Chapter Text
On the morning of the wedding day, Han Sooyoung destroyed her hotel room, wrecked someone’s car, and almost closed down a convenience store until Kim Dokja successfully dragged her out, her cup of instant noodles and all, and threw her onto the pavement. “Why are you being like this,” he groaned. “Aren’t you supposed to be happy?”
“You don’t understand!” Han Sooyoung wailed, in between inhaling her noodles. “What if something goes wrong? Like, what if it suddenly starts raining, or a bunch of my students barge in the reception, or one of Sangah’s coworkers starts a riot because they’ve been secretly in love with her this whole time and it’ll turn out like that one Taylor Swift song where I’m left behind on the—”
“Alright. I see the problem,” Kim Dokja said, and pulled her up to lean against a lamp post. “Why don’t we get you some real food?”
“I still think something’s going to fuck it all up somehow,” Han Sooyoung hissed, a handful of hours later, out of her sleepwear and in her actual wedding dress. It itched around her waist, but at least it made her boobs look nice (Jung Heewon had assessed them herself), and she picked at the offending spot until she was sure her skin had turned red under the fabric. “Like, the cake’s gonna fall over in the middle of the ceremony, or some random candle’s gonna set everything on fire—”
“I am begging you to calm down,” Kim Dokja said, not for the first time—which was rich, actually, since he couldn’t stop picking at his neck like the collar of his suit was itchy too. “Didn’t you run rehearsals for the past few days? It’s going to be fine, you’re worrying too much—and actually, don’t you still have Predictive Plagiarism in you? Can’t you use that to see everything will turn out alright?”
“Dumbass! Who looks into the future of their own w-wedding!?” Han Sooyoung snapped, desperately trying to ignore the quaver in her voice. Kim Dokja snorted like he’d heard it loud and clear. “And anyway, I want to be surprised when I see Sangah in her dress. Stupid!”
Kim Dokja just sighed. “This takes me back. I remember when all you wanted to do was cut her throat open.”
“Hey, she wanted to cut my throat open too, it was mutual.” Like it is now, Han Sooyoung’s head reminded her, and she had to tamp down the very stupid smile that threatened to rise up to her face and mess up the annoyed look she was trying to keep up.
She slumped against a pillar behind her, staring out at the venue—they hadn’t gone for a church, opting for the park near their apartment instead, despite Han Sooyoung’s half-hearted protests that she was going to get a sunburn standing out under the sun for hours. In truth, she was afraid one (or more) of her students would pass by, considering the place wasn’t exactly far from the university she worked at, and recognize their fucking literature professor getting married, and Han Sooyoung had had nightmares about that for a good week.
Han Sooyoung looked down, then scowled—she was twisting her ring again, over and over around her finger. It was a habit she’d unthinkingly developed when Yoo Sangah first proposed (it was dinnertime, they were both drunk after celebrating the completion of Han Sooyoung’s latest novel, and Han Sooyoung had completely misunderstood when Yoo Sangah stepped off the couch and got on her knees before her) and a habit she thought would go away after a few months. Alas.
Kim Dokja fixed her with one of his annoying all-knowing, all-seeing looks, the ones where Han Sooyoung had a feeling he was trying to use that mind-reading skill of his on her. Then, unexpectedly enough, he laughed—just a small one, under his breath, but a laugh all the same. “I knew this was coming, but still. I’m happy for you.”
Han Sooyoung frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean.”
“What? I can’t be happy?” Kim Dokja raised his shoulders in a shrug. “You were always mooning after her during the scenarios, you know, and then even afterwards—”
“What! I-I was not!”
“—you kept whining to whoever would listen about how you were sooo lonely and how you needed a woman in your life or whatever—”
“I never said that,” Han Sooyoung snarled, grabbing him by the shoulders to shake him back and forth. Kim Dokja flopped around like a squid washed up on the beach. “And if I did, that means I was smashed out of my mind, so it doesn’t count! You think I don’t have just as much leverage over you, asshole? The amount of times you came crying to me about something Yoo Joonghyuk did—”
Kim Dokja slapped a hand over her mouth. Han Sooyoung couldn’t even get him to take it off; by this point he had become immune to her licking his palm. She settled for glaring at him instead. “This is your day, so it’ll be about you,” he said, his smile looking more than a bit strained. “Honestly, you were a mess when she confessed to you. Did you know how terrified I was when you came running to me in the middle of the night like a madman telling me there was an emergency? I thought you’d killed someone and needed me to help you hide the body.”
“Would you have helped me hide a body, though?” Han Sooyoung asked, once she managed to pry Kim Dokja’s hand off her face.
“We’ve killed enough people for a lifetime, I think,” he remarked. A passing guest who looked like they could have been Yoo Sangah’s coworker shot them an alarmed glance. Kim Dokja glanced down at where Han Sooyoung had—damn it—been fiddling with her ring again, and let out a smug little ‘heh.’ “Did you know I helped pick that out?”
Han Sooyoung almost crushed her finger in her hand. “What!”
“Yeah, Sangah-ssi asked me to go ‘jewelry shopping’ with her,” Kim Dokja said, looking entirely aware he was blowing Han Sooyoung’s mind with every word he spoke, “then asked which ring would look best on you, hypothetically. I don’t know who she was fooling.”
Now Han Sooyoung just felt inferior. She’d just tried to look for the nicest (and also possibly the most expensive) ring she saw in the display of the various stores she snuck in. “I… didn’t know.”
“Yeah, well. No one told you.” Kim Dokja paused, giving her another long look—not an all-knowing and all-seeing one, but something more contemplative before it eventually softened into a small smile. “Come on, Sooyoung-ah. Do you really think Sangah-ssi would care if anything went wrong anyway? She’s been with you for years now, and the amount of times you’ve messed up dinner means she probably wouldn’t notice even if a candle did set something on fire.”
“You are not making me feel any better,” Han Sooyoung lied.
“Sure I am.” He moved his arm like he meant to ruffle her hair, before seemingly remembering the hair stylist had spent an insane amount of time fixing it and patted her shoulder instead. “So. You know,” Kim Dokja said, sounding hilariously awkward now, “like I said… I’m happy for you. Quit worrying, start planning your honeymoon.”
Han Sooyoung sighed, averting her gaze to the ground. Okay, fine, maybe she had been worrying for nothing—if it started raining, Yoo Sangah would just pull out an umbrella, and if any of Han Sooyoung’s students actually saw them, Yoo Sangah would just smile at the extra guests, and if any of her coworkers actually did start a riot and declare their love for Yoo Sangah right there, well… Yoo Sangah would turn them down in the exact same, placid manner she’d turned down dozens of people in the past. Han Sooyoung knew her too well to not be aware of how she’d respond to situations like these.
From the beginning it had always been that feeling of not being worthy of her that lingered in Han Sooyoung, day and night, present no matter how much she tried to hide it. Sangah had told her otherwise, of course, several times in the past, but somehow the feeling simply refused to completely leave.
She made to cross her arms, an embarrassing method of feeling like she was being held, only to yelp when Kim Dokja reached out to grip her shoulder. It… wasn’t exactly a hug, but Kim Dokja was about as averse to physical contact as she was, so something like this came very close to a hug for the both of them. “It’s not a matter of worth, you know,” he said, lowly. “She loves you. That’s enough.”
Han Sooyoung stared at him. Then sniffed. Then barked out, “B-Bastard, did you use that mind-reading skill of yours on me while I was distracted?” to pretend she hadn’t just sniffed.
Kim Dokja rolled his eyes and let go of her, but the warmth from his palm was there to stay. “I didn’t use any skill. Your thoughts were just all over your face. Also, I don’t think you’re supposed to cry now, you should do it while reading your vows or whatever it is people do at weddings.”
“I hate you,” Han Sooyoung said. Then, at the risk of ruining the hard work of her hair stylist and makeup artist, she buried her face in Kim Dokja’s chest for a few short, definitely-not-tearful seconds before pulling away, blinking rapidly and hoping she didn’t already look like a mess. “But thanks. I guess.”
Kim Dokja’s smile grew into a small grin, which did nothing to hide the faint red tint around his own eyes. “Yeah, yeah. You’re welcome. Now hurry up and get married, this suit is itchy.”
Han Sooyoung gasped. The audacity of this man! “Well guess what, this dress is itchy too, but you don’t see me speeding the ceremony up! I spent months fixing this schedule, so your sorry ass better stick to it—”