Chapter Text
Kim Dokja stirred awake, peeling himself off the damp alley floor with a wince. His lungs burned as he took in the cold air.
It had still been day when Song Minwoo and his friends had found him, dragging him away, despite it not even being a school day. Now, Kim Dokja staggered upright. The night sky hung above him, with slow, gentle flurries of snow scattering the night sky as if they were stars.
He stumbled forward on numb legs, his phone clattering to the ground as he hauled his backpack on his shoulder. The screen was cracked. It had been broken when Song Minwoo threw him at the wall earlier, the pained splintering of the glass resounding in his ears.
He sucked in a quiet breath as he gathered his phone in his hands, clicking the power button. The screen sputtered in red and blue lines before going dark.
‘...’
He shut his eyes tightly, willing away any tears. He wouldn't have enough to afford a new one.
The web novels he cherished had essentially been torn to pieces by Song Minwoo. Dokja could take the beatings; he had long grown used to bearing the pain. But as he looked down at his phone, now reduced to a paperweight, he felt a suffocating coldness settle inside him.
He sighed, eyes fixed on the flurries spiraling in the soft glow of the lamppost above him.
He began to trudge forward.
Kim Dokja didn’t know what time it was by the time he reached his rundown apartment. The snow was building into sleet, coating the sidewalk. He sent a silent prayer as he quietly ascended the stairs, hoping that ‘that man’ wouldn't be awake when he went inside. His mind spun as he weighed the likelihood. Should he just find somewhere else to sleep tonight? But for once, Dokja desperately yearned for his bed. His legs trembled from the frigid cold, his back began to sting from bruises surely forming, and his hands stung as he fumbled for his keys.
No. Whatever welcomed him tonight was worth it for a few hours of sleep under the warmth of his covers. He pulled in a breath as he curled his hand on the door handle.
‘Just 9 more days.’ He reminded himself.
He steeled himself as he clicked the door open. If he were awake, he’d surely have it out for him tonight. Kim Dokja had been staying out later each night to avoid going home; he knew he was practically digging his own grave, making the man even more upset that his son wasn't at home to serve him a meal or be his punching bag.
When he entered, he found the living room empty. Sparse except for the liquor bottles scattering the floor. Dokja quickly padded forward to reach his bedroom, holding his breath as he passed the man’s room. He held his breath as he soundlessly opened his bedroom door and slipped inside.
As he took in the state of his room, his breath caught in his lungs.
It was unrecognizable. The drawers on his dresser yanked open, clothes thrown everywhere, his blankets twisted on the floor haphazardly, his bookcase toppled over, and his books-
His books had been torn from their shelf and strewn in a pile in the center of the room, sopping wet. Some pages beginning to pull apart from the moisture, and some appear to have been ripped apart.
A ringing filled his ears, water dripping down as he picked up a book with trembling fingers. His throat tightened until he couldn't breathe.
He took a shaky step forward, and then another, leaning down to reach under his dresser. Gone.
The money he had painfully saved through every odd job to escape from this place.
Gone.
He rushed out of the house, taking in painful gasps. His legs were burning as he ran forward, tears stinging in his eyes. The stairs whined from his hurried footsteps, and then he slipped. His feet skidded on the last few steps of the landing, his elbows and knees striking wood as he crashed forward, his ankle twisting painfully.
Dokja let out a painful groan as he hauled himself up, forcing himself forward in painful steps.
“Why…” Dokja choked out, asking himself. His voice sounded so unlike himself, trembling in a pained whine. He didn't understand how, in a single day, the only thing that kept him from breaking had been carved out of his life. It was pathetic, really. Why had he held onto books so tightly when the only person he wanted to read for had abandoned him?
Left him behind…all while writing a book detailing their lives, their pains. A book that people celebrated for encouraging women to leave their abusers. A book that failed to mention the son she left behind with the monster she had sworn to protect him from.
It had been almost 5 years since she left, and Dokja still pitifully clung to the books she left behind. Reading them again and again in a feeble attempt to feel closer to the warmth that had once been there. When he finally had scrounged up enough money to purchase the book his mother had written, he felt his existence dull as he was denied even a sentence.
If she had mentioned him in the book, he might have had something to hold onto that let him believe she still loved him. But instead, all that remained was overwhelming emptiness.
His heartbeat resounded loudly in his ears as he continued to carry himself forward, legs tingling in the searing cold. He felt his bruises beginning to bite at his skin with each painful step forward. He finally came to a halt at an apartment complex.
Kim Dokja wasn't sure how far he had gone, where he was; it didn't matter. He continued a few more pained steps. Limping toward the stairs leading to the entrance. He let his legs give out as he reached the concrete beside the stairway, the awning above shielding him from the gentle flurries of snow still falling. He pried his legs forward with a painful hiss. Curling his legs into himself, he rested his head on his knees.
His vision blurred as he let exhaustion take him. He hoped no one asked him what he was doing there; he didn't think his legs could carry him any farther, now stinging with a dull ache. Maybe if he said he was waiting for someone, they’d leave him alone.
A heavy chill seeped into him as he closed his eyes.