won't you stay here (with me)
Sometimes, Kim Dokja wonders whether he's real or not.
He wakes up the next morning to the chill of dawn to the snores of his so called caretakers on the first floor, dead drunk. Kim Dokja can already predict how both of them will be, judging just from the sheer amount of empty bottles and cans he'd seen the day before, strewn around the living room.
He makes the decision to sneak out the house before they wake up.
Outside, it's a quiet morning. He's beaten the morning rush today, though he's also forgotten to get breakfast in his haste to get out. Once again, he can feel the wind through his sweater. It's a detriment of being nothing but skin and bones.
For once though, Kim Dokja isn't hungry... but he hadn't eaten that much yesterday--had he?
Ah, he'd forgotten about yesterday.
The unreal feeling in his chest is pervasive. His feet take him to the playground, drawn to it.
Was it real? Was it really?
He feels his gait become hastier, faster and faster until he's running and his school bag is bumping uncomfortably against his back.
His breaths come out in puffs of white and the wind is colder if he runs--and running isn't making him feel any warmer, it's doing the opposite, but the impulse is too strong and he's--
Pelting through the streets, something must be wrong with him, maybe Kim Dokja really did go insane at one point?--
Since there's no way yesterday really happened. He feels foolish. How old is he? Three? He's sunk down to making imaginary friends for himself again. If he was going to hallucinate, he should have at least made it a realistic hallucination.
Idiot.
(Except that's hope sitting in his stomach. Kim Dokja would have thought he'd taught himself better than this, isn't this kind of sad--even for him?)
He doesn't think he's ever gotten to the playground so fast.
Stupid.
His eyes immediately flicker to the metal slide, it's unoccupied.
Of... of course it's unoccupied. What else would it be?
Unreasonable disappointment stings his eyes. He expected this and he feels betrayed anyway, how hypocritical of him. Kim Dokja pulls his lips into a smile, it tastes bittersweet.
Well, it was nice while it lasted.
His lungs feel punctured and wounded, breaths coming in quick and short bursts. Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, everything looks a little off kilter. Kim Dokja swallows down the disappointment and decides to pretend it was never there--this method normally works, and it works this time too. Kim Dokja is a miserable existence and he'll stay that way it seems, he shouldn't have gotten his hopes up.
He feels hungry again.
"Kim Dokja."
He flinches and whirls around so fast that his mind takes a moment to catch up, his heart is jackrabbiting under the skin of his throat.
Yoo Joonghyuk.
"Yoo Joonghyuk."
He was real?
Yoo Joonghyuk's strides are fast and long, and in the blink of an eye, he's by Kim Dokja--perfectly wind swept hair and all. Kim Dokja briefly wonders how his own hair must look after running most of the way here, he spares a moment to feel envious of how effortlessly immaculate Yoo Joonghyuk always looks.
"What--"
"Have you eaten?"
His gaze is too intense for someone asking another person if they've eaten yet.
And really, that's the first thing he asks? Is he just that socially inept?
"No," he decides to be honest.
His wrist is taken by a warm hand, and Kim Dokja finds himself being tugged along once again. It's a mirror of yesterday morning, Yoo Joonghyuk's face is about the same level of irritated--but strangely enough, Kim Dokja feels unalarmed by it. Normally, he'd be preparing himself to take a beating if someone looked so irritated, but his grip is too gentle, too tight.
"This again, Joonghyuk-ah?"
"Shut up."
He doesn't. "You can't keep feeding me all the time, I'll get fat and then you'll have to carry me everywhere."
"You're light, it doesn't matter."
Kim Dokja feels offended. "That isn't how getting fat works."
His sentiments are ignored. "I was late this morning because I was checking the area," Yoo Joonghyuk says.
Had he read him that easily, really? Kim Dokja couldn't have been that obvious. 'I didn't realize we had a meeting time,' sits on the tip of his tongue, but he reigns it back. Maybe Yoo Joonghyuk will come early everyday if he doesn't say it out loud.
"Did you move recently or something?"
"...Yes."
The answer is said like he's hesitant to share the information. Strange, but not any more strange compared to other things that Yoo Joonghyuk does. Things like befriending the local murderer's loser of a son. Claiming loyalty to him, even though Kim Dokja doesn't remember ever meeting him.
Surely, he'd remembered someone with a face like Yoo Joonghyuk's?
"You said yesterday, that we knew each other a long time ago, what did you mean?"
Yoo Joonghyuk's eyebrows furrow. "I meant what I meant."
Is he being difficult on purpose?
"Well, where did we meet?" Kim Dokja tries again.
"...In a subway."
He waits for more, but more doesn't come. Futilely, Kim Dokja wracks his brain for memories of a young, chubby faced Yoo Joonghyuk in a subway--predictably, his search is met with nothing.
"This isn't fair. You remember me but I don't remember you."
Yoo Joonghyuk responds by shoving a bread bun in his hands--when had he paid? They stand outside the corner store. This time, the bread has scallions and is stuffed with curry. The flavor is intense on his tongue, it's all he can do to stop himself from trying to eat as fast as he can.
"It doesn't matter," Yoo Joonghyuk dismisses.
Kim Dokja wants to insist that it does.
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.
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The thought occurs as they walk to school together.
What if he ends up being a disappointment?
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A group project.
Kim Dokja hates group projects, even when the task of finding a partner isn't his, but the teacher's. For as long as he can remember, group projects have meant sitting alone in a classroom and watching other people lock eyes--or having the work of multiple people dumped on him.
"Kim Dokja," he jumps, "be my partner."
Kim Dokja is surprised, maybe he shouldn't be.
He turns to Yoo Joonghyuk, he's met with intense eyes pinned to him--along with the eyes of a hoard of hopeful-to-miffed classmates. Their stares threaten to rival Yoo Joonghyuk's stares in intensity.
Kim Dokja feels the urge to shake Yoo Joonghyuk and point at the literal crowd behind him.
Look! You bastard!
Instead of becoming less popular for being Kim Dokja's friend, Yoo Joonghyuk has become something of a legend overnight.
--A face belonging to a model. A heart of gold, because he'd defended poor, pathetic Kim Dokja. A drop dead gorgeous smile--even though the only time anyone could have caught Yoo Joonghyuk smiling yesterday would have been after he'd... after he'd...
Kim Dokja barely hides the shudder. Everyone seems to have forgotten that Yoo Joonghyuk kicked Song Minwoo in the nuts. Twice, in succession. Yet, all people are talking about how he'd smiled. He wants to put his head through a wall, the perks of being attractive are unfair.
This is what his life has come to.
For the hundredth time that day, Kim Dokja has to ponder the viability of his existence.
He's kind of scared of saying yes to Yoo Joonghyuk's... it's closer to a demand than it is an offer. Glancing at the crowd, practically glaring at him, he says, "Sure, but the teacher said it's a three person project," because it's the safest thing to say, and Kim Dokja doesn't want the ire of any of his classmates.
Yoo Joonghyuk's face darkens into a frown, he looks like he wants to punch a few people, their teacher pointedly doesn't look at him. Kim Dokja sympathizes--but not really, because this teacher is infamous for giving out group projects like candy on Halloween. Though, he thinks a better analogy would be giving out group projects like a kidnapper gives candy to children.
The teammate hopefuls aren't subtle--trying to walk in Yoo Joonghyuk's line of sight, it's unlucky for them that Yoo Joonghyuk is unnaturally talented at ignoring people. After staring at the teacher for a long, suffocating moment, he finally turns to the crowd behind him--they all perk up, like they're trying to stand out.
Everyone starts talking at once.
Kim Dokja tries not to cringe and fails.
Yoo Joonghyuk turns around again, "Kim Dokja," he looks significantly more irritated, but if Kim Dokja looks closer, something about him seems weirdly on edge, cornered-- "choose someone."
They're all trying to gesture at themselves, smiling like they know him. He isn't friends with a single one of them.
He listens well, so he knows the gist of all of their personalities anyway. In the end, Kim Dokja chooses the well mannered, popular girl, who he at least knows has never written on things on his desk--she seems like someone Yoo Joonghyuk could get along with. That is, if he would just try. Yoo Joonghyuk still looks annoyed, but far less close to flying into a homicidal rage, which he counts as a win. Does Yoo Joonghyuk dislike crowds, he wonders?
The hoard dissipates, bitter and disappointed.
Their third team member is Sun Ahyeong, who has enough social awareness to know Yoo Joonghyuk is the... finicky type. Kim Dokja can appreciate that, even though he ends up taking the lead because she's busy looking at Yoo Joonghyuk--who doesn't notice.
Of course. He's denser than a rock.
They're presenting on battles in World War II, so Kim Dokja picks the first ok-looking event from the list provided by the teacher. Sun Ahyeong volunteers to bring their proposed battle and group to the teacher and all things considered, it goes well. Sun Ahyeong and Yoo Joonghyuk could even be friends, he thinks. Their personalities don't clash and Sun Ahyeong certainly likes Yoo Joonghyuk enough.
Looking at the two of them, they seem like a perfect duo. Kim Dokja thinks Yoo Joonghyuk has the prettier face, but Sun Ahyeong doesn't seem unequal when she sits beside him. Not lesser, like Kim Dokja looks and is. They remind him of Lee Seolhwa and Yoo Joonghyuk in Ways to Survive a Ruined World.
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.
.
"I have something to do when I get home today," he blurts.
Yoo Joonghyuk's eyebrows furrow in response. He looks at Kim Dokja like he can see right through him--but to his relief, he nods, letting it go. Kim Dokja lets the breath in his lungs out, waves goodbye, turns to walk home--
Yoo Joonghyuk grabs his wrist, pulling him back briefly. "See you tomorrow."
Kim Dokja swallows the overwhelming wave of emotions--too much too suddenly. He doesn't even know what the feelings are, can't decipher them because they aren't written out with words.
"Yeah," is all he can say.
He leaves, and he wonders why he left.
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Kim Dokja thinks about his mother on the way home, fiddling with a loose string in his sleeve. It's been a while since he visited her.
When he sighs, grey haze materializes in the air.
He wonders if Yoo Joonghyuk knows about the novel his mother wrote, if he's seen it in the shelves of a bookstore, if he's read it.
Kim Dokja doesn't want him to read it. It would be better if he didn't.
A rock hits the side of his head. It surprises him so much that he barely registers the pain. He hears a familiar voice--one he'd been happy to not hear during the entirety of the school day, and he thinks: Shit.
"Hey!" Song Minwoo shouts. "Moron, you thought you were safe, huh?"
Kim Dokja starts running, but his pursuer is closer than he thought. In a matter of seconds, he's getting shoved and a shoe is being pushed into the middle of his back.
"Did you really think you'd get away with all the bullshit you pulled yesterday?"
It hurts. His ribs dig into the ground, throbbing from an awkward landing and old bruises, crying from the pressure. Kim Dokja fights to get up and run, but something cold and sharp is being pressed to the back of his neck.
It's a knife, and Song Minwoo is angry--that might be an understatement. He's been usurped and dragged through the mud and now he's livid. Kim Dokja should have known he'd come back and do something like this. He should have been more careful. He'd gotten lax in the mere 24 hours of peace he'd been granted.
"Who was that guy? How did you get him to come and save your sorry ass?" Song Minwoo hisses, livid, "There's no way a loser like you is friends with him--did you pay him?"
He's afraid to breathe. The knife goes from chilling to burring hot, a trail of red runs down the side of his neck. Song Minwoo doesn't seem to notice, continuing with rapid fire words as he watches the floor tilt. A cruel laugh grates at his ears.
"--Or did you suck him off? Shit, that's disgusting. I bet you did, you don't have a single thing to offer. You're flat broke!"
No. No, no--
A man, faceless, towering over them both. His mother, battered and on the floor, hands in an approximation of a flimsy shield.
The knife.
Where is the knife?
Where--
A kick lands in his stomach, right where it hurts. He's just glad the knife isn't pressing into his skin.
"There's no one to save you now, you desperate little bitch."
Screaming. Someone is screaming. Their house is barren at best, the red spilling from... from... is the most colorful thing there. Seeping into the carpet, slippery and there's so much--
Crack. A jilted breath and cough, he only manages to breathe in dust from the sidewalk.
Kim Dokja smiles. "I think," he opens his mouth because a knife apparently isn't enough to stop his stupidity, "you're the desperate one here--"
"Shut up!"
Another kick. He wheezes and fails to draw air into his lungs.
"So goddamn annoying, you're such a fucking eyesore!" He screams at him, so loud that the whole neighborhood must hear--that's why the drastic, quiet change makes his blood freeze. "Maybe I should just off you here. No one would miss you, especially not your little guard dog."
He's angrier than he thought.
"Huh? What do you say?"
What is this idiot expecting Kim Dokja to say?
The assault stops for a moment that he takes advantage of, breathing in as deep as he can without disturbing his ribs. Maybe he's letting him breathe so he has air to answer, Song Minwoo is certainly dumb enough to do that and expect a 'sure, guess I'll die.'
What a mess, he thinks, trying to right the hazy, jilted looking ground. It's depressing how familiar the view is, trying to work up the audacity to talk back because it's the only option he has left.
"Go to hell."
And Kim Dokja has to pause, because that shaking voice doesn't belong to him. The consequent 'Crack! Thump!' echoes in his ears. The 'thump' results from Song Minwoo hitting the ground cold, and when he looks up, he realizes where the 'crack' came from.
It's a girl, she's holding a bat.
His first thought is that she looks tall, but he realizes it's just the angle and his viewpoint from the dirt. She stares at him, wide eyed--even though he should be the one gawking, not her.
"Are you hurt?" Her voice is rough, but with a strange, frantic kind of undertone.
"N--"
"Fuck, of course you're hurt."
Kim Dokja had thought she might be a good Samaritan or something, but it's looking more like the girl is an 'or something.' She hovers above him, hands making aborted, hesitant twitches.
"No, I'm fine."
Sitting upright, he has a better view at the girl. She has a beauty mark under her eye. Her face is pretty in a sharp, wary way. She's deceptively small for the amount of force she has to have used to knock Song Minwoo out. A series of complicated emotions appear on her face, but she settles on something terse.
"Do you take me for some idiot? You're obviously hurt."
He ignores her. "Really, thanks for knocking this guy out for me, I'm okay." His ribs scream otherwise--he ignores that too.
Her expression flashes from annoyed to awkward. "I'm Han Sooyoung," she tells him.
"Thanks, Han Sooyoung."
Without preamble, she waves him over. "Follow me, I need to make sure you're not about to die."
"...I'm pretty sure he--" he gestures at Song Minwoo, "--needs the check up more than I do."
She sneers. "He will if he wakes up and says a single word," vitrol dripping from her lips.
Song Minwoo is so still, he could be a corpse. Kim Dokja thinks he'd make a realistic stage prop.
"Sorry, but I need to be getting home." He stands up and doesn't quite manage to hide the wince. The pain is intense, burning. The ground looks more and more unsteady the longer he stands, swirling and blurring like he's drunk.
"...Hey... you're bleeding."
"It's okay."
Han Sooyoung moves closer and jabs his ribs, then she jolts away when he gasps. Her face looks grim and a little scared.
"You're not walking home like this."
"I am."
"You have broken ribs," she tells him. "Walk away and I'll kill you."
Kim Dokja is confident he's faster than she is, even with broken ribs, but he isn't sure he wants to test her will to hurt a person she just saved. She's still holding the baseball bat.
Breathing hurts. "This is kidnapping," he attempts.
She takes a phone out in response and calls--they answer after a single ring. It's intimidating somehow. "Get over here," Han Sooyoung orders curtly, glancing at a sign. "34th street."
Click.
Surreptitiously, Kim Dokja tries to pick up the bag he'd dropped at some point, but puts it down quickly. He hates having broken ribs. Without ceremony, Han Sooyoung scoops up his bag instead.
"Since I'm taking care of you out of the kindness of my own heart, you should give me your name."
"I didn't ask for you to do this."
"Shut up."
Because he can, he smiles annoyingly. "Does that mean you don't want my name?"
"You..." Infuriated, she pinches her bat under an arm and takes out a yellow lollipop, ripping the packaging off. She sucks in a breath after she sticks the lemon flavored candy in her mouth. "Just tell me your name."
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After a minute, the sound of feet hitting the ground begins to filter into Kim Dokja's ears. Strangely, the footfalls sound familiar--it's akin to recognizing when Song Minwoo is stomping up the stairs, coming to oust him out of hiding and consequently beat him up.
Yoo Joonghyuk rounds the corner. He's wearing a hoodie and cargo pants, all black from head to toe. It suits him, he thinks. The school uniform is too tame to match.
Staring straight at him, Han Sooyoung says, "This idiot got hurt," throwing a thumb over her shoulder at Kim Dokja. Which is unfair, because none of this was his fault in the first place. They've known each other for mere minutes and she's already saved his life, haggled for his name, and sold him out.
It takes a moment for it to click. Kim Dokja blames the pain throbbing through his whole chest. The girl who bashed Song Minwoo over the head with a bat and Yoo Joonghyuk know each other.
"...You know each other," he repeats out loud.
Han Sooyoung pauses. "It's a small world."
They must be close for Yoo Joonghyuk to have come running after a single sentence from her over a call. Maybe they both grew up in some child soldier training program.
"Kim Dokja, what happened."
It's barely phrased like a question. He hasn't know Yoo Joonghyuk for very long, but it's time enough to know he never beats around the bush. Kim Dokja wishes he would beat around the bush.
Song Minwoo, still playing dead on the ground, jolts. It must be the lingering trauma, triggered by Yoo Joonghyuk's voice. He isn't sure he feels bad for him.
"I walked in on the guy on the ground trying to shank Kim Dokja." Han Sooyoung answers.
Feeling a little vindictive, Kim Dokja elects to say nothing. Yoo Joonghyuk's gaze sharpens--if looks could kill, Song Minwoo would be a mess of dissected guts on the ground. He steps on Song Minwoo like he's merely walking over a human carpet, paying him no mind--then frowns at Kim Dokja, scrutinizing him.
He says nothing, and that's why he shrieks in surprise, definitely a manly shriek, when Yoo Joonghyuk swoops down and picks him up.
"You... what the hell?"
"Walking with broken ribs hurts," is all he says, as if that's enough. He hadn't told him he had broken ribs. How had he known?
Kim Dokja looks at Han Sooyoung, she isn't doing a good job at hiding the smile on her face. "I can't carry you," she says, "just be grateful."
"I could've walked."
"You couldn't pick up your bag."
"You barely let me try!"
Yoo Joonghyuk looks like he's developing a stress headache. That would be funny if Kim Dokja weren't in his arms, he doesn't want to get dropped.
Han Sooyoung sticks her tongue out at him. Like any respectable 16 year old would, he sticks his tongue out back.
She ignores him.
Unfortunately, that leaves him to stir about his current situation.
Being carried. By Yoo Joonghyuk, no less. He holds him the way he holds his wrist, a lifeline, except the feelings are amplified and Kim Dokja feels like he's about to burst. His chest is warm.
Somehow, it doesn't hurt. Maybe Yoo Joonghyuk has experience with this, judging by how at ease he is.
Kim Dokja hasn't felt this secure in a long time. It reminds him of being young and small enough to fit in his mother's arms after a nightmare--which is a weird comparison, but he has no other memories like this.
It should be fine as long as he doesn't say it out loud, right? Kim Dokja is glad he doesn't have to be walking--another thing he isn't about to say out loud.
His mind fills up with things he could never fathom letting escape, thoughts of Yoo Joonghyuk's long eyelashes, the sharp set of his jaw, the way Yoo Joonghyuk smells--clean, like he'd taken a bath before coming, but also like fresh almonds and earth. He looks good from this angle too.
It isn't normal to think like this, something tells him, but he ignores the little voice.
He feels dwarfed, being carried like this. Vulnerable. Not vulnerable like he is when his aunt or uncle feel angry, but another kind. Maybe the more dangerous kind. Kim Dokja is bound to disappoint Yoo Joonghyuk--even if they've only known each other for two days now.
It feels like it's been longer.
He pushes down the thought and the certainty that comes with the idea of Yoo Joonghyuk's eventual disappointment and then departure from him. He can dwell later.
"Are there any other injuries, other than your ribs and your neck?"
He jolts, Yoo Joonghyuk couldn't not have felt it, with how tightly he's holding him. "Just bruises."
Another argument that he can walk on his own pops up, but he doesn't say it out loud.
Another lull. It seems like Yoo Joonghyuk is purposefully walking slower so he won't jostle him--as if Kim Dokja is a glass doll or something. The roads are blessedly empty. He's only really begun to feel embarrassed about getting carried.
"How do you and Han Sooyoung know each other?"
"We've known each other since we were younger," Han Sooyoung says.
That would explain the closeness, he thinks.
It's unfair how they remember knowing each other so young, while Kim Dokja can't. He feels like a cheat, a fraud. Yoo Joonghyuk, even Han Sooyoung is out his league. He hasn't had friends for so long--he can't even remember what it was like. Not all of it has been his fault, but he never made much of an effort in the first place to be friendly.
It confuses him, this situation. The two people beside him thinking he's important somehow.
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.
.
He can feel his bones through his clothes.
It reminds Yoo Joonghyuk unpleasantly of subway stations in winter, of too big coats. It had been cold. Of course it had been cold. No matter what they'd done, they hadn't been able to make Kim Dokja warmer. Ice cold skin, a fluttering pulse--
Kim Dokja is too light for his age, but he's warm. Yoo Joonghyuk decides that's what matters most. He tightens his grip imperceptibly, so he won't jostle his injuries.
Maybe he should have killed Song Minwoo when he had the chance. Bastard. Trash. Scum. He'll track him down and terrorize him later, yesterday clearly hadn't been enough of a warning to stay away.
He'd thought he wouldn't be seeing Kim Dokja until tomorrow. Yoo Joonghyuk wonders if this is enough of a reason to keep Kim Dokja, just temporarily. He could take care of him, unlike his sorry excuses for an aunt and uncle--he can tell how full of bullshit they are, even without seeing them.
He doesn't want to let go of him. He's too vulnerable, too much bone.
They arrive back home. The door is still unlocked from when he threw it open and took off running in a panic. He'd been ruminating again, trying to keep busy. It was why Han Sooyoung's call had startled him so much, she'd told him she was going for a walk--
He'd known better than to assume a walk meant just a walk. Going on walks during the scenarios in another world had meant patrols, scouting out the area, constantly on alert because dying was easy--especially in early stages.
He's glad he ran.
Han Sooyoung splits off from them, taking a seat on the sofa, perched on the edge with a phone. Kim Dokja taps his arm to be let down, so he does so gently--reluctant as he is to let go. He tries not to miss the contact. The first thing he does is grab the first aid kit in the bathroom.
The three of them are silent as he wipes away the blood on Kim Dokja's throat. It's soaked into his collar, dyeing it crimson. Yet another reason to dislike white clothes, white stains too easily--yet it's Kim Dokja's color. Yoo Joonghyuk doesn't understand the appeal.
"You should stay the night."
"...This was a trap, wasn't it."
Han Sooyoung's eyes flicker up at them from her phone, she laughs through her nose and says nothing.
"I can walk, I swear," Kim Dokja says. "It's not like I'm running."
It's sound reasoning. Yoo Joonghyuk might be a hypocrite as someone whose walked around with far worse than a few broken ribs, but still. "Why not stay?"
Kim Dokja makes a face, not quite an answer.
He disinfects his neck cut and smooths a bandage over it. Kim Dokja runs a finger along the edge of it.
The newer cuts and scrapes on his knees and elbows, he cleans and covers as well.
There are various old cuts on his skin when he looks close. Jagged lines like glass. Circular burns, the size of cigarettes. He grabs an ice pack for his ribs and he wishes he could heal it all instantly. Wishes for once that he could heal other people, even though his hands were never made for that kind of thing. This is the best he can offer.
Kim Dokja's voice comes quiet, unsure and hiding it.
"I've never had a sleepover, is it really fine if I stay?"
"We have extra rooms and mattresses," his mouth moves on its own. "I can wash your uniform for tomorrow. You can borrow some of my clothes to sleep."
If Kim Dokja stays, he can protect him.
He won't need to worry he isn't getting enough to eat, worry his aunt or uncle are hitting him, worry that none of this is real--just for a day.
Kim Dokja smiles that fragile, small smile. "Okay then." It wavers at the edges.
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