Chapter Text
Dokja opened his eyes and immediately recoiled at his blurry sight. His vision swam as a dull, pounding headache throbbed behind his temples. He groaned under his breath, rubbed hard at his eyes, and pushed himself upright.
The moment he did, the room spun so violently that he had to stay still for a second, blinking heavily and trying to force himself awake.
What the hell happened last..
The thought never finished. His stomach twisted with brutal force, and a wave of nausea crashed over him so suddenly that his hands flew to his mouth on instinct. He looked around in a panic until he spotted a trash bin beside the bed. He leaned over it just in time and vomited, his entire body shuddering with the effort as tears welled in his eyes.
It kept coming.
His stomach clenched again and again, each wave dragging another harsh retch out of him. He coughed between them, struggling to breathe through the nausea while his head pounded mercilessly. By the time the worst of it passed, he was left trembling and breathless, sagging against the edge of the bed as he wiped tears from the corners of his eyes.
His throat felt raw.
Dokja reached for the napkins stacked neatly beside the bin and wiped his mouth with shaky hands. He hadn’t thrown up in a long time, mostly because he rarely had enough in his stomach to throw up in the first place.
Were hangovers always like this?
He had felt sick after drinking before, but never like this. Never this weak. Never this miserable. Dokja leaned back carefully and tried to piece together what had happened yesterday. He had gone to the club.
Right.
With Yoo Sangah and Jung Heewon.
They drank. A lot, apparently. Then—
A sharp pulse of pain lanced through his skull and made him wince. He pressed his fingers to his temple and stayed still until it passed. His memories after that point were scattered.
He vaguely remembered running into Yoo Joonghyuk and his friends, and that alone was enough to make his expression twist with irritation. God. He hoped he hadn’t made a complete fool of himself in front of them. The last thing he wanted was to remember another argument with that bastard.
Dokja exhaled slowly. Even that felt harder than it should have. His limbs were strangely weak, like someone had drained all the strength from his body overnight. Still, he couldn’t just sit here. He shoved the blanket aside and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.
He had to get to work.
He had no idea what time it was, but knowing his luck, he was probably already late. Dokja planted his feet on the floor and pushed himself up. The second he put weight on his legs, they gave out.
“—Ah!”
His knees buckled immediately and he collapsed to the floor. His hand shot out for support and caught the edge of a nearby desk. The desk came crashing down with him. The sound echoed through the room.
Dokja groaned and lay sprawled across the floor, blinking sluggishly as pain radiated through his side.
“…Ow.”
He stared blankly at the overturned desk for a moment. He frowned.
Wait.
Since when did he have a desk in his room?
He heard footsteps approaching the door. Dokja froze.
Why are there footsteps?
His eyes widened.
Was he getting robbed?
His body tried to react before his brain fully caught up. He attempted to push himself upright again, but his arms trembled violently and collapsed beneath him. He dropped flat onto the floor with a pathetic thud.
That was fine. Perfectly fine.
If a thief wanted to rob him while he was face-down on the ground, that was really their problem. Kim Dokja did not own anything worth stealing anyway.
The door burst open.
Fast footsteps crossed the room. Before Dokja could even turn his head properly, a pair of arms slid under him and lifted him off the floor with insulting ease. His body left the ground so suddenly that his thoughts stalled for a second.
He was being carried.
Bridal style.
Deja vu..
Dokja squinted up groggily, his brain still lagging behind the situation. Wasn’t that a strange way for a robber to behave? Why was the thief carrying him like this instead of, you know, robbing him?
His gaze drifted to the arms holding him.
They were… big.
Very big.
Muscular enough that even through his haze, Dokja found himself staring at them. He had never seen arms like that up close in real life. Curiosity won over good sense. He slowly reached out, grabbed the man’s bicep, and squeezed.
Firm.
Solid.
Dokja narrowed his eyes. Was this real? How could a thief be this muscular?
The man carrying him stiffened immediately, and Dokja felt the subtle catch of his breath.
Hah.
Served him right. That was what he got for breaking into his sad, pathetic apartment...?
Dokja’s eyes snapped open wider.
Wait.
Dokja lifted his head and looked around properly for the first time.
This definitely was not his apartment.
His apartment was cramped, worn down, and depressing in a way that could not be mistaken. This room, on the other hand, looked absurdly large. The ceiling was too high. The furniture looked too expensive. Even the lighting somehow felt rich.
There was nothing sad or pathetic about the room around him. This might actually be the biggest bedroom he had ever been inside in his life. To be fair, that was not a very high bar. Still, this was ridiculous. The bed alone looked more expensive than everything he owned combined.
Then Dokja looked down at himself and realized something even worse. These were not his clothes. A large black t-shirt hung loosely over his body. The collar had slipped down one shoulder, and the sleeves were long enough to cover half his hands. It very obviously did not belong to him.
And below that—
Dokja looked down again.
Boxers.
Just boxers.
His mind went completely blank.
Slowly, very slowly, he lifted his gaze upward until he was staring directly at the face of the 'theif' holding him.
Yoo Joonghyuk.
The man’s brows were furrowed as he looked down at him, already seeming mildly annoyed.
Dokja’s brain short-circuited.
All at once, heat rushed straight to his face. His ears burned. His cheeks flushed so hard that he thought he might actually pass out again.
Wonderful.
Perfect.
He had woken up half-naked in Yoo Joonghyuk’s arms. Maybe the hangover wouldn't kill him after all. Maybe embarrassment would get to him first.
Dokja looked down at himself again and froze. He began connecting the dots.
Did…
Did Yoo Joonghyuk change his clothes?
Ah.
That meant—
He stripped him?
Dokja slapped both hands over his face. Oh god. He started flailing immediately.
“L-Let me go! Right now!”
His weak arms shoved uselessly at Yoo Joonghyuk’s shoulders. It achieved absolutely nothing. Yoo Joonghyuk only tightened his hold and kept walking as if carrying a panicking, underdressed man through his house was a normal morning activity.
“Yoo Joonghyuk!”
“Shut up,” Joonghyuk said flatly. “You’re hurting my ears."
Yoo Joonghyuk stepped into a bathroom and finally set him down. The second Dokja’s feet touched the ground, the room tilted again. He wobbled so badly that he had to catch himself against the counter.
Yoo Joonghyuk watched him for a second.
“…There’s—” he started, then stopped.
Dokja, still red-faced and disoriented, blinked up at him.
Yoo Joonghyuk cleared his throat.
“…Toothbrushes,” he finished awkwardly. “Extra ones. You can use one. Take the blue one.”
He turned around and left the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Dokja stared at the closed door.
Huh?
What the hell was that?
He slowly turned toward the mirror, and the second he saw his reflection, he flinched.
Oh.
He looked terrible.
His hair stuck out in every direction like he had survived a small explosion. Dark circles sat heavily under his eyes. His skin looked pale. His lips were dry.
Dokja lifted a hand hesitantly and brushed his fingertips over the bruises beginning to form along his shoulder. Faint, but unmistakable. He winced and reached behind his head, feeling a small bump near the back of his skull.
What in the world happened?
He inhaled slowly. Okay. Calm down. Brush your teeth. Leave. Pretend none of this ever happened.
That was a good plan.
Dokja grabbed the blue toothbrush, squeezed toothpaste onto it, and started brushing. As he did, his gaze wandered around the bathroom.
Holy—
Marble tiles.
Actual marble tiles.
And that bathtub—
Dokja paused mid-brush and stared.
How rich could someone get from gaming? Wasn’t this excessive?
Another throb of pain shot through his skull.
“Mmh…”
He rinsed his mouth and leaned heavily against the sink, groaning softly. He still felt half-delirious. Without thinking too hard about it, he lifted the oversized shirt and looked down at his torso.
More bruises. Dark ones.
Scattered across his ribs and stomach. His breath caught. Those looked like fingerprints. Dokja went still.
Fragments returned in flashes. An alley. A man. Hands grabbing him. Someone leaning down toward him. Trying to kiss him.
His fingers tightened around the hem of the shirt. When he looked back into the mirror, his own dead eyes were staring at him again. Dokja exhaled slowly. He was not going to let that random man traumatize him.
Absolutely not. He was already used to being covered in bruises.
But the smell of alcohol, the weight of a body pinning him down, the helplessness of being unable to move—it dragged ugly memories up from the bottom of his mind.
His father. The shouting. The beatings. The way his father treated his mother. The way blood looked on the floor. Of the way his d̷e̴a̷d̷ ̸b̸o̶d̷y̶ ̵s̸l̶u̸m̷p̷e̴d̴ ̴o̵v̷e̷r̷ ̴h̴i̷m̸,̸ ̵b̵l̶e̵e̴d̷i̶n̶g̸ ̸o̴u̶t̶ ̴a̸n̷d̸ ̶p̵i̵n̷n̷i̵n̸g̶ ̷h̸i̶m̴ ̴t̸o̶ ̷t̵h̶e̷ ̴g̴r̵o̵u̸n̴d̵—
Dokja twitched violently.
His hand flew to his head again. The thought vanished as abruptly as it had come. He blinked at his reflection.
What had he just been thinking about?
His train of thought had disappeared completely.
“…Weird.”
He splashed cold water on his face and took a deep breath. He cracked the bathroom door open.
And squeaked.
Yoo Joonghyuk was standing right there. Arms crossed. Expression unreadable. Looking thoroughly unimpressed.
For several long seconds, neither of them spoke.
They simply stood there in the quiet hallway, staring at each other while the faint hum of the air conditioner buzzed overhead. Yoo Joonghyuk had not moved at all.
Dokja could feel the weight of it pressing against his chest. Like he was being examined.
Judged.
How annoying..
He looked away first and stepped into the hallway.
The dizziness hit him again immediately. His balance faltered.
Yoo Joonghyuk noticed at once. He stepped forward as if he intended to pick him up again, but Dokja slapped his hands away before he could.
“I’m fine!” he snapped, glaring up at him through uneven breaths. “Where are my clothes? I need to go home and get ready for work.”
Yoo Joonghyuk looked almost bored.
“I called Manager Han,” he said calmly.
“..What?”
“I told him you wouldn’t be coming in today. You had an emergency.”
Yoo Joonghyuk turned and started walking away as if that conversation were over. As if he had not just dropped a bomb into Dokja’s morning and moved on without a second thought.
Dokja’s heart dropped.
Wait.
What?
“You can spend the day recovering,” Yoo Joonghyuk added over his shoulder. “You clearly need it.”
Recovering?
Dokja stood frozen. His ears rang.
Recovering...?
Staying home...?
His mind immediately spiraled.
Rent. Food. Transportation. The tiny amount of savings he had been stretching out for months. He had already missed several days of work this week.
Because of Yoo Joonghyuk. Because of his suspension.
He could not afford to miss another day. Not even one. If he lost this job—
If he got fired—
His chest tightened painfully.
Before he even realized what he was doing, Dokja marched forward and smacked Yoo Joonghyuk hard on the back of the head. Yoo Joonghyuk turned instantly and caught his wrist before he could do it again.
“What the hell are you doing?” he snapped.
“Let go of me!” Dokja struggled against his grip, his voice rising. “You idiot! You complete jerk! You—”
His breath hitched.
“You… my job…” he said weakly. “I need the money. I can’t—”
His voice cracked.
For a moment he simply stood there, breathing unevenly with his wrist trapped in Yoo Joonghyuk’s hand. His eyes blurred. Tears spilled down his face before he could stop them.
“Hic— fuck…”
He wiped frantically at his face with his free hand.
“I’m sorry…”
Why am I crying?
Why now?
This is humiliating.
He turned his face away slightly, but the tears kept coming anyway. He couldn't stop.
Several long seconds passed.
Yoo Joonghyuk did not move. He did not interrupt. He did not even let go. He just stood there, watching.
Eventually Dokja yanked his wrist free and wiped his face roughly. When he looked up again, his expression was still furious despite the tears.
“Give me my clothes back,” he said hoarsely. “I’m going to work and telling Han Myungoh this was a mistake.”
“Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk said quietly, “you need to rest today—”
“Shut up!” Dokja shouted. “Do you not understand? I can’t miss a single day. Not one.”
His voice shook again.
“Unlike you… I’m living paycheck to paycheck.”
Silence fell.
Yoo Joonghyuk looked away first this time. He scoffed under his breath, turned, and disappeared down the hall.
A minute later, he came back and shoved Dokja’s clothes into his arms without a word.
Dokja grabbed them immediately and retreated into the bathroom. He changed too quickly. His hands would not stop shaking. He fumbled with his belt twice before finally managing to fasten it.
He just needed to leave.
Right now.
Dokja stepped back into the hallway and headed straight for the stairs.
“Kim Dokja.”
He ignored him.
“Kim Dokja.”
The entrance was just ahead. A little farther—
“Kim Dokja!”
A hand caught his wrist again. Dokja spun around, furious.
Yoo Joonghyuk sighed.
“It’s paid leave,” he said. “For one day.”
Dokja froze.
“You won’t lose money. Yoo Sangah and I made sure of it this morning.”
Yoo Joonghyuk reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope.
“I…” He hesitated, which was strange enough to make Dokja stare. “Here’s money.”
Kim Dokja looked at the envelope. Then at him. Yoo Joonghyuk’s expression tightened.
“…I apologize,” he said quietly. “For my behavior lately.”
Kim Dokja stared at him in disbelief.
Then he laughed, strained.
“You're apologizing?” he repeated quietly. “Now?”
His fingers curled.
“What, because I almost got violated you suddenly feel pity for me?”
His voice hardened.
“You think money is going to buy my forgiveness?”
A memory crawled into his mind.
High school. The fake apologies. The promises.
'We won’t do it again.'
'We’ll stop.'
'We’re sorry.'
Only for it to continue every single time.
Yoo Joonghyuk looked away.
“That’s not it, you fool,” he muttered. “I’m not doing this out of pity. I’m not buying your forgiveness. I’m just—”
“You’re just what?” Dokja snapped. “You almost get me fired. You mock me. You called me a pervert in front of people. You judged my financial situation.”
His chest rose and fell quickly.
“And now you’re acting like this? Conveniently after watching me get beaten up? It sure sounds like pity to me!”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s gaze sharpened.
“You… don’t remember what happened after I brought you here?”
Dokja froze.
After he brought him here?
He didn’t remember.
He slowly shook his head.
“No,” he said coldly. “And whatever happened won’t erase what you did.”
He pulled his arm free.
“I’m leaving.”
Before Yoo Joonghyuk could stop him, Dokja turned and ran. His body protested violently. His legs were weak. His bruises hurt. His head spun. Whatever had been in his system clearly still had not fully left. But he ran anyway.
He did not stop until he got home.
Yoo Joonghyuk remained standing in the hallway long after the door slammed shut behind Kim Dokja.
He did not move.
Somewhere nearby, his phone was ringing. Or maybe it had stopped already. He was only vaguely aware of it. The sound felt distant and unimportant compared to the thoughts replaying in his head.
That fool.
Kim Dokja had forgotten.
Yoo Joonghyuk frowned slightly.
Had it been the drug that messed with his memory? The head injury?
Or had Kim Dokja simply rejected the memory altogether?
“Yoo Joonghyuk-ah…”
The voice replayed in his mind.
He could still remember it too clearly. Kim Dokja’s breathing. The way his thin, pale hands had cupped his face. The way those unfocused eyes had looked up at him.
"You're... really the worst.."
Yoo Joonghyuk had thought about that moment all night. Not just that moment. All of it.
Every insult. Every careless remark. Every stupid assumption.
He replayed them over and over, punishing himself with them.
He hasn't been perfect at all lately. Has he really been acting this petty this entire time? To a guy he just met? It was unlike him. The stress had to be getting to him.
If they had not talked last night…
Would he ever have realized any of this?
He had dismissed him instantly. An ordinary office worker. An easy target. A weak link. Someone safe to look down on.
Because weakness was dangerous.
Weakness ruined perfection.
Weakness destroyed projects.
And yet that same ordinary office worker had looked at him with round, starry eyes the first day he walked into Minosoft. Like Yoo Joonghyuk was someone admirable.
It was also that same office worker who had admitted last night that he...
...
Yoo Joonghyuk abruptly turned and walked into the kitchen.
Dokja was not entirely sure what happened after that.
Everything after leaving Yoo Joonghyuk’s house existed in fragments. Blurred edges. Missing pieces. Half-memories that refused to stay.
He thought he remembered arriving at the office. He thought he remembered standing in front of Han Myungoh’s desk while insisting, with increasing desperation, that he could still work.
Not dramatically.
Not loudly.
Just stubbornly.
At first, Han Myungoh had refused. That part Dokja remembered clearly. Arms crossed. Expression irritated. Already tired of dealing with him before the conversation had even started. But Dokja had kept standing there and repeating himself until Han Myungoh finally sighed and waved a hand in surrender.
“Fine. Work then.”
After that, Dokja thought he remembered Yoo Sangah hurrying over. Her face had looked worried. He remembered that more clearly than her words. Her brows drawn together. Her eyes scanning him carefully.
He couldn’t remember exactly what he said back.
Only that his whole body trembled throughout the morning, straining to get through the shift. Unfortunately, Han Myungoh did not seem interested in letting that happen quietly.
“Kim Dokja!”
Dokja looked up slowly from his desk. Han Myungoh stood nearby with his arms crossed, already glaring at him.
“Why aren’t you done yet?” he barked. “I gave you this chance to work today and prove yourself, so why are you on your phone?”
Dokja blinked at him, his thoughts moving slower than usual.
“…I was just checking the tim—”
Han Myungoh slammed both hands onto the desk.
“You always say that!” he snapped. “Always!”
Several nearby employees glanced over. Han Myungoh straightened and glared down at him.
“I’m giving you another chance, so do better.” He leaned in slightly. “Now. What do you say?”
Dokja lowered his head. He had no fight left in him.
“…Y-Yes, Manager Han.”
Han Myungoh looked smug.
The rest of the shift continued exactly like that. Kim Dokja remained, as always, his favorite target.
“Why are you doing it like that?!”
“You’re ruining everything!”
“I should just fire you and get it over with.”
Dokja clenched his jaw tighter each time. His patience was thinning rapidly. The insults began to blur together into one ugly stream of noise. His headache returned, worse than before. The room felt hot. His vision blurred at the edges.
The nausea started coming back.
“Manager Han. Please, you’re disturbing our work.”
Yoo Sangah’s voice cut through the office sharply.
Han Myungoh froze. “A-Ah, Sangah-ssi anything for you, hehe…”
Dokja barely heard the rest. Everything around him had begun to feel far away, like he was listening through water. The headache behind his eyes pulsed heavily with each beat of his heart.
Yoo Sangah places her gentle hand against his forehead.
Her touch lingered there for a moment.
“I knew you should’ve stayed home, Dokja-ssi,” she said quietly. “I called Yoo Joonghyuk-ssi earlier this morning to make sure he told you. Your phone was dead, so I couldn’t do it myself."
Ah.
So that was what happened.
“I’m okay, Sangah-ssi…” Dokja murmured.
The words came out weaker than he intended. He forced a smile.
“I just need to use the restroom.”
He stood. Immediately, the floor tilted. He grabbed the edge of his desk to steady himself before Sangah could notice.
“Do you need me to walk you there?” she asked, still clearly worried.
Dokja shook his head quickly.
“Finish your work, Sangah-ssi. I promise I’m okay.”
The smile he gave her was thin and obviously fake. Before she could argue, he turned and walked out of the office.The second he stepped into the hallway, his composure cracked.
God.
He felt awful.
Every emotion inside him felt dialed up too high. Anger. Humiliation. Exhaustion. Frustration. Everything scraped against his nerves until he thought he might explode.
He wanted to scream. Just find an empty room and scream until his throat tore. Instead, he shoved open the restroom door and stumbled into the nearest stall.
The moment the door slammed shut behind him, he bent over and threw up for the second time that day.
When it was finally over, he leaned heavily against the stall wall and tried to breathe.
He was so tired. So unbelievably tired. His chest tightened painfully.
Why am I even doing this?
Why am I still here?
He wanted to quit. Disappear. Run somewhere far enough away that none of this mattered anymore. His breathing sped up.
Too fast.
His fingers rose to his throat, trembling. His nails pressed lightly into his skin. He needed something to ground him.
Anything.
His phone.
Reading would help. Reading always helped. Dokja shoved his hands into his pockets. Nothing. He checked the other one. Still nothing.
No.
No.
No.
His hands flew to his hair and gripped hard.
Where was his phone?
Where—
What was he supposed to do now?
He couldn’t calm down like this. He couldn’t handle this on his own. He needed to read. He had to read it was the only thing that kept him sane!
Where is his—
A hand appeared beside him. Holding out a phone. His phone. Dokja stared at it for half a second before snatching it. Relief slammed into him instantly, so intense it almost hurt.
He unlocked it with trembling fingers. Three Ways to Survive in a New World. The familiar title appeared on the screen. Dokja began reading immediately. The newest chapter first. Then another. Then he scrolled back and reread older ones too, devouring every line like he was starving. He did not know how much time passed.
Minutes.
Maybe longer.
Eventually his breathing slowed. His heart stopped pounding so violently. The panic loosened its grip on his chest. Dokja closed his eyes and pressed the phone lightly against himself.
It’s okay. It’ll be okay. Just breathe.
After a while, he opened his eyes again.
Okay.
Check your surroundings.
He was in the restroom. Sitting on the floor. Recovering from what had very obviously been a panic attack.
And—
His phone.
Wait.
His phone?
Dokja shot upright.
His hands immediately brushed at his clothes, removing any dust and straightening himself out. Someone had handed his phone to him.
Someone had seen him like that.
The realization sent a chill down his spine. Dokja stood slowly, his back stiff and his heart beginning to race all over again.
Who had seen him like that?
Crying.
Shaking.
Curled up on the bathroom floor like a pathetic mess. The restroom suddenly felt far too quiet.
“Kim Dokja.”
His stomach dropped.
Of course.
Of course it was him.
Dokja refused to turn around. Absolutely refused. Out of everyone in the world, why did it have to be him?
“…Yoo Joonghyuk-ssi.”
The silence stretched between them.
Dokja grabbed some toilet paper and wiped the remaining moisture from his face.
“…What do you want, Yoo Joonghyuk-ssi?”
No response.
Dokja let out a quiet scoff.
“If you’re just going to stand there and judge me,” he muttered, “then you can fuck off. I’m not in the mood right now.”
Something lightly hit the back of his head.
“Hey—!”
Dokja yelped and spun around, clutching the spot with a glare ready on his face. The anger stopped halfway. A small crumpled ball of paper lay on the restroom floor between them.
Huh?
Dokja blinked.
Yoo Joonghyuk simply extended a water bottle toward him. Dokja stared at it suspiciously.
“…I’m not sure if I want to drink that,” he muttered. “What if you drugged it?”
The plastic bottle crinkled slightly in Joonghyuk’s grip. His expression darkened instantly.
“Don’t joke about things like that, Kim Dokja,” he said sharply. “This is serious. Drink the water.”
Dokja’s throat tightened.
The words hit something raw inside him. He looked away before his face could betray him again.
Why was he acting like this today?
“Y-Yes!” Dokja blurted out a little too quickly, grabbing the bottle. “I’m thirsty. Very thirsty.”
He twisted the cap open and chugged the water almost aggressively. Partly because he really was thirsty. Mostly because it gave him something to do besides cry again. The cold water soothed the dryness in his throat. Behind him, Yoo Joonghyuk did not move. He simply stood there, watching him.
Why is he even here? Was he going to scold him afterward? Was that why he came?
Dokja could practically imagine it already.
Kim Dokja, you’re drinking wrong.
Kim Dokja, your posture is inefficient.
Kim Dokja, I’m reporting this to Manager Han.
Honestly, that sounded exactly like something Yoo Joonghyuk would say. He finished the bottle and exhaled. Without thinking, he let the empty plastic drop from his hand onto the restroom floor.
A beat of silence followed.
Dokja could already feel the anxiety creeping back in. His arms folded around himself.
“Ah… ha…” He laughed awkwardly. “Okay. I’m going back to the office now. So if you could just excuse me—”
He stepped forward.
And as if the universe personally despised him, his foot landed directly on the discarded bottle. It rolled.
“Ah—!”
Dokja slipped.
His body pitched backward immediately. For one brief second, his mind went completely blank as his head tilted toward the hard metal edge of the toilet seat.
Arms wrapped tightly around his waist. Yoo Joonghyuk caught him with absurd ease. Dokja’s hands flew to those same arms on instinct. The other man barely even shifted from the impact.
Dokja swallowed.
Should he just go cry in another stall now? Why was he always humiliating himself in front of this man?
Yoo Joonghyuk carefully straightened him until both of his feet were firmly on the floor again. But Dokja did not let go right away. His hands remained clasped around Joonghyuk’s forearms.
“Why…” Dokja started quietly. “I still don’t understand why you keep…”
A soft, frustrated laugh escaped him.
“You’re acting like a completely different person today. And honestly, it’s pissing me off.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s expression remained maddeningly neutral.
“This is how I typically act.You should know this,” he replied.
Dokja stared at him.
“I should know this? How? What exactly would give you that impression?”
He lowered his head slightly.
“…You and I are basically strangers. You’re being ridiculously confusing today.”
Silence hung between them again.
Unlike Yoo Joonghyuk, however, Kim Dokja wasn't a total dick. Dokja sighed and put his pride aside.
“...Even though you’re a complete jerk,” he muttered, “and even if I hate you most of the time…”
His grip tightened slightly as he looked up. “…Thank you.”
The words came out quiet.
“For the water. And… for helping me yesterday.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes flicked downward toward Dokja's torso and remembered seeing his bruises. His hold around Dokja’s waist loosened slightly.
“…You’re....welcome....”
The words sounded strained, as though he had to force them out. Dokja chuckled softly.
“What? Are you not used to being thanked?” He tilted his head. “Or are you just not used to being polite?”
His expression shifted.
“Actually… why are you helping me? Didn’t you call me a pervert? You're not supposed to be helping 'perverts'.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s brow twitched. A faint vein appeared near his temple.
“Don’t remind me of that, you fool,” he muttered. “I made… an incorrect judgment.”
Dokja snorted.
“Well, shouldn’t you apologize for that, then? I felt—”
He stopped himself. His eyes dropped to the tiled floor.
Why am I even still talking to him?
He should leave before this got even more complicated.
“Kim Dokja… I’m not apologizing any time soon.”
Dokja’s head snapped up so fast it hurt. For a moment he just stared.
Wow.
This man really was an asshole in its purest form.
The sentence had come out so flatly, so calmly, that Dokja almost expected another insult to follow.
But Yoo Joonghyuk kept speaking.
“Instead of apologies, my actions will determine whether you choose to forgive me or not.”
..Huh?
“We are technically coworkers now,” Yoo Joonghyuk continued. “So I’d prefer if I stopped my pettiness and removed unnecessary toxicity in the workplace during the game’s development.”
Dokja stared in disbelief. Was this really the same man? Had someone replaced him overnight? Was this a clone? A body double?
Because the Yoo Joonghyuk he knew would never say something like that. They both went quiet. Neither of them moved. Their eyes stayed locked on each other as if they were both trying to read the other.
Dokja searched his face.
Was he serious? Was this his version of an apology?
Why was Yoo Joonghyuk looking at him so intensely?
Only then did Dokja realize how close they were standing. Far too close. Close enough to see the faint crease between Yoo Joonghyuk’s brows. Close enough to feel the warmth of his breath.
If either of them leaned in even slightly—
Their lips would touch.
Before Dokja could figure out what to do with that thought, the restroom door opened.
Both of them jumped back immediately like they had been caught doing something suspicious. Dokja coughed into his fist. Yoo Joonghyuk cleared his throat and looked away.
The employee who walked in barely spared them a glance before heading into one of the stalls.
Dokja’s face burned.
...His breath.
That had to be it.
His breath probably smelled terrible right now. Obviously that was why Yoo Joonghyuk had been staring at him like that.
Dokja hurried to the sink and started rinsing his mouth aggressively.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Behind him, Yoo Joonghyuk remained exactly where he was. Watching.
Dokja caught sight of him in the mirror once and immediately looked away again. He fled the restroom. It was nearly lunch. He had already been gone far too long. Dokja walked quickly down the hallway, pretending not to notice the footsteps behind him.
His ears still burned.
And no, he still was not forgiving Yoo Joonghyuk that easily. That rude bastard had far too much to answer for. He was going to need a lot more of these so-called actions before they were even remotely on good terms.
When they returned to the office, Yoo Sangah stood immediately.
“Dokja-ssi!”
She hurried over and looked him over at once, scanning his face, his shoulders, his arms. Her gaze lifted toward Yoo Joonghyuk. The glare she gave him could have frozen hell itself.
Yoo Joonghyuk did not react. He simply turned and walked away toward the other side of the office.
Dokja forced a small smile.
“I’m okay,” he told her.
And strangely enough…
He did feel a little better. The panic had settled. The water had helped. Reading had helped even more. He sat down at his desk and returned to work.
“I’ll let you know if I need anything, Sangah-ssi,” he murmured. “Thank you… for everything. For checking on me.”
Sangah let out a relieved sigh.
“As long as you’re feeling better, Dokja-ssi.”
The rest of the day passed slowly. The office filled with the usual sounds of keyboards, mouse clicks, and low conversation. Eventually, the familiar rhythm of lunch began to spread through the room.
Chairs scraped back. People stretched. Lunch bags opened.
Dokja and Sangah exchanged a glance. They both nodded.
Dokja still did not have enough money to buy anything for himself, but he could at least walk with Sangah and keep her company. That much he could do.
They began gathering their things.
Slam!
Something slammed onto Dokja’s desk. Dokja jumped so hard that his chair rolled backward. He stumbled straight into Sangah, and both of them stared in shock.
Yoo Joonghyuk stood there with one hand resting stiffly on top of a large lunch box. For a moment, no one said anything.
Not Yoo Sangah.
Not Kim Dokja.
Actually—
The entire office had gone silent. Everyone nearby was staring.
“You,” Yoo Joonghyuk said stiffly.
Me?
“Eat it.”
He gestured awkwardly toward the box.
“You still look ill. The cafeteria food is bad for you. My food would be more efficient.”
The sentence sounded strange even to him. His expression tightened slightly as if he regretted how that had come out. He turned and walked away almost immediately.
The second he disappeared down the hall, the office exploded into whispers. Dokja and Sangah remained frozen.
“…Dokja-ssi,” Sangah said slowly.
“Yes?”
“…Am I imagining things?”
Dokja nodded at once.
“Yes. You are. And I am too. This is clearly a group hallucination.”
He pointed weakly at the box.
“That didn’t actually happen, right?”
“…I think that lunch box is a little too large for both of us to hallucinate, Dokja-ssi.”
Dokja looked down at it again. Why would Yoo Joonghyuk make food for him? Wasn’t this the same man who had not cared that he was starving yesterday?
Wait. He even saw Yoo Joonghyuk carrying a tray of food from the cafeteria yesterday! What a hypocrite..
The whispers around them got louder.
“Why did Yoo Joonghyuk give him food?”
“Is Kim Dokja sucking up to him now?”
“He’s trying to secure his contract renewal.”
Dokja’s ears turned red.
“…Sangah-ssi,” he whispered.
“Yes?”
“…Let’s go to the cafeteria.”
They escaped as quickly as possible.
Once they were seated at their (new) usual lunch table, Dokja slowly opened the lunch box.
His eyes widened immediately, mouth watering at once. It was the most beautiful meal he had seen in years. The first thing he noticed were the dumplings. Five of them, lined up perfectly along one side, still faintly steaming.
Dokja leaned in without realizing it.
In the center sat a carefully wrapped omurice, the egg smooth and delicate, the rice beneath it tinted a warm reddish color from the sauce mixed through it. The remaining compartments held small side dishes arranged so neatly that they almost looked decorative.
Nothing was sloppy.
Nothing was random.
Everything had been placed with infuriating precision.
Sangah leaned closer too.
“…Wow.”
Dokja swallowed.
This looked like the kind of meal people took pictures of before touching. The kind of meal that made you feel guilty for disturbing it.
Is it really okay for him to eat this?
His stomach twisted pathetically. Sangah glanced at him and smiled.
“Dokja-ssi,” she said softly, “you should eat before you start crying over it.”
“…I’m not going to cry.”
Dokja picked up one dumpling with his chopsticks, stared at it for half a second, and bit in. The reaction was immediate. His eyes widened. Dokja froze mid-chew.
Sangah watched him carefully.
“…Dokja-ssi?”
He swallowed slowly and looked down at the lunchbox like it had personally betrayed him.
“That bastard... not only is he hot, rich, and strong, but he's also a world class chef apparently?
He sounded genuinely offended. Sangah covered her mouth, trying not to laugh. Dokja took another bite. By the time he moved on to the omurice, he already knew he was doomed.
Hell, even the side dishes were good. So good that it made him want to grab Yoo Joonghyuk by the collar and demand the guy to always make him food.
This is weird. First he let him stay at his house. Then the water. Then that weird speech in the restroom. Now this?
Dokja chewed in silence, glaring at the food. Sangah watched him for a moment before speaking.
“…You know,” she said carefully, “I’ve never seen Yoo Joonghyuk-ssi do something like this for anyone, so far.”
Dokja’s chopsticks paused.
“Well, that's not my problem I don't care about him,” he muttered.
“I'm glad he's nicer to you today. I... actually slapped him yesterday, before the incident occured.”
He leaned over immediately in shock.
"What?! Are you serious?!"
Kim Dokja felt very proud of his friend for some reason.
"He told Heewon-ssi and I that if Dokja-ssi couldn't handle the stress, then he should just quit."
Yoo Sangah played with her food a bit with a cold smile.
"So I slapped him and told him to back off. Perhaps that's why he's so different today?"
“Sangah-ssi..”
Dokja stabbed at a piece of rolled egg a little too hard.
“He’s confusing.”
Dokja looked away and shoved more food into his mouth, hoping that if he kept eating, he would not have to explain himself. Unfortunately, Yoo Sangah was far too observant for that.
“Dokja-ssi,” she said gently.
He kept chewing.
“Dokja.”
He swallowed.
“…What?”
She smiled in that patient, quietly terrifying way she always had.
“Did something happen between you two in the restroom?”
Dokja almost choked. He coughed into his fist, eyes widening.
“No.”
That had come out too fast. Far too suspiciously. Her smile deepened slightly. Dokja could feel his face heating up.
“Nothing happened,” he repeated, quieter this time. “He just… gave me water.”
“And?”
“And he was weird.”
“Weird how?”
Dokja opened his mouth. Then closed it again. How was he supposed to explain this? That Yoo Joonghyuk had suddenly started acting like a completely different person? That he had given some bizarre, formal-sounding speech about actions proving forgiveness? That they had somehow ended up standing close enough to kiss?
Dokja’s chopsticks slowed.
Ah.
There it is. The real problem. He could still remember that moment too clearly. Their faces close. Sangah’s voice pulled him back.
“Dokja-ssi?”
Dokja cleared his throat.
“He apologized.”
Sangah’s eyes widened slightly.
“Properly?”
“No. Weirdly.”
That earned a laugh. Dokja grumbled.
“He said his actions would determine whether I forgive him.”
Sangah’s brows lifted. “Oh.”
“Exactly,” Dokja muttered. “Oh.”
For a moment, Sangah simply looked at him. Then at the lunchbox. Then back at him.
“…I see.”
Dokja narrowed his eyes.
“No, you don’t.”
Sangah smiled into her drink. The problem was that Dokja wasn’t even sure he understood it himself. Everything Yoo Joonghyuk had done today felt wrong.
Wrong in the sense that none of it matched the version of him Dokja had built in his head.
And that made him uneasy.
Because if Yoo Joonghyuk could suddenly be kind—even awkwardly, even rarely—then Dokja had no idea what to do with that.
Cruelty was easier.
Cruelty was familiar.
Cruelty made sense.
Cruel people stayed cruel.
Kindness from someone like Yoo Joonghyuk felt far more dangerous. Dokja looked back down at the lunch box.
He hated that some small, pathetic part of him felt taken care of. That feeling was the worst one of all. Because once you let yourself get used to being cared for, you start wanting it, wanting more. And it's only been a day! He was too easy.
Wanting things had never ended well for Kim Dokja.
So he lowered his head and kept eating quietly.
Across from him, Sangah said nothing more.
By the time he finished the last dumpling, the knot in his stomach had loosened. His headache had not disappeared. His bruises still hurt. His thoughts were still a mess.
But he no longer felt like he was on the verge of collapsing. That alone was enough to irritate him. Because now he had to admit it. Yoo Joonghyuk had helped.
Again.
Kim Dokja stared at the empty compartments of the lunch box for a long moment. Butterflies stirred faintly in his stomach and his ears grew hot.
“Fuck, am I attracted to that idiot?"