Chapter Text
The next morning, Kim Dokja awakens to a massive headache. He reaches out with one arm, the other held protectively over his eyes to shield them from the offensively bright rays of the morning sun that were streaming through the windows. He fumbles around a bit before his fingers close on the cover of a pillow, which he promptly pulls over his face.
He lets out a groan of frustration, inwardly cursing his past self for over-indulging last night.
Maybe I should curse that sunfish, too, for making me feel the need to drink wine.
But deep down, he knows he can’t entirely blame Yoo Joonghyuk for this mess. After all, he himself had consumed the glasses of wine, fully aware he couldn’t handle it well.
He lies there for a few moments, marinating in regret as memories from last night flood into his mind.
Though the pillow hides his face, he can feel the hot tears pricking the corners of his eyes, blurring his vision as he allows himself to feel all the emotions he had to suppress last night. Anger, grief, and regret bloom anew, crashing over him like a tidal wave.
The anger is like a fire kindling in his chest, burning away the resistances he’d built up to hold back the other emotions. Grief, cold and heavy settles in the pit of his stomach, while regret coils tightly around his heart, constricting more as he takes each pained breath.
A strange reaction rises in his chest, like bile in his throat, as the emotions coalesce into something that he feels slowly sinking in his stomach.
As the chaotic mix of emotions threatens to overwhelm him, he is left adrift in a sea of despair. He can do nothing but try to keep his head afloat, though that itself is a gargantuan endeavour.
For a moment, he’s transported back to the night before that fateful day ten years ago.
“Joonghyukie,” he whispers, the wine’s effects clear on his flushed face. “I need to tell you something.”
“Yes, Dokja?” Yoo Joonghyuk asks, patiently. Then, as a mischievous glint enters his eyes as he continues, “You’re not going to tell me it’s my duty to stay by your side as you weather the effects of over-indulging in wine, are you? You can’t pull that card again, you bastard!”
“That’s-” Dokja sighs. “That’s not it, you idiot.” He reaches out and puts his hands on the sides of his best friend's face, pulling him closer. “I think… I love you.” He carefully studies Joongyuk’s expression, waiting for a sign of rejection, before leaning closer. “May I?” Kim DOkja’s cheeks burn with a mix of alcohol-induced warmth and anticipation as he waits, pressed close to Yoo Joonghyuk. His heart pounds loudly in his chest, each beat like the ticking of a clock as he awaits a response.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes widen ever so slightly, a subtle shift that causes all hell to break loose in Dokja’s anxious mind.
He watches as Joonghyuk’s gaze flickers between his own eyes and lips, a silent internal battle playing across his features.
A beat of silence passes. In that moment, thoughts race through Kim Dokja’s head, although his mind seems to be grasping at each one with the speed of a snail. Memories of their shared experiences flit through his mind like scenes from a film, each one a cherished moment in time that bound them to one another as companions. He knows that his confession could change everything, and he grapples with his fear as seeds of uncertainty are sown into his mind, with every passing second without a response from Joonghyuk.
When the nod finally comes, it’s but a fleeting feature, almost as if Joonghyuk himself is grappling with the weight of his decision.
But it’s all he needs before he leans in, pressing his lips to Joonghyuk’s in a tender, hesitant kiss.
Before he gets carried away, Joonghyuk pushes Kim Dokja gently, but it’s still enough to startle him from his drunken stupor.
“I-” The embarrassment washes over him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-” He chokes in a breath. The chilling certainty that he’s crossed a line that can never be uncrossed falls onto his shoulders, as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice cold water over his head. “I mean, I did mean it.” He draws a shaky breath before saying words he doesn’t mean, “But you can forget anything happened if-”
Joonghyuk presses his finger to Dokja’s lips, effectively silencing him, though that did nothing to stop the self-deprecating thoughts swirling in his mind.
The silence between them is deafening, and although they are seated in the same position as they were just moments ago, he can feel a chasm that seems to grow with each passing second. A chasm that Kim Dokja hopes is just a figment of his imagination, created by his anxiety. Dokja feels as though he is drowning in heartache. He wishes he could fully regret his actions, but he can’t seem to, despite how selfish he knows he’s being.
As the moment stretches into what feels like an eon, the air between them feels heavy, laden with the weight of a thousand unspoken words. In the end, it’s this silence that speaks the loudest, a testament to the fragility of the bond that now hangs in the balance.
Dokja worries over what Joonghyuk will say next. He can see a storm of emotions swirling in the depths of Joonghyuk’s eyes, and he hopes he won’t hear the words he’s dreading.
“Dokja, don’t. Don’t go down that path in your mind.”
A beat passes, with the only noises being their breathing.
Joonghyuk pulls Dokja into a hug, holding him close. He squeezes him once before releasing him and planting a kiss on his forehead. “Dokja,” he calls, his voice barely more than a whisper. “As much as I would love to give you an answer right now, I think it would be best to wait ‘til you’re sober again. That way, I can verify whether or not you truly meant what you said.”
“But I-” Dokja begins, affronted.
Joonghyuk stops him again. “Ah-ah-ah. Don’t throw a tantrum, please. Unfortunately, I’m more than familiar with how you get when you’re drunk. I know what you’re going to say. But I’d like you to say it, when you’re sober. Please?”
The softness of his tone, along with the tenderness of his embrace had lulled Dokja into a sense of security, and he nods once, before allowing himself to drift off in his best friend’s arms.
Little did he know that all his hopes would be dashed, and his heart shattered the very next day.
When Joonghyuk had left, he had taken a piece of Dokja’s heart with him, leaving an aching void that no amount of time or wine seemed to be able to fill.
Lying in bed, he relives the pain of that long-ago heartbreak, and the emotions he’d suppressed for so long surge to the surface, demanding to be felt and acknowledged. Tears soak into the pillow, blurring the line between past and present as Dokja grapples with the emotions he’d buried so deeply, and for so long. The fears arise with the ghost of his past self that digs himself out of the grave he’d thrown it into. The fact that he’d seen Joonghyuk again, and held a conversation with him, felt like a huge accomplishment. He can scarcely believe that he hadn’t broken down yesterday and cried pathetically in front of the man. But of course, his pride could never allow himself to do such a thing as prostrating himself in front of his first love, the man who’d broken his heart.
Time may allow one to grow insensitive to the pain, but the emotional wound never fully heals because it hasn't been properly addressed. Every so often, the pain resurfaces, a bitter reminder of his unresolved wounds. Such is the duality of scars; they represent the pain of the past and the resilience to move forward.
So he allows himself to feel the love and the pain, the anguish of losing a friend, a potential lover; after all, to live is to grieve. He relives all parts of his past that he’d never forget, and experiences his third heartache anew, in a way he’d never quite allowed himself to before. The tears drip, drip, drip, salty and hot, as they run down his face. His silent screams of anguish echo only in his mind as he mourns what he once had. What he once lost. What was now found again, with Joonghyuk’s reappearance in his life. Perhaps he should thank the psychopathic bastard, sometime.
The emotions he’d kept carefully locked up in the darkest recesses of his mind resurface, threatening to drown him in misery as they surge through his veins like molten lava. Nothing can quite save him from this cesspool of self-inflicted anguish. Nothing and no one but himself. Only he can drag himself back to the present, but… he can’t quite bring himself to. Not yet.
As he starts to slip into the void filled with all the worst parts of himself, the self-loathing and pain engulf him. His right hand itches to reach over and dig his nails into the flesh of his left arm. But he doesn’t allow himself to go through with his time-tested strategy for pulling himself out of his own mind.
He’d once heard that to be able to heal, you have to let yourself experience the emotions and thoughts you’ve suppressed. And for far too long, he hadn’t let himself heal, hadn’t let himself get over that time and Joonghyuk himself. He selfishly kept holding onto those things, scared that by letting them go, he would become someone he isn’t.
He had also considered that by letting them go, and embracing all the goodness in the present, he could find his own salvation, but once again, he couldn’t bring himself to. He didn’t deserve to fly away from the burdens of his past. And so he remained, chained and entangled in his worries and misery, grounded and drowning in them, while watching everyone else find their meaning and soar through the skies.
For so long, all he’d been doing was nursing the never-healing wounds. But perhaps what he needed was to reopen them himself, so he could clean them out and suture them so they could be as good as new. Well, perhaps, not as good as new, for surely they’d leave some scars. But with work and resilience, his mental wounds can become hardened scars.
So then, perhaps what he needed was for Joonghyuk to reappear, so he could experience the heartache all over again.
As they say, “the pain means you’re alive; and the scars mean you’ve survived.” So he allows himself to listen to the soft voice in his mind, the one that’s usually drowned out by the cacophonous raucous caused by everything else. It whispers to him that perhaps he could live with his wounds, as they heal and scar. Because they serve as a testament to the things he’d endured and come out, on the other side, scathed but alive. After all, scars have the power to remind us that the past we try so hard to forget is real, but they also remind us we’ve survived.
He laughs through his tears. Perhaps he can finally get over Yoo Joonghyuk, and while he’s at it, he may as well address everything else in his past. Hopefully he won’t ever again reach a point where he finds himself toeing the edge of a roof, wondering if it was worth living. After all, he now realises he has things and people to live for.
As he lies there, the battle of emotions fizzles out, leaving a strange and empty sense of peace. He knows he must somehow gather the broken pieces of himself and forge them anew. For he knows he can no longer wait for someone to fix it for him. Something in him, perhaps the need for closure, compels himself to seek the truth and clear Joonghyuk’s name. Perhaps afterwards, he can let go of the feelings of grief, longing, abandonment, and guilt that had been plaguing him all these years.
With his vigour renewed, he calls in his attendant and sets to work getting ready for the day.
***
He goes down the ornate staircase and makes his way down to the dining room, all the while discussing today’s schedule with his attendant. “Bernard, tell me what’s on the schedule for today.”
“Yes, my lord.”
He lets his attendant’s words rush over him as he mentally adds one more task to his never-ending to-do list. I really need to ask Han Sooyung about the stranger’s identity.
As Dokja reaches the dining room, the aroma of freshly-baked pastries and hot coffee envelops him, offering a comforting contrast to the turmoil of his thoughts from earlier this morning.
The sunlight streaming through the large windows that line the walls of the dining room casts a warm golden light on the elegant table and illuminates the silverware and crystal glasses that were arranged meticulously by 3 seats.
“Kim Dokja!” Persephone cheerfully greets him as he makes his way to the table, which was already laden with many platters of steaming food.
“Good morning, Mother, Father,” he hopes his voice doesn’t give away just how painful his headache is right now. He nods to them both before taking a seat across from his mother, and to the left of his father, who sat at the end of the table. The high-backed chairs, cushioned with a plush dark-blue velvet, provides a sense of comfort as Dokja settles into his usual spot.
A maid approaches, carrying a bowl of steaming hangover soup. Dokja is immensely grateful but waves her away, asking instead, “Have you all eaten as well?” In this house, he and his parents had long since made it clear that their employees’ well-being mattered just as much as their own, and it was the least he could do to express his wish to take care of his people, and show his appreciation for their tireless work.
“Yes, my lord.”
After the maid is dismissed, Dokja nibbles on a piece of toast, mentally preparing how he should bring up Joonghyuk’s reappearance to his parents.
“Dokja, how is your hangover?”
Persephone’s question breaks him out of his thoughts. “Better now, that I’ve eaten part of the soup.” His mother had actually come up with the recipe herself, knowing how often he spent drinking with Han Sooyung and Yoo Joongyuk as a teenager. Dokja manages a weak smile. “I wish the headache would disappear faster, though, like the nausea.”
Persephone’s gaze softens. “Well, make sure to drink plenty of water today. And if you need to take it easy, don’t hesitate to do so.”
“Thank you, mother. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”
“Be sure that you do,” she chastised, “Constellations know that you don’t take enough care of yourself.”
As they continue their meal, Hades changes the subject. “Oh, Dokja, did you hear about the upcoming charity gala? It’s being hosted by Marquis de Sade’s family in a fortnight. Your mother and I were thinking of attending. What are your plans for that night?”
“Hm, I don’t think work will keep me very busy that week, so I’d be happy to accompany you both.”
His parents smile at him warmly.
“Wonderful,” Persephone claps her hands together, “We’ll make sure to RSVP for the three of us.”
“Ah, speaking of work-” after once again changing the topic to mention his work schedule for the day, he lets them know the time he’ll probably return to the residence. Then, he hesitates.
Should I tell them about him now?
“Actually, I wanted to ask you both something about last night: did you, perchance, notice anyone strange?”
“Well, there were some new faces, but no one seemed strange…” Persephone’s voice drifts off as she gets lost in thought.
“Now that you mention it,” Hades begins, “I think I might have seen someone oddly familiar dancing with you, Dokja.”
“Ah, so you noticed him, too.” He sighs. “Yoo Joonghyuk’s back.”
His parents sit quietly for a moment before Persephone begins to speak. “We know he wouldn’t have had anything to do with the terror incident, Dokja,” she begins, softly. “We trust him. And we trust you. So trust in our word that we won’t speak of this to anyone.”
“Thank you. I’m still trying to figure out why he’d disappeared and why he’s back now, of all times.”
“It must have been so difficult for you, dear. If you ever need to talk to anyone, just remember that we’re always here.”
Although he had never explicitly told them about his feelings for Yoo Joonghyuk, he’s sure that they know, to some degree. They―especially Persephone always seem to be particularly aware of how he was feeling. “Thank you.” He’s certain that his parents, of all people, would never betray his trust.
Dokja watches his parents exchange knowing glances. The warmth in their eyes is a testament to their love for him, and Dokja can't help but feel grateful for their unwavering support.
The meal resumes with his parents' quiet chatter filling the air, while Dokja remains silent. They let him do his thing, knowing how their son can be.
As he listens to his parents speak, the soup is quickly finished, a delightful accompaniment to their lively conversation.
Before long, it is almost time for him to head off to work. Dokja excuses himself from the table and begins to bid his parents farewell.
“Before you head out, Dokja, we wanted to show you our gift for your birthday,” Persephone starts.
“You didn’t have to do anything. Just your company was enough,” he reassures his parents.
“Nonsense,” Persephone states, setting her cutlery down on the empty plate before getting up and leading the way to the back of the house, keeping a lively chatter going the whole way.
They lead him past the well-maintained garden to the back of the ducal mansion. Nestled between the garden and the entrance to the orchard, an exquisite greenhouse stood. It was a work of art, blending elements of nature and architecture in perfect harmony.
Constructed with an elegant design, the structure boasted an ornate wrought iron framework and large glass panels that sparkled under the morning sun. He knew the glass panels, imbued as they were with elemental magic, regulated the temperature within the building, ensuring the perfect environment for the diverse flora his parents had ordered for the greenhouse. It was quite funny, just a week ago, he’d been pouring through paperwork concerning the importation of the magical glass into the kingdom…
His parents let him walk ahead to marvel at their gift for him, watching carefully for his reaction from a couple of steps behind him.
As he approached the entrance to the greenhouse, he was greeted by an enchanting sight: an archway covered in a vibrant bougainvillaea, its delicate purple petals cascading down in a floral waterfall. The doorway opened to a path of exquisite, hand-painted tiles, each depicting a different flower in intricate detail.
Inside the greenhouse were various sections, each designated to plants from different areas. The leaves of some trees create a verdant canopy overhead, and their fragrant blossoms add colour to the space.
Dokja’s eyes widen in awe, taking in the vibrant colours and intricate details surrounding him. His lips part slightly, a soft gasp escaping as he reaches out to gently touch the delicate petals of a nearby flower. He silently marvels at the care and attention put into the designing and making of this sanctuary.
Off to the side, some stone seats, situated near a tranquil koi pond and some stone lanterns, offered a peaceful retreat for quiet relaxation. The bubbling of water from the fountain in the pond serves as perfect background noise.
Small and delicate magical lights floated through the space. No doubt, making it quite the captivating sight at night. He could imagine it now―small flickering lights that cast a warm, ethereal glow on the plants below.
Happy tears prick at the corners of Dokja’s eyes, though he makes sure to blink them away before turning to face his parents, a radiant smile on his face. “Firstly, I must thank you. It is exquisite. Secondly, I must ask: when did you even have time to have all this prepared?” he asks, hoping his smile and words conveyed the immense feelings of adoration and gratitude he feels making his heart swell.
“Well, we had each part assembled separately and teleported here. Then, all that was left was to have workers come to the house and assemble it quickly while you were at work. I would say I’m surprised you hadn’t noticed, but you have been quite stressed and busy lately.” Persephone pauses.
And her husband continued her train of thought, as if knowing exactly what incident she had been thinking of, “Biyoo, however, did notice and promised to keep it a secret until we told you.”
“It’s lovely, thank you.” He knows how much money, time, and effort went into this. After all none of this was cheap, least of all renting the teleportation mechanisms that the royal family usually kept to themselves. Not that there were any issues with money―his parents’ ducal estate sits near a large gold mine, and they owned a large chain of cafes that were frequented by nobility and commoners alike―but still, having them go through all this effort for him… it warmed his heart.
“Of course, my dear.” His parents give him a hug. “Just remember, we’re always here for you, and we are so glad you decided to take our hand that day, all those years ago.”
… The first time they’d met, it was in an alley behind a bookstore. Joonghyuk had been running from his tutors, as he’d later admitted. And Kim Dokja… was seeking shelter from a storm. An orphan like him had nowhere to turn to but the alley of a once-familiar building…
Never did Dokja think, when they’d, that they’d become this close. And neither did Joonghyuk, he supposes. It’s quite funny how things worked out. How Joonghyuk became Dokja’s anchor in the dreary storm that was his life. While Dokja was drifting aimlessly, from place to place, every time they’d meet, Joonghyuk would bring him peace. After a couple of months, Dokja found himself doing what he’d once thought was impossible: he told his new-found friend his story.
It was after Dokja had finished telling Joonghyuk the truth about why his birth mother couldn’t care for him that Joonghyuk had turned to completely face Dokja. And with the most serious expression on his little face, he’d said the strangest thing, “When we’re older, you should marry me. Then we’d be family, and I can take care of you. You will have a place to call home, plenty of water and food, and the company of everyone you could possibly wish to meet with. And, most importantly, we could hang out every day.”
It was strange how such a thought ever formed in the mind of a stoic, reclusive child like him. Or so Dokja had thought, at the time. But he’d never forget the never-ending kindness he bestowed upon him at every turn.
“Joonghyuk-”
“You keep saying you can’t bother my family, so you never let me bring you home with me. If we get married, we’d be family, so you wouldn’t be bothering anyone.”
“Joonghyuk, that’s not the point-”
“And I said ‘when we’re older,’ so you can’t argue about age.”
“But-” Dokja stumbles for an excuse. “I’m a commoner.”
“Yes, and? I’ll be the future king; I can do what I want.”
“Yoo Joonghyuk.” Dokja says, firmly. He reaches for Yoo Joonghyuk’s hands, taking them in his. “Look me in the eyes and tell me this isn’t just because you pity me.” His heart thundered in his chest as he waited for an answer.
But the answer never came. Only silence permeated the air between them, although the thoughts in their heads could rival the strongest of storms.
“It’s as I thought then. We can’t get married just because you pity me.” His expression was sad, and yet he smiled so sweetly.
“Why?”
“Because that’s ridiculous.”
“But I want to help,” Yoo Joonghyuk insisted, his voice earnest and filled with genuine concern.
Dokja sighed, feeling his resolve weaken at the sight of his friend's sincerity. He knew Joonghyuk meant well, but the idea of a marriage born out of pity was not something Dokja was willing to accept.
"Joonghyuk, I appreciate your kindness, truly. But I can't allow you to make such a sacrifice for me," Dokja said softly, trying to make his friend understand.
"I don't care about any of that," Joonghyuk replied, a hint of defiance in his voice. "I care about you and your well-being. I don't want you to suffer or be alone anymore."
Dokja's heart ached at the depth of Joonghyuk's kindness, but he knew that he couldn't let their conversation continue down this path. It wasn't right to let Joonghyuk throw away his future for Dokja's sake.
"Joonghyuk," Dokja began, choosing his words carefully, "Your kindness and loyalty are two of the things I treasure most about you. But we can't base a marriage on pity. It wouldn't be fair to either of us."
Joonghyuk fell silent, his gaze dropping to the ground as he processed Dokja's words. The tense moment stretched between them, filled with unspoken thoughts and emotions.
Finally, Joonghyuk looked up, his eyes meeting Dokja's with a newfound understanding. "You're right," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry for suggesting it." His hair fell into his eyes and Dokja’s hands itched to reach out and move them.
Dokja reached out, placing a comforting hand on Joonghyuk's shoulder. "There's no need to apologise, Joonghyuk. You were just trying to help, and I appreciate that more than you know."
As the sun started its slow descent down in the west, it casted a warm orange flow over the alley. The two of them sat side by side, enveloped in silence as they were both occupied by their own thoughts.
It had been so long since Kim Dokja had heard someone be genuinely concerned about him. But he soon found out that that was far from the last time.
It was some weeks after he had told Joonghyuk his story when he first met the two lovely people who he now had the pleasure of calling his parents.
He had been wandering around the streets, looking for something to eat, as well as a temporary shelter. That was how he found himself before a quaint-looking cafe. The tantalising smell of food from within the cafe had him almost drooling.
As he stood at the windows at the front of the store, looking in, he didn't notice the woman walking up behind him.
The kind-looking woman stops with her hand on the door. “Hello there, my child. Would you like to come in and have something?”
He shakes his head and reluctantly peels himself off the window.
“At the very least come inside and warm up a bit. The temperature seems to be falling quite a bit this rainy season.”
He shakes his head again, tugging at the sleeve of his tattered coat. “I’m alright, miss. Sorry to bother you. I’ll be on my way now.”
“Wait,” she calls out. “Wait here just a minute and watch over this. I’ll be right back.”
Handing the bag of groceries to him, she heads in, the bell on the door jingling when she opens and shuts it.
Why did she even leave this here, with me? He wonders. Her store is right there.
In less than a minute, the blonde woman is back with a blanket over one arm, a small box, and a book. “Thank you.” She takes the groceries from him and hands him the things she was holding. “Here, I wanted you to have this.”
“I don’t-”
“It’s not a charity. I know. But I’ve seen you around these parts before, child. I just wanted to give you these and let you know you’re always welcome at our store.”
He looked down at the two pastries nestled in the napkin. “B-but, I don’t have any money to my name.” Dokja protests. “I can’t pay you back for your kindness, miss.”
“Call me Persephone. And you don’t have to. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing more of each other in the future.”
And see each other again they did. Many times. Eventually, they had gotten to know each other enough for Kim Dokja to feel comfortable in Persephone and Hades’ shop. In the short time he’d spent there, he’d read many books, and enjoyed many a conversation with the couple. He had come to know that they were quite important people in the kingdom―and he found it quite odd that they spent so much time personally managing this cafe, but who was he to judge?
Eventually came the time he was at his lowest point. He had attempted to jump off a building to just end it all, only for even that attempt to fail.
Was there anything I’m good at, he’d wondered to himself, wandering aimlessly, with bruises blooming afresh across his flesh. That night, it was Hades and Persephone who had nursed him back to health, physically and emotionally. And after he’d had some rest, they’d proposed that he be their adopted son. Although it felt wrong to accept, he felt as though he could stand to be a bit selfish this once. And that moment had turned the entire trajectory of his life, helping him become the person he was today.
Standing in the greenhouse, Kim Dokja shudders, not wanting to think about who and where he would’ve been if it hadn’t been for his parents.
Probably dead in a ditch somewhere, he thinks humorlessly.
Glancing at his pocket watch, Dokja realised it was time for him to leave. “I’m afraid I must be going now. Duty calls.”
“Have a productive day, Dokja.” Hades says, with a nod.
“And don’t forget to drink enough water,” Persephone reminds him.
“I won’t; see you both this evening. Ah, about Biyoo-”
“Don’t worry, dear.” His parents reassure him that they will take good care of Biyoo. By the looks on their faces, he can see that they’re eager to spend quality time with their beloved granddaughter (and will likely spoil her rotten).
He shakes his head fondly, already familiar with his beloved family’s antics. With his heart warmed by his parents' thoughtful gesture, Kim Dokja sets off to tackle the challenges of the day, the bitter feelings from this morning forgotten as he eases into the new day.
In the carriage, Dokja thinks to himself about how he has the perfect role to best utilise his skills. Born from years of struggle and uncertainty, these skills and his personality now guide his every move. Being adopted by Hades and Persephone had shown him the true meaning of love and support, instilling in him a deep sense of loyalty and a drive to ensure the safety and well-being of others.
As he thinks back to the greenhouse, he can't help but compare the warmth and tranquillity of his current life to the cold, desolate streets he once called home. The experiences of his past have taught him the importance of perseverance and the profound impact that having the right people in your life can have. His parents’ unwavering belief in him was a constant reminder of the transformative power their love and acceptance seemed to have.
“I’ll make you proud,” Kim Dokja whispers a promise to his parents as his carriage carried him further from his home.
***
He arrives at work at eight AM. He has a couple of hours before people come in at 11 AM. Han Sooyung had actually decreed that after a ball, workers only had to get to work by 11 AM the next day, to accommodate for their potential hangovers. It could be seen as considerate. If only she let us all have a day off after a ball. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, he supposes as he sets to work.
It’s a couple more hours before the first news about Joonghyuk reaches his ears.
The girls who deliver the papers to his office are quiet and respectful while in the office, but as they leave, he can hear them pick up where they left on a conversation about the party last night.
“I heard there was a new noble from the Alestonia at the ball yesterday. His name was Count Borchern, I think?”
“I thought it was Borchert? I think that would only make sense if he’s the same nobleman I heard about who has ties to the royal family of Alestonia..”
Upon hearing mention of Joonghyuk’s current alias, Count Borchert, Dokja stops sifting through his paperwork and tries to listen in.
“Oh, whatever! If what you said is true, can you imagine the kind of wealth and power he must possess? I also heard he’s really dreamy, so he’s really the whole package!”
Hearing that, Dokja feels a surge of irritation rise in his chest. The whole package, as if! He just barely prevents himself from scoffing aloud.
“Yeah? And what would anyone have seen of his face, anyway, considering it was a masquerade?”
“Esmeralda, please stop raining on my parade. I’m at work on a Saturday. I beg you to let me have something that gives me some will to live.”
With a few quiet steps, he walks to and places his right ear on the door, straining his ears to hear more, but the voices got quieter and eventually faded as the two ladies wandered further and further away from his office.
He’s suddenly glad that there is no one else in his office but him. What would anyone from court think if they saw him eavesdropping?
***
Shortly after noon, Dokja picks up some of the documents he’d been reviewing and heads off in the direction of the queen’s office.
Along with his official duties, he supposes he could discuss the rumours about Joonghyuk’s―or rather, Count Borchert’s―appearance at the party, as well as the encounter with the stranger with Han Sooyung.
“Greetings to the Sun of the Kingdom, her majesty Han Sooyung,” he states at the doorway.
“At ease, Dokja. You may come in.”
He enters the large office and walks up to her desk.
“Sit.” She gestures to one of the two comfortable-looking red chairs that sat before her desk.
“Thank you.”
“Tea?” She offers, pointing to a teapot of what was, from the smell lingering in the air, honey lemon tea.
“No thank you.” He internally wonders about her obsession with lemon-flavoured foods. First it was the lollies, and now the tea.
“Suit yourself.” She pours herself a cup, adding two sugar cubes, before lightly swirling it and taking a sip. Letting out a contented sigh, she gestures for him to start speaking.
And with that, they begin to discuss business.
Shortly after their discussions of business have ended, Dokja switches the topic to the rumours circulating about Yoo Joonghyuk and the cryptic stranger he encountered.
Sooyung leans back in her chair, hands steepled as she contemplates his words. “Hm, from your description, the stranger is probably the Alestonian diplomat, Nirvana Moebius. He came here a couple of months ago, do you recall?”
Alestonia, huh? I wonder if the two of them know each other. But then why would the diplomat go so far as to warn me away from Joonghyuk?
“I don’t know, Dokja, you tell me.”
It was then that Dokja realises he's voiced his thoughts aloud. Pushing aside the embarrassment, he tries to respond with a logical explanation, “Well, diplomats often keep the company of influential figures from their homeland.” He fidgets with his cufflink, a nervous habit that he’d found hard to break.
“Hm.”
“But there must be more to this,” he ponders aloud, getting up and pacing towards the window.
A light breeze from the open window rustles his hair and clothes as he stands there.
Han Sooyung nods thoughtfully, acknowledging Dokja's concerns. "Keep an eye on the situation and inform me of any new developments. I will be on the look-out for any actions on Joonghyuk’s part. In the meantime, focus on your duties and maintain a cordial relationship with Nirvana to see what we can learn from him."
With that, their conversation comes to an end. Dokja, still mulling over the possible implications of the Alestonian connection, bids farewell to Han Sooyung. He can tell she wanted to say something more, but with prying eyes and ears all over the place, it was best to stay silent.
As he turns to leave, Han Sooyung calls out, "And Dokja, do try to contain your curiosity. We wouldn't want you getting into trouble, now, would we?"
Dokja glances over his shoulder, a sly grin playing at his lips. "Oh, but where's the fun in that, Your Majesty? You know how much I enjoy a good mystery."
Han Sooyung chuckles, shaking her head in amusem*nt. "Indeed, but remember—discretion is key. And do make a conscious effort to stay alive, you stupid squid."
The familiar nickname being sprinkled into the sentence puts him at ease.
With a nod and a playful bow, Dokja takes his leave, the familiar banter between them providing a moment of levity amidst the seriousness of their discussion. But as he makes his way back to his office, his mind is once again plagued by his worries. He already misses the calm before this particular storm.
***
At around two in the afternoon, Uriel sees herself into Dokja’s office. With how closely they work together, it’s not quite so strange. And when one considers how long the angelic-looking blonde has been friends with the royal advisor, well, it certainly doesn’t allow anyone to question her entrance into his office.
She finds him hunching over his mahogany desk, surrounded by towering stacks of paperwork that cast long shadows in the afternoon sunlight that filters through the ornate windows, the top frames of which are stained glass, making colourful lights dance through the room as the sunlight hits them. The air is thick with the scent of ink and the faint aroma of coffee, an indication of the numerous hours Dokja has spent poring over documents.
Outside the window, the bustling cityscape of Elysium, Lumeria’s capital, stretches as far as the eye can see, a sprawling tapestry of stone, metal, and glass that shimmers beneath the golden glow of the setting sun. The distant hum of city life wafts through the open window, accompanied by the occasional cries of Elysium’s famous winged messengers as they dart between the towering spires. The majestic griffins swoop and swirl gracefully as they swiftly cut through the air. Uriel then draws her gaze away from the window and turns her attention to the reason she came to his office in the first place. “Did you eat lunch yet, Dokja?”
“Oh, um, not yet,” he answers, still pouring over the seemingly never-ending piles of paperwork. “I just wanted to finish this…”
“Oh, splendid―not the fact that you didn’t eat, but-” she stops the tangent she would’ve gone on and continues on with what she’d come to accomplish in the first place, “You’re never going to be able to finish it, if you don’t get some food in you. I figured you’d still be cooped up in here, that’s why I brought you something.” She brings out two paper bags with sandwiches she’d gotten from the administrative section’s cafeteria.
Dokja stands and stretches, a bone or joint cracking somewhere, before he reaches out gratefully for the bag she so graciously offered. “Have I ever told you how much I appreciate you, Uriel?”
“You could stand to say it more often. It’s not every day I get someone singing my praises like this.”
“Oh, shush, you. You’re quite the well-known author. Though constellations know why people are so fascinated with your strange… tastes.”
“Your gratitude should at least last through the meal, no?” She huffs out, tying her blonde locks into a ponytail before taking a bite out of her own sandwich.
“Yes, I suppose it should. I’m sorry.”
“You should be.”
They lapse into a comfortable silence as they much away on their respective sandwiches.
Uriel then casually mentions, “By the way, I think I saw Joonghyuk at the ball. He’s certainly made an interesting return, hasn’t he?”
Dokja’s eyes widen, but he quickly schools his expression, leaving only his lips pursed to express his displeasure with the current turn of the discussion. “You saw him, too? What do you know about his reappearance?”
Uriel’s lips curve into a subtle, yet undeniably teasing smirk, the glimmer in her eyes hint at a sense of mischievous delight. She leans closer before whispering conspiratorially, “I heard he’s back for you, Kim Dokja.” Her eyes twinkle with a familiar something Dokja dreads.
Don’t tell me she-
Dokja’s shoulders tense and his face flushes.
10 years ago, a couple of weeks before Yoo Joonghyuk’s birthday celebration, he had confided in her that he’d been wanting to confess to Joonghyuk. Uriel, being her, seemed ecstatic. She claimed she already sensed the tension between them and that she had been waiting for this. Now that Yoo Joonghyuk was back, he felt the need to reassure Uriel that there was nothing going on between himself and Joonghyuk. He figures he should set the record straight now, before her delusions worsen. “No, no! It’s not like that.” He waves his hand in denial. He worries what’s going on in her head as he knows how she is when it concerns the two of them.
Uriel only responds by raising one eyebrow. “They say the strongest denial may be a strong affirmation.”
“No. Get those ideas out of your head-”
“Maybe he was tired of watching you from afar and got jealous when he saw how close you are with Sun Wukong?”
Dokja balks. “Ugh, Uriel, what did I just say?” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “He can’t be jealous, especially considering he was the one who left after I confessed. And constellations know what sort of crazy schemes he’s been up to all these years.”
He redirects the topic and asks her how long she thinks it’s been since he got back. Back when they were younger, Uriel had been Yoo Joonghyuk’s closest confidant, after Han Sooyung and Dokja, himself.
“Probably a couple of weeks, I don’t really know.” She averts her eyes.
She’s still not a great liar, he thinks to himself.
She then glances at him again, then shrugs her shoulders. “If you say there’s nothing between you two, I’ll take your word for it.” Despite her casual smile, there’s a glint in her eyes that suggests she isn’t quite done with her mental image of what she calls her “favourite ship,” though he’s not quite sure what that means (and at this point, he’s honestly scared to ask).
Shortly afterwards, following five minutes of grumbling about Han Sooyung being a slavedriver, Uriel leaves his office and heads back to work. What scares him the most is the look on her face as she leaves his office―she looks like a child who’d gotten up early to open the gifts on the morn of Yule.
Watching her leave, Dokja can’t shake off the image of her mischievous grin. He rubs his forehead, anticipating the headache that will soon befall him.
***
Done for the day Dokja gets into his carriage and reclines in his seat. With two taps of his fingers on the top of the cabin, he signals the coachman to start the carriage. His family coachman is a quiet professional, and Dokja is ever more glad for that personality trait of his after the long day he’d had.
The steady rhythm of hooves on cobblestones fills the air, punctuated by the occasional clatter of passing carts and the murmured greetings of pedestrians.
Dokja watches through the carriage window, as the grand architecture of the capital city, Elysium, gives way to quieter streets lined with quaint shops and homes, their facades painted in vibrant colours that catch the fading light.
The air grows cooler as the sun slowly dips below the horizon, casting long shadows that dance across the cobblestones like spectral puppets. A gentle breeze rustles the leaves of the trees lining the cobblestoned streets, their whispering branches offering a soothing accompaniment to the carriage's gentle sway.
Dokja can’t decide if he’s relieved or upset that he hadn’t seen Yoo Joonghyuk today. He admits that a part of him had thought that the bastard surely would’ve gotten up to some kind of trouble, leaving a mess behind for him to clean up. He supposes he should be glad he had a pretty much uneventful day. No royal meetings, no court sessions, and most importantly, no Joonghyuk-shaped problems; it was a good day, he reassure himself
He looks forward to his next two days off, so he can stay home with his family. Surely they wouldn’t bring Yoo Joonghyuk’s presence up as a topic of discussion, right?
***
Extra:
Asleep, Kim Dokja falls into a dream.
He is in a world he did not know, yet it felt so familiar. He looks down at himself. It seems as though he is back to his teenage self, donning an unfamiliar set of clothes―a thick piece of clothing, that is like a mix between a thick shirt and a hooded cloak adorned his top half, and he was wearing dark blue pants. Two words appear in his mind, hoodie and jeans. He immediately knows that is what he is wearing.
He is climbing up a set of stairs, making his way to a destination his body seemed to subconsciously know. Finally on a rooftop, he pauses to take a breath, and gazes out at the vista before him. Tall buildings spread out all around him, far as the eye can see. He can see many carriages without horses― cars, his mind supplies―swooshing by on the roads below, and people, dressed in more strange clothing walking below, all seeming like ants from this height. The city twinkled in the darkness, each light like a star in the dark night sky.
He hears a shuffle behind him. It’s another kid, with dark hair and eyes that reflect the stars in the sky and the city lights. He is nervously toeing the other edge of the rooftop.
Despite himself, he shouts, “Hey, don’t do it, please!”
Wait a minute, why did I say that? I couldn’t care less either way what happens to this kid.
A part of himself seems upset.
This was an opportunity missed.
He slowly approaches the boy, as though he is a scared animal. Dokja then sat on the rooftop with him, listening intently as he shared his woes. I’ve heard it all before.
“I really thought I could be safe. But then it all went wrong again.”
“For constellations’ sake,” Dokja cries out, not sure whether he was angry with the boy or angry on his behalf. “Are you serious? I can’t believe that for this stupid reason, you’re here before me. Are you upset that it didn’t go as you wanted? You’re lucky you even have a place to go.”
“But it’s worse, much worse than before,” he starts, his eyes gazing, unseeing at the night sky above us. “I can feel their eyes following me. It’s everywhere I turn, it’s all I see.” He stretches a hand above his head, as if reaching for the heavens. “Sometimes, I wish that I could be free.”
“Just get through this day, and the next, and the next. Eventually, you will see. You can make it through and you’ll be free. Just you wait. You’ll be free,” Kim Dokja insists.
With a soft smile on his face, the boy gets on his feet. “I’m feeling better, thank you for listening, and your kind words.” With that said, the boy disappears.
The next day, Kim Dokja finds himself at the rooftop again.
Alright, today’s the day, or so he thought.
Just as he took both his shoes off, he found a boy, as frail as can be. He knew the boy shared the same pains as him. Despite himself, he approaches and internally laments, You’ve got to be kidding me.
Once more he approaches the familiar stranger. And once more, he sits and listens as the boy tells him all his woes. “You’ve probably heard it all before. Everyone is bothering me. It would be better if they ignored me. I don’t fit in with anyone here. I just want to stop the scars that grow, every time I live, and see; you must know. That’s why I come up here instead.” That’s what the boy as frail as Dokja himself said. His hands form first, clutching the fabric of the brown he dons.
“Are you serious?” He echoes his words from yesterday. “I can’t believe that for this stupid reason, you got here before me. Although you’re shunned, it’s fine. They’ll be their terrible selves, and you’ll be fine.”
He looks unconvinced and this is new. Dokja feels as though he’s bitten off more than he can chew. But even so, he wills the boy away. He couldn’t bear to see that pitiful look in the frail boy’s eyes; it’s too much for him.
“Live another day, and then some more. Soon, you’ll meet someone who’ll make the pain disappear. Heed my words and be careful which path upon which you tread.”
“I’m lonely,” the frail boy said, then disappeared.
And just like that, there was a person every day. Dokja listens to their words and sends them on their way. And secretly, he wishes there would be someone who would do this for him. But there was no way he’d reveal all this pain.
Then, as if by a miracle, for the first time, he finds himself standing alone on the familiar roof, toeing the edge. He didn’t quite know why he was standing there, only that he couldn’t bring himself to walk away. I guess it’s time.
He looked around the roof, there was not a soul. It’s just me, myself and I.
This time, there is no one to interfere, no one to get in his way here.
Taking off his brown hoodie, and shoes, this boy frail as can be, with black hair and sparkling eyes prepares to jump and be free.
Only for a hand to clamp down on his shoulder, pulling him off the edge and into a hug. “It’s okay, Kim Dokja, now you’re safe.” In this new boy’s arms he is safe, and lets the tears roll down his face.
Dokja awakes in the early hours of the morning, bathed in sweat, his blankets a tangled mess at the foot of his bed, his pillows haphazardly strewn across his bed. He wipes away the tears that formed while he was asleep and covers his face with his arm. He knows just laying awake and worrying will do him more harm than good. He takes a deep breath, attempting to steady his racing heart. The vivid dream lingered in his mind, a surreal blend of darkness and hope that mirrored his own tumultuous emotions from yesterday morning. Pushing aside the tangled blankets, he sits up, wiping the sweat from his brow. The first rays of morning light filtered through the window, casting a soft glow across his room.
A new day was beginning, and with it came new hope for the future, echoing feelings at the end of the bittersweet dream. The memory of the dream still clung to him, a strange mixture of pain and solace that he couldn't quite shake. But perhaps, buried within that chaos, there was a seed of hope waiting to be nurtured.
Dokja picks up a book from his bedside table and settles against the headboard in a comfortable position suitable for watching the sunrise and then reading when there’s sufficient light.
TO BE CONTINUED.
