Chapter Text
Kim Dokja’s thumb hovered over the comment box, nervously, until the screen dimmed.
He tapped it awake and hovered again.
Htill didn’t type into the comment box.
He bit his lip, gazing out the subway. Today, his favorite pro gamer Yoo Joonghyuk announced his participation in a game that would for sure become as popular as he is.
Not that he cared about the game itself. He's not a gamer at all. He only watches Yoo Joonghyuk's streams as a source of comfort and security.
Kim Dokja loved Yoo Joonghyuk's persistent personality and his resolve to never give up even in the hardest of games. An added bonus was simply that Yoo Joonghyuk played story-driven games most of the time. The instant a stream would end, he'd always end up reading lore posts afterward and tried keeping up with the rest of Yoo Joonghyuk's fandom. Discussion threads. Character analyses. Fan theories.
(He'll never admit out loud that Yoo Joonghuk's story and his journey to get to this point in success was his favorite story of all).
He’d found Yoo Joonghyuk’s channel when he was fifteen. Back when it was new. When there were hardly any viewers. When the chat moved slowly enough that you could see names instead of a blur of messages.
Dokja remembered the feeling of sitting in the dark with his phone brightness turned down low, volume barely audible, as if his enjoyment alone was something he could get punished for. People relied on friends, family, lovers. All things Dokja never had.
Instead, this was what he relied on to survive.
Paparazzi following and harassing him. His aunt and uncle locking him in his room to starve. The constant hunger that never leaves him, instead becoming a part of him. A constant ache behind the ribs. The way it made him dizzy, slow, quiet.
Quiet was supposed to be important.
Quiet was supposed to mean you didn’t get noticed.
And yet, despite his silence, he would still find himself being dragged by the collar in the school hallway and hearing someone laugh, Why does he look like that? Why does he exist like that?
He continued to be bullied relentlessly and beaten to a pulp during high school. Dokja never asked for help.
Or the way he saw his mother’s face through thick glass. The way her hands shook. The way the guards looked at him like he was guilty by association.
He just wished he didn't remember any of it.
And the cherry on top? He ended up as an office worker, living in a shitty apartment located in a shitty neighborhood. Living paycheck to paycheck.
So he learned how to go numb. He learned how to disappear. And somewhere in that time, Yoo Joonghyuk’s streams became one of the few things that didn’t feel like a threat to him.
Dokja swallowed. He'd still never miss a stream. To him, these streams were his salvation and one of his few reasons for living.
He laughs to himself. He thinks this, but despite being one of Yoo Joonghyuk’s oldest viewers, Kim Dokja had never left a single comment. Not a congratulations. Not a joke. Not even a simple “gg.”
It's been years since he'd first limped towards a computer, hospitalized, and seeing Yoo Joonghyuk's first ever stream playing quietly. That guy will always be his person despite the two never meeting.
Damnit. Is he getting too old for this? He's already twenty-eight watching another grown man playing video games.
His phone buzzed lightly as the stream shifted. Yoo Joonghyuk’s voice came through his phone's speaker.
“…That’s all the announcements for today. Bye.”
The stream ended abruptly. Just like that. Kim Dokja stared at the dark screen.
This guy..
Not even a “thanks for watching.” Not even a “see you next time.” Like he was shutting a door in the audience’s face and expecting them to feel honored he’d opened it at all. Kim Dokja exhaled slowly through his nose. Yoo Joonghyuk had a horrible personality. That was true. Unfortunately, his face was the kind that made people forgive anything.
Ah, the gods themselves really blessed Yoo Joonghyuk with that gorgeous face (and body). What a lucky bastard.
If only he was blessed enough to have a life as perfect as that grumpy guy. Then, maybe, he wouldn't have to go through all the bullshit the universe throws at him at every turn. The subway slowed for the next stop and Dokja stood, slipping his phone into his pocket. He adjusted the strap of his work bag, the worn fabric rough under his fingers.
He arrived at Minosoft and entered his floor level.
Unfortunately, this is the best he's ever going to get. Trash like him will always be stuck at the bottom. And trash always got used until it wore out and then quietly disposed of.
He entered his floor and walked toward his desk with the careful, practiced posture of someone trying to take up as little space as possible.
“Hurry! He’s almost here!”
The shout came from behind him. Kim Dokja turned, and instantly regretted it. A hard impact slammed into his shoulder. Pain shot down his arm and he stumbled backward, losing balance. He fell.
“Watch it, you idiot!”
Dokja sat for half a second, blinking.
He pushed himself up without saying anything. Saying something would make it a scene. A scene would make it worse. He dusted off his pants with numb fingers and walked to his desk like nothing happened.
Like he didn’t matter enough for it to matter.
“Dokja-ssi.”
Yoo Sangah’s voice was soft. She looked at him with concern, real concern, the kind that always made Dokja feel uncomfortable because he didn’t know how to process it.
“I saw that,” she said quietly. “Are you okay?”
Dokja nodded. “Good morning, Yoo Sangah-ssi. I’m… fine. Thank you.”
Yoo Sangah’s kindness was too much for him at times in a way Dokja didn’t understand. She didn’t pry. She didn’t perform sympathy. She just… offered it like it was normal. She glanced around, then leaned in slightly, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret.
“Have you heard? There’s a famous person working with us on the new game.”
“Oh,” Dokja trailed off. “I didn’t hear. That’s great.”
He pulled his phone back out. His fingers instinctively typed in the title of his favorite novel.
It wouldn’t hurt to read one more chapter.
Yoo Sangah glanced at his phone and smiled softly. "Dokja-ssi...you really love novels, don't you? It never fails to make me smile. Knowing someone loves reading as much as I do."
Kim Dokja sheepishly smiled back. "Y-Yeah. Sorry about that.."
She opened her mouth to respond—
But a shout ripped through the office.
“He’s here! Everyone on your best behavior!”
A wave of energy rolled through the room. Chairs shifted. People stood. Nervous laughter. Excitement sharpened the air. Dokja leaned toward Yoo Sangah, voice low.
“Is this the famous person?”
She nodded. “I heard he can be strict,” she whispered, “but respected. And I think… he shares the same last name as me. Maybe I'll be famous too someday fufu!”
The same last name.
Dokja frowned. A respected, strict, famous man in the gaming scene. Last name Yoo. Dokja thought back to the stream he'd watched earlier this morning. His brain connected the dots before he could stop it.
No.
There’s absolutely no—
Footsteps echoed down the hallway. Not hurried. Not uncertain.
Confident, heavy steps. Like the person walking didn’t need permission to take up space. Voices followed.
“Yes, you bastard! I promised I’d help you write the perfect script if you just do this one thing for me!”
“Han Sooyoung. Be quiet."
“Yeah, unnie! Listen to master!”
“Are you two children?”
“We’re approaching the office now. Please refrain from fighting.”
A group entered.
At the front was a short woman, smiling like she’d already decided everyone here was beneath her. Next to her was pro gamer Lee Jihye, who seemed far too excited to be in an office setting. Namgung Minyoung walked with the calm of someone who never had to raise her voice to be obeyed.
And then—
Yoo Joonghyuk.
Kim Dokja’s breath caught.
He’d seen him through screens for years. The camera never fully captured what it felt like to have Yoo Joonghyuk standing in the same space, radiating that cold, distant aura.
Tall. Broad. Wavy black hair framing a face that looked too perfect to be real. His eyes were the worst part. Not just because they were pretty. But because they held confidence and stories he'd never be able to have.
Kim Dokja stared.
He blinked once, twice.
This couldn’t be happening.
Should he ask for an autograph? A picture? Should he tell him he’d watched since fifteen, that he’d—
No.
That was insane. That was how you got laughed at. Mocked.
Han Myungoh, Dokja’s boss, shot across the floor like a man possessed.
“Yoo Joonghyuk-ssi! It’s a pleasure having you here! This office specializes in finding bugs and errors in the game code. If you have any questions, please approach any team managers!” He extended his hand.
IYoo Sangah stood immediately, along with two other managers, bowing.
Yoo Joonghyuk stared at the extended hand. Then he said, flatly, “…Okay.”
Han Myungoh looked like he might cry from relief.
Yoo Joonghyuk scanned the room.
“I’m Yoo Joonghyuk,” he said. “I’ll be working with you until the game is complete. I expect you to do your jobs properly. Understood?”
“Yes, Yoo Joonghyuk-ssi!”
Dokja’s voice came out quieter than he intended. “…Yes.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s gaze flicked in his direction for half a second. Dokja’s skin prickled like he’d been touched.
“This is Han Sooyoung, the lead writer,” Yoo Joonghyuk continued. “Lee Jihye, my teammate. My manager, Namgung Minyoung. Any questions?”
No one spoke.
Yoo Joonghyuk nodded once, then turned toward a woman with striking white hair and pale skin. Her lips curved into a gentle smile. Yoo Joonghyuk smiled back.
It was small. But it existed. And he just witnessed it.
Kim Dokja’s stomach dropped.
Who is she? Why does he smile like that at her? His chest tightened with something ugly and familiar. Jealousy? Maybe.Or maybe just the old, automatic pain of seeing something he could never have. No one would ever desire him in that way.
They look good together, his brain supplied, unhelpful and cruel.
Han Myungoh clapped his hands loudly.
“Yoo Joonghyuk-ssi will observe today and drop in occasionally afterwards. He’ll also be invited to group gatherings, so don’t slack. This is one of our biggest projects yet! You’ve all read the emails from last week, so you know what you’re doing. Get to work!”
People moved. The group began to file out and leave the room, following after Han Myungoh.Yoo Joonghyuk lingered. Han Sooyoung lingered too, watching the office like it was a stage. Dokja sat down and stared at his monitor. His palms were sweating.
What the hell did he mean by emails? He never recieved any form of email or message regarding this. He'd assumed that Yoo Sangah was only aware because of her position as a manager, but apparently everyone else knew? He watched helplessly as people began silently typing.
He had no idea what he was supposed to do. He checked his inbox again.
Nothing.
He checked spam.
Nothing.
He checked the internal portal. No updates. No task list. Nothing assigned. He checked again, and again, because sometimes reality changed if you looked at it enough. It didn’t. A cold pit formed in his stomach.
Yoo Sangah leaned in. “Dokja-ssi… you don’t look good. Are you okay?”
Dokja swallowed hard. “Yoo Sangah-ssi,” he whispered, voice tight with humiliation, “I… I didn’t receive the emails. I don’t know what we’re doing.”
Yoo Sangah blinked, then frowned. “That’s strange. Let me check—”
A voice cut in behind them, sharp and quiet. “Why are you just sitting there?”
Kim Dokja twisted his head far too fast at the voice. Yoo Joonghyuk stood behind his desk, close enough that Dokja could smell expensive soap and something clean.
“I—” Dokja’s throat felt thick. “I wasn’t sent anything. I’m trying to figure out—"
“You should have figured it out already.”
The words weren’t loud. They didn’t need to be. They landed like a verdict. Dokja’s face heated instantly. Yoo Joonghyuk’s gaze flicked to the empty inbox.
“…You’re the only one,” Yoo Joonghyuk said. “Convenient.”
“It’s not convenient,” Dokja snapped, and immediately regretted it. His pulse spiked.
Shut up, shut up, shut up. But the anger was already loose. Across the office, laughter slipped out.
“Of course it’s Kim Dokja.”
Hey. What's that even supposed to mean?
“He’s always on his phone. He probably got distracted again.”
What.. that's not even entirely accurate. He never got distracted. Han Myungoh just loved targetting him.
“Isn’t his contract ending soon? He should leave before he ruins the entire project!"
Dokja’s fingers went cold and his thoughts halted. Contract ending. They’d said it before. Many times. Loud enough for him to hear. He wasn’t part of the “core team.” He was temporary. Disposable. The kind of employee companies quietly forgot when it was convenient. He could feel their eyes on him like heat.
Mocking. Curious. Hungry. It felt too much like high school.
Han Sooyoung wandered over like she could smell drama.
“Wow,” she said, smiling with bright interest. “You already have quite the reputation here.”
Dokja glared at her and looked back at Yoo Joonghyuk. “I didn’t get the email,” he said through clenched teeth. “What exactly do you want me to do? Pull it out of the air?”
Yoo Joonghyuk stared at him for a long moment.Then, calm and merciless..
“If you can’t do your job, leave.”
The room went quiet again. Dokja’s hands curled into fists beneath the desk. “All you do is game,” he said, voice shaking in a way he hated. “You sit in front of a camera and make money. Don’t talk to me about doing my job like you know what it is."
It was a stupid thing to say. The second it left his mouth, Dokja knew. Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes lowered slightly. Not angry.
Focused.
Controlled.
He put a hand on the desk, close enough that Dokja could see the tension in his wrist. “Get out,” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
Two words. No shouting. No scene. Just a command.
Dokja’s mouth went dry. He stood too quickly, chair scraping. “…Fine,” he said, then his stomach lurched as he realized his own behavior. He briefly scanned the room and swallowed his saliva. He made himself known. He forced his voice down, smaller, safer. “I—Yes. Yoo Joonghyuk-ssi. I apologize."
He packed his things with shaking hands. His bag toppled over and fell to the floor. Of course he dropped something. Of course. Snickers rose again.
His vision blurred for a second, and he hated himself for it. Hated his body for wanting to cry. Hated his throat for tightening.Yoo Sangah stood immediately and knelt, quietly picking up what he’d dropped. Her kindness made the shame more apparent.
“Dokja-ssi…” she started.
“Thank you,” Dokja said, voice rough. “I’ll… see you tomorrow.”
He left quickly, avoiding the glare that could pierce his very soul. His favorite person in the entire world was directing that furious and disgusted look towards him. He walked fast, chest tight, breathing too hard. The hall felt narrow. The lights felt too bright. His skin felt too thin. He found the restroom and shoved himself inside. Then he gripped the sink like it was the only thing keeping him upright and stared at himself.
Messed up collar. Sweaty hair. Eyes too teary.
He looked exactly like he felt.
A mess.
He splashed water onto his face and tried to swallow the lump in his throat.
If he got fired, he was done. No one hired people with a history like his. No one hired someone whose contract ended because the company didn’t care enough to renew it. No one hired someone who was already labeled a problem. And Minosoft, this dead-end job, was the only thing he was “good at.”
Because it required him to be quiet.
To take hits.
To keep going.
Should he just quit? He's still not entirely sure how he could support himself financially.
...He could sell his organs? Too unrealistic.
Or become a prostitute? He's far too old for that already. He huffed out a shaky breath, almost laughing. It was pathetic.
He hit his head softly against the mirror.
Or he could just die. Die a cold, lonely pathetic death. On the gravestone it'd read:
'Here Lies Kim Dokja Age 28. Did Nothing With His Life and Died Embarrassing Himself In Front Of His Celebrity Crush(?)'
He stayed like that for a few seconds. A Minute.
Several minutes actually.
An hour passed.
It's been long enough that his hands stopped shaking. Long enough that he could pretend he was fine again. Eventually, he forced himself to let go of the sink and walked out.
And immediately—
His foot caught.
The world tilted.
His stomach dropped.
He hit the floor hard. Pain flared up his side. His forehead bumped into something soft and warm. He lifted his head.
White hair.
Gray eyes.
The white haired woman stared down at him, startled.
Kim Dokja’s soul left his body. His head had landed on her stomach.
He landed on top of Yoo Joonghyuk's girlfriend (potential girlfriend?). He yelped and quickly sat up. Behind her, Yoo Joonghyuk’s shadow stood over them.
“Are you doing this on purpose?” Yoo Joonghyuk asked, voice low.
Dokja tried to speak. Nothing came out. Yoo Joonghyuk stepped closer. His hand came up to grip Dokja's collar and drag him off the woman.
“First you begin slacking off,” Yoo Joonghyuk continued, gaze sharp, “and now you’re being a pervert.”
“I—” Dokja forced his throat to work. “It was an accident.”
“Joonghyuk-ya,” the woman sighed, tugging lightly at his sleeve. “Don’t. He’s… clearly not okay.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s jaw tightened. He looked at her instead.
“Are you hurt, Lee Seolhwa?”
“I’m fine,” she said quickly, then glanced at Dokja, her expression apologetic. “I’m sorry. The door—”
Dokja shook his head once. "It's okay. It was my fault."
The rest of Yoo Joonghyuk’s group appeared down the hall, voices overlapping.
“Hey, what happened?”
“Lee Seolhwa are you alright?”
“Is he a creep?”
Yoo Joonghyuk clicked his tongue, expression unreadable. He didn’t say anything else. He simply turned, letting Lee Seolhwa link her arm through his, and walked away like the situation wasn’t worth his time.
Dokja stayed on the floor for a second longer than necessary. He watched pathetically as the group glanced at him, disgust in their eyes, and drove off in a car that's worth far more than his entire life.
And he was one hundred percent sure—
He was getting fired.