Love Offline - ToastOfEden - 전지적 독자 시점 - 싱숑 | Omniscient Reader (2024)

Chapter 1: Meet Ugly

Chapter Text

It was a day like any other at Deja Brew, a popular neighborhood cafe that felt like a hole in the wall with its natural wood floors, red brick walls, lush tapestries, and oversized cushions that swallowed excess light and noise. Soft indie pop played over the speakers, punctuated by the hissing of an espresso machine and the occasional roar of the coffee bean grinder.

And perched at a corner table, way in the back, sat best-selling author Han Sooyoung. She was a feline kind of woman. Petite, with sharp features and sharper eyes that scanned everything and everyone, expressing little beyond total interest or utter boredom.

Deja Brew was her office Monday through Friday, and sometimes Saturdays. She had a home office, but there was no need to be cooped up between novels. At least here, she could watch the world go by and drink endless americanos.

But while today may have been a day like any other, it was not so for Han Sooyoung. She’d been off recently. A bit stuck.

It wasn't writer's block—she didn't believe in something so pedestrian. Inspiration was everywhere, and all it took was Sooyoung's well-trained eye to pick it out and craft it into a story for the masses. She was a woman who noticed everything and never slept. And yet, somehow, against all odds, she had run out of material. The world was oversaturated with commentary on this or that—pop culture, media, listicles, outrage columns—it was all so overdone. Even her personal life, which had always been full of color, had been tapped out.

And all the while, her subscriber acquisition was slowing down and her engagement was tanking. That was normal for authors between books, but Han Sooyoung wasn’t just any author. And again, this wasn’t writer’s block—the world itself had gone dull.

Until last night. Last night the universe had handed her a most unexpected golden goose: her best friend, Kim Dokja. Figured that bumbling, lovable idiot would be the one to bring a story to life by stumbling right into it.

So there she sat, americano cooling, manicured nails clacking furiously on the keys of her laptop as the words poured out of her, and she did it with a smile on her face.

Ah, young love. It's springtime in Seoul when the infatuation bug bites hardest. Hashtag-smitten couples stroll the streets, coordinated outfits color-coded to match their custom couple’s rings. They spend weekends wrapped up in each other, gazing lovingly across cafe tables built for two. And naturally, they’re documenting every magical moment to bombard their social feeds.

What, you didn't realize they were soulmates after two dates?

Hey, no judgment here. Puppy love is a thrill and a half. But even roses lose their bloom if held too tightly.

Meanwhile, a certain subgroup hasn't learned the "everything in moderation" mantra. I'm talking about the chronically unpartnered among us. They guzzle romance stories, woefully wondering, "why not me?" Well, if the odds of finding your soulmate are one in a million, statistics say you've got 8,000 soulmates out there. Though staring at your shoes makes crossing paths tricky.

But again, no judgment. We've all had lonely nights wondering if we'll ever find love. Some lucky souls still get unexpectedly swept off their feet.

Take my disaster of a friend who literally collided with his own destiny one evening on the subway. But don’t try this at home, folks.

It was around 5:40 pm on the Seoul metro.

The train car swayed gently, and dead-eyed worker drones stared blankly into space, nodded off, or tried to complete that morning’s crossword puzzle. And there, leaning against the doors, was our wayward protagonist, Kim Dokja. A 28 year-old office worker, just another face in the crowd, fully engrossed in a web novel on his smartphone.

This was his favorite pastime. Every day, on his commute to and from work, he read his web novels. I’m frankly surprised he hasn’t developed a permanent 90° kink in his neck.

Dokja was enraptured in today’s chapter, completely oblivious to the world around him, unaware that his stop was approaching and that his destiny was standing on the platform just moments away. He'd just gotten to the good part, you see. The protagonist was entering a moonlit garden with the female lead, anticipating the payoff of a romance that'd been teased over the course of hundreds of chapters.

Dokja glanced up momentarily as the train slowed to a stop, but kept his head down when the doors opened, and he stepped out onto the platform blind.

His breath caught as the couple-to-be stopped in the pagoda, hidden from any curious passersby, and turned towards one another. The female lead's eyes were wide and luminous as their gazes locked, and the protagonist leaned in to murmur—

"Oof!" Kim Dokja stopped short, smashing face-first into what he first assumed was a stone column, and his phone went clattering across the platform.

But as he looked up, still reeling, he found himself staring into a pair of piercing black eyes. This was certainly no stone column—this was a man. And he was the reincarnation of Adonis himself, glowering down at him with chiseled features, framed by artfully tousled hair.

“Hey!” snapped Dokja, indignant. “Why don’t you watch where you’re…”

The words died on his lips as he took in this veritable Greek statue of a man. Kim Dokja could feel his resolve crumbling and the heat rising to his cheeks under the weight of that withering glare.

The stranger clicked his tongue and strode off towards the departing train without a backward glance.

Dokja blinked, stunned. Then he remembered himself and scrambled for his phone, which was laying face down on the concrete. When he turned it over in his hands, his heart sank. The screen was completely shattered with one nice big crack right down the middle and spiderwebs of little bits of glass mangling the rest.

His head shot up, and he searched for the stranger in the mass of commuters, but he was already gone.

And so marks the meet-ugly where my dear friend, Kim Dokja, collided with destiny—the man who would turn his world upside down. Our protagonist had no idea that the tall, dark, and handsome stranger would soon play the role of romantic lead in an offline romance of his very own, whether he liked it or not.

Han Sooyoung sat back, stretching her arms above her head, satisfied.

Kim Dokja's little misadventure was just the material she needed. Never mind that Kim Dokja might f*cking kill her for using it as fodder for her blog, it would be fine! The story was still developing. And besides, it was the internet. Things could be removed, no harm done. And it was anonymous enough—there were plenty of people named Kim Dokja.

She paused, glanced at her draft, and sighed. "Fine."

Best to avoid any potential lawsuits, not that he would ever try to sue her anyway. Han Sooyoung replaced "Kim Dokja" with "The Reader." There. Anonymity restored! Now he couldn't be mad.

Chapter 2: Broken Phone

Chapter Text

After settling in for the night, Kim Dokja would usually spend an hour or so reading web novels, and, if he had extra energy, he might find a few promising new stories and queue them up for the next morning’s commute. And yet here he was, laid in bed, phone in hand, staring blankly at the broken screen in the dark.

He swiped up and down, angling his phone this way and that, but nothing made the text legible. He set it on his chest with a deep sigh, looking up at the ceiling.

For all the trouble it caused him, he hadn't actually read to the end of the confession scene earlier that day. The hero had taken the heroine's hand, searched her eyes, and then...Well, whatever. It was probably a cliffhanger anyway.

Dokja picked up his phone again and—nope—nothing. Nothing except the darkened screen reflecting his gloomy expression back at him in fragments. This was unfixable. The reveal would have to wait until he got his phone replaced, and that would be expensive. He was considering skimping on groceries for a couple of weeks to speed things up.

With a deep groan, Dokja dropped his arm and made eye contact with the ceiling fan.

Reading web novels was a hobby, and sure, it was also his only hobby. But the threads of those stories were interwoven with the fabric of his life. The characters were his friends. Their fictional lives helped fill a void in his real world. They gave a depressing commute color. They lulled him to sleep.

In the silence of his apartment, Kim Dokja was experiencing the slow, creeping realization that he had very little beyond those stories on a little screen—a screen that was now broken. No passions, very few friends, most of whom were surface level at best, and no girlfriend to cuddle up to at night.

Dokja pictured the protagonist and female lead in the pagoda, standing close together in the moonlight. And the male lead, hair tousled just so, parted his lips to speak as he gazed down at his love interest—but the image twisted, replaced by the rude stranger from the train platform. That jawline, those sharp eyes...

What a dick, thought Dokja.

He wished he could banish that face from his mind's eye. That bastard had shattered more than just a phone screen today—Kim Dokja's fiction-filled inner life now laid around him in fragments. And that was impossible to ignore.

Sighing, he pulled the covers up to his chin and tried in vain to drift off.

In the days following the meet-ugly, Kim Dokja underwent symptoms of severe web novel withdrawal: listlessness, lethargy, and an overwhelming sense of malaise.

But there wasn't much to be done. He did the math—even if he tightened his belt and pinched pennies, he wouldn't be able to afford a new phone until payday. So until then, he was left wistfully staring out of windows, thinking about the mundanities of life, like laundry and the economy. But his eyes were always scanning. Taking stock of all the faces on the platform when he got on or off the train at his stop, just in case he might catch a glimpse of the bastard that had gotten him into this mess—the man who wore black from head to toe and had an annoyingly handsome scowl.

Dokja had never seen him before that incident—how could he forget a face like that—and he doubted he'd ever see him again.

And yet, by some miracle, his diligence paid off.

Exactly one week after the meet-ugly, at the same time and place, he spotted the bastard standing on the subway platform.

A shot of adrenaline surged through Dokja’s veins as the train slowed and came to a stop, and as the doors slid open, he marched right up to him before he could overthink it.

"Excuse me...sir!" Kim Dokja called, stepping directly into the stranger's path.

As soon as he caught sight of Dokja, the man scowled and pinned him in place with an intense glare that, frankly, felt like a high-powered laser. Kim Dokja faltered slightly but quickly caught himself and found his words.

"You owe me a new phone," he said, rooting himself firmly in place.

"Oh?" the stranger questioned, making Kim Dokja suddenly much less intimidated and much more self-conscious.

He tried to remember the biting remarks he'd formulated in his head when he was riling himself up in the bathroom mirror that morning, but it all slipped away as the stranger's intense, clear eyes looked him up and down impassively. And once again, Dokja felt a spark of resentment at how perfect and chiseled this bastard's face was. What gave him the right?

"Yes," said Dokja, crossing his arms. "You bumped into me the other day and knocked my phone out of my hand."

"Is that right?" asked the man, lifting one perfectly-shaped eyebrow.

What did he mean, 'is that right?' Did he not remember?

“Yes.” Dokja scowled, indignation rising in the form of a flush blooming under his cheeks. “You broke it, so…so you’re responsible for fixing it.”

They spent another moment sizing each other up, the tall, black-clad bastard’s eyes tracing Dokja’s features once more before reaching into his jacket pocket and producing a business card.

“Contact this number for reimbursem*nt, then,” he said coolly, holding it out.

The moment Dokja took it, the stranger wordlessly turned on his heel and walked away.

Kim Dokja could only watch his broad back as he disappeared into the moving crowds, baffled. Then he looked down at the business card. It read: Yoo Joonghyuk, Professional Gamer, with a number and email for inquiries.

That man was an internet celebrity?

“I guess that tracks,” muttered Dokja, pocketing the business card with a sharp exhale as he tried to quiet the odd, flustered feeling in his chest.

And continuing on his way, his mind wandered once again to the rude stranger’s—Yoo Joonghyuk’s—face, and how utterly irritating it was that a man with that attitude was unfairly blessed with that kind of countenance.

Kim Dokja checked his watch and sped up his pace.

15 minutes later, he found himself hurrying towards The Wine Not Lounge, Han Sooyoung’s favorite local haunt, a co*cktail lounge that had, according to her, an array of “hot mixologists, you wouldn’t understand, Kim Dokja.”

All he knew was that the drinks were too strong, and Han Sooyoung liked to stay there until closing, which meant he was often left giving her a piggyback ride to her apartment up the street. While she was petite, he was becoming an old man, and his poor back suffered for it.

The place looked like it was bustling as he jogged across the street, but thankfully, she was easy to find, sitting alone on the patio, smoking a cigarette.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” she said, eyeing him as he dropped his things on a nearby chair. “I thought I was about to get stood up.”

Kim Dokja found himself grinning in spite of himself. “You could sit at the bar and make new friends with that sob story.”

“You think I’d have time for you if I made any more friends? You’d shrivel up and die of loneliness.”

Ah, that’s my dear Han Sooyoung.

“You also haven't responded to my texts in days. What's up with that?"

She raised a prompting, well-manicured eyebrow. The gesture made him see that bastard's sculpted features in his mind's eye again, and Kim Dokja reflexively groaned.

“What?” asked Han Sooyoung, brows furrowing, “What’d I say?”

Wordlessly, Kim Dokja pulled his sad, shattered phone out of his work bag and set it on the table in front of her.

“Oh my god,” she said with a grimace, picking it up to examine it up close. "Well, that explains that."

“Yeah. It still works, technically, but…”

“What did you do to this thing?”

He could’ve lied. He knew he could’ve lied—but he needed to get it out. So even though he knew he wouldn’t get out of this conversation unscathed, Kim Dokja told Han Sooyoung the whole thing. He told her about the train column that turned out to be a man, how tall and intimidating that man was, and how he was thanking his lucky stars that he’d run into that man again earlier that evening.

As predicted, Han Sooyoung found this story thoroughly entertaining.

“That’s so romantic, Kim Dokja!” she grinned, cigarette smoke curling around her fingers. “Promise me I get to be the flower girl at your wedding.”

He shot her a look, but hoped his face wasn’t flushing a deep shade of red, because it certainly felt like it was.

“Some friend you are,” he said with a click of his tongue.

“I do this with love,” she replied, stubbing out her cigarette in the nearby ashtray. “So, what’s Mr. Train Column’s name?”

Kim Dokja reached into his pocket and pulled out the business card, sliding it across the table.

“Yoo Joonghyuk...professional gamer, huh?” she asked, taking it between two fingers. “Should I look him up? Oh, we should watch his stuff. I wonder if he has a channel on—”

“Please don’t,” said Dokja, sighing.

“You’re so boring,” scoffed Sooyoung.

“This isn’t supposed to be fun. It’s about me getting my phone replaced so…” he trailed off for a moment, searching for words that wouldn’t make him sound as pathetic as he felt. “…so I can function again.”

“So…what are you waiting for?”

“What do you mean?”

“You have his number, just text him.”

“My screen is cracked.”

“So call him.”

“Now?”

“Why not?”

“It’s the middle of the night!”

“It’s like 7:00 on a Tuesday.”

“I’ll do it, alright? in the morning.”

“Excuses, excuses.”

Kim Dokja reached out and grabbed the business card with finality.

And just like that, the wind had been completely taken out of Han Sooyoung’s sails. “Alright. Fine. I’m going in, and I’m getting another drink. What do you want?”

“The usual,” he said absently, eyes wandering back to the business card in his hands.

There was a pause. Then it was plucked out of his fingers.

“Hey!”

Han Sooyoung stood over him, card in one hand and her phone in the other, dialing the number.

“Stop that!” he hissed, reaching for the card.

But it was too late. He stared in abject horror as she pressed call and shoved the phone at him like it was a live grenade with the pin pulled.

He was about to hang up, when he heard a little click and a distant, “Hello?”

Kim Dokja froze, with a chorus of f*ck’s, sh*t’s and oh god’s playing in his head. Han Sooyoung was standing there, eyes widening, gesturing at him.

There was a pause and then a second, more exasperated, “…hello?”

“Um, hello, hi. This is Kim Dokja.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “We…met earlier today, you gave me your card, and—”

“I remember you,” replied Joonghyuk bluntly.

“Right. Of course you do.”

Keep going, mouthed Sooyoung, looking equally amused and horrified.

“I’m just calling about that…reimbursem*nt. I believe you owe me a new phone after our run in the other day.”

Silence on the other end. Dokja clenched his fist nervously under the table. But his tone was even.

“And, given the immense inconvenience, I believe some extra compensation is also in order.”

“…such as?”

Sooyoung had sat back down, and her feline eyes were fixed on him, seemingly enraptured.

Dokja turned away from her. “Well, that all depends on whether you make good on that reimbursem*nt. If you go above and beyond, I might be satisfied.”

Silence on the other end.

“If you simply replaced my old model, that wouldn’t be very fair, would it? No, I think an upgrade would be much more appropriate. Ah…but with the week I’ve had to go without a phone? In this day and age?” Kim Dokja let the silence hang in the air. “The newest model. Then I might be satisfied.”

A pause. Then, “Fine.”

Fine? Just like that? “Oh, good! I knew you were a reasonable kind of guy. I’m glad we could come to an agreement on—”

“I’m on stream. I’ll text you.”

Then he hung up.

Kim Dokja sat frozen in place before lowering the phone, his mind running a million miles an hour. He was on stream? Did that mean that people were watching Yoo Joonghyuk speaking, or had he been taking a break? How did live-streaming work, again?

After a long moment, the world started to return. The music inside the lounge flowing from under the patio door, people walking by on the sidewalk chatting, the rustle of wind in the trees along the street.

And Han Sooyoung was staring at him with obvious fascination. Dokja set her phone on the table and stared at it like it had killed his firstborn.

“I’ve never seen you speak to someone like that,” said Sooyoung, lips curling at the corners.

“I speak to you like that.”

“No…no, no, not like that,” she said, shifting in her seat. “That was something different.”

“Me threatening someone?”

“You were channeling a protagonist.”

Kim Dokja blinked. “Protag—”

“You just told him like it is and then added whatever bullsh*t you wanted on top,” she said, grin widening even further. “That’s new for you, Kim Dokja.”

He didn’t like that look. That was a scheming look. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking,” Sooyoung stood up out of her seat and picked up her phone, “that I’m going to get a drink.”

Kim Dokja watched her slip inside, knowing that somehow, this was going to come back to bite him in the ass.

Chapter 3: A Date, by Definition

Chapter Text

That Saturday, Kim Dokja found himself running across town to a location that, according to Han Sooyoung, Yoo Joonghyuk suggested they meet to make the exchange. It was an odd choice—a promenade best known as a date spot. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that she made the suggestion in his stead to be a menace.

But he wouldn’t know, because he wasn’t the one with the phone screen. She was. And she made the plans. He was questioning why he even agreed to that as he hurried along the sidewalk, making his way to the rendezvous point with his cracked phone pressed to his ear.

“So, describe to me what you ended up wearing,” came her thoughtful, easygoing voice on the other end. “You said casual…did you mean athleisure casual, or jeans casual?”

“Jeans,” he responded absently, weaving through the crowd. “Hey, this place is…busy. Why do you think he chose it?”

“Probably just because it’s convenient for him,” she said. “And you’d say you feel anxious, then?”

Kim Dokja frowned. “Anxious? I mean, not particularly. Excited to get a new phone, finally. It’s been long enough without it. And the newest model is, well, frankly better than what I was going to get myself anyway.”

“‘Excited,’” she repeated carefully. “Good. On a scale from one to ten, how excited, would you say? Oh, hold on—”

He heard some shuffling and clacking, followed by a man’s voice and a muffled, Thank you.

“Are you in public?”

“Of course. I’m writing. I always write in public,” she replied before audibly sipping whatever drink she’d just gotten. “So? Scale from one to ten?”

“Uh, four? Alright, what’s this about?” Kim Dokja questioned, stopping to wait at a crosswalk.

A pause. “What’s what about?”

“The interview.”

Another pause. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“The weirdly basic questions about what I’m wearing and where I am and what I’m feeling. It’s weird.”

“I’m just trying to understand your frame of mind here. I can’t help you if I don’t know.”

“Right…but then that begs the question—”

“Why am I so helpful?”

“—why do you care? I’m just going about my life. What’s in it for you?”

Han Sooyoung gasped. “What do you mean, what’s in it for me? I’m helping you out of the goodness of my heart, like always!”

The lady doth protest too much, thought Kim Dokja with a sigh. The crosswalk light changed and he resumed his pace.

Then Han Sooyoung’s voice came dryly. “I just think that you think Yoo Joonghyuk is handsome.”

Dokja stopped in his tracks and a woman bumped into him from behind, sending him stumbling. She cursed as she brushed past him.

“I looked him up,” continued Sooyoung matter-of-factly. “Your reactions on that call make so much more sense in hindsight.”

“Han Sooyoung, what’s wrong with you?” Dokja hurried forward, trying to gather himself.

“I’m trying to help you.”

“You’re not trying to help me! You’re meddling!”

She scoffed. “Come on. I’m trying to end your dry spell.”

“I’m not in a dry spell,” he said quietly, glancing around, suddenly self-conscious that someone could hear him.

Han Sooyoung hummed doubtfully.

“I’ve been with women.”

“You’re living in the past, my friend. We’re living in the present day and age. When’s the last time you were with a man?”

Kim Dokja tripped over his feet as he stepped up onto the curb. “What? I’m not—I like women!”

“I’m just saying. A tall, dark, handsome man gave you his phone number, you’re meeting all the way across town on the promenade, and you’re not horribly dressed. As long as you don’t mess it up—”

“Stop,” he groaned.

“That’s pretty romantic, Kim Dokja.”

“It’s not romantic. It’s not even platonic. It’s an exchange of goods and/or services in broad daylight!”

Kim Dokja was turning, reading signs, and trying to get his heart rate back down as he arrived at the promenade and tried to orient himself in the right direction.

Han Sooyoung continued, the impish smirk evident in her voice, “You know, he didn’t have to give you his number.”

“If you don’t have anything else to say, I’m hanging up.”

She was cackling on the other end. “Have a good date, lover boy. I’m rooting for you!”

“…thanks.”

He hung up, heat rising to his face. He was tempted to take his phone and drop it into the nearest trash can, but he thought better of it and slipped it into his pocket.

The moment that Kim Dokja stepped onto the promenade, he was assaulted by the sight of young couples strolling side by side in the morning sunlight. It was a crowd full of smiles with perfect teeth, soft hands intertwined, and longing gazes meeting one another across small café tables.

The place reeked of youth and optimism—two things that felt increasingly foreign to the 28 year-old man whose favorite activity was reading web novels during his commute. He felt wholly out of place. He wasn’t made for a world like this, filled with people whose lives didn’t revolve around fictional stories behind a screen.

As he wove through the promenade, he felt more and more sober.

Kim Dokja was not a “lover,” he was not a “lead,” and this was not a romance. He would just be grateful to get his new phone and get out of here so he could get back to his normal, slice-of-life existence. Anything more was just a fantasy.

After a few minutes of walking and searching, Kim Dokja finally caught sight of Yoo Joonghyuk in the crowd.

He stuck out like a sore thumb, leaning there against a lamppost wearing his now-identifiable head-to-toe black attire. He looked about as comically out of place as Dokja felt among the colorful couples—tall, dark, intense. Passersby were visibly giving him a wide berth, leaning in to whisper to one another while glancing in his direction.

Dokja was once again struck by this bastard’s perfect face, all elegant lines and perfectly windswept hair. Dokja felt self-conscious just for looking like himself. In jeans. Something must have caught Joonghyuk’s eye, because as Dokja breached the crowd, he suddenly turned his head and their gazes locked across the promenade.

Dokja froze in place—that stare was razor-sharp, even from this distance.

After a full breath, a bolt of irritation struck Dokja and he broke eye contact, wishing he’d worn shades. He took one steadying breath and walked up to him, trying to appear as cool, calm, and collected as possible. But any coolness, calmness, or collectedness he’d mustered up immediately flew out of the window as soon as Yoo Joonghyuk opened his mouth.

“You’re late.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly have an updated paper map,” replied Dokja dryly. He tried not to focus on the man’s distractingly intense gaze. “Do you have the phone, or not?”

Joonghyuk wordlessly reached into his jacket and pulled out a sleek new box.

“Great, thank you,” said Dokja, letting out a small sigh of relief as he took it. But he paused when he noticed the model number. “What is this?”

“It’s the newest model,” said Joonghyuk flatly.

“No,” said Dokja, staring at the box. “This isn’t the newest model, this model isn’t even released yet.”

“I have sponsors,” said Joonghyuk with a shrug, “They send me things.”

Kim Dokja was speechless.

“You’re welcome.”

“Are you trying to get me in trouble?”

Yoo Joonghyuk stared at him blankly.

“Did you have to sign a contract to get this? Did you even read it?”

That flawless face was melting into a scowl. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Dokja was in awe. “I happen to work at a tech company. If you got this as part of a sponsorship deal for review, you may have signed an NDA. You can’t just hand something like that to someone on the street, you could get in serious trouble.”

Joonghyuk continued staring at Dokja, who was now getting the impression that this guy was empty in the head.

“In other words,” he continued, speaking slowly, “I can’t take this.”

“Yes you can,” said Yoo Joonghyuk, eyebrow twitching in irritation.

“No,” insisted Dokja. “I can’t.”

“Just take the stupid phone.”

This was an actual issue, yes, but Kim Dokja’s mind was starting to whir about other possibilities. If Yoo Joonghyuk had this kind of access to unreleased tech, what else could he get?

“I can’t take this in good conscience,” Dokja pressed, holding out the phone. “And you should be more careful. Do you want to get into trouble? Are you trying to get sued and drag me down with you?”

Joonghyuk sighed and snatched the phone out of his hand. “Fine.”

And Dokja realized he was still left without a phone. Great. Just great.

“Gosh, all this is such a racket,” he complained. “Why isn’t anything straightforward with you?”

Yoo Joonghyuk’s scowl was deepening even further. No doubt thinking that this was turning into a real headache.

That’s right, thought Dokja, I’m so irritating, aren’t I? You should give me whatever I want to get me out of your hair.

“You really owe me one, Yoo Joonghyuk, professional gamer,” said Dokja, crossing his arms. “Nearly two weeks without a phone and now I have to educate you on contract law? Don’t you have a manager or something to do this for you? I mean honestly.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Yoo Joonghyuk sighed.

“You should probably take me to my carrier’s store and buy me a phone there, so you don’t have to meet up with me again, huh?” he wondered aloud. “You should probably get me lunch for my trouble too. Ah, maybe dinner given the wait. What an inconvenience!”

Joonghyuk sighed again, listening to Kim Dokja’s rambling without cutting him off. Wordlessly, he reached into his jacket and produced a second box, nearly identical to the one in his other hand.

Kim Dokja blinked in surprise. “Is that…a backup phone?”

Joonghyuk handed it to him. Indeed, it was an older model—the current newest model. Dokja was baffled.

“In case you weren’t satisfied,” said Joonghyuk in explanation, voice low, keeping his gaze averted. What was with that expression?

“You…you…” Kim Dokja was lost for words, and he felt heat rising to his cheeks. “G-great! That takes care of that.”

This conversation was getting away from him.

“Now…about that meal—”

“Coffee.”

“I’m…I’m sorry?”

“I’ll buy you coffee,” repeated Joonghyuk. “Now.”

Dokja felt both defeated and indignant. “Th-that’s hardly worth all my pain and suffering, isn’t it?”

“It’s the best coffee in Seoul,” said Joonghyuk, already turning on his heel. “Last offer.”

And then he just started walking, leaving Kim Dokja standing there with his mouth hanging open. “Hey, wait a minute!”

He hurried after him up the promenade.

The coffee shop was close enough that they could walk, apparently, not that Yoo Joonghyuk used his words to let Kim Dokja know that. He simply weaved through the Saturday morning crowds as nimbly as a professional athlete, keeping an unforgiving pace that made it impossible for Kim Dokja to stand beside him as they made their way.

Dokja glared daggers into Joonghyuk’s back, wondering for perhaps the hundredth time today why a man like that was blessed with such an absurd physique. What, did he lift weights for hours a day when he wasn’t sitting on camera gaming?

Joonghyuk veered left after a few minutes of walking into a keyhole off the promenade, entering one of the buildings, Dokja trailing a few steps behind. He didn’t know what he was expecting from the place that supposedly served the best cup of coffee in the city, but it looked like a regular trendy café with giant wall-to-wall chalkboard menu with an array of drinks he couldn’t pronounce and pastries that looked very French.

Yoo Joonghyuk led the way to a table in the front, in an isolated corner surrounded by plants and bathed in sunlight.

Dokja had a flashback to Sooyoung ribbing him about this being a date and shook his head to banish her.

This situation was absurd.

“You could’ve chosen a place with a counter,” he grumbled, sliding into a chair. “Now we have to have a proper sit down.”

In this light, Yoo Joonghyuk’s resting scowl looked almost like an amused expression, one eyebrow lifting as he said, “You wanted to have an expensive dinner. Wouldn’t we have had to sit down then, too?”

“Our mouths would be full of gourmet food,” Dokja shot back.

“Then keep your mouth full of coffee.”

A waiter appeared, notebook in hand. “Gentlemen?”

“Just a black coffee for me,” said Joonghyuk.

“Roast?”

“This morning’s French roast.”

Evidently, Yoo Joonghyuk really believed what he said about this being a great cup of coffee. Either that or he was cheap on top of being a bastard.

But while he was tempted to get the most expensive, complicated drink on the menu, Kim Dokja didn’t much enjoy sweets, so he took a gamble. “Me too.”

Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyebrows raised almost imperceptibly.

“Cream and sugar?” asked the waiter.

“Why not?”

The waiter stalked off without writing anything down, then silence befell their little corner oasis, the sounds of the other patrons chatting and laughing cutting the silence.

Kim Dokja crossed one leg over the other, antsy. No matter how he sliced it, this was an odd choice of location for Yoo Joonghyuk to pick. The coffee couldn't be that cheap if it was from a place like this, could it? Was he just trying to placate him, or hoping he'd decline? But then why not refuse to give in? Why not just leave? Maybe he really was just an idiot after all. Well, no harm in seeing what else there was to be gained from this absolute nightmare of a situation. It wasn’t like an opportunity to get free stuff came around often.

“So,” he began, turning to Joonghyuk, “what’s it like being a professional gamer?”

Those black eyes were on him again, appraising. Joonghyuk shrugged, shoulders shifting beneath his leather jacket. “It’s a job. I play, I win, people watch.”

“Ah. What…games are you playing recently?”

“Various games.”

Dokja’s annoyance flared. Why choose a sit-down establishment and then not talk?

He studied the professional gamer with a calculating eye. That intense, focused glare. The nimble, agile movements. The way he took in everything before reacting. “First-person shooters, I bet. All about precision and reflexes.”

Joonghyuk’s head inclined slightly in agreement.

“Do you like them?”

“Sure.”

Just a job, then. Dokja hummed thoughtfully. “I’m not sure I could do it, I’d get bored.”

Those black eyes were fixed on him.

“Not that I love my job or anything,” he clarified with one of his winning smiles. “But I don’t think I could do first person shooters day in, day out. There’s no story there. I need to be pulled in emotionally.”

There was a pause. Then Joonghyuk said, “Story doesn’t matter if a game doesn’t challenge you. Story-driven games never have engaging gameplay.”

“But stories are what give a game impact,” replied Dokja, leaning forward. “It’s what makes you care.”

“I prefer a challenge,” said Joonghyuk, resting his elbow on the back of his chair.

“And that’s valid, but…” Kim Dokja trailed off, thinking. “Storytelling and gameplay can work together to make something better than the sum of their parts. The best games use both in harmony. But the story is the part that sticks with you. It’s…emotional investment. Resonance.”

“And resonance is meaningless without gameplay,” said Joonghyuk.

“But you remember the story even after you forget the controls!”

Yoo Joonghyuk was scanning his face as if picking up every single microexpression. Joonghyuk opened his mouth to speak, but paused. For the first time since they had collided, a hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “You argue your perspective well.”

He couldn't fight it—Kim Dokja’s face flushed.

And just at that moment, the waiter returned, balancing a serving tray. “Two medium roasts, cream and sugar for you, sir.”

He placed everything in the center of their small, circular table, the scent of gourmet coffee wafting around them, and walked off again. Dokja eagerly reached for an oversized teacup, desperate for something, anything, to distract from the fact that his mind had gone completely blank—but Joonghyuk reached for the same teacup at the same time and their hands bumped, sending lightning all the way up Dokja's arm.

If his face wasn’t beet red before, it definitely was now.

“Can you never pay attention to your surroundings?” he snapped.

Yoo Joonghyuk blinked. “Me? What about you? You’re the one who ran face-first into me.”

“Well, I wasn’t the one standing in the lane of foot traffic, staring off into space like a statue.”

“I was waiting for the train,” growled Joonghyuk. “And I’m not a statue!”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Dokja shot back. “You’re built like a tank. I bet you didn’t even feel me bump into you.”

“You completely wiped out. And whether I felt it doesn’t mean you’re not at fault.”

“Sure it does,” said Dokja, leaning in. “I’m the one who ended up with a broken phone. For two weeks, if case you’ve forgotten!”

“Of course not,” said Joonghyuk with a glare. “You won’t let me forget it.”

“Then you know you’re lucky I was the one whose phone you broke! Someone else might not have been so forgiving.”

“Forgiving? You hounded me for compensation!”

“Which is still unsatisfactory,” Kim Dokja declared.

“You haven’t even opened that phone or tried the coffee, fool.”

“It’s the principle of the thing, you bastard.”

Yoo Joonghyuk groaned, pressing his fingers against his temple with one hand and sliding the cup of coffee towards Dokja with the other. “Just drink the coffee, alright?”

Kim Dokja scowled.

“It’s…lovely.”

That was a fascinating word to come from the stoic man’s lips. Kim Dokja took a deep breath and took the cup in his hands. “This had better be the most incredible cup of coffee I’ve ever had.”

Joonghyuk just gestured for him to get on with it.

But when Dokja took a sip, he had to pause. “Oh my god.”

It was a good cup of coffee. A very good cup of coffee, both light and fragrant, with a complex flavor palette. He sat there for a moment, looking up at Joonghyuk with genuine surprise, only to see him wearing the most smug expression he’d ever seen in his life.

He refrained from saying anything else. He didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, though Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t appear to need it.

The two of them sat in silence, sipping on their coffee and avoiding each other’s gazes.

The sunlight was genuinely pleasant, and warm enough that Kim Dokja removed his jacket. Yoo Joonghyuk ended up removing his too and, to Dokja’s chagrin, he was wearing a form-fitting black shirt underneath that clung to his muscles. He kept his eyes firmly planted on the streetlamp outside, trying not to think about how easily that man could have simply throttled him rather than handing over a new phone—two new phones, really.

Eventually, the waiter returned with their check and handed it to Yoo Joonghyuk, who signaled for him to wait before reaching into his pocket, fishing out his wallet, and offering the waiter a note. Kim Dokja didn’t see the exact number on the check, but he did see the size of that note.

He felt a prick of irritation.

As the waiter walked away to get the change, Dokja turned to Joonghyuk with a frown. “That’s all? Really?”

“I like a cheap date,” replied Joonghyuk. And once again, he smiled. Smiled. Him.

“Is this a joke to you?” asked Dokja, irritation growing.

Joonghyuk was knocking back the last of his drink, making direct eye contact.

“You really thought you could placate me with a cheap cup of coffee?”

“The best cup of coffee in Seoul.”

“Well, I’m not satisfied.”

Joonghyuk stared at him. It was a challenge. This bastard was challenging him. “What would it take to satisfy you, Kim Dokja?”

“You ask that like it’s an impossible task.”

“Isn’t it?”

“I’ve told you what would satisfy me. You’re the one who can’t do a satisfactory job,” said Dokja, stabbing a finger toward him.

“Name it.”

“Take me out to dinner.”

Joonghyuk’s eyebrows shot up. “Dinner.”

“Dinner,” repeated Kim Dokja, “I deserve a quality meal.”

Joonghyuk regarded him, not a muscle moving in his face. After a pause, he said, “You really believe I owe you dinner.”

It wasn’t a question—Dokja could only imagine that Yoo Joonghyuk found the notion absurd. He felt himself bristling under that intense gaze, wondering if he was being mocked. “Yes. I deserve it after a broken phone and all that stress.”

Those fathomless black eyes never left his face. “If that’s what it takes.”

Kim Dokja blinked, taken aback. He tried to put aside the feeling of disappointment that was confusingly loud in his head—he’d won, so why did it all feel so hollow?

The waiter returned with Yoo Joonghyuk’s change and offered the man a nod before disappearing into the restaurant with their empty teacups in hand.

As he stood to grab his jacket, the muscles under Joonghyuk’s form-fitting black shirt flexed enough that it felt obscene; Dokja hastily looked away.

Then they exited the café into the bright morning sunlight, and Joonghyuk held the door, standing slightly to the side to let Dokja out first. And as he tilted his head, the rays of sun struck his hair, making the rich black shine blue, and his eyes stood out even more intensely.

But Kim Dokja did not stare.

He stepped out onto the sidewalk with the explicit thought in mind that he should probably never see Yoo Joonghyuk again, actually, wondering as he reached the curb whether he really should follow up on dinner or if he should just forget about Yoo Joonghyuk altogether. This guy was an unapologetic bastard. Sure, he knew where to get a good cup of coffee. But was is taste in restaurants really worth having to see him again? Should he just forget about the man’s existence now that he got his new phone?

Before he could decide for certain, Yoo Joonghyuk stopped beside him and said in his usual brusque tone, “I’ll walk you to the station.”

Dokja’s eyes widened and his mind raced for an excuse under Joonghyuk’s signature piercing gaze. After a beat too long, he waved his hand. “Oh, that’s alright. I actually have errands to run.”

Joonghyuk appeared to study his face and Dokja thought he saw a flicker of disappointment behind his fathomless eyes. But the moment passed and he was just as unreadable as ever.

An awkward silence fell.

Unsure of what to say, Dokja rocked on his heels and flashed his winningest smile. “Well, I should get going. Stuff to do, you know how it is.”

A beat. Then, “Right.”

Kim Dokja gave him a little wave and went on his way, unsure of what direction he was actually going in. He just walked without a destination in mind, feeling like he didn’t actually win that interaction at all.

Chapter 4: Finding Love Offline

Chapter Text

Han Sooyoung was once again hard at work at Deja Brew, the music and hissing of the espresso machine fading into the background as her fingers flew across the keys. Her americano had long gone cold, sitting forgotten beside her laptop as she focused single-mindedly on her screen.

She was on a roll this morning—the series chronicling the misadventures of The Reader and The Gamer had gotten traction with her subscribers, and fortunately, this story seemed to still be developing. The enemies were clearly on the path to becoming lovers, and all Han Sooyoung had to do was bear witness to it. Her morale was at a high. She’d officially reclaimed her mojo.

Suddenly a breeze ruffled her short-cropped hair, and the bell above the door ding-dinged, announcing a new customer.

Right on schedule at 8:15 am sharp.

Han Sooyoung’s pulse inadvertently sped up as she spotted her—the gorgeous brunette that always made her stop and stare.

She tracked the woman as she approached the counter to order and watched the shapes her lips made as she spoke to the barista. It was difficult to tear her eyes away. This woman seemed to move in slow motion, her hair glossy, shoulder-length, looking like it was straight out of a shampoo commercial—her smile was bright and refreshing.

For weeks now, Han Sooyoung had been watching her. She would come in somewhere between 8:12 and 8:17 am, order something new nearly every day, and then take a seat by the front window at a table for two. And if that table happened to be taken, she would sit at a table near Sooyoung’s, close enough that she could smell her fresh, youthful perfume.

Who was she, Sooyoung wondered?

She was always dressed well—she was smart, a real academic type. Maybe she was an editor or a college professor, stopping for a cup of coffee before heading to her office downtown. This woman was a creature of habit, besides her penchant for trying new flavors. She wore the same beiges, browns, and pinks, light and lovely colors that complemented her bright smile. She made even the most mundane thing, like drinking coffee, look like an art form.

As the pretty brunette stepped aside to wait for her order, Han Sooyoung tore her eyes away and forced herself to focus on her laptop screen once more. But her thoughts lingered on the woman as she stood just in her periphery, even as her fingers resumed typing.

Han Sooyoung mused on this one-sided relationship she had with this complete stranger. Every morning she watched and admired her, imagined her life, decided her personality traits and backstory—yet they'd never exchanged a glance, let alone a single word. And chances were that she would never meet the beautiful stranger, and she'd never know anything about her besides what she had invented in her head, reality never coming to overwrite the fiction.

But that was alright—it was the way with a writer, always meant to sit back and watch the world go by. To be inspired by everyday happenings, call them beautiful, and muse on them in silence. She was satisfied to watch this blip in her routine and allow the fantasy to continue.

Han Sooyoung was just about refocused on her writing when the barista appeared beside her table.

“One americano,” he said with a polite smile, replacing Han Sooyoung’s cold drink.

Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh, I didn’t order this.”

“It’s on us.”

“On you?”

“Another customer already paid for your drink,” said the barista, turning to leave. “Enjoy.”

Sooyoung’s eyes shot across the cafe to the pretty brunette sitting by the front window. Her lips were curled into a wry grin. Sooyoung was caught completely off guard, only able to blink in surprise as the beautiful stranger gathered her things and approached the table.

“I hope you don’t mind me sending that over,” she began, tilting her head with an unapologetic smile. “I’ve noticed you hard at work every morning, and I just wanted to say thank you for brightening up the place.”

Han Sooyoung sat absolutely stunned. What was she supposed to say to this radiant woman that she’d been admiring from afar for weeks? This woman who was now suddenly speaking to her and shamelessly flirting with her, at that?

The woman picked up her slack and gestured to the empty seat across from her. “Could I join you for a bit?”

“Yeah. Of course,” replied Sooyoung, hoping to god that her shock wasn’t showing on her face as she shut her laptop and moved her jacket and work bag to make room. “Thank you for this, by the way,” she said, nodding to the fresh hot americano. “That’s so kind of you.”

“It’s my pleasure,” said the woman, smoothing her skirt as she sat down.

“I’m Han Sooyoung.”

“Yoo Sangah.”

So the beauty had a name, and it was pretty. “What do you do, Miss Yoo Sangah?”

And the beauty was smiling at her. “Human Resources.”

And the beauty worked in HR.

The conversation seemed to flow easily from there, the two of them falling into a rhythm, holding eye contact. More than once, Han Sooyoung caught Yoo Sangah’s eyes flickering down to her lips, and Yoo Sangah doubtless noticed Han Sooyoung’s eyes tracing her features.

She was captivating. It was amazing she could be so enchanted with someone right away—that wasn’t Han Sooyoung’s usual MO. Unsurprisingly, Yoo Sangah was not the woman Han Sooyoung imagined she might be—she was even better than anything she could have ever invented.

“So, what is it that you’re always writing?” asked Yoo Sangah with a charming tilt of her head. “You always seem so…zeroed in.”

“It’s nothing special,” said Sooyoung, shrugging. “I blog and guest write in between major projects. That’s what you’re probably seeing.”

“What do you blog about?” asked Sangah.

“That’s also nothing special,” replied Sooyoung, with a chuckle. “Whatever my thoughts happen to be that week.”

Yoo Sangah hummed thoughtfully. “That sounds interesting, actually. I’d love to see inside your head. Though you do have a captivating writing face. All serious, focused. Very sexy.”

Han Sooyoung blinked. Bold—this one was very bold. She did her best to still her racing heart and grinned back at her. “Captivating, huh? I could say the same about you.”

Yoo Sangah’s smile grew. “Could you, now?”

“Obviously. You’re aware that you’re gorgeous.”

Yoo Sangah’s laugh was light and melodic—Sooyoung found it addicting. Infectious. “You don’t mince words. I like that.”

Just then, her phone chimed.

“Ah, that’ll be my cue,” said Yoo Sangah with a sigh. “My work alarm.”

“A shame,” said Sooyoung, genuinely sorry to see her go.

Yoo Sangah was pulling on her jacket as she held Han Sooyoung’s gaze. “We should do this again sometime. I’d love to learn more about the writing process. Maybe…we could get dinner?”

“Dinner sounds perfect,” said Sooyoung with a smile.

As they exchanged numbers, she found herself wondering how soon was too soon to message her and lock in plans. Wasn’t there something about a three-day rule? Or was that for after the date?

Everything about this woman was intriguing. She didn’t want to follow any outdated romcom rules.

That’s why she decided to take a risk.

She looked the gorgeous brunette up and down and asked, “Actually…are you doing anything right now?”

“Right now?” Yoo Sangah raised one perfectly-manicured eyebrow and pursed her lips to hide a smile. “Well, now that you mention it, I may have to call out of work today. I seem to be coming down with some kind of bug.”

Han Sooyoung grinned. “That’s too bad.”

She quickly packed her bag as Yoo Sangah called the office, citing a sore throat and fever.

And as they left the cafe together, Han Sooyoung felt a flutter of anticipation in her chest—the unmistakable, pulse-quickening sensation of a new beginning.

“So what did you have in mind?” asked Yoo Sangah, who knew full well what Han Sooyoung had in mind.

“I thought we could head back to mine. You know, see my writing set up?” said Sooyoung, managing a straight face.

“Great idea,” said Sangah, who was already stepping into the street to hail a cab.

Now, if this had been a romcom, Han Sooyoung would have pulled Yoo Sangah into a heated kiss the moment that they got into the taxi.

But this wasn’t a romcom—so they were mindful of the cabbie and kept a respectable amount of space between them. Though they did entwine their pinkies on the pleather seat, which was scandalous enough on its own.

Fortunately, Han Sooyoung’s place was very close by—close enough to walk. She tried to tell Yoo Sangah as much, but she’d insisted this was faster. And it was. They arrived in only a few minutes.

In a romcom, Sooyoung imagined Sangah might have pressed her up against the mirrored wall of the elevator, and they’d share a heated kiss. She’d tangle her fingers in Yoo Sangah’s hair and forget where she was for a moment with a pounding heart.

They’d momentarily pause when the doors opened to make sure they were alone and then shamelessly continue all the way up the hall, barely able to contain themselves as Han Sooyoung dug for her keys to open her door.

But this wasn’t a romcom—instead, they stood side by side in the elevator and made eye contact in their reflections, and exchanged a quiet smile as Sooyoung unlocked her door.

It was a shame this wasn’t a romcom, because Sooyoung would have loved to tumble through the door with Yoo Sangah, the two of them discarding articles of clothing as they stumbled through her apartment between kisses. And now that they were finally alone, Sooyoung would press her against the balcony door and see what kinds of sounds Yoo Sangah could make. They might never even make it to the bedroom.

But because this wasn’t a romcom, she ushered Yoo Sangah into her professionally decorated living room. In a romcom, Yoo Sangah would be laid on that sofa, thought Han Sooyoung.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” she asked.

Yoo Sangah took a seat on the sofa and their eyes locked. “Just you. Over here. That’ll do.”

Han Sooyoung laughed and joined her on the couch, heart racing as she moved close to her. And Yoo Sangah, the only woman Han Sooyoung had ever met that could make her feel so flustered, took her hand and guided her even closer still.

Yoo Sangah murmured, “I’m looking forward to getting to know you better.”

And Han Sooyoung replied softly, “The feeling is mutual.”

When had their lips gotten close enough to touch, and which one of them closed the distance first?

Han Sooyoung found herself losing track of what was happening. One second she was at Yoo Sangah’s side, chin tilted up to accept a heated kiss. And then the next, she was straddling Yoo Sangah’s lap, making the most unfamiliar noises.

“This,” murmured the brunette, tugging on Han Sooyoung’s sweater. “Off.”

No, this was definitely not a romcom—if it were, it would have all faded to black by now.

Chapter 5: Living Life Online

Chapter Text

Life more or less went back to normal for Kim Dokja—at least, that’s what he told himself. He’d gone back to his routine, reading on his commute and before settling into bed, but ever since he collided with Yoo Joonghyuk, something felt different.

His brand new, fancy phone was proof that the whole thing hadn't been some kind of weird dream. Its buttery smooth screen and multi-day battery life made the web novel reading experience better than ever, and, in theory, he should have been completely absorbed in catching up on the updates he'd missed. But for some reason, he couldn't stay focused. During his commute, he found himself glancing around subway cars and platforms on the off chance that he might see a familiar black leather jacket lurking around. Whenever he queued up his usual series at home, he'd end up staring into space after a few paragraphs, reading the same lines over and over but not retaining the meaning, restless and bored.

What was wrong with him? He chalked it up to the disruption in his routine; his reading muscle memory had gone a bit soft. It would go back to normal soon enough.

But perhaps there were times, really only once or twice late at night when he was worn out, that Kim Dokja's mind would wander to Yoo Joonghyuk. He'd wonder what he was up to right then, if he was streaming, if he should call him and bug him about getting dinner, if they'd even end up crossing paths again. But he would blink the thoughts away, reminding himself that the ordeal could be over if he just pretended that Yoo Joonghyuk didn't exist—their business had been concluded.

But still...on nights like those, Kim Dokja pondered what he should do. Strictly because Yoo Joonghyuk had inconvenienced him, and because he clearly knew the best places in town to eat. Of course.

So tonight, Dokja was laid on his couch, blankly scrolling through yet another web novel chapter on his phone when that funnyfeeling struck again. Before he knew it, his mind had conjured up the image of Yoo Joonghyuk sitting at the cafe, looking askance as he lifted his cup to take a sip of black coffee.

He sat up straighter and rubbed his forehead, willing the flashback to disappear. Why was this happening so much lately?

It must have been because the man was so infuriating. "I like a cheap date." Bastard.

Maybe this was like getting a song stuck in your head—just his brain’s attempt to fill in a gap in the auditory cortex—but the visual version. It stood to reason that looking at the man would get it out of his head.

Before Dokja could overanalyze it, he had closed his web novel and navigated to Joonghyuk’s streaming channel, only to find that he wasn’t live yet, but he would be in an hour.

Dokja blinked at the countdown displayed prominently on the page when it dawned on him how weird it was that he’d just stalked the guy who broke his phone.

With a deep, confused sigh, he closed the browser and tried to refocus on reading the chapter he'd abandoned: yet another scene from the web novel he'd been so hungrily reading when he ran face-first into Yoo Joonghyuk's chest. In the end, the supposed romantic moonlit confession scene had been a fake-out. The author had no intention of letting them get together only a few hundred chapters in. If he'd just been a few sentences farther along, he might not have even met Yoo Joonghyuk in the first place.

Dokja groaned and placed his phone on his chest—he was thinking about him again. He risked a glance at the time, and barely three minutes had passed.

This cycle repeated itself over the next hour. Kim Dokja would read a few paragraphs before he realized he was glazed over, and he’d check the time again. He just couldn’t concentrate. His eyes invariably always drifted back to the clock.

It did occur to him once or twice that what he was doing might look like waiting with bated breath for that bastard’s stream to begin so that he could watch him sitting there playing video games. But in reality, it wasn’t anything like that. This was intended to cure this strange affliction, not fuel it.

But nonetheless, when the time came and the countdown on Yoo Joonghyuk’s page ticked down to zero, Kim Dokja sat tensed, opening that stream. And as it loaded, he was cursing himself—this was stupid. So stupid. Why was Kim Dokja still thinking about this man?

When the video feed popped up, there he was: Yoo Joonghyuk sitting at his desk in an obscenely sleeveless shirt that showed off his muscular arms, and a large, pastel purple pair of headphones over his frankly perfectly tousled hair, his intense gaze focused on the screen. Dokja frowned. Of course this asshole would wear sponsored headphones in the most unmanly color and manage to make them look like the bastion of masculinity. The man looked unfairly good in pastels.

Joonghyuk was silent, already immediately fully engrossed in the first-person shooter gameplay, his strong hands working the mouse and keyboard with quick, precise movements.

The chat on the side flew by lightning-fast with a surprising number of viewers screaming their adoration and sending gifts.

oppa lookin fine today~~

marry me joonghyuk oppa I’ll be the best husband

King of fps, no one comes close to him

joonghyuk notice me I love you

Dokja’s frown deepened. It was frankly impressive that Yoo Joonghyuk could be so popular with so many people when he had the personality of a rock. A sexy rock, but a rock nonetheless.

The man did have admirable qualities—he was clearly dedicated to his career and spent ages honing those skills. And he definitely had a stoic charisma that compelled people to watch. That couldn't be chalked up to his luck with the looks lottery, although he did also look good on camera. He'd definitely worn that sleeveless shirt on purpose, and the chat loved it.

Dokja studied the stream for a while longer, observing his techniques and apparent athletic prowess. Despite knowing that Joonghyuk was irritating and insufferable about gaming, Dokja couldn't deny the professional gamer was mesmerizing to watch. The way he dominated so effortlessly, his reactions so lightning-quick, his movements so elegant and controlled that they might even look staged if he didn't know any better. On-screen, he expertly maneuvered his soldier through a bombed-out building, picking off enemies left and right with an efficient, brutal grace and flawless precision.

It was impossible to deny—the way his eyes looked when intensely focused, the way he breathed so evenly even in stressful moments, the sheer magnetism that seemed to radiate through the screen…

Dokja sat back on the couch with a groan.

This was a mistake. Watching Yoo Joonghyuk on stream wasn't making this better. It was making it so, so much worse. Why did he have to be so damn gripping? What was his problem?

And yet, Dokja couldn't bring himself to leave the stream. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, itching to type something. Anything. He scoffed at himself. As if he'd ever stoop so low as to participate in a live chat like this. He wasn't some starstruck fan fawning over a celebrity. This was Yoo Joonghyuk, for crying out loud. That insufferable bastard.

If he ever found out about this, Dokja would never hear the end of it. The mockery would be endless.

Dokja could practically hear that deep voice now: "Couldn't stay away, could you?"

No, Kim Dokja was above all that. He was just...observing. For research purposes. Definitely not creating a throwaway account called "notbot3000" right this very second. And he certainly wasn't typing out a message in the chat box.

notbot3000: Hello everyone! Fine day for a first person shooter.

He stared at the screen in horror. What the hell had he just done?

yaoiangel: omg is it actually a bot??

secretiveplotter: ^bot

Xx_dragond33znutz_xX: f*ckin bots are everywhere now

bootlicker_41: boot the bot

m0nke: mods get this thing out of here

Heat rose to Dokja’s cheeks as the accusations and calls for his ban rolled in. He’d offhandedly worried about sticking out like a sore thumb, but this had backfired even more spectacularly than he imagined.

The name could be seen as bot-like, but it was clearly a joke. Were they messing with him, or had he really just crashed and burned that quickly?

Well, this was the internet—a place where people made snap judgments and overreacted all the time.

Swallowing the humiliation, he typed out in explanation:

notbot3000: I’m just a person enjoying the stream. Yoo Joonghyuk is a talented professional.

Right—this was a completely normal thing for a person of his age to be doing on the internet. Absolutely normal.

But the chat moved fast, and his message was swallowed up by the sea of responses, flying by almost too rapidly to read, though he did catch the words “bot” several more times.

notbot3000: Why is this so hard to understand? Joonghyuk is skilled, his technique is amazing. The way he stays focused so long is incredible. He has amazing stamina!

Xx_dragond33znutz_xX: jfc bro

cookingmama881: omfg hes not a bot hes a fanboy

yaoiangel: simp!! JOONGHYUK SIMP!!!!

secretiveplotter: 👀

monke: who let a simp bot in here

sh0rtk1ng777: lmaoooo the bot is malfunctioning

Kim Dokja was utterly mortified now. How on earth did they get that? He wanted to delete everything but his messages were completely buried in the constant stream of chatter.

This was hopeless. He’d somehow made things even worse by drawing attention to himself. Slumping back on the couch, Kim Dokja resigned himself to the fact that he should really, truly avoid anything to do with the distracting bastard gamer Yoo Joonghyuk.

Suddenly, Joonghyuk’s intense gaze flicked up towards the webcam mid-game, and somehow, Dokja knew those eyes were directed right at him, pinning him in place.

Joonghyuk abruptly spoke, his rich baritone a shock after so much silence.

“Chat. Enough,” he said, his stern brows drawing together slightly. “Pipe down, or I’ll have mods ban the annoying ones.”

The chat instantly exploded.

Xx_dragond33znutz_xX: BRO

63rdirtmunchr: joonghyuk oppa is whipped for the bot!!!

yaoiangel: MY OTP

secretiveplotter: 👀 👀 👀

dumplin999: ⛵️

monke: lmao joonghyuk oppa and his simp bot

Kim Dokja could die. He would be happy to, in fact. If he could, he’d like to reach through the screen and violently shake Yoo Joonghyuk. Why did he have to provoke them? Why did he have to make it worse?

His vow to avoid this man only cemented as the chat had a field day shipping them. Dokja would never show his face here ever again.

Jaw clenched, Joonghyuk glared towards the camera. “I warned you. You know the rules. Mods.”

Usernames began to disappear as messages were deleted and accounts were banned. The chat devolved into further chaos.

monke: it’s the ban hammer!!!

Xx_dragond33znutz_xX: thank f*ck

dumplin999: ⛵️⛵️⛵️

monke: well it’s been nice knowing you boys

yaoiangel: WORTH IT FOR MY SHIP ILL DIE FOR THEM

bootlicker_41: lol bye bot

dumplin999: ⛵️⛵️⛵️

cookingmama881: ⛵️

63rdirtmunchr: ⛵

To Kim Dokja’s horror and relief, his username vanished next as he was booted from the chat, and before he knew it his screen showed a default “You have been banned from commenting” message. The video stream itself froze and closed out a moment later, leaving his phone displaying only an image of Yoo Joonghyuk staring intensely into the webcam, eyebrows drawn in annoyance.

“Really?” Dokja yelled into his empty apartment. He gently set his phone beside him in frustration.

Picking it back up, he found himself staring at the image of Joonghyuk’s unfairly perfect, chiseled face. And his stupid cute purple headphones. Kim Dokja felt yet another flare of resentment. Why did he have to look like that?

This was truly bad for his mental health.

Sighing in disgust, Dokja locked his phone. He needed a long, hot shower. And maybe a lobotomy. And so, once again, he resigned himself to avoiding Yoo Joonghyuk, who only seemed to cause him distress.

A few hours later, Dokja was getting ready for bed, standing before the bedroom mirror with wet hair, vigorously brushing his teeth when he caught sight of his exhausted expression in the mirror. He wondered—as he often did—whether he should start going to bed early and cut back on his nightly reading habit.

Then he heard his phone vibrating from the other room and frowned. An odd hour for someone to be calling him, of all people. He took one step out of the bathroom and craned his neck to see the caller ID—Yoo Joonghyuk.

He nearly choked. Hours had passed since the stream fiasco. What the hell was he doing calling him now?

Before he realized he was scrambling, Dokja was already rushing to rinse his mouth and hurriedly wipe his face. It only hit him as he was grabbing for his phone, which was still buzzing on his bed, that he about dove across the room.

“Hello?” he answered breathlessly, drying his cheeks with his shirt, heart racing without explanation.

“You made quite a mess of things earlier,” came that even, blunt tone over the line. “Had to ban a dozen accounts thanks to your stunt.”

Dokja’s heart sank. How did he know? No. There was no way in hell he could know that was him. He attempted nonchalance. “…mess? What the hell are you talking about, Yoo Joonghyuk?”

“I’m talking about you coming into my stream and causing total chaos.”

“I’m sorry? I think you have me confused for somebody else,” Dokja scoffed.

“I don’t think so. Only you could cause that level of disorder in 10 seconds flat.”

Dokja was incredulous. He switched gears to offense. “Excuse me? Why on earth would I even be on your stupid gaming stream?”

Joonghyuk was unfazed. “You already admitted it earlier. ‘Yoo Joonghyuk is skilled, his technique is amazing—’ should I go on?”

Dokja’s face burned at the sound of his own absolutely cringe-worthy words being thrown back at him.

“You don’t know those were from me,” he said, trying his best not to sound as bewildered as he felt.

“Oh? And who else would be simping for me at this hour?” asked Joonghyuk.

“Okay, I was not simping,” said Dokja, dragging a hand down his face. “I was trying to point out your…admirable traits.”

“Admirable, huh?”

“You’re taking that out of context.”

“Then please explain the proper context for,” he paused, “Calling me ‘skilled’ with ‘amazing stamina?’”

Kim Dokja could hear Yoo Joonghyuk’s smug grin through the phone. “Don’t you have anything better to do than harass your viewers?”

A pause. “I don’t harass my viewers. Only you.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you’re interesting.”

Kim Dokja’s irritation was rising once again. “So you called me past 11 at night to levy baseless accusations against me just because…I’m interesting?”

“It’s not baseless if I know it was you,” Joonghyuk stated matter-of-factly. “But no. There was another reason. Our agreement.”

Dokja’s irritation suddenly felt more like intrigue. “Agreement?”

“About making up for breaking your phone. You said you required a nice meal.”

Dokja’s lips curled into a grin. “What, you suddenly want to take me out to dinner?”

There was a telling pause. Then, “You’re coming over tomorrow evening.”

Dokja blinked. Was that a threat? “…why?”

“I’ll send my address. Be there at 7.”

Dokja bristled. “What’s the big idea, Yoo Joonghyuk? Are you trying to butter me up? I said you owed me a nice meal!”

Over the line, he could hear Yoo Joonghyuk’s annoyed huff. “Don’t be late.”

Then Joonghyuk hung up, leaving Dokja standing in his bedroom, phone in hand, baffled.

Joonghyuk had invited him over to his own home, offered to cook dinner and host. Not to go anywhere, just…to be in an enclosed space with him to eat a meal together. And what’s more, Joonghyuk had told him to come over the following night—he hadn’t even asked. Dokja was reminded that the professional gamer was a celebrity of sorts as he glanced around his own humble apartment. This turn of events was truly baffling. What the hell was he playing at?

His phone vibrated with an incoming text containing Yoo Joonghyuk’s address. Well, it was real now.

He set his phone aside and collapsed into bed, his mind running in circles.

Chapter 6: Bad Advice

Chapter Text

Han Sooyoung traced shapes on Yoo Sangah's skin as they lay tangled in the sheets, captivated, studying and memorizing her features. She was always radiant, but like this, in the pale light of the moon, she seemed to glow like some kind of goddess.

Lazily, slowly, Yoo Sangah's eyes drifted open and her face broke out into a warm, sleepy smile. “Still awake?”

Sooyoung hummed in response.

With a rustle, Sangah pressed closer to her and sighed. "You're pretty."

"Funny, I was just thinking the same thing," murmured Sooyoung, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. "And just wondering how I got so lucky."

Yoo Sangah adjusted, angling her head to meet Sooyoung's gaze evenly. "Well, I grew a pair and bought you a drink, didn't I?"

"I'm glad you did," said Sooyoung, her eyes sparkling with amusem*nt.

"Me too," replied Sangah. "I've had my eye on you for weeks now, you know."

Han Sooyoung's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Wait, really? Why didn’t you say anything before?”

"You just looked so...focused," said Sangah, gazing up at her from beneath her bangs. "Always sitting there, writing with this intense look on your face. It was like watching an artist at work…I kind of wanted to preserve you like that.”

Han Sooyoung could relate to that feeling—more than Yoo Sangah knew—though the difference was that she probably never would have found the guts to approach her. She had been perfectly content admiring Yoo Sangah from afar, conjuring up an idealized version of her in her head.

She felt heat rising in her cheeks and was thankful that it was far too dark for Yoo Sangah to see. It felt so backward, to be looked at this way—like she was the one worth admiring. Especially looking at this picturesque beauty beside her in bed, skin luminous, eyes wide and fixed on her, lips so naturally full. Her entire being captured light and shone. She was straight out of a Renaissance painting, the way the sheets had slid down her side and gathered at her hip. Han Sooyoung reached out and placed her hand at the top of Yoo Sangah's hipbone, where the light seemed to pool.

"Come here," she murmured, and Yoo Sangah closed the distance, capturing her lips in a soft kiss. This feeling of skin on skin was intoxicating. It was so thrilling to want and be wanted back this badly.

Yoo Sangah pulled her closer, and the smallest of satisfied sounds slipped through her lips. But just then, Sooyoung's phone buzzed on the side table.

"Saved by the bell?" Sangah pulled back, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Sooyoung rolled over and silenced it without looking. "They can wait until morning."

When she turned back to Yoo Sangah, she drew her into another kiss with a contented sigh. Then the phone started buzzing again.

Yoo Sangah sighed. “I think the universe is trying to tear us apart.”

Han Sooyoung groaned in frustration, briefly considering launching her phone across the room. "Who the hell…?"

Yoo Sangah gave her one more lingering kiss before settling into the pillow. "Go on then, answer it."

With a resigned huff, Sooyoung grabbed her phone from the bed. Kim Dokja's name flashed on her screen, and she raised an eyebrow, suddenly intrigued.

"Actually, I should take this," she said, getting to her feet and reaching for her robe. "Go on to sleep without me, okay?"

Yoo Sangah gave a small sound of acknowledgment, and Han Sooyoung picked up the call, stepping out into the living room and gently closing the bedroom door behind her.

"Hello?"

Kim Dokja's bewildered voice came crystal clear through the speaker. "Hi, I know it's late."

"Yeah, I was just turning in, but it's fine. You know me," she replied, settling onto her couch and running a hand through her tousled hair. "It's not like I ever sleep anyway."

Dokja chuckled. "Oh, I didn't think you were sleeping. I just thought you might have company."

Sooyoung couldn't suppress the smile that tugged at her lips. "Listen. Actually, I'm sort of seeing someone."

There was a brief pause. "Wait, really?"

"Why do you sound so surprised?" she asked with a touch of indignation.

"Because you declared, as recently as this month, that you'd never be tied down?" Dokja countered, unimpressed.

"I never said that," said Sooyoung. "But even if I had, which I didn't, it would've theoretically been before I met this person."

The ensuing silence stretched on, and Han Sooyoung could practically hear the gears turning in Kim Dokja's head as he searched for the perfect quip or jab.

But the pause went on for too long. “…hello?"

"Wow," Dokja finally said, his voice softer than expected. “It’s just— that’s…that’s great. That's really great, Sooyoung. I'm really happy you found someone who makes you feel this way."

“Thanks.” The sincerity in his words caught her off guard, and a warm, fuzzy feeling bloomed in her chest. It was strange. “So, what can I do for you?"

Dokja sighed. "Well, Yoo Joonghyuk called me, and—"

"Oh?"

"It's... sort of a long story," he admitted.

Han Sooyoung reached for the throw blanket draped over the armrest to cozy up. "I've got time."

As Kim Dokja recounted the events of the night—from the stream to the chat to the phone call—Han Sooyoung retrieved her laptop from her work bag, her fingers flying across the keys as she took notes. This story was unfolding in real-time, and Kim Dokja was giving her a front-row seat. She couldn't just let the opportunity slip by.

"So... then he actually did send me his address, and it all just hit me at once," Dokja said, his voice strained. "How strange all of this is. None of it makes any sense."

Sooyoung typed as quietly as she could. “It…it doesn’t?”

He groaned. "No! The only thing that even remotely makes sense is that he's trying to complete our agreement so I'll leave him alone. I mean, I did sort of throw a wrench into his stream."

She frowned. "Uh-huh."

"Like when we went to that coffee place, right? He wanted to get me off his back, and that was the cheapest way to do it?"

"Uh…"

"I just don't know why he wouldn't do the same thing," he said, thinking aloud. "He could just take me somewhere dirt cheap. Or hell, he could just give me a gift card and call it a day. But no—he's choosing to do this to skip out on a tab. What kind of cheap bastard invites a perfect stranger into their home rather than just shell out for a meal? It makes me wonder—”

Han Sooyoung was in awe. She almost had to put the phone down as he continued to ramble and take a lap of the living room. Kim Dokja was an idiot, sure, but she'd never seen him completely miss such a glaring signal. And this was exactly the type of misunderstanding that would be perfect in her series.

And he was still rambling. “—and I'm just unsure whether I should give in to his demands. Dinner is dinner, but it's not what was really in our agreement. If I go, he wins."

She gave a put-upon sigh. "You're killing me, Dokja."

"I know, I know, I shouldn't have tuned in to his stream."

"Why did you watch his stream, anyway? You mentioned something about a…" She checked her notes. "'…brain worm?'"

"It's like an ear worm," he said matter-of-factly. "When something just gets stuck in your head."

Han Sooyoung blinked. "Like you can't stop thinking about him?"

"No!" said Kim Dokja, sounding disgusted. "Nothing like that. I just found myself replaying when we got coffee in my mind's eye and it was pissing me off."

She furrowed her brows, silently trying to get to the meaning beneath his utter nonsense. "Let me repeat this back to you, just so I know that I understand what you just said to me: you had to watch Yoo Joonghyuk's stream because you couldn't stop thinking about him?"

"No," said Dokja with a scoff, "He was just in my mind's eye."

"That's the same thing. Your mind's eye exists in your mind."

"This is semantics, and it doesn't matter," Dokja snapped.

"And you wanted to join the chat on his stream because you…" She checked her notes again. "Actually, I don't think you explained that. Why did you do that?"

He groaned. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore! Nothing makes sense.”

Han Sooyoung could practically hear him banging his head against the wall. She could help him out and feed him the answer, though given how in denial he was, she might break him in the process. But on the other hand, at this rate, he'd go to this man's house, blunder his way through it, and nip Han Sooyoung's developing romcom blog series in the bud before it ever had the chance to mature from the com into rom.

Besides, he'd called her for help.

"It's a date."

"I wish you would stop saying that."

"No, listen," said Sooyoung. "You made excellent points. Yoo Joonghyuk didn't have to do any of this, did he?"

Silence from Kim Dokja's end.

"It stands to reason that he's doing this because he wants to. Yoo Joonghyuk is interested in you,” she continued. "And you, my friend, you are in the same boat."

Still no response.

"You don't think about anyone, ever. If you don't care about someone, they just fade into the background, don't they?" she asked, typing rapidly into her notes—this was gold. "But this guy is different, isn't he?"

Dokja's voice came weak through the speaker. "He's just an admirable guy."

"Honey, you couldn't keep your eyes off of him."

Dokja scoffed weakly. "Who could?"

"Me. I could. He's attractive, sure, but he's not my type."

"Obviously. You're gay."

She let that hang in the air a moment longer than necessary. "Yeah, exactly. He's not my type. Now you, on the other hand—"

"No."

Han Sooyoung could feel it—the realization was imminent.

"You're wrong."

"Am I?”

"Yes! Yoo Joonghyuk is the kind of guy that demands attention. You haven't met him," said Dokja with a nervous scoff.

Sooyoung made a face. "Why would that matter?"

"It just does," he snapped.

She sighed, imagining placing her hand on his shoulder comfortingly. "Let's say you go over there tomorrow and his wife is there. How would you feel about that?"

"He's not married."

"You don't know that."

Kim Dokja took a beat too long to reply. "I'd feel fine."

"Alright, so let's say you go over there, and—"

"This is ridiculous, Sooyoung," he said dryly.

"Let's say you're right. Let’s say he's not married. What if he said he was interested in you?"

Silence on the other end, and the smile on her face slowly grew. "Dokja?"

"Yeah." He was clearing his throat. "He…he wouldn't say something like that."

Sooyoung hummed thoughtfully. "Then let's just do this thought experiment. What would you do?"

He laughed incredulously. "Nothing, because that would never happen. It's ridiculous.”

"Why is it ridiculous?" she asked, a little louder than intended, "You don't think someone could be interested in you?"

"No. Because I'm not interesting."

“Yoo Joonghyuk said otherwise.”

"Yoo Joonghyuk doesn't even like me, and I don't like him!"

A resounding silence filled Han Sooyoung's ear.

"Yeah, that's just ridiculous, and you're no help, and I think…I need to go to bed. It's late.” Dokja sounded distant.

She woke up her laptop again. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

She paused and sighed. "For what it's worth, I think you're a great guy. And if Yoo Joonghyuk doesn't, I'll kick his ass."

A little, empty chuckle on the other end. "I'll make sure to tell him that."

And Han Sooyoung was already typing while the scene was still fresh in her mind.

"Goodnight, Sooyoung."

"Goodnight, Dokja. Tell me what you decide to do, okay? I'm rooting for you."

“Yeah, thanks.”

Han Sooyoung ended the call with a smile on her face. She glanced at the time—it really was late. But she couldn't lose all the great stuff he said, so she immediately opened up her document to start outlining the scene.

“Who was that?”

Sooyoung froze, fingers hovering over the keys as Yoo Sangah leaned against the doorframe in her periphery. When did the bedroom door open? How much could she have possibly heard? She feigned a casual, tired grin and shut her laptop.

“Oh, that was my friend Kim Dokja.” She set her laptop on the coffee table and looked up at Sangah, whose expression was perfectly blank, betraying nothing. “You remember Kim Dokja? The one I told you about who works at Minosoft?”

Yoo Sangah’s face fell. “The one who met the handsome stranger that’s trying to woo him?”

“Yeah, him.” The air had shifted.

“The one whose life makes for such entertaining content?”

Han Sooyoung’s stomach dropped.

“You said he was your friend,” Sangah bit out. “Do you just write about everyone like that?”

“No! Of course not. It’s not like that!” Sooyoung was getting to her feet, her hands raised imploringly.

“Is that what I am to you? A character?”

The room seemed to tilt, the floor unsteady beneath Han Sooyoung's feet. This felt beyond the realm of possibility. Was even this real, or was she just imagining the worst case scenario? “You know I’m a writer. I use inspiration from the things around me and the people in my life—”

“Inspiration? This is exploitation, Sooyoung,” Yoo Sangah shot back, looking so...vulnerable standing there in the doorway. This wasn’t happening.

Han Sooyoung took a step towards her, heart squeezing. Why couldn’t she breathe? She felt like she was gasping as she said, “You know I would never exploit you.”

“Do I? I feel like I don't even know you! I thought…” Yoo Sangah averted her gaze, blinking back tears as she let out a shaky sigh. “God, I’m so stupid. I was so naive.”

“Hey, no you’re—” Sooyoung reached for her, but she pulled away.

“I have to think about this,” she said bitterly.

Yoo Sangah turned and disappeared down the hallway before Sooyoung could say another word. This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t right. Her chest was burning.

“Hey…hey, just wait a minute,” Sooyoung called after her.

She rushed down the hall and caught the bathroom door just before it shut all the way. Yoo Sangah stood at the sink, wiping the smeared makeup from under her eyes.

“You don’t have to leave,” said Sooyoung, noting just how desperate her own voice sounded, “It’s late. We should talk about this. We can just go to bed and talk this out in the morning.”

“I think I’ve heard enough,” replied Sangah evenly, refusing to meet her gaze in the mirror.

Sooyoung stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

Sangah didn’t pull away or brush her off, but her brows furrowed, lips pressing together. She glanced up, but couldn’t keep her eyes on her. “I know you see the world through the eyes of a writer. It’s all about telling a good story,” said Yoo Sangah, voice wavering, “But my feelings are real. I’m not just some character in one of your stories.”

Han Sooyoung squeezed her shoulder, willing her to turn around and look at her. “I know that.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” she replied, shrugging off Sooyoung’s hand. “If you can’t separate reality from fiction I don’t think you can handle anything real.”

She moved to step past her, cosmetic bag in hand, but paused, searching her face one last time. As if begging for her to give her a reason to stay. But Han Sooyoung’s tongue felt heavy and sluggish. She tried to find the words to string into a sentence good enough to make Yoo Sangah stay. But she came up short.

After a long moment of silence, Yoo Sangah dropped her eyes.

“I’ll call you,” she murmured.

Han Sooyoung could only watch helplessly as she disappeared to grab her bag and her coat from the hallway.

And then came the sound of the front door clicking behind her.

And Han Sooyoung was stuck, feet rooted in place.

What had she done?

Chapter 7: Gay Panic

Chapter Text

“Yoo Joonghyuk is interested in you.”

It had been almost an hour since getting off the phone with Han Sooyoung, and Kim Dokja found himself staring up at the shadowy ceiling. Even with his fan whirring, the silence of his dark bedroom was deafening amidst the chatter in his brain. And those same six words echoed in his head on repeat.

“Yoo Joonghyuk is interested in you.”

He most certainly was not.

Wasn’t Kim Dokja doing this very same thing earlier tonight—lying restless just like this, mind running laps trying to analyze Yoo Joonghyuk’s every move?

And now here he was again analyzing the prospect of attraction. Dokja let out a huff. Attraction. As if that bastard was even capable of such a thing. Yes, perhaps it was naïve of him to presume disinterest on Joonghyuk’s part when even Han flirting-with-disaster Sooyoung had found someone real, someone who made her glow. But this was an entirely different matter…

Right?

“Yoo Joonghyuk is interested in you.”

With an adamant shake of his head, mussing his already-disheveled hair against the pillow, Kim Dokja began to scroll through their interactions in his mind, back to the very beginning.

The day they’d met, Joonghyuk had knocked Dokja’s phone right out of his hand and didn’t apologize. In fact, he’d glared down at him like he was a pebble in his designer shoe. And a week later, when confronted about repayment, the man had regarded him with little more than annoyance. They’d argued over coffee. And earlier tonight, Yoo Joonghyuk abruptly commanded Kim Dokja to come over for dinner. No questions or input allowed.

The audacity made Dokja bristle all over again.

He nodded against his sheets, brow furrowed. Yes, the only possibility was that this was all an attempt by Yoo Joonghyuk to conclude their inconvenient business swiftly and with minimal effort.

But then his mind wandered just a bit further.

“Yoo Joonghyuk is interested in you.”

He remembered the sight of Joonghyuk smiling from across the small cafe table, sunlight catching his eyes just so. And he felt that same flip in his stomach as before, when their hands accidentally touched.

No. No way. Han Sooyoung didn’t know what she was talking about. Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome wouldn’t waste affection on an unremarkable nobody like him.

Right?

Dokja dragged a hand down his face with a sigh. He couldn’t ignore the creeping suspicion that he was trying awfully hard to smother a flame of hope inside himself. He groaned into his darkened bedroom. Why was everything about Yoo Joonghyuk so damn confusing?

He remembered their debate on video games vividly. The subtle smile on Joonghyuk’s face when Dokja debated passionately, the way his intense black eyes remained fixed on him…

Dokja grabbed a pillow to plop on top of his face. This bastard was full of inconsistencies. One minute he was refusing to compensate him for breaking his phone, the next he was defending him from the chat mob. And another thing—why bring him two phones? Why opt to personally cook him dinner instead of some easier alternative?

Spiraling—Kim Dokja was spiraling.

“Yoo Joonghyuk is interested in you.”

He pressed the pillow down harder over his face, wondering if he could smother himself like this and avoid the whole mess.

Why was it so hard for him to accept what he felt might be true? That the handsome, blunt, aggravating, skilled professional gamer might actually, genuinely…no. Nope. It just didn’t line up! There had to be more reasonable explanations. He muffled a loud groan with his pillow. He was doomed to overthink this whole fiasco every waking minute if he didn’t find some distraction soon.

Kim Dokja smacked his alarm clock into silence three times before finally dragging himself out of bed with a yawn. He felt like he’d been run over by a truck, having only managed a few hours of sleep after failing to quiet his mind’s incessant screaming about You Joonghyuk’s baffling actions.

He put the coffee on, thoughts drifting to the way Joonghyuk had so readily offered him his business card when he could have simply brushed past or forked over whatever cash he felt appropriate to get him out of his face.

Kim Dokja paused, watching the coffee brew when a sudden realization hit him. “Wait. Was…was there an ulterior motive?”

No, no—that would be weird. Professionals handed out their business cards all the time in the corporate world. It was called networking. The phone number on his card may not have even been his personal number, right? Right—he wouldn't hand out his professional phone number to potential suitors.

Argh, focus!

He was late enough already.

On the packed morning train, Kim Dokja found himself adrift. His exhaustion was even worse than he thought; the gentle sway and rhythmic ca-clacking of the car on tracks was a sweet lull, threatening to pull him under. He allowed his eyes to shut, just for a moment.

Had Joonghyuk really defended him during his stream, or was he just doing his job? He’d called him "interesting" during their late-night phone call in that smooth voice of his…invited him over for dinner…and he said he didn’t do that with anyone else. Well, he said he wasn’t like that with any of his viewers, but it was entirely possible that Dokja had misinterpreted his meaning.

Maybe Joonghyuk’s eyes pierced into him for a different reason than he thought. Kim Dokja was still thinking about that steely gaze locking onto him when the ding of the closing doors made him jump out of his skin.

sh*t—this was his stop!

He lunged for the doors just as they slid shut in his face. He let out an audible groan, barely paying attention to the other passengers that were shooting him unsympathetic glances.

What a mess.

Kim Dokja mentally kicked himself the whole way to the next stop, and looped back around on the first train going in the opposite direction. The subway was bustling now, commuters zipping by, about to be late for work themselves.

Unfortunately, Kim Dokja was one of them—he clocked in 16 minutes late to work, which was late enough for a reprimand. Even so, he was glad to have something to anchor his wandering mind. A distraction. An obligation. A routine.

But work proved to be no match for his sleep-deprived, occupied mind. An hour later, Dokja was hunched in his seat, leaning all the way forward, squinting at his screen. The monthly report he’d just open might as well have been written in hieroglyphics. He sat back with an irritated huff, rubbing his eyes.

Behind his eyelids, he saw the vivid image of Yoo Joonghyuk choosing that charming window-front cafe table, the sunlight catching his striking features as he looked back to check that Dokja was still trailing behind him.

It made his heart stutter.

Joonghyuk probably just wanted to get away from other people; he was certainly an introvert and clearly hated ruckus. But maybe—just maybe—he’d hoped for an intimate setting, a chance to spark something beyond a business transaction.

“…Dokja. Kim Dokja!”

Dokja nearly leapt out of his chair, whirling around to find his manager standing behind him, arms crossed. "Y-yes?"

"You know the policy," his boss said gruffly, "If you're sick, stay home. Get out of here."

With his face burning and his mind still reeling, Kim Dokja gathered his things and hurriedly left the office. Thinking about Yoo Joonghyuk had officially become a hazard.

The train was empty on the commute home—he’d barely been at work an hour before clocking out again—and there were no travelers left going in this direction. He slumped into a seat, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

It was all meaningless details; none of it added up.

Yoo Joonghyuk playfully accusing him during that late-night call, his voice low and teasing.

Insisting on cooking Dokja dinner himself, making a whole production out of it.

The planes of Joonghyuk's face catching the morning sunlight as he glanced at Dokja when he thought he wasn't looking.

Kim Dokja's eyes flew open and his breath caught in his throat.

"f*ck."

Han Sooyoung had been right all along. Yoo Joonghyuk was interested in Kim Dokja.

Kim Dokja felt like a man lost at sea as he slowly drifted home, unable and unwilling to pay attention to his surroundings. He offered mumbled apologies to passersby and telephone poles alike, seeming to bump into both indiscriminately. He couldn’t tell them apart in this state.

His entire mind was occupied with one, singular, earth-shattering realization:

I’m attracted to Yoo Joonghyuk.

And oh god—he was really attracted to Yoo Joonghyuk. But what was worse, he liked Yoo Joonghyuk. And even worse than that—he really, really liked Yoo Joonghyuk.

It was by pure luck or divine providence that he made it home unscathed, seeing as he was operating on pure muscle memory. He punched in his door code and toed off his work shoes, dropping his bag to the floor with an unceremonious thump.

Shrugging off his jacket, he beelined for his bedroom and tipped himself back onto the bed.

Dust specks twirled lazily through the slats of sunlight filtering through the blinds. He counted the rotations of the ceiling fan, click…click…clicking rhythmically above where he lay motionless. 375…376…377…

At 400 he bolted upright.

This was ridiculous.

Kim Dokja was an adult man approaching 30, and he could handle new social situations while balancing confidence and vulnerability in equal measure.

He would just go. He’d go to Yoo Joonghyuk’s place for dinner. Yes—that’s what he would do. He would go, walk right up to Yoo Joonghyuk and…do what, exactly? Confess his feelings? Say, “Hey, Yoo Joonghyuk, I like you?”

He couldn't say that. Not to that arrogant, confusing, captivating bastard, who would just stare at Kim Dokja, tongue-tied, stammering, awkward. That intense gaze piercing, those sharp, thick eyebrows lifting in amusem*nt at the ineptitude of a 28 year-old office worker with no friends or hobbies and had never even been with a man.

Kim Dokja was pre-mortified.

He released a tortured groan into the air. This was hopeless. He was hopeless.

Maybe he should flee the country. Take up botany and live in the mountains somewhere far, far away from society, only emerging once this absolute catastrophe dissolved into the void from whence it came.

Pulling out his phone, Dokja looked at the texts Yoo Joonghyuk had sent him the night before. After giving him the address, Joonghyuk had told Kim Dokja exactly when he would be expected, and how.

How thoughtful. Jerk.

Kim Dokja read and re-read the messages, imagining dragging himself out of bed to take a shower, then getting ready for a date for the first time in ages, picking up a bottle of wine, then finding the shortest route to the address Joonghyuk had sent him. Fidgeting and swallowing down his frayed nerves the whole way.

All on less than three hours of sleep.

Yeah…yeah, he couldn’t do this.

Fortunately, Kim Dokja was fluent in letting people down, so when he began to draft a message to Yoo Joonghyuk canceling their dinner plans, he knew exactly what to say, and sent it before he could second-guess himself.

He chewed on his cheek, trying not to picture the look on Yoo Joonghyuk’s face when he realized he’d been rejected. But he didn’t have to worry for long—Joonghyuk’s reply came mere seconds later.

Kim Dokja: Hey, I hate to do this, but I woke up feeling awful today. I don’t think I’ll be feeling well enough for dinner tonight. Raincheck?
Yoo Joonghyuk: Tomorrow then.
Yoo Joonghyuk: Don't be late.

So he was really going to try to reschedule—this wasn’t a fluke, after all. Yoo Joonghyuk had wanted to spend time with him, and still did. He wasn’t going to take the out Dokja had given him

There was no denying it now: Yoo Joonghyuk was interested in him.

Dokja groaned and rolled onto his side, holding the phone inches from his face, staring at their short exchange. The difference between their messages was astounding. The tone, the intentions, the disconnect. Had Dokja always interacted with Joonghyuk like this, always on another page entirely? And in spite of that, they’d still been thinking of one another?

Come to think of it, Joonghyuk had been on Dokja’s mind a lot lately. The way he looked, the things he said, his actions, his motives, thoughts, desires, where he was, what he was doing…

Realization hit Kim Dokja like a speeding bus.

He’d been daydreaming about this man for weeks. He hadn’t only just developed this attraction, it had been brewing since the day they met.

Every single charged moment he’d written off as annoyance or outrage came crashing down. Lingering stares, his heart racing, his skin prickling whenever they made accidental contact. That was attraction. That was the unmistakable pull of desire, the spark of something more than casual acquaintance.

He’d read about it over, and over, and over again in web novels and yet he hadn’t been able to recognize it when it was staring him right in the face.

Kim Dokja mashed his palms to his eye sockets with a strangled cry of anguish.

Idiot! Moron! Fool!

He’d been utterly, hopelessly, completely smitten this whole goddamn time.

How the hell was he supposed to spend an entire evening alone with the man who had consumed his thoughts for weeks? The man whose very presence made his heart race and his palms sweat? The man who, despite being such an asshole and seeming to hate Dokja’s guts, seemed to genuinely want to spend time with him?

This self-awareness would be his doom, he just knew it. He would have little over 24 hours left of dignified life at this rate. Tomorrow, he would be a bumbling, blushing mess, tripping over his words—and his feet—in front of the one person he desperately wanted to impress.

Dokja groaned, burying his face in his pillow. Maybe if he just stayed like this, the world would forget about him. Maybe if he didn't move, didn't breathe, didn't think, he could pretend that none of this was happening. But even as he lay there, trying to will himself out of existence, his mind kept drifting back to Yoo Joonghyuk in the cafe. To his cutting glare and cutting words, slicing through every one of Dokja’s defenses. To the way he made Dokja feel alive and his nerve endings were on fire. The man was electric.

Damn it all to hell.

He was well and truly f*cked.

With a resigned sigh, Kim Dokja rolled over and stared at the ceiling. There was no escaping this. He liked Yoo Joonghyuk. He wanted Yoo Joonghyuk.

And so, Kim Dokja did what he did best: avoidance at all costs.

When Yoo Joonghyuk’s text lit up his phone the very next morning, prompting him for the confirmation that he’d be coming to dinner, Kim Dokja fumbled out an excuse about a sudden work deadline with all the grace of a newborn foal.

That earned him three days.

But then Yoo Joonghyuk texted again, signaling time was up.

Yoo Joonghyuk: I'm cooking tonight
Yoo Joonghyuk: Kim Dokja am I cooking tonight or not
Yoo Joonghyuk: Are you going to answer me
Kim Dokja: Yes! Sorry I've been in back to back calls all day 🥲
Yoo Joonghyuk: Are we on for 7
Kim Dokja: This is embarrassing. I forgot I have to go into the office early tomorrow, so I can't do dinner tonight. Raincheck?
Yoo Joonghyuk: Tomorrow is Saturday.
Kim Dokja: Yeah, you're telling me

Texts kept lighting up his phone over the next week, each met with excuse after excuse—a long day at work, an emergency repair in his apartment, non-refundable charity gala tickets. Dokja physically winced as he sent that last one, but nothing could compare to the terror of facing the object of his unexpected infatuation.

And when he realized his well of excuses was drying up, Kim Dokja altered his daily routine to minimize the possibility of crossing paths with Yoo Joonghyuk. He took meandering detours on his commute, first by catching the earlier train in the morning and the later train in the evening. Wearing a face mask in public just in case he did happen to see the offender somewhere on the subway. He kept a vigilant watch for Joonghyuk’s hulking frame and signature scowl on the street, and more than once he’d ducked into a convenience store when he thought he might’ve spotted that familiar perfect windswept hair or black leather jacket.

He knew it was pathetic, to be so terrified of running into him, and then disappointed when he didn’t. Praying not to see him, but anticipating it nonetheless.

Kim Dokja was tying himself up into knots.

That’s why, after two weeks with no relief, he was starting to wonder whether he should just call this whole thing off, and tell Yoo Joonghyuk point blank to leave him alone. Because while Dokja’s heart was soaring whenever Yoo Joonghyuk messaged him yet again, it plummeted down to his stomach when the time came to respond.

He couldn’t do this—he simply wasn’t equipped.

Yes, he was a coward. He had always been a coward. That was why, after 15 days of blowing off Yoo Joonghyuk, he still couldn’t bring himself to say yes or no.

Fortunately for him, fate would intervene yet again. Or rather, Han Sooyoung would intervene yet again.

It was late at night on the 15th day of avoiding Yoo Joonghyuk like the plague, and Kim Dokja had just gotten done making up yet another excuse to push back dinner plans—he was busy having a visit with his deceased father—and he was now curled up on the sofa with his phone, immersed in a web novel.

The protagonist had just stumbled upon the female love interest with another man, a second male love interest, and it was starting to seem like they were destined to be apart. Dokja’s heartstrings were being tugged as she ran after him, calling his name and reaching out to grasp his sleeve in desperation, when—

Bzzzzt…bzzzzt…bzzzzt…

His screen lit up with Han Sooyoung’s caller ID.

Kim Dokja sighed heavily as he was ripped out of the story and thrust back into the present. Squeezing his eyes shut, he grabbed his phone, and picked up. “If this is another social call, I’m hanging up,” he said flatly.

“Wait, don’t.” Han Sooyoung’s usually casual and breezy tone was sounding a lot more somber. “I owe you an explanation,” she continued. “And an apology.”

Kim Dokja sat up, his eyes suddenly clear. Was he dreaming? An apology, from Han Sooyoung?

“I…sort of realized I have an issue with boundaries,” she said quietly. “I took it too far and steamrolled you, and more than that, I knew it was wrong, but I did it anyway.”

“Uh,” Dokja blinked rapidly. “It’s okay…”

“No, it’s not.” She took a breath and sighed. “I didn’t even realize it on my own. I had a…a falling out with the person I was seeing because of the same issues, actually, and—” She broke off into a groan. “I f*cked up. I don’t treat people like people sometimes, and…I should really be in therapy.”

In all the years he’d known Sooyoung, he’d never heard her speak this way—she must have been deeply affected by all this.

Kim Dokja suddenly felt restless, and was compelled to get to his feet. “Wow, I’m…sorry to hear about that. You seemed happy.”

“I was,” she replied. “But I deserved it, and at this rate I’m going to lose you too, so I’m apologizing, and I really mean it. I’m sorry.”

He was speechless. All Dokja could manage was a short, “Ah. Th-thanks. That means a lot.”

A heavy silence hung in the air.

Until finally, Han Sooyoung released a deep breath. "So, um…how did things go, anyway?"

Dokja tensed, his grip tightening on the phone as he paced across his living room. "With Yoo Joonghyuk?" he repeated, trying to sound casual.

"Yeah, how was dinner at his place?"

"Right. So, about that—"

"You didn't go?”

"—I didn't go," he said. "Yeah."

Sooyoung sighed. "sh*t…Look, I'm sorry. It’s all my fault. I shouldn't have—"

"No, you were right," Dokja interrupted. He leaned against the window frame, his free hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. "About...about me."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "What do you mean?"

He hesitated, the words caught in his throat. "You know...the thing you said. About me being interested in Yoo Joonghyuk?”

"Oh." Sooyoung's voice was soft, almost surprised. "Well, yeah. I mean, it was pretty obvious."

Dokja groaned. "Was it really that obvious? Did everyone know I was into men before I did?"

“No, hey, relax," she said gently. "It's not like you were wearing your sexuality on your sleeve. I just...I've known you for a long time. I pick up on these things."

He sighed, closing his eyes. "Yeah. I guess you do."

"So...what's the problem? Why didn't you go to dinner with him?"

"I just couldn't," he said, frustration seeping into his voice. "I mean, you know how I am, Sooyoung. People like me don't end up with people like Yoo Joonghyuk."

"Why not?" she asked.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Because...because it doesn't make sense.”

"But you like him." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah," he sighed, sinking onto his couch. "Yeah, I do."

"So what's stopping you from giving it a shot?"

Kim Dokja’s words came out in a jumble of nerves. “I…I don't know. It's just...he keeps texting me, trying to reschedule, and I just keep coming up with excuses.”

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. "Wait, he's still texting you? Even after you blew him off?"

Dokja grimaced. "Yeah. He's...persistent."

"Let me get this straight," said Sooyoung in disbelief and exasperation. "You've been blowing him off for...how long now?"

He winced, bracing himself for her reaction. "Two weeks?"

"Two weeks!" Sooyoung cried, loudly enough that he had to pull the phone away from his ear. "Kim Dokja, you absolute idiot. He's been texting you for two weeks, and you're still trying to convince yourself he's not interested? Come on, you're smarter than that! He's clearly into you. Clearly!”

Dokja plopped back down onto the sofa with a groan. "I don't know. I don’t know! It's just...it's confusing, alright?"

"What's so confusing about it?"

He almost told her to drop it—he would’ve been well within his rights. But as he sucked in a nervous breath, he realized he still hadn't articulated his thoughts aloud. So, perhaps against his better judgment, he decided to lay it all out on the table.

"It's just...one minute it seems like you were onto something with Yoo Joonghyuk, and then it...I don't know. I keep thinking back to, well, everything. Every interaction, every moment. It's exhausting." Dokja felt like a tangled mess of emotions. He could hear the words coming out of his own mouth—they sounded pathetic, even to his own ears. "I just don't know what to think," he said, voice small.

Sooyoung was silent for a moment, and when she spoke again, her tone was unexpectedly gentle. "I think you do know what to think, Dokja. I think you're just scared."

He swallowed hard. "Maybe," he admitted. "Maybe I am scared, that…this is all some big misunderstanding. Because Yoo Joonghyuk couldn't possibly be interested in someone like me."

"Why do you keep saying that?" asked Sooyoung, sharp irritation edging into her voice. "Why is it so hard for you to believe that he might actually see something in you?"

"Because!" Dokja burst out, sitting up abruptly. “Because I’m just…I’m just me, Sooyoung. I’m not special, I’m not interesting, I’m just some boring, slice-of-life guy that works corporate and reads web novels on the subway! I’ve got no social life, no real hobbies, no skills, and…and Yoo Joonghyuk, he’s…he’s…”

"He's what?"

Dokja sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "He's everything I'm not."

"You think he's out of your league."

"Yeah," he said softly. "Yeah, he’s obviously out of my league.”

There was a long pause, and then Sooyoung spoke again, firm. "Well, that's bullsh*t."

Dokja let out a surprised laugh that sounded a little choked. "Is it?"

"Yes, it is," she said, and he could hear the conviction in her voice. "Listen to me, Kim Dokja. You are a catch. You're smart, you're witty, and you have a heart of gold underneath all that snark. And yeah, maybe you're a little awkward sometimes, but who isn't? That's part of your charm."

He was quiet for a moment, letting her words sink in. "I...I don't know what to say," he finally admitted, his voice rough. Han Sooyoung was rarely this sincere—he had no idea how to take this.

"You don't have to say anything," Sooyoung replied with a sigh. "Just promise me you'll stop being so hard on yourself and give Yoo Joonghyuk a chance."

Dokja took a deep breath. It would make things so much easier if he could just believe her. He sighed, looking out of his living room window. "It's just...this isn't one of your romance novels, Sooyoung. People like me don't end up with people like that."

The words hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, Dokja couldn't understand the silence on the other end of the line. He couldn’t have known how much that statement stung for Han Sooyoung—was this exactly the way she’d been thinking about Yoo Sangah?

When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet but resolute. "Sometimes good things really do just happen. And I don't think it's very smart to run away from something good just because it's unfamiliar."

He opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again. Why did she have to keep making such compelling points? Why was he being so stubborn about this?

"I know it's safer to keep your distance," Sooyoung continued. "Believe me, I get it. But don't you think it could be worth giving it a shot? The worst case scenario is that it doesn't work out. Well, okay! Then you'll just go back to doing what you were doing before."

Dokja tore his eyes from the window and looked around his bare apartment. "What I was doing before, huh?"

"Yeah," she said softly. “Just because you don’t get a Happy Ever After this time doesn’t mean the world is ending, you know?”

Dokja swallowed hard.

She was right—the worst case scenario would be returning to this void he’d always lived in, alone but safe, comfortable. And at the end of the day, it wasn’t Yoo Joonghyuk the man that he was afraid of, it was Yoo Joonghyuk the desire. This feeling swirling sickly in his gut—the feeling of wanting something more, much more, and the inevitability of losing it. Not the fall itself, but the knowledge that he would hit the ground.

Sooyoung's voice was in his ear again, grounding him. "Dokja? You still there?"

He took a deep, shaky breath. "Yeah," he said, his voice steadier than he felt. "Yeah, I'm here.”

A pause. "Well, just... give it some thought, okay? And maybe, if anything happens...you could let me know?"

He felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Not just for the drama?"

Sooyoung let out a soft chuckle. "No, not just for the drama. Because believe it or not, I actually care about you."

"Wow, careful there," Dokja teased, his heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks. "You're going to ruin your reputation if you keep talking like that."

"Fine. I care about you, asshole. Happy?"

"Ecstatic," he replied. "Hey, Sooyoung?"

“What’s up?”

"Thank you."

There was a beat of silence, and then Sooyoung cleared her throat. "Yeah, well...you're welcome. Just don't make me regret it, okay?"

"I'll do my best."

"Good. And Dokja?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't f*ck this up."

With that, she hung up, leaving Dokja alone with his thoughts.

Across town, Han Sooyoung was staring at her phone, the screen still lit up with Kim Dokja's contact card. She let out a long, exaggerated sigh, like she'd just finished running a marathon instead of having a simple phone conversation.

“There. I’m a good friend now," she declared, tossing her phone aside. It bounced once on the mattress before settling, and she flopped back onto the bed, one arm draped over her eyes.

"Being emotionally available is so draining. How do people do this all the time?" She peeked out from under her arm to see Yoo Sangah leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, wearing a smug little grin. Like a parent standing over their kid as they apologized for breaking their window.

"It's called being a decent human being, Sooyoung," Yoo Sangah said, pushing off the doorframe and making her way over to the bed. "Most people manage it every day without needing a nap afterwards."

"Hey, baby steps! I'm a work in progress,” said Sooyoung, patting the rumpled comforter beside her. “Now get over here and reward me for my emotional labor."

Yoo Sangah snorted but sauntered over anyway. "Wow, one whole act of basic human decency. I'm swooning." She plopped down next to Han Sooyoung, the mattress bouncing.

"I know, I know, don't get used to it," Sooyoung grumbled, but she couldn't help smirking a little as Yoo Sangah leaned in and kissed her, hands already roaming.

As things began to escalate in a decidedly non-PG direction, Han Sooyoung had to admit that maybe there was something to this whole "not being a raging asshole” thing. If this was the reward she got for showing the barest shred of empathy, she might have to make it a regular occurrence.

Well, semi-regular. Occasional. Here and there. It was like Kim Dokja said: she still had a reputation to uphold.

But as Yoo Sangah's fingers crept under her shirt and her teeth grazed Han Sooyoung's neck, she decided that just this once—or twice, or thrice—she could make an exception. For the sake of character development, of course.

Baby steps.

Artwork by GrassJelly

Chapter 8: The Part Where They Get Together

Chapter Text

The pounding on Kim Dokja’s front door reverberated through his apartment like the footsteps of an invading troll.

What in the fresh hell—

He slid the chain lock off and opened the door.

“Yeah, yeah! What do you wa…” he began, but the words died on his tongue.

There, standing in his doorway, was Yoo Joonghyuk, fist raised to pound again, wearing a deep scowl. Dokja’s eyes inadvertently traced over the stretch of his black shirt across broad shoulders before wresting his gaze back up to his face. He couldn’t believe he didn’t know he was attracted to this man.

“You’ve been dodging me.” Joonghyuk’s brows drew together severely.

Dokja blinked. “Well, I—”

“Unacceptable. You said I owed you a proper dinner!”

“I mean, that’s—”

He couldn’t get a word in edgewise as Yoo Joonghyuk continued to lecture him about obligations and wasted time. He should’ve been annoyed at the imposition, but all he felt was a flutter in his stomach as he admired the man standing on his doorstep. Chiseled jaw, intense eyes…had he always been this handsome?

“You had my address, you know,” continued Joonghyuk, scowl deepening, muscular arms crossed in front of his solid torso. “You could have just dropped by, but you had to make this difficult for me, didn’t you? Just had to avoid me?”

Kim Dokja opened his mouth once again, but Yoo Joonghyuk barreled on.

“Three times, I worked on that dish. Three. Because you canceled on me last minute. I had to get specially imported peppers to make it correctly. You won’t stand me up again.”

A smile threatened to break out across Dokja’s face as he imagined the stoic Yoo Joonghyuk trying to procure the perfect ingredients for this mythical dish like a hero on an epic quest. He had put that much time and care into a meal—for Kim Dokja? Pursued him this doggedly?

The fluttering feeling intensified as Joonghyuk wound down, glaring at him.

“Well?”

“Okay.”

Joonghyuk looked like he’d been rabbit-punched. “Okay? Just…okay?”

Dokja shrugged, aiming for even nonchalance despite his quickening heartbeat. “Should I come over tonight, then?” he asked.

“I—yes, but—” Yoo Joonghyuk grappled for mental purchase. “You ignored me for two weeks, and now it’s just okay?”

“No point dwelling on it,” Dokja suppressed a grin. Two could play at the fluster game. “What time works for you? I can be there at 7:00?”

“You…” Joonghyuk’s brain short-circuited for a beat before rebooting. “Yes. 7:00. I’ll send my address. Again. Just in case you lost it.”

“Great.”

“Great.”

“I’ll see you tonight then.”

“Great,” repeated Yoo Joonghyuk, still looking shell-shocked as he shook his head to clear it and turned to leave.

But Kim Dokja had a question. “Say, how did you know where I live?”

Joonghyuk froze, back still turned.

Dokja crossed his arms. “Well?”

Yoo Joonghyuk slowly turned back around with a glower, though it looked to Kim Dokja like his cheeks were tinged red. “Well…I just…had it written down from earlier.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow. “Funny! I don’t remember ever giving you my address.”

Yoo Joonghyuk averted his gaze, brows pulled together in a scowl. “Of course you did.”

“Hmm, pretty sure I didn’t,” Kim Dokja was enjoying this immensely. He was so powerful. Was this how Yoo Joonghyuk felt all the time? “Did you ask around after me or something?”

“What? No. Of course not.” Yoo Joonghyuk’s mind seemed to be turning over under Kim Dokja’s knowing gaze. His scowl deepened and finally he admitted, “Fine. Your friend Han Sooyoung gave it to me. Are you happy now?”

Kim Dokja blinked in surprise, and then threw his head back and laughed. Yoo Joonghyuk glared at him.

Han Sooyoung. That meddling little imp.

“Tch. It’s not that funny.”

Kim Dokja grinned. “I’ll see you at 7:00, Yoo Joonghyuk.”

He gently closed the door on Yoo Joonghyuk’s glare, chuckling to himself.

Han Sooyoung had been right yet again, somehow—he could do this, and he might even have a good time.

Based on the way that Yoo Joonghyuk dressed and acted, Kim Dokja would’ve thought he’d live somewhere upscale, but the apartment building he arrived at that evening was surprisingly ordinary. It was certainly more upscale than the complex Dokja was living in, of course.

As he got into the elevator, Dokja pulled out his phone to double check the address that Joonghyuk had sent him earlier alongside a thoughtful reminder:

Yoo Joonghyuk: 7pm. Don't forget
Kim Dokja: I’ll be there!
Yoo Joonghyuk: If you stand me up again I swear to god Kim Dokja
Kim Dokja: What are you making btw? I can stop on the way and pick up a side or drinks or something
Yoo Joonghyuk: DON'T BE LATE.

Well, he wasn’t late. In fact, he was 20 minutes early, and he had a nice bottle of wine tucked under his arm, recommended by the snobbiest of internet forums for this kind of thing.

He’d been so confident, so self-assured as he waltzed out of that elevator and down the hall to Yoo Joonghyuk’s door. He rang the bell, ready, having thought through exactly what he was going to say and practiced mouthing the words to himself like a nut on the subway.

But it didn’t matter. The moment that door opened his mind went blank.

Because the very sight of Yoo Joonghyuk wearing a tight black sleeveless shirt momentarily short-circuited his brain. One glance at a toned beefy bicep and all his diligent work flew right out the seventh-story window of this mildly classy apartment building.

So Kim Dokja was really gay after all. Wait, sh*t. Was he overdressed?

Yoo Joonghyuk's posture shifted, flexing his muscles beneath that damn shirt. Dokja wrested his eyes back up just as Joonghyuk’s mouth quirked up at the corners.

Oh, sh*t.

“You’re early,” said Joonghyuk, tilting his head back to intensify the way his eyes burned. Was the bastard laughing, or was it just Dokja’s imagination? His neck was flexing—necks could do that?

“I uh…” Dokja almost stammered, but caught himself and cleared his throat. “I didn’t want to be late.”

“It’s rude to come to someone’s home early.”

Dokja blinked. “Really?”

Joonghyuk clicked his tongue. “The table isn’t set.”

“Oh. I can help with—”

“No. I’ll do it.”

This was going well. Dokja sighed. “So can I come in, or do I have to answer three riddles first?”

Yoo Joonghyuk wordlessly reached forward and plucked the wine bottle from Kim Dokja's slackening grip. He examined the label, his expression stony as ever, betraying absolutely nothing and offering no clues as to whether it met his standards.

Dokja raised an eyebrow. “Is this one of the riddles?”

Yoo Joonghyuk sighed and stepped aside, opening the door wider, and Kim Dokja strode past him.

Alright, this would be easy. As long as Dokja stayed self-aware, he would not only keep his composure but also come out on top.

Wait, top? Top? Kim Dokja paused, realizing he hadn’t considered which of them was the top. Oh God. He was the bottom, wasn’t he?

Yoo Joonghyuk closed the door and placed a hand on Kim Dokja’s lower back as he brushed past him in the tiny entranceway.

"Shoes off," he said gruffly in Dokja's ear before disappearing down the hallway, presumably into the kitchen, leaving Dokja standing there with a burning sensation under his skin, his face undoubtedly beet red.

Kim Dokja was wrong. He absolutely could not handle this. He was a wreck. A fool with no control over his emotions. A bottom, probably. He slipped off his shoes and left them by the door, wondering what would happen if he jumped out the window. Right now.

"Are you planning on coming in?" Joonghyuk's irritated voice snapped through the apartment.

Dokja hurried towards his voice, eyes darting around, taking in every detail of the space to gain insight into the enigma that was Yoo Joonghyuk. Hardwood floors, basic furniture, and an updated entertainment system greeted him. And once again, Dokja was struck by the juxtaposition between such an ordinary space and the extraordinary man who inhabited it. So Yoo Joonghyuk was mortal after all, a bachelor living in a typical bachelor pad.

Following the sound of movement, Dokja found Joonghyuk in the kitchen, his broad shoulders tensed as he leaned over the counter, back turned.

"Sit," he said. "I'm plating."

“Ah. Alright.” Dokja mumbled, nodding dumbly at Joonghyuk's back before wandering towards what he presumed to be the dining room.

Was that guy really supposed to be attracted to him?

Dokja found the small table completely bare. Joonghyuk said it hadn’t been set yet, but there was currently no indication of the elaborate meal he'd had been so up in arms about. It certainly didn't look like it was meant for a romantic evening—not that Dokja had ever been wooed before, but shouldn't there have been more fanfare? A tablecloth? A candle? Something?

As he lingered in the doorway, a sickly feeling crept in, gnawing at his insides.

Yoo Joonghyuk suddenly appeared, brushing past him wordlessly, leaving a trail of clean, woodsy cologne in his wake. He leaned over the table, the muscles in his arms subtly flexing as he set down two plates full of food. It was just a natural gesture—an everyday motion—yet somehow, as always, he managed to look perfect. Dokja found himself captivated by the chiseled planes of Joonghyuk's face once more.

"Sit," Joonghyuk repeated in that same gruff tone, nodding at one of the chairs. "I have to get the wine."

With that, he was gone, leaving Kim Dokja to slide into his seat, numbly staring at his plate. So no, there would be no tablecloth or candle—but it wasn’t like those were prerequisites for a date. The food certainly looked and smelled delicious, that was what mattered, right? Ah, so Yoo Joonghyuk was a capable cook after all.

Dokja absently wondered if he often cooked for others, and who those others might be. Did he enjoy cooking, and what was his favorite thing to make? What did the man even like to eat or drink besides black coffee?

The realization that they were practically strangers left a bitter taste in Kim Dokja's mouth, like tinfoil on his tongue.

It seemed odd that a man he barely knew would pursue him. And now that he was here, the less sense it all made. Maybe this really was just a meal between acquaintances, arranged to settle an arbitrary debt that Dokja had concocted. Yoo Joonghyuk wasn't the savviest businessman; it was possible that he was doing this because he truly couldn't think of another way to get Dokja out of his hair.

Perhaps Dokja wasn't being pursued at all. When Joonghyuk called him 'interesting,' he might have meant it in the same way one would observe a clumsy beetle bumbling about.

Kim Dokja looked up to see Yoo Joonghyuk returning with the wine—well, a wine. A single glance revealed that this was not the bottle he'd brought. The label was entirely unfamiliar. Damn. He should've asked what kind of wine would pair well with the meal. He shouldn't have assumed. Evidently, he'd been doing a lot of assuming over the past few weeks. His ears burned as he schooled his features into a neutral expression, attempting to appear bored, avoiding glancing up at that handsome face or those flexing muscles as the bottle was uncorked.

This man was magnetic. He must have had people tripping over themselves just to be in his orbit, and he was probably the same way with all of them—prickly, rude, short. And out of Kim Dokja’s league. Expecting anything more was merely wishful thinking, a desperate projection of his own attraction.

He had been so full of himself. How could he even think that this was a date? This wasn’t a date. Of course it wasn’t a date. f*ck—this was humiliating.

As Yoo Joonghyuk leaned over to pour the wine, Kim Dokja's stomach somersaulted. The unbearable closeness, the scent of his skin, and the heat radiating off him made Dokja hold his breath.

As soon as Joonghyuk pulled away, Dokja did the only rational thing he could: he grabbed the glass and tried to gulp down the entire contents in one go.

Bad idea.

Choking and sputtering, Dokja attempted to set the glass back down, but his unsteady, trembling hand slipped. It tipped over, its contents spilling across the table and creating a growing puddle that threatened to soak his pants. Mortified, he shoved his chair back and stumbled to his feet, his face burning.

"sh*t." Joonghyuk swiftly rounded the table, brows furrowed and looking positively pissed. Without a word, he stood behind Kim Dokja and thumped his back with a strong hand.

They stood there for what felt like an eternity, Dokja trying to catch his breath, being stared down by a glowering Yoo Joonghyuk. He could die. Just melt into the floor and disappear.

“I just—” he finally rasped.

Yoo Joonghyuk stared, expression unreadable.

Honestly, what had Dokja expected from tonight? And what the hell did this guy even want from him? Why wasn't he saying anything?

Wrapping his arms around his stomach, Kim Dokja tried to force the words out. His thoughts, however, remained a jumbled mess, refusing to form a coherent sentence. He was such a f*cking loser. A f*cking loser who should've stuck to living vicariously through web novel romances.

"Kim Dokja," said Yoo Joonghyuk, his brows knitting together even more as he leaned into Dokja's personal space—but Dokja stepped back, his heart pounding.

The questions came tumbling out before he could stop them. “Why were you so hell-bent on getting me to come over? Why did you even want to…I mean, did you…even intend for this…to be..."

He faltered, hating the pathetic, needy edge to his voice and the way his heart seemed to be stuck in his throat. Yoo Joonghyuk's face was a blank mask, giving no indication that he even understood what Dokja was getting at. As the silence stretched on, the sharp pang of embarrassment morphed into utter humiliation. This man wouldn't—shouldn't—even dignify his stupid assumptions with a response. He'd made an absolute fool of himself tonight.

He had to get out of here.

"I shouldn't have assumed...this was obviously..." Dokja could hear himself babbling like an idiot as he stepped backward, his eyes darting towards the front door. "I should go. I'm just gonna..."

"What?" Yoo Joonghyuk hissed, his voice low and dangerous.

Oh, great. Now he was glaring at him. Yeah, leaving was definitely for the best. Dokja stiffly turned and headed for the hallway, focusing all his energy on not tripping over his own feet. He slipped on his shoes hastily, nearly stumbling in his rush to escape.

"Kim Dokja!" Yoo Joonghyuk's voice echoed behind him, footsteps indicating he was in pursuit.

"I'm sorry, I'll get out of your hair," Dokja called back, making a beeline for the front door.

"Kim Dokja." Suddenly Yoo Joonghyuk was right there.

A large hand fisted the front of Dokja's collar, twisting the fabric and yanking him around with surprising force. His back slammed against the door, the loud thud reverberating through his body. For a split second, Dokja's mind raced, ready to protest, to push away, to maintain the careful distance he'd always kept. But then Yoo Joonghyuk's lips descended upon his, capturing them in a searing kiss that ignited every nerve ending.

Dokja's eyes flew wide open, a jolt of electricity surging from the top of his spine to the tips of his toes. His hands grasped at the door behind him, desperate for anchor as he reeled, trying to comprehend the sudden shift in reality. But coherent thoughts escaped him, evaporating in the heat of Yoo Joonghyuk's body pressing against his, filling his senses with an intoxicating blend of coffee, leather, and something uniquely Joonghyuk.

Yoo Joonghyuk's hand slid up to cradle the back of Kim Dokja's head, his fingers threading through the soft strands as he angled Dokja's face, deepening the kiss. A small, needy sound escaped Dokja's throat, surprising even himself.

Dokja’s mind surrendered, succumbing to the overwhelming sensation. His knees threatened to buckle, his head growing lighter than air, while the pang of worry in his chest was suddenly feeling like exhilaration. Finally, finally, finally...

For once, Kim Dokja’s head was totally, blissfully empty—any excuses left melted away and there was only this.

Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, Yoo Joonghyuk broke away, his gaze softening as he searched Dokja's face. He was breathtaking up close, all sharp angles and intense eyes, and Dokja's heart skipped a beat at the featherlight brush of fingertips along his cheek, the thumb tracing his lower lip.

In his 28 years of life, Kim Dokja had never been kissed like that, never felt so utterly consumed. Now, there was no hesitation left as Yoo Joonghyuk leaned in, his breath ghosting over Dokja's lips.

Again, thought Dokja, subconsciously tilting his chin up. I want you to do it again.

Their first kiss had been a demand, a question, a plea; but their second was unhurried, exploratory, a dance of tongues learning the steps to a new rhythm. The molten heat between them simmered, a slow burn that threatened to consume them both. Dokja felt weightless, melting against the door as he chased Yoo Joonghyuk's teasing licks, their tongues tangling in a languid waltz.

How long did they stand there, lost in each other? Long enough for Joonghyuk's hands to find their way to Dokja's neck, cradling him just so, to drink him in. Long enough for soft, confused sounds to escape Dokja's lips as he drowned in the push and pull. Long enough for their movements to become clumsy, desperate, Dokja's hands grasping at Joonghyuk's body as his carefully constructed walls crumbled.

They finally broke apart only because they needed to breathe, and if they hadn’t, they might have combusted right there, pressed against Yoo Joonghyuk’s front door, losing time.

Dokja's gaze drifted from Joonghyuk's kiss-swollen lips up to his searching, imploring gaze.

"I don’t…” Dokja panted, his lips tingling, teetering on the edge of a bashful smile. "I don't know how to do this."

There it was. The confession that had been weighing on him since the very beginning.

Yoo Joonghyuk studied him for a weighted moment, pupils blown wide.

“I’ll teach you,” he finally rasped, the words a hot whisper against Dokja's kiss-swollen lips, igniting a shiver that raced down Dokja's spine.

“Teach me wh—whoa!”

Before Kim Dokja could finish his thought, Yoo Joonghyuk stepped back and quite literally swept him off his feet, carrying him effortlessly into the apartment, refusing to give him a chance to overthink this.

“Wait!” Kim Dokja cried out. “Hey, Yoo Joonghyuk! I can walk on my own!"

Over Yoo Joonghyuk's shoulder, the dinner that he had put so much thought, time, and care into sat arranged on the table. The tempting spread was utterly forgotten now and the spilt wine was still seeping into the wood table, undoubtedly already staining it. But Yoo Joonghyuk could worry about that later.

Both men were focused on something else entirely.

Chapter 9: The Part Where They "Get Together"

Chapter Text

Kim Dokja's mind was reeling, unable to cope with the reality that Yoo Joonghyuk was carrying him to bed. Bridal style.

"Really, I promise I won't try to...run…this time..." He trailed off as Joonghyuk nudged the bedroom door open with his foot. "Wait, that came out wrong. You know what I mean! I just meant, I meant, I have two perfectly functioning feet!"

"Two feet with shoes on indoors," said Joonghyuk, kicking the door shut behind him and sending a shiver down Dokja’s spine.

"Shoes can be taken off," Dokja offered. And then he could maintain a shred of dignity.

"Mhmm." The rumble came from deep in Joonghyuk's chest as he set Kim Dokja on the bed and knelt at his feet, cradling one of Dokja’s ankles to slip off a half-tied shoe.

"I-I can take off my own shoes," Dokja stammered, his face warming as he watched Joonghyuk's hands work.

Joonghyuk glanced up, eyes glimmering with amusem*nt and something deeper. "I know," he said, voice low as he removed Dokja's other shoe, letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud.

Dokja's nerves got the better of him again. "So, uh, how about the weather today? Pretty crazy, right? I mean it's so early in the year, who would've thought it would be so…”

He watched, transfixed, as Joonghyuk rose and leaned in, planting his hands on either side of Dokja's lap, pushing him back onto his elbows until they were nose to nose.

“…hot." Dokja finished, his breath a whisper against Joonghyuk's lips. "Outside."

A hum vibrated through Joonghyuk's chest. "Kim Dokja."

"Y-yeah?"

"Stop talking." His breath ghosted over Dokja's lips. Dokja swallowed hard, his pulse racing as he met Yoo Joonghyuk's unwavering gaze.

Finally, just as Yoo Joonghyuk caught Dokja's bottom lip between his teeth, he managed a weak, “Okay…”

He almost instantly forgot where he was and what he'd been so worried about, barely aware of anything beyond the heat of the body guiding him onto the bed and pressing him into the mattress, the slide of lips against his own. But Joonghyuk pulled away all too soon, hovering above him on his elbows, and Dokja was left dazed and wanting, gazing up at him.

"You've never been with a man," stated Joonghyuk bluntly.

Kim Dokja thought that'd been explicitly stated with the 'I don't know how to do this' line, but evidently he needed to be more direct. "No, not…strictly speaking."

A low hum from above. "And women?"

"Wh—" Kim Dokja blinked. Was he asking if he was a virgin? "I've dated women."

A heavy pause. “This might be different for you.”

Scary. Thrilling. "Different how?"

"Just follow my lead," said Joonghyuk. "I said I'd teach you. And stop thinking so hard."

"Easy for you to say," said Dokja, heat rising to his cheeks, "You're not the one who—mmf!"

Yoo Joonghyuk captured his lips in another deep kiss, effectively silencing him, and Kim Dokja's protestations melted away like butter on his tongue. His mind’s constant chatter drowned in the slide of lips, the curl of tongue, and the brush of Joonghyuk’s fingertips tracing his jaw.

Joonghyuk was right—this was different. Everything felt foreign, from the unfamiliar press of a hard body to the way Dokja’s heart fluttered as Joonghyuk nosed down his neck. Powerful, nimble hands made quick work of his shirt buttons, parting the fabric, and a calloused palm smoothed up his chest, eliciting a moan as heat pooled in his groin.

f*ck, he was good. How was he so good?

It struck Kim Dokja then that he’d never felt so wanted. Not like this. The way Joonghyuk touched him, with a mix of reverence and hunger made him feel both cherished and desired. The heady combination left him breathless, craving more.

His own hands wandered, seeking purchase on Yoo Joonghyuk’s belt loops and pockets, the hem of his shirt, fingertips brushing against the tantalizing sliver of skin that had teased Dokja when Joonghyuk leaned over the dinner table. The smooth spandex easily slid up Joonghyuk’s waist as Dokja’s fingers slipped beneath, giving him yet more hot, smooth skin to explore. He traced the dips and planes of firm muscle, roaming over the expanse of Joonghyuk’s back. And in response, Joonghyuk rumbled, sucking Dokja’s lower lip into his mouth, sending a shudder through Dokja’s body, his hips jerking up of their own accord.

And then Joonghyuk's solid weight was gone.

Dokja followed, propping himself up on his elbows, only to freeze, the sight before him making his mouth go dry. Yoo Joonghyuk was kneeling between his legs, hair artfully mussed, eyes darkened with desire—and he was taking off his shirt.

Kim Dokja forgot how to breathe.

Golden skin stretched over lean muscles, utterly flawless save for a smattering of thin, silvery scars—all stories for another time. Dokja’s gaze trailed lower, over etched abdominals, to a light dusting of dark hair that led down. He swallowed, face flushing, suddenly self-conscious. He fought the urge to cross his arms over his chest, all too aware of his own inadequacies compared to the veritable Greek god before him.

When he finally tore his eyes away, their gazes locked. Yoo Joonghyuk regarded him with open amusem*nt, one eyebrow quirked up in a silent question:Like what you see?

Yes. Yes, obviously he liked it. Dokja’s cheeks burned as Joonghyuk hummed, lazily running one hand up and down his thigh, pinning him with those fathomless black eyes, so close.

Kim Dokja began to lose track of what was happening—Joonghyuk was on him again, bracketing Dokja’s form with his own, nipping just under his jaw and nimbly buckling his belt, drawing unfamiliar sounds from his lips. Moans, whimpers, and little gasps fell from his mouth as hands skimmed over his ribs, his stomach, his chest, threading through his hair.

The sound of another man's breath in his ear was intoxicating, the sensation of skin on skin electric. He felt like he was floating.

Joonghyuk nudged Dokja's legs open with his knee.

Suddenly, Kim Dokja was pressing himself against it, rolling his hips just enough to feel the friction he craved. One of Joonghyuk's hands dragged up Dokja's thigh, gripping his hip, pinning him to the mattress. And Dokja was drowning, floundering, holding on for dear life, soft, punched-out sounds escaping him each time their bodies shifted.

Then Joonghyuk rolled his hips down just so, pressing their clothed erections together, and Dokja saw stars. His hips bucked up instinctively, chasing the exquisite pressure, and Joonghyuk groaned into his mouth, low and guttural. The sound sent a thrill racing down Dokja's spine, pooling hot and heavy in his groin.

"Please," Dokja gasped, breaking the kiss. “Please, I…I need…”

He didn’t know what he was asking for, but Joonghyuk seemed to understand. With a final, bruising kiss, he pulled back and slid down Dokja’s body to press a kiss to one sharp hipbone, hooking his fingers under the waistband of Dokja’s pants.

“Lift up.”

Oh.

Dokja obeyed, raising his hips so Joonghyuk could tug the rest of his clothing down his legs. The first brush of cool air against his aching hardness made him hiss, and he found himself gripping the sheets in anticipation.

This was happening fast—faster than Dokja was prepared for. But before panic could claw its way up into his chest, a hand was wrapping around him, hot and firm, and his mind went entirely, blissfully blank. He gasped, his head falling back against the pillow at the slow, teasing, maddeningly light strokes.

A low chuckle. “Good?”

Bastard. “More.”

“So impatient,” Joonghyuk chastised. Dokja felt a flame of indignation licking behind his eyes, but this was no time to argue—and it wasn’t like he’d be able to string together enough words to protest anyway.

Joonghyuk’s eyes flickered down to Dokja’s. Calculating, searching for some kind of cue. That hand was flattening against his co*ck, pressing it flat against his lower stomach, rubbing slowly—up and down, strong and steady. A weak, breathless sound escaped him and he screwed his eyes shut.

With a low chuckle, Joonghyuk wrapped his hand around him again, this time his strokes firmer, more purposeful. Dokja keened, his fingers scrabbling at the sheets. Before it wasn’t enough, but now it was far too much. Pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in his gut with each twist of Joonghyuk’s wrist. He wasn’t going to last.

Dokja tried to warn Joonghyuk, but all he could manage were increasingly urgent whimpers, coming apart at the seams even though they’d barely begun. His breath caught in his throat, his toes curling—that was when Yoo Joonghyuk eased up, letting Kim Dokja collapse on the bed, his legs trembling, his hands pressing to his eye sockets.

“Sensitive,” Joonghyuk observed coolly, reaching for his bedside table.

“A…a bit?” Hopefully that wouldn’t be a problem.

The light switch suddenly turned off with a dull thock, and there was some more fumbling around. Kim Dokja’s mind started to whir, the self-consciousness starting to seep back in. He could practically feel unnecessary words trying to fill his mouth.

“Do…do you prefer the lights off?” asked Dokja, turning towards Yoo Joonghyuk in the dark. “You could have done that before, you know.”

“It’s for you,” replied Joonghyuk, his weight shifting on the mattress as he laid at Dokja’s side, hooking an arm around him to pull him closer. The embrace was as unexpected as it was delicious, the sensation of their bare chests pressing together filling Dokja with a strange warmth.

Then Dokja’s thighs were gently nudged apart. His brow furrowed for a moment, but heat bloomed in his cheeks when he realized where Joonghyuk’s hand was going, and he about crumbled inward at the feeling of slick fingers gently but firmly wandering to a place no other person had ever touched.

“Oh f*ck.”

“Focus.”

“How could I not focus?”

“Not on that,” said Joonghyuk, sounding irritated.

“I’m sorry! I don’t know how to do this,” said Dokja, the sharpness of the sentiment feeling ever sharper as Joonghyuk leaned down.

“Relax.” Warm lips melted against his again.

Reluctantly, Dokja took a deep, slow breath against his own racing heart, trying to tear his mind from the questions, if for just a moment, to revel in this. Yoo Joonghyuk was holding him close, nose buried in Dokja’s hair, gently prepping him. This was beyond any reality that Kim Dokja could have ever imagined—it was almost inconceivable.

And Joonghyuk’s hands were far more skilled than Dokja’s. He knew how to turn one finger into two, how to gently bend and move at an achingly slow pace so that it wouldn’t hurt, and instead a pleasant, needy ache began to bloom in his gut. Yoo Joonghyuk could have gone faster, could have sped up the process, but his kisses were lazy, sloppy and languid. It seemed like he wanted to take his time.

Still, Kim Dokja couldn’t help absently wondering as Joonghyuk’s fingers entered him whether he’d be at all surprised that Dokja was taking it so easily—that he had the muscle memory to take two fingers despite an admitted lack of experience with men. Probably not, actually. Dokja imagined he gave off “guy who’s discovered his own prostate” vibes. God, how embarrassing.

Then the slight bend of Joonghyuk’s fingers turned into a curl, and hit a spot inside Dokja that made him see pure white. He pressed his face into the crook of Joonghyuk’s neck as tears sprung from his eyes. It was as though his organs squeezed, and his limbs went rigid.

And Yoo Joonghyuk wouldn’t stop. He shifted, hooking his arm under Dokja to pull him even closer, and continuing to finger the absolute f*ck out of him, using the momentum from their bodies rocking back and forth and Dokja’s own writhing to keep pace. Dokja uttered curse after curse, unable to keep track of what he was saying or doing. He could have been gasping, keening, or sobbing as he muffled his mouth against Joonghyuk’s skin—he couldn’t tell. He was just glad that the lights were off so that Yoo Joonghyuk couldn’t see the absolute wreck he had become under those merciless hands. Face burning, eyes leaking.

It quickly became too overwhelming to bear, and something inside of him fractured. It was a completely unfamiliar feeling—a kind of org*sm he’d never experienced and one he didn’t think was possible to have. Yet here he was, pressing a hand over his own mouth, pawing at Yoo Joonghyuk’s chest, begging him to slow, to pause, to please let him breathe.

And finally, after what seemed like forever, he did.

Yoo Joonghyuk stopped and gingerly withdrew his fingers, leaving Kim Dokja a puddle, covered in a thin sheen of sweat and his own mess. By all accounts, he should have been utterly spent.

So why, when Yoo Joonghyuk sat up and rolled off the bed, did Kim Dokja abruptly sit up, his hand shooting out to grab Joonghyuk’s wrist? Something had come over him, a wave of an emotion that manifested as pressure and a sharp stinging behind his eyes. His breath hitched and his chest started to burn. God, was he going to cry? Over what?

There was a heavy pause where Yoo Joonghyuk stood there, presumably looking down at Kim Dokja in the dark, and Kim Dokja was refusing to look back, trying to hold his composure.

He swallowed, and after a long moment, he managed, “Get back here, you bastard.”

A strange sound came out of Yoo Joonghyuk then, which Dokja wasn’t sure he’d heard come out of him before: a genuine laugh, the sound dark and rich. A shiver ran down Kim Dokja’s spine, and he wondered what that laugh would look like if the lights were on.

“I will,” said Joonghyuk. “But I need my hand.”

Dokja reluctantly let go, his eyes flickered up to Joonghyuk’s form, backlit by the dimmest of light filtering through the curtains. He tried to tamp down the powerful emotion that’d almost swept him away with a shaky breath.

“Hurry up,” said Dokja.

And in response, he only heard the clinking of Yoo Joonghyuk’s belt and the ruffle and slide of clothing being removed.

It was then that he realized exactly what was happening—the mattress dipped, and suddenly Joonghyuk was back, hands parting Dokja’s thighs with a bruising grip and tugging him farther down the bed. Dokja let out a surprised sound as he fell onto his back, bewildered. He’d never been manhandled quite like this before.

Yoo Joonghyuk’s legs were now bare and the first brush of skin against his inner thigh was electric.

Dokja gasped, arching into the contact. “Oh,” came his bewildered voice.

"Always so impatient.”

Yoo Joonghyuk was a physical marvel—there was so much raw power stored in his form, and yet he was endlessly graceful. Even when doing something impossibly clumsy, like shifting their positions for better balance and lining himself up, Joonghyuk did not scramble or fumble. He held Dokja perfectly steady with a firm, confident grip.

“Ready?” asked Joonghyuk softly.

“Yeah,” Dokja swallowed. “I’m…I’m ready.”

And he slowly surged forward.

Now, Kim Dokja had already been molded to shape by Yoo Joonghyuk’s expert fingers, but Yoo Joonghyuk was much bigger than a couple fingers, stretching him wider, and reaching so deep. As Joonghyuk bottomed out, a shimmer washed over Kim Dokja’s body and he arched his back, white-knuckling the bedding.

The room was still for a long minute, full of little more than the sounds of their breathing— Joonghyuk’s slow and steadying, Dokja’s uneven and ragged—and the smallest soothing gestures, Joonghyuk lowering his head to nose at the sensitive spot behind Dokja’s ear. A thumb rubbing slow circles on the outside of Dokja’s straining thigh. Their bodies pressed together in the darkness.

Kim Dokja turned his head, afraid that if he moved much more he could burst.

And then Joonghyuk did move.

And Kim Dokja lost track of time. He could only take in every other moment, losing the ones in between like a series of snapshots.

Arching off the bed, his fingers digging into Joonghyuk’s shoulders as a jolt of pure, searing pleasure shot through him.

His eyes squeezing shut as he tried to hold in his voice.

A hand carding through his hair and holding him still by the roots.

Babbling incoherently, a litany of pleas falling from his lips, and the one breathless word that Joonghyuk said, only the one: “God.”

The pleasure was unbearable, tinged with a deep soreness that seemed to creep up his back. It was all so much. The heat, the friction, the weight on top of him. Kim Dokja was drowning, and all he could do was cling to Yoo Joonghyuk, the man saving him and killing him all at once.

And finally, Joonghyuk’s hips stuttered. He gripped the pillows on either side of Dokja’s head and threw his own head back, coming undone with a brutal grace that was entirely like everything that was Yoo Joonghyuk. Kim Dokja choked, feeling as though he was cumming too, but unsure with the overwhelm of the waves of pleasure that had lit his every nerve ablaze.

They held each other through it, and through the haze, Kim Dokja was dimly aware of Joonghyuk pulling back and stroking his cheeks. Saying his name and kissing him in a gesture that felt far too tender.

Dokja could only hum in response, boneless and sated, his mind still clouded with post-org*smic bliss. He barely registered Joonghyuk getting up, only to return a few moments later with a damp cloth, gently cleaning the evidence of his release from his skin. When he was done, Joonghyuk tossed the cloth aside and lay down beside Dokja, gathering him into his arms once again. Dokja went willingly, tucking his face into the crook of Joonghyuk's neck, breathing in the scent of him—sweat and musk and the remains of his cologne.

Were he of sound mind, Kim Dokja would have been mortified at the absolute wreck he’d become, but he’d effectively had the very last care in the world f*cked out of him—all he could think as Yoo Joonghyuk pulled the blankets over them that this was the happiest he’d been in a long time. Maybe this was a new beginning, then. A happy ever after, so to speak.

“Hey…Joonghyuk?”

“Mhmm.”

A pause. “Nevermind.”

He didn’t want to ruin the moment. So Kim Dokja let the world around them fade away, leaving only the two of them, lost in a snapshot that felt both surreal and inevitable.

Chapter 10: Epilogue

Chapter Text

It was a day like any other at Deja Brew, the popular neighborhood cafe that had become less of an office and more of a home for best-selling author Han Sooyoung, who sat nestled in the back, engrossed in her laptop.

But today, something was different.

The soft indie pop and the aroma of freshly-roasted coffee beans still enveloped her like a familiar, comforting blanket. Yet, there was a newfound warmth radiating from the red brick walls, and the lush tapestries seemed to burst with even more vibrant colors than usual.

Beside her, Yoo Sangah's smile was radiant as she gently held Han Sooyoung's hand, their fingers intertwined.

On Han Sooyoung's screen, the final chapter of her blog series beckoned. The temptation to send the novel-length story to her editor was overpowering, but Han Sooyoung knew better. This one wasn't meant to be monetized; it deserved to be handled with care and respect. After all, this story held a special place in her heart, one that had begun with a serendipitous encounter and blossomed into a beautiful tapestry of love, growth, and self-discovery.

So, hand in hand, their hearts brimming with love and their eyes sparkling with the promise of a future together, The Reader and The Gamer embarked on their happily ever after.

And to you, dear reader, I wish you a romcom of your own—whether it unfolds online or offline. Venture out into the world and seek love, laughter, and endless adventures. Because when all is said and done, that's the essence of life—the stories we weave and the memories we hold dear. So go forth and craft your own happily ever after. I'll be cheering you on from the sidelines.

THE END.

It was a departure from her signature biting wit and sharp observations, but somehow, it felt fitting. After all, if anyone had earned a fairy tale ending, it was her endearingly idiotic friend, Kim Dokja.

Sooyoung leaned back with a self-satisfied smirk and turned to Yoo Sangah, who had been wearing a proud smile. "Well, what's the verdict? It's not quite as polished as my original draft, but—"

"It's perfect," said Sangah, interrupting her before she could undermine her own character growth yet again. "It's the kind of ending that everyone can get behind.”

Sooyoung nodded, her gaze drifting back to the screen. "I owe you a thank you."

"For what?"

"For showing me that there's more to life than watching from the sidelines."

Yoo Sangah leaned in, brushing a gentle kiss against her cheek. "And thank you for mustering up the courage to step into your own story."

Han Sooyoung let out a deep, contented sigh and shut her laptop with a decisive click.

But her moment of triumph was short-lived. For there, sitting across from her, was Kim Dokja, his arms crossed, looking about as unimpressed as a cat presented with a plate of tofu. Clearly, this double date was not living up to his expectations.

"Seriously?" he said, one eyebrow raised so high it practically merged with his hairline. "You had to have your hand held to kind of, sort of, maybe make this right? And not only was what you did unethical, but it didn't even happen that way. Especially not the smut. Which, by the way, a paywall? Really?"

Sooyoung shrugged, utterly unfazed by his indignation. "What can I say? I'm in between books. A girl's gotta eat."

Kim Dokja looked like he was about to have an aneurysm. "You're a best-selling author with an inheritance bigger than my annual salary five times over!”

Yoo Joonghyuk, who had been sitting beside Kim Dokja looking like he'd just stepped out of a high-end fashion magazine and into this quaint little coffee shop by mistake, suddenly spoke up. "It did, though."

Dokja whipped around to face him. “Huh?”

Joonghyuk met his gaze, a smirk tugging at the corner of his unfairly attractive mouth. "It did happen like that."

Dokja's face went through a fascinating journey, from ghostly pale to fire engine red in the space of about two seconds. “No. No, it didn’t.”

“Yes, it did.”

"Joonghyuk, it was a dramatized version of what I barely told her about. In bed! Like we're some...some kind of characters in a, a, a web novel or TV show. It's like fan fiction. She even capitalized on our real lives by putting it behind a paywa—"

“I read it.”

It was one of those moments where a hush coincidentally fell over the entire cafe, leaving the newly-formed friend group staring at one another in silence.

After a long pause, Kim Dokja finally cracked. “Why?”

"It was only 30,000 won. I make that in five minutes on stream.” Joonghyuk leaned back in his seat, his gaze fixed on a particularly interesting red brick on the wall.

Kim Dokja pinched the bridge of his nose, his frustration palpable. “I can't believe you financially supported this behavior. Since when did it become acceptable to let Han f*cking Sooyoung become the sole authority on my love life? You can't just go around writing people's stories without their consent! It's a violation of privacy and not to mention a complete breach of trust—”

As Kim Dokja launched into a tirade that would put even the most seasoned politician to shame, Yoo Sangah turned to Han Sooyoung, her expression soft and sincere.

“You know, I think I'm starting to grasp the true lesson from all of this,” she said, her voice almost drowned out by Kim Dokja's impassioned ranting. “Real love, the kind that doesn't happen in a story or behind a screen...it has the power to transform you. It's made you a better person, Sooyoung.”

Sooyoung let out a huff, but there was no denying the warmth that blossomed in her chest at Yoo Sangah's words. “You've made me go soft. I have a reputation to maintain, you know.”

Sangah leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to her cheek. “Someone had to melt that icy heart of yours eventually.”

They tuned back into Kim Dokja's rant, which had only gained steam in their momentary distraction.

“—and furthermore, the fact that she thinks she can just play god with people's lives is astounding. I mean, who died and made Han Sooyoung Cupid, huh? You can't just manipulate people's emotions for the sake of a good story. It's wrong on so many levels. And don't even get me started on the invasion of privacy. I swear, if I find out that you’ve been letting her spy on us for the sake of her 'art,' I'll—”

Yoo Joonghyuk abruptly stood up, yanking Kim Dokja to his feet by his collar in a gesture that managed to be both intensely romantic and alarmingly violent for the cozy indoor setting.

"If you don't stop talking," he murmured, “I’m going to have to find a more creative way to shut you up."

Kim Dokja's jaw snapped shut so fast, Han Sooyoung was pretty sure she heard his teeth click. His eyes were wide, his face flushed, and he looked like he'd just been hit over the head with a two-by-four of raw, undiluted infatuation.

Unable to resist one final jab, she smirked. "You should be grateful, Dokja. I basically played matchmaker for you two. You'd still be pining away in some romance web novel forum if it wasn't for me."

Dokja whirled on her, finger raised, ready to unleash a scathing lecture via verbal barrage, but Yoo Joonghyuk chose that moment to yank him into a kiss that—again—was highly inappropriate for the setting.

As Han Sooyoung watched them, a small, genuine smile spread across her face, softening her usually sharp features.

Maybe happily ever afters weren't so cliché after all. Or maybe it was—she was just happy to have finally found her own.

THE END.