About the Various Ways to Fall

Upstairs, the air is still and silent. He feels dazed, struck by a train--a problematic, human shaped train called Kim Dokja.

Kim Dokja, who has broken ribs. A cut on his neck and too many scars.

Even as he searches for clothes for him, he stays hyperaware of every noise, every shuffle from downstairs. He grabs a white t-shirt and a pair of black sweatpants with an adjustable waist. He thinks about Kim Dokja.

He'll be safe for today. He'll be safe until tomorrow, until Yoo Joonghyuk will eventually need to let him go again, because there are rules in this world that they need to follow--and Kim Dokja's happiness is important. More important than anything else, they'd all agreed before they'd left their lives behind. They hadn't really needed to say it out loud, they'd already known this for a fact, even unspoken.

If there's anything the past two days have taught him, it's that Kim Dokja is fragile. There are no walls to protect him, not yet. 

He doesn't stare at him to try and burn his image into his retinas, as much as he wants to. He gives Kim Dokja his clothes, directs him to the bathroom, then resumes cooking dinner. Han Sooyoung shoots him a knowing look, but quickly returns to speed reading what he assumes will be the soon to be latest chapter of Ways of Survival. Her knee shakes up and down until Kim Dokja stiffly walks into the kitchen and lowers himself onto the chair a seat away from Han Sooyoung.

The clothes are too big.

"Joonghyuk-ah," he says, "what are you making?"

"Stir-fried vegetables and pork."

He hums.

Han Sooyoung opens her mouth, "Kim Dokja, you look like a drowned rat."

Yoo Joonghyuk sets the metal wok onto a table mat, steadily ignoring Han Sooyoung as Kim Dokja gives her an affronted look. It's only a matter of time before the bickering starts.

"Don't talk while you chew," he says. "It's disgusting."

Kim Dokja shuts his mouth quickly.

Han Sooyoung chews louder.

Yoo Joonghyuk wants Yoo Sangah to come sooner, if only for a hint of sanity in this house. What did Han Sooyoung say the other day, a few more days? A week?

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Kim Dokja has never watched a movie with friends--and they are his friends, aren't they? Incomprehensible as such an idea may seem.

If he repeats it in his mind enough times, maybe he'll be able to believe it one day.

He has never had a sleepover, or borrowed someone's clothes, or gotten along with people so well before. Why now? Why so suddenly? He hasn't done anything to deserve this. He hasn't saved a cat from a tree or helped an old man cross the road. The only remotely helpful thing he's attempted to this date has been mustering the courage to climb to the highest floor he could and--

His neck itches and his ribs ache, but it's easier to ignore when he's full and has the plushest blanket he's ever touched wrapped around his shoulders.

The clothes are soft.

"What movie should we watch?" Han Sooyoung deliberates, flicking through the hoards of Netflix shows on the TV. 

For the first time that night, he thinks about Ways of Survival. There should be an update by now, the sun has set and the room is cast in only the light of the TV. It's been a long time since he's taken so long to read an update. Even though he knows he can leave it for the next day, doing so never feels right. To think he relies so much on an unpopular web novel is absurd, maybe, but the hole in his chest is a fact of life. 

"Jurassic Park?" he blurts.

He'll leave that new chapter for now. He apologizes to tls123 in his mind.

Han Sooyoung gives him the flattest look she can, opens her mouth, shuts it. Yoo Joonghyuk's eyebrow twitches. Do they not like thriller movies?

After a moment, she grits out a sentence. "We can watch Jurassic Park."

Kim Dokja thinks about saying they don't have to if they're so opposed, but Han Sooyoung clicks before he manages to open his mouth again. Her loss, he thinks. He contemplates bringing his feet to the couch to curl up, would it be rude? He doesn't remember. Han Sooyoung has her bare feet on the couch though, so he figures it's fine to think a little less.

The story absorbs him, and he finds himself relaxing. Just a little.

Han Sooyoung begins to whine about the lackluster character development halfway through, which is when they realize she clicked the sequel to Jurassic Park instead of the original. Kim Dokja still doesn't think it's that bad, but he doesn't say as much out loud. He doesn't feel like getting into an argument when the movie is still going.

He realizes Yoo Joonghyuk has been silent this whole time, typical of him. Something tells Kim Dokja this is just how he is, even though he's known him for literal days. It's an inexplicable fact of life. He chances a glance in Yoo Joonghyuk's direction, just to reassure himself he's really there and hasn't melted to become one with the couch--except they meet eyes. He looks away embarrassingly fast, neck snapping back towards the screen. 

How long...?

Maybe there's something on his face. Did he do something wrong? He waits for something to come, but nothing ever does.

Of course.

Uncommunicative, monosyllabic bastard, he thinks. 

He hikes the blanket up his shoulders a little higher, slowly, to avoid jostling his ribs more than he has to. The dull pain is almost ignorable now and he'd rather not change that fact. 

Returning to watching the movie, his eyes, despite the noise of the movie, get heavier and fuzzy around the edges as the time flies by. 

"Don't just stand there, idiot!" Han Sooyoung yells at one of the movie characters--at least one of them is still wide awake and invested in the characters, amusingly enough, despite earlier critiques. She's leaning so far forward, Kim Dokja could probably push her and she'd fall off the couch.

He thinks about it, but decides it's too early in their friendship for him to be pulling stunts like that and getting away with it. And her bat is still leaning on the wall by the front door. He still thinks about it--the urge is deep-rooted, but he resists, valiant a person he is. Kim Dokja is pretty sure that isn't how you repay someone who saved you from getting shanked on the streets.

Soon enough, the movie ends and the ten minute long show of credits begins. Unwittingly, he yawns. He wonders if Yoo Joonghyuk ever yawns. He can't imagine the sight--so he looks at him, but this time, Yoo Joonghyuk is turned away. He has one hand, almost as if... he's also yawning. Kim Dokja has heard before that yawns are contagious.

An absurd thought crosses his mind, something like the possibility of Yoo Joonghyuk having been watching him this whole time, but he chalks it to mere coincidence. There's no way he would do that, why would he?

Unless he really has something on his face.

He rubs his face discretely, but there aren't any stray rice grains. Well. 

Han Sooyoung brings up her phone, checking the time. "Yeah, I'm not walking home." She gives a shit eating grin. "Got anymore spare clothes, Yoo Joonghyuk?"

"No," he responds flatly.

"Don't tell me you're so broke you only have two sets."

"Borrow Mia's clothes."

"You think her clothes will fit me? Look at my mile-long legs."

Yoo Joonghyuk's eyebrow twitches, "Fine. Take a shower, I'll grab clothes."

Han Sooyoung leaves the living room, up the stairs. She really is surprisingly shameless. Or maybe Yoo Joonghyuk and she have just known each other for that long a time. Kim Dokja thinks it might be a mix of both.

"You two seem close," he says, when he hears the washroom door shut upstairs. He looks at Yoo Joonghyuk, illuminated only by the credits, still rolling on the TV. 

His eyes cycle through a complicated mix of emotions that he can't decipher, before it settles on something blank.

"I... trust her."

He takes a moment to process his unexpected response--it seems strangely important, serious for an answer to his informal question. He wants to call him out for having a lack of a sense of humor.

"I see," he says. "I'm surprised you find it in yourself to tolerate..."

Yoo Joonghyuk gives him a look, like he's saying he doesn't tolerate her, neither does he prefer to. Kim Dokja laughs. Yoo Joonghyuk's lips quirk up for a split second, fast enough he wonders if he just imagined it. Yoo Joonghyuk really doesn't smile often, aside from the one incident after he'd... kicked Song Minwoo in places better left unsaid.

"By the way," he begins slowly, "where am I sleeping?"

Yoo Joonghyuk blinks. "I'll show you."

He stands up, and looks a bit like he intends to carry Kim Dokja again. Not that it was unpleasant the first time, but the embarrassment of that whole ordeal has had about four hours to sink in and Kim Dokja can feel his face flushing red. "I can walk," he squawks, then clears his throat, "I'm serious."

He shrugs the blanket off.

"It's just fractured ribs," he says further, "I have legs, those aren't fractured."

Yoo Joonghyuk's face looks increasingly skeptical.

"It's one flight of stairs."

A moment passes, and he nods. Kim Dokja really needs to figure out how he exudes so much pressure without saying a word. Honestly, he's fractured ribs multiple times in the past, and he's never made this big a deal out of it on his own. Damn you and your eyes. He'll have to hide it better the next time this happens, he can't be a burden.

Han Sooyoung comes out of the bathroom in a baggy red hoodie and the leggings she'd been wearing before. He wonders what the whole point of the 'mile long legs' argument was for if she wasn't going to take Yoo Joonghyuk's pants anyway. She must enjoy being difficult, he understands the appeal.

"We're having a slumber party, right?" she demands more than she asks.

Yoo Joonghyuk returns a blank look, Kim Dokja pretends he knows what in the world she means. "Are we?" He turns to Yoo Joonghyuk.

She waves at him, throwing her hands in the air with unnecessary drama. "A slumber party. You know, pillow forts, sleeping in the same room because it's boring to sleep in separate rooms. Why would you do that, anyway?" For some reason, she sends a self-congratulatory look at Yoo Joonghyuk, who just nods with a crease in his brow. "What would you two do without me?" She shakes her head, then points somewhere over their heads. "Come on slaves, blankets, pillows!"

"Of course, your Royal Highness Han Sooyoung."

"Hey," she says, tsking at him, "stop sounding so sarcastic, it ruins the atmosphere."

"...What atmosphere?"

Anyhow.

Blankets layer the ground, strewn in the shape of a nest. Han Sooyoung props pillows against the wall, the mattress too. Kim Dokja expects Yoo Joonghyuk to be annoyed at the chaos in his home, but he seems docile for the most part. A dim, warm light permeates the room, window blinds drawn closed. The room is pleasantly warm, not drafty and frigidly cold like his own--if he can even call his room his own. His uncle and aunt have certainly never considered it to be his.

"Let's play would you rather," Han Sooyoung suggests, sitting up against the pillows. "I'll go first. Kim Dokja, would you rather become a squid or a sunfish?"

"A... a squid? Sunfishes die easily."

Han Sooyoung snorts, then breaks into cackles, while Yoo Joonghyuk looks mildly disgruntled.

"Okay," he says, "my turn, would you rather--"

.

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.

It's quiet.

Yoo Joonghyuk watches the unmoving ceiling fan, the still air.

Han Sooyoung and Kim Dokja sleep silently to his left.

The window stands to his right--locked, double checked, and locked again. The door at his feet is locked as well, as is the front door. The dishes haven't been washed yet, but it's not worth it to do them now. Not when Kim Dokja is sleeping here, right beside him. He's close enough to feel his body heat and the feathery brush of his breathing against his shoulder. He might jostle him if he moves--he'd wake up if he did, and Yoo Joonghyuk likes watching him talk and move because it reminds him he's alive, reminds him why Yoo Joonghyuk himself is alive--but he won't wake him.

Han Sooyoung has a leg thrown over Kim Dokja's, arms splayed out on the comforters. She sleeps just the way she slept during the scenarios--with complete abandon. Defenseless seeming, though he knows she'd wake up with a single sound. For now, he doesn't mind keeping first watch. He'd have been irritated in the past maybe, but in the present, his seemingly never-ending pot of boiling anger has grown stagnant as the air.

He watches. Lifts a hand, ridden with the phantoms of calluses that aren't there anymore, hovers it over one of Kim Dokja's cheeks. His face is slack with sleep, there's something vulnerable in the tilt of his eyebrows. The occasional movements in his face break the illusion once in a while, so he watches for those in particular. They remind him that he isn't lying in a hospital bed, surrounded by the smell of antiseptic, by the smell of flowers, replaced once every two weeks.

White bed sheets, white floors, and white skin. 

Yoo Joonghyuk hates the color white and doubts this will ever change. But then again, there's a reason it's Kim Dokja's. He lets his fingers brush his skin, the briefest touch of warmth. His face still has baby fat--it had in the future, too, still soft.

Will you really be my friend? The words echo in his mind.

Didn't I say so? He'd responded.

Han Sooyoung murmurs nonsensically, exhaling through her nose before she settles again.

There are still a few hours left before they need to be up for school. Kim Dokja's uniform is hanging in the laundry room, already dried. If he switched his sweater out for a warmer version he'd bought at the same time he'd bought his own uniform, it's no one's business but his own. He does, however, need to iron Kim Dokja's button up. 

"Make me your companion," he remembers the bold, dauntless, stupid smile he'd bore that day. "I can fill in the parts you're missing."

He casts one last glance at Kim Dokja, who moves away from him to sleep on his side like he'd known Yoo Joonghyuk wouldn't get up and do chores otherwise.

A bastard, even in his sleep.

He stands, shifting his weight slowly forward and unlocking the door without a sound. He opens it, steps out in one breath, and closes it to face the quiet, quiet halls. He walks through the dark--down the stairs that don't creak. His socked feet are soundless against the hardwood floor as he makes his way to the laundry room. This should only take ten minutes, and then he can go back to Kim Dokja, memorize his face again. Now is the best time to do it, because he knows Kim Dokja will ask annoying, stupid questions if he catches a hint.

"Joonghyuk-ah," Kim Dokja had once smiled infuriatingly and said, "did you miss me that much?"

His chest aches, eyes burn.

'Yes,' he'd thought without saying. 'Yes,' like he was missing steps in the stairs, like he was missing his arms, his legs, his heart and his will.

He kept his pocket watch. He fed his coins into maintaining Midday Tryst because he was unable to do anything else to get closer to him. To rid the ache in his chest, because he ran his sword through his heart and watched the black wings on his back jerk from the pain. Because he lost him, and then he lost him again, and he'd felt like he might as well run his sword through his own chest.

He runs the warmed iron over the shirt, making the imperfections in it disappear. If only he could do the same for Kim Dokja's problems. He could laugh at the thought.

To get it over with, he irons his own shirt and pants, then Mia's clothes. Memorizing Kim Dokja's face at night sounds appealing, he wants to be there when dawn comes, when the sunlight streams through the windows. He wants to be there to watch Kim Dokja wake up slowly more than anything, blinking and soft with sleep.

Maybe he'll smile. Yoo Joonghyuk could take his smile and bottle it, keep it safe inside his ribcage, below his heart with all its jagged edges.

He hangs the clothes, packs up, and returns upstairs.

The house feels like home today.

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He dreams of an endless subway and of the depthless void surrounding it. It would be a peaceful dream, one of his better ones, if not for the nigh palpable feeling, screeching and clawing from inside. He's been surrounded by nothing for too long, for so long that the nothing has infected him, has begun eating through his innards like an acid. It hurts like missing limbs.

Why did you do it? Someone asks him from the other side as he sits in the dark.

"I... had to. I had to. There was no other choice. I had to, I'm--"

Not worth it.

I don't deserve this trouble.

Don't come for me.

Don't find me.

--Come save me.

Take me with you.

I miss being--

--With you all.

A strange racket is growing on the other side of the door, unknown and earthshaking. Unknown as it is--powerless as he is--he crawls to the wall on the far side of the cabin and presses his ear against the door. They long for him and his heart doubles over in pain.

Please, please--please what? He's chosen his fate. It was the right choice.

They won't reach him in time, he's made sure of it.

They call, but he can't call back, so he cracks his knuckles against the closed door and cries. Tears, warm against his inhuman skin.

He feels his limbs grow weak, a numbed terror crawling up his disappearing fingers--his arms disintegrate and float away like snow on a starless black night. He'd known, somewhere in the back of his mind, that they'd be angry when they found out, but he never could have imagined they'd come here again. A fantasy he'd thought was dead, personified. They shouldn't have come.

"Kim Dokja!" They call, over and over again. 

But he isn't Kim Dokja.

He can't be. 

Because he is the Most Ancient Dream. He has no happy ending waiting for him. He'll imagine their happiness, but not his own. All of this, their suffering, everything, it's his fault in the end, so he should--needs to take responsibility.

I'm sorry, he thinks, but doesn't say.

He dreams.

And he dreams.

And he dreams--

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.

And he wakes up.

"--Dokja."

Someone is shaking his shoulder. 

He takes a breath for the first time in what feels like forever, like he's been breathing stale air for years and only realized how he's missed breathing at this moment. He blinks the black spots in his vision away, wincing at the bright light in the room. His shoulder is warm from Yoo Joonghyuk's hand, Han Sooyoung's head partially covering the ceiling light. 

"Kim Dokja, you idiot," says Han Sooyoung.

"I could say the same to you," he murmurs, "what are you doing waking up someone sleeping peacefully?"

Yoo Joonghyuk asks, breaking his train of thought, "What were you dreaming about?"

A train. Was that it? A subway train?

"Nothing," he answers. The dream barely makes sense in his own mind, and something about what he dreamed feels awfully tragic, feels like a void--like a nightmare. He doesn't want to have it again, and he'd rather not dampen their spirits.

"Nothing?" Han Sooyoung repeats, squinting at him before she moves out of his line of sight to flop back down on the pillows to his left, her eyes never leave him. "Then why were you... nevermind."

"Why was I what?" he asks, furrowing his eyebrows. Did he do something strange?

"Nothing," Han Sooyoung echoes childishly.

Damn her.

Yoo Joonghyuk is silent beside him, just staring like he has something on his face. He looks away before Kim Dokja can comment on it, another opportunity missed.

"It's still early," he says, "I'll cook breakfast."

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Breakfast passes quickly. Kim Dokja hasn't eaten better in years, maybe in his whole life. They linger at the playground, Han Sooyoung in the swings, Yoo Joonghyuk on the slide, Kim Dokja at the top of the playset with its faded paint and wooden steps. He feels inordinately warm. Yoo Joonghyuk must have a magical washing machine, his sweater has shrunk, no longer threadbare and patchy.

"I'm transferring to your school," Han Sooyoung suddenly says. "Tomorrow."

God, help me please.

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.

Yoo Joonghyuk this. Yoo Joonghyuk that. 

He ends up leaving the classroom for air right before lunch. Nothing is quite as suffocating as the stares--like they haven't adjusted to the anomaly of Yoo Joonghyuk.

Kim Dokja would be more annoyed if he didn't understand why they can't stop talking about him. As it stands, Kim Dokja can't help but think he's amazing too. In just two days, he's overthrown the school hierarchy and become the most attractive, sought after person in the school. He's not ashamed to say he's attractive--it's a fact that no one can refute.

"Hey, Kim Dokja," his classmate says says, coming to put an arm around his shoulders like they're friends, "is that Yoo Joonghyuk really your childhood friend? Where'd you meet?"

It's too bad Kim Dokja remembers all the times this guy has ignored him when he was on the ground and getting his lungs kicked from his chest by Song Minwoo. It's not his fault, but he feels sour and vindictive anyway. Plus, his arm is rubbing annoyingly against the bandage on his neck and he's heavy.

"Yes," he answers, stiff. "I should get going, I have work to do."

"Aw, come on, it won't take long--"

He breaks free from his strange, forced half hug and fast walks down the hall to his classroom. He has to wonder what the fuck is happening. Kim Dokja gets why they'd suck up to Yoo Joonghyuk, but why him? Why would they ever think that would feasibly work?--He isn't that stupid.

The suck up continues following him. He's stubborn--and part of his class during this period too, they're walking in the same direction anyway.

"I'm sorry if I offended you, I just--"

He opens the classroom door quickly. The noise in the room falls to a hush of whispers as he walks to Yoo Joonghyuk and Sun Ahyeong--who's barely doing any work. He'd judged her character wrong, she's too distracted. Yoo Joonghyuk is a real wrench in his plans.

"Kim Dokja," Yoo Joonghyuk says, not looking at him, but somewhere to his side. At the guy, he realizes. "Is he bothering you?"

"No," he hurries to respond. "You can't beat up every person that bothers me."

He looks like he wants to say otherwise. Kim Dokja does not want to test his statement, so he changes the subject and gestures at their poster.

"Joonghyuk-ah, what's with this shoddy colouring job?"

"I can fix it a little?" Sun Ahyeong offers.

He wants to sigh. Well, that's one way to motivate her.

"Thank you Ahyeong-ssi," for finally doing your job.

Anyhow, Kim Dokja is used to doing all the work on his own.

"No," Yoo Joonghyuk says, a strangely determined glint in his eyes. "I can fix it."

"Huh? But--"

He takes the poster back.

"...Okay."

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.

Kim Dokja has gotten used to Yoo Joonghyuk's intricacies at an astonishing pace.

Sometimes, he thinks he remembers him and their childhood together--glimmers of familiarity, remembered gestures, comfort.

Kim Dokja remembers him, sometimes, and he aches.

He knows he'll leave, it's how things always are for him, the natural order. For now though, all he can do is indulge.

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The bell rings, the class lets out a collective sigh.

More than anything, Yoo Joonghyuk thinks high schoolers are annoying and incessantly loud. With Lee Jihye, it had been fine because there had only been one of her, and she wasn't nearly so stupid at this age.

Will strangling a few make them shut up?

"Let's eat in the cafeteria today," Kim Dokja says, leading him there even though they hadn't eaten in the cafeteria yesterday. Yoo Joonghyuk has the sneaking suspicion this is another one of his ploys. Foolish and based on unfounded things.

Entering, it's another burst of noise, worse than the classroom they've been in all morning. His skin vibrates with tension, even though he knows none of them could feasibly hurt him, he knows they could hurt Kim Dokja in the instant he looks away. Anything could happen with this many people around.

"Joonghyuk-ah, stop looking so scary."

He makes no effort to listen.

They sit down at an empty table, or more accurately, Yoo Joonghyuk does and Kim Dokja follows suit looking sour, like he'd been planning to do something else. 

"You don't like crowds," he observes, an elbow on the table, hand propped up with his chin in his palm.

"Why would I?" He talks through a tense jaw, dropping his bag.

"They just want to be your friends," he says, and looks away.

"I already told you, I'll..." the words are awkward on his tongue, "make friends. Don't concern yourself with this."

Kim Dokja's nose scrunches. "Han Sooyoung doesn't count."

Yoo Joonghyuk refrains from punching him, pulling out the lunches he packed in the morning instead. Kim Dokja, despite having seen him making the lunches, still somehow looks surprised when he gives him one of the boxes.

"Eat."

"You're like a kindred wife."

"Shut up."

"With skills like this, you could make any girl swoon."

Kim Dokja is the only person Yoo Joonghyuk wants to make swoon. He couldn't care less about girls.

Kim Dokja opens the box carefully, hesitant and suspicious. He takes the spoon and eats, only then does Yoo Joonghyuk start to eat, the knot in his chest loosening the slightest. The chatter continues around them, but it doesn't assault his ears like it did before.

"You know you're popular, right?" he asks suddenly. "You could be friends with anyone."

In response, he furrows his eyebrows at him.

"...You really..." Kim Dokja's eyes widen at him, but then he sighs. "No, never mind."

They eat for a while.

Yoo Joonghyuk tracks the people coming in and out of the room, the stares being directed their way. No one approaches them for three minutes. He wishes it took longer.

"Joonghyuk-ssi, Dokja-ssi," calls a waving girl with a gaggle of more people behind her, breaking the peace. "Can we sit here?"

"Cha Insook-ssi," Kim Dokja says with a strained, uncomfortable smile that Yoo Joonghyuk could decipher from a mile away. "Of course."

She flashes him a look of disdain, discrete enough that it's obvious she doesn't want Yoo Joonghyuk to catch it--yet, he sees it anyway. He dislikes her on the spot--watching Kim Dokja's guarded expressions carefully. Yet, Cha Insook and the others she brought, only take their lunches out to eat and talk, acting civil. The line of Kim Dokja's shoulders is tense.

They sit too close.

As soon as Kim Dokja finishes eating, Yoo Joonghyuk grabs his lunchbox, packs, and leaves with him in tow. The cafeteria bristles with noise, conspiratorial whispers and rumors in the making. Yoo Joonghyuk doesn't care for them, only for Kim Dokja.

"Wait," he says, flustered, "Yoo Joonghyuk, why are we leaving?"

He doesn't answer, doesn't really know how to say it. He was uncomfortable--it was obvious.

The doors shut softly behind them, leaving them in the quiet hall.

They walk away from the cafeteria in tandem, following each other without knowing it, until they're in a secluded stairwell. The walls and stairs are dimly cast in the afternoon light coming from the ground floor door, propped open to the outdoor grounds. An autumn breeze blows through the corridor, sweeping through Kim Dokja's hair.

"Between you and Cha Insook--" Yoo Joonghyuk turns to face him, his struck expression. He lets go of the wrist he hadn't realized he'd ever grabbed ahold of. "Has she done something to you?"

"No," Kim Dokja denies, he doesn't look at him. "She was just Song Minwoo's girlfriend, I don't have many fond memories of..."

"Of what?"

"You know what I mean."

"I don't. Tell me."

"I don't want to."

It seems he's always been difficult, his mannerisms hadn't changed much with time, or maybe it's because it's Yoo Joonghyuk.

"Why?"

"Do you need a reason?" He shoots back.

Yoo Joonghyuk purses his lips. "If you have a problem with her, don't hide it from me."

"I don't have a problem with her, you're imagining things," says Kim Dokja. A lie--lie after lie after lie. He crosses his arms, hunching as he stands. "If anything, Cha Insook has had to put up with Song Minwoo as much as me."

"I'm not going to get along with her," he decides, catching his eyes, "stop trying to force things."

"You won't..." He's troubled. "Why are you so sure?"

Yoo Joonghyuk walks a few steps closer, watching as Kim Dokja's feet shuffle an inch backward. He stops. They stand with a meter of nothing between them, he wishes he could be closer.

Patience, he thinks.

"She doesn't like you, so I won't like her."

Kim Dokja blinks at him, then he cracks a smile, his eyebrows twisting.

"Joonghyuk-ah," he says, "you really are such a strange bastard."

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