About the Various Ways to Fall

Yoo Sangah has always wanted to try pulling off a Shakespearean elopement.

"You tied your bedsheets into a rope," is the first thing Han Sooyoung says to her, her gaze awfully flat, standing in the middle of the grass lawn of her parents' backyard. The sun is below the horizon, an inky black sky above them. This isn't the first time Han Sooyoung is speaking to her in these strange times, but it is the first time Yoo Sangah is hearing her voice in person.

"I thought it would be fun," she responds. She feels she's escaping a little too easily. It takes away from the feeling of whimsy, which is a shame.

"It's cliche!" Han Sooyoung gestures in the dark. Yoo Sangah can imagine what she's doing with her face well enough even without seeing it. "Didn't you just spend the last three days hacking government systems and blackmailing your parents? That's a much more novel idea."

Yoo Sangah chooses to smile at her and appreciate how Han Sooyoung goes quiet. She jumps the rest of the way down to stand under the window of her third story bedroom and then she smooths down the wrinkles in her skirt. She doesn't quite remember how she used to dress at this age, but if she's remembering right, she bought this skirt in a small fit of rebellion. Originally, she'd left it to collect dust in her closet because it was too short to wear. Alas.

Turning around to really see her, Yoo Sangah can't help thinking Han Sooyoung is truly a sight for sore eyes. A stark juxtaposition after dealing with her traditional parents and their oversized house and their demands to 'do this, do that, and do it like this' for these past few days. Here Han Sooyoung is, with her tomboy-ish haircut and lilac sweatpants, standing with her back hunched--the way her parents would never allow her to. After the world as she knew it ended, 'tradition' had become irrefutably obsolete. She would never have dared to run like this before the apocalypse, but now?

If there's one thing the apocalypse made sure to do, it was opening her eyes. She thinks apocalypses do that by design. After having had a taste of freedom, Yoo Sangah prefers to be her own boss--what is it Jihye-yah always used to say? 'Sangah-unnie is the pinnacle of girlbosses'?

Han Sooyoung turns halfway, then she offers Yoo Sangah a hand. She smells like sour candy and her palm is warm against hers, her face is pinked too--all the way to the highs of her cheeks and the tips of her ears. "Damn it," she murmurs, "isn't it cold? Why'd you dress like it's summer?"

Now that she's outside, she is beginning to notice the cold drafts. Well.

"It is a bit cold," she admits, smiling shyly, "but you'll keep me warm right?"

Han Sooyoung gapes at her for a fraction of a second before whipping her head the other way. "...Don't say crap like that."

"Sorry Sooyoung-ah," she laughs and bumps her shoulder with hers. "It's just fun to tease."

.

.

.

"You know," Kim Dokja starts in hopes of dispelling the silence, "I feel like I'm taking advantage of you."

In the early morning, they meet at the playground.

Han Sooyoung hasn't come yet, so it's almost a replay of how they first met--a less violent version of course, but it never ceases to surprise Kim Dokja when Yoo Joonghyuk is here, each and every time. Even the air tastes the same, like gravel and dewy grass drenched in a misty sunrise. It feels like a very stupid, idealistic dream. Then again, it would be just like him to dream up something this unreal.

"I mean, you're popular." He gestures at him, hoping he'll understand. Yoo Joonghyuk is dense as a rock, so he only quirks an eyebrow at him and crosses his arms--the bastard. "And I'm not popular. I'm freeloading off you." Not to mention the lunches and the dinners and the warm house and--

"That's fine," his expression is impassive, but it still feels like he hears what Kim Dokja doesn't say, reads everything he's thinking on his face, "I'm only repaying you."

"Like I said, for what? I don't remember." Kim Dokja is a nuisance. A tumor of sorts. Sometimes he acts out when he's having a fit of insanity, as if he wants to push him away--that's the last thing he wants, though, he doesn't...

"You don't have to remember." He seems so sure when he says it, Kim Dokja almost, almost believes him.

But he doesn't.

Bastard, he repeats in his mind.

Kim Dokja thinks for a moment before he turns to him again. "Tell me a story," he decides to say.

"What story?"

"I don't know, how we met? Maybe I'll remember if you do."

Yoo Joonghyuk looks skeptical, as if Kim Dokja has asked for something difficult. 

"Why are you looking at me like that?" He grins. "Is an entire story too much for your limited vocabulary, Joonghyuk-ah?"

"It's complicated," he responds.

And that's when Han Sooyoung bursts into the vicinity of the playground's, frazzled and panicked.

She interrupts Yoo Joonghyuk just as he opens his mouth to say more, slapping a hand over his mouth as she sings--or maybe yells off-key gibberish. He doesn't think it would be ethical to assign the term 'sing' to what Han Sooyoung does at that moment. While Kim Dokja never ends up finding out how exactly they met, that matter falls to the sidelines when another girl rounds the corner and walks onto the playground.

Her eyes are a warm hazel, a shocking contrast to her black hair--and she's wearing their school's uniform for some reason... just like Han Sooyoung. A sense of foreboding crawls up his spine.

"This is Yoo Sangah," Han Sooyoung gestures at her after a moment, and she walks closer. Throughout the whole interaction, the girl--Yoo Sangah--doesn't take her eyes off him. It's intense and almost unnerving, but she looks more wonderous at the sight of him than anything else--she doesn't look at him like he's a particularly interesting insect on the sidewalk the way others sometimes do.

Kim Dokja can't for the life of him figure out why these people look at him like he's something special. Why Yoo Joonghyuk grasps his wrist and doesn't let go, even past the moment when he should have. It makes something in him wriggle unpleasantly--the thought that they might think he's worth something when he's this. Just a fraud, the son of a killer, the boy who fell multiple stories and failed to die.

"Hello," he greets and tries to meet her eyes, "my name is Kim Dokja."

Yoo Sangah tilts her head and smiles. "'Dokja' as in 'reader,' yes?" Her hair blows to the side in the breeze, she tucks a strand behind an ear and manages to still look impossibly elegant. "We've met."

...Another one?

Kim Dokja is starting to think this is an elaborate scheme to dupe him into thinking he had childhood friends. When he truly believes it, they'll turn around and laugh at him for even entertaining the idea of being friends with them.

"...Ah," he responds eloquently. "I see we have."

Han Sooyoung whispers something to Yoo Joonghyuk before she takes her hand off his mouth. Kim Dokja fails to catch what she says, which convinces him further about all this being a ruse. Yoo Sangah sits in the swing set, not far from them, she continues to stare at him with a weak, fading smile on her face, like he'll somehow become thin air if she looks away. Kim Dokja chooses to politely ignore it. He doesn't know what else he can do--there's really nothing on his face.

He checked. Multiple times in the mirror in Yoo Joonghyuk's oversized bathroom.

"You'd best get used to people showing up and already knowing you," Han Sooyoung says all too dismissively.

"No, this really isn't normal," Kim Dokja tries.

They should know this isn't normal, right?

He looks to Yoo Joonghyuk, but he remains stone-faced--utterly unhelpful. If he had a penny for every time he called Yoo Joonghyuk a bastard in his head, he'd have enough to finally move away from his aunt and uncle.

"I knew you too," Han Sooyoung throws out, she doesn't even have the decency to look at him as she says it. "I just pretended not to know you because I didn't think this bastard," she shakes a fist at Yoo Joonghyuk, "would outright tell you! I thought we agreed to act natural. Screw acting natural."

That's it. He's growing grey hairs.

"No, you're joking."

"Huh?" She has the audacity to quirk an eyebrow at him, as if he's the weird one here. "Why would I joke about that? I'm not."

They're multiplying, he thinks.

For a moment, a slight smile passes Yoo Joonghyuk's lips, so quick he would have missed it if he weren't already looking at him--not that he stares, of course not. Kim Dokja just, very occasionally, indulges in a casual admiration of the aesthetics of Yoo Joonghyuk's face.

Yoo Joonghyuk turns to him, and he looks away just as fast.

He doesn't stare. Really.

.

.

.

Their teacher is nice enough, but Yoo Sangah isn't partial towards her.

It's difficult to tolerate her when she remembers all the things Kim Dokja went through at this age. Yoo Sangah lived in his head, read the books in his library. Reading it is different from intimately knowing how his eyes dart around the room, how a certain kind of maturity has settled over his face too early, how the other students look at him as if he might combust if they get too close. Her knowledge burns inside her veins like ice. It's cold like nothing she's ever felt. She regrets many things despite how she declared she'd live an ivory life, she should have talked to Kim Dokja before...everything. Convinced him--

As if he would have listened to her, to anyone, who tried to dissuade him. 

Han Sooyoung gives her a kind of knowing look.

This teacher knew Kim Dokja was being bullied, and while Kim Dokja might not hold that against her, Yoo Sangah certainly does.

"Do you think we could get her fired?" Han Sooyoung asks nonchalantly as they wait in the pallid grey halls for their teacher's cue to come in. "She's annoying. This whole school, actually. God. I forgot what a shithole high school was."

"We'd need a replacement first," she goes the practical route, a bitter taste in her mouth. "But I also think I could get her to go along with our plans. She might even feel guilty about Dokja-ya."

Han Sooyoung looks at her, stunned with her mouth slightly open, but in the blink of an eye she's grinning.

"You've changed." She cocks her head to the side in thought. "Or maybe you've reverted?"

The classroom door opens before she gets to respond. 

Walking in with Han Sooyoung by her side, the nostalgia hits like a truck.

Going to school, studying, and studying more, making superficial connections because she was never allowed out the house to spend time with friends--it had been work, despite how she loved learning. The apocalypse stripped her to chasing the bare necessities, and that means Yoo Sangah values frivolities all the more now.

"It looks like we have gained two more transfers today, even though Joonghyuk joined us just a few days ago." Their teacher says, wearing a prim close-mouthed smile that looks like it was cut out old etiquette books. "You two, introduce yourselves?"

She smiles her best smile back. "My name is Yoo Sangah, I enjoy reading books and learning new languages." She gives a slight bow and takes the chance to peak at Kim Dokja, sitting tensely in his seat--and she idly notices Yoo Joonghyuk staring at him too. How transparent. "I hope to get along with all of you, so please don't hesitate to say hello."

In contrast to her, Han Sooyoung wears boredom like a second skin--it's almost comical, the way they're the textbook definition of character foils to each other. 

"I'm Han Sooyoung, nice to meet you."

That's all she deigns to say. Their teacher's brow twitches, Han Sooyoung looks two seconds away from pulling out a lolipop and chewing it noisily in the middle of class. Yoo Sangah only barely keeps from her smile from becoming wider than it should.

"Do you two have hobbies, anything else to share?"

Thinly veiled like that, her question is clearly pointed at Han Sooyoung. Yoo Sangah watches the ire on Han Sooyoung's face grow, her arms cross.

"Nothing for people I don't know," she murmurs under her breath.

"Well," Yoo Sangah says over her. "Maybe one thing."

She glances over to Kim Dokja, thin and smaller in the light coming through the window, shadows on his face where there shouldn't be. A facsimile of the Kim Dokja lying in a hospital bed, gaunt and young and far, far away from today.

"I'm actually a bit shy."

She sees Han Sooyoung's finger twitch--and in the room, she suspects Yoo Joonghyuk is the only other person in the room who catches it too.

"I just moved here so I could use a little familiarity, honestly..." She tilts her head down and peers through her bangs at the people sitting by Kim Dokja. "That being said, I was wondering if anyone would be willing to trade spots with Sooyoung and I so we can sit by Dokja and Joonghyuk-ssi? You don't have to of course." She laughs a little, fiddles with her fingers.

The class titters, processing her words slowly.

"Actually, I--"

"Sangah-ssi knows them?"

"I don't mind moving."

"Yeah! it's no problem."

"...Thank you," she sends them genuine smiles, "both of you." Then, Yoo Sangah looks to their teacher--she seems almost caught.

Good, she thinks.

"Is this alright? I get it if you don't want friends sitting with friends, I should have asked first."

"I..." Her lips purse. "I suppose if you're all agreeing with it, then go ahead."

Han Sooyoung's head swivels around to look at her. She smiles--maybe a little too wide this time.

As they move to their seats in the middle-back of the class, Kim Dokja's eyes follow them. It's been such a long time since she saw his eyes open like this, but the emotions swimming in them are what truly take her aback--confusion and disbelief for the most part, but looking closer, there's a glimmer of hope in his eyes, too.

She vows then, to protect that hope. Protect him--but perhaps that's a given, considering the fact that she's here in the first place.

"Dokja-ssi," Yoo Sangah whispers as class begins and she settles in one of the two seats behind Yoo Joonghyuk and Kim Dokja, "what books have you been reading?"

"I, well..." His eyes dart around nervously, breaking away in his self consciousness.

"I like web novels too." She smiles, but her eyes curve when Kim Dokja's head swivels around at her and the sudden enthusiasm in his expression is clear as day. "Black Flames Empress is one of my favorite authors, tell me about yours?"

Han Sooyoung gives a full body twitch to her right.

.

.

.

For perhaps the last time, Yoo Sangah walks into her childhood home. Though more accurately, it's a mansion. 'Home' is too intimate a term for a place such as this, clinical white tiled floors and grand glass chandeliers. It's overwhelmingly elegant, big and empty, no substance. Her parents aren't here. She made sure to come when they'd both be gone, Yoo Sangah isn't interested in another pointless bout of frustration and family politics.

She doesn't hate her parents, no, they raised her well enough--she's grateful for the time they invested in her, but in the end, that's all Yoo Sangah is to them.

An investment.

She never did get to find out what happened to them the first time, swept up in scenarios and threads and games. The sentimental part of her wishes she thought to look back and figure out what happened to them, even though they forsook her when she rebelled. Maybe it's morbid curiosity that makes her wonder.

Either way, Yoo Sangah gathers her things--everything that might be valuable--and she packs up her life in this house in one neat bag.

The housekeeper watches her steal into the night, but she says nothing. The only thing she does is shake her head when her foot crosses the threshold on the way out, turning the other way. Han Sooyoung stands outside the house, waiting with her arms crossed in front of her, hunched like she's trying to preserve heat. A lollipop stick sits in her mouth.

"Is that really everything?" Han Sooyoung scrutinizes the luggage she has--just a bag and one smaller bag on her back--talking with the lollipop still in her mouth.

"Yes," she says. "I'm going to pawn about half of this away though." 

She doesn't bat an eye as they start walking away, leaving it all behind. "Oh, that would be useful. We'd be set for money for a bit, that bastard will have an easier time cooking to feed the rat."

Under an unspoken agreement, they travel to Han Sooyoung's house next, taking a bus and then walking when they can't bus because neither of them want to take the subway. On the way, Yoo Sangah takes in the buildings. They're not as tall as she knows they'll be in the future. She wonders what they would have looked like if the apocalypse had never happened. Large dark window panes reflect Han Sooyoung and herself as they stand on the sidewalk. She watches herself take a lock of black hair between her fingers in thought, waiting for the pedestrian crossing light even though there are close to no cars in these streets.

Yoo Sangah faintly recalls Han Sooyoung talking about her childhood in passing--that she was something of a rich girl, a 'spoiled brat with a little too much freedom'--but she doesn't remember much. Or, to be precise, Han Sooyoung doesn't talk much about her childhood.

When she sees the house, she finds they're far more alike than she'd ever thought, down to the grounds keepers and the lonely house. Her parents seem far less involved though, and Yoo Sangah isn't sure if that's better or worse. She thinks Han Sooyoung would be inclined to say 'better' if only to save face.

"Sooyoung, I want to dye my hair again," she says as Han Sooyoung exits her house with her own luggage, simply because of her too-pensive expression and the melancholy slant of her lips.

She blinks at her first, and then she grins in the next second, like Yoo Sangah's words just bring her that much joy.

"I was waiting for you to ask," she says with a mischievous glee, "That's why I got these--"

She reaches into her luggage and pulls out several boxes of hair dye. One box is her usual hair color--and isn't that a thoughtful gesture?--while the other six are varying degrees of vibrant. They range from strawberry pink and lime green, all the way to midnight blue. 

"What do you think?" Han Sooyoung asks with that glimmer in her eyes. She can feel her eyes watching her.

Yoo Sangah is sorely tempted.

"Which one do you think will be most shocking?" She's pretty sure the school has a 'no unnaturally dyed hair' policy, but don't let anyone say Yoo Sangah isn't petty and willing to do something like this to watch a few people's faces twist.

She did put pepper into the Minosoft's breakroom coffee. She considers far worse things in her free time.

"...You're really considering this?" The boxes she's holding lower a few inches. "Are you planning to become a delinquent?"

She feels a smile begin to break on her face. Han Sooyoung is the one who bought the hair dye in the first place--it makes no sense for her to be surprised, yet Yoo Sangah lives to make Han Sooyoung second guess her.

"We can dye the underside of my hair," she continues without answering her question. "I think it would look good, and I kind of like the idea of lilac."

On the way back, she and Han Sooyoung discuss the stereotypes associated with certain hair colors. They debate the merits of replacing the staff in Kim Dokja's school completely, aside from the ones that Kim Dokja himself is in favor of or vice versa, until they reach Yoo Joonghyuk's doorstep and let themselves in. They close the door on the night-time city, the warm air in the house seeps into her muscles.

His place is smaller, but Yoo Sangah finds she loves it leagues more than her own. They've only been back in the past for a few days now, but there are certain knick knacks around the place already. A mug here, newspapers on the couch, Yoo Mia's child-sized shoes by the front door. Her favorite thing about the house is the table with ten chairs in the kitchen and how the mugs in the cupboard are mismatched, the unopened video game CD boxes by the TV--it feels like home.

Yoo Joonghyuk turns to them as they enter, younger than she remembers him, too. "There's curry in the pot," he says first.

"Thank you, Joonghyuk-ssi," Yoo Sangah says sincerely, trying to communicate more than that through the tone of her voice and her eyes, and he nods.

.

.

.

Before the weekend comes, Han Sooyoung takes a picture of the four of them at school and sends it to the group chat, and as far as Yoo Joonghyuk can tell, the response is generally of envy and an anxious kind of need to join them faster. It serves as a good motivator if nothing else.

They sit at the table eating breakfast on a Saturday morning, acting as if all of this is normal. Han Sooyoung suggests dragging Kim Dokja out over the weekend to hang out, acclimatize him before the others start to flood in. 

"That might be a good idea," Yoo Sangah says in response, "What do you think Joonghyuk-ssi?"

"That sounds good." 

"Then it's decided!" Han Sooyoung claps her hands together. "Operation Spoil the Squid is underway."

"I thought we already agreed to do this before returning to the past?" Yoo Sangah asks, amused. "That was almost the entire plan."

'We just need to make him believe he really deserves a happy ending, don't we?'

"Yes," she concedes, gesturing in the air, "but we didn't give it a name."

Fair enough. Yoo Joonghyuk is at least sure that Kim Dokja will never realize they're referencing him with a name like 'Operation Spoil the Squid.'

Kim Dokja doesn't have a cell phone plan, just an old cell phone, so their first plan of action is to trick him into getting a cell phone plan, or better yet, letting one of them give him a new phone entirely (while telling him it's an old phone that isn't used anymore, because of course Kim Dokja is difficult and he'd be uncomfortable if they did that). That way, Kim Dokja would be able to call any one of them at any given moment if he got in trouble.

At the end of that thought though, an apprehensive silence hangs in the air--Yoo Joonghyuk knows they're all thinking the same thing. Kim Dokja would never call for help, never let them interfere, not if it came at a cost or risk to them. Sometimes, he wonders if Kim Dokja would refuse help even if it came at no cost, simply for a belief that he's worth nothing to them. 

"...What if Dokja-yah never ends up trusting us?" Yoo Sangah voices, and it speaks volumes to the trust she has in Yoo Joonghyuk and Han Sooyoung to be putting out such a question, laced with insecurities. "We might fail."

"Come on," Han Sooyoung retorts, but her face is queasy, "we've got years."

They'd also had years and years with the Kim Dokja of their future.

An apocalypse together, and even that hadn't been enough to convince Kim Dokja to seek their help, to confide in them, worry them. No matter how strong they became, he was always a step ahead. 

Sometimes, he wonders if Kim Dokja had known back then--the extent of what Yoo Joonghyuk would have done for him--would still do for him. What Han Sooyoung or Yoo Sangah would do for him. The people he'd trample over without a glance back, the things he would have done, the things he has already done, the number of lives he lived for him, what he'd do to himself if Kim Dokja just said the word. If he had known, would he have sacrificed himself so easily? 

"It will be different this time," he says as he stands and gathers their plates silently. "We don't have another option."

Han Sooyoung holds her plate up, but her grip tightens as he reaches to take it. She licks her lips before opening her mouth, talking as she eyes a spot on the table. 

"'Ways of Survival,'" she looks up then, and meets his eyes with a sharpness that is both characteristic for her and not. "If I stop uploading chapters... what will happen?"

"I don't know," Yoo Joonghyuk says honestly. 

Han Sooyoung's grip lightens and Yoo Joonghyuk takes her plate. Their gazes break, and the air weighs on his shoulders like a physical weight. They could cease to exist. They could cause a paradox. Maybe they're making a mistake, just as they did last time when they pulled a group regression. Breaking rules they shouldn't.

"I think... you shouldn't stop uploading chapters." Yoo Sangah says, a melancholy tilt in her smile. "Dokja-yah loves 'Ways of Survival.'"

"Is that really enough of a reason?" Han Sooyoung turns to her. "If we continue like this, what if..."

What if their efforts become for nothing? Anguish flares in her eyes, lingering regrets, the bitter sting of failure. 

"In the end, it's up to him."

They clean up together, the atmosphere is more muted than it was before. Yoo Joonghyuk wishes Kim Dokja were here, because even now, it's so very easy to slip into the mindset that nothing sticks. That no matter how hard he works, the ending will never be in his reach.

Kim Dokja is a reminder that there is an end. With him, there's a chance.

If it's for him, even the barest sliver of a chance is enough.

.

.

.

Kim Dokja's neighborhood is grey and dreary, as if the despair of its residents has seeped into the very walls.

Scraps of plastic blow across the sidewalks, mildew crawls up fences. Leaves are plastered to the ground, Yoo Joonghyuk thinks they're a slipping hazard. Twigs and cigarettes are scattered on the concrete in equal measures.

"This is the place, right?" Han Sooyoung glances at the lined up houses, moss covered roofs and old shingles.

"Yes, I think so," Yoo Sangah says, but her voice is apprehensive.

Han Sooyoung leads the way to the front of the house. Beer bottles and cans are lined up by the door, waiting to be taken out, but generated too quickly for garbage runs to keep up with the output. It reeks, and Yoo Joonghyuk doesn't understand how some people stand to live like this. Han Sooyoung hesitates, fist curled to knock.

"Damn it," she turns to them, conflict in her eyes. "Kim Dokja won't get screwed over if we bother his aunt and uncle right?"

Yoo Joonghyuk might commit a double homicide if they touch a hair on his head.

That's how they find themselves standing beneath Kim Dokja's second floor room window. The room is dark. Han Sooyoung suggests Yoo Joonghyuk throw rocks at his window like they're in a romance movie. Yoo Sangah suggests scaling the walls and knocking politely.

Fortunately, Kim Dokja spots them standing there before Yoo Joonghyuk can begin throwing the pebbles Han Sooyoung has gathered over their past minute of deliberation.

"...How did you guys know where I live?" He sticks his head out the window, a steadying hand on the windowsill. It still looks too precarious for comfort--his heart does something funny at the sight. Yoo Joonghyuk ignores the urge to stand under him in case he tips over.

Han Sooyoung exchanges a look with Yoo Sangah. "I saw your address in the school records," Han Sooyoung lies.

Kim Dokja's face twists, confusion and amusement. "Why did you have the school records?"

"Don't ask dumb questions," is her retort, "come hang out with us. Yoo Joonghyuk misses you."

Yoo Joonghyuk says nothing in favor of watching how the emotions on Kim Dokja's face play out. Mostly, it's disbelief. Maybe he would believe it if Yoo Joonghyuk said it himself--but the moment passes. Another time, he resigns himself to waiting.

Two minutes later, Kim Dokja appears again, quiet as a mouse through the front door. When he swings the door shut, it's so silent the doorknob doesn't even click. The house is disturbingly silent. Instead of being peaceful, it's something foreboding.

"Alright," he turns to them, as if nothing is wrong and there aren't beer bottles behind his legs--his face is stiff, like he's about to run. The same expression from when Song Minwoo--that piece of trash--had cornered them, and Yoo Joonghyuk hates that these insignificant people are what have caused Kim Dokja so much suffering. "What are you three here for?"

Yoo Joonghyuk is going to burn this house down someday. That is, if Jung Heewon doesn't do it first considering what she's known for, but Yoo Joonghyuk will fight her for the right.

"We're here to hang out with you, I told you already," Han Sooyoung replies and crosses her arms.

"...Right." 

Kim Dokja's eyes dart to her, then away to the door. He shuffles in place, scuffing his shoes.

"There's a PC bang about ten minutes from here," Yoo Sangah inserts gracefully, "why don't we go there? I've never been to one."

"Oh yeah, Yoo Joonghyuk will enjoy that," Kim Dokja murmurs, but his eyes stay firmly fixed on his battered shoes. "But... I'm sorry, I don't have any money."

"Don't worry about that," Han Sooyoung restlessly starts to drag Kim Dokja away from his house, back to the sidewalk. "This noona is loaded."

"'Noona'...are you referring to yourself?" At her lack of shame, Kim Dokja's face goes through a series of emotions, like he can't comprehend ever thinking of Han Sooyoung as anything even resembling 'noona.'

Yoo Sangah laughs behind a hand. Yoo Joonghyuk eyes Han Sooyoung's hand on Kim Dokja's wrist, and Han Sooyoung notices his split second of thought before a catlike grin spreads on her face.

"Yoo Joonghyuk, you take him--he won't run from you." She shuffles him over in a moment without a hint of social know-how underlying her actions, Kim Dokja squawking at her unsolicited man-handling.

"Why am I being passed around?" Kim Dokja asks.

Without hesitation, he reaches for his hand--it's cold, even though they haven't been outside for long at all. He considers lacing their fingers, it would be more comfortable.

"You--what is this?" Kim Dokja shakes their conjoined hands.

"I'm holding your hand."

"Why?"

"...You won't get lost if I do."

"Am I a child to you?"

His hair is in disarray, so he begins to comb through it with his free hand. Kim Dokja stands stock-still.

Yoo Sangah turns away. "Oh my," Yoo Joonghyuk hears her murmur. "Joonghyuk-ssi is being rather bold, isn't he?"

Han Sooyoung openly cackles at Kim Dokja's reddening cheeks--his mouth opens, then closes. His eyebrows twist strangely. Before anything stupid can come out of his mouth, Yoo Joonghyuk starts to purposefully lead their way to the PC bang--it should be in this direction. 

"Next, you two are going to start swinging your arms while walking."

"Han Sooyoung, I hope you trip and fall into a ditch."

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.

.

At the end of the day, they part ways. 

Kim Dokja thinks he might be becoming too accustomed to their presence. He feels cold, alone without them. Maybe he would have been better off having never met Yoo Joonghyuk, or Han Sooyoung, or now Yoo Sangah too--because now he knows what it's like to feel like he isn't at rock bottom. Like things might be getting better, looking up.

Hope is dangerous. Song Minwoo used to dangle it in front of his face just to watch him struggle for it, and there aren't many things that have left Kim Dokja feeling worse.

It's greedy. Selfish. He's greedy for not wanting them to leave, isn't he? He should stop while it isn't too late. After all, why would they stay?

Loyalty, Yoo Joonghyuk's words echo in his mind. His dark eyes sear his retinas, they burn themselves into his mind. He still has the sheet of paper they'd passed between their desks the day they met, tucked into the same pocket as his phone. Against all appearances, Yoo Joonghyuk might be the most sentimental person he knows to go this far for a single person, and Kim Dokja is taking advantage of his kindness.

He'd be fine even if they left--he tells himself, standing before empty beer bottles and the front door of his house. He unlocks the door and doesn't breathe too deep in relief that the door hasn't been blocked--the air indoors is so thick with smoke and alcohol, he might start coughing and cause his aunt and uncle to wake.

He brushes his teeth, changes into night clothes.

Kim Dokja is good at lying to himself.

That night, he lays awake, reading in the dark with a new phone--and he has to wonder how they cajoled him into taking it, this phone looks so new it probably hasn't even been released to the public yet. When he looks at the contacts list, their numbers are set on speed-dial. Yoo Joonghyuk, Han Sooyoung, and Yoo Sangah. Or at least he thinks they are; their display names are different, and this whole thing stinks of Han Sooyoung's meddling. 

Depressed Malewife: Did you get home?

...What is this name? Kim Dokja is dying inside.

You: I did, did you?

Because he can't take the display name Han Sooyoung has chosen, he changes it to something Yoo Joonghyuk won't immediately murder him for.

Joonghyuk-ah: Yes

Are you free tomorrow

You: Probably, why?

Joonghyuk-ah: We'll come pick you up again

The blankets are cold. He thinks of a warmly-lit room, blankets and pillows on the ground, people--friends at his side. He doesn't deserve them, but he imagines they're here with him. That his uncle isn't drinking himself into a coma downstairs, that his aunt isn't smoking what remains of her lungs away on the porch.

You: Okay

He doesn't know what else he can say.

Joonghyuk-ah: Goodnight

You: Goodnight to you too, Joonghyuk-ah

He tries not to smile.