Chapter Text
--
It started with a flyer.
No, it started when his aunt decided that he didn’t need to eat, then came the flyer. It was an ad that literally smacked him in the face for a volunteer position to read comatose patients. It said something about how speaking to coma patients helped stimulate their brains and allowed for a quicker recovery, but that wasn’t the part that caught Dokja’s eye. No, it was the section that said “Free meals offered to volunteers on shift.”
And before he knew it, Dokja called the number and set a date for orientation. A week later saw him standing at the hospital’s front desk in his school uniform. Maybe he should have changed before?
“Oh, hello!” It's too late now. “ Are you here for the volunteer position?” A sunny lady asked, and at Dokja’s mumbled affirmative, continued to list his tasks off before quickly sending him on his merry way. Kim Dokja opened his mouth to ask if there was anything else, but the lady already disappeared around the corner.
Kim Dokja was left with his badge in one hand and a pamphlet on the other hand. He hoped there was a map in there somewhere, because he was going to need it.
Kim Dokja wandered the hallways, resolutely not thinking of the last time he was here.
“1859….1861...1865… oh– wait, 1864. Ah, there it is.”
With confidence that he didn’t quite possess, Kim Dokja opened the door to a white room. The window was slightly open, sheer curtains flapping slightly in the wind. The smell of disinfectant permeated everything. His breath caught in his throat. It was too familiar. Then his breath got caught again, when he saw the man laying on the bed.
Ink black hair. Cheekbones that were sculpted lovingly by a master artist himself. Full lashes that only accentuated the pallor of the skin underneath. The man’s chest rose steadily, and under the thin blanket, he could see the definition. For someone who was comatose, he sure was fit and Kim Dokja berated himself for ogling someone who was essentially a vegetable.
“Um, hi? My name is Kim Dokja.” There, that should be good right? The lady from earlier said that all he had to do was talk to the patients. He could do that. The man wasn’t even awake, it’s fine.
“W-would you like a steamed bun? It’s a little stale but it’s better than nothing right…” Of course he wouldn’t want a steamed bun, he was comatose.
“Are you going to speak?” Kim Dokja felt very stupid talking to a sleeping man, but it’s not like he didn’t have any experience talking to someone who was unresponsive.
“...”
“Well, okay, of course you’re not. I’ll just eat it then.” As he bit into the cold bun, he took the time to look at the man some more. What was his name? He glanced over the clipboard holding the patient’s information.
“Yoo Jonghyuk,” Kim Dokja chewed thoughtfully. “Pretty fitting. It sounds like the name of a protagonist.”
“...”
“Hey Yoo Jonghyuk, what did you do to end up here? I bet it was some sort of fight. Yeah, that seems like you.” Kim Dokja didn’t know this man. This was the first time they met, Dokja decided. It’s hard to forget a face like that.
Silence filled the room once Kim Dokja’s words stopped. Dokja stared at the sleeping form, mind wandering. He’s missing something, but what? Has he really never met this person before?
Well, whatever. He’s already pathetic enough, volunteering at a hospital to mooch off the free meals they offer to the volunteers. Dokja sighed as he glanced at the time. He better make his way back before it gets too late or else his aunt will have something else to hold against him.
“Bye Yoo Jonghyuk,” And because he was feeling unusually off-kilter he added, “have a nice nap.”
--
Kim Dokja waited a few more days before deciding that his aunt wasn’t going to give him a decent meal anytime soon. Back to the hospital it was, Dokja decided.
“You’d think that they would find a way to make this place smell nice, you know? There are actually some people who have to stay here for a long time.” Kim Dokja complained, before realizing what he said. “Like you, for example. Do they not realize that they might be damaging your delicate nostrils?”
After complaining about the horrors of the hospital environment, Kim Dokja went on to create a heroic tale about Yoo Jonghyuk.
“You know what I think? I think you would be a good anarchist. You seem like the type of guy who hates authority.” Kim Dokja rambled on, crafting a story about this man without knowing a single thing about him besides his name.
“It would be a good story too, wouldn’t you say?” Kim Dokja murmured absentmindedly. “It’s one that would last a long, long time.”
The beeping machine punctuated the ensuing silence.
“Well, enough of that!” The plastic bag rustled as Dokja reached in. “Looks like we have beef bulgogi and rice today. Hey, it actually smells decent? Since when did the hospital chef decide to make semi-edible food?”
Kim Dokja recounted a few of the failed dishes the hospital chef made, and just as he was getting to the good part, an alarm on his phone rang. He was startled. Dokja hadn’t realized how quickly time passed.
“Despite the fact that you just lie there like a useless log, you’re unexpectedly easy to talk to.” Kim Dokja frowned, before shaking his head. “I’ll be back again tomorrow, so don’t miss me too much okay?”
He didn’t know where this confidence came from, but Yoo Jonghyuk felt painfully familiar. Kim Dokja walked to the door and hesitated. Then the moment passed, and he left with a cheery goodbye.
As the door shut, Yoo Jonghyuk’s finger twitched.
--
And so a routine began.
Kim Dokja would wake up, sometimes to the sounds of screaming and other times to the weight of an oppressive silence. Then he would quietly get ready for school, hoping that his relatives were in a good enough mood to let him through peacefully. He would go to school and wait for the lunch hour so he could read the latest chapter of his novel. He would dodge the bullies, sometimes unsuccessfully. When school ended, he would make his way to the hospital, grab a meal from the cafeteria, and park himself in front of Yoo Jonghyuk to enrich his brain.
“Jonghyuk-ah! Did you miss me?” He would begin, before launching into a summary of the latest story he read. Today’s novel was about a man who had a harem of 900 beauties.
He made sure that Yoo Jonghyuk would be caught up to the latest chapter, so that when he woke up, he wouldn’t make a fool of himself by naming the wrong character or something.
Kim Dokja resolutely ignored the way that his stomach dropped at the thought of him waking up.
He should be happy when Yoo Jonghyuk wakes up. Maybe he would even get the chance to have an actual conversation with him… but that meant he would leave, wouldn’t it? Who would want to stay with someone like Dokja if they didn’t have to?
Ah, well. Kim Dokja will think about that later. He shoved the thoughts away with some kimchi fried rice.
“Hmm, this kimchi rice is pretty good. But it’s a little too salty, I think. The chef went a little heavy on this one, but they got a new guy, and he’s a lot better than the old chef, let me tell you that.” Kim Dokja watched the steady heart rate on the EKG machine. “I bet you could make it better, though. You look like you could cook. Hey, I never did finish my story about that last chef, right? Well, it …”
With the steady beeping of the EKG machine and the sun filtering into the room, Kim Dokja relaxed into the plastic seat and just… talked.
It was kind of nice, being able to speak freely like this. Even though no one was listening and it was just the sound of his voice echoing off the walls. His thoughts wandered to a similar situation, with a woman in orange, clear glass separating them. That’s different, he chewed slowly. His words were desperate, and her silence was voluntary.
Kim Dokja looked at Yoo Jonghyuk’s pale face. He ate a big spoonful of rice.
----
Like all things in his life, something bad always has to happen the second he decides that he was content.
First of all, there was a thunderstorm which wasn’t so bad, except for the fact that his scars ached a little more in this weather. It was fine, he brought this on himself by jumping out that window. It was just a few days of a body that hurt more than usual. He could live with that.
What was not fine, however, was everything else that happened after.
His aunt decided that he had too much freedom and refused to let him leave his room for days, only relenting after he mentioned that he needed to go to school or else it would seem suspicious. His stomach protested at the thought of walking to school, but he managed. Then his bullies decided that they missed their favorite punching bag, and decided to make up for lost time during lunch.
“Look at him! So pathetic, am I right?” Bully number one boasted.
“Yes, yes, he is so pathetic! You’re just so awesome in comparison!” Bully numbers two and three echoed.
The girl that they were trying to impress swooned, “Oh, wow! You’re just showing him, aren’t you! But… what if he snaps, and becomes like his mother… the murderer?” She gasped in mock horror, throwing herself in Bully one’s arms. “Oh, I’m so scared!”
Kim Dokja would have laughed at this exchange if he could. This is the typical mob character dialogue, right before the protagonist swooped in and beat them all into a pulp. All in the name of justice, of course. His vision swam as the bully shoved him head first into a brick wall.
But this isn’t a story, no matter how much he wants it to be. There would be no protagonist to save the day. And even if there was, they wouldn’t save someone who was just a no name background character.
For some inexplicable reason, he thought of Yoo Jonghyuk. If this were him, he would surely beat them into the ground. Wait, no. They wouldn’t even dream of laying a hand on him to begin with.
He hasn’t been able to visit in a few days. Would Yoo Jonghyuk miss his stories? Probably not. He’d probably be glad to get some silence, that ungrateful bastard.
“It’s okay,” Bully whatever number said, “He’s not going to hurt you, baby. I’ll make sure of that”
“Oh, darling!”
He kicked Kim Dokja’s prone form. “Isn’t that right, after all, you don’t want to make the switch from murder’s son to murderer” he laughed boisterously.
Kim Dokja wanted to vomit, from both the kick and the nauseating pet names. How funny, he thought tiredly. Can’t you come up with something more original? Why is it always the same insult repeated over and over again?
“Oh my god, you freak! Did you just roll your eyes at him?”
“He did what now?! Ohh, I’ll show you.”
And so a rain of kicks and punches began again. Kim Dokja tried to make himself as small as possible and ignored the sounds of the bruises being beaten into his skin. Kim Dokja thought of all the stories he made about Yoo Jonghyuk to distract himself. Eventually, the bullies got tired of him and walked away, but not after throwing his school bag into the puddle nearby. Typical.
Kim Dokja uncurled himself and lay panting on the muddy grass. The clouds passed by, and Dokja’s eyes unconsciously followed one that was shaped vaguely like an angel.
“Sorry Jonghyuk-ah,” he said to no one in particular. “Seems like I won’t be able to make it again today.”