Work Text:
When he entered the bar the others were already waiting for him. The interior was dimly lit but uncrowded, so it was easy to spot the group waving at him as soon as his arrival was announced by the sudden rush of cold air, his decisive slam of the door. “Over here, Kim Dokja,” somebody called, and he went.
They had chosen a booth at the back to squeeze into, and Kim Dokja stopped short before the table to take in the sight: Yoo Sangah, Lee Hyunsung, and Lee Jihye crammed on one side while Jung Heewon, Han Sooyoung, and Yoo Joonghyuk brushed elbows on the other. Both Lee Hyunsung and Han Sooyoung seemed disgruntled to be stuck in the middle. Lee Jihye looked halfway to drunk already and very smug about it. Yoo Joonghyuk chewed wordlessly on a slice of grilled squid.
“What’s so funny?” Han Sooyoung griped at Kim Dokja. “Sit down already, you’re late. Hey, Yoo Joonghyuk, shove over, make some room.”
“Did you get lost again?” Jung Heewon said with raised eyebrows.
“It’s nothing like that,” Kim Dokja said, sitting down at the edge of the booth next to Yoo Joonghyuk, who did not so much as glance at him as he continued to eat. “Shin Yoosung needed some help on her homework. And then it turned out Lee Gilyoung needed help, too. It took longer than I thought.”
Han Sooyoung pointed an accusing finger at him. “You’re spoiling them, that’s what you’re doing. Kids these days should learn how to be self-sufficient by searching up the answers online themselves instead of asking others! How else will they get anywhere in life?”
“So that’s the type of student you were, Sooyoung-ssi?” Yoo Sangah said. “That explains a lot.”
Her voice was tinged with a hint of humour, a flush to her cheeks. Clearly they had all started drinking without him, the traitors. Jung Heewon’s glass was damningly emptied, Han Sooyoung’s voice being louder than usual was a dead giveaway, even loyal Lee Hyunsung was red-faced... Kim Dokja eyed Yoo Joonghyuk next to him, searching for a sign, but that impassive face betrayed nothing. Then his gaze slanted sideways to meet Kim Dokja’s stare. Kim Dokja quickly looked away.
“You calling me a cheat?” Han Sooyoung’s reply was directed at Yoo Sangah, but her glance darted to Kim Dokja for some reason.
“Hmm, not just that. I was thinking also... too stubborn and proud to not do things alone?”
“Hey, now...”
Jung Heewon grinned. “What? You’re going to deny that?”
Han Sooyoung scowled. “Isn’t that a better description of this guy?” She jabbed her thumb in Kim Dokja’s direction. Yoo Joonghyuk casually moved his head back to avoid getting stabbed in the eye, not even stopping midchew. Such were the reflexes of the protagonist.
Kim Dokja primly shrugged off his coat, letting it pool behind him on the seat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, and accepted the shot glass Lee Hyunsung poured for him with a nod of thanks. He expected Han Sooyoung to accuse him some more, but she glowered down at her own glass instead, falling silent.
Yoo Sangah cleared her throat. She raised her glass and smiled. “Now that we’re all here, let’s have a proper toast, shall we?”
“To self-sacrificial hypocrites,” declared Han Sooyoung.
“To friends and companions,” corrected Lee Hyunsung, looking suspiciously misty-eyed.
“To Kim Dokja’s Company,” said Kim Dokja, smiling gently at him.
“To good health and happiness,” said Jung Heewon.
“To drinking tasty alcohol!” cheered Lee Jihye.
“To new beginnings,” said Yoo Sangah.
All eyes turned to Yoo Joonghyuk, who only raised his glass against everyone else’s, and drank.
On cue, everyone threw their drinks back. Kim Dokja grimaced at the burn as he swallowed, but the warmth wasn’t unwelcome. When he resurfaced Lee Jihye had an alarming leer on her face.
“Hey, remember that time ahjussi and Sangah unnie got really drunk together?”
Kim Dokja reached out and lightly rapped his knuckles against her forehead. “Wow, your memory is really good all of a sudden? But you still can’t remember answers to exam questions?”
Lee Jihye whacked his wrist away. “I guess I was just reminded by how red your face gets when you drink!”
“It does not?” Kim Dokja reached for the bottle to refill his glass. “Here, I’ll prove it to you.”
Jung Heewon watched dubiously. “Dokja-ssi. Are you really getting goaded into drinking too much right now?”
“I’ve barely even started! You all got a head start without me. Anyway, aren’t we here to drink?”
“That’s right.” Han Sooyoung’s smirk had a knifelike edge. “You heard him, everyone. We’ve got so much to celebrate, so let’s all make sure to drink a lot tonight. No more holding back!”
“No more bringing up school!” Lee Jihye added.
“No more embarrassing stories from the past,” Kim Dokja countered.
“No more arguing,” Lee Hyunsung sighed.
“No more dillydallying!” Han Sooyoung raised her glass again. “Bottoms up!”
Kim Dokja looked into his shot glass, the sheen that faintly reflected his own face. He tilted his head back and drank.
Much later he peeled his cheek from the sticky tabletop to find his coat had been gathered around his shoulders. Lee Jihye was showing Lee Hyunsung a funny video on her phone; tinny screams reverberated from the speakers. Jung Heewon and Han Sooyoung were talking with voices too low to be overheard. Yoo Sangah was nowhere to be seen.
“She went to pay the tab,” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
“Ah.” Wait a minute. “We aren’t splitting?”
“You can get the next one.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Kim Dokja muttered. He straightened up, rubbing hard at his eyes. A mistake: the bar exploded in a kaleidoscope of fractured light. Yoo Joonghyuk’s face multiplied before him. Each one wore a scowl.
“Kim Dokja. Are you going to throw up?”
“Of course not,” Kim Dokja said, though now that Yoo Joonghyuk had brought up the idea, of course it was all he could think about. He absently picked up his shot glass to clear the taste in his mouth. Yoo Joonghyuk took it away from him and put it back down.
“Stop it, already,” Yoo Joonghyuk said. “What are you trying to prove?”
Kim Dokja squinted at him, wondering if he had misheard. “What? I’m not trying to prove anything.”
“There’s no need to do more than what you’re capable of.”
“I’m enjoying myself. Aren’t I allowed that?”
Yoo Joonghyuk fell silent.
Kim Dokja didn’t know where this churlishness of his had come from. He regretted the sharp tone he had taken. His fingers flexed around empty air.
“We’re just having some fun, Yoo Joonghyuk.” His voice was light again. He licked at his lips. “Don’t you think we’ve earned it?”
Yoo Joonghyuk looked at him, eyes dark. He looked away.
Outside, as they waited for the cab to arrive, Kim Dokja found himself standing next to Jung Heewon. She had pulled away from the rest of the group, including, he noted, Lee Hyunsung.
“You know,” Kim Dokja said, “I always thought...”
“About me and Hyunsung-ssi? Yes, I know you did.”
Kim Dokja felt his face heat up. Thankfully there was the alcohol as an excuse. “Ah, I don’t mean... I hope you didn’t take it as expectation... Heewon-ssi, if you’re happy, I’m happy.”
Jung Heewon regarded him closely.
“Yes,” she said. “That’s always been the case, hasn’t it, Dokja-ssi?”
Kim Dokja’s smile felt false, though he couldn’t tell what part of it he didn’t mean. Maybe it was that the smile he was returning felt false to begin with. Something tight to the line of Jung Heewon’s mouth; something clouded in her eyes.
“I’ll take your word for it, then, Kim Dokja,” Jung Heewon said. Her breath blew out like smoke in the winter air. “And work hard to be as happy as I can.”
“Ah... That isn’t exactly what I meant...”
“But it’s what you want, isn’t it?”
Kim Dokja paused. It felt like ambling into a trap. “Of course?” he ventured cautiously.
A gloved hand closed around his own. Jung Heewon’s grip was tight enough to be painful.
“Then I’ll give it to you,” said Jung Heewon.
The taxicab pulled up to the curb. Kim Dokja was bundled inside and crowded against the window in the backseat. There was some confusion about how they were all going to fit.
“I’ll flag another one,” said Yoo Sangah.
“Where’d Master go?” said Lee Jihye.
“He said he was gonna walk,” said Han Sooyoung.
The cab started moving. Outside the window, the streets sped past in a blur. Against the darkness of the sky, Kim Dokja couldn’t tell what was snow and what were stars. He leaned his cheek against the cold glass to look closer and fell asleep trying to tell the difference.
Living in a big house with everyone was convenient, most of the time. The members of the household had implemented a systematic chores schedule that operated like a well-oiled machine; they ate like kings off the leftovers of the meals Yoo Joonghyuk cooked for Yoo Mia; Kim Dokja got to hear the calls of “I’m home!” ring out in the afternoons, the clatter of Lee Gilyoung and Shin Yoosung kicking off their shoes and racing through the halls to find him first and tell him about their days. But there were other things that couldn’t be avoided, like the long waits for the bathrooms in the mornings, or the furniture damages when Lee Jihye had tried to kill a spider with her sword, or the time Jung Heewon brought home a big dog and Shin Yoosung skirted around it for weeks, or whenever somebody woke up in the middle of the night from a screaming nightmare.
Most annoying of all, however, were the intrusions of privacy.
“You look like a zombie,” Han Sooyoung said.
“I’m brushing my teeth?” Kim Dokja said through a mouthful of toothpaste.
“I have eyes?” Han Sooyoung returned. She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall behind him. They were standing in the small bathroom next to the broom closet by Kim Dokja’s room, tucked out of the way enough for Kim Dokja to have unconsciously—and dangerously—started thinking of it as his own, so space was cramped between the two of them. Han Sooyoung didn’t seem to care, watching him in the mirror like a hawk.
Kim Dokja started to feel cornered.
“You did well with Shin Yoosung last night,” Han Sooyoung said finally.
Kim Dokja frowned around his toothbrush. Was this really all she had on her mind? Couldn’t it have waited until breakfast? He leaned over to spit into the sink.
“The kids haven’t had nightmares in a long time.” Han Sooyoung fiddled with the drawstring of her hoodie as if she had an itch in her fingers. “Or they’ve gotten better at hiding it? But Shin Yoosung really does seem cheerful this morning thanks to you.”
So the whole house had heard the commotion, then. Kim Dokja had thought it might only have been him, since he shared a wall with Shin Yoosung’s room, and Lee Gilyoung, who had already been peering out from his open door across the hallway when Kim Dokja stepped out in his pajamas. Kim Dokja had met his eyes, pressed a finger to his lips, motioned for him to go back to bed. To his own surprise, Lee Gilyoung had listened.
When Kim Dokja knocked quietly on her door he had thought it maybe wouldn’t open, but then Shin Yoosung was launching herself into his arms. He held her and wished he could think of something more useful than the fact that her head came up to his shoulders now.
“Ahjussi,” Shin Yoosung whispered into his chest. “I’m sorry for waking you...”
He tucked a curl of hair behind her ear, drew his thumb across her cheek, under her eye. “Yoosung-ah. I can’t sleep. Do you want to get something to eat with me?”
They snuck through the sleeping house, two phone flashlight beams in the dark. Through the hall, down the stairs, and into the kitchen, where Kim Dokja opened Yoo Joonghyuk’s pantry, surveyed the immaculately organized shelves, and plucked out a tin of cocoa powder.
“I have an idea,” he told Shin Yoosung.
Which was how the kitchen countertop ended up covered in spilled sugar and cocoa powder. Now that Kim Dokja was thinking about it, had they cleaned it up? A shiver of foreboding crawled down his spine. Yoo Joonghyuk’s wrath would be worth it, though, if only for the look of giddiness on Shin Yoosung’s face as they sat on the couch sipping their mugs of hot chocolate.
“It’s good,” Shin Yoosung said, like she was surprised. Of course it tasted good—it was all sugar. But Kim Dokja understood what she meant. He had thought the same thing the first time.
“Yoo Sangah makes it sometimes for Lee Jihye when she’s feeling stressed.”
“And she made it for you, too?”
“Once or twice.”
“So ahjussi was feeling stressed?”
Kim Dokja coughed. “That isn’t...” Shin Yoosung was watching him carefully. He lowered his mug and thought about it. “No, not stressed. A better word would be restless... There’s been a lot to reflect on, right?”
“Ahjussi really couldn’t sleep,” Shin Yoosung said in a revelatory tone.
You don’t have to sound so surprised I didn’t lie... Kim Dokja knew better than to say it. He hummed in agreement instead.
Shin Yoosung huddled closer to him on the couch. “What sorts of things is ahjussi thinking about?”
Kim Dokja smiled at her. It was not a fully happy smile. Shin Yoosung had always been a thoughtful child, concerned with such questions at her age. How much of that had he been responsible for? Then again, the Shin Yoosung he was looking at was no longer so young of a child. Rather than a burden she had to bear beyond her years, wasn’t it simply an answer she wanted to know? Couldn’t he reach across now, and give it to her?
“Mostly, I’m just glad to be here with everyone,” Kim Dokja said through his smile. “And I’m so awfully glad for it that sometimes I wonder if it’s okay.”
Why would you wonder that, ahjussi? Of course we’re glad you’re here, too. I’m glad we can eat pizza by the river and you can take me shopping for new clothes and toys and school supplies and Gilyoung and I can beat you in video games...
The words didn’t come. Shin Yoosung clutched onto his sleeve and didn’t say anything for a long time. The length of that silence strained as tight as the burning ache in Kim Dokja’s chest.
“Ahjussi,” Shin Yoosung said at last. She looked straight at him, her face so grave, so serious. She told him: “It’s okay.”
Kim Dokja stared back at her. He had the sensation of a relief so dark and deep he could fall through it entirely. He could hear it whistling past now in his ears.
Faced with that vast blankness, why was it he had the urge to apologize?
He opened his mouth to respond, then paused.
Byeolie, Jung Heewon’s dog that had been adopted by the entire nebula at this point, was staring at them curiously beside the couch.
Next to him, Shin Yoosung stiffened.
Kim Dokja thought back to the beasts Shin Yoosung conversed with using her stigma, all manner of monsters and dragons and hounds. From what he remembered, she had never shied away from any of them, not after that initial period of training back when they first met. But then again, that was during the scenarios, on battlefields of life and death. This was nothing more than a harmless pet dog. Wasn’t it?
They both watched as Byeolie inched closer to their knees. He was familiar with Kim Dokja, but Shin Yoosung had evaded him up until this point. Still, he must recognize her scent, right?
Byeolie sniffed at Shin Yoosung’s fist clenched in her lap. Slowly, the fingers unwound.
Hesitantly, Shin Yoosung patted the dog’s head, then retracted her hand. Byeolie followed it, nudging at her fingers with his nose until she stroked his sleek black fur.
Byeolie wagged his tail. He leapt up onto the couch between them and made himself comfortable.
Shin Yoosung’s eyes went very, very round. She looked at Kim Dokja for some reason.
“Ahjussi?” she said. “Are you okay?”
Kim Dokja blinked. He wondered when he had developed an allergy to dogs.
“I’m okay,” he said, and he sat back and watched Shin Yoosung pet the dog beside her until her eyes drifted shut.
Kim Dokja soundlessly set their mugs on the coffee table. She was too old to carry back up to her room, and he wasn’t someone who could have managed it anyway, so he pulled a blanket over her.
“Ahjussi?”
Kim Dokja froze as if caught. “Yes?”
“Thanks for staying with me this long,” Shin Yoosung said, eyes glassy, half in a dream, as though speaking to someone far away.
Kim Dokja had left her curled up with Byeolie on the couch, fast asleep.
“It wasn’t thanks to me,” Kim Dokja said to Han Sooyoung when he had finished rinsing his mouth. “She finally got to meet Byeolie. He slept next to her on the couch through the night.”
Han Sooyoung snorted. “Of course it was thanks to you, not the dog. Just who do you think her nightmares are about?”
Her words were pointed, as though she still blamed him for something that had passed long ago. He supposed he had deserved it, once upon a time.
Kim Dokja met her eyes in the mirror. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
The sharpness of her gaze fell away into something less certain, less familiar. She looked as if she wanted to ask him something. Kim Dokja wondered why she had waited this long. The Han Sooyoung he remembered knew the necessity of cutting straight through to the heart of an issue. Her dagger pierced deep and true.
Still, this clear inclination was a step up from how she had avoided him completely for a while after things had first settled into something resembling an ordinary everyday life. It was unlike her to walk on eggshells; such an attitude seemed reserved for Lee Seolhwa, who still frowned at him every monthly checkup like she expected something to be wrong with him, or Yoo Sangah, who was busy these days and often remained as a flash of a distracted smile from across the kitchen before she headed out in the mornings. Protecting something that would break: what such a precious thing could be, Kim Dokja didn’t know.
“Kim Dokja,” Han Sooyoung began.
The door opened. They blinked dumbly at Yoo Joonghyuk standing there.
“Why are you two in the bathroom,” Yoo Joonghyuk said tonelessly. He was dressed in his tracksuit, the slightest hint of sweat beading along his hairline. So he had just returned from his morning run.
“What’s it to you?” Han Sooyoung was quick to recover from her shock.
“I need to shower.”
“There’s more than one bathroom in this house, go find one of them!”
“It’s fine,” Kim Dokja said, “I was finished anyway. Unless you needed to use the bathroom for something...?”
“No,” Han Sooyoung said. “I’m done here.” She turned and left without another word.
Kim Dokja made to follow her, but Yoo Joonghyuk blocked his path.
“The kitchen,” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
Ah. Kim Dokja put on a smile. “It was an emergency?”
Yoo Joonghyuk was still gripping onto the doorknob, so it was impossible to make an escape. He looked at Kim Dokja as though searching for something.
Kim Dokja sighed. “I promise I’ll clean it up right away. Are you happy now?”
It was said in offhanded jest but Yoo Joonghyuk let go of the doorknob like it had burned him.
Kim Dokja blinked. It was strange. He had spent many years as Yoo Joonghyuk’s companion, fighting side by side, creating stories together: the evidence was well-documented. But there were still expressions on this face he didn’t know.
“Yoo Joonghyuk?” Kim Dokja said.
Yoo Joonghyuk stepped aside. “Leave. I’m taking a shower.”
“You were the one blocking me?” Kim Dokja sighed, but he obligingly squeezed past him and out of the tiny bathroom at last. He walked briskly away before Yoo Joonghyuk could do anything like change his mind.
Downstairs, to his surprise, the kitchen countertops were gleaming and spotless. The washed mugs sat upside-down in the drying rack. The teenagers were eating breakfast at the table, dressed in their school uniforms. Yoo Mia ignored Kim Dokja as usual as he passed by, her hair split into perfect pigtails. Shin Yoosung had dark circles under her eyes but seemed to be eating well. Lee Gilyoung greeted Kim Dokja with his mouth full.
Kim Dokja took a seat at the table. “Yoosung-ah, did you clean the kitchen?”
She shook her head. “I thought ahjussi did it? It was already like this when I woke up.”
Lee Gilyoung frowned suspiciously. “You guys did something fun without me last night, didn’t you?”
Yoo Mia yawned loudly. Shin Yoosung fed Byeolie a piece of sausage under the table. The morning sun came in through the windows and settled over the kitchen, turning everything white and bright and hard to look at.
Through that slant of light, Kim Dokja and Shin Yoosung shared a smile like a secret.
The coffee shop was somehow crowded but transient at the same time. Within five minutes, the customers standing in line were replaced by new ones, funnelled in and out of the constantly revolving doors. It was a place for people busy rushing from one place to the next. Only Jang Hayoung sipped contentedly from her latte.
Kim Dokja brought a hand down on her shoulder in greeting. She didn’t startle, only beamed at him as he slipped into the seat across from her. For some reason he felt disappointed?
“For how long are you back?” Kim Dokja asked, taking a sip of his own coffee.
Jang Hayoung shrugged. “A few weeks? I don’t have anything concrete lined up yet.” She drummed her fingers against the table. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll end up staying a while.”
“Oh? Are you finished with travelling?” Jang Hayoung had visited three different continents in the past couple of months. She had been white-faced with terror the day she left, but in all of the pictures she sent, she was grinning broadly, shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers. In none of them was she alone.
“No, there’s still so many places I want to go. But it’s nice, isn’t it?”
“What is?”
“Returning home.” She laughed confidently like they were sharing an inside joke.
For a long time Jang Hayoung had been burdened with self-loathing and lethargy. Young and talented and miserable. Now she had bloomed into this sort of person he almost couldn’t remember having once felt responsible for. Even after the scenarios had long ended, she was still transcending limit after limit of her own self.
So this was Jang Hayoung without a wall. Kim Dokja couldn’t help but wonder if to others, he seemed to have changed in much the same way.
“Yes,” Kim Dokja said. “It is.”
Jang Hayoung set down her cup.
“The end of the scenarios. We’re finally seeing it together.” Her face seemed flushed; her latte must be quite hot. “Not bad, right?”
“Everyone did well.”
“You know, the other night, I had a dream...” Jang Hayoung laughed. “Actually, it was more like a memory? It was back during the scenarios, in the Demon Realm. Do you remember? The times I sat in that pub and watched the television screen and waited for something to happen. And then it finally did...”
“You know,” Kim Dokja said thoughtfully. “I can’t remember the last time I had a dream.”
Jang Hayoung rested her chin in her palm and smiled. “That’s a good thing. It means there’s nothing you’re still longing for.”
Kim Dokja paused, taken aback. “Jang Hayoung. Your dream... then, are you still longing for that time?”
She wrinkled her nose. “No, of course not. But…” She bit her lip. “Even so. It was an important time.”
Kim Dokja couldn’t dispute that. Without that time, none of them would be here now. But maybe it was simply enough that those times had happened. With some relief he realized he felt free of the urge to endlessly turn over those memories like stones that wore away in his hand. He let them go; they fell as if to the bottom of a river.
Back then, Kim Dokja made his way through the scenarios armed with the certainty of a story that had begun and ended before his eyes. He had no such thing guiding him now, but instead of losing his direction with no tether, in its lack he felt only a yawning relief. So his life was only his own. Could such a thing be called freedom? Could it be called hope?
“That time,” he said. “What happened during the scenarios, what happened before them… It feels like a story that happened to us, doesn’t it? But I don’t want to be bound by it any longer.”
Jang Hayoung nodded in agreement. “That’s how I felt, too. I don’t want to hold back anymore, either. That’s why I decided to live how I wanted.”
She hesitated. “And you… how are you living?”
Kim Dokja smiled.
“It’s not a life that should be read,” he said.
Jang Hayoung regarded him curiously. Her eyes traced over his face. Was she seeing him, or remembering him?
She leaned closer. A small smile appeared upon her face. A faint trace.
“Then, will you tell me about it?” Jang Hayoung said.
As they talked, their coffee slowly cooled in their cups. Around them, strangers entered and exited the coffee shop in a continuous stream. The river water washed over the stones.
An epic scene was playing out before their eyes. A hardened hero stepped up to the stage, drawing the sword by his side. His hulking opponent stalked forward with a smirk, fists raised in a battle stance. Lights flashed; time ticked down the seconds remaining. The battle began.
Lee Jihye and Lee Gilyoung furiously mashed the buttons on their controllers.
On either side of them on the couch, Yoo Mia and Shin Yoosung were betting the last slice of apple over who would win. Yoo Mia was betting on Lee Jihye, and surprisingly, Shin Yoosung was betting on Lee Gilyoung.
“I won’t be defeated!” Lee Gilyoung yelled with a flurry of wild punches.
“Haha, prepare your last words, shrimp!” Lee Jihye executed a string of sword slashes in a flawless combo.
Glowing powerups flew across the screen; the characters lunged to grab them. Kim Dokja, who had been thoroughly defeated in the very first round of the game by every single competitor, watched the proceedings with a bemused fondness. He couldn’t stop even if he wanted to; Byeolie had climbed into his lap and was currently pinning him down to his spot on the couch.
At that moment, Yoo Joonghyuk came down from the stairs, and paused to take in the scene.
“Master! I won’t let you down!” Lee Jihye shouted as she pummelled Lee Gilyoung’s character mercilessly.
“I won’t lose, hyung!”
Kim Dokja was startled. What did he have to do with it...? Still, he indulgently said, “I believe in you, Gilyoung-ah,” and Lee Gilyoung’s eyes blazed with determination.
Yoo Joonghyuk eyed the screen, then the plate with one apple slice left. He said nothing and disappeared into the kitchen.
“Fight back, Lee Gilyoung!” Shin Yoosung said, punching his shoulder in real life.
“Ow! Stop hitting me!”
“You better win, then!”
Nail-biting moments passed like this. The volume of Yoo Mia and Shin Yoosung’s commentary on the sidelines increased as Lee Jihye and Lee Gilyoung fell silent, gritting their teeth in concentration. Kim Dokja was starting to feel slightly smothered. He peeled Byeolie off him and stood up.
In the kitchen, Yoo Joonghyuk was peeling apples in the dark.
This guy, thought Kim Dokja. He obligingly made his way to the sink without turning on the light, retrieving a glass from the cupboard. The cheers and laughter from the living room sounded muffled as though through water. Outside the window, snow fell thick and fast, cloaking the kitchen in another layer of silence.
“Who do you think will win?” Kim Dokja asked as he filled the glass under the faucet.
The response was immediate. “Lee Jihye, of course.”
“Come on. Isn’t that a biased answer? Gilyoungie is very talented at video games...”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s paring knife was a pale glint in the darkness. “And that isn’t a biased answer?”
The water was overflowing the glass. Kim Dokja coughed and turned off the tap. “I guess we’ll see.”
His eyes were slowly adjusting in the absence of light. The kitchen was familiar in its silhouettes: the island, the pantry, the rows of cabinets. Yoo Joonghyuk, too, was familiar in the way he was watching Kim Dokja, not even having to glance down at the knife moving seamlessly in his hand. Kim Dokja knew it was as thoughtless an action as breathing to Yoo Joonghyuk, but the gaze trained on him as the blade made quick work of the apple peel couldn’t help but feel like a threat.
Kim Dokja took a sip of cool water. Idly, he suggested: “If you really want Lee Jihye to win, you should stay and watch.”
“Why?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Your presence will be like a powerup.”
“Hm. Aren’t you enough to fulfil that role for them?”
Kim Dokja sighed. “This is Lee Jihye we’re talking about... What’s got you so busy, anyway? Aren’t you just gaming by yourself in your room? You’re not in a story anymore, you know.” He said it teasingly. “You can do what you want.”
“Like you do?”
Kim Dokja paused. So did Yoo Joonghyuk’s knife, for the first time since Kim Dokja had entered the kitchen, as if it had missed its mark.
“Yoo Joonghyuk,” Kim Dokja began, but at that moment he fumbled the wet water glass in his hand, and it slipped out of his grasp. It fell as if in slow motion and shattered into pieces all over the floor.
There was a stricken silence as both of them stared at the mess. He wondered if they were thinking the same thing: that Yoo Joonghyuk could probably have reached out and grabbed it with his reflexes before it hit the ground, but hadn’t.
“Kim Dokja—”
“My mistake,” Kim Dokja said, bending down to gather the pieces. He winced.
The room flooded with light. Yoo Joonghyuk had switched it on. He stared down at the drop of blood beading red at the tip of Kim Dokja’s finger.
“Don’t touch it,” said Yoo Joonghyuk, looking like he wanted to throttle him.
“It’s fine.” Kim Dokja smiled tightly. “It’s only a small cut, I’ve had worse.”
Yoo Joonghyuk stepped forward. “I said, don’t—”
“And I said it’s fine.”
Yoo Joonghyuk stopped in his tracks. He stood there motionless, still holding the knife, and watched as Kim Dokja fetched the dustpan from under the sink and swept the shards of glass into it. When every piece was accounted for, he dumped them into the trash, and ripped off a few squares of paper towel to spread over the puddle of water left behind.
In the light, everything looked ordinary and harmless. Kim Dokja felt silly for snapping at Yoo Joonghyuk. What was there to be angry about, anyway?
Eventually the silence became too heavy.
“This is what I want,” Kim Dokja said, as politely as if pointing out the weather. “Is that really so hard to believe? I know I haven’t made it easy, but even now, do you still not trust me?”
The spilled water was slowly but surely soaked up by the paper towels.
“It isn’t that.” Yoo Joonghyuk’s voice was steady.
Kim Dokja continued in his even tone. “I know I’ve made decisions in the past that caused hardship for everyone. I’ve been sufficiently punished for them. Or, I thought I was. After everything, are you still not satisfied? Should I be finding it difficult, just because you are?”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes went so wide that Kim Dokja wondered if he’d gone too far. But he couldn’t stand it: the way Yoo Joonghyuk lived as if under the dark cloud of expectation that something bad was still going to happen. That it had never ended at all. Not only did it not make sense, it was an insult to all their efforts in getting this far. Maybe that was just the nature of a regressor. Could he ever outgrow his need to search for the flaw, the mistake that couldn’t be forgiven, the reason to cling relentlessly onto the past and so forsake the future?
“Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk said in a voice that wasn’t steady at all. “This isn’t a punishment.”
Kim Dokja looked at him in surprise, the way he seemed to be breathing fast, the white-knuckled clench of his fist holding onto the knife.
“I’m not the one you still need to convince of that,” Kim Dokja said.
There was a silence filled only by the shouts from the other room that now seemed as distant as though from the bottom of an ocean. Beneath it: the quiet sounds of their breathing. The snow piled up higher and higher outside the window. Kim Dokja’s socked foot was uncomfortably wet; he must have stepped into the puddle by accident. He absently sucked the cut on his fingertip into his mouth. He thought, sometimes you had to let things break.
“I always wondered.” The words dragged out of Yoo Joonghyuk’s throat as if they pained him. “Why such a story would be read in the first place.”
Kim Dokja blinked at the sudden change of subject. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“But now, I only want to know...”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s gaze was so piercing it felt like he was looking straight through him to somewhere else.
“Kim Dokja. Did you love it to the end?”
For some reason Kim Dokja felt his face flush. He hastily took his finger out of his mouth. Why did he have to ask it like that...?
“Yes, of course,” he blurted. “Why wouldn’t I... Anyway, is that seriously all you wanted to know?”
He watched Yoo Joonghyuk’s fingers loosen around the handle of his knife, let go. It was set down next to the pile of apple cores and peels he had made.
“That’s all,” said Yoo Joonghyuk.
Kim Dokja peered closely at the cut on his finger. It no longer hurt. What a relief.
“Take this to the others,” Yoo Joonghyuk said, holding out the plate of apple slices.
“Take it to them yourself,” Kim Dokja said, and left him alone in the kitchen.
Back in the living room, there was somehow still no victor. Overtime had lengthened into more overtime. Yoo Mia and Shin Yoosung had gotten to their feet, their eyes glued to the screen. A vein was bulging in Lee Jihye’s forehead; Lee Gilyoung’s face had turned purple as if he was holding his breath. Even Byeolie was caught up in the excitement, barking at the television.
A few minutes later Yoo Joonghyuk emerged from the kitchen and placed the full plate of fruit down on the table, rendering the stakes pointless. The betting participants didn’t even seem to care. It had gone far beyond an apple slice at this point. This was a battle of pride, of dignity...
“You can do it, Lee Jihye,” Yoo Joonghyuk said calmly.
Lee Jihye’s mouth dropped open. She stabbed at the controller buttons with renewed vigour. “Master... look, I’m winning—”
The television screen went black.
So did all the lights in the house, in one fell swoop. There was a moment of frozen stillness.
“A power outage?” Kim Dokja frowned. “Perhaps—was it the snow?”
Everyone erupted all at once. Lee Jihye and Lee Gilyoung were inconsolable, tearfully calling for a rematch. Somebody banged their shin on the coffee table; it sounded painful. Yoo Joonghyuk sighed and said he would go and check out the fuse box. From upstairs, a door burst open and Han Sooyoung shouted, “What did you brats do now?!”
In the darkness with nobody watching, Kim Dokja snuck the last slice of apple from the previous plate like a thief. He chewed, swallowed, smiled. It was sweet.
There was a garden planted in the front yard of the house. Leaves he didn’t recognize sprouted from the soil; it could be anything that lay under the earth. Potatoes, radishes, squash. A row of sunflowers lined the walk up to the front door. The bird feeder sat empty. A set of windchimes hung over the porch.
When Kim Dokja knocked on the door, it was Cho Youngran’s daughter who answered.
Lee Sookyung didn’t live alone, after all.
“We were all used to living together during the scenarios,” she had explained to Kim Dokja the first time he visited. “Why should that end just because the scenarios did? But you understand that too, better than anyone else, don’t you?”
Shoes were lined up neatly in the entryway. The house spilled open into halls and rooms from which came the low buzz of a television set, faint laughter. A child’s painting was pinned up on the wall.
Today, Lee Sookyung was in the greenhouse in the backyard. Kim Dokja could see her through the glass as he approached, bent-backed and kneeling as she tended to rows of lettuce; could see the moment she saw him, too, and straightened up from the ground.
He stepped into the greenhouse. The warmth collected inside washed over him, stifling as a blanket.
They observed each other with the passive curiosity of strangers.
“Dokja?” Lee Sookyung’s surprise was understandable. Kim Dokja didn’t visit often, and they arranged their meetings when he did.
“I just dropped by to...” Kim Dokja began. He wasn’t sure how the sentence should end.
There was a pause.
“What are you doing?” Kim Dokja said finally.
He supposed it was obvious. She had gardening gloves on, a pair of scissors in hand. Lettuce leaves were gathered in a basket. But there was nothing else to ask.
Lee Sookyung returned to her work, like it wasn’t so strange of a question. “Dokja-yah. Would you give me a hand?”
Somehow the heat became less oppressive when he squatted next to her on equal ground. She directed him to the unruly heads of lettuce that needed to be trimmed; he found firm grip at the base of the leaves and pulled. His shoes sank into the soil. He let them.
After everything that had happened, now that all of the past between them had long been exposed in the open and stripped away, there was only a mother and a son. Kim Dokja had never had a framework for how that kind of relationship should function. He didn’t know what he should say to her. So he talked about everyone else instead.
“Yoo Sangah was on TV last week, did you catch the broadcast? Lee Gilyoung got good marks on a difficult science project he worked hard on so we went out to eat to celebrate. A new wing has opened at Lee Seolhwa’s hospital. Jang Hayoung recently returned from her trip overseas—look, this is a photo she sent of her backpacking in the mountains. Lee Hyunsung is building a shed in our backyard. I think when the winter is over he wants to start a garden too, do something with a plot of land maybe. Gong Pildu is watching him with some interest...”
Lee Sookyung really was a good listener. She sat patiently as he rambled on and on, their hands keeping busy. Occasionally, she offered up some kind of comment: “Jang Hayoung looks very healthy and happy,” “Lee Hyunsung should plant cucumbers, they’re very easy to grow,” and so on. Slowly, the basket filled.
“And what about you?” Lee Sookyung said in the lapse when he ran out of things to tell her.
What about him? He wondered if this was what it meant to have a parent’s concern, to be nagged about things like grades and careers and marriage, what will you do and when will you do it... The right feeling should probably be guilt or annoyance or even resentment, but so much had happened by now that Kim Dokja thought such a reaction would be misplaced. Was this really still a mother who could hurt him if she knocked upon the wall? Was he really still a son who kept painfully silent on the other side? Neither of them had been victims for a very long time, and it was childish to pretend so.
“The things that only I could do—there’s nothing like that anymore. Or if there is, I haven’t found it.” Kim Dokja didn’t know why he was admitting it so easily. There was a time, he remembered, when speaking to Lee Sookyung felt like prying out his teeth with hammers. But it seemed so long ago now. Everything did. “Everyone else has figured out what they want to do in this world. So, I should also work hard...”
“Say, Dokja. Have you read anything interesting lately?”
A blank shock settled over Kim Dokja.
“Ah,” Lee Sookyung said, seeing his face. “Never mind. It was a nostalgic question, I suppose.”
“I don’t need to read stories anymore.”
“Don’t you?”
He was somewhat stunned by the question. In the space of the ensuing silence he thought about it: becoming a reader once again. Wouldn’t it be too ungrateful? Everyone knew a story had saved his life over and over again. But that life—wasn’t it this one he was living now? Hadn’t that been the point of reading the story to begin with?
These days, in place of a story’s gravitational pull, he felt an opposite push: to pay attention to the world around him, this one they had fought for together. To soak up everything it had to give like sunlight through panes of warmed glass. To live with no regrets, continuing forward without looking back. Taking hold of the things that grew surely from the earth. The leaves of green in his hand.
Maybe that was what had brought him to visit Lee Sookyung today. Now that there were no more scenarios, no story that held the answers and no reader who searched for them, all that remained were the survivors. The companions who had stayed within arm’s reach, by his side.
“I think,” Kim Dokja began. He stopped. He shook his head and laughed, a loud sound. “Mother. I think I’m very happy.”
It sounded illicit, the way he said it as if breathless. He looked up at Lee Sookyung, and whatever he had been going to say next tangled in his throat at the expression on her face.
“Dokja-yah,” Lee Sookyung said, voice shaking. “You’re a fool.”
Kim Dokja blinked. Then he laughed, again.
“I know. It’s not something that needs to be announced like this, right?” He scratched sheepishly at the back of his head.
Lee Sookyung stared at him for a long time. He wondered what she thought of his thoughtless confession. Was it embarrassment at having a son who blurted such a shameless thing, that drained the colour from her face? Or could it really be relief and pride that welled up in her eyes as tears? The tremble of her hands: was it uncertainty or concern, or could it be the simple desire to reach out to him? Was there a way to know?
Now that he had nothing to do with his own hands, they fidgeted with his sleeves. He picked up the full basket in his arms.
“I’ll take this inside for you,” Kim Dokja said, and set off.
He didn’t look back as he left the greenhouse and crossed the yard to head inside. He didn’t have to: the whole way there he could feel the heavy weight of Lee Sookyung still watching him through the wall of glass.
One evening Kim Dokja returned to a silent and empty house. He frowned as he fumbled to take off his shoes in the pitch blackness of the entryway. They couldn’t have already gone to bed, could they? It was too early. Were they watching a movie in the dark? A silent movie? Or had they gone out—all of them—without him?
“I’m home,” he said, and flicked on the lights, and everyone leapt out from behind miscellaneous pieces of furniture to shout, “Surprise!”
Lee Jihye tossed two handfuls of confetti in the air. Lee Gilyoung and Shin Yoosung exploded party poppers at the same time. In the echoing silence Kim Dokja blinked at the crowd of people in his house, all of whom wore party hats. Confetti fluttered down like snow.
“Don’t tell me,” Han Sooyoung said from behind a lampshade. “You forgot?”
On the table sat a pure white cake that simply read: HAPPY BIRTHDAY KIM DOKJA.
“Ah,” said Kim Dokja. What an embarrassing fact to forget.
“Hyung, you were really surprised, weren’t you!” Lee Gilyoung said happily.
“Yes, it was a good surprise.” Kim Dokja patted him on the head before turning to the others. They had really invited everyone—Aileen Makerfield taking an evening out of her busy schedule, Jang Hayoung with a smug look on her face for having kept a secret well, Han Myungoh standing disgruntled in his party hat… Shoes were piled by the entryway, the closet stuffed full with coats. The house was crowded with familiar faces. Kim Dokja looked carefully at each one.
“Ahjussi, make a wish!” Shin Yoosung approached, holding the cake platter firmly in her hands. Atop the cake, a single candle flame swayed.
Kim Dokja pretended to mull it over, tapping his chin with his finger. “Hmm... what should it be? I wish...”
“You’re not supposed to tell us or it won’t come true, idiot ahjussi!” Yoo Mia yelped.
“Don’t call hyung an idiot! He didn’t know!”
Laughing, Kim Dokja closed his eyes. He blew out the candle.
A feast had been prepared for dinner. Platefuls of hand-wrapped dumplings, a spicy seafood stew served with a heaping pot of rice, a fresh salad with vegetables from Lee Hyunsung’s potted plants. The table couldn’t fit everyone, so people moved to the couch or wandered the house with their bowls in hand. Like this, loose threads of conversation unravelled through the halls.
“How’s the business going? If you ever need some help with promotional marketing, let me know!”
“Wow, these dumplings are great. Yoo Joonghyuk has outdone himself again...”
“Hey, come check out the photos on the wall, isn’t this one cute?”
“Dokja-ssi, when should the gift-giving begin? How about after the cake is served?”
“Ah, you really didn’t have to... But still, really, thank you.”
Uriel cooed over Byeolie as he did tricks for Jung Heewon: sit, stay, roll over. Lee Seolhwa was laughing at a joke Selena Kim had made. By the window, Yoo Sangah and Gong Pildu stood and sipped from cans of beer. The Great Sage and the Abyssal Black Flame Dragon were setting up a karaoke machine by the television as the kids pestered them with nosy questions. In the kitchen, Persephone was complimenting Yoo Joonghyuk on his cooking.
Kim Dokja ate a bite of his salad, then another. All the companions who had saved him, who had ridden the train with him this far, looked like they were having fun. The blank spaces in his life had filled up so suddenly it was like someone else had gone ahead and done it for him.
If this was a story being read, now would be a good ending. He was glad it wasn’t the case. He would stay up later tonight than was wise, fall into a dreamless sleep, wake up tomorrow hungover and happy to a new day that had never been written before. His cheeks hurt from smiling. It felt awfully like getting away with something.
“Something funny?”
From the seat next to him, Han Sooyoung leaned into his space. She was close enough that Kim Dokja could smell her sour breath. He made a face at her, but didn’t tell her to move.
“Yes, actually,” he told her with a grin, just because he knew she would wonder about it.
But Han Sooyoung didn’t take the bait. She seemed distracted by something.
“Hey. What was your wish?”
Kim Dokja snorted. “What, are you twelve?”
“No, really,” Han Sooyoung said. “What did you wish for?”
“I didn’t wish for anything.” Kim Dokja laughed. “Why would I? What else is there to wish for?”
Maybe it was a bit too earnest, judging from the way she stared at him. He wiped at his mouth with a napkin just in case he had something on his face.
“Just like that, then?” Han Sooyoung said slowly. “That’s enough? This is all you wanted?”
“What?”
He could see the swallow of her throat, the shaky breath she took. This person who had sneered, smirked, acted like she knew everything, was looking at him like he was the answer to a question she had been following all along. The last time she had been this close... He rubbed absently at his shoulder, the pang of phantom pain.
“Hey, Kim Dokja,” said Han Sooyoung. “You tell me. Should I have been selfish? Did I make a mistake?”
Kim Dokja looked at her in faint surprise. “What, did you forget to get me a gift? Don’t worry about it. I forgive you.”
It was said in an annoying tone on purpose but she didn’t hit him. Rather, she looked like she had been the one to get hit instead. Kim Dokja frowned.
“Hey, what’s gotten into you? Did something happen?”
“No. Nothing happened.” But she looked uncertain. This hesitation was what made Kim Dokja lean back, faced once again with someone who wasn’t as familiar as he thought. He narrowed his eyes at her.
“What is it? Just tell me already.”
“I started writing a story,” Han Sooyoung burst out all of a sudden.
Kim Dokja blinked. Was that all? Relief flooded through him—he had actually been starting to get concerned. He returned to his salad.
“What’s it about?”
Over in the living room, the lights dimmed. Somebody started to sing into the karaoke machine while others cheered and clapped. Kim Dokja ate faster; this wasn’t something he wanted to miss.
“What kind of a question is that... Such a complex and poignant story can’t be summarized so simply,” Han Sooyoung grumbled. Kim Dokja bit back the urge to laugh as he ate another mouthful of lettuce. Why had he expected any other kind of answer? “Anyway, I’ve only just started, so I haven’t shown anyone yet. But I thought I’d ask... Do you wanna read it?”
Kim Dokja thought about it as he finished up his salad. He popped the last cherry tomato into his mouth, set down his fork.
“Maybe later,” he said with a smile, and got up to join the others.
Someone has stolen the thing you love most. You are surprised, because what the thief stole, you did not think this was what you loved most.
DREAM, Mathias Svalina