
Her slipping on the wet platform.
Him grabbing her when she was pushed.
Calling him old.
He chuckled softly at the memory.
She was rude.
Honest.
Unfiltered.
Most people tried to act polite around strangers. Maintained distance.
Sooyoung never bothered.
She spoke exactly what she thought.
And strangely, that honesty made conversations easier.
He didn’t have to pretend either.
He turned onto his side.
Why did it bother him so much that she wasn’t around?
He tried to rationalize it.
Maybe it was just routine.
Humans liked familiar patterns. Familiar faces.
Seeing someone repeatedly made them part of daily life.
When they disappeared, the absence felt noticeable.
That was all.
Right?
But the answer felt incomplete.
He remembered her sitting quietly in the café, staring at nothing after their arguments ended.
There was always a moment when her expression fell.
A brief emptiness before she masked it again with sarcasm.
Like someone used to being alone.
He frowned slightly.
Maybe that was why he paid attention.
He understood loneliness too well.
He remembered how natural conversations felt with her.
How easily time passed.
How he looked forward to bumping into her again without admitting it.
And then the realization slipped in quietly.
He missed her.
The thought startled him.
He sat up slightly, staring into the dark.
“…Wait.”
Missed?
Why?
He barely knew her.
They’d known each other only a month.
Conversations about books, movies, classes, nothing deep.
Yet.
He smiled unconsciously remembering how fiercely she defended her opinions.
How she always fired back at his jokes.
How she pretended not to care but listened carefully anyway.
He groaned and flopped back onto his pillow.
“This is ridiculous.”
Still.
His chest felt lighter remembering her laughter in the rain.
The way she smirked after winning arguments.
The quiet comfort of sharing train rides home.
And suddenly the answer became obvious.
So obvious he almost laughed.
“…I like her.”
The words sounded strange spoken out loud.
He stared at the ceiling again.
Like.
Not just enjoying conversations.
Not just friendly interest.
Something more.
A crush.
He covered his face with his arm.
“Seriously?”
He felt like a teenager realizing something painfully obvious too late.
He replayed recent days.
Checking the platform.
Looking at the café door.
Thinking about her randomly.
Wondering what she was doing.
Hoping she’d show up again.
Yeah.
There was no denying it now.
He liked Han Sooyoung.
And he didn’t even have her phone number.
He laughed quietly at the absurdity.
“So stupid.”
How did you develop a crush without even securing basic contact information?
He imagined telling her.
She’d probably laugh in his face.
Call him dramatic.
Then demand free coffee as compensation for emotional distress.
He smiled at the imaginary response.
Silence returned.
And with it came something unfamiliar.
Worry.
What if she stopped coming?
What if their schedules never overlapped again?
What if that rainy-night coincidence was all their connection amounted to?
He frowned.
The thought left a heavier feeling in his chest than expected.
He didn’t want that.
He wanted to see her again.
Talk again.
Argue again.
Ask about her writing projects.
Hear her complain about classes.
Watch her quietly enjoy coffee.
He sighed.
“…Next time.”
Next time he saw her, he’d ask for her number.
Simple.
Reasonable.
Not weird.
Probably.
He turned onto his side again, finally feeling sleep approach.
But one last thought surfaced.
Her sitting across from him, arms crossed, pretending not to enjoy herself.
And for the first time, Kim Dokja admitted something honestly.
He hoped he’d see Han Sooyoung again soon.
Because now he knew.
He didn’t just enjoy her company.
He was looking forward to it.
Han Sooyoung leaned back against the pillows, the heat of her fever making her drowsy but unable to rest completely. Kim Dokja had set a small bowl of porridge on the bedside table and was now sitting in the chair beside her, watching her with quiet attentiveness.
“Here,” he said, lifting the spoon. “Open your mouth.”
She glared at him weakly, cheeks flushed. “You are bossy.”
“I am your nurse,” he replied seriously, although the corner of his mouth twitched. “And nurses are allowed to be bossy.”
She shook her head, curling her blanket closer around herself. “I do not need a nurse. I need sleep.”
He leaned a little closer, tilting the spoon toward her lips again. “You are not going to sleep on an empty stomach, and medicine has to come after. This is science.”
“Science, huh?” she muttered, finally opening her mouth slightly so he could feed her. The warmth of the porridge was immediate and comforting, almost like it was melting away her fever and exhaustion bit by bit.
He smiled softly as he fed her slowly, carefully. “See? Not so bad.”
“Shut up,” she said, though her lips curved into a faint smile despite herself.
“I knew you would say that,” he teased, scooping another spoonful. “But I am going to keep feeding you anyway.”
She tried to look stern, but her body betrayed her. She let herself enjoy the warmth and the attention. Each spoonful felt like a small act of care that reached into more than just her body.
“You are ridiculous, you know that?” she said after a moment, trying to distract herself from the flutter in her chest.
“Ridiculous?” he repeated. “Me? Never.” His eyes gleamed with mischief, but there was a softness beneath it. “I think this is exactly the appropriate amount of ridiculous for a nurse in this situation.”
“Fine,” she admitted, sniffling slightly, “but only because I have no energy to argue.”
He leaned back, pretending to look shocked. “Only because? You make it sound like you are saving yourself from me.”
“I am,” she mumbled, though she could not hide the faint warmth spreading across her cheeks.
He chuckled and reached over to adjust the blanket around her shoulders. “Do not try to act tough. You are sick. It is fine to let someone take care of you.”
She looked at him, blinking slowly. His expression was calm, but his gaze lingered on her face as if he wanted to memorize every detail. The fever made her feel vulnerable, yet strangely comforted by the fact that he was here. She realized again how much she had missed seeing him, how much she had been thinking about him even while she was alone and miserable.
“You came all the way here for me?” she asked softly, her voice hoarse.
He shrugged casually but did not move his gaze. “Yes. You were not showing up to everywhere. I got worried.”
She felt her chest tighten. The flutter in her heart grew into something heavier, warmer, and impossible to ignore. “Really?”
“I do,” he said simply.
The honesty in his voice made her blush deeper. She looked down at her hands, curling the blanket tighter around herself. She tried to push down the growing realization in her chest, but it was impossible. Every small movement, every careful gesture of his, made it clear. She liked him. She had liked him for weeks, and now there was no denying it.
Her lips curved into a small, shy smile, barely perceptible. “I am glad you came,” she whispered.
He nodded, leaning back slightly but keeping his eyes on her. “I got worried. It is fine to let me be here.”
Her heart beat faster. For the first time in days, she felt warmth that was not just from the fever. It was a fluttering happiness, soft and thrilling, that made her chest tighten with shy anticipation. She thought about how she had missed him, how much she had been thinking about him without knowing it, and how seeing him now made everything feel right despite her illness.
Dokja scooped another spoonful of porridge and brought it toward her. “Open your mouth,” he said softly.
She did, letting him feed her again. Her eyes met his briefly, and she could see the faint smile there, gentle and careful. She felt her heart lift in a way that made her feel giddy and shy all at once.
“I like this,” she admitted quietly to herself, almost embarrassed to even think it aloud. She liked him. She had liked him all along, and every little action of his, coming here, making porridge, helping her, was pulling her closer to him. She had no idea how or when it had happened, but she knew one thing clearly now.
Her pulse raced as she reflected on her feelings. The nervous excitement, the shy happiness, the warmth of being cared for. She realized that liking him felt dangerous in a good way, yet it felt natural.
Dokja finished setting the porridge and medicine within her reach and took a seat beside the bed. He did not need to say anything. Just being there quietly, carefully attending to her, made the room feel full.
Somewhere deep inside, she whispered to herself, feeling warmth spread through her fevered body. I like him. I really like him.
For the first time since last week that she got this fever. Today, she felt completely happy and safe. Her fever was still there, but it did not matter. She had realized her feelings and he was here with her. That was enough to make her chest swell and her cheeks burn, and she could not stop the small smile from tugging at her lips.
"Before we forget, let's exchange numbers now."
She can't help but laugh because she forgot about it already. "Sure!"
Kim Dokja leaned back slightly in his chair, watching Han Sooyoung take a careful sip of porridge. Her cheeks were still flushed, but her small, shy smiles made his chest feel warm in a way he had not expected.
“You are really slow at eating,” he said lightly, scooping another spoonful and bringing it to her.
“I am not slow,” she said, glancing up at him, “I am savoring it.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Savoring, huh? Sounds like an excuse.”
She stuck out her tongue at him weakly and accepted the spoon. The warmth of the porridge spread through her, and she felt herself relax under his careful attention.
“You like this right?” he asked, a teasing lilt in his voice.
“I do not like you making fun of me,” she muttered, though she could not stop a small smile from forming.
“I am not making fun of you,” he said with mock seriousness. “I am merely stating observations.”
Her laughter was soft, weak from fever but genuine, and it made him grin. He watched her, memorising the way her eyes curved, the way her lips moved, the slight tilt of her head when she smiled.
“You are ridiculous,” she said after a moment, finishing a bite.
“I am aware,” he replied. “But you are letting me feed you, so you must admit I am helpful too.”
“I have the right to remain silent,” she whispered, a little shyly, looking down at her hands.
He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “You don't have to say it. I can tell.”
Her chest tightened at his words. She realized just how much she liked him and how every small gesture, every act of care, was making her heart race.
“Do you always worry this much?” she asked quietly, keeping her voice low.
“I worry about people I care about,” he said simply, and her gaze lifted to meet his. The soft honesty in his eyes made her blush even harder.
She shifted slightly under the blanket, feeling shy and happy at the same time. The warmth of the porridge, the quiet of the apartment, and the closeness of him sitting there made her feel more alive than she had in days.
“You are going to spoil me then,” she said softly.
“Good,” he said with a small grin. “It is my job to spoil people who let me.”
Her heart thumped. She realized then that she was letting him, completely and without hesitation. Every spoonful of porridge, every careful gesture, every look he gave her was pulling her closer.
“Do you like feeding people often?” she asked, teasing despite herself.
“Only people I like,” he replied calmly, and her cheeks flamed immediately.
She looked down at her lap, shy, but a smile tugged at her lips anyway. “I see,” she murmured. Her thoughts raced. She liked him. She liked him more than she had realized, and every little act of care was making her feelings stronger.
He scooped another bite and fed it to her. “You are going to finish this slowly, but I don't mind. I like being here.”
“I can tell,” she said softly, looking up at him. The warmth in her chest spread through her whole body. She felt happy, shy, and alive all at once.
They continued in comfortable silence, punctuated only by soft conversation, small teasing, and careful feeding. Each moment was an unspoken acknowledgment of the feelings growing between them, a quiet bond forming as Han Sooyoung realized she liked Kim Dokja more with every passing second.
By the time the porridge was finished and the medicine taken, she felt a content warmth she had not felt in a long time. Her fever did not seem as heavy, and her heart was lighter, filled with shy happiness and a fluttering awareness of just how much she liked him.
Sitting beside her quietly, watching her smile and breathe easier, Kim Dokja realized that he felt the same way. Every small interaction, every gentle gesture had been a bridge, bringing them closer without either of them fully realizing it until now.
For Han Sooyoung, the realization settled in like sunlight through a window. She liked him. She liked him deeply, and knowing that he cared enough to be here made her feel safe, happy, and shy all at once. She looked at him, heart swelling, and could not stop the small, shy smile that spread across her face.
And Kim Dokja, seeing her like that, could not stop the small smile of his own.
It is Sunday morning when Kim Dokja prepared himself for a visit. In his hands he carried a small cake, carefully wrapped, meant for his mother. The idea of seeing her after so long, even in the confines of her prison cell, brought a mixture of anticipation and unease. He knew she had been waiting for him, and he was determined not to disappoint her.
The corridor leading to her visitation room felt longer than usual. He adjusted the cake in his hands and took a deep breath before stepping inside.
“Eomma,” he said quietly, setting the cake on the table between them.
Lee Sookyung looked up immediately, her eyes bright behind the glass. Despite the years, her smile was the same warm, familiar one he remembered from childhood.
“Dokja-yah,” she said softly, her voice carrying that same loving tone. “You brought a cake for me?”
“I thought maybe we could share it,” he replied, trying to sound casual.
For a while their conversation was careful, restrained. Kim Dokja kept a polite distance, answering her questions but avoiding personal topics. The distance was not out of indifference. It was habit. He had learned long ago that closeness could be dangerous, even painful.
But Lee Sookyung’s voice, soft and warm, slowly began to chip away at that wall. She asked about his classes, the professors, the books he had been reading. Her interest was genuine, her tone full of care. Each question reminded him of a time when she had looked after him without condition, when love was uncomplicated and constant.
“You have grown into a fine young man, Dokja-yah,” she said finally, her eyes shining. “You always were clever, but now I can see how responsible you are.”
He smiled faintly. “Thank you, Eomma.”
Then, as if unable to resist her curiosity, she tilted her head. “When will you graduate?”
“Around June,” he said after a moment.
“Hmm,” she hummed thoughtfully. Then with a teasing edge she asked, “Do you have a girlfriend?”
Kim Dokja froze, his mouth opening slightly before he realized she was joking. He expected her to laugh it off, but the moment he turned red, her smile faltered for just a second. She tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly, realizing her joke might have hit closer to the truth than she expected.
“You do?” she asked carefully.
He hesitated, then shook his head. “Not my girlfriend yet.”
The words barely left his lips before her face lit up with excitement. “Oh, tell me more! What is she like? How did you meet her?”
Dokja froze, caught between wanting to keep Han Sooyoung a secret and the part of him that longed to talk about her. Half of him wanted to say nothing, half of him wanted to recount every detail. The warmth of his mother’s curiosity was irresistible.
“She… she is someone I met recently,” he began cautiously. “She likes books. She is smart. Very lively in conversation.”
Lee Sookyung leaned closer to the glass, eyes wide with delight. “A bookish girl? Show me a picture.”
Dokja hesitated, then pulled out his phone and found a photo he had of her from one of their café visits. He showed it to her through the glass.
Her reaction was instantaneous. She gasped softly and then laughed joyfully and genuinely. “She is beautiful! I did not expect this at all. I always thought your type would be nerdy girls. You know, quiet, shy, always reading and keeping to themselves.”
Dokja’s cheeks warmed even further. “She is quiet sometimes, but she is not like that. She is very energetic. She makes conversation, teases me, argues with me, but I like her for that.”
Lee Sookyung leaned back in her chair, hands clasped together, eyes sparkling. “I am so happy for you, Dokja-yah. It seems she has caught your heart already. I can see it in your face.”
He looked down, trying to hide his blush, but the corners of his lips betrayed him with a small smile. Sharing this tiny part of his life made him feel vulnerable and yet light, as if he could finally carry the weight of his feelings without fear.
“She seems wonderful,” she said softly. “I hope you treat her well, Dokja-yah. She sounds like someone very special.”
“I will,” he said quietly, and for the first time in a long while, the words felt natural.
They sat together for a while longer, talking about small things, about the cake he had brought, about memories of his childhood, about the books he had been reading. Through her laughter and her gentle teasing, Kim Dokja felt a rare warmth in his chest. Half of it was the cake, half of it was the feeling of being seen and understood, and the other half was the knowledge that he had someone special in his life, someone who mattered deeply to him.
When it was time to leave, he packed up the leftovers and stood before her one last time.
“Eomma,” he said quietly, “thank you.”
“For what, Dokja-yah?”
“For everything. For caring about me still, for loving me all my life. And for asking about the girl I like.”
Her eyes softened. “I will always care about you. Always. And I am happy for you. I hope she makes you as happy as you deserve.”
He nodded, feeling a flutter of emotion in his chest. As he walked away from the visitation room, carrying the empty box and the warmth of the moment with him, he thought about Han Sooyoung, about her smile, her voice, the way she teased him, and the way his mother’s excitement had mirrored his own.
For the first time in a long while, Kim Dokja felt light. He had someone he cared for deeply. And he was not afraid to feel it.
After visiting his mother, Kim Dokja walked along the quiet streets. The visit had left him thoughtful but lighter, a rare warmth lingering in his chest. He pulled out his phone and hesitated for a moment, then typed a message.
{Han Sooyoung, are you available today? I want to celebrate my birthday with you.}
Within a few minutes, her reply came.
{I can't right now. I have to finish some school requirements I missed while I was sick. But I can meet at 12 p.m.}
Dokja smiled, reading the message. It was enough for now.
{12 p.m. would work perfectly.} He typed back quickly.
{See you then.}
The rest of the morning passed slowly. He wandered around a little, bought some small decorations for his apartment, and prepared a few snacks. By the time noon approached, he was ready.
When the clock finally struck twelve, he received another message from Han Sooyoung.
{I'm done. I will be there in a few minutes, you're at the café right?}
{Yes, see you.}
He went to the door and waited, his heart fluttering slightly. It had been 6 days since they he went and took care of her when she was sick and the thought of seeing her again made him both nervous and excited.
The door rang, and he opened it to see Han Sooyoung standing there. She wore a light blouse and comfortable jeans, her hair pulled back casually. Despite her earlier illness, she looked well and vibrant, her smile warming him instantly.
“Happy birthday,” she said softly, holding a small bag of snacks she had brought.
“Thank you,” he said, stepping aside to let her in. “I thought we could celebrate quietly, just us.”
She nodded and set the bag down on the table. “Sounds perfect. I wanted to come as soon as I could. School work took longer than I expected.”
“Don’t worry about that,” he said with a small smile. “I am just glad you are here now.”
They settled on the couch, a few small treats spread out on the table. Kim Dokja lit a single candle on the small cake he had brought and smiled at her.
“I made a wish,” he said quietly before she could speak.
Han Sooyoung tilted her head curiously. “Can I guess?”
He shook his head. “Nope. Some wishes are private.”
She laughed softly, a light and easy sound that made him feel at home. “Fair enough. Then I will just celebrate with you instead.”
For the next hour, they talked and laughed, sharing stories from the past few weeks, teasing each other, and enjoying the simple pleasure of being together. The small cake was cut and eaten, and the apartment was filled with warmth, conversation, and easy smiles.
Kim Dokja looked at her and realized again how much he liked seeing her, how natural it felt to share moments like this. He had grown to treasure her presence, and the way she laughed, teased, and shared her thoughts made everything feel brighter.
Han Sooyoung noticed his quiet smiles and warmth in his eyes and returned them, feeling the same fluttering happiness. Despite the small interruptions from her school requirements and his busy schedule, being together like this made the day feel complete.
When the last crumbs of cake were gone, she leaned back and sighed contentedly. “Thank you for letting me celebrate with you. I'm glad I could make it after all.”
“Of course,” he said softly, smiling. “It wouldn't have been the same without you.”
For a moment, they just sat together, enjoying the quiet companionship. The day was simple, ordinary even, but for Kim Dokja and Han Sooyoung, it was perfect. Their laughter and smiles filled the room, leaving a memory that neither would forget.
The sun was warm in June, and the university courtyard was buzzing with excitement. Kim Dokja stood nervously in his gown and cap, adjusting the tassel. His mother, Lee Sookyung, was seated in the front row, her eyes bright and full of pride despite the circumstances. She had managed to attend his graduation under escort, and the sight of her brought a mixture of comfort and unease.
When the ceremony began, he focused on the speeches and the procession, but his mind kept drifting to the girl waiting just behind the rows of seats. Han Sooyoung had arrived early and had found a spot where she could see him clearly.
After his name was called and he walked across the stage to receive his diploma, he caught a glimpse of Lee Sookyung’s eyes sparkling. Then he saw Han Sooyoung waving at him shyly. He smiled and waved back, heart racing with relief that she had come.
Once the ceremony ended, Lee Sookyung was escorted to the exit by the police, but before she left, she turned and waved energetically at the two of them.
“Dokja-yah,” she called cheerfully, “take good care of each other!”
Han Sooyoung laughed, waving back, and Kim Dokja felt his chest tighten. He had expected his mother to be more solemn, but her joy was unmistakable.
“Eomma,” he muttered under his breath. “You're too loud.”
She gave him a playful wink before being led away, still waving. Her happiness was contagious. She had asked Han Sooyoung directly during the ceremony if she liked him, and hearing her answer had made her grin from ear to ear.
When Lee Sookyung was gone, Kim Dokja turned to Han Sooyoung. “She likes you,” he said, shaking his head with a mixture of disbelief and amusement.
Han Sooyoung laughed. “I think she is wonderful. She has so much energy.”
“You two seem to get along,” he said with mock exasperation. “And you are sharing tales about me behind my back.”
“Of course,” she said, giggling. “she needed to warn me about your quirks.”
“Wow, really?” he asked, pretending to be offended.
“Some of them,” she admitted, smiling. “Not all. You still have to tell your own story.”
He shook his head, laughing softly. It was strange, but wonderful, to see his mother and Han Sooyoung getting along so well. He had expected some awkwardness, but instead, there was laughter and warmth.
After a few minutes, they left the campus. It was a bright afternoon, and neither of them felt like heading home immediately. Kim Dokja had asked Yoo Joonghyuk for a short leave and he allowed it after congratulating him, and they decided to spend some time together at Han Sooyoung’s apartment.
They stopped by a small store and bought a bottle of soju. Han Sooyoung carried it, and he didn't miss the opportunity to tease her.
“You carry it like it weighs a ton,” he said, grinning.
“I do not,” she replied, though her arm was slightly tired from the weight.
“You do,” he insisted, bumping her shoulder playfully.
Once inside her apartment, they set the soju on the table and opened it. The two of them settled on the couch, casual and comfortable, each with a glass in hand.
“So,” Han Sooyoung said, tilting her glass toward him. “Tell me a story about your mother. What is she really like?”
Kim Dokja took a sip and leaned back, thinking. “She is loud sometimes. Insists on knowing everything. She is stubborn, but… she loves fiercely. Always has.”
“I can see that,” Han Sooyoung said with a smile. “She seems proud of you. I liked her energy.”
“I am glad you liked her,” he said quietly. His gaze lingered on her for a moment before he quickly looked away.
They shared the soju slowly, talking and laughing. The conversation drifted from his childhood memories to Han Sooyoung’s college stories. They teased each other about past mishaps, argued over trivial preferences, and laughed at the absurdity of their own debates.
“You always have to be right,” she said with mock irritation, swatting his arm.
“I do not. I just have good arguments,” he replied smugly.
“Good arguments do not count if you are cheating,” she teased, laughing.
“You are impossible,” he said, smiling.
“And you love it,” she shot back, eyes sparkling because she knows she's right.
They continued sharing stories, little anecdotes that revealed more about who they were. Kim Dokja talked about books that he read, the professors who had inspired him, and some of the small victories that had kept him going. Han Sooyoung shared her essays, her favorite authors, and the quirks of her friends.
The apartment was filled with laughter, gentle teasing, and quiet moments of comfort. Occasionally, their hands brushed as they reached for the bottle or handed each other a snack, and each touch made the air between them warmer.
As the evening progressed, Kim Dokja felt the weight of the day lighten. Graduation, his mother’s brief visit, and the shared time with Han Sooyoung left him feeling content and surprisingly free.
Han Sooyoung leaned back against the couch, glass in hand, her cheeks slightly flushed. “You know,” she said softly, “I like seeing this side of you. Not the reserved one, not the one who worries alone. The one who can laugh and talk freely.”
Kim Dokja met her gaze and smiled faintly. “I think I like seeing this side of you too.”
She looked down, shy, and took a sip of her glass. “I am glad we found each other.”
“Me too,” he said quietly.
The bottle sat between them, half empty, but the warmth of the evening and the shared stories made everything else irrelevant. They teased, they laughed, they argued gently, but beneath it all was a growing bond, quiet and strong.
"He-"
Before Kim Dokja can finish his words Han Sooyoung voiced out her thoughts.
"Dokja-yah, do you know I'm an unwanted child? My father is a politician and my mother is an actress so they decided to hide me from the world. They erase my existence but still, I found a hobby. One day I found out I have a talent as a writer. My works are some of the things they can't erase. They are proof of me living you know?"
"Ever since I saw you I always capture you looking so intently in your phone. What is it that you're reading? I wish I have a reader like you, I always wished for someone like you."
Kim Dokja didn't expect her sudden confession, he didn't plan to talk about himself but it would be unfair to not share his. So he opens his mouth and says.
"Hey, do you know about the web novel Three Ways to Survive in a Ruined World?"
There was a pause. However, Kim Dokja thought it was a signal for him to continue.
"It is the novel that I read, I found it actually after I decided to jump from the school window when I was 15 years old."
He is opening up. He is not sure if it is because of the alcohol but he wants her to know. To know what he treasures, and what she is to him.
"I got bullied a lot when I was younger, because my mom killed my dad. He actually deserve it you know? He was the embodiment of abusive parents. He beat us up over simple things and he will spend money, all our money to gambling... That's why I actually felt happy when my mother killed him. I was fine with being the son of the murderer. I can endure all the ridicule, the abuse from my aunt, the bullying. I just hated my mother because she wrote the book about our life. Do you know about the book "Underground Killer"?
How could she not. It was one of the best books at that time. It reached internationally.
"It was a book she released after killing my father."
"After I became an orphan and got adopted by my relatives I got abused at home and bullied to school. One day I couldn't take it anymore and decided to kill myself. I jumped from the classroom window to die but miraculously I survived. After I survived I heard my aunt shouting and blaming me outside of the hospital room."
"When I recovered a man with a top hat and suit told me about a novel, it's main character is trying to survive by himself too. I look it up without my hopes up but I enjoyed it. Finding that novel was the greatest moment in my life. I found a reason to live because of that novel."
"Hey, Sooyoung-ah. Why are you crying? Don't cry. I just want to say that you're my reason to live too. Thank you for finding me."
"Stupid idiot, why are you crying too then?" He didn't realize when did he start crying, seeing him cry breaks her heart. With the information she learns she can't help but break down too.
"Sooyoung-ah, will you be my girlfriend?"
"Idiot, you ask a girl out after telling her your traumas? Is that your kink?" She says while wiping the tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Well?"
"Yes! Of course. I like you within the first month that we know each other, it only grew deeper as time goes by."
Kim Dokja hugged her and raised her in the air and spin, he couldn't contain his joy.
"Hey, p-put me down!" She shouts red faced, she doesn't hate it but it is embarrassing.
He immediately stopped spinning and kisses her.
Their eyes met, and for a heartbeat the world around them seemed to disappear. Without another word, Kim Dokja leaned in, and she met him halfway.
Their lips touched gently at first, testing, then deepening naturally. Hands brushed, then found each other, holding softly as the kiss lingered. It was tender and warm, a quiet confession of all the feelings they had held back for months.
When they finally pulled back, they rested their foreheads together, breathing in unison, smiles tugging at their lips. Neither needed to speak. The kiss had said everything, leaving a warmth in their chests that would stay long after the moment ended.
They stayed like that for a few moments longer, holding each other, the room filled with quiet happiness and the unspoken promise of more to come.
By the time the night grew darker, both of them were content. Kim Dokja had asked for a leave, and now there was nowhere else he wanted to be. Han Sooyoung smiled at him, eyes soft, and he knew that this was only the beginning of something lasting, something real, and something that made every little moment feel extraordinary.
Kim Dokja woke in the middle of the night, the lingering warmth beside him already gone. For a moment he thought Han Sooyoung had simply gone to the kitchen for water, but the apartment was too quiet.
He sat up, rubbing his eyes, then noticed a faint glow spilling from under the bedroom door.
Light.
Someone was still awake.
He stepped out quietly, careful not to make noise, and followed the light into the living room. The only illumination came from the computer screen on the desk.
Han Sooyoung sat there, shoulders slightly hunched, fingers moving across the keyboard. The glow from the monitor painted her face in pale light.
She feels… different.
Not tired. Not irritated.
Melancholic.
Like someone writing a farewell letter.
He felt uneasy without knowing why.
“Sooyoung-ah?”
She startled at the sound of his voice and turned around. For a second, panic flashed in her eyes. Then she smiled softly.
Relieved, he stepped closer, thinking she was simply surprised he woke up.
Before she could stop him, his gaze fell on the screen.
The title stared back at him.
[Three Ways to Survive in a Ruined World]
His breath caught.
His mind froze.
That title was impossible to mistake. It was the novel that had kept him alive through the loneliest years of his life. The story he had read every day since he was fifteen. The story that had saved him when nothing else could.
Slowly, he looked back at her.
Han Sooyoung could not meet his eyes. She stared at the floor, silent.
“You’re… tls123?”
There was no denial.
No joke.
No sarcasm.
She nodded slowly.
“…Yes.”
The world felt unreal for a second. The author he admired, cursed, argued with in comment sections, the one who kept writing even when no one else read, had been beside him all this time.
And somehow, he understood everything at once.
Instead of asking questions, instead of demanding explanations, Kim Dokja moved before thinking.
He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her.
She stiffened slightly in surprise, then relaxed.
In his embrace, she felt smaller than usual, lighter, almost fragile. But she did not pull away.
Because she felt safe.
More than ever.
His voice shook slightly against her shoulder.
“Thank you… for giving me a reason to live.”
She wanted to scoff. To call him dramatic. To tell him to stop being sentimental.
That was what the real Han Sooyoung would have done.
But she was not the Han Sooyoung he knew.
Not exactly.
For a long time, she remained quiet before finally speaking.
“Dokja-yah.”
Her voice was calm. Gentle. Different from the sharp tone he was used to.
“I’m not your Han Sooyoung.”
He did not loosen his hold. He simply listened.
“I can only control this body when the main Han Sooyoung is asleep. That’s when I write. That’s when I upload the story.”
Her hand lifted, gently ruffling his hair as if comforting a child.
“I’ve known you since you were young. I saw you in the hospital that day. When you almost died.”
His breath hitched slightly.
“So I wrote the story for you. So you wouldn’t be alone.”
The cursor blinked on the screen behind her.
The final chapter.
Almost finished.
Silence stretched between them.
Then she spoke again, softer this time.
“When this chapter is released in the morning, I’ll disappear.”
His arms tightened slightly.
“Only the main Han Sooyoung will remain. She’ll still argue with you, tease you, pretend she doesn’t care. Everything will go on normally.”
A small smile curved her lips.
“You won’t need me anymore.”
Because now he had someone beside him.
Because now he wanted to live.
Because now he won't dream of fiction as much as before.
Kim Dokja understood.
He understood what this meant.
He understood that the person he was holding, the author who saved him, would vanish once the story ended.
He understood that this was goodbye.
But he did not say anything.
He did not try to stop her.
Because this was her ending.
And he respected his author.
After a long moment, he finally loosened his arms.
The apartment was dark, the night pressing quietly against the windows. Only one light existed in the room, the pale glow from the computer screen behind Han Sooyoung. It cast a soft halo around her figure, outlining her in silver and shadow.
Kim Dokja stood a few steps away, unable to move, his breath caught somewhere in his chest.
He had seen her smile countless times before. Smug smiles after winning an argument. Playful grins when she teased him. Small, reluctant smiles when she was secretly pleased.
But this was different.
Her face was calm, almost gentle, lit from behind so that her features seemed to glow. Strands of hair slipped loosely around her cheeks, catching the light as they swayed slightly when she turned. Her eyes curved softly as she smiled, yet there was something fragile hidden there, something that made his chest ache. The faint shine in her eyes looked like tears that refused to fall.
It was a beautiful expression.
And unbearably lonely.
The corners of her lips were lifted, warm and sincere, but he could tell this smile was meant to comfort him rather than herself. Like someone saying goodbye without wanting the other person to hurt. The light behind her blurred her outline, making her seem almost unreal, like a figure about to fade if he blinked.
Her skin glowed softly in the darkness, and for a second, she looked less like the sharp-tongued girl he knew and more like someone quietly watching over him from afar. Someone who had always been there without him realizing it.
Kim Dokja felt his throat tighten.
He memorized everything. The way her hair framed her face, the faint tremble in her smile, the gentle warmth in her gaze. He wanted to remember this version of her. The author who had stayed beside him all these years. The person who wrote stories so he would keep living. Behind her, the screen continued to glow, words filling the page. The final chapter.
In front of him, Han Sooyoung smiled quietly, unaware of how painfully beautiful she looked in that moment.
And in the darkness of the room, Kim Dokja stood still, afraid that if he moved even a little, the person before him would disappear.
She turned back to the computer, fingers hovering over the keyboard.
For a second, she hesitated.
Then she began typing again.
Kim Dokja stood quietly behind her, watching the final lines of the story appear on screen. The story that carried him through despair. The story written for him alone.
He did not interrupt.
He simply stayed there until her shoulders relaxed and the final sentence appeared.
The chapter was complete.
The author who had watched over him for years quietly smiled at the screen.
And Kim Dokja, standing behind her, silently memorized the moment.
Their final meeting.
Without turning around she began to speak.
"I have always love you, before you two met. I've longed for you ever since but I can't meet you, so I wrote this story as my devotion for you. My one and only reader."
When she turned around she reveals how vulnerable she is. How weak she look like. And how the tears won't stop flowing.
"Why is it her and not me?"
That was the last thing she said before she loses consciousness. She wobbles and is about to fall but thankfully Kim Dokja caught her.
"I'm sure that if there is another version of me he will love you too author-nim. So! Please next time. If you are born again, please write this story again for me. I will cherish it and find you once more."
He wasn't sure if she heard him but he meant every word he said.
He looks at the screen. It was his favorite novel. The final chapter uploaded. He would've read it but Han Sooyoung is now his priority. He'll read it tomorrow. Her last love letter for her only reader. So he turned the computer off.
He carried Han Sooyoung to the bed and put a blanket over her. He lay down beside her and hugs her before kissing her forehead.
"Goodnight, Sooyoung-ah."
Yoo Joonghyuk never expected to end up in a world without scenarios.
One moment he had been searching across countless worlds for the one Kim Dokja who reached one hundred percent complete. The next, he found himself standing on an ordinary street with Biyoo beside him.
No system messages.
No constellations.
No missions.
Nothing.
Just a peaceful world.
He waited, expecting the familiar notification window to appear. Seconds passed. Then minutes. Nothing came.
He frowned.
Biyoo tugged lightly at his sleeve. When he looked down, the small dokkaebi was already transforming, her tiny form stretching into that of a young girl. She blinked up at him, now human, confused but calm.
“Ahjussi,” she said quietly, looking around. “Where are we?”
He checked the date on a nearby store display.
Ten years before the apocalypse.
His expression hardened.
Without scenarios, there was no way to leave. No stages to clear. No regressions. No path forward.
They were stuck.
Biyoo looked up at him again, waiting for an answer.
For a moment, Yoo Joonghyuk said nothing. Then he exhaled slowly.
“If we are going to stay,” he muttered, “we might as well prepare.”
Preparation, to him, always meant survival.
And survival meant staying close to Kim Dokja.
A few weeks later, a small café opened near a quiet neighborhood. Bookshelves lined the walls, coffee machines hummed quietly, and warm light filled the interior.
Coffee and books.
Yoo Joonghyuk did not particularly care for either, but he remembered how Kim Dokja always seemed comfortable with both.
So the café stayed.
And he waited.
Years passed quietly.
One afternoon, he saw him.
A thin boy cornered by classmates behind a convenience store, shoulders trembling as insults were thrown at him.
Yoo Joonghyuk stepped in without hesitation. The bullies scattered quickly under his cold glare.
Kim Dokja looked up, startled, eyes wide with fear and confusion.
Yoo Joonghyuk stared at the boy for a long moment.
So small. So fragile.
This was the person who would later save worlds.
“You need a job?” he asked bluntly.
Dokja blinked. “A job?”
“And a place to stay.”
The boy hesitated, clearly unsure. But desperation overpowered caution. He nodded slowly.
From then on, Kim Dokja worked at the café. He lived in the attic above it. Ate simple meals. Read books in quiet corners.
And Yoo Joonghyuk kept watch.
Biyoo followed Dokja around like a younger sister, clinging to him whenever Yoo Joonghyuk pretended not to notice.
Time passed peacefully.
Then Han Sooyoung appeared.
Sharp-tongued. Loud. Alive.
Yoo Joonghyuk noticed the way Dokja slowly smiled more around her. The way arguments turned into laughter. The way loneliness faded from his eyes.
He never interfered.
Watching them bicker, tease, and eventually sit together quietly in the café was enough.
Perhaps this world did not need his interference.
Perhaps this version of Kim Dokja deserved peace.
Then one evening, Dokja walked into the café looking strangely emotional.
Yoo Joonghyuk glanced up from the counter.
“What?”
Dokja hesitated before speaking.
“My favorite novel ended last week.”
Yoo Joonghyuk frowned. “What novel?”
“Three Ways to Survive in a Ruined World.”
The cup in his hand froze midair.
“That’s impossible.”
Dokja blinked. “Huh?”
“It should continue for five more years.”
Dokja laughed awkwardly. “Hyung, it’s just a web novel.”
But Yoo Joonghyuk’s mind raced.
Five more years until completion. Five more years until the apocalypse.
Yet the story was already over.
And still, no scenarios had begun.
Silence filled the café as realization settled in.
There would be no apocalypse.
No regressions.
No battles.
They were truly stuck here.
Biyoo peeked from behind the counter, worried.
Yoo Joonghyuk slowly exhaled.
Outside, Han Sooyoung was arguing with Dokja about something trivial. Dokja protested weakly. Biyoo giggled.
The café was warm. Peaceful. Ordinary.
He looked at them for a long moment.
Then he turned away, picking up another cup.
Being stuck here…
might not be that bad after all.